The Breakdown of Thinking (draft)
A once pristine constellation of small gauge wired pathways,
Moved data about with intrepid speed.
This territory later would clog down and misplace
Important bits of knowledge lost in the cobwebs that stretched
Tilted in corners of the shell of an aging command central.
If older is wiser, it is also part of a strange pathos;
More is less, expanse is limited, there is always a but—
These come with a price that never seems to be negotiable.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Porous poison
There are times when I allow myself to write in a free flowing manner that tolerates what I would imagine is my subconscious influence upon the written product. While I recognize the term subconscious is perhaps passe in many academic settings, I am referring to an influence by that part of one's mind that one cannot be entirely aware of, yet still exerts some influence upon one's actions without concentrated efforts at thought.
The outcome of such writing will often produce some interesting word combinations. A small example for instance might be something that came out on the page last night, in a line that that contained these two words together: porous poison. Now in reality, I don't imagine poison as being porous. I can see poison seeping into porous cracks - perhaps an insecticide. That is a perfectly clear picture.
Still, I find allowing myself this broad freedom of expression in writing a liberating experience because it certainly seems to negate self imposed censorship. Such censorship I believe to be a great source of obstruction to the risk taking necessary to advance any form of art.
The question I still must deal with at some point, is deciding how much of such abstraction to allow into a poem. It is something which I do not presently have an answer for, though I remain devoted to some rational answer.
The outcome of such writing will often produce some interesting word combinations. A small example for instance might be something that came out on the page last night, in a line that that contained these two words together: porous poison. Now in reality, I don't imagine poison as being porous. I can see poison seeping into porous cracks - perhaps an insecticide. That is a perfectly clear picture.
Still, I find allowing myself this broad freedom of expression in writing a liberating experience because it certainly seems to negate self imposed censorship. Such censorship I believe to be a great source of obstruction to the risk taking necessary to advance any form of art.
The question I still must deal with at some point, is deciding how much of such abstraction to allow into a poem. It is something which I do not presently have an answer for, though I remain devoted to some rational answer.
Shock waves - Times Online
Shock waves - Times Online: "July 30, 2007
Shock waves -Frieda Hughes: poetry
The Diameter of the Bomb
(by Yehuda Amichai (1924-2000),
translated by Yehuda Amichai and Ted Hughes,
Selected Poems edited by Ted Hughes and Daniel Weissbort, Faber) "
Read the Poem and Commentary by Frieda Hughes
Shock waves -Frieda Hughes: poetry
The Diameter of the Bomb
(by Yehuda Amichai (1924-2000),
translated by Yehuda Amichai and Ted Hughes,
Selected Poems edited by Ted Hughes and Daniel Weissbort, Faber) "
Read the Poem and Commentary by Frieda Hughes
Monday, July 30, 2007
Wordplay
Di-vis-i-ble
Chopped up.
Grade school math.
One divided four times into four parts.
Broken into four pieces.
Able to be divided.
Three Musketeer bar in four pieces.
Four separate and visible parts.
Four syllables.
Four flavors in one scoop.
Chopped up.
Grade school math.
One divided four times into four parts.
Broken into four pieces.
Able to be divided.
Three Musketeer bar in four pieces.
Four separate and visible parts.
Four syllables.
Four flavors in one scoop.
This is my brain on sludge
My brain is in a haze this morning. I didn’t sleep well at all last night and it feels like my thoughts are slowly processing to the surface after exerting unreal amounts of energy making their way through sludge in order to arrive at their destination. Even the caffeine drip IV from my Diet Coke is not enough to significantly alter this process.
Perhaps it is the fact that I had a most abysmal excuse for sleep last night. But this feels more than tired. This feels fatigued.
I will face phone calls today at the office and a large number of tasks. Fortunately I have no appointments scheduled. It is inevitable there will be someone who walks in and needs something done right away. Inevitables should be outlawed and someone remind me to undertake a campaign for such a law as soon as I regain my functionality.
Of all my writing this week, I think I have only one piece that shows any real promise. I still need take an anvil and hammer to it and whack some shape into it.
There were a number of “bright ideas” that popped into my head the past few days. Actually, there was a period where it seemed like Orville Redenbacher popcorn was ricocheting off my cranium. I hate it when they become so fervent it is difficult to harness them onto paper for future consideration. Instead, the hazy memory of their existence only adds to the mental anguish that ratchets up the tension inside your head.
I’ve been reading some on John Keats theory of negative capability and exploring the relevance to my poetry. I can assure you, it is too weighty a topic for this post in my present condition.
Perhaps it is the fact that I had a most abysmal excuse for sleep last night. But this feels more than tired. This feels fatigued.
I will face phone calls today at the office and a large number of tasks. Fortunately I have no appointments scheduled. It is inevitable there will be someone who walks in and needs something done right away. Inevitables should be outlawed and someone remind me to undertake a campaign for such a law as soon as I regain my functionality.
Of all my writing this week, I think I have only one piece that shows any real promise. I still need take an anvil and hammer to it and whack some shape into it.
There were a number of “bright ideas” that popped into my head the past few days. Actually, there was a period where it seemed like Orville Redenbacher popcorn was ricocheting off my cranium. I hate it when they become so fervent it is difficult to harness them onto paper for future consideration. Instead, the hazy memory of their existence only adds to the mental anguish that ratchets up the tension inside your head.
I’ve been reading some on John Keats theory of negative capability and exploring the relevance to my poetry. I can assure you, it is too weighty a topic for this post in my present condition.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Obsessions- Have you any?
The poet Robert Bly on obsessions...
"It is surely a great calamity for a human being to have no obsessions."
"It is surely a great calamity for a human being to have no obsessions."
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