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Showing posts from September, 2008

must get wings

5 minute morning poem

Private Devotion (with special thanks to Anselm Berrigan)

a lanky man with custard was recalled to life it took both cities in their underwear without a spare taxi to take the twist out of the knickers better i reckon the producers wanted an understanding and a non-stop supply this might sound a bit metaphysical shrugging and adjusting with a page torn out wearing English slave garb with strangers in the nest with cable ghosts and excess lips and bulldozed my climax with invisible soldiers low burger with brass with skits and a drama if you go ahead and ask my babysitters with their clam shaped lips as good as a calendar i won’t steal myself in order to play fluffy sometimes becoming cynical is a sexual presentation

6.5 minute morning poem

Stage and Scream

Quit asking questions about the wine on the counter and take the potato from your pocket, peel, dice, splice. We are stuck between stage and scream. Like in a film with real milk we can’t get the sneezes out of our sleeves. Get outside with your fuel to burn something must break real soon. Blistered and barking up the wrong tree. Cat eats coyote. Rain in London and slowly developing archaic tendencies. I have yet to fall into the ice with the man who speaks into my left ear. There’s an existentialist fork in the futon and butter in the microwave leaking its fat all over the viewing window. Journey won’t end in time. She was flicking ash into the sink and reading the orbisphere. Perceptions sneak into the blue machine and the primal beats continue.

Ezra Pound

zra Pound | Late Tate
Friday, 3 October
18.30 - 22.00
Tate Britain, Millbank, SW1P 4RG
admission free

http://www.ucl.ac.uk/pound/

To commemorate the 100th anniversary of Ezra Pound's arrival in London in 1908, nine performers will present poetry, music, and creative performances inspired by Pound's poetic work. All performances will be held in Gallery 17 of the Tate Britain this Friday from 18.30 to 22.00.

Irish poet Niall McDevitt will present Pound as the 'Urban Shaman' and will emphasize Pound's meter and rhythm with a recitation of his verse accompanied with a drum. JL Williams, a Glasgow-based poet, will present her own poetry inspired by Pound. Robert Rehder, poet and professor emeritus of the University of Fribourg, will read a selection of Pound's poetry as well as his own poems influenced by Pound. Tony Dunn, lecturer of literature and theatre at the University of Portsmouth, will present a verbal collage of Pound's creative writings. Violinist Sarah Jane…

pop goes the becks and jager and creamy garlic dip from tesco

SNOB

SNOBBISH SNOBBISHLY SNOBBISHNESS SNOBBISM SNOBBY SNOBLING SNOBOCRACY SNO-CAT SNOD
SNOFF SNOG ... SNOW LILY SNOW LINE SNOW MIST SNOW MOUSE, SNOW MUSHROOM SNOW ORCHID

there is real. it is all real. very real. a little wriggle upon a yellow guitar made out of beeswax
I intend to eat swordfish and mushroom kebabs for tea tonight
pappymashy on a man's feet
tender, swollen areas (bumps) at the sides and back of the neck

next come the Romans
sucking up spilled custard
yet promptly refreshed the king’s tumbler
on the bench behind him but rang his bell for the peon to come
fresh from pig-eating
the habit is catching
an isloated object
dring dring dring ing ing
next come the French
les Enfants Parabola
Madame Edwarda
nasty twang ain’t kind
forsaking the work requires great strength

Chinese artist Ma Yanhong

deft Pollock

Poorly paid Laborers Break Up Ships for Salvage

The deft seduction of art keeps us transfixed.

There’s always some visual pleasure to engage us.

A painter’s eye for color and a sculptors eye for form.

An uncool composition of light.

The lyrical morpheme. The skyline of a water-edged city. The play of shadow and light unknown to westerners.

An endless grid of silvery metal pipes. A wrap of yellow caution tape. Play “name that reference.”

The veined white marble is a dead-ringer. The Chinese wire women looked like a Pollock.

time to write

i have been finding time to write from 4-5PM before teaching my evening classes. When I am supposed to be preparing for classes. Between the first and second half of my day.

What happened to those lovely trousers (rough draft)

a monster haunts us
with cut-resistant ballistic pads
carefully cut and sewn
with curves in mind

bright yellow
peppers
in the morning courtyard
old tyre caked against shed
and cooling trousers
on the white picket fence

someone has stolen
the pasta machine
hot potato wet tomato
if you hear what your body says then put yr mind
in the de-facto crunch machine

punch out the eyes punch out the eyes

we will not use old memory cards

between foxes and tragedies lies human emotions feeding on chickens
outcrop with empty car
wading into lake with caked bum
caught with trousers down
only permitted the full-on

take two (revision from yesterday)

Alien fruits

For magnesium light I lifted my pillow with gold teeth into the mythical moist night, co-mingled with minions and unpeeled onions, all my vigor squeezed into a single sneeze.

All my friends from the Great Empire have abandoned their stations, have put
their slinkies in the mud.


You are a supposed person rushing late into marginilization
and less brutal truths are clipped from the toenail.

Bungee jumping with five quid and take shower early when not teaching.

I’m sure you’re gonna be somebody, soon.

Stop anti-aging, stop messing with yr widgets.

O2 unlimited: i’m now in touch with Jim Goar.

I don’t know what this nation needs but my feet are too wide for all the hip shoes. Auspicious wanderings could be fruitful with a beer gut of another tomorrow. Bus 29 to Camden Town has a high percentage of pick pockets.

Every tomorrow is recycled from today and I’ve got a green wrath. It’s growing in the dapple-hued countryside of Milton Keynes.

So let us get going then, you and I, and we w…

New poem from yesterday (rough draft)

Recycled from Today

identity is a serious personal issue
self-imposed deadlines
it shuts on its own darling
i’m sure you’re gonna be somebody, soon
do you understand what else there is?
stop anti-aging, stop messing with yr widgets, o2 unlimited
i’m now in touch with Jim Goar
I don’t know what this nation needs
bungee jumping with five quid
take shower early when not teaching
my feet are too wide for all the hip shoes
auspicious wanderings could be fruitful
beer gut of another tomorrow
i can’t stand the ladders
you would be dead now right
chewing on the old days whilst in the shower
bus 29 to Camden Town has a high percentage of pick pockets
all my friends from the Great Empire have abandoned their stations
have put their slinkies in the mud
every tomorrow is recycled from today and I’ve got a green wrath
it’s growing in the dapple-hued countryside of Milton Keynes
for magnesium light he lifted his pillow
gold teeth in the mythical moist night of jollies
co-mingle with minions and unpeeled onions
all that v…

new books :-)

Andrew Duncan's Origins of the underground
Tom Atkins Folklore
Tom Atkins Horace
Soft Targets (featuring Brian Howe purchased from Bookarts Bookshop in East London)
Maggie O'Sullivan's Body of Work
Mairead Byrne's Talk Poetry

spent the very last of my american money in my last american bank account. also used that money for an imac. all gone now. that was my retirement money :-) all i need really. big computer screen for writing and reading poetry. building up books again. all gone now. Living week to week with a temp agency gig at the local college.

fantastic Sunday reading series

I went to a fantastic reading yesterday afternoon.

Sundays at the Oto (Japanese for sound) with TIM ATKINS, ISNAJ DUI + SOPHIE ROBINSON.


Tim Atkins was absolutely nothing short of spectacular. One of the best readings I have been to in a long long long time. He takes Horace and Petrarch into 21st century London. Funny. Surprising. Smart. And he reads so damn well!!! Check out his Horace and Folklore books. He also edits the literary journal onedit

Sophie Robinson did an interesting video art and performance. Bright origami birds on a seashore. Voice drone loops. Eerie.

Isnaj did some flute playing and did something with a strange little delicate machine. New age trance.

The post-avant scene is alive an kickin in London!!!

A bit over a month ago also went to a great reading. Sean Bonney. Also mind blowing.

So Sean Bonney
and
Tim Atkins

and many more to come

tis a pity i cannot attend the Opeened reading series now. I teach every evening and morning so can only attend the Sundays at the Oto seri…

Nero

In the techno-creep, broken glass, you know
what reason torments
fallen face in the surf
perpendicular foot on my memory
what you selling
oh comeo, oh obsidian
token sanity, it behooves you
to impound yr authenticity, crop
and leverage and spade
the hollowed ground.

bellies agog light shows
through weighted shoes
we’ve got lift in the stirred porridge
what tinkles while London growls
us northerners draw our mouths
in the surfeit nothing
else for teeth
in the gravitational jungle
listen and cheek
yr answers.

Enter people and their cars, poor louts, yr folly
extends itself in the maze-gaze. Ah-rum. Wind
breaks and air pops. Stop to start, back to front, was it equal
to your self? Eternity is a stage prop for what?

complexly
removed my flat body
on the most crowded
streets of London
no one reserves
what they have
sounds molt
to heal and I’m gunning
into the occult blue
bar on the tube
a sighing gum
popping ploy
change
for the
circle line
& mind the rap.




my celebrated companions there’s an ox on the bridge and it’s th…

tate yesterday

The Praxis of Memory

performing childhood is something else where light is a lonesome hymn
touching commits to memory

rhetorical proof in perpetual motion and love’s unbroken composition
approaching the furthest moon

salvation is among the borders of civilization and alas tonight the gaps are graced

migration to memory inside the praxis of living
a mongrel shakedown on the milk-stained carpet

swimming

cricket deep green smiles

back in the saddle

first week in new flat in west London. paid the deposit. Just hooked up wireless internet a few hours ago. I start a new job on Monday teaching part time at Ealing and West London college (ESL). Hope it can turn from temp to more permenant work next year.

The last four months in London have been crazy. Four flats in four months. Two temp jobs and half the national average in terms of salary.

I think now I am finally starting to settle in. Still need to clean out the kitchen (the flat was full of a lot of junk) and get a desk and a computer (I sold my computer a few days ago).

Still a lot of stress and not quite out of literal survival mode. But I am in an English speaking country. Poetry readings are happening!!!

Reading this saturday at 7:30 PM at the poetry cafe in Covent Garden. Hope I can finally get back in the saddle after three years absence from live readings etc.

has something changed in my writing since South Korea and Poland?? Well, I will revisit work from five years ago in N…