Archive for December, 2009

Entry 50 — Am I a World-Genius?

Monday, December 21st, 2009

I’m serious!  I know that many will think it absurd that I could ask such a question.  I’m too old now for that to bother me (not that I haven’t asked it or similar questions in public more than once in my blog, and before I had a blog).  I would add that I think quite a few of my fellow artists ask themselves the same question.   About themselves, not me.  But not in public.

I find the subject of people asking that question about themselves as interesting as whether the answer to the question for me is yes or no.  Taxonomical as ever, I believe the following hierarchy of workers relevant: world genius, genius, master, journeyman, apprentice, incompent.  Most people are journeymen, reasonably competent at what they do but not brilliant.  Some are temporary apprentices not yet competent at what they do but eventually will be.  Some won’t, the incompetents–who are not very numerous however it may seem.

Masters are those acknowledged to be the best at what they do in their field, but never do anything significantly innovative.  That’s what geniuses do–while probably but not necessarily being masters.  World-geniuses are more innovative than geniuses, and their best innovations are at least an order of magnitude more significant than those of the geniuses.  I think almost all world-geniuses are also masters of their vocations, although not always acknowledged as such.

You know, I suspect I’m semi-obsessed with this question, that I ask it in one way or another all the time.   What I’m really asking is if I’m of value.  For some reason, that matters.  And, for me to be of value, I have to be a world-genius.  Elitism, yes.  And a large part of me recognizes that there are much more modest ways of being of value, like simply having a friendly smile for eveyrone one meets.  I guess I want to be of greater value than anyone else IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

Its does matter, actually, if you blieve, as I do, that your urwareness (or soul) is eternal (because matter seems eternal so why shouldn’t mind be?)  If our urwarenesses are immortal, the future matters (as it doesn’t for those believing in Heaven, as far as I can see–at least not after you get there).

The question, though, is whether or not I’m a world-genius.  This leads to the more interesting question of just what a world-genius is.   That is, what is a super-significant innovation?  I think for verosophers (seekers of significant truths), it’s an explanation of some larger and central portion of reality: Darwin’s theory of natural selection, for instance; Newton’s theory of gravity; anybody’s unified field theory if one is found.  Not the make-up of DNA, although discovering that was a work of genius.  For artists it’s harder to say.  I don’t know quite enough about music to be sure, but it seems to me that Beethoven and Wagner were world geniuses because music was significantly larger after them.  Mozart for the same reason, maybe.  Bach, I don’t think so.

On the other hand, doing nothing particularly new in the arts but doing it vastly better than anyone else–Bach and Shakespeare–may be enough to make one a world-genius.

Am I?  If I am, the most obvious thing it’d be for my long-division poetry.  What I’ve done with it makes me a genius, for sure, it it’s any good, but whether something is any good (or finally true) depends on what society as a whole eventually decides–as I’ve always maintained although it makes it very difficult for me to rate myself very high.  I don’t quite think my long division poetry makes a large enough world for me to consider myself more than a mere genius.  But my long-division poetry has at least gotten some recognition from others.

Not so my theory of knowlecular psychology.  I think it important and vlauable even if completely wrong–and if right, up there with what Darwin did.  If not, superior to Freud’s accomplishment, he being almost completely wrong but nonetheless a genius.

To jump to another topic I brushed against earlier, I’d love to know how many others ask the questin of themselves I’ve asked of myself.  I suspect most people never consider it, taking it for granted that they are important because teaching social studies to high school students is important, or running a business, or a country.  I also wonder how often a world-genius asks himself the question (or one like it).  Do they take it for granted they are world-geniuses.  Certainly megalomaniacs do.

Okay, enough of this ramble.  I’m sure I didn’t say anything I have said at my previous blog more than once.  Apparently, I have to keep on saying every once in a while.  (Note: I’m only semi-obsessed with it; much of me doesn’t really care what the answer to it is.)

Entry 49 — Schools of Linguexpressive Poetry

Sunday, December 20th, 2009

While annoying the estabniks at New-Poetry with my criticism of the Rothenberg/Joris anthology for not inculding all the kinds of poetry I think should be in it, I got to thinking about the kind of anthology American poetry most needs.  It would, needless to say, include all the schools of poetry extant.  School being group of people producing work that adheres to my definition of poetry and is significantly different from the poetry produced everywhere else.  Determining whether a group qualifies as a school would, of course, be subjective.  I have ideas on how to set up the project so as to minimize this defect:

(1) Assuming there’s lots of money behind the effort, and there would have to be, appoint one person First-Editor.  He could be almost anyone–perhaps someone selected from names in a hat of people voluteering for the position  Allow him to name all the schools that should be in the anthology and select works to represent each school.  Hire people to get permissions for their publication.  Post the result on the Internet and publicize it as widely as possible.

(2) Solicit critiques of Version 1 of the anthology.  Try to get people to say what’s missing and why, what is in and shouldn’t be and why.  Pay everyone posting a critique of value $1000, a critique of value being what a panel of ten randomly chosen from the volunteers previously mentioned and including First-Editor change the anthology because of.  Give $10,000 to the ten best critiues in the view of the panel, or to as many that deserve it if less than ten seem especially good.

(3) Make the person writing the best critique, according to the panel, Second-Editor and require him to revise the anthology, but not make any changes not recommended by one or more of the critiques of value.

(4) Repeat step (2), then (3) and so on, back and forth until just about everyone agrees that the anthology truly covers the entire poetry continuum.

The Internet makes a project like this feasible for the first time.  If the government or the Macarthur morons choosing mediocrities to call geniuses or like dolts really cared about poetry, they’d back it.   It’s as neutral as can be, it seems to me.

Reflecting on the above idea, I thought to myself that I’d be pretty good at listing the schools of pluraesthetic poetry such as visual poetry and mathematical poetry, but not too good at listing the schools of standard poetry–the poetry I call linguexpressive (using words only).  I decided to try to make a list of the latter, anyway.  Here it is:

1. Edwardian poetry–the kind of standard formal poetry written by most American poets as the twentieth century began.

2. some school between the above and the next?

3. imagistic poetry

4. country poetry, the kind Frost would be the exemplar of–and, yes, I need a much better name for it.  Quotidian subject matter, formal techniques

5. surrealistic poetry

6. plaintext poetry (the kind of which Williams would be the exemplar)

7. objectivist poetry (if that’s different enough from 5.)

8. neo-formalist poetry

9. language poetry

10. infraverbal poetry

11. New York School poetry

12. beat poetry

13. ethnic poetry

14. contra-genteel poetry (Bukowski, and his followers)

15. feminist poetry

16. Haiku

17. Neo-Hopkins Poetry–what Dylan Thomas wrote at his best, sord-splash, not the sprung rhythm.

Additons welcome.  I know I’ve missed some, almost certainly one or more important ones.

Entry 48 — Full Effectiveness in Poetry

Saturday, December 19th, 2009

I’m skipping ahead to old blog entry #796 today to make a point about my recent cryptographiku. #796 has Cor van den Heuvel’s poem:

.                                               tundra

I go on in the entry to say I believe Eugen Gomringer’s “Silencio,” of 1954, was the first poem to make consequential  visiophorically expressive use of blank space:

.                      silencio silencio silencio
.                      silencio silencio silencio
.                      silencio          silencio
.                      silencio silencio silencio
.                      silencio silencio silencio

I finish my brief commentary but then opining that van den Heuvel’s poem was the first to make an entire page expressive, the first to make full-scale negative space its most important element. Rather than surround a meaningful parcel of negative space like Gomringer’s masterpiece, it is surrounded by meaningful negative space. I’m certainly not saying it thus surpasses Gomringer’s poem; what it does is equal it in a new way.

I consider it historically important also for being, so far as I know, the first single word to succeed entirely by itself in being a poem of the first level.

Then there’s my poem from 1966:

.                 at his desk
.                         the boy,

.                                writing his way into b wjwje tfdsfu xpsme

This claim to be the first poem in the world to use coding to significant metaphorical effect. Anyone who has followed what I’ve said about “The Four Seasons” should have no trouble deciphering this. I consider it successful as a poem because I believe anyone reasonably skillful at cyrptographical games will be able (at some point if not on a first reading) to emotionally (and sensually) understand/appreciate the main things it’s doing and saying during one reading of it–i.e., read it normally to the coded part, then translate that while at the same time being aware of it as coded material and understanding and appreciating the metaphor its being coded allows.

I’ve decided “The Four Seasons” can’t work like that. It is a clever gadget but not an effective poem because I can’t see anyone being able to make a flowing reading through it and emotionally (and sensually) understanding/appreciating everything that’s going on in it and what all its meanings add up to, even after study and several readings. Being able to understand it the way I do in my explanation of it not enough. This is a lesson from the traditional haiku, which must be felt as experience, known reducticeptually (intellectually), too, but only unconsciously–at the time of reading it as a poem rather than as an object of critical scrutiny, which is just as valid a way to read it but different.

Entry 47 — Solution of a Cryptographiku

Friday, December 18th, 2009

The Four Seasons

.

3 31 43 73 5 67    3 61 43 67 67 19 41 13    1    11 19 7 31 5

3 12 15 21 4 19    3 18 15 19 19 9 14 7    1    6 9 5 12 4

8 21 25 33 9 30    8 28 25 30 30 16 24 14    4    12 16 10 21 9

64 441 625 1089 81 900    64 784 625 900 900 256 576 196    16    144 256 100 441 81

.

Today, the solution, with an explanation, to the above.

1. Each line says, “clouds crossing a field.”

2. A reader should know from its looks and the fact that it is a cryptographiku that it is a coded text.  He should try simple codes at first on all the lines, the way one would in order to solve a cryptogram.  If he’s familiar with my other cryptographiku, he will know I’ve more than once used the simplest of numeric codes.  Such is the case here, in line 2.  The code is 1 = a, 2 = b, etc.

3. The codes used for the other lines are harder to figure out, but the lines themselves give an important clue as to what they say: they each consist of four words, the first six letters in length, the second eight, the fourth one (which would almost certainly be “a”) and the fourth five.  That ought to make one guess that each repeats the decoded one.  As each indeed does.

4. It should be evident that the code for the fourth line uses the squares of the numbers in the code for the third.  The basis of the arrangement of numbers in the third line will probably not be easy to guess.

5. If you consider what kind of numbers are being used in a given line, and are at all mathematical, you will realize that the numbers used in line one are all primes, with the first prime, 1, representing a, the seond prime, 2, representing be, and so on.

6. The next step is trickier but also requires one to think about kind of numbers.  It turns out that the numbers used for the code in line three are the non-primes in order, with first of them, 4, representing a, the second, 6, representing b.

7. The surface meaning of the lines and the kinds of coding they’ve been put in is now known.  All that remains is to findif a larger meaning in intended (yes) and, if so, what it is, and what the logic behind the coding is (and the kind of coding used in a cryptographiku is, by definition, meaningful.  Wallace Stevens, whom one familiar with my poetry and criticism will know is important to me, helps with the last of these questions.  Stevens wrote many poems (“Man on the Dump,” for instance) meditating on the idea that winter is pure reality, summer poeticized reality.  Or, winter is primary, so can be metaphorically thought of a consisting of prime numbers only.  Spring, by this reasoning, can logically consist of all the (lowest) numbers, summer of oonly factorable numbers, numbers that can be reduced to simpler numbers–expanded, poeticized numbers.  Autumn, the peak of the year because it yields the fruit of the year, consists of summer’s numbers squared, or geometrically increased.

8. The final meaning of the poem is derived from its repetition of the simple nature scene about the clouds.  A reader aware of Robert Lax’s work (and he will, if he’s familiar with mine), will know that he has a number of poems that repeat words or phrases–to suggest, among much else, ongoingness, permanence, undisturbably serenity.  My hope is that this poem will make a reader feel the change of seasons within the grand permanence that Narture ultimately is.  A constant message, in different coding as the seasons change.

9. All this should lead to “Whee!”

5. The decoded text uses a technique Robert Lax pioneered in to convey a meaning I consider archetypally deep, like the meanings Lax’s similar poems have for me.

6. The final meaning of the poem is (a) Nature is eternally changing; and (b) Nature is eternally unchanging. When I saw I could make ti say that, I got a thrill! I consider this poem one of my best inventions–even though I’m not sure it works as a poem.

Have fun, kids!

Entry 46 — Clues

Thursday, December 17th, 2009

The Four Seasons

.

3 31 43 73 5 67    3 61 43 67 67 19 41 13    1    11 19 7 31 5

3 12 15 21 4 19    3 18 15 19 19 9 14 7    1    6 9 5 12 4

8 21 25 33 9 30    8 28 25 30 30 16 24 14    4    12 16 10 21 9

64 441 625 1089 81 900    64 784 625 900 900 256 576 196    16    144 256 100 441 81

.

Today, just some helpful clues toward the solution of the cyrptographiku above:

1. A cryptographiku is a poem in a code.  The code chosen and the way it works has metaphorical significance.  The text encoded is generally straight-forward.

2. There are three codes used here, one of them very simple, the other two simple if you are mathematical.

3. The codes were chosen to illustrate a theme of Wallace Stevens’s, to wit: winter is reality at its most fundamental, summer is winter transformed by metaphorical layering.

4. Note that each of thr three lines is the same length, and divided into three “words,” each the same length of the homologous “word” in the other two lines.

5. The decoded text uses a technique Robert Lax pioneered in to convey a meaning I consider archetypally deep, like the meanings Lax’s similar poems have for me.

6. The final meaning of the poem is (a) Nature is eternally changing; and (b) Nature is eternally unchanging.  When I saw I could make ti say that, I got a thrill!  I consider this poem one of my best inventions–even though I’m not sure it works as a poem.

Have fun, kids!

Entry 45 — A Cryptographiku

Wednesday, December 16th, 2009

Just the following new poem of mine for today for you to puzzle over:

.

The Four Seasons

.

3 31 43 73 5 67    3 61 43 67 67 19 41 13    1    11 19 7 31 5

3 12 15 21 4 19    3 18 15 19 19 9 14 7    1    6 9 5 12 4

8 21 25 33 9 30    8 28 25 30 30 16 24 14    4    12 16 10 21 9

64 441 625 1089 81 900    64 784 625 900 900 256 576 196    16    144 256 100 441 81

.

Tomorrow I’ll provide clues toward its solution.  One hint: it was inspired in part by certain poems by Robert Lax.

Entry 44 — A Mathemaku & Some Poetics Notes

Tuesday, December 15th, 2009

The following, which is from #691,  is one of my earlier mathemaku.  It’s simple to understand: just think ripples, and remember that in strict mathematical equations, what’s on one side of an equals sign is upposed to stay there, and what it might mean metaphorically if it did not.

Mathemaku4Basho

Next we have a page  I scribbled some notes on in 2003 that makes good sense to me at this time, although I never took the notes into any kind of essay, that I recall:

Sept03page

And now, after two simple uploads, I’m too worn-out to do anything else, believe it or not.

Entry 43 — Old Blog Entries #689 and #690

Monday, December 14th, 2009

Today I’m reproducing #689 and #690 in full–because I think they’re pretty good discussion, but not too long.

21 December 2005: I’ve been thinking a little about varieties of infraverbality. (By “infraverbality,” the reader should remember, I mean concern with what goes on in poetry beneath the level of words; it is mainly intentional misspelling for poetic effect.) I originally listed four: fissional, fusional, microherent and alphaconceptual.

In the first, one or more words are spelled with spaces–e.g., Karl Kempton’s “g u i dance.” In the second, one or more words consist of a combination of two or more words, or near-words–e.g., Lewis Carroll’s “slithy,” which combines “sli(m)y” and “lithe.” “Portmanteu words” are what they’re usually called.

In microherent infraverablity, words are mangled almost beyond recognition for poetic effect–e.g., my own just-created “pjkoenn” to suggest a jumble with the potention to become a poem.

In alphaconceptual infraverbality, something is altered in one or more words, or near-words, to add a conceptual effect of poetic importance. It is so rare I consider the term probably superfluous. A prime example is Aram Saroyan’s, “lighght,” which depends for its main poetic effect on the concept of silent letters. Ed Conti’s “galaxyz” is another example–since it has to do with the concept of alphabetical ordering.

I realized my list was too short after Michael Rothenberg asked me to make a selection of certain kinds of infraverbal poems for his webzine. The poems were to be like Richard Kostelanetz’s “ghost-poems,” which are single words each of which contains a second single word in consecutive letters within it as “ghosts” contains “host.” I got the idea of repeating my standard ploy of doing an essay on such poems that would use so many specimens as to act as an anthology. But what to call Richard’s poems? In a sense, they are fusional in that they consist of more than one word–but extra words are not merged with them–they occur within them naturally. I consider them enough different from words like “slithy” to have their own category. It took me a while to give it a name: it’s “natural.” (How’s that for creative neologizing?)

A sixth category of infraverbality I feel would be helpful is anagrammatical–for texts with words that contain all their proper letters but are jumbled. It could be argued that they are merely a variety of microherent infraverbality, but I prefer to restrict microherence to texts that have wrong letters but are not necessarily out of order. I’ve seen examples of anagrammatical infraverbal poems. I think I’ve made a few myself. But I can’t rememember any. An obvious way to use anagrammatical material would be–Ah, I now remember that Cummings uses it famously in his grasshopper poem (where, starting with “r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r,” he goes in three spellings to “grasshopper”). No doubt that’s why I have come to want a separate category for it.

22 December 2005: Something that has always seemed indicative of the insularity of both formal poets and language poets is how little they steal from each other. I see no reason a strict sonnet couldn’t be written using langpo “missyntacticality” or misspellings (like “lighght”). In fact, E. E. Cummings made many langpoetic sonnets that had the right meter and rhymed. I don’t think any contemporary language poet has made any kind of formal poem using langpoetic devices. Nor has a formal poet used a langpoetic device in one of his poems, although the freeversers more and more are availing themselves of langpo tricks.

I thought of one exception: rewritten classic poems that are garbled in one way or another, e.g., my own silly, just-now-written “Shawl-eye crumbpair (the 2!) as under daze.”  It’s not uncommon for poets to use computer programs to do this.

One of my conclusions seems to hold: that formalist poets ignore the devices of language poetry, even though those devices could easily be used in their poetry without compromising the latter’s adherence to meter and other formal requirements.

Entry 42 — A Knowlecular Analysis of the Visiophor

Monday, December 14th, 2009

#682 through #688 contain pieces of an attempt at an analysis of how, according to my knowlecular theory of psychology, we experience visual poetry.  It’s a jumble I hope at some time to make a coherent essay out of but for right now I’ve made it a page you can access by clicking on “How the Brain Process Visual Poetry” in the Pages section to the right.

Entry 41 — An Early Final Definition of Visual Poetry

Saturday, December 12th, 2009

#681 had this:

Gloria-Variation1

The visual poem, “Gloria,” superimposed on my text is by Ladislav Novak.  I think my final definition of visual poetry still my best, but would reserve it now for “pure” visual poetry.  Note that when the page above was published (in the 1990 edition of my Of Manywhere-at-Once), I thought of visual poetry as the union of textual and visual rather than verbal and visual matter.  Otherwise, my definition of visual poetry is about as I have it now.