Enter 382 — “Poem’s Intractability” « POETICKS-

Enter 382 — “Poem’s Intractability” « POETICKS

Enter 382 — “Poem’s Intractability”

.                               Poem’s Intractability
.
.                               The rotund smell of electricity
.       shimmered left of less
.       as the maple syrup
.       made up its mind
.       in the Bearden colors
. wearing brighter against
. the kindergarten laughter
. Sambo was racing behind
. while, several darknesses
. in front of the scene,
.                               The tigered past
.     dallied
.                               resolutely into the center
. of Poem’s intractability,
.     permanently unrescuable.
.

I had nothing else for this entry. The above, due–I’m sure–to a dumb discussion of a controversy recently in the news concerning whether a poem by Wilsberian poet, Tony Hoagland, that is insipidly slightly slighting of Venus Williams should be denounced as offensive, came very easily. Not much to it, and more a political point of view than I think poems should be, but it may not be too bad.

This entry was posted on Friday, February 18th, 2011 at 12:00 AM and is filed under Bob Grumman, Of Poem. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

Entry 374 — Me, in Color « POETICKS

Entry 374 — Me, in Color

Falling behinder and behinder of the times, I nonetheless found out, via spidertangle, about a new venue sympathetic to visual poetry,Angel House Press, the other day. They had announced a gallery they were accepting visual poetry and related works for so yesterday I submitted them six of mine. Lady-in-Charge, Amanda Earl, then requested a photograph and bio, so I’m about to send her the photo above, which is now My Official Photograph at present.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to make people look at it every time they visit my blog.

My bio is: Having recently turned 70, Bob Grumman is now the world’s oldest apprentice Force-to-be-Reckoned-With. He is most prominently an apprentice Force in three fields, poetry, literary criticism and theoretical psychology. In the first he specializes in visio-mathematical poetry although he also has two collections of more or less conventional linguexclusive poems in print about an alter ego named, “Poem, Of Poem (dbqp press) and Poem, Demerging (Phyrgian Press). April to the Power of Pythagoras Times Now (Otoliths) contains most of his best visio-mathematical poems.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 10th, 2011 at 12:00 AM and is filed under Autobiographica, Bob Grumman. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

One Response to “Entry 374 — Me, in Color”

Patrick Hartigan says:

24 February 11 at 12:54 AM

You found me once and so I return the favor. I do like your mathy items. Hope you are well.

– Pat

Entry 455 — Another Masterpiece « POETICKS

Entry 455 — Another Masterpiece

Four Seasons Poem Number One Zillion Two

live

love

leve

lve

.
.
I’ve done six or seven 4 season poems, I would guess. Now I’m thinking of trying to work up enough for a little book of them. I really do think this one is a masterpiece.
.
.
.

This entry was posted on Monday, May 30th, 2011 at 12:00 AM and is filed under Bob Grumman, Infraverbal Poetry Specimen. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

2 Responses to “Entry 455 — Another Masterpiece”

endwar says:

10 June 11 at 11:24 PM

Is the last one actually “I’ve”. Or you could have put in “lave” and just washed yourself of the whole thing. OK. I’ll stop with the lavatory humor now.

– endwar
Bob Grumman says:

11 June 11 at 11:13 AM

Although the context makes it clear that the first letter of “lve” must be an l, I’ll make sure there’s no possibility of confusion when I make the final version of the poem. No comment on the outrageous lack of respect for a poem I consider a sacred (pantheistic) object your attempt at lavatory humor. But thanks for taking the time to sprinkle your recent comments on my blog, Endwar.

–Bob

Entry 623 — My Decline « POETICKS

Entry 623 — My Decline

Well, according to astrology, I’ve begun to decline vocationally after reaching my peak a week or two ago. It wasn’t much of a peak. I got my art on display, but doubt that more than a handful of people have looked at it, and probably no more than one or two has really looked at it. I haven’t been very productive, either. I’m going to return to my Shakespeare book today (after a little head-start last night). My intention is to either finish it, or–if I have significant trouble with it–switch to another project of mine, a non-fiction book that may be of general-interest but I’ll say no more about–to keep its theme, which is original, I think, and will be its main selling point, a secret. I will say that it’s about life in general, not about Shakespeare, psychology or poetics.

To make this entry more than a diary entry, here’s a poem of mine from a year or so ago. I posted it then, but just now made a slight change to it, making a whole new poem. I changed “full” to “certain.” I decided the implication that I’d come to understand everything was dumb. Now what kind of understanding I’d achieved is unclear, but should come across as Important. I don’t know whether this poem became visual later; I don’t think it did. I think it may work best as is, but who knows.

Hotel Reservation

This entry was posted on Friday, January 13th, 2012 at 12:00 AM and is filed under Autobiographica, Bob Grumman, Mathematical Poetry Specimen. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

Entry 83 — MATO2, Chapter 1.05 « POETICKS

Entry 83 — MATO2, Chapter 1.05

About a week later I heard from one of my California writer friends, Moya Sinclair, who called me a little after eight in the evening sounding very cheerful and energetic. She, Annie Stanton, quite a good linguexpressive poet, Diane Walker, well-known as a television actress under her maiden name, Brewster, who had literary ambitions and was quite bright but never to my knowledge broke beyond the talented dabbler stage, and I had been a few years earlier the main members of a little writers’ group at Valley Junior College in the San Fernando Valley presided over by Les Boston, a professor there. Technically, we were doing independent studies with Dr. Boston, but in reality we friends who met weekly to discuss one another’s writing, mine at the time plays. Annie and Diane were about ten years older than I, Moya close to eighty by the time of her phone call, and she was in a convalescent home. Her circulatory system had slowly been wearing out. I fear she died there, for I never heard from her again. Both Annie and Diane died around then in their early sixties, huge unexpected losses for me.

Moya reported that Annie had been over for a visit and had left my book with her. Moya said she’d been reading parts of it and found it beautifully written, etc. She had a few adverse comments on it, too–on Geof’s word for one-word poem (“pwoermd”), for instance, but that was to be expected. Moya, for years working on an autobiographical novel, was pretty wedded to the old standards. We had a fine chat that boosted my spirits a good deal. She represented one of the main kinds of readers I hoped would like my book.

A day later I got a very positive letter from Jack Moskovitz about my book, and a lukewarm one about it from Geof. Geof, as I remember, felt I should have lightened up on the Grummaniacal coinages. I think he was right. I believe one of the things I tried to do in my two revisions of the book was to cut down on them.

The next day, according to my diary, I got lots of letters, mostly from people I sent my book to, and for the most part complimentary though Jody Offer, a California poet/playwright friend of mine, felt I got too advanced in parts–I’m sure in part because of my terminology. I was finding out, though, that my book was not as geared for non-experts as I’d hoped.

This entry was posted on Saturday, January 23rd, 2010 at 12:00 AM and is filed under Autobiographica, Bob Grumman, Geof Huth, Jack Moscovitz, Jody Offer. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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