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Entry 1757 — My New Blog Set-Up

Thursday, March 19th, 2015

My new blog’s homepage, which I hope will allow you a choice of four blogs, is here. It is operational, but the three new blogs have nothing in them yet. I consider it an achievement that I even have it to the stage it is now at.

I’d appreciate it if you would click “here” and then go to any of the three new blogs you think you may bisit again when there’s something at them.  That will give me at least a little idea of what kind of nuts come here.  Thanks!

A second entry point can be found in my Pages to the right as “Bob Grumman BLOGS.”

Now to celebrate the first day of my Blog-Quartet, below is my latest visual poem, thought of and rendered in full yesterday.  Not very original, but it won’t be a stand-alone but the dividend of a long division poem now complete but for the rendering.  It uses the notes I had here a few days ago . . . no, almost two weeks ago.

TheMagicPath-secret.

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Announcements « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Announcements’ Category

Entry 1757 — My New Blog Set-Up

Thursday, March 19th, 2015

My new blog’s homepage, which I hope will allow you a choice of four blogs, is here. It is operational, but the three new blogs have nothing in them yet. I consider it an achievement that I even have it to the stage it is now at.

I’d appreciate it if you would click “here” and then go to any of the three new blogs you think you may bisit again when there’s something at them.  That will give me at least a little idea of what kind of nuts come here.  Thanks!

A second entry point can be found in my Pages to the right as “Bob Grumman BLOGS.”

Now to celebrate the first day of my Blog-Quartet, below is my latest visual poem, thought of and rendered in full yesterday.  Not very original, but it won’t be a stand-alone but the dividend of a long division poem now complete but for the rendering.  It uses the notes I had here a few days ago . . . no, almost two weeks ago.

TheMagicPath-secret.

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Entry 1668 — Additions & Blither

Sunday, December 21st, 2014

First an addition to my taxonomy of awarenesses: I’ve decided to give what I was temporarily calling the “X-ceptual Awareness” one of the names I previously considered, then junked, “the Magniceptual Awareness.”  My problem with it was that it was too similar to “the Supraceptual Awareness,” the name I had given to my system’s over-all awareness.  I made that problem go away by simply changing “Supraceptual Awareness” to “Cerebral Awareness.”  Pretty clever, wot?  It makes sense since both the Practiceptual Awareness and the Magniceptual Awareness are in, or mostly in, the cerebrum.  And I’m comfortable with the idea of a Sub-Cerebral Awareness located in the cerebellum and other parts of the brain, as well as various places in the secondary nervous system.

Next, a Noun cement that I hope will will cause those of you feeling guilty about getting all this blog’s incredible brilliance for free to express your gratitude with money–to someone on food stamps (due to his actual economic situation, not lies about it, although I did not report the $200 I made as a writer last year in my 2013 request to continue on the dole, nor will I report the $350! I made as a writer this year on my upcoming request).  You can do this by sending me $5 or more for an autographed numbered copy of a limited edition of 4 More Poem Poems.  It just came off the press.  Only 8 copies printed, each with a different cover from the others–in fact, I have just decided to paste a unique original visual image on each cover.  (Note: I really think $20 would be reasonable for anyone who is paying that or more for a subscription to any poetry-related magazine whatever.)  I claim that no one who likes Joycean foolery with the language and surrealism will find at least one of the poems delightful.  And there iz not one (1) but two (2) dreadfully wicked attacks in the collection on our country’s poetry gate-keepers–but only in passing!  Remember, Posterity will really be angry with you for not sending me any money!

To take advantage of this Fabulous Offer, send check & your name&address to:

Bob Grumman
1708 Hayworth Road
Port Charlotte FL 33952

Sorry for the begging, folks.  I’m really not badly off: I still have credit cards that will allow me to borrow over ten thousand dollar before I max them.  I just used on of the cards for $1500, in fact–to have some company try to get the data in an external drive of mine that went bad about a year ago, and has the only copies of a few of my poems, and a lot of my only copies of others’ poems including four or five of Guy Beining’s the originals of which are lost.  But I thought it’d be fun to play marketeer for a little while.  And at least I didn’t bold-face the above.

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Okay, now to what seems to me an interesting question I just wondered into (note: it’s near impossible now for me not to qualify every opinion of mine in some way like this) while discussing Karl Kempton’s current central project, an exhaustively researched history of visual poetry from pre-history on: what poem should be considered the world’s first major full-scale visual poem?  Very subjective, I fear, because of the difficulty in defining both a full-scale poem (for me, to put it simply, it would be a poem that’d be mediocre or worse if not for what it does visually) and a major poem.

I have no idea what poem is but don’t think any of Mallarme’s was because not depending on the visual for anything truly central to them.  Nor Apollinaire’s, which seem primitive to me, although I’d have to look at them again to be sure.  Such a poem would have to have a highly significant and original visual metaphor at its core to get the prize, in my opinion.  Nothing before the twentieth century that I know about does.  I think I’d aware the prize to something by Cummings (although I’m not sure what, and he may not have composed what I’d call a full-scale visual poem); if not Cummings, then Grominger’s “silence,” but not with confidence because I don’t know what other superior visual poems came before it.

Here’s a related question I didn’t send Karl: what poet could be said to have been the world’s first serious, dedicated, lyrovisual poets, by which I mean poet who concentrated a fairly substantial portion of his thoughts and energy to lyrovisual poetry–as opposed to Lewis Carroll who (1) was not a lyrical visual poet and (2) wrote light visual poems (which were nonetheless an important contribution to poetry, or Mallarme or Herbert, neither of whom composed more than a few poems that could be called visual–or, from my standpoint, made primary visual poems, or poems whose visual content was at least as important aesthetically as its verbal content.

I’m not even sure Cummings would qualify for consideration since he did not compose all that many poems I’d call primary visual poems.  I’d have to go through my volume of his complete poetry to be sure of this, though.  So, we have a preliminary question: what poets devoted a fairly substantial portion of his thoughts and energy to lyrovisual poems.  My impression is that Kenneth Patchen was one of them.  I think Apollinaire probably was, too.  Most of the concrete poets seem to have been. I know I’ll annoy a number of you with my next pronouncement: it is that fewer and fewer people calling themselves visual poets devote much, or any, time to the composition of visual poems, preferring to make textual designs (and mostly doing extremely well at it).

Now another addition, this to my thoughts about urceptual personae:

It occurred to me that I made no attempt in yesterday’s entry to indicate the biological advantage of having . . . ursonae, so I’ll try to do that now.  I’ll need to go into some detail about the way an urceptual persona is created.  For an example, I’ll use the urnemy (no, I’m just foolin’ around: I won’t make that my new name for “the urceptual enemy”).  When a baby first sees its father, it will automatically be thrust into its socioceptual awareness[1] where its urceptual persona recognition mechanism is.  This mechanism will activate the baby’s urceptual other—due to such stimuli as the father’s face and arms.  The father will be unfamiliar to it (probably, although he may have experienced enough of him while in the womb for him to be familiar; or perhaps any face will be familiar enough not to cause the baby pain, or even to cause it pleasure; assume here, though, that the father is unfamiliar to the baby, maybe because he has a beard and is first encountered while he is sneezing or farting).  Since the unfamiliar causes pain according to my theory, and pain caused by another person has to be one of the stimuli causing the activation of a person’s urceptual enemy, the baby’s urceptual enemy will become active.

The baby will withdraw as much as possible from its enemy, the father, because urceptual personae automatically activate appropriate certain reflexive behavior.  This is value #1 of an urceptual persona.

At this point, I am going to drop the urceptual enemy for not being as good a choice as an example as I first thought.  I’ll go instead to the urceptual father.  In the scenario I began, the father will almost certainly not continue to activate the baby’s urceptual enemy for long, if he even does so when the baby first encounters him.  The baby’s mother will probably be with the father and say something like, “Here’s your daddy, Flugwick (or whatever the kid’s name is),” in a momvoice, accompanied by a mom smile, and many another mo0mfeature, so neutralize the father’s unfamiliarity.  And the father will smile and say something in a gentle voice and perhaps, tickle the kid under the chin—certainly something likely to seem pleasant to the kid.  In short, little Flugwick’s urceptual persona recognition mechanism will soon activate its urceptual father (I now think a baby will recognize the first male it encounters as its father—but be able to correct the error before long—rather than as a friend; if my hypothesis turns out valid, it will be easy to determine exactly what happens.

Be that as it may, eventually the baby will (in normal circumstance) automatically perceive its father as both a certain shape with a certain voice and smell—and as its urceptual father.  The activation of the latter will help it more quickly react to the father appropriately.  It will learn from its social environment—mainly its family—the details of appropriate reactions not instinctive like its smile will be until it learns enough to control it.

That an urceptual persona will double the ability of the real person it is attached to cause reactions is it second extremely important biological value.  For one thing, this will make people more important than almost anything else to a person, which would obviously help a species survive.

What might be as important to a person as people?  Here’s where my superspeculative nature takes over from my speculative nature.  The goals a person shoots for may become as important to a person as others, or even himself  Beauty, for an artist.  As I’ve already tried to demonstrate, an artist will almost surely be motivated to some small or large degree to create an object of beauty to gain others’ approval.  But simply to create something of beauty for its own sake can very well be his main motive, or even his only motive.  I’m back to the magniceptual awareness where one might go to concentrate on beauty free of interpersonal concerns.  Where I increase my speculativeness is in thinking puberty may open a person’s magniceptual awareness—give him doors into it, or significantly increase his doors into it.  I strongly suspect a male’s magniceptual awareness is significantly large than a female’s.  Just as a female’s anthroceptual awareness is much larger than a male’s. Of course, feminists will take this to be an insult to women, but I don’t see it as that.  Well, as a male, I have to think of what I am as superior to females, but nonetheless trying to be objective about it, there’s no reason to say that interpersonal matters require less talent than impersonal matters.

The joke is that all this will be moot when asexual computers take over the world, reproducing like protocytes—with ecstasy.  But who knows, they may be us.
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[1] According to Me, among everyone’s ten major awarenesses[2] (so far) is an anthroceptual awareness, which consists of two sub-awarenesses, the egoceptual awareness which is where a person experiences himself as an individual, and the socioceptual awareness, where he experiences himself as a member of his society.  Each of these is one of the “intelligences,” in Howard Gardner’s writings on the subject.

[2] A major awareness is an awareness just under one of the primary awarenesses on my taxonomical chart of the awarenesses.

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Scientific American Blog Relocated

Sunday, November 30th, 2014

My Scientific American Blog is now here–with a complete table of contents.

AHOY!  I finally got Entry 18 done.  It is now here.    Comments Welcome! Please let me know of any typos or gross factual errors. Warning: it’s me at my abstrusest worst–for over 8,000 words.

Later note: From time to time, I will be revising Entry 18.  I hope eventually to correct all the many mistakes in the version first posted.

Entry 1627 — Norman Friedman, RIP

Monday, November 10th, 2014

A day or two ago I got the sad news that Norman Friedman died on the 6th of November.  He for many years was probably the foremost critic of E. E. Cummings, one of my three favorite pre-1960 American poets.  Certainly I learned more than a little about Cummings (and poetics) from his writings over the years.  He was also a very nice man, as I found out when I met him at a literary conference where I presented a paper on Cummings several years ago.

This  morning curiosity about him sent me to Wikipedia where, to my shock, I was unable to find an entry on him.  Along the way, though, I found an essay of his on Cummings at jstor.org, a site you can read academic writings at for a fee. The fees are way more than I can afford but I took advantage of an offer allowing me to read three essays for free, so am now midway through Friedman’s “E. E. Cummings and His Critics,” (1962).

In his essay, Friedman is making an excellent case for Cummings as what academics should consider a serious poet–i.e., one with a serious outlook on life that he expresses in his poetry.  I suppose he is right but for me, “all” Cummings did was celebrate existence, using all the verbal means he could think of in order to able to do that maximally.

Oh, sure, he was diverted from this central concern to take on collectivism (which I applaud) and science (which I don’t applaud) but at his best he did the only thing I believe poets should do, which is use the whole of their language to celebrate existence–which I think requires them at the same time to show by contrast what’s wrong with it.  I think what I mean is that a poet should side with, and celebrate, beauty in his poetry, which he can’t do without opposing, and condemning, ugliness (at least implicitly) as when Basho celebrates the beauty of the many moments existence’s best moments combine in his old pond haiku while at the same time implicitly rejects–and I should have used “rejecting: instead of “condemning” earlier in this sentence–existence’s lesser moments, the one’s with only the present in them, or–worse–only some solely intellectual or solely unintellectual present in them.  Or nothing at all, unless the nothing that includes all isn’t what many of the greatest minimalist poems are about.  (Yeah, I’m going a little over-mystical there.)

You’re in luck.  I don’t have time right now to knock out several thousand words on the poetic moment I’m talking about.  The traditional haiku moment is an instance of it, but only one instance, whatever the wacked-out anti-Western idolizers of the Far East maintain.
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Entry 1619 — Evolutionary Theory at its Crudest

Sunday, November 2nd, 2014

First, a short announcement: Anny Ballardini has a lot of good stuff in Truck, which she is driving this month.  She just posted something of mine at http://halvard-johnson.blogspot.it/2014/11/bob-grumman.html.

Now for a continuation of my entry of two days ago, with a repetition of the end of the latter.  I’m floundering but hope no one notices.

First there were simple crystallizations, or so I believe “informed” speculation has it; certainly, it makes sense to me.  Eventually, molecules containing carbon complicate things.  Amino acids, stuff like that.  Proteins, eventually.  I had a not-totally unsound knowledge of dna/ rna/etc at one time; only have what I need to theorize now: in other words, nothing I can gussy up my musings with.)

The crystallizations formed membranes, or some equivalent thereof, and became able to take in substances that would make them grow, and excrete substances that might otherwise destroy them.  (None of this is original, by the way, except inasmuch as I get my remembrance of things I’ve read wrong.)  When they get large enough, they divide.

CONTINUATION

Eventually, carbon compounds get into the picture.  Let’s call what we now have “the alphazoan” (elitism alert, elistism alert!!!) for yesterday’s superior lifeform that will eventually evolve into today’s us.  It will begin just bumping into things, some of which it digests, some of which digest its siblings, but—by chance—not it.  By chance, it eventually develops a membrane that tends to let in good stuff and block bad stuff.

It multiplies.  So do other kinds of zoa with equal adaptations.  Some become prey, others become predators it must avoid.  Our boy will by luck do the latter.

It will also develop a means of propulsion.  Something that makes it go constantly forward (by definition) may be advantageous because it causes it to bump into edibles more frequently, especially stationary ones.  At the same time, it will cause it to bump into something that eats things like it more frequently.  Conclusion: neither an advantage nor disadvantage . . . at first.

One way things could plausibly go is that its membrane evolves a part, a sensory unit, that is sensitive to touching some other zoan and reacting in some manner.  It seems to me this might become a permanent trait although irrelevant for a long time.

Previously, perhaps (bear with me, I’ll be jumping around), the alphazoan will have formed the first biological sensory-unit, my guess is one that is sensitive to light.  More exactly, a unit that will react chemically to a photon.  Meaningless, until the reaction in some way causes motion.  That motion will most likely be either toward or away from light.  The alphazoan, necessarily for the purposes of my story Very Lucky, will automatically go toward light, and lit areas will turn out to be good areas for him—lots of prey, say, and few predators.

Meanwhile, others developing similar sensors will go extinct because of being directed toward the dark or not liking the food in lit areas.

Once the alphazoan has evolved a single trait that can use a stimulus in the environment to guide the alphazoan to or from something, the zoan has a kind of will.  It can now react with motion to some stimulus.  This means it can evolve many other like sensory-unit-motion-effectors such as a unit in its membrane sensitive to the tactile sensation caused by a predator that has touched it, and reacting with motion the other way; or reacting to the touch of a prey the other way.  Proto-reflexes.

Eventually, sensory-units will develop that can distinguish shades of light and make more sophisticate behavior possible: e.g. motion toward something of a certain gray which is edible and away from something else a slightly different shade of gray which isn’t, or is a predator.

We are now approaching proto-intelligence, or the first brain.  This will occur when a sensory-unit activates a relay-unit rather than a motion-unit, and the relay-unit activates the motion-unit.  It will be hit&miss until one of these mechanisms does something biological advantageous, probably nothing new, like moving away from a stimulus of a certain shade of gray, but for the first time giving the alphazoan wider possibilities—i.e., the ability to hook up with any effector in the zoan, rather than one close by.  Small advantage, but one which keeps the protobrain in each zoan the alphazoan divides into until greater advantages are possible.

It won’t happen all at once, but incrementally it will come to pass that two relay-cells will share a brain (the zoan will eventually have several “brains”) neither ad- nor disad-vantageously.  The next step will be crucial: One relay-cell will develop the ability to inhibit the other.  This will pay off when its sensor detects predator ahead and the other relay-unit’s sensory detects prey ahead.

Instead of trying to advance and retreat simultaneously, the zoan will retreat.  (Ever luck, remember: many other zoa will develop brains that make them advance instead of holding their ground.)

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Entry 1557 — Call for Submissions

Tuesday, September 2nd, 2014

In a comment to a comment by Marton Koppany to my 31 September entry, I mention that “what I would do if I thought anyone would send me anything beside you was invite poets to send me a favorite work of theirs by someone else and say why they liked it. I’d post the poems and comments daily here at my blog. (Actually, I thought of inviting them to name their favorite work of MINE and say why they liked it. I decided against it because I’d probably offend too many of them when I told them what they said about the poems was wrong.)

“Seriously, mine good readers, if you would like to participate in such a project, let me know. If I can get five or more to, I’ll set it up. And I promise to use any artwork selected, even if not one of mine, or even by my standards, a poem. The latter, in fact, would be all the better.

“Hey, if I get enough material, I’ll use my Runaway Spoon Press to publish a hard copy for all participants! (Whee.)”

Later I officially announced at Now-Poetry that I would be following through on the idea, but with my usual hit&miss vagueness.  Jerry McGuire then asked for further details.  Here’s my response to him:

No constraints except a poem (by your definition) that’s no longer than the equivalent of two or three pages, with a text of any length about why you particular like the work you chose.  I’m now thinking to make 1 October the deadline, and post the the poems and comments starting then,probably with an introduction of mine.  Hard copy to all participants, compliments of the Runaway Spoon Press–eventually, and not likely very fancy.  All participants welcome.  Send to me at [email protected].  No need to sign up.  At first I asked people interested to let me know so I’ could decide whether it would be worth doing, but no think I’ll do it no matter how few become involved.  (Which made me think of using ten pseudonyms to post ten different poems I like with comments.  And that  made be think of using other people’s names, which I maybe should have said here.  Like Robert Hass gushing about a poem by Kaz Maslanka and Ron Silliman calling something by Billy Collins the best poem he’s ever read. . . .   Another thought: asking people to send me the worst acclaimed poem they know of and why they hate it.  If I get enough takers on the first idea–which isn’t original, at all, for I have one, and maybe two, anthologies, consisting of poems various poets like with the comments of the latter–I’ll try the other.  I doubt many would be brave enough to go for it, though.

So far three people said they’d send me something, and two others will if they have time.   Oh, and I should have said above that I will post everything unedited except for correction of typos.  Important: I will resist the temptation of responding to anything said!  Make that I will resist the temptation to argue with any commentary.  I reserve the right to make general comments like, “Here’s a surprisingly literate choice by Ed Baker, and his comments almost make sense.”  If I used those dopey :*)-things, I’d have a ‘jus’ kiddin’, folks’ one here.  I’ll only say neutral things like “Today’s ‘Much-Liked Poem,’ Aram Saroyan’s ‘lighght’ comes to us from Howdy-Doody with a charmingly hand-printed commentary of over ten thousand words.”
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Do let me know if you have any questions.
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(Note, although no one has asked after yesterday’s bleak blog entry, I feel okay right now; alas, that’s because I took a hydrocodone.  I’m feeling good about my novel, though–and began feeling good about it while working on it yesterday when I didn’t take any pills but my regular old man pills.  the chapter I was working on, Chapter Four, seemed Very Funny, and it advanced the plot.  It was the first one I thought more than reasonably competent.  Since then I’ve begun thinking I might make it my first chapter, and use flash-backs to the background material.  I’m excited about that: it’s like a new very interesting project.  I’m almost sure I’ll do it.  My first chapter really doesn’t work.  I wrote it in great detail to slow the narrative down.  My thinking was that that would build suspense.  Not a bad idea, really, but I overdid it.  By putting the fourth chapter first, I can make up for the lost suspense with the reader’s wondering how my protagonist got ever got where he is–a kind of reverse suspense.
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Meanwhile, my respect for novelists is growing.  So much I didn’t know about writing them, or only knew in my brain but not in my bones and blood . . .)
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PLEASE GET INVOLVED IN MY PROJECT!  LITERARY SCHOLARS WILL COME TO IT IN 2100 FOR SURE BECAUSE OF WHAT IT REVEALS OF THE RECEPTION OF POETRY BACK IN 2014, BUT ONLY IF LOTS OF YOU SEND ME STUFF!  SO IT’S YOUR ONE BIG CHANCE OF NOT BEING FORGOTTEN. TELL OTHERS ABOUT IT,TOO!
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Entry 1540 — A New Work of Mine at Truck

Saturday, August 16th, 2014

Just an announcement today as I ccontinue to try to get my current reviews out of the way (and do seem to slowly be succeeding in doing so).  Go here to see “An Evening in June, 1952,” a nostalikuical long division about (sob) my lost boyhood, mostly the part of it spent in boys’ adventure books, but also actual times camping out. Click once on my poem to see a better version of it.

The codes are simple, but I’ve put hints that help down at the far right, if you need them. Further hints available for $12 apiece at HINTS, 1708 Hayworth Road, Port Charlotte FL 33952. (Note, for those of you keeping score: yes, it is a Major Poem.) (Note, for any knownstreamer accidentally here who laughs at the presumption of my declaration, I dare you to present a cogent argument against it.  Not that my declaration isn’t intended as a joke, but only in part.  I absolutely believe it.  I don’t think all or even most, of my poems are major, but if–at my age–I didn’t feel some were it would indicate that I’ve completely wasted my life.)

(((b=a, 5=e)))

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Entry 1537 — My New Article

Wednesday, August 13th, 2014

I just sent a link that allows those who click it to read my just-posted article at the Journal of Mathematics and the Arts for free to a bunch of ppeople including, I’m sure, some of you.  Alas, I’m sure I’ve missed others I should have sent the link to if I weren’t so scatter-brained.  If you didn’t get one and want to read my article, just email a request to me at [email protected].

I consider the article as much a little anthology of good stuff as much as anything: it has works by Marton Koppany, Karl Kempton, Irving Weiss, Kathy Ernst, Ed Conti, Kaz Maslanka, John Keats , and–needless to say–me.  Those of you what are filthy rich I hope will actually pay to read it.  I’m not sure how to do this–I have all kinds of trouble at the site, but  this page may help you. I’m having a horrible time with the Internet right now–I’m fairly sure my ccomputer has some king of vvirus.  If you pay to read it, it will help make the editors more likely to publish something else of mine, which will be for the good of poetry!!!

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Entry 1475 — A New Blog?

Thursday, June 5th, 2014

Today, I suddenly had the bright idea to transfer my dumb political thoughts to a new blog. So I started Dichotophilia . . . and soon realized I had misnamed it.  Hence, I would have to junk it, and try again, which I’m now much too weary to do.  I’m too weary to post a decent entry here, too.

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Entry 1450 — My Latest Book Review

Sunday, May 11th, 2014

If you go here, you’ll find a preview of my latest book review in a peer-reviewed mathematics journal!  If you’re a lot richer than I am, you can buy and offprint!  Or subscribe to the magazine.  I just read the thing and have to say it’s excellent.  Not that I didn’t find a few flaws in it–mainly my saying the same thing about the same poem near the beginning and near the end.  I also found a passage I thought a misprint because I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.  Then I finally remembered what I’d meant by it–it had to do with the title of a collection of math poems, Crossing the Equals Sign.  I said it applied to both mathematics and poetry–meaning the parallel between the equations of mathematics and the metaphors of poetry.

I’m afraid that’s all I have for you today.

Later note: Let me know if you’d like me to email you a copy.  My email address is [email protected].  You must promise not to sell copies of it, though.  (Haw haw.)

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The Poetry Business « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘The Poetry Business’ Category

Entry 1284 — My Take on the NEA, 1995

Friday, November 29th, 2013

SPReditorial1SPReditorial2

Note: I did not get an NEA grant.  Does anyone think my chances would be better in 2014, 29 years later?

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Entry 930 — How to Improve Patronage of the Arts

Thursday, November 22nd, 2012

The other day I happened to get an announcement of the winners of the latest Florida grants to artists.  It got me thinking, for the umpteenth time, about how little was being done for non-mediocrities in the arts–and why.  The main reason, of course, is that grants-bestowers consider only an applicants credentials, never his achievements.  More exactly, what happens is that the money people realize they don’t know anything about the arts, so they pay “experts” to choose whom to give money to, and their experts are mainly college professors almost as ignorant about the arts as the money people.  But do they ever have credentials!  (Note: I am not saying all college professors are deadheads, but most are because the conformity required to get an advanced degree is something few people with artistic-creativity genes have.)

I suspect there’s no way this increasingly bad situation can be remedied, but here’s what I’d do for grants to poets (and by simple extension to all artists) if I had the power:

(1) Form a committee to create a . . . list of all the schools of contemporary American poetry!  Big surprise, that, eh?  For 35 or more years I’ve been calling for this in vain.  I’ve made a partial list myself, but haven’t had time to do the research necessary to make it complete, or to gather examples of the poetry produced by those in each school, and define it.

(2) Post the list (whoever forms it, which I’m sure would have to be professors) on the Internet, and announce it everywhere possible on the Internet, once-a month for a year, calling for additions.  Accept all additions–except the obviously spammed ones.

(3) Make sure each school’s poetry is described reasonably well, and that examples of poems composed by its members and some names of poets in the school are given.

(4) Post the completed list and solicit genuine experts in the poetry of each school to choose grants recipients–with an offer of a nice sum of money.  Such an expert would be someone who has composed a substantial amount of the kind of poetry of the school he claims to be an expert in or written a substantial amount of criticism of the school’s poetry.  Credentials will not count.  Perhaps passing a test would be required, one with questions about the school involved and its poets.  Here’s where the big problem will be: selecting people capable of verifying that X is indeed and expert in the poetry of School A.  I could do it, and I think there are others who could, but people like me would never be allowed to make the selections by the money-providers for the same reason we could never get a grant from their grants-bestowers.  Probably what would have to be done would have to be done by the members of the schools themselves–finding among themselves proper judges–and getting someone with money for grants.

(5) anyway, the goal would be to make a list of poetry experts, with at least one for every school with ten or more members–and draw from that group at random for the judges in any government, or government-subsidized, grants-bestowing organization, with the hope that private groups will act similarly.

It’d be nice if a single prize for which only otherstream poets were eligible were set up, too.  An otherstream poet being one who, to put it simply, is not a member of any mainstream school.  (Elsewhere, I listed otherstream schools in detail.)

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Autobiographica « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Autobiographica’ Category

Entry 1757 — My New Blog Set-Up

Thursday, March 19th, 2015

My new blog’s homepage, which I hope will allow you a choice of four blogs, is here. It is operational, but the three new blogs have nothing in them yet. I consider it an achievement that I even have it to the stage it is now at.

I’d appreciate it if you would click “here” and then go to any of the three new blogs you think you may bisit again when there’s something at them.  That will give me at least a little idea of what kind of nuts come here.  Thanks!

A second entry point can be found in my Pages to the right as “Bob Grumman BLOGS.”

Now to celebrate the first day of my Blog-Quartet, below is my latest visual poem, thought of and rendered in full yesterday.  Not very original, but it won’t be a stand-alone but the dividend of a long division poem now complete but for the rendering.  It uses the notes I had here a few days ago . . . no, almost two weeks ago.

TheMagicPath-secret.

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Entry 1756 — My Audience

Wednesday, March 18th, 2015

From time to time I wonder about who my blog’s visitors are.  Each entry seems to get between ten and twenty visitors the first day it’s up.  After that, more visit it but I still don’t know how the count is made.  I don’t know, for one thing, whether or not the counter counts a visit to one day’s entry as a visit also to all the other entries on my home page.

A few times I’ve happened on some site that claims to give a count of blogs’ visitors and says I have around a hundred.  Enough to give the blog a value of $3.45 or something.

Much more important to me would be learning something about my visitors.  I consider this blog before anything else to be a workshop for ME, as well as a sometimes fun place for me to play around with ideas.  But I also want very to use it to gather some kind of following.  When I began blogging two (I think) blogs ago, I intended to cover poetry only.  I’ve wandered way off-topic since then, expecially in the past few years.  Ideally, I would continue this blog, but devote it to poetry (and related arts, I guess) only–except for an occasional update on ME.  (Note: this “ME” is my attempt to indicate that ME is every bit as important as I!)

I would (and a few times have misfired off into) also running a blog on politics.  A third on my psychology would be good, too.  Maybe I’ll do it, who knows.  Not today, though.  If I do, my goal will be to write at least one entry a day which could be for any of the three.  That makes great sense.

I see that I’ve solved one of my problems about visitors, which is figuring out how many care (1) only about my poetry entries; (2) only my psychology . . . okay, crackpot . . . entries; (3) only about my (wholly rational) political entries; or (4) some mixture of the three.  Needless to say, I wish I could find out more about you peeperz.  I’m sure of the identity of about five of you, no more.

I should try another survey sometime.  The only one I’ve tried so far asked if anyone had found an entry of mine worth reading past the first few sentences.  33 said yes before I stopped keeping it on my home page.

I just checked and found 11 had voted “No,” but the count went up to 16 as I was at it, making a few minor revisions.  Ergo, more reason for me not to trust my counters.  And makes me hope one of you might tell me how to get a reliable counter for my (WordPress) blog.

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Entry 1751 — Lesson 1

Friday, March 13th, 2015

I have an excuse to avoid truly beginning my lesson in how to compose an otherstream poem: another medical procedure, this one a sound scan of my thyroid.  Routine, I guess because I’m hypo-thyroidal.  Only took ten minutes.  Errands followed.  So, I’m barely unnull.  Nonetheless, I will try to get my lesson in today, beginning with lead-in excerpts of poems by Cummings, then the original (and now final) version of my (full) ooem:

 

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MaybeMandolins

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ThunderBlossoming
 

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ArmenianRecord

 

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traffic-original

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If I were in a high school or college teaching this lesson (which, nota bene, is for absolute beginners, although I hope anyone reading it will learn from it), I would pass out hand-outs with the poems above on them to the students (student?).   Then:

IF YOU WANT TO COMPOSE ANY KIND OF POETRY:

Dictum 1:   READ POETRY!!!

(I’m tempted to end my first lesson there, but–heck–you’re all my good friends!  I can’t cheat you.)

Listening to poetry is okay, but reading it means you have it continuingly in front of you, so seems to me better.  It’s also difficult to attend readings or buy recordings compared to getting books or magazines with it, or going online after it.  In any case, I will be referring to printed poetry only.

I suspect anyone teaching a how-to-course in any kind of literature will tell you the same thing.  That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.  In fact, it’s received wisdom, and received wisdom is right much more often than not.  This bit of received wisdom is maxolutely valid–i.e., it could not be more valid.

The more you read poetry, the more of an idea of what it is you will get.  Beyond some dictionary’s probably inept, and certainly incomplete definition of it.  But by far the most important reason for reading poetry is to find poems you like!  And you will find a few before long, even if you read only publications recommended by college professors or other authorities if you seriously intend to compose poetry–as either a hobby (and there’s nothing wrong with that) or a vocation.

If you get through a few hundred poems and find none that genuinely excite you, ask someone who’s been around (like me) where to go for poetry different from what you’ve been reading.  If that doesn’t help–if, that is, you sincerely explore a reasonable wide variety of poems and are not excited by any of them, accept that you’re simply incapable of appreciating poetry–as I am incapable of appreciating gymnastics.  So what.

I should think anyone who knows enough about poetry to want to compose it will find poems that he really likes.  When this happens, as common sense would indicate, he must find out who wrote them, and look up that poet’s other poems.  If this goes well, he will automatically be strongly attracted to one or more, enough to become at least temporarily addicted to his work.

SubDictum 1:  When you have found a poet whose work you are extremely drawn to, read everything you can about his life.  If you feel like it.  I add that, and make this rule a “SubDictum,” because I followed it with great enjoyment and, I think, got a useful push from my vicarious identification with various literary heroes of mine.  But it won’t make a poet of you, and I suspect there are those without my interest in poets rather than their work, or literary history.  In short, ignore this SubDictum if you have little urge to follow it.

Dictum 2: This is my first teaching that a lot of poets and not all that few teachers of poetry will reject.  In fact, I would agree that it is not necessary for one wanting to become a poet; however, it is necessary, in my opinion, for one who wants to become among the best poets.  Those I therefore direct to read as much commentary on the poets whose works you most enjoy as you can.  Poetry criticism be Good!  So what if much of it, maybe most of it, is not too good; 90% of poetry is mediocre or lousy, too.   So read as much as you can, and zero in on those whose commentary you enjoy the way you zeroed in on poets whose poems you enjoyed.

One important thing they should do for you is path you to other poets writing work like the ones you like do.  Negatively-Positively, they may expose you to flaws in a favorite of yours that helps you to appreciate up to a higher level of enjoyment.  They should introduce you, in their negative commentary, to poets whose poor work will increase your appreciation of inferior work, which it is important to learn.  Or perhaps make you realize there’s poetry out there the critic doesn’t like but you do.  And you will begin developing a critical view of your own.

Dictum 3: WRITE POEMS!!!

Start by imitating the poems you’ve found you like.  Remember that you are just beginning and that it takes time to become anything of a poet.  In the meantime, it should not take too long for you to experience the happiness of effectively imitating something a hero of yours has done.  The chances are 999 to 1 that it will be part of a sub-mediocre poem, but that’s of no consequence.  Every poet’s first attempts are poor.  Regardless of the mothers or friends or teachers who praise them.

At this point I was going to show the value of imitation using the four texts above.  While writing my way to here, however, I realized that I should have used an earlier example of my own work.  I wrote a fair amount of bad imitative poetry when I began, and nothing any good until I was around 25 and wrote my “traffic” poem above.  It’s a bad example, though, because (in my opinion) quite good, although imitative.  There are special reasons for its success.  One is that it’s based on the simplest poetic form, the Classical American haiku form (which is derived from the form the Japanese invented–apparently–but significantly different from that in ways I won’t go into right now).  What’s more, the Classical American Haiku form is extremely explicit, and therefore easy to get technically right.

*  *  *

I feel I could keep going for at least a few more full paragraphs but I also think I’ve reached a good stopping point, and have a topic to discuss which may take a while to get through:  haiku-sensitivity, which I think a person is either born with or will never have, and I have it.  Urp.

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Entry 1727 — Re: Kinds of Views

Tuesday, February 17th, 2015

I feel I have very few 100% views.  I also believe that if I were able to express all my political and religious views, my average view of just about everything would be right in the middle.  However, this would be completely accurate, for my median view–

         Ooops. I mean the mode, er . . . modal? view. I was best in my 5-unit college class in statistics but, except during the time I took the course, have never been able to remember the differences between “mean,” “mode,” “median,” and “average.” Well, the last was permanently imprinted on my brain by my brother Bill when he taught me what batting averages, and decimal numbers were when I was eight or nine. I will leave the terms alone, but I can barely contain neologomaniacal urge to find better names for these things. I’d dump “mean,” and use “average,” which seems much better known. How about “midvalue” for “median?” Although “median” is fine. “Mode” is the only one that bothers me. “Emphaterm?” I’m not serious.

Back to my views, which are not in the middle of everybody else’s but to one extreme of the other of everybody else’s.  (Mostly.)  Okay, I am maxilutely convinced (i.e., 99.9999% convinced) that Will Shakespeare wrote Hamlet–although bits of it may have been added or subtracted by others–and therefore maxilutely convinced that those who disagree about this who have studied the matter are psitchotic, fully psychotic, or extremely stupid.  I am 57.32% convinced that a few well-placed neutron bombs would immensely improve the world in the long run (i.e., the happiness the survivors would experience over the next hundred years would make up hugely for the unhappiness they would experience over the next ten years, and it is likely that fewer would lose their lives due to war than the bombs killed, although that would depend on the right people’s being sufficiently in power to control the world after the bombing).  I use this example (and would add that I doubt I’d be able to order such a bombing as US president, unless under serious attack by some other nation) knowing the knee-jerk reaction to it of far too many in order to exemplify honesty.

Which veers me into cursing the way-too-many who can’t simply disagree with others’ view, but must condemn those holding them as monstrously evil on both sides of the electorate, but most visibly, it seems to me, on the left–probably because they are in control of the media.  I’m 80.811% in favor of going all-out to find a way of separating those capable of objectivity about politics and religion and those not, and taking the right to vote or hold office or other consequential government position away from the latter–with certain exceptions, like allowing generals, admirals and police chiefs to have political or religious psitchoses.  On this question, as on many others, I feel I would be open to reasonable compromises.  I could even convert to the other side on issues I was less that two-thirds convinced of.

The book I had an intense desire to spend all my writing time except emails, Internet exchanges and blog entries for a few hours a week or so ago, and still hope to clear time for a strong effort at would be in part my describing as many of my emphatermic views as possible.  (I see the adjective for “emphaterm” stinks.  That’s enough to completely kill it.  I think nouns should always be easy to smooth into adjectives.)

“Emphanoom”: noun meaning “mode.”  Adjectival form: “emphanumeral.”

When I open this space for this entry, I just happened to be thinking about the kinds of views I have–mostly  (semi-intelligent, I think) extremist views.  I intended to jot that down, although I’ve written about it before, then just kept on going, although eager (thanks to a zoom-dose, or caffeine plus a hydrocodone pill) to get on with my review of Sabrina Feldman’s The Apocryphal William Shakespeare.  Now I have well over 600 words, enough to want to hit a thousand for the entry, which is stupid: I should not care how many words I devote to a piece of writing, only care about writing what my topic requires, no more, no less.  But shooting for something I can quantize is near-impossible for me to resist–continues Robert as he crosses the 700-word mark . . .

. . . and returns to the subject of neutron-bombs to criticize one of his favorite cultural figures,, Isaac Asimov, for saying, Isaac Asimov also stated that “Such a neutron bomb or N bomb seems desirable to those who worry about property and hold life cheap.”  One view of mine that is severely blasphemous (because so many people hold human life as sacred) is that property (other than the bodies people live in) can easily be more valuable than human life, because in so many cases capable of causing more human happiness than the continued existence of a substantial number of people–in ways other than simply removing a hundred people who, un removed, would have killed a thousand people, or the like.  But even from a sentimental point of view, what Asimov said was dumb since a neutron bomb would almost certainly be used in place of a regular nuclear bomb, so probably not causing many more deaths than not using it would.

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Hey, I just thought of something I meant to bring up about how my Poem poems differ from the mainstream poems of our time: their flow-breaks are more adventurous.  This, by itself, should make them capable of greater expressiveness, but only does so slightly.  However, it does make them harder to speed-read, which I consider a cardinal virtue of any poem so long as not over-done (and here, as I guess is the case more frequently than I’ve suggested above, I’m in a neither too little or too much middle).

I’m usually too lazy to spend much time on my flow-breaks (in my solitextual, or textual-only, poems), which are mostly standard line-breaks, but often enough include interior line breaks or infraverbal li        breaks (like the one I just made) for my flow-breaks to be noticeably different than the standard ones of mainstream poems.

Here I remembered the Asimov passage I spent some time on above, and crossed the thousand-word mark discussing above.  So I can quit working on this entry now, with no entry needing to me written tomorrow., which is especially good, because I have tennis in the morning and a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon (about my esophagus, which may have some kind of obstruction, but I don’t think it does, nor that it will be a serious on if I do . . . not that I’m not worrying about it, as I always do about physical things not quite right with me.

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Entry 1716 — “Bar Cripe”

Friday, February 6th, 2015

While going through my diary in search of accomplishments, I came across a poetry exercise I’d begun in March: the standard write-a-poem-a-day exercises many have tried–spontaneously, without worrying about whether or not what you wrote was any good.  I’d forgotten all about it even though I wrote 39 Poem poems over the course of 39 day, putting them in my diary entries but not here (so far as I know).  Often I wrote how bad they were although once in a while I thought one had possibilities.  I just skimmed through them yesterday, but collected them into a single file and printed them after noticing a few I thought I might make something of.  Looking over my print out, I read the very last poem of the series, and thought it possibly one of my best ever, so decided to feature it in this entry:

Bar Cripe

Actually, the above has been slightly revised.  I had trouble carrying its formatting over into this entry, and at one point accidentally stuck the end of it under the rest of the poem tilted.  I liked the effect, so used it as shown.  Some of it depends on a reader’s knowledge of other Poem poems of mine, but I think it reasonably accessible to anyone who has read widely in poetry without know my poetry.  I love the ending.  Note: I myself am unsure exactly what a few locutions mean but keep them for what seems to me their tonal effect.

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Entry 1715 — “Long Division of Dreams, No. 1″

Thursday, February 5th, 2015

The assignment I assigned myself today was to summarize the year I just had.  I wrote an excellent paragraph about it, so my computer went into a loop that forced me to restart it, thus killing my paragraph.  That’s the way my new year has been going so far.

I remember beginning my entry saying that my impression of year number 74 was that it was a complete zero.  Not so, of course, but the only moderately high moment I could recall was getting a book review and an essay into an issue of the Journal of Mathematics and the Arts.  It seemed long, long ago when I was heavily into a back&forth with editors about those.

I then tried to put down my other accomplishments for the year.  Chief among them was my getting six more columns into Small Press Review, again, as well as ten to twenty reviews, and a guest editorial and! a response to a questionnaire.  Neither made me a household name in culturally advanced homes.  As usual, the insanely optimistic urceptual persona in me—I just came up with that and now wonder if we all have an urceptual optimist and pessimist among our inner selves . . .  Be that as it may, my inner optimist thought the editorial, another cry for greater recognition of American poetry’s research and development department, with my standard plea for a list of all the varieties of poetry Americans are composing, might actually make at least a little splash in the big world.  Hey, maybe it has, but it was somewhere too far away for me to hear.

Well, I just repeated all of the text I lost, I’m pretty sure—and added thoughts that improved it significantly, as I usually do when forced to re-do something.  And I haven’t drooped out of my good mood yet.  I will now go through my diary entries for the past year to see if there are any other verosophical accomplishments, besides simply a lot of promising blither-in-progress, worth reporting.  When finished with that, I’ll spend the rest of the day commenting here on the poems I composed during my past year—and, I hope, turning a few of the failed ones enough to consider them keepers.

To my diary now.  Early in the year I tried to get ARTnews to let my contaminate and issue with a piece about visual poetry.  I had to write them a second time to get a response from them.  That help me financially because I no longer had to spend anything on a subscription to it.

It was my most lean year as a pluraexpressive poet in many years.  I got pieces into a number of Internet venues, principally into three issues of Truck, and the design Craig Kaplan and I made for Journal of Mathematics and the Arts made that magazine’s cover.  A minor aesthetic accomplishment but the design’s central feature was my “Mathemaku No. 10,” so it got that poem a bit of high-class exposure (with close to no significant effect on my career).

Chris Lott actually bought a copy of my “Mathemaku for Macbeth” and is now distributing note paper with that at the top of it, speaking of exposure.

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Whew, this job is taking a lot of time.  I’m going to have to make the entry a two- or three-parter.  So, back tomorrow with more.  Before leaving, though, here’s the one poem I composed last year that I consider a masterpiece, “Long Division of Dreams”:

ReasonIntoDreams10October2014

I have to admit that I felt “reason” times all those swans could reasonably equal anything that might get into a dream–ergo, anything, but told slant.  And I let my boy John Keats emphasize its magicalness.  A masterpiece?  All I’ll say is that anything of mine is that, this is.  I’m glad I made it.

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Entry 1705 — More about Me & School

Monday, January 26th, 2015

I forgot to say, when ranting about compulsory formal education, that I would never claim I learned nothing while in school–but that’s only because a human being is designed to learn things no matter where he is.  I merely say that I do not believe I learned more in school than I learned outside school.  I also feel that the most important things I learned, I learned outside school.  They include what a learned about art in general from my life as a kid magician.

I feel I would have learned everything I did learn while in school outside it had I not be forced to go to school.  I more or less knew how to read before kindergarten, although not well-and that was from nursery school!  Our teacher read from a nursery rhyme book to us, pointing to words as she read them.  That was enough for me to read “Hickory Dickory Dock” to my sister on time when we sneaked into the little house where the nursery school’s books were and looked through them.  (We lived next door, as I remember–or very close by if not exactly next door.)

My sister, a year younger than I (5, I guess), accused me of just remembering the rhyme, but I distinctly remember connecting each of my spoken words to the proper printed version of it.  Certainly, I had no trouble reading once “taught” it in school.  I learned arithmetic mainly from my older brother, particularly long division, the staple of my incredibly advanced poetry.  That came from my having been a fanatic fan of baseball and wanting to know about batting averages.  Of course, you could say I still learned it from school, but my brother’s, not mine.

I learned most of algebra when excited enough by it on first exposure to it in high school to read ahead a couple of chapters in our textbook on my own.  By most, I mean its general principles, not anything like all the tricks you need to learn.  I’m convinced, though, that the book would have been enough to teach me as much as I learned in school–and probably would have because of my innate attraction to mathematics.

I also liked just about all my teachers, but the only subject I really liked was physical education–except, beginning in junior high, having to take a shower with the other boys, because I was either the last kid in my class or the second-to-last to reach puberty (at just about exactly the age of 15-and-a-half when, in the bathroom, I learned something weird about my penis–and thought for a little while was wrong with it but kept quiet about until things I’d heard about but didn’t understand clued me in on what was going on).

I think almost no assigned reading got me excited but I have to admit books from the school library, some recommended by a teacher, were important to me–although many became so after I left school.  Individual poems–from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam and Keats, for sure, did excite me as a high school junior or senior.  Definitely not anything by Emily.  I also used the regular public library regularly, and my parents did, too, and bought paperbacks I began reading as a teen-ager: science fiction and mysteries, mostly.

Once stuck in a classroom, I often enjoyed something–for example: making clay models of the Egyptian pyramids (with secret rooms inside), dinosaurs and something boys apparently aren’t allowed to make now: ray guns, one with a straw for shooting others with little clay pellets was my favorite.  There wasn’t too much I really minded about school, except that I wasn’t free the way I was on vacation.  And, the stress of test-taking, which I never adjusted to, even though I just about always did well on them until virtually giving up trying to do well on them at around the age of 17.

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Entry 1692 — Beining to the Rescue Again

Wednesday, January 14th, 2015

For the third day in a row I was running around most of the day.  In the morning I had my teeth cleaned, in the process finding out I had three cavities that would be shoving me further into credit card debt in two weeks.  In the afternoon riding five miles to pick up a prescription, do some marketing and pick up my dead external hard drive, then five miles back, on a crummy cold-for-Florida, overcast day.

I thought the drive worth picking up in hopes one day there will be some breakthrough allowing its data to be retrieved for less than a thousand dollars.  Hey, I just thought of a good plot for a thriller.  Someone like me needs data retrieved from a drive gone bad, so convinces the CIA he’s a soviet spy (i.e., works for Putin) and has important info on his bad drive.

In short, I’m again too beat to come up with anything of my own for a blog entry.  So it was lucky that a post card from Guy Beining with the following was in my mailbox:

Long Deconstructing

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Entry 1685 — Two Plumbing Updates

Wednesday, January 7th, 2015

Yesterday, thinking about today’s appointment with my cardiologist when I would find out how the carotid artery exam I had last week came out, I thought how much finding out my carotid arteries were okay would boost me out of my current zone, which is a better zone than my null zone, but only barely.  Well, I got what I was told was good news: 25% blockage  in the left artery, 30% in the right.  This doesn’t sound very good to me but is good for someone my age.  You’re not in bad shape until the blockage reaches 70%.  Note: I’m not sure the percentage refers to blockage, only that it’s something that would be zero for a artery in perfect condition.

I was relieved, but it didn’t have much effect on me.  Why?  Well, last night, around nine, my bedtime, I noticed some water seeping into my bathroom.  This has happened before at least twice due to my A/C ‘s having a clogged drainage tube, so I checked that.  The tube seemed okay.  I thought about calling the company I bought the A/C from but decided to wait until morning to avoid an extra charge,  The seepage seemed very slow.  But it keep on, so I eventually called in a guy I thought would be able to do something about the leak regardless of whether or not it was an A/C problem or a damaged pipe.  He turned out to be only an A/C  specialist.  Sometime after one A.M., he basically gave up.  My A/C’s drainage system had nothing wrong with it, he said, but he put a cap on a tube inside the house that was supposed to be on whatever the tube was.  Its being off may have caused the problem.  It made no sense to me, and he thought it unlikely.  So I was as bad off as I’d been when I’d called him in, except that I was out his $129 fee for an emergency visit.  (A daytime visit would have cost $100 less.)

I took a sleeping pill to make sure I got some sleep, thinking it might be difficult for me to.  But I went back to a thriller I was reading for a while, then checked the leak to make sure it wasn’t worsening.  It had stopped.  I watched where the water had been seeping in, which I’d dried.  No seepage.  Yes, my bad luck turned out to be less bad than I had feared.  The area has now been dry for almost 24 hours.  I still worry that it’ll return, but it hasn’t yet.  It was enough to mess up my day today, though.  I did get four hours of sleep, but the day after I use a sleeping pill, I usually feel a crappiness different from the way I general feel–not replacing it, but adding to it.  In short, I had a crummy day.  Hence, this old man whine for today’s entry here.
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Entry 1675 — Warning re: 2015

Sunday, December 28th, 2014

I’m feeling guilty about having steered this blog so far west of its supposed subject during the past few months (or more?)  And now I have worser news: I will probably be even further below poetics and poetry here for the foreseeable future although I’ll try at least once in a while to mention them.  Blame it on the stars, mainly the constellations Mars and Venus and Venus are in, because they iz inciting me something awful now that, as I told you yesterday, I’m in my first house, to fare forth on mine Final TruthQuest, to wit: a definitive total verosophy.  Okay, the opiate in me from the pill I took a little while ago (do to the advice of the stars) is making me exaggerative.  What I intend to do (as long as my opiates last) is try for an at least semi-unified babblation of my views on all the important stuff, but principally My Political View (which, for some reason, I feel is clarifying), and my knowlecular psychology, starting with my theory of awarenesses–unless I feel like taking on an essay I’m itching to write about my theory of the nature and evolution of cerebrevaluceptuality, and music as the first True Art.  Oh, a third very important project I expect to take on is a definitive description of my theory of temperament types and its application to those on both sides of the Shakespeare Authorship Question (SAQ).

Dang, the stars and the opium got me wanting to do all of these at once right now: instead, I will jump into the main thoughts that have been bothering me of late, because of too much reading about that idiot Obama (and his Republicans, who are avoiding being as idiotic as he only because they lack his power, which I add in hopes it will somewhat assuage you lefties who have a better opinion of Barry than I).  But I’m also taking off from The Pity Party, a book I’m reading that’s basically for (intelligent) adherents to the tea party by William Voegeli that I mostly agree with and will be referring to more than once.  (Hey, it’s the first book I’ve begun reading on my new Kindle!  The Kindle is part of the preparations I’ve made for mine TruthQuest, an important result of which, I hope, will be two or more books of mine available for Kindle at Amazon before 2016.  The SAQ should be the first of these, for I think I’m much closer to being able to finish my definitive thoughts on that than I am on the other subjects.)

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I doubt I’ll say anything new about politics but gotta say it anyway.  First Dogma: no system of government is worth a damn.  Second Dogma: all systems of government are equally worthless.  By that I mean that no over-all pleasure-to-pain ratio for the population of any tribe, regardless of how it is governed (or, in the case of those who were free of governments of any kind far in the past, or have somehow managed to be free of it now) is more than five or ten percent better or worse than any other’s.  The pleasure-to-pain ratio, by the way, is–according to my Third Dogma–my sole way of comparing the effectiveness of one system of government with another (see this blog entry of mine. There’s something in it about this ratio. You may find something else about “pleasure-maximization” in this essay, too, although it’s already out-of-date (due to my adding magnaceptuality and practiceptuality to my theory).

It is important to note that I evaluate a system of government on the basis of the pain and pleasure of everyone in it.  That will always include people whose pleasure-maximization ratio is very high, thanks to the government.  In other words, each system will have winners and losers, cancelling each other out.  Having a system half totalitarian and half free (to put it roughly) the way ours is, doesn’t help: it just reduces the unhappiness of the masses at the expense of the ruling class.

Something else is important: the fact that the system of government an individual has to put up with will seldom be as significant a determinant of the individual’s pleasure-maximization ratio as the individual himself.  Assuming, as I do, that genes count.  If so, some will find a way to reasonable happiness no matter how bad their government is, others will be miserable no matter what form their governments take.

One way of classifying governments is to try to measure the freedom-to-security ratio experienced by their subjects–or, better, the freedom-to-security ratio they seem to favor, all governments allowing some freedom to some of its people, along with the security (or enslavement for their own good) the majority of every government’s people benefit from.  A somewhat novel way of considering this ratio is as male individualism versus female collectivism, or–relatedly–as male aspiration versus female compassion.

This, in any event, is where my thoughts about William Voegeli ‘s ideas of “liberal compassion” have taken me.  The introduce that, let me quote portions of the letter I wrote Voegeli after reading an essay of his in a (free) conservative pamphlet I get from Hillsdale College, an institution notorious for refusing all government hand-outs so it is free to run itself the way it wants to instead of the way the government does:
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Dear Mr. Voegeli:

I recently read your analysis of liberal compassion in Imprimis with enjoyment.   I was especially interested in it, though, because I’ve for some time been trying to work out an explanation of why so many people are liberal (as now defined) and find your explanation an excellent one.  But I feel it is only one of several equally applicable explanations.  Since I’m forever responding to essays in periodicals, I quickly wrote the following response to yours.  I only rarely send any of my responses to the authors I’m responding to, or anywhere else, however, being doubtful that anyone would be interested in what I have to say.  I’m also sure that what I have to say about politics would offend a great many people.  I’ve elected to send the following response to your essay to you, however, because I think there is an outside chance you may actually like some parts of it, even if you conclude fairly quickly that I am a crank.  (I sincerely don’t know whether I am or not but have enough self-confidence to believe that if I am, I’m a superior crank.)

 . . .

I wrote my response to your essay two weeks ago, thinking from what you wrote for Imprimis, you would be more likely to sympathize at least a little with my ideas than any other writer I might try them on.  Still, it took me till today to dare send my response to you.  I will understand if you find it of no value, and will not further bother you again if so.  But I would greatly appreciate your at least letting me know you’d prefer not to discuss any of it with me if that is the case.  In any case, keep up the good work against liberalism!

Re: Liberal Compassion

In a recent issue of Imprimis, a pamphlet published by Hillsdale College, William Voegeli has an excellent piece called, “The Case Against Liberal Compassion,” which concludes that a main motive of liberals is not so much a need to improve the lot of the poor and otherwise needy, but to be perceived as persons who want to do that.  This neatly explains why such liberals seem not to care how effectively the welfare state carries out its acts of compassion, by making sure that a maximum of the taxes spent on the effort is efficiently used, for instance, and even (subconsciously, I’m sure) hope it will never fully succeed–because they need people in need to be compassionate about.   About my only difference with Voegeli here is that I feel he fails to appreciate the many reasons other than a need either to be compassionate or to be perceived as a compassionate person that various people become liberal, such as the compulsion of many of them simply to regulate, or have a government that regulates.   Many conservatives have this failing, too, the kinds of regulation favored being the main difference between the majority of present-day conservatives and liberals, not the need to regulate.

Related to this is a need for sameness, which I think is why leftists promote egalitarianism and economic equality—not out of any kind of genuine compassion but to make everyone the same, to protect leftists from too much human diversity.

Be that as it may, my main reason for writing this is that Voegeli’s essay gave me what I think is an Interesting Thought: that liberal compassion (whether a genuine motive or only something a liberal wants to be perceived as feeling) is actually standard innate female compassion–and that there is such a thing as male compassion that liberals seem unaware of.  It is an empathetic identification not with the sick, poor, bullied, etc. but with—this I haven’t clear in my mind yet but do have a fair impression of: failed quest-seeking.  More commonly, blocked quest-opportunity.  Simple example: female compassion for inner city have-nots consistently triumphs over male compassion for those who want to conquer outer space.  That is, liberals (most of them) have no compassion for those who need adventure rather than hand-outs.  Closely connected (although in a minor way) is the female compassion which causes liberals to over-protect explorers: no trips to Mars until we’re 99.999% certain of the total safety of the crews involved.

Those with stronger female than male compassion (and every healthy person has both kinds) will have extreme trouble with foreign policy because they lack much genuine feeling for those suffering significant enslavement (and/or suffering from lack of wilderness, and here is where I have problems with conservatives, at least those for maximal “development” of wilderness).   Indeed, I suspect few of them would even be able to consider the possibility that any sort of male compassion could exist.

It’s all extremely complex: I just now thought of another factor: that those with female compassion often have it so badly that they assume that anyone lacking it to the degree that they have it can be cured by reason.  In foreign affairs, this means negotiation, never use of the military.  In any case, if I am right, or even not entirely wrong, it seems to me that conservatives ought to publicize their kind of compassion as such to a greater degree.  Our country sorely needs people motivated by both kinds of compassion.

I wrote that a month-and-a-half ago, and Mr. Voegeli actually replied to it–favorably.  So I bought the Kindle edition of his The Pity Party and hope to write a review of it at Amazon.  I expect that to get a reasonable number of money men to back me for the Republican nomination for President.

Amazing; the opiate loses its effect after four hours, and I took my dose of it almost five hours ago, but am still hilariously funny.   It’s not giving me the zip to go on, though.  More tomorrow.

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Entry 461 — The Latest from the Rehab Center « POETICKS

Entry 461 — The Latest from the Rehab Center

I guess it’s about ime I posted another entry.  Not much going on here.  I had hoped to be home from now–was making good progress with my physical therapy.   The a setback: my surgical incision was infected.  Result: an IV anti-biotic has been administered to me each day for the past five days.  Five more round of it, then I get to go home, assuming it has worked, and all signs are that it will have.

I was pretty disgusted.  So much time going by with little or nothing accomplished, even compared to some of my recent poor days at home.  Then I remembered a chore I could do here: posting all my Small Press Review columns here at my new blog, something I’ve been meaning to do for some time.  It’s been hard getting them properly formatted, but I’m getting them much more quickly posted now than when I did four days or so ago when I started the chore.  They are in the Pages, under “Bob Grumman’s Small Press Review Columns,” 21 so far, but I hope to add a few more today.

I’ve read most of them as I posted them, relieved to find they seem pretty good to me.  I hope to published two books of them, with commentary.  They remain about the only published commentary on avant garde poetry anywhere in this country as far as I know.     

 

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Entry 559 — My Self-Image « POETICKS

Entry 559 — My Self-Image

I think the main thing that keeps me from being Completely Obnoxious is my sincere sense of humor about myself.  Depending on my mood, I think I’m the greatest super-genius ever, a joke (well, make that the Greatest Joke Ever, since I never quite escape megalomania), or the Most Contemptible Failure Ever.  Actually, when I’m in the kind of mood I’m in now in (10 November, around noon)–after my first dose of APCs in over two weeks (because my head felt too blitzed for me to get anywhere with my Shakespeare chapter) *, I tend simultaneously to believe I’m terrific and a colossal joke.   

*Gad, how good it made me feel to close my parenthetical expression as soon as I’d finished typing it!  How rarely I do.

My self-image intrigues me, not only because it’s mine.  It is important to me, perhaps more important to me than most people’s self-images are to them.  (A few of them may not even have one!)  True, when I take off into a project, small of huge, the project consumes my every thought.  But my self-image is usually instrumental in igniting my take-off.  I usually (I think–I really haven’t thought that much about this before) need to feel that I’m a hero with a grand quest ahead of me.  Even when merely shelving scattered books, for–behold–I am then preparing the field for the greater project to follow, whatever it is.  This has a lot to do, I suddenly see, with why I hate jobs like brushing my teeth or shaving in spite of how little time they steal: they seem to me to have nothing to do with anything of importance.  Such jobs are what we have slaves for, or should have them for!!!!  (Oops, gotta watch that elitism of mine.  Know, I implore you, that the slaves I have in mind are of all the human skin-shades.) 

On the other hand, while I often wished I could get out of it when I used to run three or more miles daily four or five times a week, each run was a mini-quest, with a time to shoot for–as well as exercise to make me fit for greater quests.  Shopping wasn’t quite the same but even it had a bit of questness to it.  And the pleasure the food or drink would give me could make up for its not being much, if anything, of a quest.  It occurs to me that normal men dislike shopping for clothes because clothes lack the pleasure, for them, of food and drink, and we have no instinct for capturing clothing.  

Those of you familiar with my theory of psychology will have realized that I’ve been speaking of what I call the sagaceptual awareness.  That’s one’s innate system of brain-cells and interconnections that causes one, when it is active, to feel oneself to be the hero of some archetypal saga–chasing one’s Venus, for instance; starting one’s ascent of Parnassus; going out on the tennis court to compete for first place in the Charlotte County B-3 over-55 men’s league . . .  This awareness becomes active much more easily for me than for others, it seems to me.  Once enheroed in it, I stop thinking of myself as a hero, from that point on it being sufficient for me to be the hero in whatever saga I’ve become a part of.  But I become aware of my self-image in flashes.  More often, the glory, or the equivalent thereof, that I will win, breaks through my concentration on the task at hand.

My impression is that the sagaceptual awareness is stronger for the greatest achievers than for others, and that most of them have no shyness about indicating it–Keats, for instance, writing somewhere (in a letter, I believe) that he wanted to be remembered “among the English Poets,” or something close to that.  Unconcealed ambition.  Others don’t want to be caught being proud.  It may be that our age is particularly harsh on those who want to rise above others.  Even I have worked out ways around that, which I actually believe in (intellectually, at any rate): for instance, I have said that followers are as necessary as leaders; an effective leader is just another necessary component of the greatness (however defined) that can only be achieved by a group of people, which includes effective followers (and their effect cats and dogs).  Actually, this is unarguable true, but I have to admit that I tend not finally to believe anyone counts but me. . . .

I  believe that existence simple is, it has no meaning.  But for biological reasons, we have to act as though it does have some meaning–which in the final analysis comes always down to the triumphant attainment of a sagaceptual goal.  Meaning is the finding of meaning. 

One last thought before I leave this for an attempt to continue my Shakespeare chapter (into Greatness): that there is a role in the sagaceptual awareness for each of us to take, that of the spectator.  This allows us to root for ourselves, something too few others generally seem willing to do.  The best because they are busy rooting for themselves; the non-best because they’re too dumb to recognized our worthiness of cheers.  Until we’re safely dead, of course.

Whee.

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Entry 276 — The Irratioplex « POETICKS

Entry 276 — The Irratioplex

Another day in the null zone for me, perhaps because I’m going without the pain pills I’ve been on for my bad hip as an experiment.  I played tennis this morning without any more of the slight hip pain I’ve been having with the pain pills.  That was nice but since I got home from that and a little marketing (for socks and new sneakers), I I’ve been feeling blah.  A nap didn’t help.

Meanwhile, I’m been feeling bitter about my reputation as a defender of Shakespeare.  SHAKSPER, an Internet discussion group I’m in, has for several days been discussing the proper reaction to a movie coming out called Anonymous, in which the Earl of Oxford is depicted as Shakespeare–and as Queen Elizabeth’s son–and Southampton is depicted as Oxford and Elizabeth’s son.  I think it may destroy Oxfordianism the way the preposterous codes found in Shakespeare’s plays “proving” Bacon wrote them pretty much destroyed Baconism.

What irks me is that several who comment at SHAKSPER mentioned James Shapiro’s recent book on the authorship question, and books and articles on it by others, but not my book.  No doubt I’m biased, but I consider my book the best refutation of anti-Stratfordianism in print, and the only one that presents a serious theory of what makes people become anti-Stratfordianism–whether valid or not.  Yet the Shakespeare establishment, and their little followers at the two authorship sites I participate in don’t mention me, or respond to my posts to SHAKSPER.  Maybe they don’t want it known that our side has a crank like me on it.   A crank, morover, who calls anti-Stratfordians “psitchotics.”

Nonetheless, my attempt to understand what causes reasonably intelligent people to become psitchotics where Shakespeare is concerned, and–more important–find a way to express my finding entertainingly and coherently, continues, with a minor development today, the new term “irratioplex.”  This I pronounce ehr RAH shuh plehks.  Do I misspell it?  Possibly, but “irratiplex” doesn’t do it for me.

And irratioplex is an irrational knowleplex.  There are several.  Two of them are the rigidniplex and the enthusiaplex.  I now maintain that all anti-Stratfordians are afflicted with one or the other of these two irratioplexes.  The new term allows me to couple them as victims of irratioplexes, then show how they differ from one another by virtue of their (slightly) different irratioplexes.  The rigidniks’ irratioplex is forced on them by their innate psychology; the enthusiasts’ (who are frrewenders) acquire their irratioplexes during fits of enthiuiasm, making them quickly too strong thereafter to resist.  Both irratioplexes act the same once active. both nearly impossible for their victims’ to resist.

My new strategy for the description of wacks is to concentrate on irratioplexes in general, proceed to  rigidniplexes and enthusiaplexes in general, then to how the latter two specifically enslave their victims to anti-Stratfordianism.

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Entry 1125 — More House Fun « POETICKS

Entry 1125 — More House Fun

Water from the burst water heater was seeping out of the walls.  Finally it worried me enough to follow the advice of the plumber who’d taken care of the heater and called in some water extraction people.  So now I have two de-humidifiers and four (noisy) fans going.  They’ll be drying the walls for three days, then technicians will return to replace some of the worst parts of my walls and poison the mold that was found.  Cost: $1000.  Meanwhile, an air-conditioning man showed up because yesterday my air conditioner had stopped.  Ants got in where they shouldn’t have and caused a short-circuit.  $89.  But I got a ballpoint and a nice little pad.  (What’s $89 after a bill of a grand?)

Now you know why I’m taking the rest of the day off.  Bit I do have one happy news item: I was at one of my doctors for a routine check-up–my urologist.  I found out my PSA was still about as low as it can be: 0.1.  I’d been worrying about it (and thinking about how important test results continue to be for me so long after I left school).  My younger older brother had prostate cancer at the same age I did and had about the same treatment.  He went 15 or 16 years before it came back, then hung on for two or three more years.  I’ve now have mine for 15 years.  But I had a stronger dose of radiation than he had, so maybe I’ll be luckier

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Dreams « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Dreams’ Category

Entry 1436 — A Comment Regarding Dreams

Sunday, April 27th, 2014

I don’t accept the “recent findings in cog sci” mentioned (“that one of the functions of dreams is to consolidate memory and learning, by transferring mental content from ‘working (short-term) memory’ to ‘long-term memory’”), although I’m sure dreams help organize our memories.  I believe dreams have two principal functions: (1) the detonation of the potential mistakes that accumulate during a person’s daytime life while sleep paralysis prevents the process from causing harmful physical actions; and (2) allowing combinations of incongruous images and ideas to form,some of which may prove beneficial–again, in the security of sleep paralysis.  See my essay, “Mistakes, Dreams and Creativity” at /knowlecular-psychology/2470-2/ for details.

I just stuck the attempted post to Aeon above as a record of it, because one version of it I attempted to post there seems to have been rejected, and I’m afraid this one will, too.

Hmm, this one took.  Dunno what happened to the previous one.  I’m glad I haven’t become a persona non grata at Aeon because it’s the latest door I’m fantasizing will admit me into the BigTime.  (Note: I don’t italicize phrases from Rome like “persona non grata” because I consider them to have become English.)  Aeon, which is something like Psychology Today, seems to be interested in many topics I’ve been thinking and writing about for almost fifty years like dreams, beauty, creativity, etc., and its writers don’t seem peer-reviewed.  Anyway, if I can get my essay on Beauty reasonably current and entertaining, that’s where the essay will be headed.

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History « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘History’ Category

Entry 1028 — Halaf Culture

Thursday, February 28th, 2013

Halaf Culture

In about 6000 B.C. the Hassuna culture in northern Mesopotamia was replaced by the Halaf culture.  Its origins are uncertain, but it seems to have developed in the same area as the Hassuna culture.  The Halaf culture survived some 600 years and spread out to over all of present-day northern Iraq and Syria, exerting an influence that reached as far as the Mediterranean coast and the highlands of the central Zagros. In some ways, however, it was outside the mainstream of development.

The plants grown were the same as in the preceding Hassuna and Samarra periods: einkorn, emmer and hexaploid wheat, two-row hulled and six-row naked and hulled barley, lentils, bitter vetch, chickpeas and flax. The distribution of Halaf settlements lay within the
area of dry farming so that most of the agriculture was probably 
carried out without the aid of large-scale irrigation. Domestic animals included the typical five species-sheep, goats, cattle, pigs and dogs-but also wild animals were hunted.

During the Halaf period people abandoned the rectangular many-roomed houses in favor of a return to round huts, called tholoi. These varied in size from about 3 to 7 meters in diameter and are believed to have housed families of one set of parents and their children. The entrance was through a gap in the outer wall, but the design varied. Often a rectangular annex was added to the circular structure. At Arpachiyeh, round buildings with long annexes formed keyhole-shaped structures almost 20 meters long with stone walls over 1.5 meters thick.

Originally the Arpachiyeh buildings were believed to be special and used for some religious ritual. However, excavations at Yarim Tepe II have suggested that most of the tholoi were used as domestic dwellings, as the rectangular chambers were entered from the circular room and did not serve as an entrance passageway as in an igloo. The tholoi were made of mud, mud-brick or stone and possibly had a domed roof. However, those at Yarim Tepe II had walls that were only 25 centimeters thick and may have been roofed using timber beams.

Tholoi have been found throughout the range of the Halaf culture, from the upper Euphrates near Carchemish to the Hamrin basin on the Iraq-Iran border. As well as having circular dwelling houses, however, the earliest and latest Halaf levels at Arpachiyeh included rectangular architecture. One such building at the latest level had been burned, with its contents left in situ. On the floor were numerous pottery vessels, many of them beautifully decorated. There were also stone vessels, jewelry, figurines and amulets as well as thousands of flint and obsidian tools. Much of the pottery and jewelry lay beside the walls, on top of charred wood that had probably been shelves. The building was at first thought to be a potter’s workshop, but that did not explain the presence of all the precious materials. It might have been a storeroom for the community’s wealth or the treasury of a local chief. In any event, there was a remarkable concentration of wealth in this one building. Yarim Tepe also had some rectangular buildings, some of which were storerooms or houses while others, which had no distinctive plan and contained no domestic debris, had possibly been public buildings.

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I suspect some of you will be wondering why I posted the above.   One reason for it is my standard quickness to post anything that’s easy to post.  But I also posted it because, as I was reading it (on pages 48 and 49 of Michaell Roaf’s Cultural Atlas of Mesopotamia and the Ancient Near East), I was filled with near-religious combination of awe and pleasure–just like when connecting to one of Marton Koppany’s poems, in fact!!!  I thought it an excellent example of the value of what I call informrature, and the fact that is is not necessarily inferior to poetry, just different.  Although, yes, the best poetry takes much more skill to create than the informrature I quote here, which is only journalism.  Informrature at the level of The Origin of Species can produce as much pleasure as the best poetry, though.  More exactly, I would claim that Darwin’s book caused its earliest prepared readers to enjoy it as much as Wordsworth’s The Prelude caused its earliest prepared readers.

That “prepared” is essential to the truth of what I am saying: I got what I did from the passage from the atlas because it read it during a peculiar moment of High Preparation (slightly helped by a caffeine pill I’d taken ten or fifteen minutes earlier because I felt so sleepy too many hours before bedtime).  The High Preparation was caused by many different things.  One of them was my having read 47 pages about Mesopotamia, and looked at the many neato photographs and drawings on them.  Another was all that I’ve read about ancient civilizations.  I was simply ready to feel the size and grandeur of the time and geography as both a moment and a period that I was reading about fusedly.  Okay, let me try to express it more calmly.  I suddenly felt the absolute banality of what I was reading about: the list of foodstuffs; the goats, sheep, etc; the ordinary families in ordinary dwellings; the trinkets, pottery, figurines, etc., all in a little piece of land, really, in a little almost static piece of time.

I absolutely believe in, and almost worship, Cultural Progress, and here, after reading of previous Near Eastern cultures to come upon one I’d never heard of, which was almost certainly very minor, but a tributary, thrilled me.

I think, too, I’m a bit burned out as an artist and verosopher.  After my reading in the atlas, my mind drifted into a daydream of taking a year off from all mental endeavors and just reading books like it.  I can’t.  But maybe a compromise is possible.  I’ll probably have to keep a good supply of caffeine pills on hand.  I have to keep telling myself there’s nothing wrong with countering an obviously endocrinological deficiency with them, the way I take thyroid pills to aid my deficient thyroid gland.

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