Entry 295 — Basho Revisited for the Millionth Time « POETICKS

Entry 295 — Basho Revisited for the Millionth Time

Surely, more poets have revisited Basho’s old pond than any other place in poetry.  Here my friend Guy Beining has, although obliquely as–it seems to me–the allusion to Basho’s pond is secondary.

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This work arrived in yesterday’s mail with two others.  Great timing, as I’d run out of frames from my sequence of textual designs to post, and I’m still too out of it to work up a decent entry from scratch.  I’m too out of it to comment on the above except to say I like it a good deal, and hope to say more about it eventually.

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the linguiceptual awareness « POETICKS

Posts Tagged ‘the linguiceptual awareness’

Entry 4 — The Nature of Visual Poetry, Part 2

Thursday, November 5th, 2009

Note to anyone dedicatedly trying to understand my essay, you probably should reread yesterday’s segment, for I’ve revised it.  Okay, now back to:

The Nature of Visual Poetry

As a visual poem, Biloid’s “Parrots” is eventually processed in two significantly different major awarenesses, the protoceptual and the reducticeptual.   In the protoceptual awareness, the processing occurs in the Visioceptual Awareness, to which it directly proceeds.  In the reducticeptual awareness, it first goes to  the Linguiceptual Awareness, which is divided into five lesser sub-awarenesses, the Lexiceptual, Texticeptual, Dicticeptual, Vocaceptual, Rhythmiceptual and Metriceptual.  The first is in charge of the written word, the second of the spoken word, the third of vocalization, the fourth of the rhythm of speech and the fifth of the meter of speech.  Of these, the linguiceptual awareness passes “Parrots” on only to the first, the lexiceptual  awareness, because “Parrots” is written, not spoken.  Since the single word that comprises its text will be recognized as a word there, it will reach its final cerebral destination, the Verbiceptual Awareness.

The engagent of “Parrots” will thus experience it as both a visioceptual and a verbiceptual knowlecule, or unit of knowledge–at about the same time.  Visually and verbally, the first because it is visual, the second because it is a poem and thus necessarily verbal.  Clearly, it is substantially more than a conventional poem, which would be processed entirely by its engagent’s verboceptual awareness.

Okay, this essay, only about a thousand words in length so far, is already a mess.  Yes, way too many terms.  And I keep needing to revise it for clarity.  Or, at least, to reduce its obscurity.  I have trouble following it myself.  My compositional purpose right now, though, is to get everything down.  Later, I’ll simplify, if I can.

Entry 3 — The Nature of Visual Poetry, Part 1 « POETICKS

Entry 3 — The Nature of Visual Poetry, Part 1

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The image above is from the catalogue of a show I co-curated in Cleveland that Michael Rothenberg was kind enough to give space to in Big Bridge #12–with two special short gatherings of pieces from the show, with commentary by me.  I have it here to provide relief from my verosophizing (note: “verosophy” is my word for serious truth-seeking–mainly in science, philosophy, and history).  It’s also a filler, for I’ve had too tough a day (doctor visits, marketing, phoning people about bills) to do much of an entry.

It’s not a digression, though–I will come back to it, as a near-perfect example of a pure visual poem.

Now, briefly, to avoid Total Vocational Irresponsibility, back to:

the Nature of Visual Poetry

The pre-awareness is a sort of confederacy of primary pre-aware- nesses, one for each of the senses.  Each primary pre-awareness is in turn a confederacy of specialized secondary pre-awarenesses such as the visiolinguistic pre-awareness in the visual pre-awareness and the audiolinguistic pre-awareness in the auditory pre-awareness.  Each incoming perceptual cluster (or “pre-knowlecule,” or “knowlecule-in-progress,” by which I mean cluster of percepts, or “atoms of perception,” which have the potential to form full-scale pieces of knowledge such as the visual appearance of a robin, that I call “knowlecules”) enters one of the primary pre-awarenesses, from which it is sent to all the many secondary pre-awarenesses within that primary pre-awareness.

The secondary pre-awarenesses, in turn, screen the pre-knowlecules entering them, accepting for further processing those they are designed to, rejecting all others.  The visiolinguistic pre-awareness thus accepts percepts that pass its tests for textuality, and reject all others; the audiolinguistic pre-awareness tests for speech; and so on.  More on this tomorrow, I hope.

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Jonathan Brannen « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Jonathan Brannen’ Category

Entry 1347 — Another Late Entry

Tuesday, January 21st, 2014

My absentmindedness is getting worse, it would seem, although it was pretty bad to begin with.  Anyway, here is yesterday’s entry, just thrown together a day late.  It’s some pages from Of Manywhere-at-Once that I don’t have time to comment on:

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Entry 431 — More on the Lunberry Installation « POETICKS

Entry 431 — More on the Lunberry Installation

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When I visited Clark’s installation, I somehow failed to notice that he had three texts, not just one, in water-filled jars in the three-part lobby showcase–because, I guess, two were in colored water.   In one respect, I was lucky: at the time, the one I saw, the central one, may have been at its best state of decomposition, for I found it enchantingly like a jut-filled, twisty opening in a secret caves.  Here, according to Clark, is a more accurate description of the trio of  showcases:

The showcases were divided into three sections, mirroring the stairway (and, of course, something or other outside the library)—water, trees, sky—with each section filled with books selected because that key word happened to be in its title. The selection of books was, as a result, wildly eclectic, linked only by that one word.  The water section had, immersed within it, Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams; the trees section had The Selected Writings of Paul Cézanne; and the sky section had André Breton’s surrealist classic Nadja.

Of the three, Cézanne’s writings degraded the most dramatically over the four weeks of their immersion and, by the final week, had taken on something of the geologic look of Cézanne much-painted mountain, Mt. Ste. Victoire.  The quality of paper, etc. must have contributed to that.

For the most part, I left the books alone to degrade at their own pace (I’d added color-appropriate water colors to each jar), but a couple of times I got into the jars and shook them up a bit, accelerating the decay (and the variety of pages visible).  By the end, the books were, in fact, stinking to high heaven; removing the jars was a disgusting experience, especially the Cézanne; it smelled like a rotting carcass!
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