Entry 543 — Another Back&Forth About What Poetry Is « POETICKS

Entry 543 — Another Back&Forth About What Poetry Is

I got embroiled in another discussion of what poetry is at New-Poetry yesterday.  It started off being a discussion just about all agree was a silly statement at some website by Gabriel Gudding.  He wants to abolish it–for fascism.  I finally decided he was merely against the metrical line, which some people, who knows why, consider literature’s only real line.  We eventually oozed into the subject of prose poetry.  I repeated a lot of my standard unarguable but boring arguments.  As usual, someone put in for poetry as undefinable, others for the difference between verse (bad, therefore not poetry) and poetry.  My final post to what had become three or more threads (after someone had argued that it was ridiculous to require a poem to consist of lines) was this: 

Why?  What’s wrong with defining poetry objectively as having lines, prose, including “prose poems,” as not having lines?  If a prose poem is a poem, what isn’t?
 
(Actually, my own definition of poetry is slightly more complex than “having lines” because of things in some poems like internal li    ne breaks, so I define poetry as language having flow-breaks—as I said many years ago here.)

.

Leave a Reply

Sound Poetry « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Sound Poetry’ Category

Entry 1291 — AT Art, Part 2

Friday, December 6th, 2013

ForEmileBerlinerText

Note: a “lavalier” is a kind of microphone, something I had to look up on the Internet so out of it I am in this territory.  But I didn’t feel I had the trouble with “Sound Poem for Emile Berliner” that I thought I would when I listened to it for the first time this morning.

Here’s what I just wrote to Mark about his piece:

Yikes, Mark, I’m sure how to break it to you, but . . . I liked your Berliner piece and felt COMFORTABLE with it the very first time I heard it! Before I knew it, I was listening to and enjoying your second piece. I’ll be trying to figure out what happened over the next few days. I think maybe just exposure to things like language poetry, conceptual poetry, even popular movies sometime use of dramatically-expressive noise effects, and an increased ability to be tolerant of new kinds of art due to a fair amount of contact with it as critic and maker, and possibly the thought I’ve given to what music is–for instance, in trying in some of my visual poems to make graphic metaphors of it–have set me up to be able to appreciate what you’re doing–assuming I really am! More in due course, but who knows when, considering how erratically I function.

Oh, you should know I listened to it a second time, and found more things in it to like. So I expect it to be continuingly interesting, and look forward to where your sequence of pieces will go! By the way, if I were to characterize the piece as a kind of found art, how would you react? It really isn’t, although inventive art is always “found art” in the sense that a finished piece is a specimen of art you’ve found in the result, or maybe found the result to be. Especially the way recording feedback from a microphone will give your a field to find things in that recording chords played on a piano won’t.

(I bet I couldda made lots of money as a PR man if I’d been able sincerely to like crap the way I like Mark’s work.  I’m so perhaps overboard because I really feel like I have tripped into what is a major new field for me.  Oh, because I don’t know how to include audio in my entries, and actually would prefer not to, so those interested in Mark’s work would buy a set from whomever is selling it, and because I will have the challenge of describing something very hard to convey, I should tell you–roughly now, but better tomorrow, I hope, that it begins with sandpaper-scratching sounds but soon includes random musical tones, single and chordal, sort of falsetto-sounding to me, but not human, and–for me–feels like it’s going somewhere.)

More on this piece tomorrow.

One last note: I’m part megalomaniac but also very much amazingly humble in spite of my superiority to everyone else, including you louts, so I want say that the principal joy of being a critic for me is my feeling of being on someone else’s sailboat, plunging into wondrous new climes.  Yow!  And a Large Thank You to the many of you whose boats have done this for me.

 .

Entry 1290 — AudioTextual Art, Part 1

Thursday, December 5th, 2013

One of my many problems as a would-be culturateur is biting off more than I can chew. Today, for instance, I needed something for this entry. My laziness struck first, telling me to just use the graphic immediately below:

ForEmileBerliner

It’s from Mark Sutherand’s Sonotexts, a 2-DVD set he recently sent me–with a copy of Julian Cowley’s user’s guide to sound poetry from Wire.  As soon as I saw what Mark had sent me, I went into one of my yowie-fits, perceiving it, as I wrote Mark, as a sort of class in sound poetry, something I’d been wanting to come to terms with for years.  I had visions of taking a fifteen-minute class in the subject based on Mark’s package–something I’ve followed through on for four or five days now, except my requirement isn’t fifteen minutes daily of immersion, just a significant immersion that might last only a few minutes–like the amount of time it took me to read the text and above and study the graphics.

I had a second yowie-fit concerning my use of the above here, which I suddenly saw as the first step in a Great Adventure, Bob Grumman’s Quest to Assimilate Audio-Texual Art.  (Not “sound poetry” because I had already realized my subject would cover more than sound poetry.)   I would write a book here, one Major Thought per daily entry that would not just describe my attempt to learn about sound poetry and advance the World’s understanding of  the whole range of audio-textual art, but expose the World to my theory of aesthetics–down to its Knowlecular foundation.  All while working on three or four other not insignificant projects daily.  But I was not wholly unrealistic: my aim was “merely” a good rough draft, not a perfect final draft.

Well, maybe I’ll keep going for more than a few days.  Perhaps I’ll even write something of value.  For .  .  . ?   One of the reasons I probably won’t get far is my belief, strengthening daily–if not hourly–that there are not more than a dozen people in the world able to follow me at this time, nor will there ever be, so I’ll be wasting my time.   Yes, I do recognize that the reason for this may not be how advanced my thoughts are but how badly expressed and/or obtuse they are.   No matter, I myself will enjoy writing about my adventure, and having it to write about may be enough to keep me in it until I’ve actually accomplished my main aim, an understanding of audio-textual at that makes sense to me.

Ergo, here’s lesson one, which an enlargement of the text above from the booklet that comes with Mark’s set will facilitate: ForEmileBerlinerText

Its words, of course, are Mark’s.

Student Assignment: two words or more concerning “Sound Poem for Emile Berliner”–prior to listening to it.   Not much to say except for taxonomical remarks unsurprising to anyone who knows me.  First off, since there can be nothing in the composition anyone will be able to recognize as verbal, as far as I can now see, I would term it “linguiconceptual music,” “linguiconceptual” being my term for asemic textual matter in an artwork that conceptuphorically (or provides a concept that metaphorically) adds appreciably to the work’s aesthetic effect.  I will say more about this after hearing the composition.  Right now I don’t see how its textual content can be evident without a listener’s simply being told that it is there.Unless the tracing is exhibited as the composition is being played, as it seems to me it ought to be, and maybe is!  The tracing IS a visual poem, albeit a simple one that serves the work as a whole as its caption.

No, it’s more than that–the textual music is metaphorically its voice, which makes it an integral part of the composition that is secondarily a caption for it.

So much for lesson 1.  (I think I passed.)

.

Gerard Manley Hopkins « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Gerard Manley Hopkins’ Category

Entry 1314 — Just-Spring

Sunday, December 29th, 2013

It crossed my mind earlier today that a flair for the use of fresh language might be the most important attribute of a superior poet.  Certainly E. E. Cummings had it, which is why he rates so high with me.  In particular, I think the invention of new words or phrases, or the use of a word in a way it was  never before used, like Cummings’s melding of “just” and “spring” in his famous poem about the balloonman, is about the most important thing a superior poet can do.  Hopkins and Dylan Thomas are two others I quickly think of who did this.  If I were fading out, I’d try to find examples, and mention more poets of fresh language.  I might even come up with a Grummaniacal name for them.

For now, I just say that one way of recognizing mediocrity in a poet is his total conventionality of word-choice and use.  You can recognize the subj-mediocrity by his used of dead poeticisms.

.

Entry 735 — Another Long Division Poem Finished

Friday, May 11th, 2012

It’s my “Tribute to the Arts & Humanities.”  For a while I had great expectations for it; I especially liked the way my quotient came out.  But I am not too satisfied with the lettering of either my dividend or the text uder it.  They seem to me barely adequate, if that.  If there were a good cheap graphic designer in Port Charlotte, I’d hire him to improve them.  It’s not a bad poem, though–and straight-forward: the only help an engagent may need is knowing that “counter, original, spare, strange” is from Gerard Manley Hopkins–so I’m hoping it can pick up a few fans from among the sub-congnoscenti.  Make that, “pre-cogniscenti.”

(Apologies: once again I posted this as “private,” having forgotten to tag it “public.”  I generally keep my entries “private” so no one can see them but I until I’m satisfied with them, at which time I hit a button that makes them “public.”  Ridiculously often I forget to do this, as was the case this time.  No big deal, just one more reminder to me, as if I need it, that I’m a moron.)

.

Entry 360 — Thoughts about Definitions « POETICKS

Entry 360 — Thoughts about Definitions

Mathematical Poetry is poetry in which a mathematical operation performed on non-mathematical terms contributes significantly to the poem’s aesthetic effect.

Mathematics Poetry is poetry about mathematics.

Neither is a form of visual poetry unless a portion of it is significantly (and directly) visio-aesthetic.

The taxonomic rationale for this is that it allows poetry to be divided into linguexclusive and pluraesthetic poetry–two kinds based on something very clear, whether or not they make aesthetically significant use of more than one expressive modality, with the second category dividing cleanly into poetries whose definition is based on what extra expressive modality they employ–visual poetry, for example, employing visimagery; mathematical poetry employing mathematics; and so forth.

Directly.  I mentioned that because there are some who would claim that a linguexclusive poem about a tree so compellingly written as to make almost anyone reading it visualize the tree is a “visual poem.”  But it sends one to one’s visual brain indirectly.  A genuine visual poem about a tree, by my definition, would use a visual arrangement of letters to suggest a tree, or graphics or the like directly to send one to one’s visual brain.

A confession.  I’ve been using the pwoermd, “cropse,” as an example of a linguexlusive poem that muse be seen to be appreciated, but is not a visual poem.  Yet it is almost a visual poem, for it visually enacts the combination of “corpse” and “crops” that carries out it aesthetic purpose.  To call it a visual poem, however, would ignore its much more potent conceptual effect.  I claim that it would be experienced primarily in one’s purely verbal brain, and very likely not at all in one’s visual brain.  One understands its poetry as a conception not as a visimage.  When I engage it, I, at any rate, do not picture a corpse and crops, I wonder into the idea of the eternal life/death that Nature, that existence, is.  It is too much more conceptual than visual to be called a visual poem.

I had a related problem with classifying cryptographic poetry.  At first, I found it clearly a form of infraverbal poetry–poetry depending for its aesthetic effect of what its infraverbal elements, its textemes, do, not on what its words and combinations of words do.   It was thus linguexclusive.  But I later suddenly saw cryptography as a significant distinct modality of expression, which would make cryptographic poetry a kind of pluraesthetic poetry.  Currently, I opt for its being linguexclusive, for being more verbo-conceptual than multiply-expressed.  A subjective choice.  Taxonomy is difficult.

For completeness’s sake, a comment now that I made in response to some comments made to an entry at Kaz’s blog about my taxonomy: “Visual poetry and conventional poetry are visual but only visual poetry is visioaesthetic. The point of calling it ‘visual’ is to emphasize the importance of something visual in it. In my opinion, the shapes of conventional poems, calligraphy, and the like are not important enough to make those poems ‘visual.’ Moreover, to use the term ‘visual poem’ for every kind of poem (and many non-poems) would leave a need for a new term for poems that use graphics to their fullest. It would also make the term of almost no communicative value. By Geof’s logic we would have to consider a waterfall a visual poem because of its ‘poetry.’ Why not simply reduce our language to the word, ‘it?’”

Leave a Reply

Entry 477– Re-Defining, Again! « POETICKS

Entry 477– Re-Defining, Again!

 

Yeah, for almost forty years now I’ve been defining and re-defining visual poetry, often returning to old definitions.  Believe it or not, I’m trying to come up with one others will accept–without letting it go as “undefinable,” or–worse–infinitely-definable.  I think I may
have it now–but I always think that when I advance a new definition.  This one is only slightly new.  What’s new is the sub-categories I split it into.  Okay, here goes:

Visual Poetry is an artwork containing a verbal and a graphic constituent in which part or the whole of the semantic meaning of the verbal constituent and part or the whole of the representa-tional meaning of the graphic constituent each makes a centrally significant contribution to the core aesthetic effect of the work.

It comes in two varieties: visiophorical and visiocollagic poetry.  Visiophorical Poetry is Visual Poetry part or the whole of whose graphic constituent acts as a metaphor for part or the whole of what its verbal constituent denotes that makes a centrally significant contribution to the core aesthetic effect of the work.

Visiocollagic Poetry is Visual Poetry part or the whole of whose graphic constituent combines ametaphorically with part or the whole of the semantic meaning of its verbal element in such a
manner as to make a centrally significant contribution (in the view of a consensus of informed observers) to the core aesthetic effect of the work.

An awkward set of definitions but necessarily so.

I’ve decided a main reason it’s taken me so long to get a final set of poetics definitions is that I’m treating poetics as a verosophy–or attempt to come to a rational, objective understanding of some consequential large-scale aspect of existence sufficiently close to full for any reasonable person–and there are very few people (especially in the arts) interested (or, probably, qualified for) such an undertaking.  Those few who are, are off in their own wilder-nesses, not mine, or involved in a group effort as most of the sciences are.   In short, I’m basically without help–although occasionally I have gotten useful feedback.  I’m also over-extended–which is my fault.

Leave a Reply

Entry 401 — Experimental Poetry « POETICKS

Entry 401 — Experimental Poetry

Thinking about the poem I wrote yesterday:

.            Poem in last the Where Yellow

.            When sky Poem club over
.            sundry conniving. chain Last; exceptions.
.            Witheringly so so so, so example for
.            doesn’t? It. instants and below.
.            shifted candy bellowing bulge ‘s, s,o
.            with her wristle
.            exceeds which whistley love.
.            Parties never part am he.

I realized that it was a genuine experimental poem–as many poems called “experimental” are not.  That, unsurprisingly, put me into my defining mode.   My first reason for deeming my poem experimental was that in composing it I had devoted myself seriously to doing something significant as a poet that I’d never done when composing a poem before.  Or at least couldn’t remember having seriously done.  First simple insight–that, for me, a poem I made could be experimental even if what I did as a poet was something others had done.  Such was the case with this poem, for I’m sure language poets have made poems with the intention of avoiding any suggestion of sentences.  Conclusion: there are two kinds of experimental poems, endo-experimental poems and exo-experimental poems. Poems experimental for their composers and poems that are experimental for the world.

There are also–those in which a p0et does something as a poet new for him that he claims is therefore experimental.  Like trying out a new rhyme-scheme.  But if it would seem to almost every knowledgeable person that a poet’s endo-experiment is at the level of the “experiment” almost any poet must carry out when composing a poem, since he must make a poem different in some way from any previous poem of his, his poem is pseudo-experimental.  Else all poems are experimental, and the term has no meaning.

As I’ve opined before many times, in one way or another: a genuine experimental poem can easily, mostly likely will, be a failure as a poem, but it will never be a failure because one must learn from it.  So an experimental poem that fails as a poem is as worth making as a non-experimental poem that succeeds as a poem, unless that latter succeeds majorly.

The main thing a poet might learn from an experimental poem of his that fails as a poem is that whatever it was that he did differently was unproductive, and not worth repeating.  Better, he might see variations of his experiment he could try.  There would remain the possibility that some variation of the experiment would yield a valuable new kind of poem.  If not, he will have learned of a path not worth following.  He might also end not only in learning in detail why that path was not worth following, but with a raised understanding of the non-experimental things he could do as a poet, and be able to appreciate and employ them better than he had.

So, what Have I learned from my poem?  I’m not sure.  Nothing definite, for sure.  Just a few inklings that certain details may have potential.  I like “instants and below,” who knows why.  Ditto, “”example for doesn’t.”  The “‘s” is outside the avoid-sentences experiment but makes me think an apostrophe in front of a single letter or maybe two letters might be artfully mysterious, if the letter or letters were not arbitrarily chosen.  Something to let the under-conscious bat around.  A word like “so” repeated for no apparent reason (except here I thought of “so-so,” and the fact that “so so-so” did make sense).  “To part am,” somewhere in my head doing is something.

Another thought: that doing everything in a poem purposely wrong can help shake one out of the habit of doing everything purposely right, which I feel will almost never lead to a good poem.

A question: if I make a variation of the endo-experimental poem above will the result be an endo-experimental poem?  By my definition, no.  My first experiment will have to have been my only significant experiment.  I wouldn’t be doing more than changing a rhyme-scheme.   That, however, would make experimental poems too rare to bother naming, and no poet would qualify to be an experimental poet.  So I would extend my definition to include as experimental poems in which the poet devotes himself seriously to doing variations of something significant he has never before tried as a poet.

Leave a Reply

William Carlos Williams « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘William Carlos Williams’ Category

Entry 1699 — More Scraps

Wednesday, January 21st, 2015

Scrap #1: Yesterday’s mail included another chapbook from Mark Sonnenfeld, Check Check Done and Done, half of it devoted to poems by Mark and half to poems by Dory L. Williams.  Good reading but one thing in it by Dory L. Williams really knocked me out: to me, it’s an epigram, because a statement of an opinion, so according to my taxonomy a work of informrature.  Be that as it may, it’s as good an epigram as I’ve come across in years, if ever:

Covetness

If you want fame and money without real
achievement behind it, you’re not greedy enough.

Scrap #2:  After I posted yesterday’s entry, I remembered a central feature of Iowa Workshop Poetry I’d intended to mention before any other, but then forgot: it’s the recognition of the potential of ordinary subject matter for tranfiguringly successful poetry–as in Williams’s “The Red Wheelbarrow,” and in all the best haiku.   I am all for ordinary subject matter . . . but it can’t do much unless connected to archetypal matter one needs to be in one’s magniceptual awareness to be able to employ.  Williams’s poem is, finally, not about a wheelbarrow anywhere near as much as it is about Beauty.

Lesson for poets: keep explicit abstracts and generalities out of your poems as Ezra tells you to, but build you poems on them as I tell you to.  This, incidentally, you don’t necessarily have to consciously strive for, but you must be able to recognize when something worthily archetypal begins to show under your poem’s words so as to strengthen those words’ connection to it–and/or weaken the visibility of their path to it.  The archetypal foundation of the best poems is much more often understood in their engagents’ marrow long before it’s dealt with the reasoning parts of their higher faculties, if it ever is.  (Few poets have very large reducticeptual awarenesses or scienceptual awareness, which are where analysis is carried out.)

Possibly more important than the connection to the archetypal is the technique, the freshness of the technique employed to make that connection, which is usually metaphorical.

I’m just repeating old thoughts of mine, disorganizedly.   Jus’ tryin’ to make it through another blog entry.
.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 407 — “The Red Wheelbarrow,” Visited Yet Again

Friday, March 25th, 2011

I’m not sure how regular a blogger I’ll be for a while, but here’s another entry.

A number of years back, I did what I thought was a superior examination of William Carlos Williams’s “The Red Wheelbarrow.”  Yesterday, thinking again about it–because I had the sudden idea that maybe I’d written enough little essays like it for a book-length collection of essays (later finding out I was wrong)–a simple explication of it occurred to  me: “so much depends upon (the fact that the everyday world can contain such beauty as) a (simple) red wheel barrow, glazed with rain water, beside white chickens.”  After writing that, I wonder if I didn’t already have it in my original essay.  I certainly said that’s what the poem most simply said, but I don’t think I then so concisely got its meaning (for me–always remember that, kids; but also remember that some engagents’ meanings are much better than everyone else’s).

Yes, it has many further meanings.  But that’s its core meaning.

In any case, after coming up with the explication just given, I thought a while about how much I enjoy explicating and otherwise critically dealing with poems, and–for the millionth time–about my belief that a good critique is as valuable as the poem it critiques.  Is, in fact, a conceptual variation on the poem it critiques, almost as enrichingly like/unlike it as a musical composition like Scheherazade is enrichingly like/unlike the literary work that inspired it.  It “spoils” the poem only the way scientific knowledge of the moon robs nullosophers of its magic.

* * * * *

What’s better: to know a lot of poems by others reasonably well, or know just a few extremely well?  Probably neither, but I certainly hope that the few poems by others I know, I know extremely well.  Some of them, I’m sure I do.  And by “extremely well,” I mean as well as anyone.   It bothers me that I keep returning to them so often.  But every once in a while, I tackle a new poem or two.

Poetics « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Poetics’ Category

Entry 1733 — A Limited Entry

Monday, February 23rd, 2015

Okay, maybe I shouldda said “more limited than usual.”  I’ve had a busy day away from the computer–with nothing I was sufficiently burning to say to inspire a good entry, anyway.  So, just a minor thought followed by Knowlecular Psychology stuff I’ve written about before but want to repeat to get my brain a little more well-fastened to it.

* * *

Thinking about my tendency to try too hard to make sure my readers had all the information they needed fully to understand what I was writing, it occurred to me technology could come to my aid: I’m sure Kindles could be fixed to allow me to avoid boring any reader with information he doesn’t need could but also provide him with a text he could click to at any time which would have all the extra information. Right now footnotes can do this, but what I’m speaking of would not be intrusive the way footnotes are.

Indeed, a reader could be given a choice of texts–one with the math explained, one without that, for example; or any other appropriate specialized version.

* * *

Re: my knowlecular psychology, I was thinking again about what most poems are about, and went through my list again: (1) people; (2) imagery sans people; (3) concepts . . .  Is that all?  Doesn’t sound right, but I’m too out of it right now to think of any others.

What knowlecular psychology has to do with this, is that the first category could be described (as I’m sure I’ve more than once already described it) as “anthroceptual poetry.”  Or as “sagaceptual poetry,” which is poetry in which what happens to one or more people is more important than the people–for the reader, the joy of vicariously experiencing a human triumph is more important than the joy of empathetically merging with another human being.  Two kinds of people poems.

By imagery poetry, I mean poetry that is more concerned with conveying the beauty of the sound and/or the visual appearance (primarily or usually) of what is denoted by a poem’s words–or protoceptual poetry.  As for concept poetry, I’m not sure any kind of genuine poetry is more conceptual than either of the other two (and almost all poems contain both anthroceptual and protoceptual matter).  If it existed, I would call it “reducticeptual poetry.”  A good example would be “lighght”: it is aesthetically dependent on its conceptual element–the conceptual datum about its orthography; but that element’s only use is to metaphorically lift the image the poem is about into, well, poetry, so I consider the poem more protoceptual than reducticeptual.

It may be that certain conceptual poems do use conceptual elements to lift a content that is ideational rather than sensual into poetry.  Indeed, perhaps one of my mathematical poems may provide some reader more with a feeling of the poetry of asensual mathematics than with anything sensual image that may be an element of the poem.

Something requiring more thought.

Note: what I wanted primarily to glue into my memory was the term “protoceptual.”  I’ve had trouble with it because I for a while was using “fundaceptual” in place of it.  Eventually I needed “funda” elsewhere in my psychology and felt it too confusing to have it there and with “ceptual,” so went back to “protoceptual,” which I used before for the term.

.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 1701 — The Elements of Free Verse

Friday, January 23rd, 2015

“Imagery, the only prevailing poetic element in modern free verse,” quoth Sarah Ruden, a skilled translator of classical literature in “Back to Tragedy,” an article in the January 2015 issue of The New Criterion.  Others may have said things about poetry more ignorant, but none come to mind.  Ruden is an amiable, knowledgeable writer, so I have to think she just stopped thinking for a moment.  I doubt her editors knew any better.

Imagery is of course one of the many poetic elements in modern free verse (if we consider my own free verse “modern,” as I do), but much more important that imagery is the metaphoric use to which the best poets put it, figurative language being an element of free verse.  As are all the melodational devices of formal verse except regimented rhythm (meter).  Freshness of language and syntactical expression are also elements of all poetry, including free verse.  Infraverbal devices are central to many of the best free verse poems, and–it seems to me–can play a role in formal verse, too.  Then there is the defining poetic element of free verse, expressive lineation, or line-breaks placed where they work best aesthetically rather than where a metrical form requires them to be.  I doubt if Ruden, or David Yezzi, the poetry editor of The New Criterion, are even aware of such things–or of the wide-spread addition of purely visual or purely auditory matter to free verse poems.

Amusingly, these people have almost as much trouble with the American Poetry Establishment as my crowd does, but because the certified poetry of today is beyond them rather than beneath them.

.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 1699 — More Scraps

Wednesday, January 21st, 2015

Scrap #1: Yesterday’s mail included another chapbook from Mark Sonnenfeld, Check Check Done and Done, half of it devoted to poems by Mark and half to poems by Dory L. Williams.  Good reading but one thing in it by Dory L. Williams really knocked me out: to me, it’s an epigram, because a statement of an opinion, so according to my taxonomy a work of informrature.  Be that as it may, it’s as good an epigram as I’ve come across in years, if ever:

Covetness

If you want fame and money without real
achievement behind it, you’re not greedy enough.

Scrap #2:  After I posted yesterday’s entry, I remembered a central feature of Iowa Workshop Poetry I’d intended to mention before any other, but then forgot: it’s the recognition of the potential of ordinary subject matter for tranfiguringly successful poetry–as in Williams’s “The Red Wheelbarrow,” and in all the best haiku.   I am all for ordinary subject matter . . . but it can’t do much unless connected to archetypal matter one needs to be in one’s magniceptual awareness to be able to employ.  Williams’s poem is, finally, not about a wheelbarrow anywhere near as much as it is about Beauty.

Lesson for poets: keep explicit abstracts and generalities out of your poems as Ezra tells you to, but build you poems on them as I tell you to.  This, incidentally, you don’t necessarily have to consciously strive for, but you must be able to recognize when something worthily archetypal begins to show under your poem’s words so as to strengthen those words’ connection to it–and/or weaken the visibility of their path to it.  The archetypal foundation of the best poems is much more often understood in their engagents’ marrow long before it’s dealt with the reasoning parts of their higher faculties, if it ever is.  (Few poets have very large reducticeptual awarenesses or scienceptual awareness, which are where analysis is carried out.)

Possibly more important than the connection to the archetypal is the technique, the freshness of the technique employed to make that connection, which is usually metaphorical.

I’m just repeating old thoughts of mine, disorganizedly.   Jus’ tryin’ to make it through another blog entry.
.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 1678 — A Specimen of My Poetry Criticism

Wednesday, December 31st, 2014

I’m trying to catch up with my collection of Small Press Review columns in this blog’s “Pages” and am about to post the one that follows.  I liked it so well (after making some small improvements to it), that I’m taking care of this entry with it:

EXPERIODDICA

September/October 2014

Richard Kostelanetz’s Latest Infra-Verbal Adventure

Ouroboros
Richard Kostelanetz
NYQ Books, Box 2015, Old Chelsea Station,
New York NY 10113. $16.95. 2014. Pa; 188 pp.

An ouroboros is a mythological serpent swallowing its tail, so an excellent title for Richard Kostelanetz’s collection of 188 words swallowing their tails, most of the time adding at least one interesting word to what they’re saying, as “ouroboros” itself does on the cover (when its s joins its “our”).  Those that do not use their first letter as their last to finish a word: “extrapolat,” for example, has only one e but spells “extrapolate” when made into a circle.  It’s fun to find smaller words inside them in Kostelanetz’s collection: “tea” and “eat,” for example, in “appetite,” which not knowing at first where the word begins forces one to discover rather than automatically read without thinking about it.  But can such objects be considered poems—rather than “curiosities?”  To use the term my Internet friend Chris Lott thought might be more appropriate for works like them than “poems”–and which turned out to be a term I’ve needed for my over-all taxonomy of verbal expression for a long time but never thought of!

The term seems right for some of Kostelanetz’s words, but only some of them–like “ouroboros.”  The addition to it of “sour” is amusing but, for me, not poetically enlarging enough to be a poem rather than a verbal curiosity—which I now define for use in my Official Taxonomy of Verbal Expression as “a text that states an amusing or interesting fact.”  That makes it (write this down!) “informrature” (i.e., texts primarily intended to inform) rather than one of the other two kinds of verbal expression in my taxonomy, “advocature” (i.e., texts whose primary intent is to persuade, or verbal propaganda) and “literature” (i.e., verbal art, or texts intended primarily to give aesthetic pleasure).  In effect, “ouroboros” as a circular word that “disconceals” the word “sour” states the fact that its letters can be used to spell “sour” following a certain rule, that being to connect the word’s end to its beginning by means of a circular spelling.

Not that such a word doesn’t veer near poetry (which can be succinctly if roughly defined as not-prose) due to its visual difference from conventional prose, its making a reader go slow (a major aim of poetry) and delivering more connotations than prose generally does.  But, for me, it is visually-enhanced the way calligraphy is, and infraverbally-enhanced the way “ouroboros” spelled “ouROBoros” to reveal one of its inner words, would be.  Yes, it looks good on the page, and makes us think about it more than it would conventionally printed, but it leaves us primarily with only the fact that “sour” can be produced by it (and “our” and “rob” are in it.

Take on the other hand, “appetite,” which swallows its tail to deliver not only “tea,” and “eat” but leads us into and around to “pet” and “petite” to go along with “appetite” itself, to present a little tea party, with a strong suggestion of little girls.  Then put “incandescent” swallowing its tail on the page opposite it to form “tin” while making us also aware of its “descent” and “scent”—due to its compelling us to read it letter by letter.  “Scent” is particularly significant because of the metaphoric jolt of the3 suggestion of something incandescent as a material scent, or of a scent as something immaterially incandescent.  The contrast of “tin” notwithstanding, the result is a fascinating scene occurring somewhere down Alice’s rabbit hole which, for me, makes the word a poem.

At this point I must contradict myself.  I now believe all of Richard’s circular words are poems.  I say this because I now feel that they do enlarge a reader’s experience of them significantly more than prose does, although some, like “ouroboros” do so to much less of an extent than others.  More importantly, this collection as a whole, I’ve come to perceive, is a single poem, whose ssspinning wheelsss free connotations whose interaction with each other disconceal sometimes fairly complex image complexes—as I’ve shown “appetite” and “incandescent” do.  The result is a loose collection of themes and counter-themes, occasionally next to each other, as with “appetite” and “incandescent,” but sometimes far apart—like “state, which amusingly becomes “estate,” where the tea party will take place, many pages from “incandescent.”

Kostelanetz’s sequence begins with “insurgent,” and as we go along, the presence of an insurgent, mainly, it comes to seem to me, a language insurgent miswriting words into circular revolts against monosemy establishes one of the sequence’s major themes (with the little girls’ tea party in feminine contrast to it).  For example, “Esperanto,” representing a language in revolt against the Tower of Babylon our world has become, supports this “linguicentric” reading.  Its disconcealment of “rant” backs up the tone of insurgence (in spite of “toes”—although that suggests “toe to toe,” for one really caught up with the sequence).  On the page facing “esperanto” we have “astonish,” which is indicative, I think, of what artistic insurgence’s aim in this story will turn out to be.  That the font Kostelanetz has chosen for his words, the highly dramatic “Wide Latin,” which is jabbingly pointed at all extremities, underscores this.

The book’s fourth word underscores this: “another,” or something other than.  But then the narrative runs into “hesitant,” which contains “Sita,” the name of the central female character, a sort of Virgin Mary, in the Hindu epic, Ramayana, and the narrative goes strange among “the,” “he” “sit”, “it,” “tan,” “an,” “ant.”  After the turn caused by “hesitant,” comes “entomb,” with its “bent” against something.  By the “men” of the later “enthusiasm?” The first peak of this insurgent flow is reached with “outlawing,” which causes “gout,” making the act of outlawing things unhealthy, and the insurgence begins to have the feel of anarchism.
I agree with you if you’re thinking one must have quite an accommodating mind to make the kind of connections I’ve so far made—but a main function of poetry is to relax one into doing just that.  I have to admit a lot of my interpretations are influenced by my knowledge of Kostelanetz as a long-time personal friend consumed (like me) with innovative insurgency in the arts and anarchistic distaste for political laws.

To get back to his sequence, it’s no surprise that “esoteric” forms the next spinning wheel with its esoteric lawless confusion of “ice,” “rice,” “sot.”  Some kind of drunken wedding?  Where are we going?  The point is that we are going somewhere, or more than one where.  And word-lovers who join us will be sure to enjoy the trip!

.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 1628 — The Lyricule

Tuesday, November 11th, 2014

The “lyricule” is my term for the peak moment I claim every poem, to be effective, must cause one engaged with it to experience.  The haiku moment would be one, but only one, example of a lyricule.  I think it deserves a fairly large-scale essay but haven’t worked out my understanding of it well enough to write very much intelligent about it here, or anything at all organized.

The lyricule is produced by a poem’s “lyricular center.”

I would consider Basho’s entire old pond haiku to be a lyricular center.  To be coldly accurate about it, the words of the poem activate memories that combine to form the lyricule.  It produces no perceptual data.  It is thus entirely cerebral.  That does not mean it will contain no visual or auditory data.  It will almost certainly contain sounds, but they will be the sounds of the poem’s syllables seeing the poem’s text will cause the poem’s engagent to remember (assuming he reads it the way it ought to be read, pronouncing what he reads to himself).  The engagent may also “see” visual images certain words denote, and certain images those words connote, if they do so strongly enough.

I habitually claim that when reading a poem, and I’m solely concerned here with poems as read, the poem’s engagent will not “see” the words.  By this I mean that the engagent’s eyes will take in the words but send the sight of them into the engagent’s lexiceptual sub-awareness (or reading center) not his visioceptual sub-awareness.  In the former, he will read the words, not see them; in the latter, he will see them but not read them.  (In normal reading, most of the time.)  This is not important.  I mention it merely to be complete.  But also because visual poetry exploits the visual appearance of textual elements to cause an engagent to read and see at the same time, which can produce lyricules traditional poetry cannot.

Visual poetry can also add direct perceptions of shapes and colors to a lyricule.  So, I suppose I should add, can visually-enhanced poetry, which is traditional poetry using calligraphy or the like as ornamentation.

The lyricule can be considered a moment but really isn’t.  I conceive it as more a unified . . .  knowlecule, to use the term its name comes from that will take more than a unit of consciousness (which I term an “instacon” in my theory of psychology) to experience.  A knowlecule is some datum or combination of data that a person takes as a thing—a flower, or the petal of a flower, or a garden.

I think of a lyricule as seeming like a lengthily-arrested moment.

For me, the best lyricule must produce Manywhere-at-Once, as all effective metaphors do.  Manywhere-at-Once, which I discussed in my first book about poetry, is what one experiences when two or more separate loci in the brain are activated simultaneously (or more or less simultaneously)—and fuse.  For instance, when Romeo speaks of the rising sun as being Juliet, it should cause an engagent to experience some image of the rising sun and, incongruously, an image of a beautiful young woman at the same time, followed immediately by those connotations of each that are the same, such as “beauty,” “dominance,” “bringer of life” or “source of meaningfulness,” “cynosure,” and suffice to fuse the disparate denotations.

Needless to say, the Shakespearean lyricular center is more complex than here discussed—the whole of the plot preceding Romeo’s utterance, for just one element.  There are also other ways of producing Manywhere-at-Once, like simple rhyme, one of the two cerebral sites it activates being one concerned with the sound of the rhymenants, the other with their denotations.

How effective a lyricule is depends on many things.  A consequential one is the intensity of its elements.  The number of its elements is another consequential one.  Not surprisingly, the aesthetic strength of its elements is hugely important (and inordinately difficult to determine).  The freshness of its elements and/or the freshness of their interinvolvment will be signally important in determining the aesthetic strength of its elements.

I’ve already discussed the various levels a poem can have, although I probably didn’t call them levels.  In fact, I’ve probably discussed them more than once, each time with a different name.  Anyway, the levels, or whatever they are, pertain to lyricules as well as poems.  I believe that (in theory) a lyricule might be able to participate in all the ten (or eleven) awarenesses my theory (at this time) hypothesizes are in each healthy human brain.

And there is where I’ll leave my thoughts on this for now.

.

AmazingCounters.com

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.
.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 1611 — Interpretation of Poems, Part 2

Saturday, October 25th, 2014

I came up with a few more possible layers:

13.    The ethical layer.  I at first thought ethics would be in the ideational layer, but am now not sure.

14.    The anthroceptual, or the human relations layer: character, as opposed to plot.  At this point it occurs to me that maybe I ought to link each layer to an awareness or sub-awareness in the cerebrum as I have here.  I could also rename the ideational layer the “scienceptual layer.”  Will think it over.

15.     The allegorical layer, or the only layer those questioning the authorship of Shakepeare’s sonnets are really interested in, the one—if it exists—that arbitrarily attaches real people and places to objects in a poem.  Perhaps I should make two layers out of this, the sane allegorical layer, for poems like Spenser’s Faery Queene that use straight-forward allegory, and the psitchotic allegorical layer for poems a lunatic has found to be allegorical.

Actually, this layer should be called the allegorical paraphrasable layer, because it is everything a poem is thought to be under its surface.

Because I have it readily at hand, here’s a rough full paraphrase of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 I did to show Paul Crowley how sane interpretations of poems are made.  Needless to say, I found no allegorically paraphrasable layer.

> 1.   Shall I compare thee to a Summers day?

“Would it be a good idea to make a comparison of you to a day in the most pleasant of the four seasons?”

Note that my explication is a paraphrase of the line that takes the DENOTATION of every word into consideration and tries to make linguistic sense.  It is concerned primarily with what the surface of the poem means.  It ought to deal, too, with any clear-cut connotations of the text it concerns, as well as any secondary meanings, if any.  In this case, I find no connotations worth mention, and there is nothing in the line (or, to my knowledge, outside the line–that is, in the background layer, which should be consulted by one making a paraphrase of a poem) to indicate it means anything more than it says.

> 2.   Thou art more louely and more temperate:

“You are superior to the summer’s day mentioned in both beauty and temperament.”  Ergo, In other words, there’s really no comparison between you and a summer’s day: you’re much the better of the two.
Again, there is nothing in the text to indicate it means anything more than it directly says.

> 3.   Rough windes do shake the darling buds of May,
“Unruly, harmful movements of air upset the delicate early blossoms of summer flowers.”  Note: May may have been thought a part of summer in Shakespeare’s time.  Or May’s buds may still be present by the true beginning of summer.

> 4.   And Sommers lease hath all too short a date:

“And that season does not remain in charge of nature for very long: its “contract” to do so is short-term.”
This line and the previous one point out in some detail the defects of a summer’s day, but, implicitly, not of the addressee.  There is nothing in them to suggest they mean anything else.

> 5.   Sometime too hot the eye of heauen shines,

“There are times when the sun is unpleasantly too high in temperature,”

> 6.   And often is his gold complexion dimm’d,

There are also frequent times when the sun is overcast.”

Again, two lines providing further details of what makes the summer’s day inferior to the addressess, who–we are led to believe–has no equivalent of temperatures that are either too hot or not warm enough.  And who is never “grey” in disposition.

> 7.   And euery faire from faire some-time declines,

“Every good thing is subject to decay, and therefore must lose some of its best qualities.  “In summation, each good thing in a summer’s day must eventually retreat from its peak, or lose its best qualities,”

> 8.   By chance, or natures changing course vntrim’d:

“the victim of some random event (like being trodden on by some animal) or of the normal way the natural world behaves (turning stormy, for instance).

Ergo, we have two more lines finishing up telling the reader what is wrong with summer–and, it is strongly implied, NOT with the addressee.  So far, not a hint that anything other than the surface meaning of the words (beautifully) used is intended.

> 9.   But thy eternall Sommer shall not fade,

“Your never-dying prime season, however, won’t ever decline”

> 10.  Nor lose possession of that faire thou ow’st,

“or surrender the beauty of appearance and disposition, and other excellences you are in possession of”

Two more straight-forward lines, these ones claiming the addressee will not fade in any manner the way a summer’s day inevitably will.

> 11.  Nor shall death brag thou wandr’st in his shade,

“Nor will the ruler of the realm those who die be able to boast that you have entered his realm”

> 12.  When in eternall lines to time thou grow’st,

“when in ever-living lines of verse you continue to flourish and perhaps even improve,”

Again, a straight-forward set of lines, these bringing in the speaker of the poem’s second main thought, which is that poetry can make one who is its subject immortal.  I admit to not yet knowing exactly what “to time” means, but I believe I have given the most plausible meaning to every one of the other words in the poem.

> 13.      So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

“Until such time as human beings are unable to keep alive by taking in air or there are organs sensitive to light,”

> 14.      So long liues this, and this giues life to thee,

“the poem you have been reading or listening to will endure, and it will grant you immortality.”

That does it.  My explication accounts for every word in the poem except “to” and “time,” and even those can be accounted for as having something to do with resisting what time does to all things.  It is also completely plausible AND sufficient, for those with any ability at all to appreciate poetry.  (Of course, there’s much more to any poem than an explication of its sanely paraphrasable layer.) To show it has an allegorically paraphrasable layer (or or any other layer containing further meanings of the kind just revealed) requires external evidence of it like the notes of the poet saying such meanings are there, or poems by other poets that seem on the surface like this one but have some significant hidden under-meaning, or permit a second explication that comes up with such a hidden under-meaning that is as smooth, coherent, and reasonably interesting as the primary meaning I’ve just shown the poem indubitably to have.

The third course is the only one you have available, Paul–because we have no notes or anything else relevant from the author or from anyone else to indicate any hidden meanings, nor are there any poems in the language (or any language, so far as I know) that are like the kind of poem you claim this is.  I am absolutely sure that you cannot provide an explication that reveals a smooth, coherent, reasonable hidden meaning.  In fact, I’m pretty sure you will claim it’s not necessary to–the poet was too complex for any academic or even you fully to explicate.

That would be nonsense, and clear evidence that your interpretation is defective.  But not to you.  Nor will you ever accept my claim that it is an argument against your interpretation
.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 1610 — The Interpretation of Poems

Friday, October 24th, 2014

Essay on the Interpretation of Poems
(First Draft)

One way of dividing verosophers, it seems to me, is into those who are able to construct permanent understandings of a given subject, and those who constantly construct understandings that they immediately forget.  Well, they don’t wholly forget them, but fail to remember any of them well enough to grasp it.  That’s me.  I continually re-construct my various theories, only to make them pretty much all over again six months, a year . . . or five years later.  My incredible defectiveness as an organizer helps.  More often than not, I can’t find previous versions of understandings.  That seems the case right now.

There is an advantage to this, I believe: it is that I, at least, do remember a sort of underunderstanding that returns each time I build a new version of a given understanding.  This, I claim, makes me superior to those whose first construction of an understanding is more or less permanent in the long run due to my not being able to restrain myself from wobbling often into substantial improvements of my understandings they are locked out of.  I would not call them rigidniks, just perhaps too close to being that.  Meanwhile, I doubtlessly am too far from being that, at least some of the time.

The freewending verospher versus the academic verosopher.  Then there is the psitchotic verosopher.  Such a character can be either excessively prone to freewendry or to academicality.  The one I’ll be introducing here is one who is amusingly anti-academic—but nevertheless himself the victim of an academicality of almost unbelievable magnitude.  One thing I’m sure of is that if I am psitchotic (and I will never rule out the possibility), it is due to my being excessively freewendrical.

Note: I am here speaking of the “sane insane.”  Both I and the psitchotic you’ll be meeting are sane enough to stay out of mental institutions, and seem rational enough to others.  Both of us are normal—but possibly normal to an excess.  That is, according to my theory of psychology, everyone is a mixture of three normal character-types, the rigidnik, the milyoop and the free-wender, and becomes a neurotic or psitchotic due to being too entirely one of these types but does not become psychotic, or nuts across the board.  To put it simply, psitchosis results from a single gland’s being under- or over-active; psychosis from greater defects spread throughout the brain.

There.  400 words and I haven’t gotten to my topic, the interpretation of poems.  I will now, with a list of what I’m calling the layers of a poem until I can come up with a better name for them.  For now, I’ll stick them on my list as they occur to me.  I hope in my return to my understanding

I may at least be able to find this list and better organize it.  Anyway, here goes:

1.    The background layer.  This consists mainly of what the person analyzing a given poem knows of its author, the poem’s form and . . . the poem’s title, if it has one.  Its presentation—as an inscription on a monument rather than on a page in a book, for instance—may be part of this layer, too.  (Oops, before I forget, I must tell you that this essay will be concerned with poems one encounters in a book, not oral poems.  What I say can be readily applied to oral poems, I believe, but I am not up to showing how over and over again.)

2.    The sensory surface of a poem: what it looks like to the eye, sounds like to ear, and perhaps feels to the tactile sense, or even smells—meta-verbally.   I distinguish the sound and visual appearance of words acting as words from their sensory effect beyond that, which I call their meta-verbal appearance.  For instance, the word, “oh,” is heard verbally as a long o, but may be heard meta-verbally as a shriek, grown, mumble or any of numerous other enunciations; similarly it may seem visually just an o or, in a visual poem, be (meta-verbally) ten times larger than the rest of the poem’s letters, and orange instead of black.

3.    The melodational layer, or how a poem sounds verbally.  The sound of “oh” as “oh” spoken normally.  Alliteration, rhyme, assonance, euphony, etc.

4.    The narrative layer, or what story the poem tells, and I believe every poem must tell some story.

5.    The symbosensual layer, or the sensual imagery the poem’s words denote (symbolically), generally the visual images they represent, but also at times sounds (“the clang of a bell”) or even smells, the taste of food, the feel of satin.  I coined my awkward term for this because I feel it important to distinguish verbal images from actual images like the graphic ones that may turn up in visual poems.

6.    The ideational layer, or all the ideas that may be in a poem.

7.    The unificational layer, or everything in a poem that, en masse, acts  as the poem’s unifying principal (if it has one).

8.    The metaphorical layer, or what I call its metaphormations.

9.    The archetypal layer, or everything in a poem that gives it archetypal depth.

10.     The paraphrasable layer, or what a poem is, on the surface, about.  It can be a repetition of the narrative layer, but will often be quite a lot more.

11.    The allusional layer, or the sum of a poem’s allusions to other poems, or cultural material of any kind, and to parts of itself.  Some of this will have been in the background layer, but some not . . . I think, but won’t be sure until I’ve worked entirely through a poem using this list.

12.    The twelfth layer, which is the layer containing everything in a poem not in the other layers.

A proper full explication of a poem, or what I call a “pluraphrase,” will identify each of these layers in a poem, or a particular layer’s absence, and evaluate it.

TO BE CONTINUED
.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 1586 — “Moonlight Equation”

Tuesday, September 30th, 2014

intuition + reason = moonlight + pond

I’m bringing the poem above back from an earlier but recent entry because when I just happened to see it Sunday night, it made me realize a virtue of mathematical poetry I hadn’t thought of before: that an simple equation in the form a + b = c + d  strongly suggests each of the terms has a different value than the others; hence a must be part c and part d, which means the reader has an extra meaning to muse about: in my poem, just how much moonlight, for instance, is intuition, and how much reason.  Ditto for each of the others.  In other words, “intuition + reason = pond” would be a nice poem, but not nearly as loaded as “intuition + reason = moonlight + pond.”  To over-argue my point, the three-term poem consists of one mathematical idea, the other of five mathematical ideas.

No more for this entry.  I’m having another tired of my tired days, but just got through another chapter of my book, one I don’t think I made more than two or three changes to.

.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 1541 — Thoughts Concerning Entry 1540

Sunday, August 17th, 2014

Nice to see that more people are visiting my Journal of Mathematics and the Arts article than just the forty or fifty to whom I sent free links to it–75 yesterday morning.  I’m hoping for a hundred!

A few follow-ups to yesterday’s entry.  First about the poem.  As some of you will realize, the quotient is one of my “poemns”–i.e., one of  the haiku in my 1966 collection, poemns.  Two questions occurred to me as I used it: (1) how does the poem’s existence now in two rendering affect its cultural value? and (2) should I make more long divisions using various poemns, perhaps all of them?

I hope having two versions of my poem is a plus.  The first is still important as a stand-alone because a simplification toward intensification at the expense of complexity; the second manywheres far beyond but with, I believe, the loss of maximal intensification.  In its relocation in a long division, the poemn’s connotative value is diminished, but certain of its specific connotative possibilities are strengthened.  I think I would like them read far apart from each other, the poemn first, most happily without the reader’s being aware of its use elsewhere.

I just laughed a bit to myself at the thought that I might now make a third version.

Further note: I consider poemns a collection of visual haiku, but my little boy (me at Harbor View, age 11) is not in a visual poem, but a cryptographiku (my very first one), that being a kind of infra-verbal poem that makes significant aesthetic use of an encrypted text, and infra-verbal poem being (as you all know) a poem in which what counts is what happens inside words.

I also want to say a bit about my declaration that my poem is a major one (as is my poemn–a major poem within a major poem, by gum).  That I need all the encouragement I can get, including self-encouragement is one reason for it.  Another is the hope mentioned yesterday that some one would challenge, intelligently challenge, me on it.   That would have the value of publicizing it, and perhaps educating some people about it.  But–most important for me, I swear–I might find out something that helps me as a poet.  (I almost never fail to learn something that helps me as a poet from thoughtful feedback, even very mistaken feedback, and am always surprised when that happens.)  I would also get a better sense of how my poems are coming across to others, and I truly want to know that because while simply the satisfaction I when I make a poem I like is enough for me, I also want others to enjoy it–which is the main reason by far that I make my poems public.  Benefiting materially from a poem would be very nice (I assume, from what little I know of it) but, as I often say, I’d a billion times prefer to make a poem and two or three others like without getting a cent for it than a poem I think tenth-rate but others like enough to give me–well, a Nobel prize for (the money that comes with it being about all that I’d be interested in).

.

AmazingCounters.com

Entry 362 — My Defixation Continues « POETICKS

Entry 362 — My Defixation Continues

First, another definition:

Visiomathematical Poetry: mathematical poetry containing a strong visioaesthetic component.  I’m posting this as an example of my belief that a variety of poetry should be named on the basis of what it most is, not automatically called “visual poetry,” for instance, because it is partially visioaesthetic, as many of my mathemaku are, and as linguexclusive poems that calligraphy has prettified are.

Next, the contents of a post sent to New-poetry:

First off, this is a test to see if an attachment will show up when this e.mail is posted.  If not, one can see what it contains at http://tipoftheknife.blogspot.com/2011/01/tip-of-knife-issue-3.html?showComment=1296227493737#c7300633740752662346.  Scroll down to my “EE-Winter.”

Secondly, to those who believe non-Wilshberian works like this piece are the equivalent of someone kicking an elk skull and calling what they’re doing “poetry,” what such a work should be called.  Not “visual art,” by the way, since everything in it is textual–the verbal text of words and the mathematical text of mathematical symbols (to wit, the absolute signs [the verticals], the minus signs, and the remainder and what I call the “dividend shed”).

Thirdly, I’d love to hear what anyone makes of the poem.  Everything in it can be paraphrased–if one knows how to read math and solve simple cryptograms.  I call it a cryptographic mathematical poem, by the way.

Third, something with nothing to do with poetics definitions, a comment to Bill DiMichele’s blog I just made in response to a brief comment of someone who found Bill’s latest entry “wonderful”:

As one with work in the post, I thank you, Caio. As one with work in the post, however, I have a request: couldjah say why you think the post wonderful? Partly because of my work, for instance? Partly in spite of my work? Sorry for this slightly annoyed comment, but I find way too many comments to blogs and discussion groups to be nothing but close to useless thumbs up or down. On the other hand, it is nice to know when anyone cares enough about something on the net to actually comment! Hardly nobody done does that. So a sincere thanks, anyway. (And the stuff Bill has gathered, aside from mine, is wonderful, isn’t it!

persnickedly yours, Elderly Bob

Now a comment about my mathemaku about “winter,” or–more accurately–about what some might call my analytical perfectionism.  In the original version of the poem, the remainder was simply “little lame balloonman,” a quotation from E. E. Cummings’s “In just-spring.”  Thinking about it yesterday, I can’t remember now why, I realized that the remainder should not be positive, because what it was being added to to get the (negative) dividend was negative.  That meant that any positive remainder could not be added to it to make it equal the negative dividend (negative because a negative value was chosen to multiply a positive value to try to get it).  This bothered me greatly because I need my mathematical poems to be mathematically accurate, however little many others believe they can’t be.  I couldn’t quickly figure out how to remedy the poem.  At length, though, the obvious answer occurred.  It was to make “little lame balloonman” negative.  (I had to keep “little lame balloonman” as my remainder because that’s what the remainder in each of the other three poems in the set this poem is part of are.)

To make the arithmetic more clear simply divide 2 into -3.  If you make the quotient -1, then your remainder will be -3 minus -2 or -1.  Which makes sense because if you turn the -1 into a fraction to get the quotient 100% accurate, you’ll get negative one-and-one-half.

Next, another thought inspired by the nullinguists: if a visual poem is not poetry, why need it be visual?  Adjectives count more than nouns?

Last, a Comment on “Cleave”: the reason “cleave” is famous among aesthlinguists is that it has two official definitions that are exactly opp0sed to each other, “to separate” and “to cling to.”  I mention it here because its fame is due to its nature’s being so extremely rare.  Even the masses prefer a word not to contradict itself.  I feel sure that even some certified lingusts do also.

Leave a Reply

Entry 606 — The Other Day at Spidertangle « POETICKS

Entry 606 — The Other Day at Spidertangle

The other day at Spidertangle, Nico Vassilakis asked, “Is this acceptable as one of the many definitions of ‘vispo?’”

When art and text convene, the resulting blur is “vispo,” a portmanteau of “visual” and “poetry.” It’s where alphabet morphs into image and language is reinvented into visual experience.

My reply:
Seems to me we need a term meaning something like “partial loose definition.” That’s what the above seems to me—which does make it acceptable as one of many such definitions. Hyperlogical as I am, though, I believe there is only one acceptable verosophical definition of vispo (if we take it as a nickname for “visual poetry,” as I do, because is unproductively confusing to consider vispo different from visual poetry)—although I wouldn’t disagree with anyone who said we haven’t yet expressed it. Substitute “scientific” for “verosophical,” if the latter bothers you. A verosophical definition would be a rigorous definition as near complete as it is possible to be. Not an exploratory definition however useful that can be, but a final definition. Not something blurred, but something distinct one can go to the blurred from. I rather like the idea of vispo as a locus where visimagery (not “art” since music and other non-visual things are art) and language (because text alone is not language and language has always been considered necessary for poetry, and if we decide it isn’t, then what isn’t poetry) fuse (rather than merely convene) and increase the expressive potency of the other without any loss of whatever expressive potency each would have by itself.
Maybe a good distinction would be between a conversational, and a verosophical, definition of a term.

NICO: Bob, you are probably right – that distinction can be made, but I sometimes wonder if the uninitiated wouldn’t end up confused with somewhat exacting neologist definitions. I’m not inferring that what I said captures the true nature of vispo, but think simplicity, be it conversational or not, is useful. I should also say i do appreciate your work in mapping out the verbo-visual permutations that exist and the time and effort you put into it.

Thanks, Nico. I tried my best to show that what I call conversational definitions are definitely useful. Verosophical ones are, too, but probably only to verosophers—i.e., the very few seriously concerned with the search for truth.

Karl Kempton then chimed in with:

perhaps first usage or the coining of the term vispo / vizpo can add to this discussion. as far as i know, if i was not the first i was among the first in the 1970′s to use this term as a short hand in my correspondence with national and international visual poets. at that time we were freeing ourselves from the term concrete poetry to define our works. also at that time, my spelling was phonetically inclined. some have said i was texting before texting. it was an automatic follow through.

vispo / vispo was a short hand for visual poetry, the first usage of which was of european origin. “visual poetry” there, as a term, was used to free themselves from the restricted and discredited field of concrete poetry, a minimalist fission poetics blowing up language to create new patterns. this process paralleled minimalist painting and minimalist and electronic music. visual poetry was a fusion process taking these new and then newer patterns and textures wedding them with another art form or other forms.

in my opinion, demanding “recognizable” language word(s), part or parts erases, or worse censors, the possibility(ies) of wordless poetic gesture(s) and poetic aesthetic(s), rhythms, lines, pictorial metaphor(s) and countless other poetic terms that can be made visual without words. this part of the arena is border blur or the soft membrane or tissue between rigid classically drawn demarcation “scientific” lines separating classifications in the assumption each defined field is as if a dead noun and hence incapable of fluid movement or evolution.

I replied to parts of this as follows:

K: in my opinion, demanding “recognizable” language word(s),

B: As no one I know of does. I, for instance, simply ask for something called “poetry” to consist of words, as poetry always has. All this “demands” is that one not call something with no recognizable words in it “poetry.” And here we meet the bizarre belief of many that if “visual poetry” requires recognizable words, one cannot make a work of art without recognizable words. But I’m here with the good news that one can do that. One need only call what one creates something other than visual poetry!

K: part or parts erases, or worse censors, the possibility(ies) of wordless poetic gesture(s) and poetic aesthetic(s), rhythms, lines, pictorial metaphor(s) and countless other poetic terms that can be made visual without words.

B: They can be made musical without notes, too, so let’s call them vismoo.

K: this part of the arena is border blur or the soft membrane or tissue between rigid classically drawn demarcation “scientific” lines separating classifications in the assumption each defined field is as if a dead noun and hence incapable of fluid movement or evolution.

B: Right, Karl. You live in the ocean because there’s no exact way to tell where the ocean ends and land begins.

I’m afraid it comes down to an unending struggle between Snow’s two cultures.

Karl’s response:

not wanting to get into a long history as i have just been hit with a nasty cold, the long and short of it has to do in part with a generational difference as well as o so many single glance, so what concrete works and cliches, some even winding up on greeting cards.  the generation difference is building upon what was done and taking it to the fusion process. there was a possibility of a real jump in multimedia but concrete in general turned off lexical poets, calligraphers, book artists, etc., a ready made audience if there ever was one. there was no embrace because the works failed to match the quality of the painters, musicians, sculptors, calligraphers, book artists, etc. not that there were exceptions such as finlay. phillips, dencker, xenakis and others made the jump to aid in the formation along with the lettrists of visual poetry.

for japan, see karl young’s intro on kitasono . having already run his run of concrete many years before concrete was coined, he did not participate in concrete be rehashing his previous concrete before concrete, but submitted his plastic poems. then the rerun story of mine and others re patchen having composed concrete before concrete then being stiff armed. others as well.

i think dencker edited the first or one of the first visual poetry anthologies, 1972. techen was published in 1978 a year before i switched kaldron from a lexical and visual poetry mix to visual poetry only. concrete works were not excluded from any of this but concrete excluded visual poets, esp the lettrists.

the ocean has no fixed line. where the chumash lived 15,000 to 20,000 years ago now under water. soon homes and cites adjacent to the ocean will receive the same fate because fools thought boundaries fixed. boundaries change. worse than building in flood plains. the wise remain on high ground. we are at 70 feet on what is an old sand dune soon to be an island. but my body will have been turned to ash by then.

out of energy,

karl

What Cathy Bennett then said, and I replied to, was:

1- “increase the expressive potency of the other without any loss of
whatever expressive potency each would have by itself. ”
Bob,
The above section*** is where you are completely wrong… and by saying
it is a “scientific” approach, still doesn’t make it right.

Can’t my (very tentative) definition be okay as a scientific one, Cathy? Do you not agree that a scientific one might have some use? In any case, I was just giving a different take on the long-difficult struggle of our language to produce a definition of vispo.

2- “because text alone is not language and language has always been
considered necessary for poetry, and if we decide it isn’t, then what
isn’t poetry”
is a problem when it comes to “asemic” vispo. “Visual Poetry” is not so self-limiting.

You lost me here. If something consisting of textual elements but no words is called visual poetry, how does that not raise the question of what is not visual poetry? Or not poetry. Or do you agree that something consisting of textual elements but not words should not be called “visual poetry?” Which, by the way, is the one thing I am far from alone in believing.

So you want to limit “text” to “language” and you also want to limit “art” to one media/ I say “NO” to both ideas.

It just seems to me that all poetry, including visual poetry (or vispo) should be limited to language, and that text is not language until it becomes words. I’ll never understand the problem so many have with this simple idea. As for “art” as both visual art and all forms of art, no one agrees with me that that can be confusing, or that it’s demeaning to visual art not to have a name of its own. It’s not at all important, though.

3- The “search for truth” is fine, except when approached in your
narcissistic manner…

Well, you have to admit that at least I don’t think we should call the search for truth “Bobgrummanism” although I have to admit that sometimes I think I’m the only one pursuing it.

you have created your mathemaku and now your definition to define it, but “in truth”-that definition*** can only be applied to your mathemaku, which you have decided to limit to your “balanced two elements”.

So, as far as your posited questions: “Is this acceptable as “one” of the many definitions”– Yes… for Bob Grumman’s mathemaku perhaps, but your mathemaku should not be held up as the highest scientific principle of “visual poetry” towards which we all must strive.

Next, Cathy’s husband, John, said, “ANY ‘definition’ of a phenomenon is necessary a definition or description of that phenom. in the past. As soon as it is made, someone comes along and does something that requires the definition be changed, in order to include it.”

But the new thing done need not be included. It may, in fact, not be a new thing: for instance, Klee and many other painters included text but not words in their paintings; their paintings are still considered paintings the subject matter of which is letters—The Villa R, for instance. No one saw, or even now sees, any need to call Klee a visual poet. The word, “chariot,” still means what it did to the Romans even though we now have the automobile. In the arts, even when definitions change, they keep some main part—e.g., the term “music” is now used for works people a hundred years ago called “noise,” but it retains its main part, which is “an art concerned with sound.” Similarly, “poetry” has come to include free verse—but hasn’t, except among certain visiotextual artists—stopped being consider an art of words. I simply don’t see why it should be. Think what mathematics would be if it were decided that numbers no longer had to be part of its definition.  –Bob

In this particular case, and I believe Karl referred to this issue, is that large body of work called “visual poetry” that has NO explicitly linguistic or lettristic elements in it at all. There is a lot of work being done in this mode in Spain now. It seems to use images as concepts, or “words”; it’s a kind of picture writing.  –John

If the pictures do something explicitly verbal—do more than make a gesture some consider linguistic, that is—then it would seem reasonable to call the works involved “visual poetry.” The big problem is a definition so broad or subjective as to be meaningless. Why, for instance, should ballet not be considered visual poetry? (Except metaphorically, which is completely something else.)  –Bob

Joel Lipman added:

To stir & nurture, not resolve, this periodic thread, here’s Willard Bohn’s definition, suitably the opening couple sentences of his Modern Visual Poetry, Chapter 1:

“For all intents and purposes visual poetry can be defined as poetry that is meant to be seen — poetry that presupposes a viewer as well as a reader. Combining visual and verbal elements, it not only appeals to the reader’s intellect but arrests his or her gaze.”

Bohn’s second paragraph particularizes further distinctions: “Where visual poetry differs from ordinary poetry is in the extent of its iconic dimension, which is much more pronounced, and in the degree of its self-awareness. Visual poems are immediately recognizable by their refusal to adhere to a rectilinear grid and by their tendency to flout their plasticity.”

I find this definition grounding and useful, informed about the suggestions and nuances of its language. Its application enables Bohn to write a fine book on the subject, one which is pretty up-to-date, closing a chapter that discusses Perloff’s observations and compositions that explore digitalization’s “multidimensional realm of their own making.”

At some point, Bobbi Lurie and John had the following exchange:

On Tue, Dec 27, 2011 at 1:49 PM, bobbi luriewrote:

Do you consider a piece of visual art, any piece of visual art, visual poetry?
No
Or are there limitations to the definition?
Doubtless, yes. But definitions really don;t interest me very much; I never have anything I can use them for.

If I’m writing an intro to or selecting material for an anthology of something, I’ll use some kind of rule-of-thumb “definition” of what it is I’m selecting, tho it’s often pretty ad hoc, a matter of practicality or limited resources, not something I find very interesting.

Re some of what Bob & Cathy were talking about, I don;t think a “scientific” definition of art is possible or makes any sense. Science is a method, not a matter of absolute categories. A scientific study of the process of artistic creation, however, is quite possible, and could be very interesting indeed.

I couldn’t let that go by unshot at:

As an artist, I care very little about definitions; as a critic, I find them essential, and I need them to be what I consider “scientific”—i.e., objective, logical and reasonably complete (only “reasonably complete” because no definition can be absolutely complete, although the best definitions will be complete enough to satisfy any sane person).

Nico returned with:

you’ll find several responses to THAT question – and others who wont care at all. i think it’s about how you define language and poetry and looking. i wonder about my recent work sometimes, if it’s even vispo anymore. ive done past work where i imbue a piece or series with a kind of rosetta stone inorder to convey how the word can transform into parts of parts of letters. even snippets of letters, thus eliminating traditional MEANING by focusing on letters alone. then my interest shifted into staring my way through a word and into a letter – and that basically annihilated MEANING, and lead to the mere visual aspect of language. is there poetry there? is there meaning there? is it elements or the ingredients of language sitting there like a recipe waiting to be cooked? i think in some sense, yes. but there are other times that i am certain it’s vispo. as language is not only words. though i do relentlessly stare at letters – is a letter a poem? this gets into bob grumman territory. he’d say no. but i think every thing looked at is, why? because our brain does nothing but process what comes across our eyes-in-the-front face. or maybe it’s 2 letters that is the ultimate denominator of poetry. as to me, a letter is an atom and a word is a molecule – and letters are constantly in search of each other to create molecules. my interest in the past few years has been to stop the letter from huddling with other letters to form a word and focus on the letter itself. is that vispo? i dont know. im sure there will be a response. but JMB is right about the spaniards – picture writing – theyre pretty stunning, but is that vispo. does it matter. like hiessenberg – the more you try pinning it down the further down the road you find it.

That stumbled me into this:

I think ultimately it will be easy to categorize these different combinations of graphics and text. Possibly even now there are brain-scanning devices that can tell what part of the brain a person most experiences a work of art. I contend (and—I believe, the certified experts in the field would agree) that so far as visiotextual art is concerned, there are two brain areas involved, the visual and the verbal. I believe conventional poetry will light up the verbal area, conventional painting and sculpture will light up the visual area, visual poetry by my definition will light up both areas about equally, and the works Nico is talking about will do weird things that we need to break the verbal area of the brain into sub-areas to talk about; I think it will mainly light up the visual area but also light up a pre-verbal part of the verbal area. I think the brain (and probably part of the nervous system prior to the brain) subject stimuli to a long sorting procedure, first identifying letters, then words, then grammatical structuring, then the connections of the words to what they denote. The sorting procedure will break down after identifying Nico’s letters BUT certainly give them an aesthetic charge that will make them different from a conventional painting—but, I believe, not enough different to make them a form of poetry, or not painting. The subject matter of lots of paintings will also activate small areas of the brain besides the visual area. Perhaps most paintings do. Needless to say, it’s all a lot more complex than this. For instance, the presence or absence of people concerns in an artwork has a huge importance.

Which is where the discussion was today t around 3 in the afternoon here in Port Charlotte, Florida.

Diary Entry

Monday, 26 December 2011, 2 P.M.  About the first thing I did today was run a mile.  My time was again, over eleven minutes, which is horrible.  I can’t understand why I’m not getting better, although my not having run much for months, and not having run since last Friday (or was it Thursday?) may well have something to do with it.  Later in the morning I gave my latest SPR column a once-over and put in into an envelope with the reviews I had on hand.  That is now in my mailbox, awaiting delivery.  Just now I also wrote a new Poem poem.  I spent less than five minutes on it, but its central idea was one I’ve been thinking about for over a week.  It’s nothing much, at all, but probably worth keeping.  I used it to take care of my blog entry for today.  I haven’t gotten going on what I think of as my final major chore of the year, the response to Jake’s essay.  I think all I need to do is find a way to arrange what I’ve already have from what I wrote over a month ago, and several blog entries that seem relevant, and the little next matter I’ve written, and polish it, but . . .  I keep waiting for the surge I used to feel whenever I was really ready to tackle a writing project, but it’s no more anywhere in me than my ability to run a bad mile instead of a horrendous mile is.   

 

.

Leave a Reply