Carlyle Baker « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Carlyle Baker’ Category

Entry 1019 — Something from a Year Ago

Tuesday, February 19th, 2013

I’m in the process of going through previous blogs to figure out what I managed to accomplish last year, if anything–strike that: I knowdid  accomplish a few things.  Anyway, I found this at the first entry I dipped into (which was posted 11 December 2011):

 

 

I copied the whole page of the anthology it’s on, hence the text below it.  As soon as I saw it again, I liked it as well as I liked it the first time I saw it.  Here’s what I said about it in my other entry: “I have a lot of trouble saying why I like this–extremely like this.   I do know that I am automatically attracted to anything with the word, “ur,” in it.  Beginnings, origins, the number one.  The work seems to me simultaneously some sort of alchemical diagram, a map of a section of an archaeological dig, a frame from a film of a dream, a “careworn and coffee-stained map” of a lost country (as bleed editor John Moore Williams muses in the text accompanying the full set of four pieces this one is the first of), maybe even a piece of square currency from some mystical secret nation . . .  Baker says of the set that “most of these pieces begin hand-drawn in ink, pencil crayon, watercolor, etc., and later are altered in a paint program”–much as the graphics in my work are.  My only gripe: he apparently doesn’t title his works–if he does, the titles have been omitted in the anthology I found it in.”

Do I have anything to add?  A little.  One is the importance visually and conceptually of the extremely un-organic elements: the rectilinear border, the three black symbols (two circles and a square, and black), the word, “ur” and the x.  The lines of dashes, too.  In short, a layer of conceptuality over a layer of Nature.  What would formerly be called a marriage of the perceived and the understood if “marriage” still meant what it used to.  So I’ll call it a wonderful dichotimfusion.

Amusing that I, the generally exclusive taxonomist, want to call it a visual poem (because of the word, “ur”) but its maker, Carlyle Baker, prefers the word, “graphism” for it.

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Entry 1009 — One More from Do Not Write

Saturday, February 9th, 2013

This one is by Carlyle Baker:

 

I find this image fascinating.  It’s not a poem, for me, but–for one thing–a visualization of a mind’s attempt to find an answer to some unknown but worthy question.  One of the mind’s tactics is a doubling back over what it is diagramming, stolidly diagramming.  It also employs a white abstract map it briefly scribbles notes toward some sort of understanding that fails to emerge–but it does pin down the location of the unknown involved (the X).    I also read in it (less compellingly) the narrative I read in almost all asemic works, the struggle of language to emerge, in this case from thick-lined networks forming layers away from what the language is struggling to speak of, with an abstract outline of what it apparently must include above it.  Or the map of a big city, or a close up of a side of such a city . . .

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Entry 600 — Another by Carlyle Baker

Wednesday, December 21st, 2011

I got it into my head that I’d done my entry for today yesterday and it had automatically been posted this morning. Now, at 7 P.M., I’ve discovered I was wrong. So I’ve grabbed another of the works by Carlyle Baker in thebleed.01 to take care of the day’s entry. 

 

It seems to me a visimage with a caption embedded in it, not a visual poem.   But I like it a great deal.  I versus some indefinite something . . .  Intimations of so much more.  Significantly, the I is drawn, not mechanically printed, and could be a narrow door.  Ancient countries of the Near East seem strongly implied, to me.  Are we where a sense of self originated?  Where I split off from a?  I think that happened much earlier, but who knows. 

Diary Entry

Tuesday, 21 December 2011, Noon.  A blog entry taken care of–after another round of tennis.  And, hey, a mile “run.”  I put “run” in quotes because it took 11 minutes and 13 seconds, so was hardly a genuine run.  But it was right after three sets of doubles and a bike ride home of over a mile.   Later note: well, I read some more in the two long books I’m to review, and knocked out reviews of the three other books on my list.  Didn’t get anything else done–other than writing and posting another blog entry about my unpopular belief that words should mean something.

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Entry 591 — A Work by Carlyle Baker

Monday, December 12th, 2011

I don’t know much about Carlyle Baker–only that I see his work every 0nce in a while and always like it.   The piece by Baker below, untitled, is from the bleed 0.1.  

I have a lot of trouble saying why I like this–extremely like this.   I do know that I am automatically attracted to anything with the word, “ur,” in it.  Beginnings, origins, the number one.  The work seems to me simultaneously some sort of alchemical diagram, a map of a section of an archaeological dig, a frame from a film of a dream, a “careworn and coffee-stained map” of a lost country (as bleed editor John Moore Williams muses in the text accompanying the full set of four pieces this one is the first of), maybe even a piece of square currency from some mystical secret nation . . .  Baker says of the set that “most of these pieces begin hand-drawn in ink, pencil crayon, watercolor, etc., and later are altered in a paint program”–much as the graphics in my work are.  My only gripe: he apparently doesn’t title his works–if he does, the titles have been omitted here.

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Sunday, 11 December 2011, 5 P.M.  I played around with an image at Paint Shop for less than half-an-hour, and posted the result as my blog entry for the day.  Tennis in the morning, dinner with Linda in the late afternoon, futzing around in between.  Almost nothing accomplished.

 

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Entry 61 — 2 Poems by Geof Huth « POETICKS

Entry 61 — 2 Poems by Geof Huth

They’re from #721:

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Entry 1026 — “The Last Ellipsis” « POETICKS

Entry 1026 — “The Last Ellipsis”

I’ve been putting together another of my columns for Small Press Review.  Half of it is devoted to Marton Koppany’s Addenda, from which I took the piece below, “The Last Ellipsis.

 

I didn’t have room to be brilliant about it in my column, so brought it here.  I won’t tell you what word it contains three writings of, just that the cursive does spell a word, one whose obviousness is a main reason the work is as funny as it is.  It’s a tricky puzzle, but–solved–tells you what’s what almost stupidly.  It shows you what’s what, too, in the process doing quite a bit more than what it tells you it’s doing, if you think–and feel–a proper way into its tile, for look at the ellipsis’s final sad struggle; reflect on its inability to state itself in some formal font.  Beyond that, though, consider how barely it expresses itself–not showing itself as it is, but only weakly describing itself with abstract words.  Alone, cut off from whatever it may have helping die into nothingness.  BUT NOT GIVING UP!  LEAVING PROOF THAT IT WAS HERE!

(Note, a primary reason I like Marton’s poems as much as I do is because of how much they make one think–but only after, and along with, how effectively they make you feel, both sensually and emotionally.)

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Edgar Allen Poe « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Edgar Allen Poe’ Category

Entry 587 — “The Bells”

Thursday, December 8th, 2011

My friend, Richard Kostelanetz is writing (actually, revising) an essay dealing with, among other things, appropriated art.  When he asked something about Tom Phillips’s A Humument, I remembered other superior examples of appropriation art such as the work on a dictionary of Doris Cross, and the following appropriation of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Bells” by Michael Basinski, which I thought worth posting here:

   

Here’s the original:

Hear the sledges with the bells–
Silver bells–
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,–
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding-bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight
From the molten-golden notes!
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gust of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells–
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells–
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

In the essay I quoted Mike’s poem in, I called it “an amazingly loud-though-silent jangle of . . . Poe’s famous poem.”  I’d add here that Basinski’s version gave me the thrill that Poe’s version, I’m sure, gave many of its first readers.

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Wednesday, 7 December 2011, Noon.  I’ve partly recovered from having accidentally deleted my blog entry for Monday.  A semblance of it is back up.  I also posted an entry for today.  I’ve done nothing else yet, but hope soon to go out to buy some frames and a pad of good-quality large paper.

Later note: I succeeded in finding two reasonably-priced frames of the kind I wanted (able to be stood up on a counter) that I bought.  That took care of my pledge to do something of value for my exhibition every day, barely.  Meanwhile, I sketched a new mathemaku.  Then took care of this entry.

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Geof Huth « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Geof Huth’ Category

Entry 1553 — Back to “Silencio.”

Friday, August 29th, 2014

Another simple post so I can quickly go to one of my Major Projects. It’s from Kalligram, the one at the top being Eugen Gomringer’s famous “Silencio”:

SilenceVariation

It is slowly inspiring as many variations, including several by me, as Basho’s “Old Pond.”  Definitely one of the world’s majorest visual poems.

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Entry 1552 — Another from Kalligram

Thursday, August 28th, 2014

This one’s by Geof Huth:

Must-Mist

One of many interpretations of this is that it expresses my present melancholy about all the musts of my life that have turned to mist–do, needless to say, to missed opportunities (and mussed opportunities).  The addition of the thick portions to the letters is, by the way, an extremely deft move.  The F seems appropriate but I don’t know why.  The beginning of some standard salutation?
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Entry 1207 — The Experioddicist, July 1993, P.4

Sunday, September 8th, 2013

ExperioddicistPage4

Note: I consider Geof’s poem a masterpiece–one of more than a few he’s done I wish I’d done.

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Entry 644 — My Annual Birthday Present from Geof

Friday, February 3rd, 2012

Every year Geof Huth posts some kind of “homage” to me on my birthday–which, as everyone should know is 2 February, Groundhog Day, the same as James Joyce’s and Ayn Rand’s. The same as Tom Smothers’s, too! And just a tick from Gertrude Stein’s, 3 February, I’m relieved to say. The one he just posted here may be his best yet. It consists of a series of dictionary definitions of words having to do with my personal life (such as “connecticut,” the state I was born in) and my obsession with defining poetics (and the universe). Very funny, in good part because of his cruelly accurate understanding of me.

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Entry 603 — c’est mon dada

Saturday, December 24th, 2011

Geof Huth recently sent me a Christmas package with a bunch of neat things in it, including the 4-inch by 6-inch hardbound book whose cover is shown directly below:

The first three images within were “Vers t ehen,” by Klaus-Peter Dencker, “Chretiens,” by Pierre Garnier and “Word Theatre,” by Theo Breuer.

I very much liked just about all of them.  I thought they were photographs taken by Geof of text-fragments and things that Geof thinks look like typography, for he has taken a good deal of such photographs over the years.  On the last page of the book, however, its contents are described as “collection of visual poetry, experimental texts and works influenced by Dada and Fluxus” followed by a list of works by title and author.  But there are fifteen or twenty fewer works shown in the book than listed so I’m not sure who did what.  And I noticed just about nothing that had any particular artist’s stamp on it.  I guess that’s what Dada is s’posed to be. 

Oops, now I have it: the collection is no doubt of some 65 (!) little collections like this one that the redfoxpress (of Ireland) published!  Geof is #65, which is stamped on the back cover.  So I was right to begin with.  I’ll leave my errors uncorrected–examples of dada criticism. 

New dogma of mine: a photograph whose subject is a word or words is a photograph of a word or words, not a visual poem.  I’m not sure that’s right, though.  I will have to think about it. 

Diary Entry

Friday, 23 December 2011, 3:30 P.M.  I haven’t felt like running for ages but forced myself to do a mile this morning.  I took off when my watched was at the zero seconds mark but forgot to see how many minutes past seven it was when I took off.  My finishing time was X:02.  I’m guessing it was 11:02 since my last time was 11:17, and I felt I was a little better this time out–though still horrible.  I only ran about twenty yards before having to really push every step to keep going.   It’s a mystery to me why I’m so off–I feel reasonably untired playing tennis, and I don’t just stand on the court.  As for my cultural productivity today, I puttered around in my response to Jake Berry’s essay but didn’t catch fire.  I was, as usual, feeling too tired to do much.  I may work some more on it.  (Later note: I didn’t.) Right now, though, I’m going to lie down again.

 

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Entry 598 — “Fifty”

Monday, December 19th, 2011

This is from Geof Huth’s blog:

 I liked this when I first saw it although I didn’t find it saying anything verbally.  When I finally realized it said, “fifty,” I thought it accidental because I couldn’t see why it would say that.  My slow mind eventually remember that Geof is now fifty-years-old, which makes this image a particularly effective representation of his present strange combination of freedom and awkward incompleteness . . . straining, yearning for something.  With his ego (“I,” as Karl Kempton would be sure to notice) lost or transcended.

Diary Entry

Sunday 18 December 2011, 6 P.M.  Another unproductive day.  Tennis in the morning, a fine meal at Linda’s in the afternoon.  A blog entry for today just taken care of a little while ago.  A little work done on my “Mathemaku for Scott Helmes” to count as “work on preparation for the A&H exhibition.”  And now I’d like to go to bed, but will probably read instead.

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Entry 409 — Thoughts on Poetics

Sunday, March 27th, 2011

The following is from Geof Huth’s ongoing “Poetics”:

84. Lie

Does the voice make a lie of the poem? Because a good voice can make a weak poem seem strong and a poor voice can ruin a great poem. Is the poem isolated on the page (the screen) the most accurate version of the poem, true to itself, or does the voice we use to read it in our heads also ruin great poems and resurrect the dead ones?

It comprised his blog entry for Friday.  Here’s my reply:

Interesting question.  I lean toward considering any poem on paper to its completion as the printed score of a musical composition is to its completion.

I can’t see a bad reading spoiling a good poem or good reading rescuing a bad poem, for me, but that’s because the conceptual area of my brain is much stronger than its auditory area.  So, for me, what a poem is on paper is something like 95% of what it is, completed.  For others the percentage will be lower or higher.

Since I can’t read music very well, a musical composition on paper is likely less than 15% of what it is, completed, for me.  For Beethoven, in his final years, it would have been 100%.

Similar thinking applies to the font-shape and color of a poem’s print, and the color and texture of the paper.

All this is out the window for sound poetry and visual poetry–well, not all of it for those of us for whom poetry is a verbal art requiring completion by being spoken, whether internally by the poem’s engagent or externally by either the engagent or someone else.  No more than half out the window, I would say.  For me, a verbally effective visual or sound poem can be neither completely spoiled nor completely rescued by its extra-verbal visual or auditory components–but it could be one or the other by its verbal content–as a poem.

Hey, thanks, Geof.  I’ve just written my blog entry for Sunday.

–Bob

Still later comment: I wonder if it’s possible for a bad poem to be read so well it becomes, or seems, a good poem. It seems to me that if it can be read in such a way that its sounds good, it must be good–it had whatever is needed to be beautifully voiced.

Entry 161 — A Huthian Fidgetglyph

Saturday, July 17th, 2010

In one of his recent mailings to me, Geof Huth sent a folded card with the interior of ther First reformed Church of Schenectady, New York, shown on its 300th birthday in 1980.  I’m showing it here because it sets up the fidgetglyph Geof had drawn across the inside of the card and given the title “The Fervent F.”  I’m showing that because it seems to me how good a calligrapher Geof is at his best.  The original is much better than the image shown here, by the way.

Entry 118 — Geof Huth’s Collected Pwoermds

Monday, March 15th, 2010

I haven’t started my trip yet. My body conked out before I could–some kind of virus, I guess. So I’m still at home. Should be leaving in a couple of days.

I was feeling too lousy to post anything here for two or three days, and wouldn’t today, either, although I feel a lot better.   However, today I got a copy of Geof Huth’s NTST, the subtitle of which is the collected pwoermds of geof huth. It’s perfect for a blog entry because I can quote whole poems from it quickly, and because I found some pwoermds I can be quickly insightful about.   So, here’s one page:

an/atomy

shadowl

rayns

watearth

upond

psilence

These pwoerds are absolutely representative of the many (hundreds?) pwoermds in the collection, which I mention in case anyone suspects I chose them to show him at his very best.  Two thoughts: that he misspelled “psylence,” and that “shadowl” is such an especially good pwoermd that it ought to be on a page by iself.  The selections on this page are intended, I’m sure, to be stand-alones, but they also look like and work as a five-line poem.   That I find “sahdowl” better clearly by itself is ironic, for I’ve several times opined that while pwoermds could occasionally be terrific, they work best as part of longer poems.

Oddly, I find evidence for this (in my opinion) on the very next page of NTST:

Pebbleslight


stilllllife


I like it much better as “pebbleslight stilllllife.”  Of course, with the title (and Geof defines pwoermds as one-word poems without a title), one still reads pebbles into the still life.  I just like the linkage closer.  I’d like a detail or two more, too–really, I’d like a full-scale haiku using “pebbleslight stilllllife.”  Which is absolutely not to say I don’t extremely like the piece exactly as Geof has it.

Oh, NTST was published in England by if p then q (apparently not an offshoot of Geof’s dbqp press).  Its website is at www.ifpthenq.co.uk.

Entry 83 — MATO2, Chapter 1.05

Saturday, January 23rd, 2010

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

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

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

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

Anselm Berrigan « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Anselm Berrigan’ Category

Entry 1577 — Poems from Bomb

Sunday, September 21st, 2014

AnselmBerriganPoems1&2

 

Guess who is too worn out from a little work on the revision of his scifi novel to do a real entry today?  So I leafed through the issue of Bomb I plan to write a Small Press Review column of mine and found an interesting set of four poems.  The text of each was a single unpunctuated line of words in lower-case letters that went entirely around the perimeter of its page just once.  To get a complete poem, I had to scan what’s above, pressing down to get the inner lines.  When I saw that it was probably as interesting as the originals, I decided to save work, an’ be a creative artist myself, by leaving it as it was.

It which began, by the way, “the concept must be graspable at the outset of verily . . .” than goes langpoic.  Interesting.  I commend Bomb for having it.  The set is called, “Poems.”  The Upper-Case P surprised.  Author: Anselm Berrigan.  A New Yorker (like Richard Kostelanetz, a leading pioneer of innovative text-placement like Berrigan’s), it would seem, since he is poetry editor of a magazine called The Brooklyn Rail.

I was a big fan of Bomb for a while, and continue to consider it a superior arts publication.  But I was annoyed to find out recently that it does not accept unsolicited submissions.  Which makes it unsurprising that it is published in Brooklyn.

I had planned a really soopeariur essay for today on the involvement of urceptual persona in poems and other artworks.  I had a heap of good ideas for it.  I’ll be busy with household work tomorrow, so it may be awhile before I get to it.  I hope all my ideas for it haven’t deserted me by then.
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Enter 391 — Visual Poem from March 2008 « POETICKS

Enter 391 — Visual Poem from March 2008

To get this entry out of the way, this, which is from the 11 March 2008 entry to my previous blog:

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Entry 402 — Three Ellipses « POETICKS

Entry 402 — Three Ellipses

These are all from my previous blog.  The top one is “Ellipsis No. 10,” by Marton Koppany.  The second is my variation on that, and the third a second variation on it by me.   There here partly because, again, I could not come up with anything else to post, and partly because today I finished buying bus tickets to and from Jacksonville, Florida, where I’ll be visiting with Marton Saturday, 2 April.  Anyone who’ll also be there then, let me know.  Especially if you have a bed I can sleep in on Friday!

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One Response to “Entry 402 — Three Ellipses”

  1. marton koppany says:

    Thanks for posting these, Bob!

    Hopefully see you soon,
    Marton

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Entry 1092 — More Cursive Writing by Irving Weiss « POETICKS

Entry 1092 — More Cursive Writing by Irving Weiss

I was going to discuss the minimalist works of the previous entry in this one but had so much trouble simply setting the entry up due to my deranged computer and/or my blogsite’s programming, that I couldn’t continue after losing half my commentary, who knows why.  In desperation, I scanned another piece that was in Irving Weiss’s Number Poems (The Runaway Spoon Press, 1997) and managed to post it here:

AMomentAgo

Nifty visiopoetic portrait of a lady, I think.  I haven’t tried super-hard to read the writing but suspect it consists of various scribbled female names–one is Echo.   Wait, at the top are Scylla and Daphne.  I now suspect these are all nymphs or the like who suffered badly at the hands of various gods and goddesses–hence, if full life only a moment.  And en masse here a barely legible flurry representative of all the feminine magic and mystery of the old religions now long-gone.

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Alison Bielski « POETICKS

Archive for the ‘Alison Bielski’ Category

Entry 31 — Old Blog Entries 663 through 670

Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009

In #663, I presented my Odysseus Suite–but the reproduction is too crude for me to re-post it here.   My next entry featured this, by Endwar:

TenByTenAs I announced when I first posted this, I am hoping to publish an anthology of mathematical poems, like this one, so if you have one or know of one, send me a copy of it, or tell me about it.

#665 had this by Marton Koppany, which I have to post here because it was dedicated to ME:

Odysseus

Hey, it’s mathematical, too.  The next entry, whose number I fear to state, concerned this:

Bielski-Haiku-BW

This is from Typewriter Poems, an anthology published by Something Else Press and Second Aeon back in 1972. It’s by Alison Bielski, An English woman born in 1925 whose work I’m unfamiliar with. I find this specimen a charmer . . . but am not sure what to make of it. Three lines, as in the classic haiku. The middle one is some sort of filter. Is “n” the “n” in so much mathematics? If so, what’s the poem saying? And where does the night and stars Hard for me not to assume come in? Pure mathematics below, a sort of practical mathematics above? That idea would work better for me if the n’s were in the lower group rather than in the other. Rather reluctantly, I have to conclude the poem is just a texteme design. I hope someone more clever sets me right, though. (I’m pretty sure I’ve seen later visio-textual works using the same filter idea–or whatever the the combination of +’s. =’s and n’s is, but can’t remember any details.)

It was back to my lifelong search for a word meaning “partaker of artwork” in #667–but I now believe “aesthimbiber,” which I thought of in a post earlier than #667, I believe, but dropped, may be the winner of my search.

Next entry topic was about what visual poets might do to capture a bigger audience.  I said nothing worth reposting on a topic going nowhere because visual poets, in general, are downright inimical to doing anything as base as trying to increase their audience.   One suggestion I had was to post canonical poems along with visual poems inspired by them, which I mention because in my next entry, I did just that, posting a Wordsworth sonnet and a visual poem I did based on and quoting part of it–and don’t re-post here because of space limitations.  I wrote about the two in the final entry in this set of ten old blog entries.