Or I
"...And in fact, the idle hours
of most lives are filled
with reveries
that are simply bad poetry"
Essay: "Technique In Criticism"
R.P. Blackmur, 1930
With Mr. Pound
and others, upon this web,
to vibrate strings
veins, as if the canvas bled,
as Mr. Pollack found;
"Yes"? Lisa said, wiping the sweat
from my head,
just this,
If you touch one verse
do not the rest bleed?
As though,
truth were the One True Faith,
although
the diamonds rain away
But Mr. Pound,
and those others
they do insist that these threads,
this web,
runs from one bit of bother to another.
"What then?" Lisa says, her left
breast hanging free,
her long painted nail
flicking a bit of grumbly
from my right eye
as I digress
dappling in some green
lest blue become your dress;
Piss, Piss, Piss
I must be remiss
to think that I would find
beauty in your kiss
across this burning bed.
"I turn your pages,
Carefully,"
Lisa Says,
melange & mirage.
Author notes
Written November 4th, 2003
In a list
What did you think
Comments
1 - 23 of 23
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flicking a bit of grumbly
from my right eye
as I digress
Okay I got this. Considering the fact that I didn't understand anything else-apart from that, reading this poem and the comments make me feel a bit like an intruder on a world I know nothing of, so I am stealing the word grumbly (I needed a word for those things desperately) and vanishing.
I may also nick espying, and baffle my boyf with this later.
Hypnotic and intriguing, and altogether bewildering.
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I kinda understood it as i read the comments , it is very contempary that i can say although i was kinda lost also but alot were not so i say keep penning , you have a very unique style and while some may not get it, others will!
So have fun be encouraged !
best regards,
~Lisa~
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I didn't really get it ( I think I missed something important) but for some reason I still really enjoyed it. It reminds me of something one of my siblings would write or something I would find in a contemporary art book or scrawled on a piece of paper in this dead artists house...in case you don't understand that rant, I really liked it. Its very...modern and thoughtful/ poetically amusing.
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This was always one of my favorite Lisa's. La la la. Its nice to have everything so organized.
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Really cool insight into a great artist, I loved the seemingly randomness to this, great job!
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That was actually pretty good. Perfect timing and rhythm, like a trail of consciousness.
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found it.
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good poem
As though,
truth were the One True Faith,
although
the diamonds rain away ....... I liked this alot... -
Sorry, lost me after the title.
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I love this...I'm quite sure it is a new favorite. I'm not sure why but I came back to it again today. It is very good and clever and excellent.
That - runs from one bit of bother to another. I'm bothered. perhaps that is why I like it. I thought last night it was the piss. And it maybe but also the paint.
And that picking of grumbly while he digresses .. is so perfect.
Who need exgesises or however you spell dat.
Hey! No points even.
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piss piss
i just sent my friend bohb my first painting. its called blue. he's going to laugh i'm sure, sigh.
i knew there was a piss piss somewhere.
makes me feel better.
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jackson pollock didnt like women he said their hair was too fluffy but that was in the days before hairconditioners although they dont really work for curly hair so he would have feared me tremendously with my hair....i notice you have a bared left breast in this poem ...i see you are cutting back somewhat...only ONE! well done.i am glad you are slowly being weaned off them...hopefully as its unnatural to be this obssessive and i think you should see a doctor however its a vast improvement and i am quite pleased with you apart from the fact that you 'piss' a lot.
got to say that i loved it though dangling and wet though it is
Edited on Mar 10, 8:57 because ''. -
oh oh oh . i adore Jackson Pollack. I do a program ArtsAlive for Hannah's elementary school. And in May, I always introduce Pollack. We go outside and I give each child instruments in which to throw paint..egg beaters - sticks - brushes - the teachers and parents go ballistic...I laugh because stupid art in public school is ridiculous everyone's has to look exactly the same...that is not fucking art. At then at the end we are covered in paint and laughing our asses off. And these little kids are talking Pollack. Fucking what a high. Anyway, I'm bookmarking this...I love it. It is brilliant and tickles all important poem senses. Yes.
Edited on Mar 09, 7:38 p.m. because ''. -
If you want to be really careful than you could also fill me in on what exactly a virus or whatever is or how they work. I know nothing of this subject so all information will be greatly appreciated. thanks for your time.
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i so absolutely agree, this reminds me of the teachers who kept on and kept on giving me shakespeare to read. shakespeare was a punk ass beeeyatch, but this was very good. good job.
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Cool, cool, cool
penultimate stanza.
'and Jackson said:
"All I did was fall over the dog! Paint pot in hand,
trying to be a martyr to peace"
The thing with life is:
we are not solo sailors, everyone sees something else.
Jules. -
Dem der pages ism rippable so one must be careful. Yup! Sorry, just been in Lute detox seeing as how I haven't had time to stop by. Why is bed burning...not so comfortable to sleep on like that I'd think. And what's with the piss and boobies flopping about? Mr. Pound...pft. Yea, that's right, I pft'd him.
---- for being absent
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Yes, these strings resounded in my head before, earlier, in a chain of sweet symphonies you have played...
I have had these pages open a few times, since you have posted them. Reading..just reading. I know its wrong to not comment, sometimes I don't know what to say just yet. This is not the fault of your words, more my inablility to respond to the straight away.
~laffs~ indeed, the Piss, Piss, Piss line was a flag for me, with a fairly easy jump to the influence, or at least the presumption of influence.
"the diamonds rain away"
And still, all in all, more threads to take me away...
(gives you more then one anyway)
Edited on Nov 08, 7:39 because ''. -
I like Lisa--she is as transparent on one hand as a poet's feelings, but as mysterious as that other Lisa's smile...
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Actually. I would not say "melancholy" as it reminds me of all the teachers that force Shakespeare down my neck. Actually.
But anyway? What is "Espying"? It is an old way to say spying? Is a reference to Pound or something? I wouldn't know - I don't like the guy - I know he had a chip on his shoulder about something or other though... definately. But I think spying would sound better - maybe they mean completely different stuff. I don't know.
Truth, truth, truth - Socrates died just for it... it must be worth something, it must be very important I suppose but poets lie all the time - they have to be the best at truth and the best at lying but I don't suppose he meant that. I don't know. It did sound very special.
Piss is a better word than Espying. Sometimes kisses have no beauty do they - I'm working on the theory that the more a kiss tastes of cheap beer the less is tastes like beauty. I don't know though - only sometimes. Normally when stuff's burning you can find it. And she was gentle with the pages anyway - normally that makes things easier - but there's no point faking we know what beauty is anyway.
O just the left one, yeah, the heart boob - they mean more and think less. -
No-one been here save for the Atavistic one? Strange? Where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing. Maybe they were strewn in 8 and here we are in another one. More strings, dripping bleeding from a Pollock this time. I'd like to think there was more to those canvases then just a big inkblot test. Where poetry and criticism mesh: kinda like Nattiez and his poeietic-aesthesis thingy. Also, criticism becomes part of poem. Also a neat pun on bad poetry and the Web, intended or not. Heh. And the piss piss piss is Urwinesque. 'Here is your cart\Your cardboard and piss\And here is your love\For all this'. That not Urwin, that the other guy I quote alla time, usque ad nauseam. Ending obscure unto my wormy mind. Where are your exegetes (?) when you need 'em?
Also: old folk song: 'Truth is the one fixed star'. They didn't know about dem galaxies back then.
Also: what the hell is the title all about? Does this connect to the Buick in 53? Jeeez. Not one for Clarification, are ya?
Well, as Urwin would say, I like it cos it's melancholy. Actually.
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I feel that you have an error in this line 'they do insist that these threeads' 'threeads' tho, maybe it isn't.
Another good addition, it moves quickly and reads to me like a painting.
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