A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words.
This may sound easy. It isn't.
A lot of people think or believe or know they feel--but that's thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling--not knowing or believing or thinking.
Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you're a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you're nobody but yourself.
To be nobody but yourself--in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else--means to fight in the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
As for expressing nobody-but-yourself in words, that means working just a little harder than anybody who isn't a poet can possibly imagine. Why? Because nothing is quite as easy as using words like somebody else. We all of us do exactly this nearly all of the time--and whenever we do it, we are not poets.
If, at the end of you first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed.
And so my advice to all young people who wish to become poets is: do something easy, like learning how to blow up the world--unless you're not only willing, but glad, to feel and work and fight till you die.
Does this sound dismal? It isn't.
It's the most wonderful life on earth.
Or so I feel.
---e.e. cummings
Monday, May 18, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
New Kids on the Block is mainstream, the following is not
from the WRITER'S Almanac
The Oldest Living Thing in L.A.
by Larry Levis
At Wilshire & Santa Monica I saw an opossum
Trying to cross the street. It was late, the street
Was brightly lit, the opossum would take
A few steps forward, then back away from the breath
Of moving traffic. People coming out of the bars
Would approach, as if to help it somehow.
It would lift its black lips & show them
The reddened gums, the long rows of incisors,
Teeth that went all the way back beyond
The flames of Troy & Carthage, beyond sheep
Grazing rock-strewn hills, fragments of ruins
In the grass at San Vitale. It would back away
Delicately & smoothly, stepping carefully
As it always had. It could mangle someone's hand
In twenty seconds. Mangle it for good. It could
Sever it completely from the wrist in forty.
There was nothing to be done for it. Someone
Or other probably called the LAPD, who then
Called Animal Control, who woke a driver, who
Then dressed in mailed gloves, the kind of thing
Small knights once wore into battle, who gathered
Together his pole with a noose on the end,
A light steel net to snare it with, someone who hoped
The thing would have vanished by the time he got there.
"The Oldest Living Thing in L.A." by Larry Levis, from The Selected Levis. © University of Pittsburgh Press, 2003. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)
It's the birthday of songwriter Irving Berlin, born Israel Baline in Eastern Russia (1888). He wrote more than 1,500 songs, including the classics "Blue Skies," "Puttin' on the Ritz," "God Bless America," "White Christmas," and "There's No Business Like Show Business."
It's the birthday of surrealist painter Salvador Dali, born in Figueras, Spain (1904). He was influenced by the theories of Sigmund Freud, and he made what he called "hand-painted dream photographs." He painted distorted human figures, limp pocket watches, and burning giraffes. He was a born performer who relished an audience, and he found that audience when he moved to America in 1940. He had a perfectly waxed, upturned mustache, and he wore a cape and carried a cane. He said: "In order to acquire a growing and lasting respect in society, it is a good thing, if you possess great talent, to give, early in your youth, a very hard kick to the right shin of the society that you love. After that, be a snob."
It's the anniversary of the printing of the first known book. In the year 868, Wang Chieh printed the Diamond Sutra, a Buddhist scripture, on a 16-foot scroll using wood blocks. It was discovered in 1907 in Turkestan, among 40,000 books and manuscripts walled up in one of the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas.
and we wonder why all the smart ones are revolutionaries
could Kafka have abided Fox News and The Hills, lucky for us he lived before that crap became the norm or he surely would have killed himself before writing anything.
from the WRITER'S Almanac
The Oldest Living Thing in L.A.
by Larry Levis
At Wilshire & Santa Monica I saw an opossum
Trying to cross the street. It was late, the street
Was brightly lit, the opossum would take
A few steps forward, then back away from the breath
Of moving traffic. People coming out of the bars
Would approach, as if to help it somehow.
It would lift its black lips & show them
The reddened gums, the long rows of incisors,
Teeth that went all the way back beyond
The flames of Troy & Carthage, beyond sheep
Grazing rock-strewn hills, fragments of ruins
In the grass at San Vitale. It would back away
Delicately & smoothly, stepping carefully
As it always had. It could mangle someone's hand
In twenty seconds. Mangle it for good. It could
Sever it completely from the wrist in forty.
There was nothing to be done for it. Someone
Or other probably called the LAPD, who then
Called Animal Control, who woke a driver, who
Then dressed in mailed gloves, the kind of thing
Small knights once wore into battle, who gathered
Together his pole with a noose on the end,
A light steel net to snare it with, someone who hoped
The thing would have vanished by the time he got there.
"The Oldest Living Thing in L.A." by Larry Levis, from The Selected Levis. © University of Pittsburgh Press, 2003. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)
It's the birthday of songwriter Irving Berlin, born Israel Baline in Eastern Russia (1888). He wrote more than 1,500 songs, including the classics "Blue Skies," "Puttin' on the Ritz," "God Bless America," "White Christmas," and "There's No Business Like Show Business."
It's the birthday of surrealist painter Salvador Dali, born in Figueras, Spain (1904). He was influenced by the theories of Sigmund Freud, and he made what he called "hand-painted dream photographs." He painted distorted human figures, limp pocket watches, and burning giraffes. He was a born performer who relished an audience, and he found that audience when he moved to America in 1940. He had a perfectly waxed, upturned mustache, and he wore a cape and carried a cane. He said: "In order to acquire a growing and lasting respect in society, it is a good thing, if you possess great talent, to give, early in your youth, a very hard kick to the right shin of the society that you love. After that, be a snob."
It's the anniversary of the printing of the first known book. In the year 868, Wang Chieh printed the Diamond Sutra, a Buddhist scripture, on a 16-foot scroll using wood blocks. It was discovered in 1907 in Turkestan, among 40,000 books and manuscripts walled up in one of the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas.
and we wonder why all the smart ones are revolutionaries
could Kafka have abided Fox News and The Hills, lucky for us he lived before that crap became the norm or he surely would have killed himself before writing anything.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
willhelm reich Democratic Congressman Clement Vallandigham
willhelm reich Democratic Congressman Clement Vallandigham
the new american insurgent
Women like Nawal El Saadawi
and Children like those in Zentropa that bombed the train
with the hand picked mayor allied with the collaborationist
U.S. occupation forces
Front line
Log on
Tune in
the revolution may not be televised but it will sure as fuck be online
UNIX - graffiti
the freedom of speech includes a computer virus that could launch a missile?....
Stand and be counted, wounded, stationed
Banksy
In the belly of the vulture watch your back
Theres no civilians
Women, Children
Front line listen
Consider this a distant early warning
The fires' imminent
Pollution gathering dust particles
Funneling through smokestacks, airways, bandwidth
This information tube fed
Check the labels
Delete the virus
Alert the masses.
Butterfly wing cross wings. send black hawks toward hurricane survivors.
Roses sprout from empty lots and sidewalk cracks.
Pacifist gorillas move undetected through concrete jungles.
New forms are beginning to take shape.
Once occupied minds are activating.
People are waking up
The insurgency is alive and well.
Rise of the flobots
Portrait of
The new American insurgent
Rattle and shake the foundations of the world order
Assembly line incent, resist, refuse
Inform, create
Direct loved one's to the trenches
Suit up forge rubble into fortress's
Plaster, cloth, aluminum
Broken porcelain
Rusted platinum
Burn blood stains from decompressed diamonds
Hammer the battle cry into braille studded armor.
[Speaking Part:]
We are building up a new world.
Do not sit idly by.
Do not remain neutral.
Do not rely on this broadcast alone.
We are only as strong as our signal.
There is a war going on for your mind.
If you are thinking, you are winning.
Resistance is victory.
Defeat is impossible.
Your weapons are already in hand.
Reach within you and find the means by which to gain your freedom.
Fight with tools.
Your fate, and that of everyone you know
Depends on it.
insurgency. insurgency. resistance. fight, resist, destroy, build, create, write
the American Banksy will target moving semi trailers to broadcast their insurgent message under the time crunch of just in time production the trucks cannot be stopped so the message will see the free way at least once before it is painted over multiply that times the hundreds of thousands of trucks and eyes that see them and...
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