Draft 27: Athwart

There was an other side
a space behind, in back,
an overmuch, an
into which
where muffled voices throb without their names.


“In the author’s view, the projection of words into space is “the ultimate stage of writing”, the affirmation of presence within language… images [...] form an integral part of a construction in the architectural sense of the word … The exploration of the limits of meaning, the creation of semantic halos, the frequently jagged syntax attempt to render the slight fuzziness of perception as it captures reality … likes to explore genre transgression.”

” A slow rain sizzles
on the river
like a pan
full of frying flowers,
and with each drop
of rain
the ocean
begins again. ”

R. Brautigan. 1957

“A lot of poets are working audiovisually and yet they really get validated only once they start publishing books.”

Caroline Bergvall in conversation with Sophie Robinson – HOW2

http://www.carolinebergvall.com/


her website


This is a picture of a note (p.420) I made to myself while reading JH Prynne ‘Poems’

JH Prynne’s recent poetical works remind me so much of a really sweetly tuned algorithm.

Are poets becoming computers as computers become poets?

net-visual ee cummings

PennSound: Close Listening

Recordings at ArtRadio WPS1.org and Studio 111 at the University of Pennsylvania. All conversations with Charles Bernstein unless otherwise indicated.


Poetry and such.

Kenyon Review Online

The people around us
sharpen slowly like teeth

in a mouth so crowded
it must remain open.


“I’ve mentioned inspiration. Contemporary poets answer evasively when asked what it is, and if it actually exists. It’s not that they’ve never known the blessing of this inner impulse. It’s just not easy to explain something to someone else that you don’t understand yourself.” ( 1996. Nobel Lecture )



“Crystalpunk is a simpleton stampede, a coxcomb carnival, a daydreamers cabal, a platitude-peddling potlatch, a nihilists ambulation on tiptoe, an incantation of the language in the corners of your eyes, a wild farrago of those who run before they can walk, an ABD of being Free from the NOW! NOW! NOW! We wear non-matching socks: that is who we are!”

Les presses du réel (book)

sharits



“curve to your own mortality, see how
grasses grow through an empty hoof
and watch the migrant finch, its feathers
the blue of ocean, intensified
as a lens bends
sunlight to burning”