23. Just a Bit of Fun, Then?

1
the poignancy of yesterday’s sky
all the guys carry on repeating it
slowly fading w/ their tats n
toothless dogs
 

2 Homoousios
(a) Corrosive: A Conceptual Poem © Vanessa Place
The life & misfortunes of an indigent wretch
inscribed upon her back w/ knifepoint / razor
as a unique p-o-d edition financed
by paying the wretch as little as she’ll take

(b) Mess: A Conceptual Poem © Kenny Goldsmith
Everything I touch
turns to gold

(c) Thanks: A Conceptual Poem © Peter Philpott
All your language use today
 

3
Starting with what?
& only that patterning?
Why those decisions?
& all those endless questions?
 

4
Lobet von Herzen das schlechte Gedächtnis des Himmels!
Und daß er nicht
Weiß euren Nam’ noch Gesicht
Niemand weiß, daß ihr noch da seid.

Brecht, p 120 “Großer Dankchoral”

 
5 Where the Poets Meet
G M Hopkins Lincrusta
glossed intense dark maroon
 

6 What Is To Be Done?
Strip Out Solutions Our Speciality
Phone Now Without Obligation!
 

7 It Made Me Scream
There’s nothing holding us here, I swear
the urgency of this situation – how patient
the warm evening air full of smells
its pollution obscured by reflections
                  shimmering prettily

China Miéville, Perdido Street Station (Pan Books, 2000), pp 855-860

 
8 A Sense of the Ruptured Moment
The swifts are gone – this sky silent
under it though can be heard how
sudden flocks of peacocks flutter
leaping in joy about the buddleia
 

9 Mr Motley Continued with His Philosophical Ramblings, His Ruminations on Mongrel Theory
“You too are the bastard-zone, Ms Lin! Your art takes place where your understanding and your ignorance blur.”

Miéville, op cit, p 141 (likewise subheadings for subsections 8 & 9)

 
10
At the horror of this world’s empty vastness
inconsequentiality of the cruelty that plays
the ephemerality of all concepts to encounter this
we are swifts in summer, maybe flocking butterflies
having fun in this garden now.
                               The light steals away
                               what life is this now
                               then?

16. To Live for Obedience and Mean

No – processed giggling too much
I think I do, ya
With the ruling elite reimposing power
The new transnational feudal order
All the folkways full fucked
I tell you

 

The sun glitters above
the great shapes of the city
they have no colour or light

 

The sun glitters above this lake
glistens & scintillates
dancing in a crowd
beautiful as alive

 

Oh – luscious darkness too
intensity of purpose
pushing in
then out

 

I’ve never been first class
That’s not fair
– but absolutely
Right

 

“Artists, in old age, should not appear eagerly grateful for belated attention to their work. A decent courtesy is more than sufficient.”

Gilbert Sorrentino, Something Said (Dalkey Archive Press, 2001), p 434 – cited by Jenny Davies, “Well you Needn’t, Motherfucker: Sometimes Underground”, in Armand, p 105.

 

Dangerously personal
– may be less dangerous
than the dangerously
impersonal,
don’t y’think?

 

Ganz ohne groß Umtrieb, wie der liebe Gott tut
Wenn er am Abend noch in seinen Flüssen schwimmt.

Brecht, p 106 “Vom Schwimmen in Seen und Flüssen”

 

To flourish
in the deep summer
when the warmth tends
this good world real

 

How comes it then that earth is filled with slaves?
Millions on millions prostrate in the dust,
Rank are the despots’ weeds which now o’er-run
How comes it then that minds are thus abased?

from Edward Rushton, “Human Debasement: A Fragment” (1793), in ed. Roger Lonsdale, The Oxford Book of Eighteenth Century Verse (OUP, 1987), pp 792-3

1. Man macht ein Gedicht

OK and now
everything that isn’t
will be lost
– so then?

 

2 puddings & the nut butter
– no reason not to eat
and don’t those children still need feeding?
all this white hair
– time to cut it off?

 

How we might begin to answer such questions
a lyric paradigm that beneath resides machinery
oh, this is a poem of duplicity
to keep trying that legacy of flesh

Sam Ladkin, “Problems for Lyric Poetry”, in edited Brian Purves & Sam Ladkin, Complicities: British Poetry 1945-2007 (Litteraria Pragensia, 2007), pp 281-284 (final quote citing Andrea Brady, “Displaces”)

 

Man raucht. Man befleckt sich. Man trinkt sich hinüber.
Man schläft. Man grinst in ein nacktes Gesicht.
Der Zahn der Zeit nagt zu langsam, mein Lieber!
Man raucht. Man geht kacken. Man macht ein Gedicht.

Bertold Brecht, “Über die Anstrengung”, Manual of Piety (Die Hauspostille) (translated Eric Bentley) (George Weidenfeld, 1991), p 98

 

repetitive always
as the doings of small animals

 

starting again in a late spring
– oh god! what escape
from this banal actuality of metaphor

 

fine & clear at last on may day
jazz trumpeting thru the high street
good day then to plant more poppies
perennial, sanguinary, disordered blossom

 

oh words
just words?
no never more
gnarly & basting
determined must overthrow
high status elites
they just piss