4.30.2023
roadways
A line that was a dark alley. A line that was a hairpin turn. A line that was a blind curve. A line that was an on-ramp. A line that was a work zone. A line that was the last exit before the toll. A line that stretched to a vanishing point. A line that was a dead end.
4.27.2023
no owner
The poem was published as “Anonymous” because no one would own up to it.
Labels:
anonymous,
own,
ownership,
publication
4.25.2023
like jenga
A poem like Jenga in which taking away a single line could result in sudden collapse.
Labels:
collapse,
revision,
single line
4.23.2023
4.22.2023
pure and radiant disaster
But opposing and complementary aspects are never as distinct as one might believe. Whether they are medieval or almost contemporary, the vanquished and the suicides whom Ivan Morris depicts for us are distinguished from their Occidental counterparts by a specifically Japanese characteristic: the poetic contemplation of nature at the moment of death. Whether it is the melancholy Prince Yamato Takeru of the fourth century A.D. or Ōnishi in 1945 or the Saigō, champion of oppressed peasants in the nineteenth century, they all die with poetic refinement.
O lone pine tree!
O my brother!
sighs in death Prince Yamato Takeru, who had been sent to perish in yet unconquered regions on a desolate plain at the foot of a mountain by his father the emperor, who employed this classic method to get rid of a son who had become an encumbrance.
[…]
In the twentieth century, the young kamikazes, the pilots of suicide planes, also bade a poetic farewell to life before taking off with no chance of return. Thus, in 1945, a twenty-two-year-old pilot:
If only we might fall
Like cherry blossoms in the Spring—
So pure and radiant!
—Margeurite Yourcenar, “The Nobility of Failure,” That Might Sculptor, Time (FSG, 1992), translation by Walter Kaiser.
[This essay deals with Japanese history and culture in books by Ivan Morris, including his work entitled The Nobility of Failure, as well as the novels of Yukio Mishima.]
O lone pine tree!
O my brother!
sighs in death Prince Yamato Takeru, who had been sent to perish in yet unconquered regions on a desolate plain at the foot of a mountain by his father the emperor, who employed this classic method to get rid of a son who had become an encumbrance.
[…]
In the twentieth century, the young kamikazes, the pilots of suicide planes, also bade a poetic farewell to life before taking off with no chance of return. Thus, in 1945, a twenty-two-year-old pilot:
If only we might fall
Like cherry blossoms in the Spring—
So pure and radiant!
—Margeurite Yourcenar, “The Nobility of Failure,” That Might Sculptor, Time (FSG, 1992), translation by Walter Kaiser.
[This essay deals with Japanese history and culture in books by Ivan Morris, including his work entitled The Nobility of Failure, as well as the novels of Yukio Mishima.]
4.20.2023
4.18.2023
made shift
He made shift with language, because what else can a writer do.
Labels:
language,
made shift,
tool
4.17.2023
Ibid, ibid again
There were so many instances of ‘Ibid’ in his footnotes, I thought the author might be someone who frequented auctions.
4.16.2023
4.15.2023
all seen and all said
Poem of an omniscient narrator versus a poem of an overknowledgeable orator.
Labels:
narrator,
omniscient,
orator,
overknowledgeable,
talk poetry
4.14.2023
you walk out
Studio Ghosts
When you’re in the studio painting, there are a lot of people in there with you. Your teachers, friends, painters from history, critics…and one by one, if you’re really painting, they walk out. And if you’re really painting, you walk out.
--From a talk with Philip Guston
—Audrey Flack, Art & Soul: Notes on Creating (ARKANA/Penguin Group, 1986)
When you’re in the studio painting, there are a lot of people in there with you. Your teachers, friends, painters from history, critics…and one by one, if you’re really painting, they walk out. And if you’re really painting, you walk out.
--From a talk with Philip Guston
—Audrey Flack, Art & Soul: Notes on Creating (ARKANA/Penguin Group, 1986)
4.12.2023
poem as sphere
The lines seem to reconfigure into latitudes and longitudes, making a world.
Labels:
aspiration,
latitudes,
longitudes,
sphere,
world
4.11.2023
in another direction
The poem was not derivative but rather dérive-ative.
Labels:
composition,
derivative,
dérive,
poem as,
praxis
4.09.2023
4.08.2023
4.07.2023
poetry stretches
Again and again, poetry stretches words until and so that we are forced to look afresh at them, and by the same token at the concepts, experiences and attitudes behind them. The poet Randall Jarrell quotes Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: ‘The author whom a lexicon can keep up with is worth nothing.’
—James Camien McGuiggan, Meaning beyond definition, Aeon (online) 3 April 2023
—James Camien McGuiggan, Meaning beyond definition, Aeon (online) 3 April 2023
Labels:
definition,
j. w. von goethe,
lexicon,
nothing,
randall jarrell,
stretch
4.06.2023
4.05.2023
accidental editor
The publisher mangles a line, misses a word, or drops a whole passage—still, is it better or worse?—and somehow it comes out whole.
4.04.2023
4.03.2023
poets and panhandlers
The dilemma of paying poets for their poems is it's like giving money to panhandlers: you want to help but you don’t want to encourage them.
Labels:
encourage,
joke,
lives of the poets,
money,
panhandler
4.02.2023
too distilled
Tanka and haiku may be so distilled to their essential images that they lose all meaning, becoming refined observation without implication.
Labels:
distilled,
haiku,
images,
implication,
meaning,
observation,
refined,
tanka
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