Well done to the Breaking Bad team, with special mention to Vince Gilligan, Michelle MacLaren, Rian Johnson, Bryan Cranston, Aaron Paul, Anna Gunn, Dean Norris, Bob Odenkirk, and (especially) Betsy Brandt and RJ Mitte (who both broke my heart last night), not to mention everyone else. You've all managed to accomplished something rather incredible: you've created something truly special, memorable, and unique; you're stuck the landing (so far, at least); and you've managed to get the world at large at least tangentially interested in poetry. Well done to you all.I met a traveller from an antique landWho said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Monday, September 16, 2013
Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Robert Burns Day
Happy Robbie Burns Day! To mark the occasion I want to honour two things I love: poetry and haggis. Scotland's famous sausage is one of my favourite meals, and no one appreciates it better than Mr. Burns did in his "Address to a Haggis." I'll let the verse speak for itself, and I hope you'll join me in enjoying some delicious haggis, neeps, and tatties sometime soon
Address To a Haggis
Burns Original | Standard English Translation | ||||
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hudies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o' need, While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut ye up wi' ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reeking, rich! Then horn for horn, they stretch an' strive: Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 'Bethankit!' hums. Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi perfect scunner, Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As fecl;ess as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Tho' bluidy flood or field to dash, O how unfit. But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll make it whistle; An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned Like taps o' thrissle. Ye pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware, That jaups in luggies; But if ye wish her gratfu' prayer, Gie her a Haggis! | Fair full your honest, jolly face, Great chieftain of the sausage race! Above them all you take your place, Stomach, tripe, or intestines: Well are you worthy of a grace As long as my arm. The groaning trencher there you fill, Your buttocks like a distant hill, Your pin would help to mend a mill In time of need, While through your pores the dews distill Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour wipe, And cut you up with ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like any ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm steaming, rich! Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive: Devil take the hindmost, on they drive, Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by Are bent like drums; Then old Master of the house, most like to burst, 'The grace!' hums. Is there that over his French ragout, Or olio that would sicken a sow, Or fricassee would make her throw-up With perfect disgust, Looks down with sneering, scornful view On such a dinner? Poor devil! see him over his trash, As feeble as a withered rush, His thin legs a good whip-lash, His fist a nut; Through bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit. But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his ample fist a blade, He will make it whistle; And legs, and arms, and heads will crop Like tops of thistle. You powers, who make mankind your care, And dish them out their bill of fare, Old Scotland want no watery ware, That splashes in small wooden dishes; But is you wish her grateful prayer, Give her a Haggis! (Via The World Burns Club) |
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Dan Mangan and Shane Koyczan
Shane Koyczan (left) and Dan Mangan (with guitar)
I recently came upon a post at chromewaves.net that reminded me how awesome it is whenever Dan Mangan and Shane Koyczan perform together. I first heard Koyczan in the fall of '08 when a friend played me a recording of his poem "My Darling Sara," and I was immediately struck by his clever and poignant lyricism. A few months later Mangan's song "The Indie Queens Are Waiting" popped up as a track of the day on CBC Radio 3, and I quickly became a huge fan. I actually included his fantastic "Road Regrets" on my recent Max Rambles Mix Tape Vol. 1.
At some point in early '09 I stumbled across a live medley of Mangan's "Not What You Think It Is" and Koyczan's "Stop Signs." Both pieces are incredible in their own right, but together they form an unforgettable and unparalleled whole. Mangan's song perfectly accentuates Koyczan's poetry and combined they're positively transcendent, and the track continues to blow me away every time I listen to it. Now I've stumbled upon a second medley of Mangan's "Tragic Turn of Events" with Koyczan's tragic "Move Pen Move," and it's every bit as powerful as the first.
Below I'm including the two medleys as downloadable MP3s, as well as Mangan's "Road Regrets" and Koyczan's "My Darling Sara." These two artists are among the very best working in Canadian today, and you'd be a fool not to check them out.
MP3s:
Tragic Turn of Events / Move Pen Move (Via chromewaves)
Not What You Think It Is / Stop Signs (Live) (RapidShare, click Free User)
Dan Mangan - Road Regrets (via chromewaves)
Shane Koyczan - My Darling Sara (via House of Parlance)
Saturday, May 1, 2010
A Lesson Is Learned But The Damage Is Irreversible
I'm a fan of webcomics, and one of my all-time favourites is A Lesson Is Learned But The Damage Is Irreversible. It was written by Dale Beran and illustrated by David Hellman (later of Braid fame) and between 2004 and 2006 they published over 40 strips before going on hiatus. The comic used surreal imagery, a wry sense of humour, and an existential attitude to explore subjects like relationships, depression, consumerism, and accomplishment. If you follow those links they'll take you to strips that I think correspond with each concept, though that is by no means the last word on their potential meanings. Beran and Hellman used the comic to reflect upon the nature of human life from various angles, and each piece incorporates vast amounts of emotional and psychological content. The strips are more akin to paintings, and each one is beautiful and elegantly conceived.
If you've never heard of A Lesson Is Learned But The Damage Is Irreversible then I strongly recommend taking a look through their archives. Even if you don't like comics it's still easy to appreciate the complexity and depth of Beran and Hellman's work. Each script is written with a poetic sensibility, and the illustrations display a wide breadth of styles and techniques; the resulting images are some of the finest artistic works I've seen. I'll leave you with my favourite A Lesson Is Learned stip: the sprawling and medium-challenging Christmas Disaster Special from 2005. I would absolutely love to get a print of this one for my wall, if only to see it fully realized instead of constrained by the limits of my computer monitor.
 |
| Click the image to see it in full |
Monday, March 8, 2010
From Around the Web - 3/8/10
Above: love that Godzilla, love haikus.
A law-minded discussion of the recent split between Activision and the heads of Infinity Ward.
Hey, looks like I will be able to play Portal 2 after all!
Famous movie quotes depicted as pie charts. Awesome.
A tragedy. Lets hope Kotaku is completely off base in their reading of the article.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
From Around the Web - 11/18/09
An excellent close-reading of Larkin's "An Arundel Tomb" that was recently featured on The Poetry Foundation's Poetry Off The Shelf podcast
A hilarious blog about bad writing, and how to excel at it
A great piece on Charlie Kaufman's continuously inspiring and perplexing Synecdoche, New York
An interview with the always fascinating Slovoj Zizek
The genetic explanation for religion
Ontario is about the allow Naturopaths write prescriptions... Wait, WHAT?
A hilarious and awesome xkcd comic
A hilarious and in-depth article on the (potentially destructive) wave of "cuteness" in contemporary culture
A hilarious blog about bad writing, and how to excel at it
A great piece on Charlie Kaufman's continuously inspiring and perplexing Synecdoche, New York
An interview with the always fascinating Slovoj Zizek
The genetic explanation for religion
Ontario is about the allow Naturopaths write prescriptions... Wait, WHAT?
A hilarious and awesome xkcd comic
A hilarious and in-depth article on the (potentially destructive) wave of "cuteness" in contemporary culture
Friday, June 5, 2009
Some poems by Philip Larkin
Been reading a lot of Philip Larkin lately. Reading that article on Carol Ann Duffy made me think of him and desperately want to read "Morning at last: there in the snow" last week. It was the first poem by him that I remember really striking me back in high school, and it's stayed with me ever since. It's not available online, so I had to go to the library and take out his Collected Poems since my copy is in Toronto. I'm posting it here, just in case I ever need to find it again and don't have easy access to a library/my book collection.
Morning at last: there in the snow
Your small blunt footprints come and go.
Night has left no more to show,
Not the candle, half-drunk wine,
Or touching joy; only this sign
Of your life walking into mine.
But when they vanish with the rain
What morning woke to will remain,
Whether as happiness or pain.
Morning at last: there in the snow
Your small blunt footprints come and go.
Night has left no more to show,
Not the candle, half-drunk wine,
Or touching joy; only this sign
Of your life walking into mine.
But when they vanish with the rain
What morning woke to will remain,
Whether as happiness or pain.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Larkin, Williams, et al
Haha, so my idea about making this a more regular thing clearly didn't pan out. I have made a number of private posts, but the last public one was on May 9th, so I'm not doing so great thus far. I have a rant coming on Rip: A Remix Manifesto, but I want to watch that again before I finish and post it. I discuss an anarchist Tintin book pretty extensively in the piece, so maybe I'll read that again too...
Anyways, I'm just posting now because I was struck by something I discovered while trying to read a Philip Larkin poem online. I remember liking him when I studied his works in grade 12, and just now I was reading a Guardian article on Carol Ann Duffy and how her poem, "Prayer" (which I thought was alright upon my first read of it, but not particularly moving), was voted the second most well liked poem among Brits. The first was Larkin's "The Whitsun Weddings," which I haven't read yet, but seeing his name made me want to look for a poem I remembered reading and instantly falling in love with years ago. After a little bit of searching for vaguely remembered quotes online, I found it was called "Morning At Last: There in the Snow," and that it is not available online (presumably because Larkin only died in 1985).
What I was surprised to find out was that the poem never published during Larkin's life, but only made known by the Collected Works that I worked from in high school. An article I read on Slate.com compared it to a poem that was salvaged in 2002 from a discovered notebook that contained the last works Larkin ever wrote. The poem reads as follows:
We met at the end of the party
When all the drinks were dead
And all the glasses dirty:
'Have this that's left', you said.
We walked through the last of summer,
When shadows reached long and blue
Across days that were growing shorter:
You said: 'There's autumn too'.
Always for you what's finished
Is nothing, and what survives
Cancels the failed, the famished,
As if we had fresh lives
From that night on, and just living
Could make me unaware
Of June, and the guests arriving,
And I not there.
The article describes some biographical reasons for why the poems were likely left unpublished (interesting stuff, read the article at http://www.slate.com/id/2078368), but what got me more was the description of Larkin's style:
The poem is Larkin's handiwork, unquestionably. The rhyme scheme—alternating off-rhymes and pure rhymes—is a brilliantly conceived formal expression of the poem's conflict: Each stanza plays disappointment ("finished"/"famished") against reassurance ("survives"/"lives"). This tension culminates in the final line, which, by delivering a full rhyme but coming up one metrical stress short, seems to give both failure and fulfillment the last word. Members of the Society declared the poem "moving" and "fascinating." A Guardian reporter ate his colleague's words, calling it a "poem of high quality ... imbued with Larkinesque sadness."
I haven't even gotten to William Carlos Williams' Spring & All, which I posted about months ago, and its assertions about traditional writing having plagiarism as a primary motivation behind it, but reading Larkin again made me recall my musing on the subject from the day I read about it on Silliman's blog. Admittedly I haven't been through Williams' actual piece on the subject, but I still side more in the favour of traditional writing. I just like more traditionally organized writers like Larkin (or Koyczan, to use my earlier example) more than more experimental ones like Atwood (to use my high school point of comparison), though I definitely do value the more experimental for different reasons. I suppose it's the aesthetic appeal of the more traditionally constructed, more musical, more obviously technically proficient works that gets me...
Or maybe I'm misunderstanding what Williams' means by "traditional"...
Only one way to find out
Anyways, I'm just posting now because I was struck by something I discovered while trying to read a Philip Larkin poem online. I remember liking him when I studied his works in grade 12, and just now I was reading a Guardian article on Carol Ann Duffy and how her poem, "Prayer" (which I thought was alright upon my first read of it, but not particularly moving), was voted the second most well liked poem among Brits. The first was Larkin's "The Whitsun Weddings," which I haven't read yet, but seeing his name made me want to look for a poem I remembered reading and instantly falling in love with years ago. After a little bit of searching for vaguely remembered quotes online, I found it was called "Morning At Last: There in the Snow," and that it is not available online (presumably because Larkin only died in 1985).
What I was surprised to find out was that the poem never published during Larkin's life, but only made known by the Collected Works that I worked from in high school. An article I read on Slate.com compared it to a poem that was salvaged in 2002 from a discovered notebook that contained the last works Larkin ever wrote. The poem reads as follows:
We met at the end of the party
When all the drinks were dead
And all the glasses dirty:
'Have this that's left', you said.
We walked through the last of summer,
When shadows reached long and blue
Across days that were growing shorter:
You said: 'There's autumn too'.
Always for you what's finished
Is nothing, and what survives
Cancels the failed, the famished,
As if we had fresh lives
From that night on, and just living
Could make me unaware
Of June, and the guests arriving,
And I not there.
The article describes some biographical reasons for why the poems were likely left unpublished (interesting stuff, read the article at http://www.slate.com/id/2078368), but what got me more was the description of Larkin's style:
The poem is Larkin's handiwork, unquestionably. The rhyme scheme—alternating off-rhymes and pure rhymes—is a brilliantly conceived formal expression of the poem's conflict: Each stanza plays disappointment ("finished"/"famished") against reassurance ("survives"/"lives"). This tension culminates in the final line, which, by delivering a full rhyme but coming up one metrical stress short, seems to give both failure and fulfillment the last word. Members of the Society declared the poem "moving" and "fascinating." A Guardian reporter ate his colleague's words, calling it a "poem of high quality ... imbued with Larkinesque sadness."
I haven't even gotten to William Carlos Williams' Spring & All, which I posted about months ago, and its assertions about traditional writing having plagiarism as a primary motivation behind it, but reading Larkin again made me recall my musing on the subject from the day I read about it on Silliman's blog. Admittedly I haven't been through Williams' actual piece on the subject, but I still side more in the favour of traditional writing. I just like more traditionally organized writers like Larkin (or Koyczan, to use my earlier example) more than more experimental ones like Atwood (to use my high school point of comparison), though I definitely do value the more experimental for different reasons. I suppose it's the aesthetic appeal of the more traditionally constructed, more musical, more obviously technically proficient works that gets me...
Or maybe I'm misunderstanding what Williams' means by "traditional"...
Only one way to find out
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Some random thoughts and film reviews
I think I'm going to make a policy of dedicating one hour a day in the afternoon (either when I get back from LSAT classes or just general afternoons) to writing for this blog, because the complete lack of updates since I finished school is getting a little ridiculous. Today I leave for Scotland and the whiskey trail my dad and I are doing, which I can't believe is actually happening now, today, for real. I get back on the 18th, and starting on the 19th I will begin being more serious about this thing, because I'm tired of not writing. Also, judging by how poorly I expressed myself in this first paragraph, I need to keep up the regular practice in order to retain any semblance of verbal proficiency.
I've started listening to podcasts more regularly again, especially Poetry Off the Shelf, This American Life, and the /Filmcast. Poetry Off The Shelf just needs to update more, it's an outstanding podcast that I wish I could listen to more and which I look forward to every month. The Poetry Foundation is doing great work, and it's nice to have them in the increasingly present absence (ha) of an educational institution in my life. This American Life had a great show the other day that featured a guy with a really funny story about marriage and getting hit by a car (wish I remembered his name), the musical stylings of Joss Whedon (the low point of the show, surprisingly enough), and a story from Dan Savage about the death of his mother and religion. The latter was one of the most amazing and poignant stories I've ever heard, and I instantly told Mirah about it since she absolutely loves Dan Savage; Savage described his loss of faith and his devout mother's reactions, her support of him, and then her eventual demise. She sounds like the kind of mother you only hear about, the kind who really is as much of a best friend as a mother without any required concessions. It's no wonder that she produced someone as well loved and inteligent as Dan Savage.
The /Filmcast I was really just waiting to both have some time and also see the movies they've been reviewing, and the Crank 2 and Wolverine episodes proved to be well worth the wait. I need to be seeing more movies more regularly, I've been slacking off of late, and I want to start writing about all of them in a general way, reviews, reactions, thoughts, ramblings, etc., just something to get down my thoughts on paper if only to force myself to have them more. Speaking of which, some quick thoughts on the movies I've seen since I got home:
Star Trek: I'll get my complaint(s) out of the way right off the bat, and just say that a few times in the film I felt it treated the audience like idiots by making the subtext and narrative complexities just a little too obvious for us. The visual metaphor during the birth sequence that aligned Kirk with a sace ship, for instance, or the explanation of the alternate reality route the franchise is now taking. For the latter I understand that they need to make this clear, I just felt that the story did this on its own, particularly the scene with Kirk and old Spock, but I might need to see the movie again to be sure. Besides those minor nit pickings, however, I thought the movie was absolutely fantastic, J.J. Abrams has done a great job of updating and streamlining the franchise for general audiences while being respectful of its history and fans. I know that he really already has "made it," but if nothing else I think this film wil ensure that Abrams earns a position as one of the "big names" currently working in Hollywood. He's great at what he does, which is make exciting and intelligent films with heart, and he deserves the widespread respect and attention that this will inevitably earn him. Now if only Joss Whedon could have a similar blockbuster experience...
Crank High Voltage: I read the first movie as a "balls out" parody of action films and video games, and this second one tried to do exactly that same thing. In attempting to do so, however, it became a bit of a self-parody, succumbing to its own conceit and ending up as just another crazy action movie franchise. That said, the movie was awesome and incredibly entertaining. Someone on the /Filmcast review called it a modern exploitation film in the purest sense, and I like that analogy. The movie just takes advantage of every minority, character, actor, gender, taboo, and expectation we have, and I loved every second of it. There is a character who has full body Tourette's syndrome for the sole purpose of having the audience laugh at him because of his disease. This movie is not politically correct, and it revels in that nature. I actually think it didn't go far enough at times, for example: why oh why did they not have Jason Statham fire the shotgun that he shoved up that fat guy's ass? I can't really imagine why a movie like Crank 2 would shy away from the expectations we had of seeing the explosive disembowelment? It's not as though they saved our virgin eyes anywhere else in the film... It perplexes me a bit, but not enough to make me have any reaction to the film besides glowing admiration.
Oh, and on the note of exploitation films I should probably also mention the absolute supreme glory that is Toronto's Trash Palace. It's this tiny little "theatre" run by a few guys who print t-shirts and posters, among other various business ventures, and every Friday they show various 16mm shorts, exploitation films, etc. Last night I watched Horror House, a horror movie from 1968/9 staring Frankie Avalon as one of a group of young adults in swining London, exploring and being murdered at a haunted house on the outskirts of the city. The plot didn't really make sense, and I don't have the time now to really get into its convolutedness, but suffice to say I will be back at the Trash Palace again and again in the future. It really is a twisted version of what I always wanted The Film Society to be in my wildest dreams. I plan to frequent this place often come the fall, and hopefully find some way to get to know the guys running the show, maybe even get involved if possible. Who knows...
http://www.trashpalace.ca/
Alright, that's all I have time for, time to get off to Scotland!
PS: What the FUCK happened with Wolverine?! Who actually went and saw that thing, how did it earn all that money? I did not see that coming, not for a second... Wow
I've started listening to podcasts more regularly again, especially Poetry Off the Shelf, This American Life, and the /Filmcast. Poetry Off The Shelf just needs to update more, it's an outstanding podcast that I wish I could listen to more and which I look forward to every month. The Poetry Foundation is doing great work, and it's nice to have them in the increasingly present absence (ha) of an educational institution in my life. This American Life had a great show the other day that featured a guy with a really funny story about marriage and getting hit by a car (wish I remembered his name), the musical stylings of Joss Whedon (the low point of the show, surprisingly enough), and a story from Dan Savage about the death of his mother and religion. The latter was one of the most amazing and poignant stories I've ever heard, and I instantly told Mirah about it since she absolutely loves Dan Savage; Savage described his loss of faith and his devout mother's reactions, her support of him, and then her eventual demise. She sounds like the kind of mother you only hear about, the kind who really is as much of a best friend as a mother without any required concessions. It's no wonder that she produced someone as well loved and inteligent as Dan Savage.
The /Filmcast I was really just waiting to both have some time and also see the movies they've been reviewing, and the Crank 2 and Wolverine episodes proved to be well worth the wait. I need to be seeing more movies more regularly, I've been slacking off of late, and I want to start writing about all of them in a general way, reviews, reactions, thoughts, ramblings, etc., just something to get down my thoughts on paper if only to force myself to have them more. Speaking of which, some quick thoughts on the movies I've seen since I got home:
Star Trek: I'll get my complaint(s) out of the way right off the bat, and just say that a few times in the film I felt it treated the audience like idiots by making the subtext and narrative complexities just a little too obvious for us. The visual metaphor during the birth sequence that aligned Kirk with a sace ship, for instance, or the explanation of the alternate reality route the franchise is now taking. For the latter I understand that they need to make this clear, I just felt that the story did this on its own, particularly the scene with Kirk and old Spock, but I might need to see the movie again to be sure. Besides those minor nit pickings, however, I thought the movie was absolutely fantastic, J.J. Abrams has done a great job of updating and streamlining the franchise for general audiences while being respectful of its history and fans. I know that he really already has "made it," but if nothing else I think this film wil ensure that Abrams earns a position as one of the "big names" currently working in Hollywood. He's great at what he does, which is make exciting and intelligent films with heart, and he deserves the widespread respect and attention that this will inevitably earn him. Now if only Joss Whedon could have a similar blockbuster experience...
Crank High Voltage: I read the first movie as a "balls out" parody of action films and video games, and this second one tried to do exactly that same thing. In attempting to do so, however, it became a bit of a self-parody, succumbing to its own conceit and ending up as just another crazy action movie franchise. That said, the movie was awesome and incredibly entertaining. Someone on the /Filmcast review called it a modern exploitation film in the purest sense, and I like that analogy. The movie just takes advantage of every minority, character, actor, gender, taboo, and expectation we have, and I loved every second of it. There is a character who has full body Tourette's syndrome for the sole purpose of having the audience laugh at him because of his disease. This movie is not politically correct, and it revels in that nature. I actually think it didn't go far enough at times, for example: why oh why did they not have Jason Statham fire the shotgun that he shoved up that fat guy's ass? I can't really imagine why a movie like Crank 2 would shy away from the expectations we had of seeing the explosive disembowelment? It's not as though they saved our virgin eyes anywhere else in the film... It perplexes me a bit, but not enough to make me have any reaction to the film besides glowing admiration.
Oh, and on the note of exploitation films I should probably also mention the absolute supreme glory that is Toronto's Trash Palace. It's this tiny little "theatre" run by a few guys who print t-shirts and posters, among other various business ventures, and every Friday they show various 16mm shorts, exploitation films, etc. Last night I watched Horror House, a horror movie from 1968/9 staring Frankie Avalon as one of a group of young adults in swining London, exploring and being murdered at a haunted house on the outskirts of the city. The plot didn't really make sense, and I don't have the time now to really get into its convolutedness, but suffice to say I will be back at the Trash Palace again and again in the future. It really is a twisted version of what I always wanted The Film Society to be in my wildest dreams. I plan to frequent this place often come the fall, and hopefully find some way to get to know the guys running the show, maybe even get involved if possible. Who knows...
http://www.trashpalace.ca/
Alright, that's all I have time for, time to get off to Scotland!
PS: What the FUCK happened with Wolverine?! Who actually went and saw that thing, how did it earn all that money? I did not see that coming, not for a second... Wow
Friday, April 17, 2009
Williams's 'rose poem'
Below is today's post on Silliman's blog. I don't know the title of the poem, but it's about roses, and I really like it. It vaguely reminds me of what I once tried to say with "Glass Rose," in all my misguided pretension. Admittedly I don't know Williams at all, but I have the first half of his complete works, ready to be read this summer, and through Silliman's introduction to him I'm really starting to like his style and ideas.
Jo and I briefly discussed his idea that "the first impulse behind any traditional writing is plagiarism" last night during a talk about lyrics and poetry, and the more I think about it the more I side with Silliman, that the position is unassailable. At the same time, I'm also coming more and more to think that it's not necessarily as cynical as I first read it, and that the impulse of plagiarism isn't necessarily the horrible thing that education has led me to instinctively see it as.
As long as there's honesty and passionate sentiment behind the plagiarizing action/creation then what's the problem if it isn't intrinsically unique/revolutionary? Everything has the influence of everything that's come before it within it, whether in content or form, and I don't believe that recognizing that is a bad thing. Also I'm too in love with traditional forms to completely abandon them, so this melding of Williams's doctrine and the contemporary writing of traditionally influenced works really jives with me. If it's a sonnet, let it be a sonnet, just don't force it to be, let it be.
Haha, slightly juvenile rant today, just an interesting drunk discussion Jo and I had. Good times had by all.
"Friday, April 17, 2009
And, then, of course, there is this, what I’ve already noted once in the past month just may be the finest poem William Carlos Williams ever wrote:
The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air – The edge
cuts without cutting
meets – nothing – renews
itself in metal or porcelain –
whither? It ends –
But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry –
Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica –
the broken plate
glazed with a rose
Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses –
The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end – of roses
It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits
Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness – fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching
What
The place between the petal's
edge and the
From the petal's edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact – lifting
from it – neither hanging
nor pushing –
The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space"
Jo and I briefly discussed his idea that "the first impulse behind any traditional writing is plagiarism" last night during a talk about lyrics and poetry, and the more I think about it the more I side with Silliman, that the position is unassailable. At the same time, I'm also coming more and more to think that it's not necessarily as cynical as I first read it, and that the impulse of plagiarism isn't necessarily the horrible thing that education has led me to instinctively see it as.
As long as there's honesty and passionate sentiment behind the plagiarizing action/creation then what's the problem if it isn't intrinsically unique/revolutionary? Everything has the influence of everything that's come before it within it, whether in content or form, and I don't believe that recognizing that is a bad thing. Also I'm too in love with traditional forms to completely abandon them, so this melding of Williams's doctrine and the contemporary writing of traditionally influenced works really jives with me. If it's a sonnet, let it be a sonnet, just don't force it to be, let it be.
Haha, slightly juvenile rant today, just an interesting drunk discussion Jo and I had. Good times had by all.
"Friday, April 17, 2009
And, then, of course, there is this, what I’ve already noted once in the past month just may be the finest poem William Carlos Williams ever wrote:
The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air – The edge
cuts without cutting
meets – nothing – renews
itself in metal or porcelain –
whither? It ends –
But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry –
Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica –
the broken plate
glazed with a rose
Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses –
The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end – of roses
It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits
Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness – fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching
What
The place between the petal's
edge and the
From the petal's edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact – lifting
from it – neither hanging
nor pushing –
The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space"
Bon Iver - Skinny Love
This song is amazing. I just wanted to say that. Been listening to it on heavy rotation of late.
"Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer
I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Right in the moment this order's tall
I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
In the morning I'll be with you
But it will be a different "kind"
I'll be holding all the tickets
And you'll be owning all the fines
Come on skinny love what happened here
Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Sullen load is full; so slow on the split
I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
Now all your love is wasted?
Then who the hell was I?
Now I'm breaking at the britches
And at the end of all your lines
Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?"
"Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer
I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Right in the moment this order's tall
I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
In the morning I'll be with you
But it will be a different "kind"
I'll be holding all the tickets
And you'll be owning all the fines
Come on skinny love what happened here
Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Sullen load is full; so slow on the split
I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
Now all your love is wasted?
Then who the hell was I?
Now I'm breaking at the britches
And at the end of all your lines
Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?"
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Great Lake Swimmers - Your Rocky Spine
So Kat played me this song by Great Lake Swimmers, and I just cannot get enough of it. I'm including the lyrics here because I'm so profoundly struck by this love song to the wilderness (in my mind the Canadian one, specifically Ontario since Great Lake Swimmers are from there, I think).
It just reminds me of everything I love about the natural world, especially the humbling sense it instills that we're nothing more than the animals, mere inhabitants of this ecological accident that is existence. That, I feel, is the meaning of the first half of the second to last stanza, which "reduces" the singer to animal through the reference to his "claws." Admittedly the next half makes it a bit religious, but I'm selectively ignoring that.
Beyond that, though, it manages to hit all the affecting love-song tropes (body imagery, possession, embrace, passion, etc.), while simultaneously effecting the sense of a journey. The whole thing ends up being extremely Romantic, in both the Hallmark and Wordsworthian senses of the word, and I really like that about it.
I really need to give Great Lake Swimmers some more attention. Despite some of the negative reviews I initially heard about them they are constantly impressing me. Between this song and "Various Stages," I feel myself inclined to agree with that CBC Radio 3 podcast announcer I heard: the singer-songwriter at the core of Great Lake Swimmers might be the best Canadian poet currently making music. That's big praise, in my books.
Lyrics:
I was lost in the lakes
And the shapes that your body makes
That your body makes, that your body makes
That your body makes
The mountains said I could find you here
They whispered the snow and the leaves in my ear
I traced my finger along your trails
Your body was the map, I was lost in it
Floating over your rocky spine
The glaciers made you, and now you're mine
Floating over your rocky spine
The glaciers made you, and now you're mine
I was moving across your frozen veneer
The sky was dark but you were clear
Could you feel my footsteps
And would you shatter, would you shatter, would you
And with your soft fingers between my claws
Like purity against resolve
I could tell, then and there, that we were formed from the clay
And came from the rocks for the earth to display
They told me to be careful up there
Where the wind blows a venomous rage through your hair
They told me to be careful up there
Where the wind rages through your hair
It just reminds me of everything I love about the natural world, especially the humbling sense it instills that we're nothing more than the animals, mere inhabitants of this ecological accident that is existence. That, I feel, is the meaning of the first half of the second to last stanza, which "reduces" the singer to animal through the reference to his "claws." Admittedly the next half makes it a bit religious, but I'm selectively ignoring that.
Beyond that, though, it manages to hit all the affecting love-song tropes (body imagery, possession, embrace, passion, etc.), while simultaneously effecting the sense of a journey. The whole thing ends up being extremely Romantic, in both the Hallmark and Wordsworthian senses of the word, and I really like that about it.
I really need to give Great Lake Swimmers some more attention. Despite some of the negative reviews I initially heard about them they are constantly impressing me. Between this song and "Various Stages," I feel myself inclined to agree with that CBC Radio 3 podcast announcer I heard: the singer-songwriter at the core of Great Lake Swimmers might be the best Canadian poet currently making music. That's big praise, in my books.
Lyrics:
I was lost in the lakes
And the shapes that your body makes
That your body makes, that your body makes
That your body makes
The mountains said I could find you here
They whispered the snow and the leaves in my ear
I traced my finger along your trails
Your body was the map, I was lost in it
Floating over your rocky spine
The glaciers made you, and now you're mine
Floating over your rocky spine
The glaciers made you, and now you're mine
I was moving across your frozen veneer
The sky was dark but you were clear
Could you feel my footsteps
And would you shatter, would you shatter, would you
And with your soft fingers between my claws
Like purity against resolve
I could tell, then and there, that we were formed from the clay
And came from the rocks for the earth to display
They told me to be careful up there
Where the wind blows a venomous rage through your hair
They told me to be careful up there
Where the wind rages through your hair
Friday, April 10, 2009
A John Ashbery poem in film
Evidently April is National Poetry Month, and the Poetry Foundation is sponsoring a huge number o events, including readings, contests, etc. One particularly interesting initiative they're taking meshes film and poetry. Via Silliman, here is an article on the program:
http://www.pw.org/content/big_screens_and_small_filmmakers_enhance_national_poetry_month
They link to this video in the article itself, but I want to include an isolated link to it here. It's a video accompanying a John Ashbery poem, and it's pretty interesting. Now lets see if I can embed this sucker... I can!
I like the way this poem plays upon the fleeting and always removed qualities of language, how in its very essence it is a failure to be what it describes, merely signifying instead of being. I think the video captures this nicely through its surreal and ephemeral graphics that are constantly disappearing and flowing into themselves. The way the words become other words, like the "I" that becomes "deeper," works with the water effects and imagery to effect the fluidity of the whole experience of language, albeit in a cliché way.
But then I'm a sucker for clichés. It's the same reason I like the part of the poem when the girl is introduced, both in terms of the video and the words. That's something I can grasp tangibly, both through cliché and experience, which itself is highlighted by clichés. I'm going to stop using that word now.
The water effect that reminds me of rain on a window pane creates a nice atmosphere of nostalgia (that of rainy days spent indoors, both lived and imagined) that is accentuated by the invocation of "you," which in this case becomes a beautiful one-eyed girl. The whole thing ties nicely into the theme of language, which itself is a bit of a nostalgic enterprise through the expressed and focused removed quality of the concept.
It's a beautiful poem, and the video accentuates the verse elegantly.
http://www.pw.org/content/big_screens_and_small_filmmakers_enhance_national_poetry_month
They link to this video in the article itself, but I want to include an isolated link to it here. It's a video accompanying a John Ashbery poem, and it's pretty interesting. Now lets see if I can embed this sucker... I can!
I like the way this poem plays upon the fleeting and always removed qualities of language, how in its very essence it is a failure to be what it describes, merely signifying instead of being. I think the video captures this nicely through its surreal and ephemeral graphics that are constantly disappearing and flowing into themselves. The way the words become other words, like the "I" that becomes "deeper," works with the water effects and imagery to effect the fluidity of the whole experience of language, albeit in a cliché way.
But then I'm a sucker for clichés. It's the same reason I like the part of the poem when the girl is introduced, both in terms of the video and the words. That's something I can grasp tangibly, both through cliché and experience, which itself is highlighted by clichés. I'm going to stop using that word now.
The water effect that reminds me of rain on a window pane creates a nice atmosphere of nostalgia (that of rainy days spent indoors, both lived and imagined) that is accentuated by the invocation of "you," which in this case becomes a beautiful one-eyed girl. The whole thing ties nicely into the theme of language, which itself is a bit of a nostalgic enterprise through the expressed and focused removed quality of the concept.
It's a beautiful poem, and the video accentuates the verse elegantly.
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