Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Other voices.

It has been a long absence from Karga. So many other things, and
to be truthful I haven't been thinking about the poem as obsessively
as usual. There was the aborted manuscript post, which was in many
ways a very bad idea. No matter.

I'll do something I haven't been a proponent of with blogging. A post which
is an admission of sorts.

I have the contemptible habit of scattering my creative energies to the
winds with a zeal that would spell success provided I corral those same
energies to one purpose. It is detrimental, but I had a thought today.
I spend an equal amount of time toying with essays, outlines and songs
as with verse. Why write a song, especially when one has no intention
of putting it out into the world? Because some themes can only be
done justice with melody. Some things are only worthy of a page essay.
Some things demand an exhaustive study and lengthy manuscript.

Then there is the issue of poetry.

As much as I enjoy Dugan and Bukowski, there is something lacking in
a poetry of realism. At least realism as it applies to everyday life. One
could argue that both Dugan and Bukowski are in their own ways proponents
of a sort of magical realism or are making a statement beyond the barstool
and into the whole bloody operation. So it is not their work I am referring
to when I speak of everyday realism.

It is the cumulative work of those who don't seem in the least interested
with the world outside of the author. Beating this page's dead horse in my
return, I know.

This sort of confessional poetry is only worthwhile when the larger world
is not only a part but the actual topic. In much of today's verse, it doesn't
seem to be. So when I approach the poem, the sounds of Piers Ploughman
and the Kalevala are everpresent. Poetry should be shamanistic magical
language. Anyone who fails should try again, but not be read. Or write prose.
Of course, I fail nine times out of ten. Ten times out of ten if you ask some
people. I'll fail a thousand times. I'd imagine everyone-- including Mr. Bunting--
has, did, does and will.

Those that don't often write "good" poems. They are the cheap beer of the
literary culture. As the kind folks at Warsteiner would tell you: life is indeed
too short. No attempts, no failure tonight. Just prose. And bad prose at that.

Nostrovia.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

From The Flying Aspidistra, thought I'd share on two sites.

For those of you inclined to tow the Rumsfeld line
about insurgents not being insurgent, here is a definition
provided in that apocryphal text known to us insiders as"The Dictionary."

insurgent: a [L. insurgens (-entis), ppr. of insurgere, to rise up,
rise up against; in, in, upon, and surgere, to rise.] rising in
opposition to governmental or political authority;
insubordinate; as, insurgent provinces.

insurgent: n. an insurgent person.

So what exactly is the administration's beef with this term,
other than it is an accurate depiction of precisely the type of
person causing our military headaches in Iraq?

Words matter. They know this. Linguistics give way to ideas,
and you shouldn't need George Orwell to tell you that when
you forfeit your language your freedom soon follows.

We'll see how obedient the media is with the term "rejectionist"
(a word suspiciously absent in Webster's New UniversalUnabridged
Dictionary) in lieu of "insurgent" the right proper word for the
person they're attempting to describe.The results, if you're keeping
score, could be doubleplusungood.