dregs of the cocktail party face-off the molotov cocktail outing
The skewed level of prosodic competence "in" composition-- in particular the phrenology of the samples I'll affix for examination on my trays of black wax--of these System savants below considered the best poets ("champions", ie. most decorated and most festooned with redundant Over-dawg awards and monied chairs) the New York Publishing "New England" Ivy Academic Military/Industrial Complex has to offer, (or even in this case, sacrifice, if necessary!) can only be best described as mental, emotional, and, mostly, sociopathic symptoms, dis-ease, brought on by "inbreeding" if not out and out "incest". Figuratively but structurally besides.
As all such closed Systems tend through their quotient of Entropy and as this process of hypostasis is irreversible (only true if the exception is true, namely that there exists at least one reversible reaction under structurally identical conditions) so the savor of the samples
I present may fade into the background
tastelessness of the rules of order,
and make the offending poet prosaic'ly
sympathetic to the choir-boys.
The Monolithic NYC Publishing/N.E. Ivy Academic Axis Kapitalist Force is just this sort of closed system while it is important to realize that its "good" soldiers (as the above is the aggressive that conducts the Culture Wars and maintains, intellectually, marketing, for the ruling class, the Class War) especially where its company poets are concerned, as poets are frequently of a higher, "non-fiction", dispensation, are the "victims" (look at the status of the avante- garde where "literature" is meant! ) as well. While, here, we are trying to re- fresh, reboot, a crucial aesthetic-- "borrowed" from the scientific laws of thermodynamics-- crit, 1960's Counter Culture term, ENTROPY, contradistinct to the preeminence of its "exception", single reversible-reaction paradigm, a HYSTERESIS, if you will, of this "law" as explained previously, to be the underground, independent, cooperatively- determined Letters and Literary Arts on point: the unconditional Conscience of the people and culture. Especially as there are bottom- line issues of free expression, free speech, public access, and distribution of what- is- to- be- accessible at play in the Country ( which would include New York, even Manhattan?). Rough housing is allowed of course especially toward the initiators of the civil Wars here at home.
note:: sub-texte: the word "entropy" happened to be gleaned during my research into affects of one of the three subjects to be roasted in this series of blog-posts, Liam Rector. A brief vacuous essay published in the equally vacant American Poetry Review out of Philadelphia.
Yes! perhaps like yoursell-ves I do take all of this personally.
But my purpose beside the obvious allowance of timelines if not tardiness unlike a few of my more confrontational if not obsessed associates ( in and of the ALLIANCE ) is not one of resentment, nor the despairing anger of wanting, "to have, being a Have- not, what-- the fame, money, the status-- the Haves have", nor even to get published and distributed, especially this late in the game, by duh Conglomerites and supp and sip with the glacial hupsters grind from dusk 'til dawn, but to shame and, if the opportunity present itself, as it is here on this Blog, drive the dominant forces as attached over the edge. For the people, for the reading/writing public, and most poignantly (I do take this personal!) for the Allies, cf. the ALLIANCE [where available; void where prohibited]. Seriously, I am the poet and if I'm lying it's not to bear false witness against my neighbors nor am I even against coveting my neighbor's wife or his daughters for that matter but do so to better advance and promote the causes of the TRUTH.
So that the public I as the poet do serve can cultivate a more critical sense in making actual decisions instead of being limited to the "bipolarism" of mere choices the system forces upon us. So that in effect there is less lying going around, dished out, in other words, the line- fed line of Fantasy Island, as I a poet loud and clear do in turn namely "make - believe", make-believing which exercises the Eternal Organ Of The Imagination and does sustain the citizen of a democratic country well with access to our Collective Uncs. so called, and its attending endless renewable energy and the open range of the lands of peace and ease.
Come to think of it, or more properly, as the Imagination's "woven shade" , the "poets' bower", has been invoked, come to intuit it, this is done and only can be done and is being done by the ULA in particular and it's Presses and the associated zeens, blogs, performances and creative livelihoods of its members and quantitatively more so by the free-association of those independent underground writers, poets, and artists beyond the zone of the Alliance's direct influences.
[ALL PHOTOS ARE GEOFF HALL @ APRIL, 2006]
This is where I the poet of the people, the reading/ writing citizenry, stand, seriously but not soberly, confidently but not necessarily faithfully, full of it never if I can help it full of myself but practically empty, and having no strings to hold me down unlike the three compromised poets who are, by all intents and purposes, (the answer to the question of whose intents and purposes lies in the upper recesses of closed and suffocating Towers one is styled in ivory and the other fashioned of robber-baron booty ) good soldiers, good victims of who they serve, to whom they sold out to, and most grievously, sold out the great art of poetry and the legacy, grounded in the pivotal decades of the '20's & '30's, and the Fifties and Sixties and then as now the "underground" (Fiction and )Poetry of the '90's, the story of which is not yet written nor decided, of that poetry, of those poets, either alive or dead. While I have friends, I take exception to my comrades no matter what their faults being used for ends that kill the messanger and capitalize on her belongings.
FIRST UP LETS TAKE, jason shinder, http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/407
OR MORE CAUTIOUSLY A FEW OF HIS "LATE" POEMS-- AS THEY ARE IN FACT WRIT BY A POET WHO IS LATE RECENTLY IN LIFE'S ESTIMATION TAKEN FROM US --WHICH I REGRET TO SAY WILL NOT APPEAR HERE IN THEIR ENTIRETY AS THE EXCUSE OF COPYWRIT WILL NO DOUBT BE INCITED FROM THE QUARTERS DRAWN AROUND HIS BODY OF WORK AND AROUND HIS VERily BODY FALLEN OUT OF SQUARE WITH our VISIBLE WORLD. BUT BECAUSE ...
note:: subtexte: In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni. [just in case!]
... OF THIS STATE OF THINGS THE READER WILL FIND THE LINES, STANZAS (OR "STROPHES" AS SAPPHIC SOPHISTS HIPSTERS-WHO-ARE-REALLY-GEEKS CALL 'EM) BY LINKS TO THE WHOLE PIECE UNDER THE GUN, SO TO SPEAK. AS I WILL parley MY OWN LYRICK VERSE, TOE TO TOE (tho I'd be ipso facto the one left standing!) with that of HIS selected , and that THAT I DIVINE TO BE APPROPRIATE AS WELL AS PERSONAL ENOUGH TO BE TAKEN DEAD-SERIOUS by enemies.
JUXTAPOSED.
2001, "The One Secret That Has Carried"
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15957
P:: S: I actually wrote a poem after I read Shinder’s , “The One Secret…”, but I will save it and publish as a comment to this post should the response to my “answering” poem below warrant such.
from A Century Of Sonnets Without Borders
#103
She said she thought the drummer
who pilots a SEPTA trolley now and back
in the ‘80’s raped a dominatrix
according to the dominatrix but at least
not the same one, jerks off while he talks
to her on the phone, you got to be
joking I said into my phone,
not the same phone, but I’d hope
he swabs the receiver down
with alcohol if it’s a public pay phone.
It’s not serious, it’s only a commercial
a movie sequel, a stuffed dodo, a nervous
tick not brought on by sanctions until now
against arab kids for over eleven years.
12.31.03
