The results of an in-class writing exercise.
Clearly this is the most profound poem I have ever written.
Broktephone
A stalker phones a prostitute
to exploit a new investment opportunity.
The prostitute is mildly intoxicated
but isn't ready to take the plunge
Send me some beer
says the would-be investor
and I'll give you some crack
when I'm ready to spin
An exhumed secretary walks into the incandescent
I'm looking for someone to cater to my mouth
Do you have a guitar menu
to show my hots?
and management consierge consults a business company
schedule some bees, with these business card
A high school dropout, thinking about collages
sends catalogs to schools
The loot and content of half-breed dogs
helps schools ply wooden shoes
Autobots, roll out.
Friday, 27 March 2015
Thursday, 26 March 2015
Evolution
Here's an experiment. Starting with this Dutch poem, which I wrote.
I couldn't figure out how to set up columns, so here's a screenshot instead.
I know, it's hard to see. Click on it for a better image. Sorry Kathleen.
Anyway, I just wanted to see how a poem could progress from another language.
The leftmost poem is it in it's original form, the second is the effective translation, the third is my interpretation of how an English-only speaking person might see it, and the fourth is refining the third into a poem that makes (a bit more) sense.
It was a fun experiment, actually, and I quite enjoyed this. I know at the end of every post I say, "I'd like to try this sometime."
This time, I mean it.
Which isn't to say I didn't mean it with the others. I just forget easily.
I couldn't figure out how to set up columns, so here's a screenshot instead.
Anyway, I just wanted to see how a poem could progress from another language.
The leftmost poem is it in it's original form, the second is the effective translation, the third is my interpretation of how an English-only speaking person might see it, and the fourth is refining the third into a poem that makes (a bit more) sense.
It was a fun experiment, actually, and I quite enjoyed this. I know at the end of every post I say, "I'd like to try this sometime."
This time, I mean it.
Which isn't to say I didn't mean it with the others. I just forget easily.
Something about a window
So here's the view from my bedroom window.
I found Gillian Wigmore's poetry interesting in that it was often based on her surroundings, or places she had once been.
As well, perhaps, as Eve Joseph in her book The Secret Signature of Things.
I tried to take out some of the concrete-esque, authory words in this one. I guess we'll see.
Through my bedroom window
I found Gillian Wigmore's poetry interesting in that it was often based on her surroundings, or places she had once been.
As well, perhaps, as Eve Joseph in her book The Secret Signature of Things.
I tried to take out some of the concrete-esque, authory words in this one. I guess we'll see.
Through my bedroom window
Through slatted platforms
coloured pointillism
until the slate shine of water
at the edge of my eye’s reach
like arms of a mother
nature’s monoliths
bracelets of cotton
stout; immovable; ever-shifting
beyond it all
carried on heron’s wings
emptiness I cannot comprehend
infinity—yet
not empty space
as my mind would perceive
each dot a home
a different story waiting to be told
coloured pointillism
until the slate shine of water
at the edge of my eye’s reach
like arms of a mother
nature’s monoliths
bracelets of cotton
stout; immovable; ever-shifting
beyond it all
carried on heron’s wings
emptiness I cannot comprehend
infinity—yet
not empty space
as my mind would perceive
each dot a home
a different story waiting to be told
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