Thursday, June 30, 2011

Escher, and another poem

'Relativity'
"Escher, and some lessons"

                                             II
If you see, why axes teem with asphodels  & the one sack-slung
  (real to itself) who likes traversing keystone doors
      to go where no one knows,
        can plant anything,

presumably on the rise! nicely real (& all that are needed are-
  promenade lamps), you'll make it up, rail by rail
    For all its seeming felt and lined
      nothing's abstract

here! as of now but slack with a dangerous sun, niched, too!-
  very interchangeable commerce of urns, satchels
    Shit or get off the pot! or jump-
      or step cloud-light

as a lie from one landing  or small-squared room to the next
  across Space This seeing down's a face (of mine)
    and then There! now made privy
      to the truth of up

-what else!- the back of her head & all there is of Love. Euphoric
    or just an idea But a parenthesis more, please:
      this controvertible (Love, say!)
        is all there is

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Escher, and a poem

'Relativity'

"on viewing Escher, closely"

                                        I
who knows what else!  an angle can arc to a point of resting
-'long the sigmoid post- (I'm unsure how to think
    through it)  Tell stairs from the seas?
     There! god cares less

and as if known and felt  the fall enshrined   in me (dizzy
  say by getting up too fast!), hearts that tilt
   from out a preDali world go hard
        for the Tree, too 

Closely un-said til it's viewable or neatly untied  for me &
  the way a repast always  looks, irreversible:
    for Time's not round but in a most
      rampant whorl of all,
          
closed there where you clomb apace Can't tell tiers anymore?
  Make way, lead or just fall in edging it! ( a mov-
    ing V in the boss light of a trick)
      Eye rhymes with sky

and so forces from out of you always the inward you must
   flag a step at a time

Friday, June 24, 2011

Arts funding in Canada: what's the dealio?



Lately I've given some thought to the arts funding debate, scanning both Web & newspapers for details & any recent developments worth noting. Blogger & literary editor Curtis Faville has summed up a position (though from an American perspective) that, except for a few minor points, almost exactly mirrors my own. In fact, it was his own reflection on government support for artistic activity in the States that prompted me to look more closely into my own views on this important issue. But in doing so I've had to make important exceptions & qualifications.

Citing the 1989 case of Andres Serrano's "Piss Christ" photographic image (of the crucifix placed in the author's own urine) as a case of egregiously offensive work that should never have gotten any National Endowment for the Arts funding, Faville states flatly that "Government support of the arts is by its nature backward and oppressive. It should never be permitted. Not one tenth of one percent of the public's treasure should be given to it." I agree with the spirit of his comment, but where I do differ from Faville is in the percentage figure (stated for rhetorical effect, presumably): I'd be content rather to reduce the real total of public monies given to arts funding to about a significant one-third. What third am I referring to? And why do they alone, in Canada, form the exception to my anti-arts funding rule?

Supporters of subsidized arts & culture normally usually give two-pronged attack against their opponents, making the historical and economic case for arts funding. Firstly, the iconic The Massey Commission document of 1951 established the creation of Federal agencies (the biggest being the arm's-length Canada Council for the Arts) whose primary mandate is to give financial help to writers, musicians, dancers, painters, architects, actors and the Aboriginal arts. Section xv, in particular, is oftentimes cited as justification for the need to support creative individuals who would languish without direct government assistance. The role they play in maintaining a healthy democracy through independent thought & artistic forms of expression is too important to ignore :
No novelist, poet, short story writer, historian, biographer, or other writer of non-technical books can make even a modestly comfortable living by selling his [or her] work in Canada. No composer of music can live at all on what Canada pays him[/her] for his[/her] compositions. Apart from radio drama, no playwright, and only a few actors and producers, can live by working in the theatre in Canada. Few painters and sculptors, outside the fields of commercial art and teaching, can live by sale of their work in Canada.
Secondly, if Enigma Research Corp. specializing in economic impact studies is to be believed, there are the obvious financial benefits to had from government subsidies (coming mostly from the $20 million Celebrate Ontario fund) awarded to special events such as Pride, Luminato and the Toronto International Film Festival, direct boons to the economy measured mostly in terms of tax revenue and employment. Pride alone is said to have generated $29.7 million to Toronto's GDP in 2009. Researchers at Deloitte & Touche have also made recent comments about the benefits of the CBC to the Canadian economy, benefits ranging in the billions of dollars.


Other events have done as well, according to Enigma: the Toronto Film Festival, for example, is expected to generate $200 million by 2012. Caribana, and Shaw and Stratford theatre events have also given back to the public impressive spin offs to the tune of tens of millions of dollars. Foundation Assisting Canadian Talent on Recordings (FACTOR) is said to have helped artists win as many as 69 Juno nominations. Other success stories could presumably be told, though in more modest terms, for the hundreds of other smaller arts & culture venues. It's estimated that about10,000 funding requests go to Canadian Heritage annually.

Now, of course, support for special events comes from private and public purses but its the taxpayer-funded portions and the government agencies responsible for them that get the most press. And with good reason. There is such a thing as arts for profit only: arts & culture events that are run on a purely for-profit basis, relying exclusively on public support.The Rozsa Arts Management Awards in Alberta, for example, gives generous cash prizes to the most profitable arts ventures & arts management entrepreneurs. I think of "The Aeolian Performing Arts Centre" in London, Ontario, created by cultural entrepreneur Clark Bryan, that's also run for profit, a place of music, dance & performance poetry undistracted by the politics of funding.

In determining who gets funding I'll apply a steadfast principle of proximity: the closer the event, art and exhibition to the people, the more culturally significant. If you're going to fund the arts, democratize the process at least. My idea of a significant third comprises of performances by professional artists, cultural festivals, art galleries & museums and live performing arts. Among the culture and heritage projects & events worthy of public support are, to take a few recent examples, the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts in Toronto, (the new home for the National Ballet of Canada), & the Francophone Games in Sudbury, The Near North Mobile Media Lab in North Bay and theYarmouth Seafest.

I do applaud, however, the government's recent decision to cut cultural programs in areas where this desirable proximity is lacking. The Audio-Visual Preservation Trust of Canada, the Canadian Independent Film and Video Fund &National Training Program in the Film and Video Sector are some of the programs recently cut, government subsidies aimed at promoting activities with little or no direct public participation or general interest. They're seen as frivolous or as supporting small niche groups of musicians, experimentalist poets and filmmakers, & no one is sorry to see them go. How can a $4.7 million artists' travel support fund have ever been justified in the first place? Or postdoctoral fellows exempted from taxation? Or Canada Heritage funds be given to a Canadian punk band CD with an image of a risen Jesus figure made of excrement?

It costs about $1-billion annually to fund the CBC but it's an expenditure justified in terms of the quality of programming and news reporting it provides (though lately some have decried its lack of commitment to the arts in general). Recently Sun News Network has pilloried Order of Canada laureate and interpretive dancer Margie Gillis & her dance company for having received $1.2 million dollars over the past 13 years directly from Canada Council: but, again, it's grossly unfair criticism given the appeal of her performances to many over the years. I don't, however, have much pity for the plight of small publications, mostly literary mags like Arc Poetry Magazine and elitist academic periodicals with circulations under 5, 000. If people aren't reading them, government ought to stop the funding.

Not entirely comfortable with the notion of subsidized culture I do see the need for governmental assistance where popular support for certain arts & culture programs is particularly strong & ongoing. There are just some things too nationally defining (like ballet, theatre and music) to leave to market forces. I'd prefer myself to see all artistic enterprises to be of the run-for-profit variety (such as the "Aeolian" in London): the belief that the arts ought to rely solely on the largesse of an enlightened public has always seemed indubitably true. Perhaps the messiness of the politics of arts funding has lately compromised some of that certainty for me.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Post-Puddicombe

I think some post-Puddicombe reflections are in order now that a particularly gifted set of poets, surrounded by escarpment, orchards and a rebuilt 1915 CN passenger car, have participated in the first ever poetry reading at this stately farm and winery in Winona, Ontario. I offered my Puddicombe poetry event as a tribute to a uniquely Canadian rural poetics from which (as I believe) all Canadian poetry comes.

Reading my tribute to "Eaarth"
Poets nicely transferred their own contemporary sensibilities & verse rhythms to my ad Naturam canadensis call, as I knew they would. In fact, it's what I was eagerly waiting for. The rural itself was never interpreted in just some traditional Wordsworthian sense as ode to fields, rivers & contented rustics, a view that's both silly and caricatural. Our very earliest pioneer writers, like Susanna Moodie, instinctively knew that. Everyone gave a poetry that was attuned to a real person and a uniquely celebratory vision of life in Canada. How wonderfully diverse Nature turned out to be in their verses!

Poetry of an anguished human species shared spaces gracefully with animal friendship & grief, Sufi and "interstellar" prayers. A season was associated with cosmic rather than calendar time, & anything from my own "Eaarth" piece, which tries to delight the environmentalist heart, to hymns to neighbourhoods or Egyptian crypts, which bemoan the dark transitoriness of life itself (and even frustrated friendships in a Calgary winter!) created both physical grounds and the spirit of poetry fellowship. Poets & poetries homaged not just a suggested theme but a vital nexus that tied tradition to a postmodernist present.

Andreas Gripp
Ever since I announced that a distinctively rural poetics was to be the Puddicombe theme, I knew the attitude towards it would most likely be creative instead of restrictive. And as creators we've already become used to that: we adopt an idea and it begins immediately to morph into marvelous windings & variations. And it certainly did. Our experience of the Word does affect, and indeed creates the very conditions of, the World, and poets tend to see their work as a journal of hopes, frustrations & imaginative rebirths bound by the strictures of their craft. Haiku, free verse, rhymes & at times the most exquisitely cadenced sequence of imagery became the language of those marvelous variations on a prescribed theme.

Jeff Seffinga
Again, writing on a single theme was taken as a call to respectfully differ, and they did. Poets didn't intentionally favour one type of poem over any other. It was a case of playful teasing perhaps and an opportunity for the master-poets there (distinguished founders of People's Poetry movements and literary journals, Guernica publishers & activists) to show how the sublime appears as much in a dying cat as austere woodlands. I think I'd have had a similar effect if I'd given poets an absolutely free rein but it'd be foolish to have expected nearly the same playfulness & adaptations of subject matter to form. It was wonderful to see this cutting of the reins.

James Deahl
 To be part of an assembly of poetic voices, each uniquely expressive as the poem itself, & still preserve a sense of tradition didn't seem too unrealistic a goal, after all. Insights into human time, love, aging parents & various tributes to literary influences (sometimes en bilingue) couldn't have been more beautifully conceived & delivered, as if they were submissions for a future anthology of verse. None of the offerings sounded unfamiliar to us and yet not a single line of verse could have been exactly duplicated: authors and work were so marvelously integrated.

Puddicombe was a celebration of language, history and a distinctively landscape poetics that seemed to bridge physical distances (some poets having had to travel hundreds of miles to get there) & the alienation they can cause, an acknowledgement, if ever there was one, of nearness rather than otherness. Yes, nearness & not the more fashionable (mostly academic) ideals of a work's ambiguity & polysemy. And so perhaps the reading may be a protest against the postmodernist monopoly in the areas of writing & criticism. Or a return to a more interestingly integrative Modernist era, such as we find in the writings of P.K. Page, Layton, Purdy, et al., sadly superseded by the new (Tish-inspired) experimental poetries.

Karen Shenfeld
Ah, but if we keep following this, we'll lose sight of what the Puddicombe reading was for. It wasn't a manifesto but poetry community building inspired by place & tradition: perhaps the place of tradition itself. But whatever inspires must arrive through its own uniquely diverse channels: or else the thing's a sham.Thirteen poets understood this very well, knowing everything already about both the physicality & symbolism of the event—even if I'd said nothing at all—, eager, above all, to free the spirit from whatever threatens to take the poet from his/her rightful place among lovers, Manitoulin life and the stars. Actually, I'm rather glad they hadn't taken up the idea of a rural poetics too seriously: if it'd meant only the content of a prescribed speech it would have become a cold abstraction, and not the richness of a living contemporary experience it did actually turn into.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Faces: Betty Fox

"I'm not a dreamer, and I'm not saying this will initiate any kind of definitive answer or cure to cancer, but I believe in miracles. I have to." (Terry Fox)
My hero is Terry Fox, and has been since his epical 80s Marathon of Hope, and will be to my dying day. Terry's the reason I've run every day since the 80s, and why I've never missed a single Terry Fox run for cancer.

Betty Fox, Terry's mother, has recently died. There isn't a more moving face than that of a mother framed by the even bigger one of her hero-son. Terry was a dreamer, & Betty is the reason why: the strength, selflessness & personal heroism came from her.

Between the two, mother and son, between the 'dream' and source, I can't help but also see
arise a legacy of poetry embodied in physical exertion. That's always been Terry's gift to me. The sublime symmetry of endurance and distance repeated every mile, every day, every year is the poem whose verses can be communicated only to the runner who feels the sublime in the act of running. It's been Betty's job to keep the poem visible through her own cancer research activism, keeping alive a sense of the pain and frustrations first felt by her son: she's been known to tell cancer researchers, from time to time, to "get the lead out". Something like a poet's dream turned into a body in motion makes us relive at every kilometre the pain of the one-legged marathoner.

Perhaps the hope and its realization will remain just a space for painful exertion, with a cancer cure still many years away. Perhaps for now Betty's face represents only the original of the dogged perseverance & passion of the son condemned to eternal youth. (She once quipped about the consolation of not having to share him with a wife, at least). To look carefully in Betty's eyes is perhaps to see a dimming correspondence with her son.

The beauty & mystery of mothers who give birth to heroes & then die.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Faces: bpNichol


   A
Lake
   A
Lane
   A
Line
   A
Lone (from bpNichol Lane)

I'm a collector of faces; in fact, the face oftentimes appears to me long before the work does. Years ago I ripped out of an old copy of Thomas Carlyle's The French Revolution a picture of the author himself, to be pinned to the side of my dresser drawer where he would greet me every time I entered my room. It was a picture I often turned to for solace whenever life or literary ventures failed or even, having started something new, all I needed was a little encouragement: it symbolized, in fact, the dogged perseverance & unstinting devotion to writing excellence embodied in the great Victorian. I can't say how exactly but it worked every time. Frazer in The Golden Bough might have described it as a primitive form of "sympathetic magic" by which the image of a revered personage appears to bring out of the viewer the attributes possessed by its original.

A remnant of folkloric superstition or a sort of concession to the power of hero-worship? I can't say for sure. The magic seems to be particularly more pronounced in the case of poets. I seem prone, in fact, to gauging the greatness of authors long before I've read them, & that's something that can only be done by an initial encounter with the face. None of the cold ontology in Levinas' celebrated 'face to face' encounter that really amounts to a meddling in someone's spiritual affairs. It's an odd way to get to know a poet but if you consider that most significant literary personages are already the bearers of a certain beauty (where it originates I can't say) presaging the aesthetic purity of  their work—an artistic aura, if you will— & is what draws you in, there's really no help for it. It's a kind of infatuation but without all the illusions & imminent disappointments.

There's bpNichol, for example—Canada's greatest avant-gardist— whose eyes and impish grin seem to announce The Martyrology perhaps even before he conceived it: in fact, bp is the best prelude to the poem there is. Eyes tragically dark but winsome announce the tragedy of the Canadian family, community & perhaps even country as passionately as a great epic work like George Grant's Lament for a Nation ever could. bp himself may have received his own lament from Gertrude Stein's The Making of Americans, a work he particularly cherished. I see sadness in bp's pic. And if I'm not wrong, it was taken the day he was to receive the Governor-General's award, an event that literally incensed an entire Parliament.

Perhaps it's as a response to the call (evinced in the eyes most of all!) for a literary friendship among Canadians only that I've begun my own 'Faces' series with bp: perhaps he's led me to see I've internalized for too long now the friendlessness of an era of which he was a significant part and perhaps I've stupidly taken as a permanent condition of my life since. I'd never met bp and yet he must have been everywhere if only I'd bothered to look: the young man, poet and Tish radical I'd get to know years later. To traverse the same awkward spaces and memories (though thousands of miles had separated us), to walk exactly as he did, was a privilege I would've been too young to appreciate: & to look at him now in the picture is perhaps to recognize that I'd missed something deeply transforming.

And if I'd happened to see him, with shoulder-length hair & bow, looking a little husky & easily recognizable by the resonant laughter, he wouldn't have stood out too much. He could easily have been any one of the grad school acquaintances of mine who'd divided their energies between academics and their job at the campus pub, living on student loans & welfare. It was the kind of timidness our best spirits seemed to have in those days: George Grant, in particular, could have been taken for a homeless person. And if we associate a face not just with a myth-maker but sound poet (one of the legendary Four Horsemen), it'd be even more natural to associate bp with what was then a vibrant street-level arts activism that Ted Plantos, among others, would later come to embody til his death. And 70s Toronto (in areas like the Annex) was the place for him & for all awkward youth craving self-expression.

This portrait of agonizingly self-conscious artistry (or so bp's works seem to me) is easily matched by a face. The reaction to it is bound to be necessarily compassionate (now after almost thirty years!), even a little mournful, and I can certainly have expected to find in the writings of bpNichol (as I did in the visual poetry, sound poetry, fiction) the outlines of a real national poetry & of the lyrical heart that hadn't been completely stilled, as it was fated to be in the post-Tish craziness after bp's death. The writings have become emblematic & radical at the same time: and therein perhaps lies the tragedy. It's not entirely possible to be both in Canada. As I said, the picture is of a sad poet. Eyes, grin, & hair, framed in the house he'd built, were all the endearingly small, loosely joined fragments of a literary consciousness that's remained just as fragmentary to this day. Just memories still and a passing hope. We're still "A/Lone" with him after all this time.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Another poem for Elizabeth May (our first Green Member of Parliament): entitled "Eaarth"*



I'd say (say!) the mustard seed quartered like silt in its own Spirit
                       & breathing us out
  can even arouse the envy of the doughty-petalled with
                        molten roots

  The difference between deity & the dirt, eh?

—Eaarth by name and cause!—and of all the dirty sunrises
                         the tallest, coral-eye
  at each wrist, & so delicate a weaner can now crush her

And what wouldn't leafy signify? such as the fractious being
   of cicatrices
  (of Life) that rails against an endless Morder of instinct
                for flight, pleasance,

and tears by design, too, and knows even to push a Cajun
                root up & out, rum-thirsty!
 And like the leaden-legged full of her incandescent
                                                                     surprises-
               yes! leggy & swollen to the knee-

 it'd be right lamentable to cull out sap just by opening—ha!—
  & deliver the salty most
  beribboned calf of a smile, wet with work, ever to fall
               on a lord's honey seas

Betrayed by a smile, and caring even less for yr fiery bees
  she's any vine, with leaf, a proud valley
              & Cajun tomb
—for likely to be etched is anything mythical, & what's more
               mythical than the tomb?—

                 -Oh! j'ai l'impression que je la connais-
stately dank and eyes as colourful as envy of the molten root
                  below!
  scintillations ah! only the terrible coal keep & that to late atoll greens
                   like to go

Trying to find bears for relief & depressed vines can hold you close
                   to these inedibles
She, this deep One into which stallions retreat like the plain at
                   the northerly most cold there is,

is the indubitability of every crystallitic, and yes! where the feet
  have indubitably turned crystallitic
                   By so much dearer to thee

She's a cascade away from the likes of me, & deepens as heart, who
                  looks for dawn fully,
                  oh! peaty heart,
& lies hot under the woody detritus of several trees-of-heaven!
                 She who puled for thee

*Eaarth is the name environmentalist Bill McKibben gives to the planet we used to call Earth before global warming.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Some further reflections on 'globalization': and how the avant-garde's been hit particularly hard



Revolutionary creativity does not shock or entertain the bourgeoisie, it destroys them.(from above poster)
There is a kind of collusion between capital and the avant-garde. (Jean-François Lyotard)
But the most typical artworks of so-called postmodernism - installations, pastiche, "language" poetry - when stripped of their critical theory scaffolding aren't all that different from those produced a hundred years ago. They have merely shifted out of the various facets of Modernism - irony - into a dominant mode. (Eliot Weinberger)
Yes, artists are free: they are free to exchange and exchange whatever, but only there where exchange takes place, in the market. They are also free to do whatever, but the violence of this freedom is no longer that of revolution, it is merely that of economic competition. (Thierry de Duve)
I've said in a recent post that Silliman's praises of Christian Bök’s Xenotext project disclose an avant-garde in crisis mode. It's time to be more specific. Capitalism and fringe art cultures are no longer (as they used to be) mutually hostile ideologies since the materials, methodology & presentation of work have been assimilated to the complex networks of global capital. And if they're not, the avant-garde longer have a right to that title. In my view, the complete homogenization of global capital characterizes artistic newness as much as it does the fashion industry & social media. In fact, the latter have taken almost the same trajectories as the experimentalist poetries, and it's worth looking at the reasons why.

I wouldn't say exactly, as Lyotard has, that capital and art conspire to say (and do) the same thing. It's just that traditional cultures have now been underwritten by global capitalism. Barriers and identities that served once to keep arts separate from competing disciplines have collapsed but if they've done so it hasn't been due to the success of any strong-armed postmodernist theory.Time was when a John Cage could decry the selling of Duchamp's ready-mades as a gross concession to vulgar bourgeois taste. I suppose there was a sense in Cage's day that art and business were borders becoming increasingly porous. In the face of globalization significant differences like these, however, fade into nothingness: ironically, Derridean differánce has turned into radical sameness. Now writing class instructors can pretend to be biogeneticists and L-A-N-G-U-A-G-E theorists, neon sign artists without really upsetting any established order of things.  
 
I can now safely equate the avant-garde with any successfully retailed market commodity, such as fashion and social media. Far from destroying the bourgeoisie, it works in their favour. Rob Horning's written an interesting blog article entitled "The Accidental Bricoleurs" that's brought home to me the saleability of avant-garde work in a particularly interesting way. In his N+1 piece he describes the  "protocols of new capitalism—flexibility, globalization, technology-enabled logistical micromanaging, consumer co-creation" as the standard-bearers of the retail world. Trendy clothing stores like Zara and Forever 2 offer fake outlets for personal creativity, & don't just sell newness but, as he says, allow congeries of buyers to "become involuntary bricoleurs", cultural memes of the day literally transformed into fashion accessories. 'Bricoleurs' and 'memes' are his own words.

The language of art & fashion are practically indistinguishable. The illusion of both individualism & choice don't try to disguise, as they used to, the real retail market forces that underlie their success: both buyer and store actually revel in them & have become one and the same "replicable" entity. Horning calls the new product lines 'post-brands' in probably the same spirit in which Silliman, wishing to get beyond a hopelessly outdated term like 'avant-garde', calls the newer experimentalists the 'post-avant''. In this "spectacle of pure novelty" fashion is like a L-A-N-G-U-A-G-E theory that's become handily manipulable. Horning:
If fashion functions like a language, then the fast-fashion firms are mainly interested controlling the underlying system and leave the meaning of the “words” to interchangeable designers and individual consumers. As long as customers are willing to speak fast fashion’s language, the companies aren’t particular about the specifics of the vocabulary. They are concerned only with the rate and volume of change.
As in fashion so in social media companies like Facebook. It's almost commonplace to decry the unscrupulous way they filch personal data and then repackage them as newer venues for personal expression, with users captured in what blog theorist Jodi Dean calls "circuits of desire". The free availability of "design ideology" (Facebook software itself) gives users a false sense of empowerment & creativity. An abject conformism to what Horning calls "well-worked surfaces" (interesting expression!) is mistaken for individualism. Like today's revolutionary artists social media designers bank on the illusoriness of originality &, of course, stand to profit greatly by it. "Social media," like contemporary avant-gardist productions," encourage us to appropriate whatever we want and claim it as our own without feeling derivative or slavishly imitative."

Art-makers have become enslaved to their 'brands' (flarf, conceptualist, L-A-N-G-U-A-G-E, mash-up, etc.) as much as users of social media and "fast fashion". Art's just one among a whole array of 'things' in a neoliberal world of global capitalism that exploits for profit "well-worked surfaces" of tradition, materials and technique. The very tradition of art's been turned into a sort of pastime by academics and writing class instructors. How things have changed over the past century! An avant-garde poster (such as the above) once dared to advertise the "revolutionary creativity" of art (and art-makers) bent on destroying the bourgeoisie "in the streets and everywhere". A nasty & generally disreputable bunch the first literary revolutionaries were, living on the fringes & giving the world art intended to maim. Radical Catalan artist Joan Miró sought to "assassinate paintings" of his rival Picasso while bad-mannered Rimbaud writing during the Russian Revolution— a thug, drug addict & scoundrel by most accounts—offended every aesthetic taste imaginable. And then there's William S. Burroughs who treated the world as so many cut ups, & even appeared in his own movies with "orgasm gun".

 Burroughs with gun
Now look at the contemporary avant-garde. Mostly cozy, well-heeled academics (like Charles Bernstein, Rae Armantrout ) who get top billing at poetry events and have become mainstream to the teeth: the successful venture capitalists of verse. Clamoring for top literary prizes and recognition is what drives them. The advertisement for the recent text art festival in Bury, England, for example, while boasting it's going to be one that "specialises in experiments, in new experiences, in performances and exhibitions that mix artforms in ground-breaking combinations", actually appeared more like a catalogue of the rehashed signifiers and techniques of old. The Bury festival was anything but "new". Silliman's own neon art display paid tribute (if anything in art could) to a universal & homogeneous global capitalist order now put to artistic uses. The radicals of old have become literary 'fat cats' emboldened enough to advertise their wares in big bright lights.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Thirty ways to read a John Martone poem


in
ner
light

in
the
dark (John Martone from austerities)

1. A gem of a universe of "light"!

2. A "light" capsizes once every eon or so, wheeled too joyously close.

3. The interchangeability of  "dark" & "inner light", quoth Willem.

4. N'er a "light" worth looking "in the dark" for.

5. The inner in innerlich is always as light as "light".

6. To see the "light" and steer lustily 'gainst it.

7. N'er a "light" worth crawling "in the dark" for.

8. Upend the "inner" dust in your souls, again Jugurtha.

9. "Light" to the mighty & sight to the lame!

10. Metternich was a "light" to the lame.

11. The last "dark" star to twin.

12. For "light" to work, however, worship turned private.

13. "Night" falls like deepening prayers.

14. Oh, the fundamental cleavage between "night" and Siva.

15. Including any gem, "light" safeguards the safety of all its subjects.

16. Out, out vile "light"!

17. A dirty rain is bound to precede "night".

18. Inner "light" writ in a gothic hand.

19. "Night" is a spur to "in/ner/light".

20. The meddlesome flea of "light", again Donne.

21. Im licht or "in/ner/ light"—or a moistening petal.

22. "Light" is a totalistic principle of love.

23. The violent and idle wild with little sense of his inner "night" (Jupiter).

24.  Freedom from reliance on "night" & the journey.

25. The weak and dispirited "night" in a poet's heart.

26. Could the " in/ner/light" so detected be said to be hot?

27. "Night" never arrives through the back door.

28. The austere fate likely to befall the "inner light".

29. Of the verses which follow the separation of "light" and "night (Augustine).

30. The world was angry and so Martone wrote "in/ner light//in/the/dark".