Saturday, April 10, 2010

With And Without Eloquence

“Catch the eloquence and wring its neck” – an injunction and a rhetoric filter borrowed from Paul Verlaine’s poem  “Poetic Art”, a poem which follows me, day in and day out, in the cadence of my footfalls.

As if eloquence would be some small beast, dark gray and evasive, a bat of words that would dissolve under the cloak of the night. 

I would propose that poetry born in the absence of eloquence is a poetry of archaic rhythms, which projects us into a world full of the brutality of the archetypes, fundamentally represented through repetitions, contrasting images, geometric effects, improvisations and broken tempo's.

Some sort of primitive art, similar to the masks from Papua New Guinea, Minoan linear A and B writing or Aztec decorations. And, in terms of cultural experiences, as intriguing as these are.

In a pure Procrustes’ bed vein, I’ve searched for substantiating evidence on the internet, to support the view point noted above.

Here is a fragment from Jack Kerouac’s  Bowery Blues:

"I am hurt
I am scared
I want to live
I want to die
I don't know
Where to turn
In the Void
And when
To cut

A fragment from Jacques Prevert’s poem “Sables Mouvantes” (Quick sands):

"In the distance the sea has receded
like an algae slowly caressed by the wind
you move, in sands of the bed, dreaming. "

Finally a quote from a poem by Umberto Saba translated into English by Katherine Johnson

"My spade
bangs against stones in the underbrush. I must
excavate far down. Like someone searching for treasure."

Friday, April 02, 2010

Spring Graffiti - The Black Tulip

I changed my Blogger template. 

With this new template, it feels as if  I’ m writing on a limitless wall, free to improvise, as if my blog were a strange and transparent graffiti, extending from wall to wall on dilapidated buildings,  highway ramps and freight trains abandoned on rusted railways. 

A graffiti on metaphors. 

Like all self respecting graffiti, this post begins with a coloured letter borrowed from Arthur Rimbaud’s poetry “Voyelles( Wovels):

"U, cycles, divine vibrations of viridian seas,
peace of pastures incrusted with animals"

and continues with a shadow, a fragment of poetry by Ciaran Carson on Herman Hesse’s book The Glass Bead Game :

« The game itself was difficult to visualize. I thought 
of chess more infinetely complicated than chess,

played in three dimensions, if not four or five, for the game
as I understood it, could admit of most everything, "

-   from "The Shadow" a poetry in the volume "For All We Know" by Ciaran Carson

Finally, a suggestion on how to go about understanding modern poetry playfully put forward by Dylan Thomas :

"First buy a hat, no Paris model
But one the Swiss wear when they yodel,
A bowler thing with one or two
Feathers to conceal the view ;"

And now I am ready to end, at least on this wall, my graffiti, with the image of a black tulip – a hieroglyph for poetry.

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