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Bob - 2006-05-30 20:39:06
Ya gotta watch them warblers, though, cuz some hybridize, and some flit before you can get a fix on their features, and some do transitional things like still have yellow where, when the rest has already turned black, there should be orangey red, and stuff. The blackthroated blue warbler doesn't require pondering in a guide, however;; you just need to hear its name to know that it's ya boid. (Don't Holla at it when identified, though.)
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2fs - 2006-05-31 01:13:37
Re the poetry thing: I gave up reading somewheres on the second page. For a guy who early on 'fesses that he's a slave to editing, he sure isn't beholden to brevity. Anyway: as far as I can tell the idea is less competitive than to try to train people to spontaneously verbalize poetically. I mean, this does happen: some rap freestyle, etc. But I'm dubious: the difference with someone like say Keith Jarrett (whom he mentions) is that, first, Jarrett has 88 keys to choose from. A poet has...50,000? Also, it's quite likely that certain ideas, or structure, are worked out in advance. And (he does acknowledge this) what really comes out (shades of Malcolm Gladwell in Blink) is really a compressed, energized, express-service manifestation of years of study and practice. Still, though, I've thought something of poetry has to do with layeredness and compression - qualities hard to pull out of the ether. Images, sure - ideas, yes. But to me, the difference between good poetry and, say, Jim Morrison's stuff is exactly that kind of refinement (in a culinary sense almost) and compression. Morrison had a facility for striking phrases, and at times could be intriguing when he wasn't obsessing over his dick - but mostly he was lazy, spewing out "poetic" stuff that meant little and was formally flabby. Not entirely his fault: the times favored it. On the other hand, I can't entirely disdain the project - esp. since (as you know) I just myself whipped out a one-minute song that I set myself to getting done, start to finish, in a day. (Really, about five hours all told, I think - most of that tweaking with sound rather than composing as such.) Then again, 'twas mostly nonsense...although if I squint at it and haul out my olde grad-school analyzing equipment, I can actually pull out several threads of near-sense making. Which raises another issue: just because poets might compose quickly, does that mean readers are bound to read quickly? Is there a correspondence there? Should we linger over a quickly tossed-off poem the way we might over a carefully composed one - or would that seem wasted effort? Okay - done for now. Someone else take up the mic.
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2fs - 2006-05-31 01:17:15
Oops - forgot. Someone should definitely take this guy to a Robyn Hitchcock concert to hear Robyn's between-songs story/banter...(improvisatory in the sense that each show sorta varies on themes. I have a bunch of recordings from the 2001 Soft Boys tour: interesting to hear the way various bits developed over the course of the tour.)
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Greg - 2006-05-31 07:07:34
I'm always awed by the facility for language that good poets are possessed with. Outside of the odd pastoral sprawl like Wordworth's Prelude--It's like football--a hail mary pass can be exhilarating but a touchdown pass set up inside the 10 yard line can knock you right out of your chair. I guess I subscribe to the "less is more" school of thought where poetry is concerned. Frank O'Hara could hammer out more on his lunch hour than scads of novelists pull off in 50,000 words. Maybe writing on assignment or as a competition leans more towards wit and technique. It's certainly an admirable talent at any rate. Off now to shower--and ponder the odd haiku--thoughts of feeling clean.
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Greg - 2006-05-31 14:34:54
Okay, I could link it or clink it but this is a favorite so I'll cut and paste it:
As we are so wonderfully done with each other
We can walk into our separate sleep on floors of music
where the milkwhite cloak of childhood lies
oh my love, my golden lark, my soft long doll
Your lips have splashed my dull house with print of flowers
My hands are crooked where they spilled over your dear curving
It is good to be weary from that brilliant work
It is being God to feel your breathing under me
A waterglass on the bureau fills with morning.....
Don't let anyone in to wake us
--Kenneth Patchen
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Paula - 2006-05-31 14:39:03
Should we linger over a quickly tossed-off poem the way we might over a carefully composed one
Yes.
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