Gnoetry

The Hotel Machine

It is a vast dome

glowing with a love for each

other. The ore in

the light. We learn all you are

in themselves so easily.

This tanka was created using Gnoetry 0.2 and the following:

Texts:

Horatio Alger Jr., Joe The Hotel Boy

A. Maude Royden, Sex And Common-Sense

H. G. Wells, The Time Machine

Tilton Cuttings

 Jurassic Huddle

Three bivalve fossils

about 185 million years old

looking as if

just arrived from yesterday

found like litter droppings

at the cliff bottom

of a disused country

branch line cutting

All

bunched in mudstone silt

like a little nucleated

swallowed family

Poised now

between index and thumb

like a calcite question

on the long animal

and cynosure

of this hand

Frederick the Great’s Christmas Preparation

             

                                         Advent Offensive

Obtain two large rubber boots (preferably same footed for inconvenience to the lower orders. See later.) Nota Bene: not Wellingtons. Procure one quart of rough brandy, if possible from under a Spaniard’s nose at breakfast, a magnum of any Grand Cru champagne, the more expensive the better, and two bottles of alleged cooking sherry from Happy Saturdays off-licence, 95 Al-Filreis Road, Sneinton, Nottingham, near Sherwood Forest, England. Admire the social disjunctions.

                                            Sankt Stockade

Avoid agitated Spaniard. Prepare one cup of your finest, favourite, darkest, ground coffee. Allow to drip meditatively. Scan any possible horizons for passing galleons, map-makers or magi. Compose tome on the socio-economic obsolescence of shepherds. Exchange a nod avec Voltaire.

                                            Herbst Enfilade

Take one large jar of German mustard (obtainable from any local hardware store or chemists). Paste throughout boots, liberally. Pour in coffee, brandy, sherry and champagne, in that precise order, order is all, ‘s exact precise price, dusting in between with hog hair and sawdust.

                                           Winter Garrison

Impress Swabian peasant. March impressed peasant around parade-ground square for two months in full battle-gear. O my bombardier. Exact price order. Be proclaimed among remote provinces. Hunch above maps and dialects. Stalk the borders of irreverent detail and rumbunctious gazetteers. Deny the allegations of unnatural stars. Recite the Odes of Anachronism. Upend Swabian and strain out winter warmer. Waes thu hael.

(Frederick the Great was apparently fond of adding champagne and mustard to his coffee. I have altered the recipe, as well as other facts, somewhat.)

Psalmsang

From Michael Nyman's Six Celan Songs. Ute Lemper does the vocals:

Pound meets Celan

This was prompted by a thread on the British and Irish Innovative Poetry discussion list in which Pierre Joris pointed out the exact words of the famous 'all poets are Jews' quote (from Mandelstam, from Tsevetsaya, from Celan). It made Ezra Pound in his Pisan cage loom overhead: 

Raised, to the head-heights

pierced
by the crossed night-lights

in a voice-mesh
Pound shouting pounds
vse poety zhidy

Reasons Against It

for the ‘poetry community’



1) Poetry corrupts language.



2) A typical poet is a mentally incurious, unimaginative, status-and-gossip obsessed phrase-stealing dedicated imitator of fashion.



3) Despite evidence and assertions to the contrary, most poets are the cringing creatures of the status quo.



4) The music of poetry is tone-deaf. And cheap perfume.



5) It raises hopes. Then thwarts them.



6) It rhymes. Often, and in public.



7) Its comparatively few sincere practitioners are condemned to a lifetime of anguish at the reality of their unfortunate election of art.



8) It drove me to drink.



9) Metaphor is a method of stealing food.



10) Longfellow was a poet



11) Like religions, and politicians, it feeds on the suggestible.



12) This is a poem.



13) It is a conversation with no-one.

ANGEL EXHAUST TWENTY-ONE

EACH AEON FREE AFTER THE FIRST ONE: THE WELSH UNDERGROUND



Despite the denials of official organs, Wales participated in the great blossoming of poetic culture of those decades between the end of the primary Cold War and the dawn of the New Right, and this unofficial English literary magazine is offering a large-scale celebration of the achievements of Welsh poets whose optimism captured them. The fall of monoliths spills daylight onto the missing half of the picture. The most interesting anglophone Welsh literature of the past century has been in the innovative vein.



A mixture of poetry, essays, memoirs, and interviews recreates a literary era in depth.

Poets featured are: John James, David Barnett, Paul Evans, Iain Sinclair, Zoë Skoulding, Ralph Hawkins, Peter Finch, David Greenslade, John Goodby, Nic Laight, Nick Macias, Niall Quinn, Philip Jenkins, Graham Hartill, Lynette Roberts, Chris Ozzard, Rhys Trimble, John Powell Ward. We touch on the history of innovative writing in Welsh and even turn up two avant garde texts in Welsh. An analytical essay (drawing on work only available in Welsh) uncovers the use of Welsh patterns of consonantal echoing in the English experimental tradition. An ample poetry anthology includes mainly unpublished poetry but also recovers texts from as far back as the seventies, defying forgetfulness.



Living witnesses told us strange tales. Recovery of original texts from archives and deposits has brought a disintegration of the intellectual legacy. Salvaged from among the debris of Christian, nationalist, and communalist ideologies, we shake clear a brilliant line of liberated and imaginative writing. Set up in order to fill a gap, the project has uncovered a whole gulf, a submerged realm of sophisticated intellectual exploration. Awed, we recover the traces of the classic Welsh magazine 2nd Aeon between 1966 and 1975. That is truly why each aeon is free after the first one.



£7. 170 pp. publication date 4 June 2010. available from: 21 Querneby Road, Nottingham, NG3 5JA. cheques payable to 'Andrew Duncan' please.



edited by Goodby and Duncan.

This is a follow-up to the celebrated 'Colonies of Belief', the special issue on the Irish avant-garde, edited by Scully and Goodby.





so much of this movement

is really human



the gentlemen of the

orchestra beckon us on



a blood stain

appears on my left eye



we follow a sinewy pavan

slowly and

lacking arms we will allow ourselves

to fall over the edge

of the known world



(Philip Jenkins, 'La Patinoire')