Forms
of
birthing
grown
structures
now
permanent
architecture
—
Forms
of
speaking
natural
structures
now
permanent
nomenclature
—
Forms
of
being
metamorphic
structures
now
permanent
aesthetics
Categories
Category: Ars Poetica
I am interested in place as place, a single objectified reality that is changed only by subjective interactions with it. This as a separate pursuit of the human experience that is influenced by place which is history and human presence objectified.
The park
Neon and forest green
Rolling blend of Kentucky blue
Clover and dandy lions
Shaded by old line of elms
The park
Neon yellow and navy
Zipping children chasing and surging
Tearing out clumps of Kentucky blue
In pursuit of glory
You can have a place
And use it too.
To capture being
As we are not things
As “things” go
Us Being
That Is or shall I say
I Am
No thing
So this is where it gets confusing, you see
So often we write of things, describing things, filling empty pages with empty rooms, filling them with words about things to fill whole rooms. But, then enters the main character and that’s when it goes to hell because lead role players are always such emotional beings so it’s tough to say where it will all go and what will set them off so the room fills with emotional predicate.
We enter
Asking for your attention
The town crier
Speaking of the here
And the now
Present for this expression
Of the hearing
Spoken in clear and present tense
The words of the people
So that they may be heard:
What they say—
How they say—
That we may say about them
And this place; The good
And bad and in-between places
That people go to become their
Very own demonstration of their Human
Being. We are here to write it down.
Categories
Prison of judgment
Oh my God are you okay?
You’re writing poetry everyday?
“Geez, oh Pete’s are you alright?”
Write rhymes of reason every night?
What prostrations come from you?
This urgent burst for what is true?
Self-indulgent acts of pride?
Surely you think of suicide?
How can you waste your time, my dear?
With flights of fancy, sex and fear!
Think of yourself as a poet, son?
Give me example of just one?
Who’s as loud as your TV?
My god, boy—they don’t even read!
People you now “represent”?
Locked in a prison of judgement…
Who are you to decide what is present?
Categories
Prologue
…and that’s why poetry appeals to me so much–
because it’s so eternal. As long as there are people, they can
remember words and combinations of words. Nothing else
can survive a holocaust but poetry and songs. No one can
remember an entire novel. No one can describe a film, a piece
of sculpture, a painting, but so long as there are human beings,
songs and poetry can continue.
— Jim Morrison, Prologue Wilderness Volume I
© 1988 by Columbus and Pearl Courson
Categories
Poetry is a privilege?
Poetry is a privilege…
Poetry is a prison ||| || /||||
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We call for a new Poetry
“We call for a new poetry!
We call for a new eulogy…
It must be a poem of record Telling the Life of the
One who will be remembered beyond the grave.
Their stories a collection of cities and states.”
—Speaker for the Dead, 2019
We seek a new poetry. Story psalms — Holy, archetypal parables in meter.
Even the epic poem in modern terms, needs to be broken down into individual, self-reliant poems. Each verse a poem in itself.
Twitter has killed the attention span, writers must adjust or the poetic arts are done.
There are two types of poetry I am interested in: Objectified — archetypal, seeking universality in a core idea, common human being or objective observations of time and place.
Subjectified — highly personal, experiential poetry written for or about a familiar.
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Plato bans the bard
As Plato would have it (though I can’t help but point out that science alone turns dirt under the foundations of his world view), the poet is to be exiled from the perfect society.
As a young man, I would sit in the canyon and read The Republic in the cool breeze of the summer by Oak Creek, escaping the desert heat burning down below in the red and green valley. At the time a student of philosophy more than literature, though the two not so inseparable now, I should have finished the book. Never read Book X. If in my youthful studies, I had come to this defense of poesy against banishment, I might have had a more focused effort in this endeavor.
Ironically, philosophy itself, could fall prey to this very argument, that it itself is contrived, created, an imitation of our actual thoughts and logic. Modern psychology bears this out. Even our memories are made over and over again. Each a mimic of reality.
Categories
Poesy
Not a typo. Poesy is the archaic and implies meter.
noun
ARCHAIC•LITERARY
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poetry.“they were enamored of poesy and the fine arts”
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the art or composition of poetry.“the genius of poesy”
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The art of poetry is in jeopardy. Only by re-inventing its mode of consumption will we be able to maintain it’s place on the literary shelf and societal influence. A new mimetic at the heart of the language of origin. For every poesy must be rooted in its citizen poet. The city’s shadow capturing memes of life, memories of the language of a generation. Record of our greatest and smallest moments. The archetypal drum, beating out our stories, repeating verse after verse after verse after verse.
I present you the chorus of our psalm. Singing praises to the human being, doing what we do. How we exist. The emotive world we absorb that transforms and transmutates our language and our ability to relate to our surroundings and each other. For if there is a place for poesy left in this lingual-fragmented culture, it must be brief and with the heartbeat of the people. Anywhere, anytime.
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