Clattery MacHinery on Poetry

June 14, 2008

Ten Thousand Thanks

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Thank you ten thousand times.

Just a few hours ago, the most popular post yet here at Clattery MacHinery on Poetry, Alley War Poetry, received its 10,000th hit. That’s a lot of readers for a poetry blog post.

I’ve had ten thousand thoughts come and go, about how good or how bad it may be; ten thousand hopes that the people portrayed or cited in the article are happy with their portrayals, and that it adds to their lives or legacies; ten thousand concerns that the article does not disappoint the seeker or surfer who just might be reading at that moment, and once in a while I read along to be sure, thankful that the embedded videos of Marvelous Marvin Hagler vs. Tommy Hearns, Brian Turner, and Carl Jung, still play.

There are posts on sports blogs and local sports forums that reach 10,000 in a relative snap. And what’s nine months worth of ten thousand hits to a sports star or rock star–other than one night’s work at a stadium? Or the tens of millions who have watched Marvelous Marvin Hagler or Tommy Hearns on a screen?

If I had a dollar for each click into Alley War Poetry, I would have $10,000. If I had a nickel for each, I would have $500. But I don’t. I have these ten thousand thanks tonight. Thank you, ten thousand times.

To celebrate, I have selected two songs to embed, each of which has sold many more than ten thousand records, and two poems that have been read from many more than ten thousand books. Enjoy. And again, ten thousand thanks.

   

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            by “silver-tongued” Joshua Sylvester (1563—1618)
   

            Love’s Omnipresence
   

            Were I as base as is the lowly plain,
            And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
            Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
            Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.

            Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
            And you, my Love, as humble and as low
            As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
            Whereso’er you were, with you my love should go.

            Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
            My love should shine on you like to the sun,
            And look upon you with ten thousand eyes
            Till heaven wax’d blind, and till the world were done.

            Whereso’er I am, below, or else above you,
            Whereso’er you are, my heart shall truly love you.

   

   

                  by William Wordsworth (1770—1850)
   

                  The Daffodils
   

                  I wander’d lonely as a cloud
                  That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
                  When all at once I saw a crowd,
                  A host of golden daffodils,
                  Beside the lake, beneath the trees
                  Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

                  Continuous as the stars that shine
                  And twinkle on the milky way,
                  They stretch’d in never-ending line
                  Along the margin of a bay:
                  Ten thousand saw I at a glance
                  Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

                  The waves beside them danced, but they
                  Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:—
                  A Poet could not but be gay
                  In such a jocund company!
                  I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
                  What wealth the show to me had brought;

                  For oft, when on my couch I lie
                  In vacant or in pensive mood,
                  They flash upon that inward eye
                  Which is the bliss of solitude;
                  And then my heart with pleasure fills,
                  And dances with the daffodils.

   

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10000 Maniacs with Natalie Merchant: Hey Jack Kerouac

   

10000 Maniacs with Mary Ramsey: More Than This

   

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December 6, 2007

Today is World Samina Malik Day: Terrorize your lyrics

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A reminder about December 6th, World Samina Malik Day. It is after 11:00pm here on East Coast USA, which means that it is already December 6th in half the world. I greet you in freedom, and with poetic license to do so–for now. Yet, this is the day Samina will be sentenced for writing poetry, no matter how lenient or harsh. Sentenced.

She is an online poet. Her being found guilty convicts us all, every poet who has ever imagined and wrote outside the bounds of the politically correct. Every poet.

Last month, she was found guilty of a “lesser charge” of “possessing documents likely to be useful to a person committing or preparing an act of terrorism.” What she downloaded, however, are documents likely to be useful to a person committing or preparing an act of lyricism. In fact, she did not only think about committing lyricism, she did it.

After work tomorrow, which here will be after she is sentenced, I will dress like her (which for me will mean looking like an aging ninja in jeans). I will download The Koran, to align myself with Muslim thought, and consider myself a brother born foreign. Links are available here: Wikipedia: The Qur’an. I will visit Islamic forums and blogs, and download the al Qaeda manual. Links to some Islamic sites can be found at the bottom here: World Samina Malik Day.

I will surf and muse from there. I will look for the taboo, the non-PC. I will look into beheading, and surf and muse from there, to Torture, Al-Qaeda Style, and beyond. All this in preparation for an act of lyricism, to be a lyrical terrorist, to be a poet.

Please join me, where horror and political protest merge into the ears of those who would be politically correct, where terror enters lyricism, where Lyrical Babe became Lyrical Terrorist. Let’s do her taboo. You may.

   

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November 18, 2007

World Samina Malik Day December 6th

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        I remember this sister from another forum

        I’m sure she is sorry for what has happend and didnt mean any harm by it

        May Allaah help her, prison is a horrible place

                –Niqaabis
                IslamicAwakening.com
   

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Samina Malik became the first woman convicted under Great Britain’s Terrorism Act. She wrote poetry about terrorist acts, such as how to behead. She downloaded files, such as the one called How To Win Hand-to-hand Fighting, a manual for a sniper rifle, and the (relatively useless) Mujahideen Poison Handbook by Abdel Azez. Such downloading the folks at Scotland Yard consider “a serious criminal offense.” (See Sean O’Neill’s article in The Times: Poetic shop assistant guilty of building library of terror.)

Writing is not doing. A writer needs to be able to write whatever comes to her. No matter what real terrorist activity Samina Malik may, may not, or may some day be into, her writing is not, and must not be considered terrorist activity.

Every poet, in pursuit of the creative, has to be able to explore and fail, just as people who sing most often cannot carry the tune. And we cannot be out giving poetry licenses to people before they can participate in such activity. Each one of us must have poetic license.

Samina Malik was affected by the videos of beheading that were on the web, and decided to try her hand at the horror genre. A writer needs to be able to research, and explore sensitive territory, such as the info she downloaded–even live it to some degree, vis a vis Jack Kerouac. Period. And whether she is imprisoned for it or not, the next writer will do the same, whether he is imprisoned for it or not, and then the next.

I wonder, following her notoriety, how many others have gone looking to explore that “terrorist” information–and if they are poets, how much bad poetry will come from it. I went looking to download it myself, and could not find the links, otherwise I would share them with you.

[Edited in Nov 26: al Qaeda manual. Thanks to and note: ian.]

If a link appears on my monitor, here in my home, just as if it appears on a bookshelf, here in my home, I will open it, as I should be free to do. My judgment, nobody else’s. Period. Imprison me if you want, but another good citizen will follow me in turn, and you can imprison her too, and the next.

Instead of prosecuting and imprisoning her, we should celebrate a World Samina Malik Day, when we all dress up as her, or as close to it as we can, and download the information she did, the jihad encyclopedia, the poisons handbook, the sniper and hand-to-hand combat manuals–and then write on it. She is due to be sentenced on December 6th. This should be the day. If we cannot find the material for download that she did, note both the failed beheading scene, how hand-to-hand combat is won creatively, and the impending beheading at the end of this scene in Steven Seagal’s Out for Justice (WARNING: FOUL LANGUAGE):

Out for Justice: Bar Scene (‘Anybody seen Richie?’):

Or find something that works even better for you, The Godfather maybe, some documentary, something with violence or horror.

Let’s also make her rich with a Samina Malik line of clothing. She represents the average person’s freedom on this shared Earth of ours.

Just as most every other poet who has tried his or her hand at erotica, war poetry, love poetry, and the horror genre, and has then written in support of Samina Malik, I too was affected by a killing and wrote a syllabic sonnet sequence about it. It is here: Saint Anselm and the Murder of Addie Hall in New Orleans on October 5, 2006. (Also, see Hari Kunzru’s article for The Guardian: Terror stricken. And read Noorjehan Barmania’s ‘I have much in common with Samina Malik’.)

I wish I knew more about how Wilfred Owen’s poetry was brought out at Ms. Malik’s trial, but he is a poet who was able to cast killing into poetry, a difficult thing to do. Like Malik’s, my stab at it doesn’t approach Owen’s:
   

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by Wilfred Owen
   

Parable of the Old Men and the Young
   

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son. . . .
   

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Even though Malik basically failed at it, some positives are that she cast the poem onto the page with care for line breaks, and made her writing very understandable. She’s sort of an advanced beginner like many of us, and I would encourage her to continue writing. Furthermore, the matter-of-factness has her readership recall terrorist activity so much so, that she got convicted as if she really were a terrorist.
   

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recast from excerpts found on the web
   

by Samina Malik
   

How to Behead
   

Hold him
Tie the arms behind his back
And bandage his legs together
Just by the ankles
Blindfold the punk
So that he won’t hesitate as much
For on seeing the sharp pointy knife
He’ll begin to shake
And continuously scream like an eedyat
And jiggle like a jelly
Trust me–this will sure get you angry
It’s better to have at least two or three brothers by your side
Who can hold the fool
Because as soon as the warm sharp knife
Touches his naked flesh
He’ll come to know what’ll happen
It’s not as messy or as hard as some may think,
It’s all about the flow of the wrist.
No doubt that the punk will twitch and scream
But ignore the donkey’s ass
And continue to slice back and forth
You’ll feel the knife hit the wind and food pipe
But don’t stop
Continue with all your might.
About now you should feel the knife vibrate,
You can feel the warm heat being given off,
But this is due to the friction being caused.
   

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Tomorrow, let’s all go and kill someone with her poems. We’ll print them out, and drop them onto people’s heads from rooftops. We’ll roll them into balls and throw them at passersby. We’ll roll them into tubesticks and hit people we approach over the head with them. We’ll get bad breath and recite them.

There are criticisms that her writing is not really poetry, that its main purpose is to incite terrorist activity. Can we call instructions for beheading poetry at all? Here is a poem, written by Harry Mathews, published by the Boston Review, and anthologized in The Best American Poetry 2002, wherein the instructions are how to make eggs, no metaphor, no symbols, no mystic “aha” experience: Butter and Eggs.

If there can be a poem about how to make eggs, then there can be a poem about how to kill. Indeed, there are many movies and many novels out there that instruct viewers on different ways people can be brought to death. We must keep our poets free. We must not silence them, either by cutting out their tongues, by killing them, nor by capturing them for imprisonment.

There is another side to this also, and that is Samina Malik: impressionable daughter of Great Britain. It’s a little late to be raising children, exposing them to world violence and such, telling them that Bush and Blair are criminals and should be hung like Hussein, and then telling them it’s not okay to write about it when they become young adults, that they will be jailed for it.

   


   

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mary-warnock-and-gore-vidal.jpg
On November 16th, the BBC radio program, World Have Your Say, discussed Samina Malik’s situation in terms of a thought crime. That segment begins 12:17 into the show and features Baroness Mary Warnock and Gore Vidal, along with several bloggers: BBC: WHYS: Bangladesh, thought crimes, the dollar (mp3) (while available).
   

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Some musical terrorists:
   

Killing an Arab, by The Cure:


   

Murder by Numbers, by The Police:


   

Cop Killer, by Ice T & Body Count (WARNING: FOUL LANGUAGE):


   

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155 blog posts on Samina Malik’s conviction:
   

جبهة التهييس الشعبية: في قضية سمينة مالك: عاجل لخدامين السيادة

مدونه الشاعر …ترحب بكم: سميه… كتبت شعر .. تبقى إرهابيه … وتخش السجن…..وتحيا الحريه الغربيه … posted by mohammed alsha3r

Ace of Spades HQ: British Law Convicts For Mere Possession of Records posted by Gabriel Malor

AcidDrip: Freedom to offend is part of freedom of speech

AcidDrip: “Lyrical Terrorist”–Samina Malik found Guilty

Alabama-Democrat: The Brits And Freedom posted by Altoid

Ben Aldin: Britain is no longer a free society

American Blog: The Age Of Thought Crime Has Begun posted by Ken

Anglofille: i am not a terrorist, just a writer

Behemoth Conspiracy: ‘Young Muslims ‘criminalised for harbouring silly thoughts…” posted by BTB

Rosie Bell: The Terrible Lyricist

Bibliobibuli: Britain’s Thought Police posted by Sharon Bakar

Bibliobibuli: Convicted . . . For Writing Poetry? posted by Sharon Bakar

Big Brother State: Poet Found Guilty of Terrorism posted by Winston Smith

Yahya Birt: Thought Crime comes to Britain

The Book Bitches: Guilty! . . . Er, for writing poetry? posted by Harlot

Book Blog: Is Writing Bad Poetry a Terrorist Act? posted by Keir Graff

Bookninja: Poetry as terror threat posted by George

Books Inq.: We link . . . posted by Frank Wilson

C L O S E R: Poetic (in)justice? posted by Martijn

C L O S E R: Terrorize your lyrics–Suspended sentence for Samina Malik posted by Martijn

The Chalybeate: Samina Malik posted by Moses

Chesler Chronicles: The Lyrical Terrorist Insists that her Poems are Meaningless posted by Phyllis Chesler

Chihuahuas Bite: From London to Salem . . . a journey of justice posted by Warrior Dog

Church of Virus: ‘Lyrical terrorist’ sentenced over extremist poetry posted by Blunderov

Circle of 13: “the inner monologue is in peril” posted by Augustine Touloupis

Citizen Sane: “Lyrical terrorist”? More like terrible lyricist.

Hugh Cook–Cancer Patient: Fascist British state hauls cute girl creative writer into court

Counterbalance: The lit life in los angeles: A New Twist on What Your Books Say About You posted by Callie Miller

Geoff Coupe’s Blog: The Mugwump Youth

Current: ‘Lyrical Terrorist’ Spared Jail posted by richjm

Dave’s Part: The Lyrical Terrorist versus Sturmgeist89 posted by David Osler

Deborama: Victim of laws against thoughts posted by Deb

Voyou Desoeuvre: Support Samina Malik

Done With Mirrors: Sad, Vicious, and Stupid: But is it criminal? posted by Callimachus

Done With Mirrors: Terror Poet Girl posted by Callimachus

The Dragon’s List Kung Fu Community: Tried for writing poetry posted by john100

Dublin Opinion: ‘You have been in many respects a complete enigma to me.’ posted by Conor McCabe

Edshugeo The GodMoor: Guilty Of Owning Manuals?

Edshugeo The GodMoor: Happy Samina Malik Day!

email blog: Free Samina Malik

EURSOC: Lyrical Terrorism: Self-censorship, Islamists and the art world

ex-lion tamer: a real life poetic terrorist?

FictionBitch: The Terrorism of Intellectual Repression posted by Elizabeth Baines

Free Samina Malik by Nawara Negm

Good Ol’ Boy: Lyrical Terrorist

GotPoetry.com News: Suspended Sentence for the ‘Lyrical Terrorist’ posted by Robert Verkaik

GotPoetry.com News: Update on The Lyrical Terrorist posted by chameleon (D.P.)

Great War Fiction: No Worse than Owen? posted by George Simmers

El Gringo Rumbero: Justice for Samina Malik!

The Guardian: Comment is free: An attack on liberty posted by Inayat Bunglawala

The Guardian: theblogbooks: Terrible poet, laughable terrorist posted by Shirley Dent

The Guardian: Comment is free: Don’t even think about it posted by Inayat Bunglawala

Herald Sun Blog: Gangsta in a hijab posted by Andrew Bolt

Heresy Corner: All the nice girls love Osama posted by Heresiarch

Heresy Corner: Why Free Speech Matters posted by Heresiarch

Helmintholog: A very quick further note on censorship posted by Andrew Brown

Hitchens Watch: With a legal system this effective, why should England tremble? posted by Christopher Hitchens

Hizb ut-Tahrir Britain: The crime of rhyme: the extraordinary case of Samina Malik post by Fahad Ansari

Hoff Limits: Talking with the lawman about poetry posted by Mike Hoffman

Hunting Monsters: Samina Malik Day: December 6th posted by ian

Hunting Monsters: Thoughtcrime or Lolcrime? posted by ian

Rupa Huq’s home on the web: Dubious Distinction

I Hate All of You: Thought Crimes posted by Hitler616

Index Research: Fox News: Guilty of Incitement to Terrorism? posted by Sarah Meyer

IndyBlogs: Minority Report: Thought crime coming to a town near you posted by Jerome Taylor

Islam in Europe: UK: ‘Young Muslims are being convicted of thought crimes’ posted by Esther

IslamicAwakening.com: 1st Sister Convicted Under Terrorism Act posted by Umm

Islamics: Gillian Gibbons and Samina Malik posted by Shukran

Islamophobia Watch: The lyrical non-terrorist posted by Martin Sullivan

Islamophobia Watch: Woman nicknamed ‘lyrical terrorist’ escapes jail sentence posted by Martin Sullivan in UK

Jangliss: “From Homer to 50 Cent, lonely and frustrated . . .” posted by John Angliss

Jdude–The Unstoppable Madman: Free speech

Late Arrival: The study of inference–Or how I learned to love the Romans posted by Daniel Snell

Lead Acetate: Potential versus kinetic ideas posted by E.M.

The Legal Satyricon: The “Lyrical Terrorist” posted by Prof. Marc J. Randazza

Liberal Review: The ‘Lyrical Terrorist’ Is Not a Terrorist posted by Rob Knight

Londonist: Bad Poetry Not a (Punishable) Offence posted by Julie PH

Look High and Low: No-one is safe posted by Mark

Clattery MacHinery on Poetry: Today is World Samina Malik Day: Terrorize your lyrics

Mac Uaid: Lyrical Terrorist and the right to be offensive posted by Liam Mac Uaid

The Mail: Free speech is for nasty people, not nice ones posted by Peter Hitchens

MakeHeadline.com: [wvns] British Muslim Found “Guilty” of Poetry posted by amirza

La Mancha: I wonder how many Italians own Nazi paraphernalia posted by Carlos

Manifesto Club campaign: Free the ‘lyrical terrorist’ post by Josie Appleton

Masopher’s Mind: There is no reason we can’t be civil, is there? post by Masochist

The memoirs of Lord Snooty: Lyrical Terrorists posted by Cheese Messiah

Dave Miller Art Blog: Lyrical Terrorist

Dave Miller Art Blog: samina malik day december 6th

Monkeyboy: Lyrical Terrorism posted by Jack

MPACUK: ‘Lyrical Terrorist’ found guilty posted by Dr Diavolo

Muslamics: Muslim Poetess Arrested for Extremist Poetry posted by Yesi King

Nation of Shopkeepers: What exactly is a terrorist document? posted by Harry Haddock

Natural yogurt: Free Samina Malik The days tick by . . . posted by Stephen Clynes

Natural yogurt: Fantasy or reality? posted by Stephen Clynes

Neil’s Site: Islamic Demonstrations

Newswatch: ‘Lyrical Terrorist’ spared jail posted by Newsjunky

November 30: When poems are against the law posted by Kathleen

Obsolete: From lyrical to physical. posted by septicisle

The Pamphleteer: On Lyrical Terrorism posted by Finnieston Crane

paxil online: Today is World Samina Malik Day: Terrorize your lyrics « Clattery MacHinery on Poetry posted by usu

PenShells: Witnessing posted by Bren101

thepeoplesvoice.org: ‘Lyrical terrorist’ convicted over hate records

www.PetitionOnline.com: Free Samina Malik

Poetry & Poets in Rags: News at Eleven (Back Page): I think I might be in trouble. posted by Rus Bowden

Poetry & Poets in Rags: News at Eleven: [Samina Malik] told the court posted by Rus Bowden

Poetry & Poets in Rags: November 20th forum announcement posted by Rus Bowden

Poetry & Poets in Rags: November 27th forum announcement posted by Rus Bowden

The Political News You Need to Know: Today is World Samina Malik Day: Terrorize your lyrics

Praxis: Thoughtcrime in the U.K.

prisonlawinsideout: ‘Lyrical terrorist’ sentenced over extremist poetry posted by John Hirst Hull

Probablyblonde: The mad woman in the bedroom

Probablyblonde: Thoughtcrime and lyrical terrorism

Rachel from north London: The Lyrical Terrorist

Ramblings of the Bearded One: Guilty of writing dodgy poetry posted by Kim Ayres

Random Comments from South London: Lyrical terrorist gets suspended sentence posted by secretlondon

readership: Lyrical Terrorist posted by Бронза

Reasonable Mahmoud: The Stench Of Hypocrisy . . . posted by Avenger

Penny Red: Thoughts on Lyrical Terrorism.

Red Pepper: Thoughtcrime and Samina Malik posted by Neruda

resak11’s weblog: Lyrical terrorist sentenced for poetry Guardian Unlimited

Rule 9: World Samina Malik Day December 6th ~9 posted by Rus Bowden

Sawtul Islam: Where are you oh Hakam?!

The Sharp Side: Lyrical terrorism posted by Ellis

The Soul of Man Under Capitalism: Thought Crimes posted by V

The Spectator: Free speech and the ‘lyrical terrorist’ posted by Ron Liddle

SportsBikes.net: Prosecutor will not charge teacher for Columbine blog posting posted by 750rider

The state we’re in: Thought crime

Strange Stuff: Lyrical Terrorism posted by Chris

Strange Stuff: Lyrical? Terrorist? posted by Chris

Subjects Are Silly: “Lyrical Terrorism” and the theory of Free Rights posted by Chelsea

sweetbands: England from the Blogosphere: World Samina Malik Day December 6th posted by Kurt Torres

Telegraph: The curious case of the lyrical terrorist posted by Ceri Radford

Ten Percent: War Crimes Vs. Thoughtcrime posted by RickB

This Guy is Teaching Abroad: Be Careful What You Read and Say posted by Guy Courchesne

Through The Scary Door: The lyrical terrorist goes down posted by Roobin

Times Online: Don’t ban the lyricist posted by Shirley Dent

Times Online: Faith Central: Lyrical terrorist defended posted by Libby Purves

Times Online: Muslims ‘criminalised for silly thoughts’ posted by Sean O’Neill: Crime and Security Editor

Jonathan Turley: British Convict “Lyrical Terrorist”–Muslim Who Merely Wrote About Beheadings

UncommonSense: British woman convicted of writing terrorist poetry

The Waters: World Samina Malik Day December 6th

Westolowski: OK. Poetry still sucks. But rap sucks worse.

ChristopherWhite.info: Crimes against literature?

Who Knows Where Thoughts Come From?: The Blair Ditch Project posted by Ian

Why Dont You Blog?: Crime, Confusion and the Littlejohn Idiocy posted by TW

Wild Poetry Forum: World Samina Malik Day December 6th

World Have Your Say (BBC): 16 Nov 07 posted by Peter

World Politics Review: World Samina Malik Day December 6th

Tim Worstall: What a Wonderful Country

Wrath of Mjolnir: Free Speech?

A Writer’s Life: Wait posted by John Siddique

WSP 400: Samina Malik posted by Jessica Posner

Your Society: The Terrible Lyricist – is She also a Lyrical Terrorist? posted by Gregers Friisberg

zidouta.com: Ready Made Terrorism posted by Herman van Iperen

   

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Vodpod videos no longer available.

   

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September 24, 2007

Alley War Poetry

   

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Marvelous Marvin Hagler vs. Thomas “The Hit Man” Hearns

Caesars Palace, Las Vegas, April 15, 1985

Announcers: Al Bernstein and Al Michaels

   

Alley War Poetry

   

The pugilists are in the desert, somewhere far from most of humanity and society. They are at a resort, however, a magnificent getaway, elevated in the middle of a roped-off ring, with cameras surrounding. They have taken the center of the world from us, and placed it into that squared area they occupy. They are poets, informing us of brutality and violence from this very different point of view.

We must relinquish our individual world centers to theirs, but in doing so, these centers merge in passing. In the merger, the metaphor is no longer a metaphor. It does not stand for affecting our lives; it affects our lives. Thus created is poetry, a poetry written before a word is spoken, before the words for it are thought of, and in vivo. Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas Hearns are scripting the wordless narrative out of earshot, the good and the bad of it, a new violence for us upon first viewing, something to reflect upon afterward, something brutal with important aspects, both a metaphor and a reality to re-use for different purposes, even now again, 22 years later.

There is poetry to be found in violence. Poetry is not anti-war as such. Witnessing a four-dimensional Rubik’s cube with one color wrong, the alley war poet intuits how much unravelling must be done for a short period of resolution, until new aspects bear themselves into the world, and the cube must be re-solved–this whether one or a billion dark sides surface the wrong way, whether in times of peace or war. Violence will always be an unsolved part of the whole of us and each one of us. Indeed, when he was 13, Hagler’s home was destroyed, and people around him killed, in the race riots in Newark. But as an athlete poet, when his ideas and rhythms prevail, he is prevailing, and his message comes through.

Civilly speaking, the fight could, and arguably should be stopped (if it should have taken place at all), upon Hagler’s profuse bloodshed. In earlier ages and other places, such an event would be a fight to the death, though. This violence and brutality of boxing matches are not in our civilized centers of commerce and community centers, but under the preserve of state sanction and institutional procedure. Even still, boxers like soldiers, our young adults die and become disabled through their fighting. We understand that such brutality exists, and make it against the law. Our society, through our humanity, has drawn legal and moral lines.

Yet, we are able, through such an event, to allow our shadows, what is inhumane of our humanness, to be spoken to. This is an aspect of life that has never gone away. Like the sex drive, it may either be brought out orgiastically; or in recession, monastically; but it remains part of us. The taller we are in the light, the longer the shadow, from each given vantage point. Hagler, for instance, his entire adult life, no matter where he has lived, has given himself to causes for children, as they mature in the world, and as they die in hospitals.

Sometimes the line before violence and brutality disappears. This can happen within the individual, within families, within social groups or gangs, and, during wartime. Poetry may unveil this.
   

by Wilfred Owen
   

Dulce Et Decorum Est
   

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!–An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

   

Wilfred Owen gives us brutal word poetry here, the violence everpresent in being human is heavy, the darkness brought to light. From where he stood, the darkness is out in the open. The events in this poem, however, were neither staged nor so scripted by the people doing the violence. The main character, the hero, is dying, then dead. It is gruesome. The poem existed where muses exist, and was written into words by one who would otherwise be a background player, one of the other soldiers.

But where is the poetry? Is it in his words? Not essentially. Essentially, it is in the unfolding story. It is pre-verbal: Chopin, Marceau, and Hagler. In this sense what we usually think of as poetry, is a sub genre. It is word poetry.

Let’s attempt to shift the metaphor of the poet from the pugilists to the announcers, Bernstein and Michaels. This makes Hagler and Hearns the main characters in an unfolding drama. The announcers are witnessing an event. Before their eyes, two warriors with great heart, hope and humanity are duking it out. A golden story seems to be unfolding, inspiring them. Bernstein and Michaels are streaming their words, as they relate this to us, their imagined audience, spontaneously, with repetition, simile, metaphor, alliteration, and meter that together borders on the music of song. Sometimes they really are singing.

This, then, could be thought of as a (p)entacostal event. The shaman (here, the pugilist) takes the journey into the breadths and depths of human nature, and comes back with something that the village priest is capable of interpreting into the lives of us lay people. Nowadays, the poet is expected to do both, take the inspirational journey of the hero, and then write it down for the rest of us to read and re-center from, or at least keep in our pockets for later reference. But there is a catch.

When Owen wrote Dulce Et Decorum Est, it was reflective. His journey was internal and after-the-fact. A poet may tell us fiction, but Owen relates something that had happened, something he witnessed in real life. Both the essential poetry and the verbal poetry came from him–what we have come to expect from our poets. Note too that, although it is often recited, the poem’s birth event is in written, not spoken, form–not to say he was not whispering or even singing the lines as he composed, maybe he was. Nor was he dancing or beating a drum. Both Hagler and Hearns, however, were in their ways dancing. Our shamans speak to us in many ways.

Bernstein and Michaels have a poetic event unfolding before them. Their poetics are of the spoken language kind (and here I don’t mean to compare or even debate poetic ability, simply to grant that they speak in verse). Note instead, that their rhythms are different from the rhythms of the fighters. That’s the catch I mentioned. It is a split we witness, between the movement and focus of the pugilists, and the versification of the announcers. The event a poet relates, is decidedly different from the event of its relating. The verbal poem has a different sense, sound, and rhythm than the essential poetry inspiring it.

In case there is any tension, let’s bridge this gap between the spontaneous relating of an inspirational event, and the practiced writing of poetic reflection. Here is Jack Kerouac’s spontaneous bop prose, as he called it, in “On the Road”:

“He’s mad,” I said, “and yes, he’s my brother.” I saw Dean coming back with the farmer in his tractor. They hooked chains on and the farmer hauled us out of the ditch. The car was muddy brown, a whole fender was crushed. The farmer charged us five dollars. His daughters watched in the rain. The prettiest, shyest one hid far back in the field to watch and she had good reason because she was absolutely and finally the most beautiful girl Dean and I ever saw in all our lives. She was about sixteen, and had Plains complexion like wild roses, and the bluest eyes, the most lovely hair, and the modesty and quickness of a wild antelope. At every look from us she flinched. She stood there with the immense winds that blew clear down from Saskatchewan knocking her hair about her lovely head like shrouds, living curls of them. She blushed and blushed.

The rhythms in Kerouac’s bop prose, are not the rhythms of a car being yanked out of a ditch. The sounds are not close either. What a racket it must have been, and a sight and emotional sense for all to witness. But the pacing at first is as if Kerouac was somewhat out of breath, or maybe becomes a bit breathless as he recalls the event. In describing the beautiful daughter, we do not get her rhythms either, nor the rhythms of the wind blowing. We get the pacing of the witness (Jack Kerouac’s Sal Paradise), his vantage, his rhythms. We understand at once, how we could be him with his eyes, how this certain part of him seems to be a certain part of us, but in our own reflection, how we are different from him. Through his wording, we surmise as best we can, what was really taking place, both within the scene described, and within the describer.

Imagine that Bernstein and Michaels could not make it to Las Vegas. Instead, the promoters asked if they could put a microphone up to Hagler in order that he give us, in his own words, the unfolding details of the fight. Could we expect poetry from his words? I cannot help thinking of Muhammad Ali, who may have been poetic with his words before and after a fight, and maybe during as he taunted his opponents, but the poetry of his athletics was something else again. Bob Dylan is a poet in this wider sense, a song poet, which is different from being a word poet. Chopin is a poet of the piano specifically, and Marceau a poet of mime. The poetry of the artist or athlete is found in what is practiced.

Owen and Kerouac, were each able, at some juncture, to experience the poetry of the moments they relate–then as poets of the word, communicate such essence to us after the fact. In both cases, there is nothing goody-goody about what the people are doing. Owen’s war is evident. His hero is dying, a victim. Kerouac’s scene, on the other hand, involves the reckless destruction of a car, leading to the potential womanizing of a 16-year-old girl by a couple older guys passing through town. His heroes are culprits.

Whereas Owen has us look squarely at the dark side of human nature from the attitude of the light, Kerouac has us looking at the light from the vantage of the darkness. Hagler is doing the same as Kerouac, only instead of bringing fiction to an actual event, he actualizes a hoped-for event, walking through the necessary dark alley to get to the light–taking us with him like a good poet would. Here is such a poetic relationship with violence, through Iraq veteran and poet Brian Turner:
   

   

Turner begins his poem “Here, Bullet,” with what could have been the words of Marvelous Marvin Hagler if he could have scripted words into his fight with Thomas Hearns:

If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta’s opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you’ve started.

The world yearns for the good fight, a real live hero fighting for good to prevail, and knows the violence of it exists out there, even if in a far-off desert where poets or shamans sojourn, even if ducking from bullets in a tenement in New Jersey somewhere.
   


   

After the fight, Hagler spoke of his concern, that he hoped the fans got their money’s worth, the scheduled 15-rounder ending before the bell of the third round. He was assured that this was the case. This is not a necessary attribute of a poet, wanting others and posterity to benefit from individual inspiration. It’s good to see, though. But, whether they care or not, the poets’ service is invaluable, if only in that we come together as witnesses to each other and, therefore, ourselves. What’s even better, is if we can then continue with a conversation, informed by the poet. Here is the ending to Turner’s poem:

                        Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.

As the modern poet, he accepts that he is shaman, who must complete the communicative process, and write it down for us, how “the world ends, every time.” He continues the conversation, from the vantage point of a soldier who has witnessed too often what Owen witnessed. It is from here, he seems to be responding to Carl Jung’s thoughts on death:
   

_____

March 7, 2007

“The Scent of Ensure” by J. Shawcross

   
   


   

_____

   

              by J. Shawcross
   
   
              “for my sister Jackie, who has a feeding tube
              and a great sense of humor”

   
   
   
                                The Scent of Ensure
   
   
   
                                              A new day dawns,
                                                What is in store?
                              The scented air as Frank prepares
                                                      Ensure.
   
   
   
Later, enters Rachael Ray
    With cups and spoons galore.
Can she beat in a bowl a fragrance
    That will beat the scent of Ensure?
   
                                                                The day goes on. Food Channel reigns-
                                                                    Recipes, more and more.
                                                                What mist can all those masters mix
                                                                  That gives forth a scent like Ensure?
   
                In the oven now, a shrimp dish,
                    With butter and spices poured o’er;
                But I do declare the scent can’t compare
                      With the wonderful whiff of Ensure!
   
   
   
                                            The sun descends
                                              But puffs endure.
                                Dreams are inspired by the scents of
                                                      Ensure.
                                                                                                                                   

   

_____

   
   
   

   
   

_____

   

published here with the gracious permission of the poet, J. Shawcross

   

_____

December 24, 2006

J. Geils Band’s ‘Floyd’s Hotel’: A place to get our poetic souls back

 
 

 
 
For Christmas, I got myself The Morning After, the 1971 album by my favorite band to see in concert in my teens, the J. Geils Band. In those 70s, some of us from Massachusetts had good friends from Manchester, NH. And I remember one time being in a car heading home from Montreal, with a mix of us as we all got into singing and swaying to the song “Floyd’s Hotel,” a song written about a New Hampshire hotel, done by the Massachusetts-based band. I have many J. Geils albums, the early albums, and the concert ones mainly, in a box down in my basement–but never got this one, and always should have.

Another thought, in watching the video below, it occurs to me that the latest American Idol, Taylor Hicks, has a similar energy to Peter Wolf. This makes me wonder if there is an influence there. I have no inclination to go see Hicks in concert or buy his albums. The reason might be that he comes across too pop. R&B and Rock ‘n Roll, versus pop, are rooted in the realities and hard core emotions of life, which include such a hotel as Floyd’s and the encounters there. The song enters that world, becomes an anthem for it, and speaks from it. It may turn out to be too “bold” a move for someone like Hicks to do, even if he wanted to. Maybe Hicks has sold his R&B soul to the American Idol devil.

Now, we come back full circle to J. Geils, and whether the band sold their souls in their later albums. The song “Centerfold”, a song I would not buy, does not address human sexuality the same way as “Floyd’s Hotel.” How do you get from “South Side Shuffle” to “Freeze Frame”? One answer might be through the Love Stinks album. Other answers, though, might be through the easy life or the desire for the popularity of pop. Do we need to forgive the band for selling out before they broke up? And, if so, do we forgive Geils and Hicks alike?

The difference between the tightrope Taylor Hicks is walking, and the J. Geils Band’s historic journey, is in what Geils demonstrated: that it could be done. J. Geils Band represented the artistry, or should I say the poetry of all R&B artists, in showing that they could do other types of perimeter-inspired poetry as well. “Freeze Frame” and “Centerfold” are standards that will survive in pop culture far beyond we who are living today, as will the band’s blues rock survive for R&B seekers in forthcoming generations.

The best pop artists, the ones selling the most records, are not doing it because they do it better. That’s settled now. The challenge Peter Wolf and the J. Geils Band has for any pop band or singer, is can they now, with their talents, sing from their for-real souls, as well as from their musical abilities. When and if Taylor Hicks can get his pop standards up for forthcoming generations, he will still need to return to his music for his soul.
 
 

_____

 
 

Note: The video is no longer available on Youtube, but here is the Myspace link:

J. Geils Band – Floyd’s Hotel


 
 
The above performance of “Floyd’s Hotel” is from BBC TV’s Old Grey Whistle Test on January 9th, 1973. I have not been able to transcribe the words precisely. Below is what I am hearing. But I cannot make out the first few words, so I include the words from the album “The Morning After” in parentheses, like so:

(She had big rosy red) hips, oh nice and round
Red rosy lips, you know they really got me down

I know very well that that is incorrect, as the progression itself is altered. This is what is on the album:

She had big rosy red hips really knocks them right on
She had juicy red lips that really laid me down

It is interesting to hear how the progressions are different from the album in 1971 to the 1973 rendition. What has come out, and been replaced is this:

Smilin’ Jim, he’s the cat that checks you in
Big fat Smilin’ Jim, you know he signs you in
Don’t ask where you goin’
He don’t care where you been

What we have instead, is the Hyde Park stanza below.

If you hear it better, let me know. I am open to corrections.
 
 
 

_____

 
 

performed by J. Geils Band
            Stephen Jo Bladd, drums
            Magic Dick, harp
            J. Geils, guitar
            Seth Justman, keyboard
            Danny Klein, bass
            Peter Wolf, vocals

 
 
written by
            Seth Justman
            Peter Wolf
            & of course, Juke-Joint-Walden
 
 
Floyd’s Hotel
 
 
(She had big rosy red) hips, oh nice and round
Red rosy lips, you know they really got me down
She stuck me in a taxi
And drove me way across town

She got me down, down to Floyd’s Hotel
She got me down, down to Floyd’s Hotel
Lotta cheap rooms
Always something nice to sell

Fellow there, you know they call him Tyrone
Fellow there, you know they call him Tyrone
He don’t care where you go
Always leave you alone

Met a fellow hanging out in Hyde Park
Walking around Hyde Park, met a fellow called Tyrone
That was his name–gave him five quid
You know he really turned me on

Going down, down to Floyd’s Hotel
I’m going down, down to Floyd’s Hotel
Lotta cheap rooms
Always something nice to sell
 
 
 
 

_____

September 27, 2006

Poetry Festivals Worldwide: This weekend, the Dodge

Filed under: 21 century poetry, 21st century poets, Aldeburgh Poetry Festival, Austin International Poetry Festival, Beall Poetry Festival, Belfast Poetry Festival, Berkeley Poetry Festival, Burning Word Festival, by Bud Bloom, Carrboro Poetry Festival, Cork International Poetry Festival, Dancing Poetry Festival, Denver Poetry Festival, Edmonton Poetry Festival, Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival, Guardian Hay Festival, Hay Fringe Festival, International Poetry Festival of Medellín, Jerusalem Poetry Festival, John Milton Memorial Celebration of Poets and Poetry, Kwani? Lit Fest Blog, Ledbury Poetry Festival, Los Angeles Poetry Festival and Noir Corridor, Lowell Celebrates Kerouac!, Manchester Poetry Festival, Massachusetts Poetry Festival, MassPOP, Milton Poetry Fest, Newburyport Literary Festival, North Carolina Festival of the Book, Ojai Poetry Festival, One Square Meter, Overload Poetry Festival, Palm Beach Poetry Festival, poetry, Poetry Africa, Poetry Can, poetry festivals, Poetry Now Festival, poets, pop culture, Portland Library Poetry Festival, San Francisco Poetry Festival, Sarah Lawrence Festival, Saratoga Poetry Festival, Seacoast Poetry & Jazz Festival, Silverton Poetry Festival, Skagit River Poetry Project, Sparrows Poetry Festival, StAnza, Struga Poetry Evenings, Sunken Garden Poetry Festival, Terry Plunkett Maine Poetry Festival, The Chicago Poetry Fest, Trois-Rivières International Festival of Poetry, Tucson Poetry Festival, WA Spring Poetry Festival, Wisconsin Book Festival — Clattery MacHinery @ 2:11 am

   

____________

   

   

This Thursday, September 28th, the bi-annual Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival begins, and will last through Sunday afternoon. The organizers have planned a star-studded line-up of poets for 20,000 poetry fans, music, educational programs, food, the works, all for a bargain price of about $1 Million (to the foundation–tickets are less). It will be held at Waterloo Village in Byram Township in New Jersey.

(Edited/Updated from here for the 2008 festival)

Here is the page of performing poets:

Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival: Poets

Here is the weekend weather in Stanhope NJ:

Weather.com: Stanhope

And here is the web site of the foundation:

The Geraldine R. Dodge Foundation

   

____________

   

Poetry Festivals Worldwide

   

(The Hay)

   

Poetry festivals sponsored by good organizations take place around the world throughout the year, especially spring and fall. Below is a list of some of them. If you know any of them that are missing, please let me know.

   

   

                Aldeburgh Poetry Festival
                Austin International Poetry Festival
                Beall Poetry Festival
                Belfast Poetry Festival
                Berkeley Poetry Festival
                Burning Word Festival
                Carrboro Poetry Festival
                The Chicago Poetry Fest
                The Cork International Poetry Festival
                Dancing Poetry Festival
                Denver Poetry Festival
                Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival
                Edmonton Poetry Festival
                The Guardian Hay Festival
                Hay Fringe Festival
                The International Poetry Festival of Medellín
                Jerusalem Poetry Festival: One Square Meter
                Kwani? Lit Fest Blog
                Ledbury Poetry Festival
                Los Angeles Poetry Festival and Noir Corridor
                Lowell Celebrates Kerouac!
                Manchester Poetry Festival
                Massachusetts Poetry Festival
                John Milton Memorial Celebration of Poets and Poetry
                Newburyport Literary Festival
                North Carolina Festival of the Book
                Ojai Poetry Festival
                Overload Poetry Festival
                Palm Beach Poetry Festival
                Poetry Africa
                Poetry Can
                The Poetry Now Festival
                Portland Library Poetry Festival
                Rotterdam International Poetry Festival
                San Francisco Poetry Festival
                Sarah Lawrence Festival
                Saratoga Poetry Festival
                Seacoast Poetry & Jazz Festival
                Seattle Poetry Festival
                Silverton Poetry Festival
                Skagit River Poetry Project
                Sparrows Poetry Festival
                StAnza
                Struga Poetry Evenings
                Sunken Garden Poetry Festival
                Terry Plunkett Maine Poetry Festival
                Trois-Rivières International Festival of Poetry
                Tucson Poetry Festival
                WA Spring Poetry Festival
                Wisconsin Book Festival

   

(Overload)

   

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