The poets move
[size=50]…[/size]comfortably
[size=50]…[/size]in cyberspace.
They always have.
Howdy d63: you mean poets always moved about cyberspace comfortably
Because for poets cyberspace has always existed, even before it became cyberspace?
Hey: that’s very very far out! Like they used to say in the 60’s!
Funny you should mention the 60’s, that being the time that Deleuze recognized that we should not, in face of the virtual, embrace a nostalgia for a time when things were “more real”. According to Deleuze: the virtual is embedded in the way we experience reality. We think of the present as something real to us. But there is every possibility that the present can only exist as a transition from the past to the future. In other words, our memories can only be the past present that never was: the virtual.
This is the point of the poem:
By saying that poets have always moved comfortably in cyberspace, I am saying that poets have always moved comfortably in the virtual -even before computers.
I mean what were the 60’s but an embrace of the virtual? Our experiments with psychedelics should have made that clear to us.
I agree: the virtual is the past present. And the past forward is like futureshock. I wonder what's in(the)store in that regard. It is here too, the same way the past is, because the present is the future's virtual past.
Always a pleasure jamming w/ ya, brother.
“I agree: the virtual is the past present. And the past forward is like futureshock. I wonder what’s in(the)store in that regard. It is here too, the same way the past is, because the present is the future’s virtual past.”
?: and how else could we describe it but by twisting through language
…
?: how could we even hope to even come close to matching the way we describe reality and reality itself…
In cyberspace:
[size=50]…[/size]the poet
has as much claim to philosophy
[size=50]…[/size]as the philosopher does.
Once the poet is discarded from the republic.
as Plato recommended we do,
philosophy becomes little more than a state function.
Once philosophy loses its beauty,
it becomes little more than a function.
And how do you love a function unless it is feeding your base demands?
Einstein:
Always a pleasure hearing from ya, Moreno.
Your 2 cents always feel like a million to me.
Thanks!
I suppose I was saying…
poets are more aware, often, I Think, that what Einstein is saying is the actual ground. More than philosophers that is. Einstein, it seems, rested outside language.
Here’s Emilly Dickinson weighing in…
You know, Moreno, I’ve been thinking lately that I need to break from buying philosophy books and actually get Dickinson’s poems. I use to have it.
I always liked:
I heard a fly buzz when I died.
I recently lost my copy, from the 80’s, of Sylvia Plath’s Ariel.
I’m not sure I can live with that.
?: but didn’t it seem as if Lizzie Borden had the feel she did because of Dickinson. Lizzie Borden was like Dickinson gone psychopathic.
Once again:
I heard a fly buzz when I died.
I HEARD a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me
Could make assignable,—and then
There interposed a fly,
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.
Dickinson is one Sharp creature
And she just leapt out of Zeus head?!
I love the Ariel poems also.
I have gotten a Little tired of free verse, but some people are just so smart and interesting, they can handle it and Plath is one of those.
I have trouble with ‘philosophical poets’ like, say, Wallace Stevens. he’s brilliant, but it’s kinda wanky.
The genius of it lies in being similar to Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Illich.
Although Tolstoy did a much better job of describing the isolation that death involves.
Kafka, on the other hand, in his own surreal way, may have described it best in The Metamorphosis.
There could not be an isolation, on the face of the earth, like that of gregor’s.
I love 12 ways of looking at a blackbird. It’s influenced me to a great deal.