There once was a poet
from somewhere
and his head
was full of
hot air
he took up his pen
but where to begin
it didn’t matter
'cause it was
all bullshit
anyway…
he wanted to help
the world
while watching the news
he curled
people were starving
the wars were alarming
but this guy was only a poet
Excellent.
Thank you for writing a poem for me.
You’re not thankful…you’re infuriated. But I refuse to have poem wars with you because you have a whole notebook full of them, while I got nothing. It wouldn’t be fair.
I’m not infuriated at all.
his head
was full of
hot air
spot on.
and yours perhaps full
of noxious gas. of decay.
it was
all bullshit
anyway…
now that is low detrop!
and this from a man
who should know better.
who should know the
humanising quality
of poetic flummery
of playful language
of shooting the breeze
poetically…
but this guy was only a poet
and you are perhaps a philosopher
in denial!
O, I would be infuriated, but thankfully
your envy and rancour are more than
clear.
baby!
Colinsign, here is the address to the myspace page of a fellow philosopher/poet who I met on the internet years ago. I thought you might like his stuff:
Although I like the farce, and the obvious irony of presentation, I disagree with the overall sentiment? No, no… argument. A poem, if well written (and, oh, are there any here on ilp? I won’t open up that polemic), can transform and compel an individual, can open up those tall pointed black iron gates guarding the heart, and, ultimatly, (hopefully), impel him or her into action. This is true for poems and for the muzziems. For, I stongly believe, to deny art as a force, is to walk the earth with one eye blind.
Detrop’s point, though, is right on, right on capital; poetry is never enough – actions speak louder than words. And looking back, historically, esp. after the beat generation, poetry and activism has begun to go cheek in cheek. In fact, I would compare the poet who sits quietly in her or his room all their bent and crooked life, to be akin to that “overman” VIRUS one finds in Nietzsche’s writing: “In the same way, the sun-seeking, Javanese climbing plant called the Sipo Matador will wrap its arms around an oak tree so often and for such a long time that finally, high above the oak, although still supported by it, the plant will be able to unfold its highest crown of foliage and show its happiness in the full, clear light.” (Friedrich Nietzsche 258 Beyong Good and Evil). A leech, a virus…
Poetry, however, serves much greater purposes than this, for it is organic – it can only exist as a living interaction between text and reader. Through that interaction, the reader is often able to overcome uncovered weeds that the illumination of poetic imagery and suggestion discloses. e.e. cummings, for example, illuminates his readers to the fact that a prostitute is really, just a little girl underneath that painted facade – and, oh, what a different light now it is too look at a street-walker after a stroll through the world in e.e. cummings eyes! Poetry changes human action, by forcing readers to re-examine their paradigms. One laughs at an old man getting beaten to death? And now one is horrified by the reaction? Hence, now, one may reconsider one’s own nature, one might, re-examine one’s self? And that, is powerful, is it not?
Now, as having written a bunch of poetry in the past two years, I must say, if I have discovered anything through the process, it is a greater awareness and understanding of myself. To observe the the self as text, to distantly observe themes emerging, over time, well, it is like reading one’s own soul, (or unconscious mind, if you prefer).
One of my favorite films, is The Dreamers, directed by Bernardo Bertolucci. It is set in 1968, Paris, which is erupting with student protests and political revolts. A father of two of the main characters, is a poet, famous for his line, “A poem is a petition, and a petition is a poem.” The father, though he is against the student revolts, through his own poetry, influences his children, as well as others, in France. In a sense, one could imagine the father’s words betraying his own political and social views. Being that as it may, it only goes to demonstrate the power of a statement, the power of words.
Kafka, about books, said the following statement, but I believe the statement encompasses poetry as well, “A book is an ax to break the frozen sea within us.” That is a powerful statement, and it is one made in poetic language.
To be sure, given accounts of Nazi officials found in concentration camps with copies of Goethe, Shakespeare, et cetra., it is very difficult to make the argument I’m presenting with such self-assurance and poise. Which is why, I agree with the theme of your poem, detrop; poetry is not enough, literature is not enough, philosophy, certainly, is not enough. But together, with positive action, the arts compliment reason, the emotions compliment technology, together forming one helluva myeline sheath, letting those neurons fire and fire at electrifying paces toward the creative construction of collective excellence. Areté.
I don’t know if you are familiar with Tristan Tzara, but here is some similar sentiment from him.
Proclamation without Pretension
Art is going to sleep for a new world to be born
“ART”-parrot word-replaced by DADA,
PLEIOSAURUS, or handkerchief
The talent THAT CAN BE LEARNED makes the
poet a druggist TODAY the criticism
of balances no longer challenges with resemblances
Hypertrophic painters hyeraes-
theticized and hypnotized by the hyacinths
of the hypocritical-looking muezzins
CONSOLIDATE THE HARVEST OF EX-
ACT CALCULATIONS
Hypodrome of immortal guarantees: there is
no such thing as importance there is no transparance
or appearance
MUSICIANS SMASH YOUR INSTRUMENTS
BLIND MEN take the stage
THE SYRINGE is only for my understanding. I write because it is
natural exactly the way I piss the way I’m sick
ART NEEDS AN OPERATION
Art is a PRETENSION warmed by the
TIMIDITY of the urinary basin, the hysteria born
in THE STUDIO
We are in search of
the force that is direct pure sober
UNIQUE we are in search of NOTHING
we affirm the VITALITY of every IN-
STANT
the anti-philosophy of spontaneous acrobatics
At this moment I hate the man who whispers
before the intermission-eau de cologne-
sour theatre. THE JOYOUS WIND
If each man says the opposite it is because he is
right
Get ready for the action of the geyster of our blood
-submarine formation of transchromatic aero-
planes, cellular metals numbered in
the flight of images
above the rules of the
and its control
BEAUTIFUL
It is not for the sawed-off imps
who still worship their naval
the cards said i would meet her in life
–
Notice the irony? Then again, perhaps, it is simply best to be like Whitman, embracing the contradictions.
Sometimes, I think, it is the very uselessness of something, that gives it utility, that creates that little space in the world for freedom. What was it that Kant said? Purposiveness without purpose.
[size=75](I aplogise for the disorganization of these ideas, I’m a bit time-constrained at the moment)[/size]