Sunday, February 27, 2005

Nick Piombino

of fait accompli is Tom Beckett's latest interviewee at e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-e-s.
 

dbqp

argument as moving text
moving text as argument


Geof Huth at dbqp. & then, in the physically preceding, temporally proceeding post, from his own Alexandrine library, he unearths a piece of vispo by Ron Silliman & comments on it with that reasoned thoroughness one finds in all of Geof's posts.
 

10.55 p.m.

Half
an umlaut
modifying the Moon's

waning
O. Jupiter
at eight o'clock.
 

The prejudice of Church

The worldwide Anglican Church has edged closer to schism, with the US & Canadian churches to be disciplined for their role in the dispute over gay bishops & same-sex unions.

Conservatives from the Sydney Diocese are among church leaders to have demanded the North American churches repent & withdraw their sanctioning of blessings of gay unions & the consecration of Gene Robinson as bishop of New Hampshire.

& State

The US military has had to spend an estimated $200 million over the past ten years to replace the 9488 gays & lesbians kicked out of the service.

More than 300 of them were foreign-language specialists considered crucial in the "fight against terrorism".

(Mind you, that was only one half of one percent of the 2.37 million members of the military kicked out for all reasons during the same period of time.)

Friday, February 25, 2005

census

In the background the pool pump hums.
Put clarifier in the water, & now
it has to circulate for thirty-six hours
to allow the clouding particles to
coalesce.

There is a smoke smell in the air.
Driving around over the last few days
on roads impinged upon
by opportunistic grasses. A day
of rain & they grow. A month later
they are dry, primed for burning.
Easier to set them alight than mow
the strip that runs along the roadside.
       cigarettes   
coffee
          chicken & rice
       burnt grass    
               a tart plum     
The static geometry of the house
separates the evening into panels.
A quintych. Angular, oblique. Trees fill in
some of the gaps, but the most striking
are those where there are gaps
in the trees themselves, one in
particular, bite shaped, as if someone
had tried an apple & then abandoned
it. Acute.

Touch yourself
            & the hand passes through
the flesh
as if it wasn’t there.
 

Thursday, February 24, 2005

the pre-gonzo days

When the bars closed at two, five of the outlaws came over to my apartment for an all-night drinking bout. The next day I learned that one was an infamous carrier of vermin, a walking crab farm. I went over my living-room carefully for signs of body lice and other small animals but found nothing. I waited nervously for about ten days, thinking he might have dropped eggs that were still incubating, but no vermin appeared. We played a lot of Bob Dylan music that night, and for a long time afterwards I thought about crabs every time I heard his voice.

Hunter S. Thompson: Hell's Angels

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

& then The Master comes along

Several of us have been playing around with moving text in the last couple of days – Karri Kokko, Eileen Tabios & Ernesto Priego on their blogs, Tom Beckett & myself at As/Is. But compared to the Formula One master, we’re just mere amateurs playing with pedal cars in the back yard..

To see the real stuff, check out what Jukka-Pekka Kervinen has just posted, either through the link at Nonlinear Poetry, or directly here. & it’s not just a single piece, it’s a post with infinite depth. Refresh & another variant appears. Refresh again & yet another…& another….& what the hell are you still doing here? You should be admiring the miracles of the infinite universe of J-K.P.
 

Les Mémoires d'un saint


 
My paperback book of Magritte paintings is, short of cutting out the pages, too thick to scan. So I'm cheating, posting a painting here, & using that as the URL to which the poem at Series Magritte is linked.

& cheating a little bit more, because it's actually one of those "genuine oil paintings" reproductions. But it was either that, or having a watermarked illustration.....
 
 Posted by Hello
 

Monday, February 21, 2005

Karri Kokko

posts a moving hay(na)ku.
 
gone
the way
of the gonzo

driving instructions

light brakes where notion shines
 

the young

I don't want to be like my parents and
say I wish I was still a kid so I can do
this or that. I don't want to spend my life
wondering. I want I to know.
13 year old Nicole, from Michigan. Her blog is These are my poems. Criticize all you want. I don’t care.
 

& the old

Two elderly Australian bocce players face two-year bans from the sport after they tested positive to banned drugs. Both were taking medically prescribed beta-blockers as part of their heart medications when they gave their urine samples during the Australian championships which were held last year.

The man is understood to be particularly distressed at the test results, & grave fears are held for his health.
 

Sunday, February 20, 2005

iraQ & A

Q. When is an interrogation not an interrogation?

A. When it's being conducted by Australian Intelligence personnel in Abu Ghraib or other Iraqi detention centres. Then it's called an interview.
Senator Hill concedes Australians did interview prisoners but they were not involved in any interrogations.

Friday, February 18, 2005

The Name of the Rose



is Jacques Prévert.
 Posted by Hello
 

Adding

Jordan Stempleman's Growing Nation to the blog links in the sidebar.

Have also added, in the other links section, Walleah Press, a small Tasmanian publishing house who have graciously included pelican dreaming in their ever-growing list of links to Australian & overseas sites. & have also added Softblow, the fairly recently begun poetry e-zine out of Singapore which is developing into a very interesting journal.
 

Avec Prévert

Garçon. A new
tablecloth
please. This
one has
poems
spilt upon it.

*

Today's
specials are
spelt out on
the table-
cloth. After
you have
read them
please ball
the paper &
place it in
the finger-
bowl. I hope
you like
the flower
that un-
folds. It is the
special
sans paroles.

*

Fucking
Prévert. He
can pay for
the tablecloths
next time.