Divine Comedy

Today's actual post is underneath this. I just want you all to at least look at Divine Comedy some time. I think I've made my position on poetry clear, but this is one of my favourite works of all time.

Look at that. A thousand words a day I write, and never have I touched mine own heart as much.

Google translate

I wrote earlier in the year about translations and poetry and the relationship between them and all that. Evan wrote something similar with a deeper understanding of the languages involved.

This post is not as clever as either of them. This post is me taking the piss a bit and running a few of my favourite English poems through translation software to Japanese and back again.

Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice":

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice
Is also great And would suffice.

becomes

Some , I say the world will end in fire

Some , I say in ice .

From what I 've tasted of desire ,

I hold and those who prefer the fire .

However , if it had to die two degrees ,

I think I know enough of hate

To say it destruction ice

Moreover, it is great

Then , it may be sufficient .

becomes

Some , I say the world will end in fire

Some , I say in ice .

From I tasted of desire ' those of VE,

Those who prefer the fire I hold .

However , if it had to die twice ,

I think I know enough of hate

In order to say it the destruction ice

In addition , it is a great

And , it is sufficient.

This poem comes out largely intact. Let us try something else. From The Divine Comedy, Canto XVIII:

At the sweet sounds of comfort straight I turn'd;
And, in the saintly eyes what love was seen,
I leave in silence here: nor through distrust
Of my words only, but that to such bliss
The mind remounts not without aid.  Thus much
Yet may I speak; that, as I gaz'd on her,
Affection found no room for other wish.
While the everlasting pleasure, that did full
On Beatrice shine, with second view
From her fair countenance my gladden'd soul
Contented; vanquishing me with a beam
Of her soft smile, she spake: "Turn thee, and list.
These eyes are not thy only Paradise." 

becomes

Straight I turn'd the sweet sound of comfort .

And , love like how the eyes were seen as saint

I leave in silence here : even through distrust

My only words , that it is in such bliss

Heart of re- mount is not without assistance . In this way , many

However , speaking I do. It , I as gaz'd her ,

Affection was not seen the room of other wishes .

The other camera shake doing it was eternal joy ,

Beatrice , in the second of view and shine ,

Her fair face from my gladden'd soul

Satisfaction . I beat me with a beam

In her soft smile , she said: " Turn on your list .

These eye is not your paradise . "

In many ways the poems stay the same, but they change each time in small ways. Are there any changes that strike you as interesting or significant?
 

Bad poetry

I've noticed a trend in fiction that always seems to go the same way (hence, I suppose, calling it a "trend"). Since taking poetry this semester, I've seen at least three characters in fiction that are, for lack of a better word, "bad poets." These characters keep their poetry hidden from others, and when it is revealed it is always cringe-worthy. It is never said out-loud that the poetry is bad, but heavily hinted at with context clues, the characters' reactions, and of course the fact that the poetry is pretty bad.

An example of one such poem is from a video game wherein the poems are read out loud, slowly, and unskippable, but I'll just give you the text:

But I couldn't help but feel that while, well, goofy, the poetry wasn't terrible. Everything surrounding the poem was people going "..." and "...." but I've certainly written worse. A lot. I guess the above example is actually one of the better ones. Here is another:

These both are meant to be poetry kept to the writer, though. Who can't say they haven't written something private and forgotten that would be cringe-worthy if brought out from the pages of your notebook/computer files?

I meant this post to be like, 40 words because I wanted a lazy week. Damn.

Disclosure

I posted this on Goodreads too. If you have an account there, and are going to write about the book anyway... why not do the same? I

f you're looking for a response to the VV reading then scroll down one, yo.

A view on how the world sees the individual, rather than an individual's view on the world, Disclosure defies being placed in any genre. Dana opens herself up to the reader using documents and papers about her, but doesn't address herself... herself. Unlike many authors, Dana does not seek to unburden herself, or tell a story, or create a narrative, etc. with her own words, but instead uses seemingly unrelated documents that only do one thing: they disclose (roll credits) information about the author.

Where I might have expected another few pages of poetry wherein the author presented their pain as prose, instead I was given a chapbook that stripped the author naked more than simple words. The book opens with an epigraph from Robin Blaser:

'you’re not allowed to say
"kiss my ass" to anyone unless
you mean it sincerely and drop
your pants quickly to show what
you know exactly of this nakedness'

Which, I think, sums up the book perfectly in the final word: nakedness. Dana opens herself (drops her pants, if we want to take the epigraph to heart) to the reader, relying on empathy and shared experiences. It is my opinion that what the reader comes away with it going to be very different from person to person: I immediately focused on the documents presenting her earnings, while also stressing out about the medical diagnoses she was receiving, wondering if she could afford them at her wages. This says much more about me than the author. This isn't the same reaction I've heard from others, and I think the personal shaping (and really, the creation of) a narrative in this short book of images will disclose (roll credits) more about you the reader than it will about Dana.

Poetry in Performance — Gillian Wigmore

Hearing a poem read aloud (out loud? "aloud" is a weird word) is more than just the emotion put into the words, more than the stressing of syllables, and more than the reaction of an audience. How much life does a poem get from a reading?

Part of it, I think, comes from things outside of the readings themselves. The audience gets to hear contextual comments answered, answers about the poets inspirations, and such. Knowing what the poet feels about their poems changes or challenges the understanding of the audience because it allows them to see what the poet is like. Knowing the poet's "voice" (and I mean that in its multiple clever implications) lends clarity to meaning. If you had read any of the poet's poems before seeing them live, you already had a clear set of expectations set up for who that poet was, how they thought, and all that. I have to wonder — in our case, did any of you have your expectations shattered? Confirmed? If you had any preconceptions, they were either met (and thus reinforced) or not met (and thus subsequently replaced).

In my case, seeing Gillian perform her poems made me reevaluate how I felt about them. The tone of the poems changed, if not their substance. I left with more questions than I did answers — not because I don't think she wouldn't have been able to clarify, but because the ambiguity I felt was a part of the experience. For example:

In one of her poems (and I wish I'd bought one of her books for reference now), then narrator says that he hid a bottle (of booze). I wanted to know: who was he hiding it from? Himself? Someone else? He said he hid his pen too — did that mean he hid the pen with the bottle? Did he only write drunk? When the narrator refers to the two girls working at the liquor store and then says "Cold beer, wine," is he applying these labels to each girl? Am I meant to apply these labels to the girls' personalities, or is that literally what each girl just happens to sell? Is the narrator... and so on. I had pages of questions that I didn't want to be answered, and in a couple of cases I felt like having them answered for me would be missing the point.

Roland Barthes (name drop) says that when any text is written it is a multifaceted manifestation of different ideas and philosophies, so when a writer puts their ideas to the paper the work is their own. However, the text only gains meaning when interpreted, and can be interpreted in any number of ways. This is where the audience comes in, after all. Reader-response theory and all that; the voice of the author, the text itself, and the audience's reception all come into play in any reading.

I don't really have a way to wrap this up, so instead of closing properly, I'll say that if anything in the above paragraphs has interested in, check out some Barthes. You can find a pretty okay summary here:

If you are anyway familiar with Barthes, skip that video because it is heavily simplified. If you watch it, think on how to apply what Barthes is saying to a live performance of — or just the normal reading of — poetry.

Poetry of a poetry reading

This is in response to the poetry reading we attended, though not "the" response to it. Just a small thing.

I was taking down notes for the reading, and they were fragmented with a lot of line breaks.

This writing suggests that I might, in fact, be a doctor.

"Could these notes be made into a poem?" asked a hypothetical person who didn't actually exist.
"Yes." I replied.
"You spelled 'sermon' wrong."
"I know."

I just watched some really bad slam poets

"Poetry is better than prose because it has beauty because it unlocks the subconscious and plays our feelings in ways we can't completely understand." — Someone on the internet, probably.

Its not a soapbox, a whine fest, a weapon, a liberal wank job against made up threats, and its not a racist or sexist platform. Its supposed to have nuance and shades of colour.

We'll never get anywhere by attacking, mocking, or criticizing the sacred, ritualistic catharsis meetings of morally vain hipsters. Doing this will make people defensive. They will bunker down.

Instead, why not drown it in a sea of its own deformed siblings and copies? Make so many things "like it" but "not it" that it is no longer notable, no longer relevant, no longer sacred, no longer new and progressive but instead is old and backward, etc. Every movement has a shelf life.

Make bad poetry on purpose. Watch them scratch their heads as they wonder whether to cheer you or if they're being mocked. Maybe we can sing over the ashes.

rhyming in poetry

to rhyme or to rime
will haunt me to the end of time
ones at the end of a line
echo the end of previous time

Why does a masculine rhyme end in the same vowel–consonant combination?
There really is no limitation.
Why do feminine ones have two syllables that rime?
 My works come out to a keyboard's chime.

This article on rhymes has 453 words.

I haven't actually counted my syllables.

I think I'll put a slant rhyme in my next submission.

Thank god for this:

Next post: WHY DOES THE COVER OF THIS POETRY BOOK HAVE ITS LETTERS IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS BUT THEN HAVE ITS NUMBERS IN LINING STYLE: Electric Boogaloo Edition.

beat that poetry

Short post here; I was thinking about our first class, where we discussed our favourite poems. I mentioned this then, so I'll mention this now.

It is long. I won't pretend otherwise, but, what else do you have to do today?

The main reason I enjoy this (beat)poem isn't the subject matter, but the nuances that go into a live performance of poetry. Is it the difference between reading Shakespeare and watching a play? Something like that!

lost in translation

While browsing the internet, I came across this poem:

...and I got curious. I know an okay amount about poetry in other languages (I regret heavily not being able to read Dante in the original Italian) and how translations can never really get the nuances across.

When I tried to translate the above poem, I was told that it contained "impossible" to translate wordplay, on top of some seriously weird grammar.  Also, in the translator's words:

But, if you are curious, we made our best effort and came with the following solution/translations:

tallrik = plate (for food)
tall = pine tree
rik = rich
talrik = plentiful

And so the final result of this travel came to be the following, probably horribly butchered, poem:

I couldn't make this poem really work in translation, even with the aid of someone who speaks Swedish as a (admittedly third) language. I shudder to think how difficult it must be for non-Nordic languages.

thoughts on "Annoying Diabetic Bitch" from an annoying diabetic bastard

I've spent a lot of my life on the internet. I was raised by it, really, and the language of "Annoying Diabetic Bitch" can't hold a candle to the things I read online daily. The following image took less than a minute to find these examples for.

Pictured: Technically poetry (?)

I then saw a lively discussion about contemporary philosophy with the same people.

One of these things is not like the other~

According to the Jacket (2?):

The poems in Sharon Mesmer’s collection Annoying Diabetic Bitch are constructed out of typical bits of found internet language, especially the language of exasperation, irritation, outrage, and collegial raunch. Virtually every poem is a sort of post-human rant (a rant made out of the high points of numerous source rants, with an intensity greater than any single ranter could sustain). [link]

And honestly, I didn't need Stan Apps to tell me that. The only difference I found between my daily browsing of the hate-filled depths of the internet and "Annoying Diabetic Bitch" was that "Bitch" had slightly less of a narrative behind it. And yet, there were lines in "Bitch" that went deeper than I thought. I mentioned this in class, but I'll mention it again. The line(s):

The last thing I need to find out is that I am diabetic,
someone with six diabetic relatives who beat each other to death
with their own shoes.

...are about more than just diabetics hitting each other. Diabetics lose their feet (sometimes), and thus don't need their shoes. There is a tiny bit of meaning there. I can't say that I found this depth in every poem in the book, but it leads me to believe that it is there, somewhere inside of it. I wouldn't dismiss "Annoying Diabetic Bitch" for its seemingly hate-filled, purposeless prose unless I was able to debunk every line as being thoughtless. As it is, I can see meaning where meaning appears to have vanished — ghosts of intention within a pile of admittedly violent language.

Not everyone has thick skin or spends their time surrounded by some of the worst language and vivid opinions the world has to offer, though. I think nothing less of anyone for being offended. Personally, I found the poem (not the book) "Annoying Diabetic Bitch" to be completely hilarious; so over the top that I (a diabetic) could not help but give a hearty laugh. And really, that is what the entire book felt like it was about.

If you were offended by "Annoying Diabetic Bitch," I'd tell you to relax and eat a snickers, but... well, you know.

desperate attempts at poetry

Having missed last week's class, I couldn't help but feel as if I was flailing around when trying to write something this week. I'm hoping I'll get some perspective and inspiration tonight so that I might finish up my project.

Here is what I did today for poetry, I mean, if that is the kind of thing you came here to see.

Couldn't decide when to capitalize a new line or when to add periods. Do you think it looks better if each new "thought" is separated by a line break and a period?

I don't feel like the periods add anything myself. How about you?

In the drool-filled haze between the sleeping and waking world I thought to myself, "Damn, my feet are COLD," and then, "That poetry submission is DUE soon, yo!" and I had a thought for a poem. Kind of silly! Let's see!

I was going to put in a LOT more effort and make this rhyme... I might revisit it and use it as a part of my submission.

Actually, now that I think about it, that is a really dumb thing. Needs work. I wonder if I just wanted to make a pun.

I had poetry on my mind this week, which isn't to say that I sought it out. Rather, just being aware of it let me see it in some surprising places. I have the feeling this will become a common theme with my writings for this class.

Today I was playing through an older video game of mine — Silent Hill 2 — and reading through the notes that you find during gameplay. One struck me as relevant to poetry, as despite not being a poem per-say, still read to me as poetry. The note is from the diary of a dying man, and reads:

Rain.
Stared out the window all day.
Peaceful here - nothing to do.
Still not allowed to go outside.

May 13
It's clear outside.
The doctors told me I've been
released - that I've got to go
home.
I --------------

For the sake of brevity, I edited out the days between the first and the last. This was not written as poetry. Yet I can read it as a poem. It seems to me to be a poem. There is something I feel I should learn from that, but damned if I know what it is yet.

Hopefully I'll have a more intelligible response to these discoveries next week.