tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1660090614793277371.post7003346750567980111..comments2024-02-11T12:24:26.294-08:00Comments on The Compass Rose: No ExitCurtis Favillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06213075853354387634noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1660090614793277371.post-71220104021684659602012-03-08T09:53:26.607-08:002012-03-08T09:53:26.607-08:00I dont care what the others say
Its a hell of a po...I dont care what the others say<br />Its a hell of a poem<br />I wouldnt mind having written it myselfCharles Sherehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10480432901356490235noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1660090614793277371.post-79979998823684762232012-03-05T06:08:37.007-08:002012-03-05T06:08:37.007-08:00Sunny:
No not sad!
We just had a bam-bam earthqu...Sunny:<br /><br />No not sad!<br /><br />We just had a bam-bam earthquake here about 30 minutes ago--I think the epicenter was less than a mile from our house. Much different than when you're miles away. It was one of those where you feel like a puppet that's being shaken violently. No rolling, just intense side-to-side jerking. Woo.<br /><br />The poem is a take off on certain phrases from a number of post-Modernist writers--Jack Spicer, Robert Creeley, Kenneth Patchen. The "bitterness" in it isn't anger, or frustration, or despair. It plays with that cranky Spicer tone where you don't quite know where his ironic ambiguity is taking him. Out of rejection and dismissiveness come new affirmations. <br /><br />Most of us reject thousands of human overtures every week. We also reject ideas, options of various kinds. This is called sophistication. The finest minds are tuned to discriminate at a high level, which is to say they pare away imprecision and irrelevancy. The books and the language we use to describe things are the very stuff of poetry; but in order to question them, to be fully conscious, involves the reinvestment in them as potentials, albeit with weariness and familiarity. Wow, another poem about the moon, or birds, or cheese, or dumpsters. Are poems formulas we use to get us somewhere? Is a poem a problem solved? Is it a little machine made of words. Stop the poem, I want to get out (or off)!!Curtis Favillehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06213075853354387634noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1660090614793277371.post-56540930455793954402012-03-05T05:51:55.352-08:002012-03-05T05:51:55.352-08:00How very complex, yet intriguing. A tad sad and e...How very complex, yet intriguing. A tad sad and even better, bitter poem.Sunny Westhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02314781286465226051noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1660090614793277371.post-73556509933550045462012-03-04T08:46:12.405-08:002012-03-04T08:46:12.405-08:00Curtis,
a frightening portrayal of the thinness o...Curtis,<br /><br />a frightening portrayal of the thinness of literacy in the Internet age, with the distinctive sense that even the tradition(s) leading to it may have been in vain.<br /><br />"No Exit", indeed.<br /><br />Love it!Conrad DiDiodatohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18312831623791642286noreply@blogger.com