All entries for Monday 12 October 2009

October 12, 2009

Just because I want this picture on my blog.

I'm a fan of photography and I've recently been looking at Joel-Peter Witkin's canon of work. Beneath is one of his photos. His images are...somewhat disturbing, but his study of the 'freak' in an obscured yet normative state is compelling. I know that I probably sound like one of THOSE people, so feel free to deride me. I just like his pictures.

This is called 'Bad Student'. It was a toss up between posting this or one called 'The Poet', but I am more of a bad student than I am a poet at the moment. With the definition of student = one who studies and not the more popular student = slacker.

Anyway, seeing as this is supposed to be a poetry blog, there is an accompanying poem from my archive...

The Bad Student, Joel-Peter Witkin

Don't Let Me Get Old Old

How do men become
men in suits, with
copies of politic
person’s autobiog?

When shiny brown shoes
and alligator sunglasses
mean youth...will return...
without pinched pinstripes.

Back to the poem.
(decay slew that carnay,
no-one else spins candy
quite the way he did.)

And old people fuck,
apparently, even
if they can’t feel their
veined, pulverized clits.

Except they call it
A mesh of soggy,
sagging, dignity.

When will I start, then,
buying miniature
china mementos (and
hating the ‘orient’),

finding old men, and
their lack of...faculty
an irresistable pull?
Oh, shit. And pull.

And feel that tongue. Pressed.
Writhing, like it did
in vogue back in the
early millenia.

It cannot. Be, no no,
(no, no-one spun more,
or better, or sweeter
than that carnay man).

Their Rhetoric

(Here follows a poem. This was my first 'assignment'. I feel like a superspy.)

their rhetoric

The picture...just because i'm in the mood for Magritte.

Their Rhetoric

They cradle some star picked delinquent dream.
He curdles silence. Dress that depression.
They cipher the convulsion. Live that squall.
He beams, as cliff tops erode, for the ash.
They start stringing shock for the demigods,
he comforts beyond citing curried words.
They startle, aplomb, their sigh for no-one,
he sleepaches craving, his combats un-won.
They cradle his star picked delinquent dream.
He curdles their squall. Silence that silence.

Awkward HELLO BLOG viewers diatribe.

Hello. My name is William. I am currently being welcomed to the latter part of the 20th century through the world of blogging. OK, so i've tried to blog before. I had a GeoCities account a few years back, but it was largely pointless. Now, I have to make a blog and force my writing upon any unwitting fool who happens to stumble across this page. Hello, fool.

Now. Then. Following is a picture of me, just in case you were interested in what I looked like, or didn't already know. 

ceci n

Now that's cleared up, let's get writing!

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