Tuesday, November 19, 2013

celebrate

celebrate

Celebrating requires composure.
Love compresses the chest
like a roller coaster
but the routine of life makes a hero.
Cerebral the permutations:
the factorial describes an algorithm
of going through all,
from an insight and long effort
till all systems check.
Celebrate the factorial, celebrate
the liftoff of understanding of the atmosphere of Mars.
Cybernetic the logarithm of chance.
The bright exhaust,
cherish the new eyes
and bow to maintain composure.
The glowing ring,
the widening field,
the contribution space.


--- [updated July 3, 2019]

Thursday, November 14, 2013

[circle of light]

***

within a little circle of light
a stack of books
dark leaves of a plant
a keyboard

within me
a little circle of light


---
from around 1997? Probably later, I don't remember.

Monday, November 4, 2013

notebook





notebook

What does a twelve-years-old have in his notebook --
Three sketches of trees,
a tall tree by the road,
a broad tree by the river,
and a trunk with insides burnt out.
The first half-page of a would-be novel
that takes place on Mars.
Drawings of rockets.
A panel for a role playing adventure
laying out the menus, and a smallish
viewing pane, for immersion
and because smaller pictures to draw.
A couple of pages of the immense task
to provide the map of an ancient world.
In the navy blue cover -- a spare pen,
and in the side pockets
empty microscope slides,
a couple of specimen,
a folded note.
There is also something
between the cover and the copybook.
A love letter to a fictitious recipient
explaining that it does not matter.
There are many blank pages left
of the grid paper's Cartesian coordinates.





---9 III 2020
Minor edit (simplified and moved a reference to geometry to the last line).

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

? perspective


perspective

That which breaks a prison out of her eyes.
At once beautiful and distant, like climbing eight thousand.
A clever impostor it demands
that effort, yet there is no walkaround
to where our parallels meet.

Lied to in abstract desert,
lost in abstract jungle,
we see eye to eye.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

constraints

constraints

So many the variables glow over Sisyphus,
indiscernible letters on black screen.
He is a machine
that eats molecules of sense, and there is enough
to push the boulder up,
but not enough
and the boulder backtracks,
up toward the fixpoint,
and the boulder retracts to the everlasting
distance from Summit.

The meanings are defined
in the fixpoints.
But our daily iterations
remain
undecidable.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

? [this sentence]

***

This sentence is first.
This sentence is false.
This sentence is self-referential.
This sentence is meaningful.
This is a bunch of true sentences.
This sentence contains the word "unicorn" in quotes.
This sentence is boring.
This sentence is last.




? close reading

close reading

"Close reading" describes a need.
A need to understand is what reading
responds to, but "need" brings something
emotional, deeper, singled out.
The poem describes writing a poem
in a restaurant, but we know this is just
a metaphor. Is it metapoetic? Not really,
because the poem is not about
reading a poem, scare quotes.
It is not a good poem, it is not a good reader,
who cannot spin double, triple meanings
around each word, picture images line by line.
But close reading is not about a grand picture.
It is laying out the words, kindling expectations.
It goes back to the text, back to the text.

Monday, September 23, 2013

# Cross-posting from poetry.com

The poems are not good, but I'll share my reviews.

Dry leaves fall  -- Poetic
 
I've just subscribed and this is the best poem I've seen so far. The imagery ties well with the concepts. It's a bit too repetitive, but it might be justified by its straightforward manner. The third line of third verse is I think too abstract. This line certainly falls outside the tuned-down flow of the rest of the poem. It would make the poem better, more interesting, if it was better connected with some other, concrete piece of the poem. Some striving that fades from hope? I have reservations about the second half of last verse. The last verse is a necessary part of the poem, it puts the person back into the scenery. I think it provides too little: there's candle-incense, and dear-breathe-arms. But what is colorful, and what is dreamed? "Cradle" connotes the traditional trope of infancy-advanced elderly similarities; I don't buy it. I'd try to put here something worthy of despair. The lively colors of autumn. The wisdom-tainted youth of the dreams.

 Happy Birthday Dad -- Raw, nice idea, too casual

I enjoy conceptual poetry and I like the idea that forms the backbone of your poem. It starts with a feeling of loss in the speaking subject, loss of a younger self, perhaps with his/her joys and perspectives. If two people are close, they form a kind of a single person in two bodies, with flows of passions from one to the other, and shared occupations, growing stronger together. And when this kind of bondage weakens, for me, it can be painful as in a way I contemplate my own death, of the part of my soul that existed as this common person. And then the speaking subject realizes that that part of the soul lives on, because the common person was so deeply rooted in the father, that the relationship finds its nourishment despite the speaking subject has abandoned it. So the speaking subject discovers him/herself alive and complete, which spurs the feeling of dearness and self-love, the strong kind of love of our core values, our identity. The love rather than directing inwards, flows to the father, who is discovered as sharing the identity of the speaking subject him/herself.

The poem doesn't use sufficient poetic devices to convey its meaning so that it would reverberate in the reader. It is not condensed, striking. Surprise the reader rather than just express surprise! Alternatively, it could have sufficient content to ground the idea. Something in the poem to convince me that your connection is genuine rather than an expression of a clever thought. The way of poetry is not to just lay out what you want to say as a clear thesis -- despite we want the thesis to get through! -- and be done.

Fire And Ice -- Nothing creative

I feel sorry for the person to whom the speaking subject addresses the invectives. Why do you think I have no heart just because I'm not warm to you? What makes you think that you see through me? The poem has nothing interesting to offer. On the positive side, at least the poem does not try to be difficult (which, if it was just as unjustified, would make it really terrible).

Saturday, September 21, 2013

modality

modality

we climb talking trees
what can be
what would be
would it all could have been
we come back to her place

she climbs to my bed
"slowly", she says
not to wake me up

how does it feel --
but the dream girl fades

identity

identity

Identity is an obligation.
But she doesn't talk much.
She stares sternly
from that photo
I've put as my desktop background.

People confuse her for a
slim girl with thick black hair
wielding a maroon towel
on the beach, summer break,
who's gonna be an actuary.
What can I know from a
black-and-white photograph?

She folds the towel,
the summer folds up.
She moves to a new city.
Only this stays the same,
"today is all we have".

Driver's Licence

            Driver’s Licence I’ll drive you to the Moomin Valley, let’s celebrate. Got a red car from my grand uncle, l’ll drive sin...