12,451. RUDIMENTS, pt. 926

RUDIMENTS, pt. 926

('blind leading the blind, they both fall into the hole')

I've had plenty of blind spots

and blind times in my day,

and I still do. It's my intent,

as time may allow, for me

to cover many of them over

with learning, knowledge,

etc. I want to learn more about,

for example Kenneth Patchen.

No real reason on that one,

except that numerous times

I've been brought to the

direction of his work a few

times and never followed up.

A lacuna, let's call it. I used

to know a NY guy who was

way into Patchen. I looked a

little, but it seemed formidable,

and even though he (Patchen)
appeared manly, he wasn't much

of that. But he had a good NYC

presence, Village area, before

the moves, etc, to California

and Palo Alto : and I'll check

it out. ('I'll Check It Out' is a

small town near me. The Mayor

is a small-time Asian hoodlum

named 'Wen U Get Tuit').

-

People have always said odd

things about me, or my work

anyway. At Barnes & Noble

one time, one of the ladies I

worked with said, after reading

and hearing some of my stuff,

'I can't believe it, he writes

just like he talks,' (Maybe it

was 'he talks just like he

writes.' I can't really recall).

And then, just recently here,

someone noted how they were

amazed how I could write just

as if I was sitting there talking

to the person being addressed.

I guess it's true, perhaps, but

it's really not an accidental

thing. I've worked on those

procedures for years. At first

it was all just small-time junk,

enticing others, finding shared

feelings, things about love and

loss and hurt and anguish  - a

lot of that prevalent adolescent

and broken-heart, betrayed

emotion grimacing in words.

That's such a dead end, but

most people, when they get to

writing, never get out of that

rut. Everybody has feelings,

problems, heartbreak, senses

of loss, superiority, and

inferiority. They're really

quite boring, actually, emotional

states to be in, and it only gets

worse when a self-centered

person starts slogging through

them, and then making it worse

by dragging others through the

same stupid muck  -  without

any intellectual background,

and literary shroud over it all.

Jeepers, something has to BE

there first, otherwise you're

just another one of those

noisy hubcaps with a stone

in it. Try rap music.

-

My longest and hardest work,

at first, was in developing what

I called 'the long line.' In poetry

today, and certainly in most of

this Internet drivel that gets

thrown about, the 'long line'

is old and passe. It reeks of

labor and old. Everything now

has to be sleek, punchy, small,

quick, and compact. Colloquial

even  -  God forbid the content

is dense or difficult or challenges.

References today must be thin

and cheap. I worked on a 'long

line' idea for a long time. (no

pun; it just is). I recently, in

fact, slipped one in on a recent

piece, to see if it worked for me

yet, and felt comfortable. Here it

is* : "Much like a random sheeting

of rain on a map-glass for places

that did not exist, intentions

covered everything fully; to

leave blurs and runnings on a

simple viewing-pane. One

thousand steps I'd climbed

to be here." That's a fairly

decent example of what I'm 

touching on, and  -  for your

good or for your bad  -  you're

not going to find that sort of

thing much in any casual

reading. I'm not sure how

'comfortable' that makes anyone

feel, nor if it's the manner in 

which I 'speak'  -  but there 

it is. OK, and now, having

reached that point, some few

years back, I worked from it

in reverse, and tried to polish

and make two things happen:

Being a 'tad' more succinct, by

poetic standards, in the drive

for the 'forehead' of the reader; 

and, secondly, heading farther

out into the field of 'abstract.'

Which is actually difficult with

words, which, at any level, must

retain a sort of referential strand,

their own DNA! then to get their

ideas across, and propagate, in

the writer's head as well, the work

for the next step. (Sorry for being

off the wall here).

-

None of this can be calculated

either. Everywhere I went, all

around the NYC poetry people,

all those endless readings and

tufts of self-important sorts

blatting about themselves, the

places I went to for readings

and presentations  -  Arts Centers,

Plainfield (when it was still of

some value), Chatham, Westfield,

Maywood  -  no one was, really,

working on  a thing except the 

moment they were in. The Goth

crowd wrote their Goth shit; the

rude crowd wrote their rude shit

(I'm using 'shit' here as emphasis),

musical influences, sports guys,

mall people, and even joggers.

Those last two deserve sincere

mentions  -  notations for idiots.

This really sloppy guy, with bad

diction and flabby presentation,

would come to the Barron Arts

Center and read his 'challenge'

poems to mall strollers and

shoppers  -  things he wrote

there while spending inordinate

amounts of his daily time grooving

at the Woodbridge Mall and getting

'something' I suppose out of the

passers-by and shippers. Another

guy wrote and recited a 'poem' 

that started out : 'Jogger girl

jogging  in sweater; how I'd like

to know you better...' I asked him

if he was sure he didn't just mean

'Jogger girl jiggling in sweater...'

-

Yes, then, there were all kinds,

and I took them all too. But, see, the

thing with 'Poetry' is you can't be like

that (sweater girl stuff). You can't just

say that sort of thing. The whole thing

about Poetry is working to find other

ways of saying that, without ever

going near saying it. But that's

too much like work. Right?

-

*Gifford and Garrison, #12,425