But holy Jesus how cool is this?
Some of you may know my first performance/writing love (by about a year) was music. I was a rocker before I was a poet. So when I got a text message from a techy bud about create-your-own-rockband songs I (to be all 80s) totally flipped.
I'm not sure (yet) how to abuse this for poetry distribution, but if you are in a band or just like to write music and you don't exploit the living hell out of this, there is something wrong with you.
Look for my old band's cheesy bar-blues to be appearing (since I still have all the masters on cdrom) as soon as this goes live. w00t what!
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1 comment:
I posted a comment on the flarf blog of July 6th just yesterday Aug 11th. It seems appropriate to post this one on your latest blog so you'll be sure to see it, though you can put it anywhere you think appropriate. As you know there aren't many places to publish poetry these days, and so perhaps you'll be so kind as to be an outlet for a poem. Perhaps someday I'll be close enough to 'realness' to write a poem that even the literary establishment could not refuse to publish, but for now this is the best I can do. You can make the argument that they are so entrenched in their ideology and so blind to their entrenchment that no matter how great a poem might be, if it were critical of them they wouldn't print it. Whatever the case, you get my poem.
A Flarf
I don’t read poetry.
Happiness,
I move you against myself.
What?
Tell Leroy to take his clothes off.
Got off that way,
Changing verse intah clipart.
I fashion a roving document
Over someone else’s writing.
Instantaneous at my command,
I flip-flop strong verse.
I am not up on meaning.
I battle poetry to be familiar.
Where madness draws
I have a copy there.
Want to be there with us,
The literary collage,
But they have papers to write,
Spirits to attend,
And they have to seem unusual
But not so lost in speech.
You’re not gonna help with anything are yah
Literary jacket?
Boy have you got a turn.
We give you the ticket of our lives,
And you show us Intermission.
Don’t listen to us.
Why did you say somethin’?
I said I’d like to read some poetry.
Look it,
What am I housin’?
Who gets called a poet.
What gets called a poem.
So lift your skirt up.
You have some wadin’ to do
To come to my pavilion.
It’s what I understand verse to be.
I went ahead and did it,
Severed poetry from its base.
There is no rocket there.
I’m about a country mile
Full of the blindness of life.
I’m about trees
I magnify to cut down.
I’m a monkey,
Certainly not a God.
I will limit myself to one banana:
The world seen through dying eyes.
I’ve lasted longer than I’m supposed to.
It’s not a length on poetry.
Immortality,
I don’t have that number.
Of course I’ll give consideration
To that cyberborg.
Hits home.
Donny Duke
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