Today was back-the-front because the Poetic Factoid pome came first, which then gave me time to stop & think what I should write for the Big O sequence. It was an easy choice. Somewhere along the way, I started (perhaps subconsciously) pairing the two thematically or otherwise; now it’s become intentional.
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euphoria
it should ache / hurt more / than it does / this wrenching / these many hands / hot hands / wet slippery hands / angry hands / clawing / scratching / screeching / hooting / as they pull me / a / part / like a cloud / i can / only / feel one thing / the buzz / of a billion bees / as my soul / is systemically / set free / as the notes i was / float high / & begin / piece/meal / the long journey / back down below / down / that cold clay / path / i know backwards / but have not / trod / in many years / at last / now / a home / coming / a / re/union / with / she / who was lost / to me / twice before / but soon / no more
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Day 27 — TIL a bit about biology
% H2O
i’ve long known the human body is largely water (60% on average) however TIL the percentage changes slightly with age, sex, & hydration ranging from 45 to 75%
i’d like to posit it also varies depending on the time of night because at 3am doonasnuggled nearing zero outside then i feel close to 98-99% aqua before the suddenly urgent dunnydash — yet strangely only about 12 or 13% upon my safe if shivering return to 4-poster perfection
some folks argue sex with your true love is about as wonderful a sensation this gourd offers but the zen of empty bladder after holding on too long surely comes close
Monday’s volume of poetry read was a recent purchase & one I’ve been saving for the end of the month: Brian Bilston’s Alexa, what is there to know about love? I was saving Bilston for the end because he’s so fun & playful & cheeky & clever in his word game poems — & I suspected/knew I’d need an energising pick me up (this month more than usual; or perhaps not, perhaps it always feels this way by the end. I suspect it does, we just choose to blank it out).
“Love in the Age of Google” is a poem made up of single lines from google’s predictive text. I’ve seen a couple of other attempts at this type of poem & thought today is a good day to test it out (for reasons which will hopefilly become clearer in Poem 2). Curation of results has taken place. I wish I made more time to make both poems shorter, tighter, but I don’t …
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Predicting Orpheus
1. DuckDuckGo (yes other search engines are available)
did orpheus save eurydice did orpheus look back did orpheus die did orpheus have children did orpheus see eurydice in the underworld
— think most of these are pretty easy to answer, though the children one pulls me up short
why did orpheus look back why did orpheus look back at eurydice why did orpheus decide to rescue his wife why did orpheus go to the underworld why did orpheus die
— hmmm, feel like these are questions i should’ve asked at the start of the month. life mightabeen easier.
why was orpheus why was orpheus killed why was orpheus adored in thrace why was ephesus abandoned why was ephesus an important city why was morpheus recast
— sometimes the algorithm breaks down, yes, even before i do
2. Google
i. did orpheus what instrument did orpheus play …..oh good, an easy one. the lute. ah, harp. the lyre, the lyre… what did orpheus do …..wandered round the place singing. after that, things get ugly how did orpheus get into the underworld …..excellent question, one which took me considerable …..time in my books & online to answer how did orpheus die …..not pleasantly. will that suffice?
ii. why did orpheus why did orpheus go to the underworld …..even not knowing the tale, surely this is work-outable why did orpheus look back …..which is, of course, the crux why did eurydice run away from orpheus …..run away? really? that’s the verb you’ve chosen. why did orpheus look back at eurydice …..it really all comes back to this, doesn’t it? why did the maenads kill orpheus …..is “it’s complicated” a good enough reply?
iii. outtakes & bloopers (in the interest of balance, google had its share of quirky predictions too)
~why did roman kill orpheus wife ~why did hades give orpheus a condition ~why did the gods gave condition to orpheus ~why did thanatos come out of orpheus ~why did morpheus kill orpheus
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Day 26 — TACD (Today Another Company Died)
The Online Jungle — worse than the real Amazon
i. Audiobookstand, Avalon Books, Bookpages, BookSurge, Telebook, TobyPress, & Waldenbooks
all book-related businesses Amazon has bought & closed (sometimes parts are “merged”)
sadly today Book Depository has been added to that list
a UK online book store once known for its wild range affordability, & free worldwide D
launched in 2004 Amazon “acquired” the company in 2011 (it was several years before i realised my protest purchasing was still lining bald Jeff’s pockets)
but don’t feel too bad (Amazon don’t)
they still own: Audible, Abebooks, GoodReads, ComiXology
none of which they developed themselves. all bought out to prop up/become part of the Bezos behemoth
& this isn’t all of them
there’s MGM, Twitch, IMDb, Kiva, WholeFoods & countless others across disciplines i’ve not even listed at least 115, possibly more
ii. these “killer acquisitions” aren’t limited to the cut throat world of books
fossil fuel companies do it buy green startups shut them down because they don’t want the competition
pharmaceutical companies buy rivals to eliminate competing therapies under development so theirs is the only alternative
it’s something we should all care about it’s why our antitrust laws need to be given real teeth
The superimposed theme has made this year’s Anzac Day Poem a trifle harder than previous years. I’m pleased with the angle taken, though I think it might be expanded upon in a future draft…
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the dead down under
long squatting on a rock observing the ferryman
causes me to note the dead do not seem to ever cease arriving
lately though it’s easy to tell some het up petty king up above
must be arguing with some other equally belligerent lord
cos the deadstream of bewildered soldiers is wider swifter & deeper than Styx itself
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Day 25 — TIL about biscuits
The Original Anzac Biscuit
i. first up: the delicious sweet biscuit of childhood rolled oats & golden syrup is not the original Gallipoli treat (*even if it is best)
ii. hardtack biscuits are exactly as tasty as they sound having been a soldier’s staple ration for centuries (& some allegedly were that old)
iii. a bread substitute whose best attribute is it doesn’t go mouldy (well yum) unlike bread, they’re very, very hard not to mention pretty well unpalatable
iv. to make them semi-digestible they were ground into a kind of gruel by grating & adding water — for something more exotic (once soaked) jam was added before baking over a fire into “tarts” not quite like mother used to make
v. if you didn’t want to eat them (& why would you) you could also to write letters to loved ones & send them home or use them as paint canvases or photo frames one even transformed to “christmas card” with that most christmas of topics — a tropical scene — painted on it including the wonderful verse WE’RE SENDING THIS / (WE’LL RISK IT) / XMAS CARDS ARE VERY / SCARCE SO WE / WROTE IT ON A BISCUIT
Another poem just trying to get into the zone/the arc of whatever I’m trying to tell about this story. Still feels like straw-clutching sadly
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Orpheus: study #6
don’t speak for weeks sit on stones by the river beneath the mountain rocks it’s dark water like tearsalt autumns pass, winters pass, never a spring no warming nights, no thawing snow
remember walking beneath a fragment of moon sneaking amongst young spruce laughing, light from the heavens starshine upon your skin giving you my hands, giving you a ring guarding us against love
we must meet again
asking strangers who slide past are you the one i seek have sought everywhere since the earliest days the strangers always answer no (if they answer at all)
i have forgotten what i know let my life begin as it ends
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Day 24 — TIL about Another Apple
Worm in the Apple
i. there was a third Apple founder
Ronald Wayne sold his 10% stake for $800 in 1976
Ronald Who?
Exactly!
ii. In the early 1990s Wayne sold the original Apple partnership contract paper
signed in 1976 by Jobs, Wozniak, & himself for US$500
In 2011 the contract sold at auction for $1.6 million
Today’s poem is a homage to Bill by way of Henry VIII. It’s a Golden Shovel of “Orpheus with his lute” a 12 line poem/song in Henry VIII. Many/Mosyt scholars believe this play was a collaborative effort between Bill & John Fletcher, & I’m inclined to agree with them because it’s never felt like “Shakespeare” to me.
I’ve chosen it because: well Orpheus … & I have Golden Shoveled the last words of each line, juggled them & turned it into a sonnet. Not a great sonnet, mind you, but one with a passing resemblance to a snout. Unlike the ones from the 19th which were all AI generated That was the big guessing game thing that all two of you played haha). It had been my intention to reinterpret one of those to try & punch it into shape but I just found it too hard/the lines too banal. This definitely needs more work, but time being what it is means you get what you see …
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Luteless, Orpheus (with Golden Shovelment to William Shakespeare/John Fletcher)
Forlorn Orpheus longed once more to see for himself; the unbelievable greenness of trees, Rather than be buried neckdeep in melancholy surrounded by deep dirt, soul ready to freeze
He had long since forgotten how to sing had no desire to take up lute & play, Forgotten there was a thing called spring. had no desire to complete his latest lay.
He longed for the cheerful sway of flowers wished somehow to re-kickstart his sad heart Longed for the gentlest summer showers wished sadly to care once more about petty art:
If only he hadn’t glimpsed her in his corner eye Then neither of them would have needed to re-die.
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Day 23 — TIL about Bill’s birthday
old man Bill
If Bill were alive today he’d be 459 which although pretty rootin’ tootin’ ancient — is still less than half as long as Noah or Adam.
However, he splashes all the post-flood crew out of the water — over double Abraham & Isaac; almost quadruple poor young Moses.
Which is easier to believe: Methuselah made it to 969 — or the Stratford man wrote the damn plays!
Over the course of a month lots of ideas get tested & abandoned. Several lines in this poem were previously homeless yet coagulated into this one. As for the Poetic Factoid Poem — Warning. There’s a big *BIG* TRIGGER WARNING on this one for people who don’t feel/think they’re as old as they really are.
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Lord of the Fools
dirt beneath my nails clawing the claybanks for your return
dream of trees
a lifetime to learn the dead do not dance back to life on the whim of a lonely man
a mere heart beat to make it proof
can’t craft the words the way my brain feels them
impossible imposter
need to learn another language to remember how to speak my own
lost days
try drowning myself in every river
but even there i’m evicted
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Day 22 — TIL something deeply disturbing about the Lord of the Rings films
the Lord of the Wrinkles
i. meme read a brutal meme today which said Viggo Mortensen is the same age Ian McKellen was when he played Gandalf.
NO, I AM NOT OKAY I CANNOT POET ANY MORE TODAY SORRY! GOODBYE!!
ii. data naturally, being a fool i had to check the veracity of cursed meme — turns out it’s even worse Aragorn’s older than Gandalf was at the end of Return of the King!
time for a cuppa & a lie down
Principal photography 11 October 1999 — 22 December 2000 with pick-up shots done from 2001 to 27 June 2003.
Viggo born October 20, 1958 (current age 64) 45 when started filming, 49 when finished
Ian born 25 May 1939 (current age 83) 60 when started filming, 64 when finished
This poem is a sibling to yesterday’s in that it began as a verse in that Frankenpoem which did not fit in with the rest, but was an idea I liked & echoed one I’d been considering: a poem wherein Big O is a fun guy while making his way down to Hades. The title just won’t work though…
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shroom-zoom
took a wrong turn shimerlight lost not even shades wander this way lick water from walls but wretched hunger will claim me first at least i’ll die here perhaps my psyche will find its way to E only the sooty fungi the clang of clay pots tracking spicy spores down into the river at the end of the world beginning of the universe stars & souls & gods all zooming by / the ache of my internal eyes
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Day 21 — TIL about the Gruen Effect
the Gruen Effect
shopping malls (& casinos) modern pilgrimage sites fully enclosed introverted climate-controlled faux town squares skylight-lit food court pleasuredomes+parking are intentionally designed as confusing customer traps / disorienting / losing track of time & space / engrossing overwhelming experiences / crammed with colour / bright lights / tantalising smells / to transport customers in/ to states of emotional arousal / succumb to countless tempting desires / forget their original reason for shopping / make impulse purchases because / they’re / available / & / attractive
This poem was created using a technique I call Frankenpoeming. It’s where I take a few lines or a phrases or an image from the poems I’ve been reading each day & then crunch them all together — reconfiguring metaphors, smashing words against each other, juxtaposing ideas I wouldn’t have necessary considered, & just generally using them as jumping off points into something of my own.
Then I leave it for a few hours, before going over it again & editing tweaking polishing, extending weird things into things that more (or less) sense. Sometime extracting the really crazy stuff altogether — or just leaving it.
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darkness treks
for fifteen months been unsuccessfully screaming you home
daily flinging myself at the feral ferryman’s feet heart full of terrorlove
every note forlorn forever can no longer tell bat from man, from moth
seven forgotten stars stare straight in my eye singing swift desolation
endless walks deep down permanently passing leading from nowhere
to somewhere worse
Day 20 – TILthat in 1974, the Journal of Applied Behavior Analysis published a paper titled “The Unsuccessful Self-Treatment of a Case of Writer’s Block.” It contained a total of zero words.
With this in mind, I’d like to write a poem based on the paper.
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The Unsuccessful Self-Treatment of a Case of Writer’s Block (a poetic interpretation)
A different kind of day today as I played with form/function/generation a little. There is something which links all 4 of these poems (almost everything on this page in fact). I’m wondering if anyone can work it out.
Sonnet 1 Of Orpheus’ lyre, the ancient bards did sing, Whose melodies could charm the savage beast, And make the rivers dance and trees take wing, While all creation listened to his feast.
With golden chords he wove a magic spell, And drew the shades of Hades to his side, To rescue his beloved from the depths of hell, And bring her back to earth, his blushing bride.
But fate was cruel, and jealous gods did frown, For mortal love was not for them to bless, And so they tore his love away, to drown, In the eternal night of loneliness.
Yet still he played, his music pure and true, And all who heard were moved, and loved anew.
Limerick 1 There once was a man named Orpheus Whose music could calm any ruckus He played with such skill The trees would be still And rivers would cease their loud gushes.
Limerick 2 Orpheus played the lyre with grace His music could slow any chase He sang with such skill His voice could even still The ferocity of a wildcat’s race.
Sestina 1 Orpheus, the bard with lyre in hand, played music that made the gods weep. His voice was like the sweetest bird, and all around him would gather to hear as he sang of love and tragedy, of loss and hope, of life and death.
His love, Eurydice, met an early death, and grief consumed Orpheus like a brand. He journeyed to the underworld, full of tragedy, to plead with Hades, and make him weep. The god was moved by Orpheus’ voice, so dear, and allowed him to bring back his beloved bird.
But Orpheus, in his haste, lost his bird, and his love was returned to eternal death. Heartbroken, he sang a mournful song, so dear, and played his lyre with a trembling hand. His music made the underworld weep, as they listened to his tale of tragedy.
Orpheus’ life was marked by tragedy, as he mourned his love and lost his bird. His songs made even the gods weep, and his voice was as mournful as death. But he continued to play, with steady hand, singing of the past, present, and what he held dear.
Orpheus’ lyre was his most dear, as it spoke his heart’s deepest tragedy. He played with a steady, sure hand, telling the story of his lost bird. His music echoed with the voice of death, as he made even the underworld weep.
His voice, like the sweetest bird, made them weep, as he sang of the things that he held dear, of love and loss, of life and death. Orpheus’ life was a tale of tragedy, but his music, like his lost bird, lives on, guided by his steady hand.
Day 19 – TIL aboutmy relationship with Reality TV
True Man
Truman syndrome is a mental condition some people suffer where they believe they’re the star of an imaginary reality tv show.
You’ve got to feel sorry for those people living their sad fantasy worlds given i long ago realised that i was & am the centre the focus of attention of millions & millions of adoring fans worldwide — my family & everyone i know merely actors in a charade which makes me the rightful focus of the world’s attention.*
That being said — you’d think they’d have gotten better actors to play some of the parts
*paraphrasing words actually said by someone who suffers from Truman syndrome
dearest love : though : you : cannot hear me : nor feel me neither : (i fear) : i’m only a little : behind you : close enough to reach : out : to clasp your hand : if i could : (if i was allowed) : if the sensation : of my white hand : passing through yours : did not eerie me out : so i silently : wait : stepping softly : behind you : (waiting, hoping ) : for day light : to appear : (perhaps) : for you : not to despair
Day 18 – TIL about my relationship with books
Tsundoku
the joyful gleeful wonderful act of acquiring books & not reading them
… yet …
i’m a tsundoku sensei believing there’s always tomorrow & failing that — next life
gareth roi poet boi 