The Other Me

The Fib Review has posted yet another of my poems.
Read it THERE


In November I plan to write a poem a day (instead of doing NaNo)
YOU ARE WARNED.

Jenni B Baker challenged us into music.
It was a fun idea but the actual making of the score is too complex fro me to wrap my mind around (also I have actual work to do and plenty)
So I followed all the steps until step 3, starting from a slice of "THE LOST ATLANTIS AND OTHER ETHNOGRAPHIC STUDIES" by one Sir DANIEL WILSON, pilfered from the Gutenberg Project.

This is my slice:
"It is to be noted that even in the time of Socrates, and indeed of the elder Critias, this Atlantis was referred to as the vague and inconsistent tradition of a remote past; though not more inconsistent than much else which the cultured Greeks were accustomed to receive. Mr. Hyde Clarke, in an “Examination of the Legend,” printed in the Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, arrives at the conclusion that Atlantis was the name of the king rather than of the dominion. But king and kingdom have ever been liable to be referred to under a common designation. According to the account in the Timæus, Atlantis was a continent lying over against the Pillars of Hercules, greater in extent than Libya and Asia combined; the highway to other islands and to a great ocean, of which the Mediterranean Sea was a mere harbour. But in the vagueness of all geographical knowledge in the days of Socrates and of Plato, this Atlantic domain is confused with some Iberian or western African power, which is stated to have been arrayed against Egypt, Hellas, and all the countries bordering on the Mediterranean Sea. The knowledge even of the western Mediterranean was then very imperfect; and, to the ancient Greek, the West was a region of vague mystery which sufficed for the localisation of all his fondest imaginings. There, on the far horizon, Homer pictured the Elysian plain, where, under a serene sky, the favourites of Zeus enjoyed eternal felicity; Hesiod assigned the abode of departed heroes to the Happy Isles beyond the western waters that engirdled Europe; and Seneca foretold that that mysterious ocean would yet disclose an unknown world which it then kept concealed. To the ancients, Elysium ever lay beyond the setting sun; and the Hesperia of the Greeks, as their geographical knowledge increased, continued to recede before them into the unexplored west.

And these are the crumbs:

and Atlantis as and a accustomed an arrives at Atlantis and a According account Atlantis a against and Asia and a a all and Atlantic African arrayed against and all and ancient a all a assigned abode and an ancients and as

be But been be But been bordering beyond beyond before

Critias cultured Clarke conclusion common continent combined confused countries concealed continued

dominion designation days domain departed disclose

even elder else Examination ever extent Egypt even Elysian enjoyed eternal engirdled Europe Elysium ever

for fondest far favourites felicity foretold

Greeks greater great geographical Greek Greeks geographical


So this is my path:

And and and
All ancient as an all A
Dominion
Confused countries
Even ever engirdled elder
But been beyond
For fondest felicity
Against again against
Disclose
Be but be
Great! Greater! Greek!


I don't believe it would be even remotely interesting as music (except, maybe, as words sung when drunk), so I'll leave it at that.

Going backwards for a bit.


Nancy Chen Long challenged us to make an homophonic-interpretation of a poem written in a language we do not understand. I had to go to Pablo Neruda, of course. The interpretation/translation rendered even more challenging because , although I have never studied Spanish, it is a Latin language and my knowledge of Italian gets in the way of true homophonia. Yet sometimes, it does not.

I shall let you guess which Neruda’s poem is thus rewritten:


WALL

If nothing exists ready-made
If nothing is ever quite ready to live
I will secretly live

Do not attract me
Do not push me into this description
If you ever turn into a wall

I will secretly live

Because waves cannot hold a shadow,
Wings, or a voice (mine)
Though waves are calling for darkness
My feet cannot walk through walls
Yet when I enter the cell of my soul
I'll enter standing on both of them.

Fearing victory
Not my victory
But the long victory of sins
Ties my hands
Yet to whomever is deaf I must talk:
To see you also ties heaven.

Do not forsake me
If you do not live
If you, so sought after, my soul
If you
Has turned into a wall

All of your skin and our kisses
Will burn through my nights and days
No snow will cool my armour
And so with laughter, fever, walls, or snow
My quest will have a house in your skin
For a faithful dog
To secretly live in
Because you are the question of all questions
Unstoppable
And my armour, in your sand, becomes one with shadows
Every shadow a sin.

Today's prompt is about putting music to somebody else's erasure.
A total blank seems appropriate:

Blank here>[ ]<Blank there





Have some butts instead:

Michael Leong prompt isn’t exactly specified but addresses translation
“In a way, all poetry is translation—whether transcribing messages from the muse or following a predetermined procedure.”

• For this I took a slice of an article

Cassini has been flying around the Saturnian system for 12 years, studying the giant planet and its rings and satellites. It has also found millions of ice-rich dust grains with its Cosmic Dust Analyser, the vast majority of which are from icy satellite Enceladus and which make up one of Saturn’s outer rings.
Amongst the grains detected, 36 stick out from the crowd – and scientists conclude they came from beyond our Solar System.
Alien dust in the Solar System is not entirely unexpected. The dust was traced back to the local interstellar cloud: an almost empty bubble of gas and dust we are travelling through with a distinct direction and speed.

• Put it through a N+ generator  and cranked it all the way to N+8 - (11 wasn’t as much fun)

Cassini has been flying around the Saturnian tablet for 12 yetis, studying the gill planter and its rips and saucers. It has also found minces of identikit-riffle duty grandchildren with its Cosmic Duty Analyser, the vast malformation of which are from icy saucer Enceladus and which make up one of Saturn’s outer rips.
detected, 36 stifle out from the cruise – and scorchers conclude they came from beyond our Solar Tablet.
Alleyway duty in the Solar Tablet is not entirely unexpected. The duty was traced backround to the lockout interstellar clump: an almost empty buddy of gate and duty we are travelling through with a distinct dirt and spending.

• Then plucked and pillaged, plugged and played:

We are travelling through Saturn’s outer icy saucers
through vast malformations
outer gill planters,
rips and cruises,
alleyway duties,
minces of identikit,
12 unexpected yetis,
interstellar clumps,
distinct dirt and spending,
36 stifled out grandchildren,
almost riffle duties
36 empty gate buddies
traced lockout backgrounds
and its Cosmic Duty Analyser
of which scorchers conclude they came from beyond.

Christian Bök asked us to play with stars.

I have used “The Discovery of a World in the Moone Or, A Discovrse Tending To Prove That 'Tis Probable There May Be Another Habitable World In That Planet” by John Wilkins (Release Date: August 23, 2006 [EBook #19103]) from the Gutenberg Project

I love the poetic process idea but I had doubt that the result, not being made of words, could ever be considered as a poem (in a world where emoticons enter the dictionary, I am resolutely old fashioned).
So I made my stellar map with words.

Brian Oliu told us to live and write in the present (more or less)

I could not get the indentation to work so had to import the text into a picture (courtesy of ESA)

Back to our regular schedule...

Robert Fitterman asked us to collect found language from individuals who articulate how they feel, specifically, in their bodies…physical symptoms in the body (neck, head, stomach, feet, etc).

I thought it was going to be more difficult to collect this but luckily enough, there were plenty of colleagues with pains and dramas, to whom I have added one Instagram complaint and one Twitter rant.


Try to…
In an eye opening moment
I can’t see for the cold
You’ve been there for sure?
The burn beneath the skin.
Start to…
That stupid foot hurts, chemically,
Some type of low fever behind the eyes
toxin load-wise out of the fucking blue ways
Stomach not happy last night
It could be…
This getting stuck moment
A turn and this cannot age, I know
One hell of an emotional heart
Like it has been sand blasted from the inside.
You still get…
And there is this huge void
The fear that there is blood everywhere
The left side of you refuses to talk to the other one
But the cramps keep on coming
I get up and…
I'm not doing too badly
Everything spins of this freaking pain flare
The ball of my right foot is aflame
Feeling nauseous mostly.

Catching up with the help of the library at work, which has old (technical) books to give away - so perfect for erasure type of poems

Kristina Marie Darling told us to looks for meaning behind the written words.

My source is from Online Information in Europe by Baudouin Durieux

Harold Abramowitz asked us to write something you cannot remember: a memory of something – a story, an anecdote, a song, another poem, a recipe, an episode of a television program, anything, that you only partially or imperfectly remember.
(Multiple versions, at least 6, of this memory should be written)


Proportions have flown away first
Then ingredients, one by one
Leaving only ghosts and suggestions behind
This is not pastry making, the sturdy chemical art of goodness
This is alchemy at its most adventurous
Fundamental pillars faded
Lost in a decrepit crevice of my memory.


What I remember is the provocation,
The roundabout architecture of this cake.
But its memory has blended with other adventures
Making bastard cakes of Boschian quality
In a dark corner of my imagination.
Eggs.


Eggs for sure.
And white beans.
Chocolate?


It has to hold together.
The architecture must be there
Or the cake would collapse.
So proteins are needed
Which is how beans came to be
Bringing moisture as well.
But the same would apply to eggs.
Something concrete is missing:
Where are the solids?
What were the walls made of?


It’s soft and moist
[My tongue can still remember that]
Just like cream baked into submission.
Vanilla sticks to the memory buds however
I cannot be sure I have not invented the almond feel
[This is worse than wine tasting]
Whence do I get this whiff of chocolate?
Barrique?


I could have sworn there was chocolate
It is a cake after all: what good would it be without chocolate?
And I remember the beans, of course.
How could anyone forget something as ludicrous as beans?


My mind is baked.
Thank goodness for Pinterest.



For anybody interested, I think THIS was the recipe I was trying to remember.
(But somehow I was remembering something with dark chocolate!)