Showing posts with label contemporary poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contemporary poetry. Show all posts

Thursday, 30 November 2017

A revision of a Wyatt poem

Thomas Wyatt was a Tudor-era writer of crass poems. We have hence altered one of his poems, to more fully express the modern framework. His sonnets are typical and trite love poems, generally reducing the other to an object which could be closer or further away. Yet he is no good at this, while other poets of that 'era' exceeded him. Wyatt represents an ambiguous or transitional period in the social system, which he merely ran across in all its confusion. It is hence of passing interest to those who would confuse people now concerning the social system. It is still too complex for this. We hence have edited this appropriately:

They Flee From Metal

They flee from metal that sometime did metal seek
With naked foot, in my hidden chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and metal,
That now are sell-outs and do not remember
That sometime they worshipped metal gods
To fight false metal; and now they range,
Busily seeking ideology like a Leninist.

Thanked be Marx it would be otherwise,
And thus twenty times better; but once in special,
In American array after a pleasant guise,
When white metal from her outskirts did fall,
And she me caught with her deep worshipfulness;
Therewithall sweetly did to me temporise
And softly said, “Dear heart, how like you me now?”

It was not true metal: I saw their heresy.
But all is turned through my metalness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her piousness,
And she also, to use new pop music fads.
But since that I am so kindly treated,
I would fain slay her with the steel she hath deserved.

Wednesday, 5 July 2017

Reptilian Poetry

Prefect

Like the autumn season
the stars light us,
as we walk, alone,
apart,
and the stars will not guide us
together in their dark quiet.

The weeping willow
turns its face upwards
in the cold wind.

For a change

Beneath the buried skull,
a quiet snake lies
ringed around it,
fangs to its tail.

There is no hope
without the snake
of death.

Death guides hope,
there is no other way.

Cry

In the dark hours,
the moon is the earth,
the light is the sea
that is now on earth,
like the tides that sweep
like the repose of air.
In the solitude
of the dark hours,
the moon is the earth,
the light repeats
like a circle,
the earth repeats
like a circle,
the sea is a circle,
the air reposes.
The sound of flutters
is like the birds,
the sound of birdcall
is like the gecko.
From earth, to sky,
the gecko moves like a stream,
and calls.

There are whispers on the air and walls,
symbols like the gecko.

From earth, to sky,
the air we see
is scaled.
The land, the gecko climbs,
to grasp at the air
it cannot reach.

Light

Air climbs
the building
like the gecko.
Quietly it calls,
quietly abates.
The gecko screams
in the lonely room,
the dark room,
like an archetypal fear.

In the dark,
with cries like laughter,
the reptile hides.

Mistflower

Lying in silence
as if to speak,
softly,
in some way.

Lying in silence,
as if to speak,
softly,
in some way.

Lying in silence,
as if to speak,
softly,
in some way.

Smoke

In the cracking light
tired, yet silent,
the spider finds his way.

Path

In this broken road,
on the outskirts of town,
the lights in the air
are misty.

Like a hologram,
the wind blows softly as if listening,
the wind blows, though none
ask where.

Silenes

The silene in your silence,
what is its call?
Does it speak
if you do not?

The whisper in the cave,
in the darkness of caves
it hides itself
in the wind,
and few would tread there.

Stars

Why is the light of stars
quiet in sunlight?
The wisps of air
flutter by,
the wisps of fire
flutter by,
the butterflies
flutter by.

All the world waits
for a sound
that cannot shine out,
except it disappears elsewhere.

The cry of the gecko
hides in your heart,
does it not?

Process

In the welcoming
candlelight,
the jackal flickers
like shadows.

The mechanical star
whispers softly,
then fades out,
to nothing,

as the process of art
should.

Tail

Pretentiously (?), the tail
is left.

The reptile moves away,
you find this.

Like a starlit crucifix, like Rome in years BC,
the tail is left here,
quietly.

Saturday, 8 April 2017

Shout-out to Zanthorus

(In the style of a certain Rosa L.)

To welcome back the returning comrade Zanthorus, we issued this stunning condemnation:


"Welcome back, Zanthorus!


"We're sorry this is slightly late. We'll put up a post calling you out because you have an amazing name. For one thing, it starts with a 'z.' It also has an 'n,' 'o' and 'h' in it. Any profound thoughts on the emasculation of the West and the tyranny of the matriarchy?


"You just said that a journalist had small balls. I'm invoking the fifth. I accuse you, sir, of choosing an easy target. This is a most heinous crime. Nonetheless I shall follow your advice and pursue the true path of archery, and in the process no doubt found several dystopian states until they form a genre. They shall then brainwash young adult minds, until they can no longer feel pessimism. They shall then inform them that human nature is an enemy to these states, and must be eradicated wherever it is found.


"The capital shall be in Egypt, which has a history of worshipping cats.


"We appreciate your posting, and the subtle yet poetic entrance. You did not clarify whether the rugby was league, union, etc., which some might find offensive and to suggest a support of slavery. In addition, the Labour Party might take issue with your perceived support for Ken Livingstone, and would request that you change your name to 'Zionthorus' to repent. What Zionism has to do with Thor might be uncertain to them, but nobody said that Christians' doctrine of salvation had to coherent. However, other than a list of possible offence your post has caused (other than to journalists, who are a sub-human race anyway), which is as obligatory in 'leftist' dialogue as 'Heil Hitler' in Nazi Germany, welcome back. I'm sure the online left could do with a resurgence of reasonable discussions, as opposed to most (dead and dying) fora and the occasional and hated dissident commenter."

We appreciate you see the sheer cutting and critical nature of this, without us annotating the whole passage with exclamation marks at the appropriate points. Nonetheless, we shall do so anyway, for the first paragraph. This shall hopefully give readers a hang of how to go on:

"We're sorry this is slightly late." (!) (Sorry? Of course we're not sorry! We hate the scoundrel. This sets a trap. They expect us to be taking on a favourable tone, and are unprepared for the following zingers.) "We'll put up a post calling you out because you have an amazing name." (!) "For one thing,  it starts with a 'z.' It also has" (!) (refer to the Economic Manuscripts of 1844 for details) "an 'n,' 'o' and 'h' in it. Any" (!) "profound thoughts" (!) "on the emasculation of the West" (!) "and the tyranny" (!) "of the matriarchy?" (!)

Verily as destructive an attack as if you dropped the Tsarina Alexandra on a country and they all died of fright. You may have watched Wrestlemania recently, yet you may easily forget that: this is the real thing.

Now, you may be asking, what does all of this have to do with Georg Friedrich? Well, it might not be clear at first. We might seem initially to have just unleashed a devastating attack on a perfectly civil commenter who did not mention Hegel. However, do not be fooled. They speak of 'mastering the art of archery,' by going from small to large targets. However, Hegel mastered German philosophy, did they not? And did so by going from basic and abstract categories to more complex ones. So you see again that 'if the essences of things correspond to appearances, all science would be superfluous.' Their comment is still offensive, although this is veiled.

I am sure that, had Marx lived, they would have ended Das Kapital with that very sentence.

However, we shall also welcome back Zanthorus. We shall welcome them back as Lottie Moss - the eternal enemy of I, ZeroNowhere - welcomed back Alex Mytton after a drunk tiff. With an amicable disposition, but also trepidation and the poignance it holds. However, rather than being as "stately as a slot machine," we shall offer a courteous but refined reception. And besides, taking advantage of Kate Moss being our relative would tarnish our name. And what is the result of sounding like a lotus, when this lotus would be incredibly out of place in a Made In Chelsea context? It is a mere painkiller in a degenerate scene.


We shall conclude this post with this fervent attack on Thor, who 'Zanthorus' no doubt worships. By attacking that which they hold sacred, we bring this highly critical post to a fitting crescendo. After this, they may face the world with 'sober senses,' and all welcome each other generously.

Finally, we would like to note that the 'Rosa' mentioned was not Rosa Luxemburg. Just in case anyone thought this was some other blog, where Rosa Luxemburg might be highlighted in any way whatsoever. I am sure a few of our readers will catch the reference, and I exhort them to consider in good humour what others less so will make of it. The tone might help these others to get the gist of it. On that note, we would like to end this condemnatory post with the following sentence.

This is my world now.

Tuesday, 10 January 2017

Karl Marx: Style and Distortion

In general, political beliefs which appeal to 'the people' or a class of 'ordinary people' are often held to be suspect, because they are tacitly speaking about the reader. When they refer to these masses, they mean to refer to an overall category which these readers are or might as well be in. Hence, when they attempt 'rousing' rhetoric and so on, this can also serve to promote the listeners and involve them in this upwards movement - in a slightly back-handed manner. Populism tends to use this to notable effect, although even North American politicians are known to frequently call on populist rhetoric and especially on the campaign trail. There are other reasons why people are concerned about such beliefs, but we shall discuss that in a post following this.

In general, when people in capitalism encounter Marxism and related viewpoints in a positive manner, they are experiencing some amount of disillusionment with official politics and trying to see past the illusions of such political forms. However, that Marxism is effective in intercepting this, or the revolutionary or 'disillusioned' element in such societies, is not entirely coincidental. It is actually something which is deeply inter-woven in Marxist texts in a stylistic sense, which invites their viewing in such a context.

However, this can at times seem to distort the message. If a text is encountered in the context of disillusionment, then it often has to be seen in the context of another political view or situation. It cannot present a focussed and emphatic proclamation of its perspective, but must respond to other things or possibly qualify this. For instance, Das Kapital is forced in its presentation of value to continually respond to possible criticisms of itself - which many critics have taken as an authoritative documentation of ways to dispute it. These opposed points force their way into the texts. That readers then complain, although of course people would do whatever they could to dispute or question the points made by Marxism, that it is too boring and laboured is really to leave Marx no way out in this endeavour.

Nonetheless, these texts which were abandoned by most do hold notable interest. There is no need to heap calumny upon condemnation just for mild personal caprice.

-

The effectiveness of Marx in intercepting certain situation is manifested in multiple ways. However, we must also note that this form of political straying, or disillusionment with the major Parties and beliefs, can also seem to capitalism like a turn towards laissez-faire. Hence, its promoters do their best to assimilate this form of politics into a sort of indifferent, ecstatic, laissez-faire posturing. They will take for granted that that is what is being attempted, as they will not acknowledge the albeit complex content of revolutionary politics. Hence, Marxism can also form something of an ambiguous area. The strictness of Das Kapital, which at least firmly defines that which it takes issue with, can often dissuade these although they might occasionally also assume that they know what it's on about without engaging with it. In any case, after this general caution we may move on.

Firstly, let us examine the structuring of a paragraph in the article 'The June Revolution.' We are first presented with a somewhat 'optimistic,' rousing - but highly subdued - couple of sentences.

"The workers of Paris were overwhelmed by superior strength, but they were not subdued. They have been defeated but their enemies are vanquished."

Hence, there is no decisive demolition here. As we have noted, by this category readers of various kinds are also designated or involved, and hence here it seems a re-assuring and slightly encouraging statement. It refers, like the Christian myth, to perseverance despite the odds, to the re-assuring ability to keep going. However, contrast this to what follows:

"The momentary triumph of brute force has been purchased with the destruction of all the delusions and illusions of the February revolution, the dissolution of the entire moderate republican party and the division of the French nation into two nations, the nation of owners and the nation of workers. The tricolor republic now displays only one color, the color of the defeated, the color of blood. It has become a red republic."

After the dedicated denial of a decisive destruction, now we are presented with images of not only decisive but slightly hyperbolic destruction. Words like 'all' and 'entire' appear notable, along with repetitions of certain words which serve to stress this aspect of their text. However, this is not merely a contrast. This is the general direction of the paragraph from its opening. 

The final sentence might seem vaguely humorous insofar as a 'red' republic could give the overly-optimistic sense of a communist region, but in any case it just lurks there like a punch-line hanging ghost-like between the lines.

Hence, from the presentation of perseverance and a cause, we are led instead into a portrayal of general destruction and blood-shed. The final sentences meditate for a while on the theme of blood. Of course, part of the point here is of interest: with the decline of the moderates, the division is no longer as clearly obscured. At least not to Marx, which is fortunate.

The situation is also of interest: it describes a National Assembly being set up in the throes of an uprising, with various political forces within it. After some time of being indecisive, they were eventually displaced. This would seem to indicate the paralytic force of these diverse strains being placed together in this eclectic organisation.  This situation would recur later on in history, albeit leading instead to things like Stalin instead of an eventual monarchist revival. Which some might not find entirely dissimilar.

Hence, after the stirring initial theme, you do not have a continuation but rather a 'descent' or rather a distortion. This allows Marx to make more notable and insightful political points than are usually allowed to ordinary populists. However, the overall movement is in general a disillusioned one, where after a general sense of hope this is turned into a dark 'realisation.' Most political figures or texts would rather stop at the first, strangely. Marx, however, does better than that here.

Of course, this kind of shift or distortion in tone need not always imply the blatant conjuring of blood and wanton destruction. Nonetheless, it can take up a slightly humorously exaggerated form as in this rather special paragraph:

"Fraternite, [...] this fraternity which in February was proclaimed and inscribed in large letters on the facades of Paris, on every prison and every barracks -- this fraternity found its true, unadulterated and prosaic expression in civil war, civil war in its most terrible aspect, the war of labor against capital. This brotherhood blazed in front of the windows of Paris on the evening of June 25, when the Paris of the bourgeoisie held illuminations while the Paris of the proletariat was burning, bleeding, groaning in the throes of death."

The next paragraph is a slightly peculiar adventure where Marx anticipates their future of requesting alms from Engels, and eventually follows this 'burning, bleeding and groaning' with a paragraph ending about how the people thought they had destroyed, "their enemy when they had overthrown the enemy of their enemies, their common enemy." It is at the least a decent example of 19th Century slap-stick, like much of the 1848 revolution.

 This kind of structure is reprised yet again, however, and quite clearly, in the following paragraph:

"The February revolution was the nice revolution, the revolution of universal sympathies, because the contradictions which erupted in it against the monarchy were still undeveloped and peacefully dormant, because the social struggle which formed their background had only achieved an ephemeral existence, an existence in phrases, in words. The June revolution is the ugly revolution, the nasty revolution, because the phrases have given place to the real thing, because the republic has bared the head of the monster by knocking off the crown which shielded and concealed it."

Oddly, this could also be used to describe other February Revolutions, although revolutions in June need not have the same historical co-ordination. Strangely, even the description of the February revolution goes from paraphrasing praises to a negative appraisal.

This structure becomes quite entrenched, even in slightly subtle ways, through the rest of the text. For example:

"Order! was Guizot's war-cry. Order! shouted Sebastiani, the Guizotist, when Warsaw became Russian. Order! shouts Cavaignac, the brutal echo of the French National Assembly and of the republican bourgeoisie."

"Is the deep chasm which has opened at our feet to mislead us, democrats, or cause us to believe that the struggle for a form of polity is meaningless, illusory and futile?"


"For whom did you make the February revolution, you rascals -- for yourselves or for us? The bourgeoisie put this question in such a way that it had to be answered in June with grape-shot and barricades."

"Thus the workers fought in February in order to be engulfed in an industrial crisis."

 In general, this structure of a clear and inviting situation - at least in appearance - followed by a grim atmosphere is one which relates quite clearly to the sense of disillusionment or slipping away from certain portrayals. Strangely, this kind of thing is now associated more with the Soviet Union, although of course usually it is the preserve of Marxism and conspiracy theories. An aesthetic which so favours conspiracy theorists is one which is generally safe from such extensive foreign intrusion, although the Cold War was a site of many 'conspiratorial' actions and groupings (the name itself is conspiratorial - claiming a war when each nation itself stringently avoids declaring a state of war) and hence allows these elements a seeming alibi. However, conspiracy theories can be iffy in this regard: after presenting an appealing image of things, they then wish to demonstrate that things are not appealing - but this would seem if anything to encourage an overly optimistic view of things and the sense that only minor obstacles must be dealt with or shoved out of the way. Generally, this is unrealistic even by the conspiracists' terms: they portray a situation where a whole realm exists often out of most people's explicit control, and which is rather sinister. The perspective where conspiracy theorists merely become part of the glorification of the social system is that of the person with comfortable personal position in this system, who expects much from it or aspires to receive this and hence can only admit conspiracies to appear on the sides. Apart from this, conspiracy theories can at the least involve notable observations on a society which is highly 'alienated' in Marx's terms and where events might appear to inhabit a realm apart from the disenfranchised citizens of the nation. They hence deal with elements which call this social system into question. In any case, their format allows for Marx to seem highly appropriate to certain situations, in terms of political conflict - at least if these are present.

The danger otherwise is that people might dismiss it as garish and overly dark, or in general not see the appeal in such texts.

Nonetheless, this type of method tends to be prominent, in various forms, as Marx continues on. The general tone of this is quite apt:

"For the entire duration of its rule, for as long as it gave its grand performance of state on the proscenium, an unbroken sacrificial feast was being staged in the background – the continual sentencing by courts–martial of the captured June insurgents or their deportation without trial. The Constituent Assembly had the tact to admit that in the June insurgents it was not judging criminals but wiping out enemies."

While most Christianity speaks of  walking away from 'the world,' before sanctifying and chanting hymns to everything in it, Marxism at least on some level attempts to enact this. It moves from the official 'performance' to a tone quite different, and often dark in subject-matter. The texts with Engels can often be of interest because this tendency interacts with some others, with various results; however, generally Marx's texts written without such interference are not as well recognised. This might be in part due to the style bringing up things people would rather not be reminded of.

In any case, such distortions do have occasional note in popular culture. Even in video games, the sudden shift of a 'heroic' journey to a dark place with blood-thirsty characters in Lavender Town has been associated in pop culture with not only horror but also suicides. There is something that people find unnerving about it, allowing for rather exotic or troubling stories to be easily associated with it. Likewise, Dracula has an influential shift from the tone of the early novel, giving notes on the location almost reminiscent of travel-writing, to the sudden influx of a darker atmosphere which seemingly appears in the form of an animal. The whole of the area is tainted with this kind of darkness, as though it had distorted into something new. The animals are strange, and so are the people - indeed, the image of an eccentric or highly peculiar person is called upon for Dracula's associate, albeit with the absurdity occasionally played up to the point where it might seem inadvertently humorous rather than fitting with the pathos of the story. This is less thorough in that novel, however, where a neat ending must be drawn regardless - the distortion is a phenomenon that enters into the style, but not an abiding characteristic. However, Marx's use of it can not only easily lead to associations such as that which Wurmbrand drew to the Satanic, but can at times lead to notable insights in the area. In this sense, Marxism cannot stay fixated upon the idea of rousing or positive emotions, but must deal with the darker aspects of what is before it. Hence, it has an interest which can easily continue to torment and disturb anew.

Wednesday, 28 December 2016

Entirely-Dëvoid of Interest

Engels is sometimes capable of rather notable oversights.

"The simpleton [...] will certainly not have to complain of “gaps entirely devoid of interest”. It will take him all his time to prepare his pleasures and get them in the right order, so that he will not have a moment left to enjoy them."

Engels once married someone as they were dying, a marriage which indeed lasted for a rather brief time and may be adjudged something of a triumph of the ideal over the real. In any case, it would appear that Dühring here has hijacked Engels' own 'polemic' to ridicule Engels. This is merely the shadow of a polemic, one which cannot ascertain that its whole point is not to attack its 'author.'

In general, however, it is a poor polemic that illustrates nothing that Marx has not dealt with far better elsewhere; that continually presumes to have an understanding of a topic where no such understanding is presented or explained. Poor Eugen does not in all this time come to stand for anything particularly notable, in this light it's a descent from the earlier polemics (somehow) to just name-calling accompanied with vague platitudes. It often merely agrees with the 'target' of the polemic, but then says 'but,' as though this word in its hallowed isolation were sufficient to make it 'polemical.'

The whole piece in its manic tone has less the appeal of a Hamlet and more the tone of an illiterate Lizzie Burns' erratic flails before death.

[From Юрий Хохлов's video on Youtube.]

Monday, 19 December 2016

A Poem about Tay Bridge

Every age of poetry has a certain calling. What the world of poetry needs most now is a poem about Tay Bridge, which was once the calling of all the illuminated Muses that could be found. And the age itself seems to bay for it, as a vampiric coven bays for blood. So we shall furnish it one.

Tay Bridge

I have seen you here sometimes,
you have been nearby sometimes,
yet never have you felt
the sound of the bridge falling
the sound of the Tay Bridge falling
the sound of its fall
the sound of its revival -
you have not heard it sing
its brief songs.

It fell beneath like a rock,
fallen into the river,
and then it was loudest.
When it fell.

Only Calamity and Trouble were on hand
to re-build it, but then it fell again,
for they were not firm foundations.
The others said it was a liability,
eventually even Calamity gave up in fury.

For has not the Muse come once
to where this bridge lay -
lay, indeed, in every way -
lay prone to the elements,
which shifted it to sing only,
'Welcome to this bustling city —
But this bridge is cursed.'

As it falls, the city shifted into
blurring, blinding colours like the
cataclysmic sound of falling hail.

Yet the bridge saw the colours blur
eventually to blinding white.
For this bridge is bride to its slaughter,
its excursion is its demise,
its hopes are crushed by each edge
of a grinding wheel.
The blood it wears it weaves,
like a spider in a broken palace,
but how good is the blood
which it weaves?

As the Bridge falls, the city's scenes
become more frantic, but the water shields its eyes,
and shields the city's bride from its groom,
wipes them clean with its own hands,
with the violent waves and the grey mist waters.
As the water envelopes,
there is a red shift in the scene,
and the Bridge's noise -
which they all hear -
says that they shall break apart,
and each set against each,
until a kingdom refracts from the depth of ruins.

They do not all see.