yen for lyrical Africa’s grand recordings of fresher fascinating first-thought choices, tremendous tone-poems n’ that new trombone jazz imposing slang’s liberation of everything ever unnoticed…

just ate a bunch of strawberries and oranges and every time i do or any fruit or food for that matter i wonder how this all came to be…

If you want to be a poet, call yourself a farmer; If you want to be a farmer,  call yourself a religious man or woman; If you want to be a person of religion, call yourself a teacher. The first student is always yourself. via Cliff Crego

And ante every erg with epileptic bobs brought on by breathless theremin. Everyone bounces to the rumor and agrees: Sweat is the song’s body amplified; wild gestures for the blissful life compilation. That smell is the South on the rise, and Chinese dumplings top secret. Right now the borough boasts exceptional sounds and scents in the air a defiance of [...]

Sabrina says this house looks like a book she read once, a book she once read and once she read it her kick-started super-forever. I think you were in it squarely dancing with some same old bruise who was always begging you to panic.  Did you, after all? Pulling out from her lips on the beach she felt me [...]

I began painting her weightless spine and missing enzymes. There were slower moments going which hushed the bulletproof wall; Where we sat a test of freedom, a race for all to swallow. Renaissance, breathe

(Turn signals. Stay awake.) The explorer came to overstand the rum-rum rabbit and instinct Typing through smoke. Wearing robe, tiara and flame, he was in high spirits ogling cherubs and vermin, counting decorated toes and torsos. Just sitting and watching that fox in faux fur made his heart Swiss; She in her soft shell sauntered and tied all the grass [...]

   

       

                

                                            

            

               

Ornette1

            

           

   

Core tone, lament...
Alert! Neon comet...
Once more, talent.

Tonal once meter,
tonal come enter. 
One cement: tonal.

Tenor elect moan,
Acre molten tone.
Late, recent moon.

NATO, ROTC--eel men!
Art melt one once...
Art melt eon once...
Mee not clone art!

Eon: Trance Motel.
Let tone romance--
let note romance.

Term? None locate.
(Tentacle Monroe?) 

Tent oracle: OMEN!

 

                   

   

       

                

                                            

            

               

Ornette Coleman Quartet :: Roma 1974 #1

            

           

   

Originally posted on reckon.vox.com

   

       

                

                                            

            

               

Francis Bacon

            

           

   

"They are ill discoverers that think there is no land, when they can see nothing but sea."

* Sir Francis Bacon

Originally posted on reckon.vox.com

Poetry Stand

How a precocious group of high school poets
learned to provide verse on demand

By Douglas Goetsch

In July of 2006, I received an e-mail from Richard K. Weems, who directs the creative writing division of the New Jersey Governor’s School of the Arts. He had hired me to teach poetry to a group of gifted high school students later that month, and he wanted to know if I was interested in conducting a “Drive-by poetry” field trip, which is what past teachers had done.

Drive-by poetry, as Rich described it, entails loading the students into a van, cruising around a commercial area in Trenton, and pulling over near targeted pedestrians. One of the students sticks his or her head out the passenger window and serenades — or accosts — the startled pedestrian with some passionately recited lines by Walt Whitman or Pablo Neruda. The kid pops back in, rolls up the window, and the van takes off in search of the next victim.

Drive-by poetry seemed like an exercise in bad manners and an embarrassment to all concerned, and I wanted no part of it. Rich mentioned that I was free to plan my own event, but I was never very good at organizing field trips. I was cursed with a lack of the field trip gene, along with the papier-mâché gene. My classrooms tend to be devoid of decoration, and we never leave them. As a writing teacher, I’m concerned with rearranging the mental furniture of my students — at least, that’s what I’ve always told myself. For the last five years I’ve taught juveniles in a lockdown facility, where field trips are happily — for me at least — off the table.

Nevertheless, since it was on the calendar, and the students were looking forward to it, I told Rich I would be willing to give the Governor’s School kids a field trip.

When I met the group on Monday morning, two weeks later, I proposed that we run a poetry stand, which would be like a country lemonade stand, except that people would be coming for poems. Whatever customers asked for, the students would write.

Continued at The American Scholar - Poetry Stand - By Douglas Goetsch.