In the beginning (2005) I began blogging in part as a showcase for my own poetry and thoughts on poetry.
example beginning with my impossible and ludicrous epic style poem
...there's someone in the corner
spoons drawing a crowd
forming a new band playing
what is at hand pots & pans & an electric
Hear philosophers prophets poets spewing
power puking phosphorescent luminescent words
acrobatic poets reciting verses
riding his favorite Hobby-horse
see foreign language poets
with subtitles -
see chain-smoking mad poets
coughing choking on their own words
gnawing on metaphors & myths
see poets dancing the tango
hanging from chandeliers
someone lecturing at every table
hear philosophers spouting logical nonsense
hear prophets who lost
speaking of the Grace & Wrath
of a mythical drug induced God -
night at Café Apollinaire
is a season in Hell for some
Rimbaud knew all too well -
erotic desert flowers
of Georgia O'Keefe
are tended by the staff & regulars
Café Apollinaire -
Elijah gets up from his appointed seat
shakes his head in disgust realizing
time for his return has not yet come-
Second stage I began to include poetry and short bios
of other poets those I enjoyed or learned something from or who inspired me from Robert Burns & William Blake to Emily
Dickenson & Walt Whitman to William Carlos Williams & Robert Lowell & Elizabeth Bishop to Alan Ginsberg &
Kerouac to Charles Bukowski.
Later I decided to add images that went with a particular topic or poet or poem. This
soon morphed into doing posts about artistic movements and artists especially from the Post Impressionist period to the present
including the German Expressionists Edwar Much etc. to the Fauves to DADA & Surrealism to folk art & super-Realism
& Pop Art -from Goya to , Bosch to Van Gogh , Gaugin, Diego Rivera & Frida Khalo Max Ernst, George Grosz to Picasso
& Chagall . This then led me to DADA & Surrealism etc. which led to art as revolutionary and as propaganda.
THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD LOGOS
WILLIAM BLAKE THE ACT OF CREATION In the beginning was the word-logos.
I will be posting my poetry
on this site.
I intend to add more of my poems as frequently as possible. And I would appreciate any constructive criticism.
will also try to share the process of writing as I have experienced it.
To follow the creation of a poem from the first
glimpse of an image or feeling to adding & subtracting details & the generation of images & flights of the imagination
as the core & heart of the particular poem is revealed over a period of time.
The experience of writing is at times
like entering into a trance like state to a state in which for a moment everything crystilizes & a breakthrough is made
& there is a feeling of nakedness & rawness sometimes euphoric sometimes seeing an image stripped of all its encumbrances
though sometimes just simply enjoying the act of playing in the fields of poetry manipulating images & words for the sheer
hell of it.
I have been writing poetry for over twenty years. I have been influenced by a number of writers of various
styles from Robert Burns William Blake to Whitman & W.B. Yeats Emily Dickenson to Baudelaire Apollinaire Rilke Robert
Lowell to Dorothy Livesay & Allan Ginsberg Charles Bukowski to Jack Kerouac Elizabeth Bishop to song writers like Kurt
Weil Jacques Brel Bob Dylan to Leonard Cohen to Nick Cave to a hundred others that I have encountered & then moved on
including a number of good friends who have been struggling in this strange bloodied field of poetry & art. To these friends
I owe a great deal though we have gone our separate ways.
Poetry for me is like a photo of a particular experience
of the outer world or of the interior world of a mental state mood or feeling. It is a form of psychological realism. It is
not always purely rational. It is a way to express the inexpressable & the inexplicable. My poems take the form of confessional
poetry with a sometimes heavy dose of surrealism. Though surrealism these days may seem a bit pedestrian since we are awash
in surrelistic images on tv especially tv commercials & the news or in movies from the films of Luis Bunuel & Cockteau
to Brazil & The Life of Brian to Clockwork Orange & Dr. Strangelove to Catch 22 & the Matrix to Big Fish &
Moulon Rouge to Chicago to Kill Bill 2 or The Butterfly Effect Or Eternal Sunshine on the Spotless Mind & to movies like
Shrek 1 & 2 to the bizzare like John Carpenter's The Thing to Basket Case to the House of A Thousand Corpses a few dozen
I will also be sharing my views on my other enthusiasms from poetry to music movies art & politics &
religion. My interest in these subjects varies from day to day. One day I might be obsessing over the war in Iraq & George
Bush's extreme right-wing agenda & then I could be exited by listening to the latest recordings of Nick Cave. ( I would
recommend highly Nick Cave's newest cd The
Lyre of Orpheus & Abattoir bluesit contains some of his best songs yet. )
There is nothing about
Bush on the other hand that I could recommend. But I am told I should be careful what I say in this post 9/11 world who knows
who's listening in. He is in my opion ushering in a new age of mccarthyism & a dark age of US against THEM - we always
seem to be in need of an enemy a great threat against our society.Many people it seems are like Bush & see everything
in nice clean black & white terms . To insist that some issues are more complicated than this is seen as a form of moral
I shall instead proceed as if we still lived in a free society where there is a free exchange of ideas.
And further to add that the opions of others matter & not just those of the varying degrees of conservative thinking on
social ,economic & foreign policy . In part it is through art in all its myriad forms & through the study of history
that we can try to get a better perspective on what is happening at the moment.
Anyway that's all for now ,hope to
hear from you soon.
"MAY DAY 1956" BY DIEGO RIVERA
DIEGO RIVERA & FRIDA KAHLO
"THE BANDIT HERO" BY DIEGO RIVERA
And someone asks:
Factory ? & Who is the Ancient Sage ? 1/16 05
FACTORY MURAL PAINTING BY MEXICAN PAINTER DIEGO
So why refer to this site as a factory ? Because there is
a need that qoutas on a weekly or daily basis be filled. Otherwise I feel as if I were merely dabbling & not taking the
role which I have invented for myself seriously enough . So who is the Ancient Sage ? The Ancient Sage is to some extent
a composite of various people I have known combined with some quasi-fantasy elements & an archetype of the Wise One &
the visionary artist.
Here is my poem about the Ancient Sage:
ancient sage wandering the streets
Years ago the ancient sage with literary aspirations wandering the streets through the darkening
shadows of the towering towers of steel & glass always in a state of crisis dreams of fame having no shame lays
his heart bare in the tradition of Baudelaire sleeps in a coffin while candles flame and flicker in the eyes of
four skulls placed upon the mantle-piece in his heavily curtained room borrows money from his friends & exlovers &
poor seminary students to pay for rent & food for packs of cigarettes & a few beer steals from young seminary
students is proud to beg in the streets waiting to be put in debtors' prison under lock & key & waits for the
telephone line to be severed for never paying his bills -
reading from midnight to dawn a book or two each night obssessed
possessed by the Nine Muses writing a dozen or so verses a day he writes & reads too much some say it will lead
to brain fever & an early death declaring his own body as his enemy an agent provocateur an agent of the underground his
body is in anarchy out to destroy him to undermine his feeble efforts as he is barely able to get out of bed at
any moment death will knock upon his door some say it's those morbid books he reads obsessed with Nazi Death Camps &
he's not even a Jew listening to classical music so sad & somber& that oh so mournful jazz of the nineteen
-fifties & sixties and poets singing songs of the naked streets & his room is plastered with those glossy
copies of paintings of swirling stars & men & women sitting alone late in the night at a café or bar of
a boulder in the sky with a castle on top of riders on blue horses riding over a battle field of corpsess ripped
apart Of fiddlers on roof-tops of melting clocks always someone gives their opinion like some over the hill hippie brain
half-starved living off soy new age health food a hundred natural vitamin pills bland music & uplifting movies no
need to be sad & somber just smile put your faith in Jesus or the Mother Goddess wondering out loud why can't they
paint pretty pictures & sweet sentimental poems of the sea & trees green not purple of freckled little boys
going fishing -
See you later, GORD
-------- ELIZABETH BISHOP 'S POEMS " MAN MOTH " &
MURAL BY DIEGO
by Hello PAINTING BY SURREALIST RENE MAGRITTE "SELF-PORTRAIT IN MIRROR" PAINTING BY
EDWARD HOPPER 3am? PAINTING BY SURREALIST MAX ERNST "SIGN FOR A SCHOOL OF MONSTERS"
this site is in part about poetry so here we go...
Here is a poem by the American poet Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)
about the sense of alienation, fear, fantasy & desire experienced by the individual in modern society.
Here, above, cracks
in the buildings are filled with battered moonlight. The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat. It lies at his
feet like a circle for a doll to stand on, and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon. He does not
see the moon; he observes only her vast properties, feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold, of
a temperature impossible to records in thermometers.
But when the Man-Moth pays his rare, although occasional, visits
to the surface, the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks and
nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings. He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky, proving
the sky quite useless for protection. He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.
Up the façades, his
shadow dragging like a photographer's cloth behind him he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage to
push his small head through that round clean opening and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the light. (Man,
standing below him, has no such illusions.) But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although he fails, of course,
and falls back scared but quite unhurt.
Then he returns to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits, he
flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly. The Man-Moth always
seats himself facing the wrong way and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed, without a shift in gears
or a gradation of any sort. He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.
Each night he must be carried
through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent dreams. Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie his
rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window, for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison, runs there
beside him. He regards it as a disease he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep his hands in his pockets,
as others must wear mufflers.
If you catch him, hold up a flashlight to his eye. It's all dark pupil, an entire
night itself, whose haired horizon tightens as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids one tear, his
only possession, like the bee's sting, slips. Slyly he palms it, and if you're not paying attention he'll swallow it.
However, if you watch, he'll hand it over, cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.
“ Elizabeth Bishop was born in 1911 in Worcester,
Massachusetts. When she was very young her father died, her mother was committed to a mental asylum, and she was sent to live
with her grandparents in Nova Scotia. She earned a bachelor's degree from Vassar College in 1934. She was independently wealthy,
and from 1935 to 1937 she spent time traveling to France, Spain, North Africa, Ireland, and Italy and then settled in Key
West, Florida, for four years. Her poetry is filled with descriptions of her travels and the scenery which surrounded her,
as with the Florida poems in her first book of verse, North and South, published in 1946.
She was influenced by the
poet Marianne Moore, who was a close friend, mentor, and stabilizing force in her life. Unlike her contemporary and good friend
Robert Lowell, who wrote in the "confessional" style, Bishop's poetry avoids explicit accounts of her personal life, and focuses
instead with great subtlety on her impressions of the physical world. Her images are precise and true to life, and they reflect
her own sharp wit and moral sense. She lived for many years in Brazil, communicating with friends and colleagues in America
only by letter. She wrote slowly and published sparingly (her Collected Poems number barely a hundred), but the technical
brilliance and formal variety of her work is astonishing. Considered for years a "poet's poet," her last book, Geography III,
was published in 1976 and finally established her as a major force in contemporary literature.”
And THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN POETS www.poets.org/poets/
about her poetry:
“ Elizabeth Bishop's poems were always admired for the purity and precision of her descriptions,
and now readers have come to see how, even in her early poems, the attention to external detail reveals an internal emotional
realm. Bishop's early works use surrealism and imagism to create a new reality in which she minimizes the reference to self
in poetry, but her later poems become more autobiographical and more concerned with a quest for personal identity.”
website :VOICES & VISIONS VIDEO SERIES also has audio of the poet reading
“ONE ART” www.learner.org/
And from website ;MODERN AMERICAN POETRY (www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/ )
Bishop often spent many years writing a single poem, working toward an effect of offfhandedness and spontaneity. Committed
to a "passion for accuracy," she re-created her worlds of Canada, America, Europe, and Brazil. Shunning self-pity, the poems
thinly conceal her estrangements as a woman, a lesbian, an orphan, a geographically rootless traveler, a frequently hospitalized
asthmatic, and a sufferer of depression and alcoholism. "I'm not interested in big-scale work as such," she once told(ROBERT)
Lowell. "Something needn't be large to be good." ”
Here is her strangely funny & sad poem:
art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master.
practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The
art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers,
a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love)
I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like
Anyhow so long for now, GORD
-------------- NICK CAVE " INTO MY ARMS " & DIEGO RIVERA ART IS PROPAGANDA
One of my favourite Nick Cave songs-
Nick Cave - Into My Arms Lyrics
I don't believe in an interventionist God But I know, darling, that you do But if I did I would kneel down
and ask Him Not to intervene when it came to you Not to touch a hair on your head To leave you as you are And
if He felt He had to direct you Then direct you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord Into my arms, O Lord Into
my arms, O Lord Into my arms
And I don't believe in the existence of angels But looking at you I wonder if that's
true But if I did I would summon them together And ask them to watch over you To each burn a candle for you To
make bright and clear your path And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love And guide you into my arms
arms, O Lord Into my arms, O Lord Into my arms, O Lord Into my arms
And I believe in Love And I know that
you do too And I believe in some kind of path That we can walk down, me and you So keep your candlew burning And
make her journey bright and pure That she will keep returning Always and evermore
Into my arms, O Lord Into
my arms, O Lord Into my arms, O Lord Into my arms
Next is a video of Mexican artist Diego Rivera in America : " ALL ART IS
FILM " GLORY " & ROBERT LOWELL 'S " FOR THE UNION DEAD UPDATED &amp;amp; REVISITED IN POST BELOW THIS ONE....
As you will see the line between politics, social commentary was becoming harder to define in
the sense that politics and socil commentary were overcoming my discussions of the arts-painting, sculture, murals etc. &
music and film. So eventually a choice would be forced upon me to deal with one or the other or develop a second site as in
blog or website. Gord's Poetry Factory was taken over in a coup by political and ideological forces. But my interest was also
still in the arts , music, film ,poetry and showcasing my own works of poetry, videos I put together and the photos I was
taking. At first I created a second blog Cafe Gordon for the arty stuff as it were.
VOLTAIRE VOLTAIRE SONGWRITER SATIRIST WITH A MORBID TWIST GIVE YOUR DEADY A HUG !!! VOLTAIRE Posted by Hello
The image above is by the muscian and animator VOLTAIRE.
Not to be confused with the French philosopher & satirist Voltaire author of the book Candide. But there are some similarities
between the two & that is that contemporary VOLTAIRE creates some nasty biting satire. SURFING THE NET:While surfing the net I was led inevitably to VOLTAIREwho is an odd character who writes very funny songs about the STAR TREK series & THE NEXT GENERATION
& DEEP SPACE 9 & VOYAGER .
But is he a real GOTH or just satirizing that whole scene
or just the more extreme & all too serious GOTHS. Other songs I like are GOD THINKS & THE MAN UPSTAIRS & odd Goth type songs like The Vampire Club & THE GOTH QUEEN. At times the vocals remind me of
the folk/rock singer Phil Ochs as in Ochs' funnier bits like Circle of Friends or LOVE ME I'M A LIBERAL . At other times he
sounds like Woody Guthrie or The Kingston Trio & that guy who plays piano on PBS singing satirical political songs but
with a more morbid twist which I find appealing. He also reminds me of Loudin Wainright the Third who wrote songs like Dead Skunk In The Middle of The Road .
From Web page THE LAIR OF VOLTAIRE:
Voltaire was born in Havana, Cuba in 1967. He emigrated with his
family to the U.S. as a child and settled in New Jersey (a fact he never stops complaining about!)
"Voltaire is a singer/songwriter whose music has its roots deeply
imbedded in European folk music. His songs speak of love and, most often, the loss thereof with the added twist of how best
to seek revenge on the ones who have hurt you. Lyrically, he explores and reveals those moments of vulnerability most would
rather not discuss and exploits with childish abandon those fleeting streaks of cruelty we all feel but choose not to act
upon or even mention." He also makes some incredible stop-motion animation films . There are samples of these on the website
. For all I know I am the last person on the planet to discover VOLTAIRE but that doesn't reduce my pleasure in listening
to his songs & sampling his stop-motion animation. So there you go. Hope to hear from you soon if we make it through another
day - FRIDA KAHLO QUOTES & BITS & PIECES
PAINTING BY FRIDA KAHLO (1907-1954)
" SELF-PORTRAIT"Posted by Hello
PAINTING BY FRIDA KAHLO 1938
" WHAT THE WATER GAVE ME"Posted
PAINTING BY FRIDA KAHLO "
KAHLODEER"Posted by HelloThe following bits are
from the website THE WORLD OF FRIDA KAHLO -"Mourners gathered on July 13, 1954 to
watch the cremation of the world's greatest and most shocking painter. Soon to be an international icon, Frida Kahlo knew
how to give her fans one last frightening goodbye. As the cries of her admirers filled the room, the sudden blast of heat
from the open incinerator doors blew her body bolt upright. Her hair, now on fire from the flames, blazed around her head
like a halo. Frida's lips appeared to break into a seductive grin just as the doors closed shut. Her last diary entry read
"I hope the leaving is joyful and I hope never to return". Frida was only 47 on the day she died. Her amazing, and many times
bloody self-portrait paintings will live forever..."
QUOTES Of FRIDA KAHLO:
"I never knew I was
a surrealist till Andre Breton came to Mexico and told me I was."
"I paint my own reality.
The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration."
"I suffered two grave accidents
in my life. One in which a streetcar knocked me down.....The other accident is Diego.""I
drank to drown my pain, but the damned pain learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good behavior."
La Llorona *Chorus* Everyone calls me the dark one, Llorona Dark but loving I am like the green chile, Llorona Spicy,
but tasty They say that I do not feel pain Llorona Because they don't see me cry There are dead people who do not make a sound,
Llorona And it is greater than their worry Ah me, Llorona Llorona of yesterday and today Yesterday I was a marvel Llorona
Today, I am less than a shadow of that Ah me, Llorona Llorona of the blue sky...
Love you too, GORD.
FRIDA KAHLO SURREALIST & LEONARD COHEN'S " HEART WITH NO
COMPAINON " FRIDA KAHLO " SELF-PORTRAIT"
" FLOWER OF LIFE " BY FRIDA KAHLO
PHOTO ABOVE :LEONARD COHEN Anyway I've been playing around
with windows movie maker & so here is a slide-show of the works of the great surrealist Frida Kahlo in a collage or montage
set to one of my favourite Leonard Cohen's songs " Heart with no companion " does it fit sort of or barely but probably a
perfect fit in this " best of all possible worlds " or worst of all possible worlds if the universe is just down right perverse