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

28.4.11

The words I don’t like poem

Why can’t I think of
any? It’s not that
they’re all the same
to me. But ever
since yesterday, when
I started thinking
the matter over,
I haven’t come up
with a single one.
Ok, so I don’t tend
to use four-letter
words that often
in poetic mode. (Real
life is different. I do
resort to expletives
regularly where
warranted. And those
warranted situations,
as you know, occur
all too often in
real life.) But now
I’m down here
in what has become
a much longer
poem than I’d
intended, and still
have not thought
of a single word
I hate. Let’s say
I’m like the
benevolent creator –
they’re all my
children – I must
love them all
democratically,
whether they be
English, German,
Turkish, Malayalam,
Chinese or Urdu.

– Iself (© 2011)

Written for NaPoWriMo day 28. The task, you guessed it, was “to try writing poems using our least favorite words.”

4.4.11

Time Waist

time waist time waist
time waist time waist
ime waist time wais
me waist time wai
e waist time wa
waist time
e waist time wa
me waist time wai
ime waist time wais
time waist time waist

 – Iself

A concrete poem for NaPoWriMo #4.

Not quite a 1-word poem (along the lines of Aram Saroyan's lighght, see NaPoWriMo blog), but the best I could come up with.

1.4.11

Haze

That purple haze
finally appears to be lifting.
Jimi chords are coming closer,
the distortion is ebbing away.
Soon there will only be one sound left –
that of one clear, springy string.

– Iself (© 2011)

NaPoWriMo 2011 #1

Written based on the suggestion "Use a color as your title."
The color that immediately came to my mind was "hazy" – because I've been in a haze of sorts. And then, of course, it became clearer right away, because of Purple Haze.

19.3.11

3.5.10

You do ignite

You do ignite that
rotten side of me – now please
be gone, old fart – depart!

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)

Written around depart, ignite, rotten from 3WW and a slightly failed haiku.

21.4.10

La salsa

Alors vint la salsa...
– Gino Ducreuil
I

     The salsa enters on the tiptoes of celery
its bongos are maroon leathery mushrooms
     And the fat singer after margaritas
is pulsating fire: Celia Cruz

II

     The little black angels deform
under the blasting wall of electric strings
     Willie Colón the outlaw in-law
and this is the moment Brunilda Ruiz rises

     from a vogue for an eternally long
second-long long bridge
     The span of her foot is the graves of Puerto Rico
and the glistening rainy streets of Nueva York

     Spanish words by Adrés Eloy Blanco
music by Manual Álvarez Maciste
      for this elating bow the salsa
now playing in some nightclub in París

– Johannes Beilharz (© 1981/2010)

One quarter elemental for napowrimo #17, something elemental.

Note
Some explanation might be in order here to make this less cryptic.

This poem came about some time after the purchase of El Baquiné de Angelitos Negros, a 1977 album by Willie Colón. The cover shows dancer Brunilda Ruiz, and I somehow wove her, salsa and the much older song by Eloy Blanco and Álvarez Maciste into this poem along with salsa queen Celia Cruz, transplanting the whole show to Paris and quoting by a non-existent Frenchman to introduce it.

4.4.10

Ms. Mueller’s Receiving Speech

“Here’s your room – there’s your view of the Alps.
On good days you can see the Zugspitze.
Did you see it on the way? There’s one place
around Fernpass where you can see it. I see,
you didn’t stop there. Here’s the bathroom,
please use the toilet brush. There’s hot water
in the mornings. Breakfast from 7 to 10
in the cellar or on the terrace on sunny days.
Tomorrow won’t be sunny, going by the forecast.
And tomorrow you plan to be where? Merano?
Well, then, good night.”

– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)

Lends itself quite well to inside out for napowrimo #4.

21.2.10

Love disenchanted

When pigs cease to fly
it’s time to say good-bye.

I’ve had enough of you
and all the times I’d woo

you with four leaves of clover.
See you when hell freezes over.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)

Written specifically for Sunday Scribblings and When Pigs Fly / When Hell Freezes Over.

All the Morgenstern poetry (Felix and Christian) posted in this blog

16.7.07

Morgenstern zoology

The wingambat

The wingambat haunteth
through weerowarowood,
the ruby fingoor taunteth,
and cruelly laughs the drood.

Christian Morgenstern (1871-1914), translated by Johannes Beilharz (*1956)

Note
This is a translation of Morgenstern's "Der Flügelflagel" (see preceding post).

9.4.07

A picassolage

One result from Linguasso - dynamic emotional design
"linguasso (for lingual and Picasso) creates totally random works of art, composed of text and based on varying emotions. It chooses an emotion, then displays associated words and dynamically created sentences in random fonts, sizes and places. It's quite addictive to watch over and over again, as each design seems to tell its own story."

23.2.07

Love, love, love

Inspired, in a rather roundabout way, by Rickie Lee Jones' song Running from Mercy from "Traffic From Paradise" (1993):

Oh sacred place that sets my soul alive
There's a rainbow above me that the storm clouds hide
And kind works will never die
Cuz the magic in kindness springs from the love, love, love

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x l x x x x x x L x x x x x x x x x x O x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x o x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x V x x x x x x x v x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x e x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x L o x x x x x x x x x v e x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x E x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x x Love is a little lost among all those ticks x x
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

– Leon Blumfeld (Copyright 2007)