The poem points to something I am growing increasingly aware of: surrealism is fundamentally mimetic.
My theory of narrative is that it is arc, gesture, syntactical force the most common of which is what we call a story, but not exclusive to story.
Meta-lord of the cloud-lords of meta of!
What draws these poems together is simulation of death-states in relation to the afflatus of night and song—of rising or sinking to the occasion.
The “gate keepers” of religion and of poetry are one and the same.
Seattle likes to pride itself on being one of America’s Most Literate Cities.
Here’s a question: What to do with (how to view) a poem you can’t help but think of as perfect?
Pete Winslow is a very minor Beat surrealist poet who died young and only published a few books.
It was the sort of chair working class people purchased on the way up along with the upright spinet to prove they were no longer poor.
This process of differentiation comes at a cost, however, alienating the rebel from his cultural and ideological context.
American literature sprung truly from the soil of democracy would be lively, but unrefined, poor on rules of thumb, sacrificing refinement to vitality.
Here’s a poem by Federico Garcia Lorca that could change your life, if your name is Euclid or Bernhard Reimann.
When love and all its fruit come into question, you know you have a problem.
I am about to model for you a form of close reading that does not need effort so much as stealth, and curiosity, and the willingness to wrestle with angels.
Does poetry think with philosophy? Or might we re-pose the question: does poetry rely on philosophy to think?
[Secrets of the Garden of a Vacant House Seen in a Dream]
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