Mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its parasitical dependdence on ritual.

Here you can see the Tasman Bridge as seen from the CSIRO building down in Battery Point.

Now here is an experimental poem!

i n s i
d e o n
e e m work।
a d e o
s thing rder to

Comments

KL said…

Have you read the book Discovering Patterns in Mathematics and Poetry by Marcia Birken and Anne C. Coon? The book came out recently in last year or so. One of the author is a mathematician and the other is a prof of Literature. I don't know if it is available yet outside the US. If you get it, give it a go. I really liked the book because I never knew that there exists poems which are called puzzle or labyrinth poems. Or that there exist poem which are known as shaped and spiral poems. Wow!

Your poem here seems like a puzzle poem. I need to separate them out to get the words. I have been trying but not succeeded yet. Am I in the right direction? Or is this something else?

11 March 2009 at 23:03

Kris McCracken said…

KL, you can figure it out, I'm sure!

12 March 2009 at 12:12

KL said…

ideas need some thing in work I order to

Those must be the words of your poem (am I right?), but then I cannot make the sentence out of it...grrr...ok, good excuse - English is not my tongue.

Ok, this is absolutely lovely. Come on, give us some more puzzles to work on.

12 March 2009 at 13:13

Patrice said…

ideas need something in order to work

in order to work I need some ideas

things need some ideas in order to work

ideas need some things in order to work

some things need ideals in order to work

??
Say, what?

Getting close?

12 March 2009 at 13:55

Kris McCracken said…

KL, who would have thought it would be so challenging!

12 March 2009 at 14:17

Kris McCracken said…

Patrice, all are correct.

Once the poem is out, the author is dead.

Long live the reader!

12 March 2009 at 14:18

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

This will hurt me...

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