Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
Jess writing about Kompakt.
'Schaffelfieber' sounds like a German muppet. On German Fraggle Rock.
None of this is to say that I just read 'Personism' just the other day. For the first time, I mean. I have read it many times. I like to reread it like the English Candy Drill scene in Gravity's Rainbow, because it's funny. Also it makes me feel like I have allies. I have not, however, ever given actual thought to it in the three years since I first read it at the tender age of twenty-two (no thought then either). This is part of my 'methodology'.
Also, incidentally, I had to look up 'Lucky Pierre'. I am like the guys in Office Space who look up 'money laundering' in the dictionary.
By comparison, I mean. Comparatively. My thematical acumen is of course still astounding in its own right. Really.
P.S. I'm not totally sure what 'a poetics' is but it sure has sounded exciting since I read Perloff's book and found Silliman and all these other poetics people blogging. It was even scarier when I saw some old person somewhere complaining that people in English never care about 'thematics' anymore, since I don't exactly know what that is either and definitely don't know if 'poetics' and 'thematics' have any other friends. Sometimes the interweb really bites, as a research tool. In the hands of the lazy and apathetic and swivel-headed.
(This is tied to my recent uncertain revelation, if you can have those, that in just about any area of life or thought you could think of, I am all up in poetics' ass and am totally retarded about thematics.)
K., my blog is one part journal, one part commonplace book, one part Philosophical Investigations, one part research program development lab, one part purple teenage-girl diary with little pink hearts and a cheapass lock on it, one part dumping ground, one part sophisticated excuse for laziness, one part homework assignment, one part improvisation, one part classroom + hallway Frankenstein's monster, one part list repository, one part Arcades Project, one part Magnetic Fields PR agency (well not really), and also other parts to be named later. I don't totally know which part(s) quoting 'Personism' fits into, but I'm clear on one thing: a great deal of the material I quote is quoted because I just read it and think it will be useful for something, or think that it gives me another angle on or contributes to thoughts I've had in the past. (I don't always say how, in any of these cases.) Insofar as these kinds of posts are educational for others, I mostly intend to learn them on what I want, what I mean. If I'm quoting something they haven't thought about in a while, or have never read, that's just extra. Anyway, they're primarily educational for me. Noticing a theme here? That's right, it's all about me (and I - all of us).
That Frank O'Hara, he's like a six year old. Somewhere in my notes to myself from this spring, deep in a period of fruitlessness, I wrote 'voice of a child'. I don't remember what for anymore but man was it good. So I'll tack it onto this for now - I could do worse than 'Personism'.
A computerized whizbang gadget has proven remarkably ambivalent when guessing my gender based on writing samples. I am large, I contain multitudes.
PERSONISM: A MANIFESTO
Everything is in the poems, but at the risk of sounding like the poor wealthy man's Allen Ginsberg I will write to you because I just heard that one of my fellow poets thinks that a poem of mine that can't be got at one reading is because I was confused too. Now, come on. I don't believe in god, so I don't have to make elaborately sounded structures. I hate Vachel Lindsay, always have; I don't even like rhythm, assonance, all that stuff. You just go on your nerve. If someone's chasing you down the street with a knife you just run, you don't turn around and shout, "Give it up! I was a track star for Mineola Prep."
That's for the writing poems part. As for their reception, suppose you're in love and somebody's mistreating (mal aimé) you, you don't say, "Hey, you can't hurt me this way, I care!" you just let all the different bodies fall where they may, and they always do may after a few months. But that's not why you fell in love in the first place, just to hang onto life, so you have to take your chances and try to avoid being logical. Pain always produces logic, which is very bad for you.
I'm not saying that I don't have practically the most lofty ideas of anyone writing today, but what difference does that make? They're just ideas. The only good thing about it is that when I get lofty enough I've stopped thinking and that's when refreshment arrives.
But how then can you really care if anybody gets it, or gets what it means, or if it improves them. Improves them for what? For death? Why hurry them along? Too many poets act like a middle-aged mother trying to get her kids to eat too much cooked meat, and potatoes with drippings (tears). I don't give a damn whether they eat or not. Forced feeding leads to excessive thinness (effete). Nobody should experience anything they don't need to, if they don't need poetry bully for them. I like the movies too. And after all, only Whitman and Crane and Williams, of the American poets, are better than the movies. As for measure and other technical apparatus, that's just common sense: if you're going to buy a pair of pants you want them to be tight enough so everyone will want to go to bed with you. There's nothing metaphysical about it. Unless, of course, you flatter yourself into thinking that what you're experiencing is "yearning."
Abstraction in poetry, which Allen recently commented on in It Is, is intriguing. I think it appears mostly in the minute particulars where decision is necessary. Abstraction (in poetry, not painting) involves personal removal by the poet. For instance, the decision involved in the choice between "the nostalgia of the infinite" and "the nostalgia for the infinite" defines an attitude towards degree of abstraction. The nostalgia of the infinite representing the greater degree of abstraction, removal, and negative capability (as in Keats and Mallarmé). Personism, a movement which I recently founded and which nobody knows about, interests me a great deal, being so totally opposed to this kind of abstract removal that it is verging on a true abstraction for the first time, really, in the history of poetry. Personism is to Wallace Stevens what la poési pure was to Béranger. Personism has nothing to do with philosophy, it's all art. It does not have to do with personality or intimacy, far from it! But to give you a vague idea, one of its minimal aspects is to address itself to one person (other than the poet himself), thus evoking overtones of love without destroying love's life-giving vulgarity, and sustaining the poet's feelings towards the poem while preventing love from distracting him into feeling about the person. That's part of Personism. It was founded by me after lunch with LeRoi Jones on August 27, 1959, a day in which I was in love with someone (not Roi, by the way, a blond). I went back to work and wrote a poem for this person. While I was writing it I was realizing that if I wanted to I could use the telephone instead of writing the poem, and so Personism was born. It's a very exciting movement which will undoubtedly have lots of adherents. It puts the poem squarely between the poet and the person, Lucky Pierre style, and the poem is correspondingly gratified. The poem is at last between two persons instead of two pages. In all modesty, I confess that it may be the death of literature as we know it. While I have certain regrets, I am still glad I got there before Alain Robbe-Grillet did. Poetry being quicker and surer than prose, it is only just that poetry finish literature off. For a time people thought that Artaud was going to accomplish this, but actually, for all their magnificence, his polemical writings are not more outside literature than Bear Mountain is outside New York State. His relation is no more astounding than Dubuffet's to painting.
What can we expect from Personism? (This is getting good, isn't it?) Everything, but we won't get it. It is too new, too vital a movement to promise anything. But it, like Africa, is on the way. The recent propagandists for technique on the one hand, and for content on the other, had better watch out.
September 3, 1959