Have you ever heard of Piero Manzoni?

“I should like all artists to sell their fingerprints, or else stage competitions to see who can draw the longest line or sell their shit in tins. The fingerprint is the only sign of the personality that can be accepted: if collectors want something intimate, really personal to the artist, there’s the artist’s own shit, that is really his.” Piero Manzoni

Oh, honey… Who can deprive a word of its meaning? Do you claim the words when you arrange them? Do you borrow them? Lease them? Leash them? How do you own them, particularly?

Have you ever heard of Piero Manzoni?

You are a vector. That’s all. I am a vector, too. The second you say something is beautiful, or a poem, or art, it becomes that. It’s that simple. Anything else is violent colonialism. Stricture.

This is what post-modernism is about. And by post-modernism, I just mean a movement projected forever forward into space. Like a light never dying. Sure, you’ll stop perceiving it at some point, but your explication of your perception is just limiting the reality of that object. Those words ever only meant anything to you. What happens to them as they super-ball around the room is exactly as irrelevant and as cosmically important as the words (objectively) and you (also objectively.)

I poop on a plate and present it proudly as art, it’s art. I put your words in a grinder and call it a poem, it’s a poem. Nowadays, it’s all just a matter of will, marketing and polish. Meaning is expressed by how words relate to each other in the reader’s mind, not in the poet’s mind.

We’ve (I’ve) been doing this for years (times infinity) does the practice (product) gain meaning because it’s remembered? Remembered to what extent? To what ends? Because one can quote it? Because it has generational weight? Because it effects policy change? Because it puts one smile on one face for one fleeting moment? Because it locks one professor into her peach tenure track?

Ever wonder why Wittgenstein ended up designing doorknobs?

(I love you, btw, as a person who is interested in poetry. I’m not grumbling here, just twisting my own nipples to get a bit of magma flowing.)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 346

trump2

“Power is an educational system that divides us into those who subjugate and those who are subjugated.”  Pier Paolo Pasolini

    led to help his 
         opinion about 
the culture
in 
that 
  era the culture in that 
era 
  the work was 
noted 
at 
his 
      opinion about the provincial status of culture in that era 
the work 
was chief editor 
        of poems in that era the cultures 
          had also to helped his opinion about the il 
setaccio 
          the il setaccio the 
         il setaccio the 
   cultures had 
    also to helped his pictures 
had also to 
    rethink his 
          opinion 
      of 
      cultures had also been well received the il 
          setaccio the work was chief editor of  
culture in that era 
     the 
   il setaccio these 
          experiences led to help 
his opinion of 
   fascist regime a 
communist

Veglia, by Giuseppe Ungaretti

vigil1-low

Veglia

Un’intera nottata
Buttato vicino
A un compagno
Massacrato
Con la sua bocca
Digrignata
Volta al plenilunio
Con la congestione
Delle sue mani
Penetrata
Nel mio silenzio
Ho scritto
Lettere piene d’amore

Non sono mai stato
Tanto
Attaccato alla vita

Cima Quattro, il 23 dicembre 1915

paculum-spec2-sm

Vigil

The whole night
Discarded
Beside a friend
Massacred
His mouth
Chewed up
Beside the full moon
Mashed
Into his hands
Penetrating
My silence
I have written
Love letters

I’d never been
Much
Attached to life

Peak Four, December 23, 1915

translated by Joseph M. Gerace

 

Wikipedia Poem, No. 285

fb-cartoon

“it’s christmas, carnival, easter, / our lady of aparecida, and the final judgment / all at once.” from “microwave” by Angélica Freitas

clement 
offers deeper 
dependings

absorbed in 
building the redeemer volume 
       of measuring noise 

floor
historica 
      he 

       product displays 
depending 
  though 

  on audibility 
of 
a signal bellows reverberation 

      coefficient of 
20 degrees celsius displayed depending on
      the averagings are proportant to dement reverberation 

in me and 
       out of the room for a direct 
travelling of a defined cut offers no reflection coefficient

     sabine 
stated 
exponential so too the materials the terrestrials

   typically
changes 
        of absorption 

in studios diminish 
regularly at low frequencies 
which must have their opposites

AAPL Tree

Processed with VSCO with acg preset

Overgrown Hops, Livingston Manor, N.Y., July 2016

 

The least desirable male model in the room.
Che figata! The sweet, sticky, glowing
World fills the artist’s pocket. That claimed room.
It bleats with importance. Vibrates. He reaches down
And finds his hand bleeding.

The artist, meanwhile, glowers,
Designing dry, private experiments with black masses
Infrequently transcribing what he divines
In the lab notebook to whom he is married:

Not clever enough
Not smart enough
Not wealthy enough
Not sensitive enough
Not hungry enough
Yet, there he is, enough.
Still life of the artist without father:

Findings inconclusive and forgotten.
Wrong number. Au gratin.

He intuits something young,
And asks: Why bother taking the test?
He’ll all be dead soon. And all the rest?

Dead and fine. He lines up
In front of the urinal
Panting like a gladiator.

Sad, spineless and the quite-possibly-alive emoji.
The pistol. The butcher’s knife. The optimistic turd. The sword, then.

Send.

Too much sensuality to dissolve
On the tip of the tongue
and him, unable to pay
much attention to anything, if I remember correctly.

John Ashbery loves to astute his assay:
August Kleinzahler adores his ma in Fort Lee:
Czeslaw Milosz, I hope you cherish the artist’s unencumbered flesh,
Decomposing in cubes on the couch
While he Googles for a definite vision of the divine
In an apple tree. (Another fucking apple tree.)

The least desirable male specimen
In this corner of his universe. Si, si.
Che figata! Strafigo! Abbastanza bene!

The dry, publicly traded world
Makes a bittersweet killing
Selling AAPL sky high at $139.

The artist mistakes a half-breed fig
For the bud of a flowering apple tree.

Wikipedia Poem, No. 91

wiki91-2

Il Borgognone, St. Peter of Adobe

forcing 
nowadays should still financial 
Highnessessity but practiced machinery 

But let us
      import thrust 
for this  her purpose

cliquestional jargon 
      industry-histrionics exact vengeance, it 
is exploitation 
   foreigner by the bargain 

Everyone day finger and the good 
plains of air means threat  purpose

        This silent 
 time

on 
war 
situational melee 
technical binding 
seaport duties 
of 
    tactical flags

Sources: Priestland, David. “Anarchism could help to save the world.” The Guardian. 3 July 2015. Web. 9 July 2015.

Kropotkin, Peter. War! The New Temple Press, 1914. Web. 9 July 2015.

“So gentle and so virtuous she appears” Dante Alighieri

“Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare”

Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare
La donna mia quand’ella altrui saluta
Ch’ogne lingua deven tremando muta,
E li occhi no l’ardiscon di guardare.
Ella si va, sentendosi laudare,
Benignamente d’umiltà vestuta;
E par che sia una cosa venuta
Da cielo in terra a miracol mostrare.

Mostrasi sì piacente a chi la mira,
Che dà per li occhi una dolcezza al core,
Che ’ntender no la può chi no la prova:
E par che de la sua labbia si mova
Un spirito soave pien d’amore,
Che va dicendo a l’anima: “Sospira.”

 

“So gentle and so virtuous she appears”
Trans. Luciano Rebay

So gentle and so virtuous she appears,
My lady, when greeting other people
That every tongue tremblingly grows silent,
And eyes do not dare gaze upon her,
She passes by, hearing herself praised,
Graciously clothed with humility,
And she appears to be a creature who has come
From heaven to earth to show forth a miracle.

She shows herself so pleasing to her beholders,
That she gives through the eyes a sweetness to the heart,
Which no one can understand who does not feel it;
And it appears that from her lip moves
A tender spirit full of love,
Which says again and again to the soul: “Sigh.”

Source: Alighieri, Dante. “So gentle and so virtuous she appears.” Trans. Luciano RebayItalian Poetry: A Selection from St.Francis of Assisi to Salvatore Quasimodo. New York: Dover, 1969. 28-29. Print.