tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post111876026301036851..comments2023-08-29T02:42:23.063-05:00Comments on ¡Bemsha SWING!: Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371893596402673898noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118894746113663402005-06-15T23:05:00.000-05:002005-06-15T23:05:00.000-05:00***Thanks, Tim. I love "dark pants of him." This...***<BR/><BR/>Thanks, Tim. I love "dark pants of him." This is the best comment thread ever on my blog.Jonathanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09371893596402673898noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118893945667151742005-06-15T22:52:00.000-05:002005-06-15T22:52:00.000-05:00Jonathan, this is absolutely brilliant (I love the...Jonathan, this is absolutely brilliant (I love the totally forced "mimetic" line breaks, and the "world of pants") up until "This is not a metaphorical approximation of my life," but at this point in the poem to make it really bad the speaker should enter a meditation that begins with something like "And now I think of..." Ideally it should be something recollected in tranquility, and then at the end of the poem it should come back into collision with "pants" for some kind of blinding synergy/epiphany.<BR/><BR/>Also, you should employ some of those Iowa locutions like "the dark pants of him"Tim Petersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12788267620443595389noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118796965461957932005-06-14T19:56:00.000-05:002005-06-14T19:56:00.000-05:00Ron's rescrambling is pretty brilliant, actually.Ron's rescrambling is pretty brilliant, actually.Jonathanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09371893596402673898noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118787671110902532005-06-14T17:21:00.000-05:002005-06-14T17:21:00.000-05:00I was going to suggest "Dreams of My Youth" as a t...I was going to suggest "Dreams of My Youth" as a title, to trick it out even more, but Ron beat me to it.<BR/><BR/>It is pretty bad. How did you do it?Stuart Greenhousehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01252575029228605034noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118785511714849662005-06-14T16:45:00.000-05:002005-06-14T16:45:00.000-05:00What of the dreams of my youth? I have worn these ...<B>What of the dreams of my youth? </B><BR/><BR/>I have worn these pants now for several days--<BR/>wallet in left rear, comb in right rear,<BR/>of my own devising, like someone cooking<BR/>so that the dinner will be prepared by six.<BR/>in shirt-pocket, at the far left side.<BR/>that cannot be transferred from pocket to pocket,<BR/>I empty the contents of my pants-pockets<BR/>of the pants I am now wearing:<BR/>on all four burners at once of a stove,<BR/>go in the trash. The fountain pen,<BR/>cell phone, change, and keychain distributed<BR/>Receipts, loose pieces of paper I no longer need<BR/>pants to pants? I ask myself as I leave the house,<BR/>and transfer each item to the appropriate pocket<BR/>This is not a metaphorical approximation of my life<BR/>like some meticulous, non-violent mugger--<BR/>but my life itself. And what of those things<BR/>careful not to let anything burn or get done too soon,<BR/>in the two front pockets according to a system<BR/>locking the door behind me.Ronhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09250950725876683923noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118778528846924342005-06-14T14:48:00.000-05:002005-06-14T14:48:00.000-05:00I need to turn in my card, but I'm not sure what's...I need to turn in my card, but I'm not sure what's on it.<BR/><BR/>I think I've got dual citizenship.Anthony Robinsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15344532091414013818noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118776754510348542005-06-14T14:19:00.000-05:002005-06-14T14:19:00.000-05:00I don't really believe in the SoQ vs. AG thing. I...I don't really believe in the SoQ vs. AG thing. I just read and write poems. I hold no membership cards. I don't want any. I like some of CKW's poems. Others I don't. The one you mentioned is my least favorite poem of his I have ever seen. It made me sick and it made me mad. It made the deaths of those people in Iraq seem almost equal to the deaths of birds, or less so because it is the news of them that distracts the speaker driving the car. I am sure Williams thought the poem would conjure a different response. Maybe not. But I did not like that poem.C. Dalehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17270640200393742125noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118775883835662492005-06-14T14:04:00.000-05:002005-06-14T14:04:00.000-05:00___Won't they throw you out of the School of Quiet...___<BR/><BR/>Won't they throw you out of the School of Quietude for saying that? You might as well turn in your membership card right now. I foresee an avant-garde future for C. Dale Young...Jonathanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09371893596402673898noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118775201276266732005-06-14T13:53:00.000-05:002005-06-14T13:53:00.000-05:00Hahahahahahahahaha! Yes, THAT bad. That poem mad...Hahahahahahahahaha! Yes, THAT bad. That poem made me ill, it was so bad.C. Dalehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17270640200393742125noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118774821197906362005-06-14T13:47:00.000-05:002005-06-14T13:47:00.000-05:00___To be that bad I'd have to be C.K Williams and ...___<BR/><BR/>To be that bad I'd have to be C.K Williams and run over a fliock of blackbirds in my car.Jonathanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09371893596402673898noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118774276055135582005-06-14T13:37:00.000-05:002005-06-14T13:37:00.000-05:00Yes, much worse, but still not bad enough. We des...Yes, much worse, but still not bad enough. We desire a badness so bad we can barely even speak of it here.C. Dalehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17270640200393742125noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118773312833647622005-06-14T13:21:00.000-05:002005-06-14T13:21:00.000-05:00No! You are on the wrong track... A really bad po...No! You are on the wrong track...<BR/> <BR/>A really bad poem starts with a meditation, while walking in the streets of a European city, on something small. It spreads out to encompass larger "issues", and ends up back on something concrete, usually with smoke wafting and the name of a bird, which inevitably circles, lands, or flies by. Often there are hints of "industrialism" and a woman.Laurelhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15813510279708043487noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118773137724631032005-06-14T13:18:00.000-05:002005-06-14T13:18:00.000-05:00yes, this one is much worse! :)yes, this one is much worse! :)shannahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17706867356078179503noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3759353.post-1118763982914954432005-06-14T10:46:00.000-05:002005-06-14T10:46:00.000-05:00shoot it to Poetry, my man!m.shoot it to <I>Poetry</I>, my man!<BR/><BR/>m.michaelhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00975839075714035618noreply@blogger.com