1. My Music Teacher – 1973
My music teacher is
Jack Body. He’s asked us
all – one by one – to come
up the front and press
our fingers to the ivories.
The boring kids are hesitant,
The bad kids saunter and squint,
The sporty kids are all embarrassment.
I cover 6 notes
Major and Minor
Black and white.
Jack looks up quick, walks forward,
‘what did you just do?’
2. I was a middle aged Zombie
I was a middle aged zombie a while back
carried my crutches all day on my back
with my white contact lenses
and golden syrup blood
talking movies with the other zombie’s
braking for lunch
The Heroine and her Shining axe
that matches Jack’s axe
chopping down doors
with Kubricks love -
I was a middle aged zombie
it was awesome fun
I’ve never worked so hard for love
I got to lie
on a pile
of dead zombies
my leg left leaning against the bus
while the Heroine stood above me
with her Shining axe -
the golden syrup blood encrusting
I’ve never worked so hard for love
I was a middle aged zombie and I’d do again
in a minute although I’d take a spare pair
of trousers cos golden syrup drying in one’s
pants isnt the most pleasant
feeling – but i did it for the love
of movies we all love -
like a Clockwork robot
named Hal and Barry Lyndon’s
I do it again in a minute
I’d do it for the love
of the movies
we all love.
Since I had a marvelous response last week, here is another poem by Rob Lamb of The GumTree Press. More Rob! If you haven’t done so, please check out his beautiful publications! You can also view some letterpres poetry by Jenny Powell at the press’ facebook page.
And as always, please click on the icon below to view even more Tuesday Poetry.
Capped and gapped, laid down,
on the dirty alleys ground
‘it’s the spaces between –
the notes not played’ –
‘it’s not what you say –
it’s how it’s sayed -
and those other musical
titbits you keep in your
pocket with your outfit.
And your chops are a white boys –
no Gatemouth here, no Miles –
just a skinny white junkie boy
who can blow so sad . . .
Oh Chet – play me something
new ! . . . A drug deal gone bad
your front teeth kicked out -
Laying there gold capped on the ground, a little worn down
aahh Chet – those teeth were the foundation of your sound!
for sure your embrochure!
but your habit was catching up and now old Chet’s teeth are
lying down on the ground and old Chet – he’s coming down,
poor Chet –
lost his teeth, his health,
his ear, for fear,
and losing his
I love the smell of fresh ink; I love the feel of paper; I love the weight, the downward pressure of a book when I suspend it from my hands. Perhaps as a digital writer I feel my relationship to paper more keenly since I am aware of this strange distance from my body to cyberspace’s ephemeral electrons and microchips. So it was wonderful to finally meet Rob Lamb, poet and printer who runs The Gumtree Press, one of the few surviving letterpress outfits in New Zealand. Rob is old schooled trained and his books are testament to his keen detail and aesthetic craftmanship. Together with bookbinder, David Stedman of DutyBound, Rob forms a trinity – printer, binder and poet – that recalls the heritage of collaboration with the artistic process. It is unfortunate that with the advent of ebooks, writers and would-be writers can cloister themselves and lose sight of the systematic actions which are critical to the printed page’s materiality.
Likewise as an accomplished poet, Rob’s works infer a raw tactility that words themselves create a physicality beyond their ink. I was fortunate to hold Rob’s own book, A New Zealot on Saturday (“Don’t drool on it!” he said), which exists in my mind as a paragon of eventualisation. Through letterpress, poetry is THE process. Rob’s poetry is delightfully visual which marries well with the poetry of letterpress. I’d certainly suggest that Rob’s creativity as poet and printer, deserve a strong place in our literary consciousness. Be sure to check out The Gumtree Press‘ website and facebook page.
I made the smooth transition from Auckland to Dunedin last Monday and with the transformation of scenery comes a fresh desire to read new poets. I’m a little on the backfoot, still unpacking and a little disorganised so no poem for this week. If anyone has suggestions for must-read books (including your own), please advise!
ORM is sequential poem that uses space and memory to generate imagined text. Inspired by bpNichol and Ladislav Nebeský, ORM becomes an experiment in liguistic evolution whereby a seed or genesis word form shifts, splits and splices to produce muiltple units of meaning. Want to see the poem? Well, thanks to Rob Lamb from The Gumtree Press ORM will be printed in a beautiful letterpress book.
I am fascinated how letterpress produces a visable synergy of machine and poetry that is otherwise hidden in modern digital printing. Rob’s photo captures beautifully the marriage of word and real world technology. My question is whether ORM will become a robotic interface in the printing process. I hope so. As Andy Warhol once said, “I want to be a machine.”
Spontaneous Facebook Poem by (in order of appearence) Ross Sélavy Brighton, Orchid Tierney, Bernie Coleman, Miriam Larsen-Barr, Genevieve McClean, Kim Lowe, Sarah Turnbull, Zanni Yeah.
Welcome back Tuesday Poem whanau.
Posted in Tuesday Poem
Rem Magazine Vol 2 December 2011 is now online at http://remmagazine.net/sieverts-issues/ and available for purchase here at Lulu in colour and in black/white. This issue features the works of Rosaire Appel, Carlyle Baker, Miriam Barr, Eleanor Leonne Bennett, John M. Bennett, Michael Berton, John Bucklow, Valentina Cano, Stephanie Christie, Barnaby Dromgool, Raymond Farr, Carl James Grindley, Marco Giovenale, Mariangela Guatteri, Kristina Hard, Amelia Harris, Jeffrey Holman, Kristina Jenson, Matt Margo, Joseph Musso, Vaughan Rapatahana, David Prescott-Steed, Massimo Sanelli, Fabio Sassi, Andrew Topel, Nico Vassilakis, Changming Yuan.
I was going through my computer folders and I rediscovered this found poem hidden amongst my asemic works. I guess the failure of the search engine to recognise its function sufficiently amused me at the time.
Not strictly untitled, this diagrammed asemic work is based on a poem I wrote earlier today. However I not sure whether I want to include the poem in this post. I like the idea of suspending this piece in a non-referential abyss.
Posted in Tuesday Poem