Poems and poetry as experiential art experiments, created by a dedicated core, sparking consciousness river, word slurry. A harvest of poems and creative thought from a creative collective cadre.
[A lead singer leads the song and the chorus responds with echos or exclamations.
After the third verse, different singers improvise the lead vocal, and when everybody has had a turn and the assembly is satisfied, the first two verses are repeated with a long ritardando at the end.
Chords are major I-IV-V-ii in familiar gospel style, played by everybody who has an instrument.
Dancing is encouraged.]
Oh, I got time. (I got the time.)
Yes, I got time. (I got the time.)
Now, I got time (I got the time.)
To do what I love, (Do what you love!)
Do what I want, (What you want!)
Do what I need. (What you need!)
Yes, I got time. (I got the time.)
I got time. (Hallelu!)
There was a time (Once was a time)
I didn’t see (Lord have mercy!)
That I had time (Yes, yes!)
Thought time had me. (Mm-mm!)
But gradually (Praise the Lord!)
I found I’m free, (Hallelujah!)
And I got time. (I got the time)
Yes, I got time. (I got the time!)
To read to my daughter
To drink a little water
To see a river otter
To read Harry Potter
To save a quarter
To drink some porter
I got time. (I got the time!)
Yes, I got time. (I got the time!)
To do my study.
To see my buddy.
To get real muddy.
Even get bloody,
Go down in the floody
Play with Silly Putty.
I got time. (I got the time!)
Yes, I got time. (I got the time!)
To answer my mail
To wag my tail
Fix the hole in the pail
Eat dino-kale
Get hit by hail
Get old and frail
I got time. (I got the time!)
Yes, I got time. (I got the time!)
[This goes on for some time with different singers all taking turns at these listing verses
wherein six lines all rhyme ending with the refrain “I got time…”
The lines should come rapidly, spontaneously, sloppily and joyously in the surrendering spirit of improvisation.
More potential verses are shown toward the bottom of this post.]
that there was light inside the innermost box only the raven could see red as black as the sea & in the northwest great carved poles with eyes & beaver faces & tails & ravens & eagles stand in front of rectangular wooden houses made from trees & my sweet traveling companion gave me a carved raven box full of Haida stories.
For me, this article from writersrelief.com wasn't eye-opening. When we talk about musicians who are also known as poets, who doesn't think of Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell (misspelled in the article) and John Lennon. Jim Morrison called himself "American Poet," though my personal bent is much stronger toward Patti Smith (right) and Tom Waits. But I have even greater attention these days for poet/musicians like Mark Growden and Paul McNees, among the many who are not as famous as their talent warrants.
Though not enlightening, I found the Writer's Relief article inspiring. It reminded me how adjacent the countries of poetry and music are and how extensive and blurred the border between.
This week, write a song. Consider submitting in audio format or with written notes about the sound and style of your song. And consider increasing the attention you give to the sounds of the words you choose.
[keywords: song, poem, your name]
Thursday, June 21, 2012
VACANT~
a tribute to “Growing Home” a Chicago inner city urban farm
no tea or coffee naked fixtures no bulbs toe torn linoleum shadows removed from closets echoes stuck in stairwell white plastic covered doorbell entryway long uncrossed dust settled untasted paled green wall untouched no fingerprint evidence left
neighbor points her cane & says “ It’s a shame to see an empty house like that that someone could live in”.
...house also means the seating or the audience in a theater; house also relates to the 12 divisions of the celestial sphere; house also means a gambling establishment; house can also refer to the body; house is also a verb.
If I could prompt you
I'd say and I'd ask and I'd sit
at your feet, I'd not implore
but I would shed a tear
that contains all the Love
Unrequited love
A love that waits
The love impeded
and Love Unstained
Con brio
Know there's a time
It's a time and a place
Where there's no longer a race
Or any bindings
No sweepings away
Or saying what's Nay
No findings of fault
Just form or Gestalt
Meno mosso
That tear-like magic elixir
Here to soften Hearts and clear the Eyes
~ darkened with places once passed ~
~ whetted by songs not sung ~
~ covered and caught in webs left hanging ~
~ made fearful for being held back ~
It is a sacred thirst that calls for This
Drink This Remedy
"Unfettered"
Adagio
Know there's a time
It's a time and a place
Where there's no longer a race
Or any bindings
No sweepings away
Or saying what's Nay
No findings of fault
Just free-form or Gestalt
Con calore
Imagine what freed might now come
The ribs lungs rise and fall in stride
Tightness finds its ease shoulders
Glide drop their burdens dissolving
Arms disarmed fingers spreading
Spine fluid lending an ear
Down to the toes circulating
[Cadenza]
Senza interruzione
I amme and you are me and you are you and I am you
and you are me and I am me and I am you and you are you
please let this harmony melt away everything that is not you
and is not me and is not free and is not clearly the LOVE of We
In surf green waters of answerless days beyond mile limits offshore LTDs destroy mainland radio waves raise bus fares amidst sleazy affairs land & take-off in seaplanes drop off new loads of ten keyers & deet to kill the skeeters.
Where the pale blue wren self-sure ways wet toed stands in sea palm sways?
Not here, not now when our alphabet is missing its third letter postmarked yesterday.
Question: How do you feel part of the earth, the earth as alive? What rejuvenates you in this?
Answer:
When I think about how the Earth is alive, and how dream and revery take me out
of my smallbuzzing brain into the larger aliveness, I think about a dream I had
a long while ago that stays with me, about flying. In a way, the dream feels
like earth aliveness in that it's like I'm in a bird body. I see starkly down
into the land that's going by. I feel the air buoying my body and also whizzing
past my beak. It's exhilarating. I am keenly aware of the trees, I see/sense
their large green beings far out from their trunks and limbs. Also, my sense of
"I"-ness is different than in my waking human body. It's almost as if when I put my attention to something, I go down into it, into its depth and also
see/sense from its point of view. Every part of the aliveness has a different
signature/feel/way of see/sensing. --I also get this feeling sometimes while
gardening, tuning into a plant, I feel it's ?aura? ?energy body? ?present
momentness?, also from its being, its aliveness/wholeness.-- In the fragment of
the dream of flying, I go down to sit/sense/rest am in a large tree, inside of
its greenness, both in body and in that feltsense extending beyond the tree
body form. That's it, like many
dreams, it's not a story, it's just a moment that stays, that felt sense, that
different way of being. When I think of your question about how it feels to relate
with the larger Earth, that's what arrives, these bird-being tree-present senses
and feelings. In good, whole moments of waking, I also feel inklings of this.
And when I arrive/arise/realize that's where I am, I feel renewed, deepened,
fresh, alive. Something else, almost submerged, underneath, but that is
tingling and alive, emerges. My senses widen. I
know I am whole while also being dissolved/merged/thrummed/extended into
everything else, and that too feels whole.
It can be short, it can be abtuse, it cannot ever have a caboose (or a chandelier). No candles or crutches, no chimpanzee. What will we do without the letter C?
Poets, please add three labels: "poem" "letter" "[poet's moniker]"
speaking poem amongst the din what was seen remains non specific words
tires spinning metal stretch across the bay heavy heart unburdening without record
this poem naked artless true heart listening within its own measure
nonetheless tasting moments otherwise melancholia undeniable sated
shadowed hard to know what dance all things connected underbelly back body
what contact what continuity touching tenderness speaking unspoken
the span the span the span the span all-is-well-all-is-well-all-is-well-all-is-well
eventual arrival the side yet reached
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is—
I hold it towards you.
John Keats
Write about your hand "capable of earnest grasping" or your hand dealt or going back in time to shake John's hand or the last hand you held or the last hand held out to you, just not one hand clapping
4. Secret doors in bookcases.
Pick a wall in your home, a book case or shelf, and write a poem describing the
life of the beings who come and go through the secret access door of that
shelf, which actually slides back to reveal... what? Use concrete words and
full senses to make it real for us...
Music and Poetry, close relatives, if not siblings, share so much. Both rest in the hands and hearts of humans in numerous kinds of relationships. They are both scores at times, as Music is written and Poetry is written and then both are expressed or 'read' from those scores such that Original Breath of their Emergence may be again tasted.
This prompt is an invitation to explore ways of notating your poetry score such that your score has the benefit of noted tempo (timing), dynamics (loudness), emotionality (quality of feeling) for the reader and for the possible speaker of your written word.
Here's some direction, if you wish: look up some the musical terms on the Wikipedia sites (see below) to stir inspiration in whatever way you'd like your 'musicality' to be expressed in your poetry. There was a time when composers only had their notations to convey all the other aspects of their music than simply the notes on the page.
A page of the heart-shaped manuscript by Baude Cordier, showing a rhythmically complex piece of ars subtilior. ~ Notes from Wikipedia: "Coloration of single notes could also be used to override rules of
perfection/imperfection that would otherwise have been called for. The
use of red notation flourished in the so-called ars subtilior. Perhaps the most famous example is a heart shaped manuscript by Baude Cordier, which uses the notation for its symbolic effect to set down a line of music all in red within the larger heart."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tempo
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dynamics_%28music%29
Or the more general Glossary of musical terminology
