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Category Archives: Industrialization

JUNG ON JOYCE’S ULYSSES

08 Thursday Oct 2020

Posted by drdamiang in Author, Binary opposites, book, Books (the book), classical, Consciousness, cosmic, Creation, Creativity, existential, Fragmentation, Greek, Homeric, Humanity, Imagination, Industrialization, Intertextual, Language, literary allusive, metaphoric, metapoetic/metafictional, Modernism, mythical/mythological, Narrative, philosophical, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, psychological/psychoanalytical, Story, The book, Universe, Value and meaning, wordplay, writing

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Carl Jung, Consciousness, Creation, Creativity, Humanity, identity, James Joyce, Language, meaning, Metaphor, metapoetic, Modernism, philosophical, philosophy, poem, poetry, postmodern, power, psychological, Reader, Universe, wordplay, writing

JUNG ON JOYCE’S ULYSSES

he fell
into the maelstrom
or maybe he plunged

heroic, invulnerable as Achilles,
nothing about words
did he fear

and yet
the Sirens, his own Sirens,
when they sang to him, they tore
at his humanity
and Scylla and Charybdis
pulling at him
from opposite directions

threatened to tear
soul from self, author
from man

and so
to Homer

a beginning

and a time
before words

from there
fast forward
to a lost time
a divided time
a time
split from itself, savaged in the jaws of Empire
(no hope
of restoration on
the horizon)

but still
the words flow, the pages
begin to tower
up from the floor

flow like rivers mythological
(both Greek
and Irish

Liffey, Lethe

Shannon and
the Styx)

Oh little
Everyman
figure who
incapsulates us all

embodies our
broken, fragmented
common
humanity

swept aside
by tide
of the times

bobbing in an ocean of
self-
generating words

wine-dark empty, kenning free

this is not
the poetry that
proclaimed a civilization

every
moment iconic, as
if tempered bronze

no
this is the dance that goes
around and
around in
symbolic circles

this is the dance
of the cosmos

sleeping, dreaming, forgetting
emptying itself

until
not a word
not
a whisper

nothing speaks
beyond itself

nothing
says everything

so might as well
cross
every horizon
write
the life
to be
endured
forever

write until
there is no more space
to fill

write
the light
write the shadow

eighteen chapters, seven
hundred pages

and still there is space
place for more

Odysseus navigating the Mediterranean
sailing round in circles, prisoner
of conscience, convenience,
prisoner of love, of
the dark arts, by
virtue of
offense to Poseidon
extreme political prisoner

the words
hounding him
every step
of the way

on the return to Penelope
that will never
happen
can never happen

Penelope long gone
unfaithful to the core

****

no moment where
in supreme Catholicity
the cosmos
comes together

sub specie aeternitate
where it
all supremely means

maybe
an echo though

things seem silent but
are echoing out to infinity

everything so tired, outworn,
exhausted,
overdetermined

the mirror
in which we
first
saw things, composed
the image of the self

shattered
frozen in the moment
of shards scattering, pieces falling,

a razor-
sharp rainbow of a
zillion fragments

as images of creation
go
pretty
explosive
and extreme

no
arc of redemption, today at least,
for our great creator

driven
beyond all
limits

urged
to go demiurge

and this
our answer to an expanding universe
to the smoothness of steel
sharpening
all new technology

to
which

what dare the soul, overawed, say

how might it
speak truth to
final objectivity, absolute
science of meaning?

resist
the building of
such binaries as will

house
Western consciousness
in such
prisons of delight?

ACHTUNG FRANKFURT

13 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by drdamiang in Academic, Apocalypse, apocalyptic, art, Author, Capitalism, Censorship, Commercialization, Consciousness, Control, Counter culture, Democracy, digital age, Dumbing down, Fascism, Fragmentation, Freedom, historical, History, Humanity, Industrialization, Intellectual, intense, Intertextual, Language, loss, media, Neoliberalism, Nightmare, philosophical, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, political, Politics of poetry/writing/Literature, postmodern, Poststructuralism, power, Propaganda, Reader, Reality?, Repression, Revolution, Revolutionary, social comment, Subversion, The future, Thinking, transformation, Truth, Twilight zone, utopia/dystopia, Value and meaning, Vision, writing

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apocalyptic, art, Capitalism, Censorship, Consciousness, Control, Critical Theory, Deleuze, Ending, Fascism, Frankfurt School, Humanity, identity, liberation, loss, media, Metaphysical, mythology, Nazi, philosophy, poem, poetry, postmodern, poststructuralist, power, psychological, radical. left, Reader, transformation, Twist in the tail, value, writing

ACHTUNG FRANKFURT
“the mapping of countries yet to come”
Gilles Deleuze

achtung Frankfurt
achtung Frankfurt

stuff you thought
locked inside that box
beginning to ooze out

thick
as instant pudding
thick as
vanilla blancmange

overloading all
your circuits
rewiring your smart
keen rational mind
down
dial adding
minus one

Oh it’s hardly
day of judgement
hardly battle
of the gods
as gotterdammerungs go
it’s quite pleasant really
big brother
without the brother
somebody
got talent
without the song

all in all
it’s mountainous
the wisdom here to
be heard
and seen

is putting your chess game
off the scale
general knowledge
through the roof

your consciousness
we take
a piece each day
teleport away way
nothing too
apocalyptic, though

there are torches
in the street

DRIVE THROUGH

01 Tuesday Oct 2019

Posted by drdamiang in Commercial, Commercialization, Counter culture, Creativity, Dionysian, Dream, Dystopia, Food cuisine, Humanity, identity, Imagination, Industrialization, Intertextual, Kitsch, Mechanistic, Neoliberalism, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Politics of poetry/writing/Literature, popcultural, postmodern, rock music, satire, THE BEATLES, The Beatles, The future, Uncategorized, utopia/dystopia, Value and meaning

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Capitalism, commercialism, consumer society, Counter culture, dream time, fast food, poem, poetry, satire, THE BEATLES

DRIVE THROUGH
“he hadn’t noticed
that the lights had changed”

life is
fast food

life is
a drive
through

life is
man
dressed like
a machine
flipping
a burger

was
meditating on this

when
clock stopped
and I just could
not get it
started again

upon which note
a philosopher of note
stepped
up to
the plate

pitched up to
give me time’s
brief history and
footnote to Plato

having reassured him
that from this inconsequential event
I did not, could not,
infer
time
was
dead
(albeit in a poem)

at which he gave me
that graven-faced look
(like Medusa
had set
eyes on him)
freezing all his ideas
into books of stone

ah, but
we will always
have the
dream time

to escape
contingencies of concrete:
not the
kiddy meal
dream time of
Wonka sweet rainbow
sprinkle and
sugar sparkle

everything in
primaries or pastels
creamy
or soft-centered

no, here I’m contemplating
the real Lennon-McCartney McCoy
of yellow Lucy submarine
in the sky
with diamonds and
a strawberry walrus

day in
the life

revolution number
nine
kind
of thing

DOWN TO

27 Saturday Jul 2019

Posted by drdamiang in art, Creation, Creativity, Dark and light, Deconstruction, Dumbing down, Ending, erotic, existential, Expressionist, Fiction, Homonym, Imagination, Industrialization, intense, Intertextual, Lost, metapoetic/metafictional, Other, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Politics of poetry/writing/Literature, postmodern, Reader, Semiotic, Sexual, Technology, utopia/dystopia, Value and meaning, Wasteland, woman, Woman, writing

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Tags

alienation, Apollo 13, art, charcoal, industrial, metafictional, metapoetic, poem, poetry, punning, Reader, sex, writing

DOWN TO

someone charcoaled
my picture
of the world

after which
things quickly
Went retrograde

found myself Apollo
thirteening through
industrial gray atmosphere
trying to
get back

thinking
if I flame out
here it’s all down to
my failure to exorcise what
they call magical thinking

this you and I discussed
at length in bed
which was strange in itself
you being a
character in
my novel

or me in yours

who is exactly in
whose head
difficult to negotiate
when
speaking of re-entry
couldn’t be
less metaphoric

your bed, my bed,
our bed

so full of charcoal
easy and hard (as
homonym would
have it) not to
exaggerate or
simply lie in it

down to you
lover, reader
to
ménage with us
masterfully, mistressfully
help us out of this mess

FACTORY WAS

07 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by drdamiang in Dream, Industrialization, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, political, Politics of poetry/writing/Literature, Uncategorized

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industry, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

factory was a dream
like smoke, like cloud
it dissolved, did evaporate

wistful how the future we dream
is turned on a denouement
even as we wake
(nothing sharper than shards
of daylight
nothing harder
to wish away)

FACTORY WAS

05 Tuesday Feb 2019

Posted by drdamiang in Industrialization, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Tags

poetry, satire

factory was a dream
like smoke, like cloud
it dissolved, did evaporate

wistful how the future we dream
is turned on a denouement
even as we wake
(nothing sharper than shards
of daylight
nothing harder
to wish away)

SCALE INDUSTRIAL

04 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by drdamiang in Industrialization, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

SCALE INDUSTRIAL

I scuttle across the intersection
like a arthritic crab thing

somewhere up there
blotted out by daylight
the monstrous beauty
of the Crab Nebula

this not occurring to me
until I have safely crossed

the stream of constant lethal metal
traffic having resumed its interrupted
daily course

comes to me
then, shuffling before
the specter of life and
death on scale industrial

strikes me
(forgive the pun from
one dodging work for
much of the morning)
that between
day and night, the latter
more real

between dream and
real the
latter so infinitely
less eternal.

THIS NIGHT THIS DAY

02 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by drdamiang in British, Consciousness, cosmic, Dark and light, Dystopia, ENGLAND, Industrialization, Intertextual, Neoliberalism, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, political, Politics of poetry/writing/Literature, postmodern, Professorial, psychological/psychoanalytical, Revolution, Revolutionary, science, social comment, The 70s, the city, Uncategorized, Unity, Universe, University, utopia/dystopia, Value and meaning

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poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, Universe

THE NIGHT THIS DAY

right now
the Universe is
experiencing
runaway inflation

lucky we got electricity
so no longer need
to gaslight our lives as
if it were a street

under these orange sodium
fuzz-balls of light

I stagger home a
little drunk

I say home
but these are

University flats built on
the very spot where Engels
hosted Marx
there is

a plaque

still something Victorian in the air
and the ghosts of those
two old dynamos
worshipped, hated there

when those
graves were dug, they thought “finally”
but let’s go deeper if needs be
err of the side of safety

the high-rise shapes of the
Institute of Technology

North of
England can get so cold

these words
coughed, fizzed,
spluttered

shame
there is no flame
cold
as a gaunt Cathedral

let’s not talk architecture
design so removed
from the night this day

MAY DAY

01 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by drdamiang in Android, apocalyptic, Artificial intelligence, British, Capitalism, Dystopia, ENGLAND, Humanity, Industrialization, Mechanistic, Neoliberalism, Poem, poetry, Poetry, power, Revolution, social comment, Technology, The future, Uncategorized

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MAY DAY

May Day
May Day
send as many Morse
code messages
you like

the workers
will have
their
way

you can
try to
exclude them
try to
deny
robot them
out with state-
of-the-art AI

but a man needs
his bread, and
woman too, and child

no Blake’s
Jerusalem perhaps
but a place to
thrive

until the machine
goes genocide
as it
always will.

MAGIC CARPET

26 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by drdamiang in Industrialization, ironical/comic, Poem, poetry, psychological/psychoanalytical, Technology

≈ Leave a comment

Freud
is
alighting from
a steam train
at Saltzburg station

a minute ago
it was chuffing in

to meet him
there is Jung

who came by
horse-drawn carriage or
perhaps, magic
carpet.

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