Tags
Academic, Intellectual, poem, poetry, poststructuralist, writing
APORIA IN 3D (OR SHOULD
IT NOT, IN FACT BE AN “AGON”?)
you
with your
Deleuze
me with my
Derrida
over the years we
have
had our debates
serious
Différances
03 Monday Apr 2023
Posted absurdism, Academic, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Poststructuralism, Professorial, Uncategorized
inTags
Academic, Intellectual, poem, poetry, poststructuralist, writing
APORIA IN 3D (OR SHOULD
IT NOT, IN FACT BE AN “AGON”?)
you
with your
Deleuze
me with my
Derrida
over the years we
have
had our debates
serious
Différances
21 Tuesday Jun 2022
Posted absurdism, Academic, Alternate universe, Capitalism, Censorship, Chaos, Colonialism, Commercialization, Control, Counter culture, Decolonization, Deconstruction, Democracy, Destruction, Dumbing down, Dystopia, Empire, Ending, Fascism, Freedom, glamour, Heavy irony, historical, History, Holocaust, Humanity, hypocrisy, identity, Imagination, Industrialization, Intellectual, intense, Intertextual, Language, literary allusive, Lunacy/madness, Madness, Mechanistic, Mirror, Misrecognition, Moral fable, Neoliberalism, Nightmare, Nonsense, Nuclear, Order, Parable, Parallel universe, Patriarchy, philosophical, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, political, Politics of poetry/writing/Literature, popcultural, Postcolonial, postmodern, Poststructuralism, power, Professorial, Propaganda, Reality?, Repression, satire, Semiotic, social comment, Subversion, surrealism, Tabloid, Technology, The future, The World, Thinking, Topical, transformation, TV, Twilight zone, Twist in the tail, Unconscious, utopia/dystopia, Value and meaning, War, Wasteland, wordplay
inTags
Alice in Wonderland, Alice through the Looking glass, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, postmodern, satire, War
THE ALICE POEMS
ALICE THROUGH THE LAPTOP
look into my laptop
little girl
little girl
get past all the passwords
break
the launch codes
yes
look into look deep down into
through all the smoke through
all the mirrors
smoke thick as
that spiralling from
a Nazi chimney
Nazis now our newest
sweetest friends
this
the virus said
the virus told her
where upon
caterpillar doubled down
reiterated
said
girl who does not see past the Guy Fawkes treacle
of deep conspiracy
will never get
to be butterfly
look deep
look deep
voice already fading
across the centuries
look and
climb aboard
my Trojan horse
****
Oh the conspiracy
conspiracy obligatory
they will deny it
these denizens of
think tanks
they will say it was all
just a whim
just
an afterthought
this the story Alice heard
so many times must have
stuck in her brain somewhere
heard
that Amanda creature screech
until her
ears did sing
a vision of a dream upon a hill, a sort of
lesser sugar candy mountain, less
imaginative
more bourgeois
where everyone can
come gather, Professor Habermas,
and flaunt
their new hairstyles
kind of thing
no astute disembodied Cheshire cat
could think
(who no one listens to — what good
talking head when
not on television?)
creature to scratch the eyes out of
your media moguls and
their true pontiffs and
pontificates
Professors and pseudo-
intellectuals elected by
Holy See
whose great infallibility is
to go with the flow, deliver all sainthoods and
catalogues of miracles
blinded by the spotlights as they try to
focus the camera
hunting the Jabberwock, the Hunter
or the Snark
crack cocaine aplenty for whosoever doth find them
or lead the way to the
academy of war
where one might
bone up on one’s Clausewitz
refresh ones
hand
to hand
with brothers
dumb and (grade) dee
STEP THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS AND DO BELIEVE
and the flowers
persisted in asking Alice
if she did not have
a brand name
confusing her
with an Amanda
whoever that might be
round the back of the factory
where
they manufacture all
the bread in Wonderland
the brains of the little children
from somewhere forgettable
out there
were being ground into
a nutritious paste
by a mad Hibernian monster priest
and all this while
the Hatter and his
comrades in arms
went gallivanting across
the Steppes
they had hoped to do
what had
never, ever been done before,
to have tea in the
very lair of the Jabberwock, with
the Walrus, the Carpenter
and every little tiny Oyster mate
who had
enlisted for this glorious escapade
to finally free
the blood red Queen
that a golden age of
murder do begin
and we
warm and safe in our
shrinking beds
might get
by dispatch, each
an Alamo hat
made of genuine Cheshire Cat skin
sewn in a
sweatshop on the sands
of Mars
if this
sound crazy my dears
my little dears
step through the looking glass
and do believe
20 Tuesday Oct 2020
Posted Author, Chaos, Dionysian, Humanity, identity, Imagination, Intellectual, Intertextual, literary allusive, metapoetic/metafictional, mythical/mythological, Nietzschean, Nonlinear, philosophical, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, postmodern, Poststructuralism, Professorial, Reader, Reality?, The ocean, The ocean, the sea, the sea, Universe, Value and meaning, Water, water, wordplay, writing
inTags
California, eternal recurrence, Golden Gate Bridge, Humanity, identity, Nietzsche, philosophical, poem, poetry, Reader, wordplay, writing
TELL MYSELF
tell myself I am
right hand writing the left hand
MC Escher postmodern
don’t
know what
I’m doing
and you scream at me
I’m not poetry just
trajectory
(we all so sexually underutilized)
sat next to a dead German professor on some
park bench and him saying
we got to be glad to
be back and
nothing so Apollonian
raw desire, unfiltered, will
not put the chaos in it
but
try to bridge
try to span
and here I am now spanning
the mist above the sea
between Oakland and Frisco
my heart at
this moment pure California
a humongous bridge
a
suspension bridge
a Golden Gate Bridge
between the real and the imaginary
as if you
reader I’m trying to
connect with, build
my bridge to
are not imaginary
hanging over dark, dark ocean
somewhere between the ordinary and
the unreal
what a dialectic that must be
I write
you
in your absence so differently
03 Sunday May 2020
Posted Academic, Bureaucracy, identity, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Politics of poetry/writing/Literature, Professorial, Uncategorized
inTags
TAXIDERMY
they love
classification
it is
in their
DNA
the marrow
of their bones
myself I wonder
how they
would classify me
classify
themselves
for if I were
a true taxonomist
(sorry, nearly
a Sigmund slip,
nearly said
“taxidermist”)
I would take all
their measurements
introspect them utterly
then find
some seat
in the back row
some
shelf behind
the rest
stick them there, give
them pride of place,
their wings
not spread, but
as if
could not
possibly flap
28 Sunday Jul 2019
Posted Deconstruction, Poem, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, postmodern, Poststructuralism, Professorial, Semiotic, The book, Uncategorized, wordplay, writing
inTags
Language, meaning, Metaphor, metapoetic, philosophical, poem, poetry, postmodern, poststructuralist, wordplay, writing
THE OTHER JACQUES
there is
aphilosophical
elephantin the
roombigger than
a Dali rhinoceros
or a
kangaroobut
not ahorse in sight
outside the
textno taxonomy
to speak of
allthis
difference
to arrest
24 Wednesday Apr 2019
Posted Nonlinear, Paradox, paradoxical, philosophical, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Professorial, Questions, Reality?, science, Universe, University
inTags
objectivity, philosophy, poem, poetry, quantum, science, University
PYRAMID FALLS DOWN
you call it “objectivity” but
in effect you are torturing the life out of thingsyopu scrawl an equation on a board not with a chalkstick
but an icicyle
sending the Universe into grotesque
wave-collapse from sheer exasperationsee: on it way, a telex it is sending courtesy
of an ancient relay system in a neighbourhood spiral galaxyinforming whoever does not deign to lend an ear that
that it has a serious bone to pick with you
and your crew, whole lot, entire bunch of youwho as you stand present
something much akin to a perfect random samplebut enough of this mathematical exposition
let me, in all poetic narcissism, get round
to talking about mehear me self-mythologize as I concoct a narrative
in which I slew the philosopher who seriously confounded me
skewered me on a dilemma (classic knight fork
if you think chess metaphor), trapped me in a paradox
whose nature seemed to me
to be hoplessly insolubleOh, there I was hoping I would grow up
with that kind of mindthe one that is not all too obviously out of place
in the ivied colonades (if they still have them)
of a universitytore a page out of the one that loomed up imperiously
at the top of the beanstalkthinkers standing on the shoulders of giants but
then the pyramid falls down
04 Monday Jun 2018
Posted Academic, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Professorial, Uncategorized, writing
inENGLISH LEATHER
of course there is no depth,
what were you expecting,the beauty lies in the trite,
in the facility of its conceptionand so
awesome it is
contriving a sculpture of
airmore sublime than ice, than
bone or marble
so much better
(he applauds the
artifice —
sublime
as it gets: our
Professor of Poetry
cap for the ages, gloves
of lined
leather
02 Saturday Jun 2018
Posted 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
inTHE NIGHT THIS DAY
right now
the Universe is
experiencing
runaway inflationlucky we got electricity
so no longer need
to gaslight our lives as
if it were a streetunder these orange sodium
fuzz-balls of lightI stagger home a
little drunkI say home
but these areUniversity flats built on
the very spot where Engels
hosted Marx
there isa plaque
still something Victorian in the air
and the ghosts of those
two old dynamos
worshipped, hated therewhen those
graves were dug, they thought “finally”
but let’s go deeper if needs be
err of the side of safetythe high-rise shapes of the
Institute of TechnologyNorth of
England can get so coldthese words
coughed, fizzed,
splutteredshame
there is no flame
cold
as a gaunt Cathedrallet’s not talk architecture
design so removed
from the night this day
18 Thursday Aug 2016
Posted Academic, CAPE TOWN, Poem, Poet, poetry, Professorial, satire, South African, wordplay, writing
inSporus, the parrot poet professor (Pope of poets)
sat
on his perch
beneath a
famous mountain
somewhere
in the Southern
Hemisphere
partaking of his breakfast pumpkin seed.
08 Saturday Aug 2015
hitherto unacknowledged,
I am poetry’s
legislative function
the Professor told us
standing before the white board
too much
white space
in that room