Don’t forget….
SPEAK tonight!!!!!
No theme, since no one was there last time to help pick new ones…so you’re home free tonight.
And a warning: if no one shows up tonight? I’m seriously thinking about shutting the series down.
So there.
Author Archives: Tony Brown
About Tony Brown
from a prompt by pswordwoman
a short poem of no more than twelve lines, reflecting who you were at eighteen.
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Eighteen
Eighteen is a gate. Nineteen
is a shadow. Twenty is a locked
door. Twenty-one is a blank
wall. I’m no different from anyone else
at eighteen: certain that I’m different
from everyone else, certain that
music is a torch, certain that fucking
and doping are some kind of key, and
hopeful as hell
that a pen in the hand will work as well
as dynamite.
The Return of Zero Point Zero
Read The Zero Point Zero Regular Coulmn!
It’s better than poetry!
After a year of being away from it, I’ve revived the Zero Point Zero column.
When Ryk, Sou, and Victor started their gotpoetry columns, it stopped (at last) the nagging feelings of guilt I had had since I walked away in late 2004. I was burned out at the time; didn’t think I could keep going with it and was feeling like I had stopped doing a good job.
It was the right decision, but as a good Catholic boy, I still felt guilty.
I’m coming back to it now from a different angle. First off, it’s going to be a monthly column (a weekly one was insane — what the hell was i thinking I was doing back then?). Second, I’m bringing the focus back on to my personal proccess — a monthly examination of how I approach the creative process on a single poem. I expect it will also lead me to consider more general issues. I’m already thinking of an extended thesis on the relative benefits of Scotch and Bourbon whiskeys for writing two-fisted poems o’ masculine despair a la Hemingway.
Some of the old examination of the scene, of the place of poetry in the community, etc., I think is being handled far more thoughtfully in Victor’s column than it ever was in mine. I’m going to stick to what i do best — navel-gazing introspection and existential dread as expressed through ruthless self-critical recrimination.
It’s gonna be fun, and I hope you keep reading us all.
Read How to Succeed as a Failing Writer!
It’s better than success!
Read Chrysanthemum – a serial novel!
Sea Sponge!
Read Bilbio – Other Bible Stories!
It starts in the Old Testament, and evolves from there…
In addition to the monthlies, there are also two more sporadic columns by Paul David Mena on the art of haiku and a generous helping of the wit and wisdom of Joe Fusco, the Central Massachusetts area’s favorite poetic supermarket manager.
Read Got Haiku? – the Regular Column!
Because 17 syllables are over rated!
Read Aisle 9 – the Regular Coulmn!
Because retail has killed lesser men!
It’s gonna be fun, and I hope you keep reading us all.
I know I speak for all of us when I say that I am forever grateful to John Powers and gotpoetry.com for putting up with me, and with putting up all of us in the first place. gotpoetry.com is a great resource that can become so much more if the community as a whole gets into using it. I’d like to see that happen; I’d like to think these columns are a way of making it an even more valuable Web destination for us all.
too good to pass up
From currently way too many people to count:
Let me make you a Top 5 list. Post a topic, list, category, whatever, in the comments, and I’ll post the top 5 according to me in the comments. Then post this offer in your own journal.
(PS: Taking off shortly, so it may take a bit)
you have a sense it’ll be a good week
when you get your Stooges dose to open the week on a Monday morning: “Raw Power” followed by “Gimme Danger.”
This station, by the way, is called Punk 45 Radio, and is coming through iTunes via http://www.radiopower.org.
I heard “Borstal Breakout” earlier, and Sham 69’s “If The Kids Are United…”
I’ll get off the nostalgia kick shortly, but this is my comfort music, and i’m COMFORTABLE right now.
THRASH ON!
nuggets
1.
when a man
grabbed me from behind
i turned
and cut him
did not stop to see
what happened
ran as fast as i could
back to the party
two friends helped me
scrub off the blood
and someone else
lent me a shirt
i went home that night
my parents never knew
i have watched the news for years
still don’t know
what happened
2.
she was really pretty
if i could have recalled her name
i would have called her
3.
i stole
a book of robert bly’s poetry
and later had him
sign it
this was wrong in so many ways
i still have the book
4.
i should have called her
i should have called her
i never should have called her
who was she
who was i that i thought i could call her
i should have hit him
i should not have hit him
i should never have pulled my knife
i am glad i pulled my knife
years later i saw the one
i should not have pulled the knife on
in a club
he backed away from me
both hands raised
it felt good
you’re the indian, right
he said
something like that
i said
i like indians, he said
i stepped toward him
he fled
it felt good
5.
there is only so much
of yourself
you can handle
before you have to start
dividing and conquering
i will own this
i will not own that
i am this because
i was that
you
don’t really know me
you never will
i know me
but not all at once
last update before a red-hot shower and trying to eat something
homestar runner. downloading music. harry potter. lemony snicket. project runway. no desire for a iPod (i can’t stand headphones of any sort, never have). don’t like comic books. hate text messaging. don’t use the camera on my cameraphone.
i don’t do any of these things. tried most of em and found them dull.
when i think about all of these things i don’t do, or won’t do, or could care less about one way or the other, i begin to see where some of my detachment from the slam community is rooted…i am beginning, through age and lack of interest, to have little connection to the cultural underpinnings of a lot of people.
it’s not that slam poets don’t aim for the universal. many of them do. it’s just that the launching pad they blast off from is very different from mine. the references, symbols, etc. don’t hold my attention because i am dismissive of them, because they either mean nothing to me or i actively dislike them.
my problem to solve, mostly; but i think i will just resign myself to letting my work be my work and find its own audience without worrying about this too much. and if a good poem mentions strongbad, so be it.
status report, for those still following this
i’m somewhat better — still achy, but the fever’s passed; still coughing but no more blood.
still can’t do most simple exertion, including talking, without coughing. and going into the cold air outdoors? like sticking a knife in me.
but gimme two more days and i’ll be golden. i know me and how i heal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i have been listening to the discussions about Ariel Sharon a lot these past few days.
i recall a time when he was vilified as a butcher for massacres in Lebanon.
i am thinking of Yasser Arafat, Anwar Sadat, Henry Kissinger, Richard Nixon, Menachem Begin, and various Nobel Peace Prizes.
did you know that Mohandas Gandhi was rejected for a Nobel by the Prize Committee because his career had shown shifts and turns and inconsistencies?
funny about humans. you can always count on them to be human, by which i mean that they are made of contradictions. and you can also count on this fact: that those contradictions will be recalled when recall is useful, ignored when ignorance is useful.
praise ambien, old punk, and expired triaminic
i live.
and i think i’m better. a little. just woke up so it’ll take some moving around to be sure.
kick out the jams motherfuckers is streaming in to soothe me
The MC5 by themselves might clear my sickened body.
Keeping my fingers crossed for Stooges next. Or Pere Ubu’s “Non-Alignment Pact.”
And yet, “Johny Hit And Run Pauline” by X shall work as well.
Purrrrrrrrrrr…
ETA: HOLIDAY IN CAMBODIA!!!!!!
well,
now i’m coughing up blood.
i think of this as progress, since i wasn’t coughing up anything earlier.
just waiting for the lungs, now. i figure once they’re out i’ll feel 100% better.
taking ambien, then going to bed.
EDIT TO ABOVE:
For all my concerned friends…thank you.
Here’s what’s happening…I’m seeing a lot of pink with some brighter spots of red. It’s not every time I cough, and I have to say these coughs have been BRUTAL — the least exertion will bring them on, including talking, rolling over in bed, or benchpressing a refrigerator.
My sense is that if i see it get worse i’ll do something, because i think it’s likely a result of two days of vicious coughing. right now, i’m letting it ride.
I will keep you posted if i make a different decision.
T
the compulsion to update here when there is really nothing to say is amusing.
i have spent most of the day sick in bed with the exception of getting up to watch “Spirited Away” earlier when i was feeling really sick from lack of food. all i’ve had today is a bowl of cereal.
the movie was pretty good.
now i’ve said almost everything there is to say about the occurrences of my day.
are you not entertained?
slept all day, hydrated, and still feel like CRAP.
if anything i feel worse.
ugh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
awful poetry doesn’t bother me. awful poetry that gets defended as “sincere” or “important” without regard to its craptastic nature does.
i just read a couple of poems at gotpoetry.com that made my head bleed. i think i’d like to say something, because i think the guy has some talent; but i expect to be ignored. maybe that’s just my crap going on as opposed to his. still gotta think about how to do it.
if you want a peek, go to “http://www.gotpoetry.com”, hit the forums, and take a look at poems by (cough cough) “ELEMENTS OF UIZM.”
sigh.
