Unquiet Desperation
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Author Topic: Poetry and the Poet  (Read 2048 times)
The Bolshevik Dandy
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Pablo Picasso
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« on: February 21, 2008, 12:50:52 PM »

I think this little piece penned by Arthur Rimbaud to fellow poet Paul Demeny in 1871 dubbed 'The Seer Letter' perfectly describes how I view poetry and the creative process:
The Seer Letter


The poet makes himself a seer by a long, immense, and calculated derailment of all the senses. All the forms of love and suffering and madness; he seeks himself and exhausts in himself all the poisons, keeping only the quitessences. Unspeakable torture, in which he needs all the faith, all the superhuman strength, by which be becomes the great invalid, the great criminal, the great pariah, above all others - and the supreme Savant! - For he attains the unknown! Since he has cultivated his soul, which was rich to start with, more than anyone else! He reaches the unknown, and if, finally overwhelmed, he turns out to lose the meaning of his visions, at least he has seen them! Let him die in his surge through things unheard of and beyond naming: other horrible workers will come after him and begin at the horizons where he sank succumbed!
(...)
Poetry will no longer just set action to rhythms; it will, itself, take the lead
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Come Slowly Eden.
The Bolshevik Dandy
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« Reply #1 on: February 22, 2008, 10:33:50 AM »

Kerouac's: 'Essentials For Spontaneous Prose'

Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
Submissive to everything, open, listening
Try never get drunk outside your own house
Be in love with your life
Something that you feel will find its own form
Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
Blow as deep as you want to blow
Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
The unspeakable visions of the individual
No time for poetry but exactly what is
Visionary tics shivering in the chest
In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
Like Proust be an old teahead of time
Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
Write in recollection and amazement for yrself
Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
Accept loss forever
Believe in the holy contour of life
Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better
Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
You're a Genius all the time
Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven
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keysersose
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« Reply #2 on: February 26, 2008, 03:20:08 PM »

Both excellent calls to arms for we poets. Don't know if I quite agree with Rimbaud's descent into madness theory, but we should certainly approach life from such a different perspective that we appear mad.

The amazing thing about Sal Paradise's alter ego is not only the advice he gives here - this piece is so useful even if simply combed through for ideas for writing - but the fact that he wrote stuff like this and On The Road in English but had a whole other world of writing in Quebecois French. Amazing.

Keyserrrrr.
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The Bolshevik Dandy
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« Reply #3 on: February 26, 2008, 07:05:37 PM »

I Love the Quebecian-American-English in Visions of Gerard.....one of my faves there btw....we see an even deeper emotion and tenderness to an already deeply impassioned man..
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