It’s Too Bad I’m All Out of Links Puns.
January 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
I’ve been following around a little interesting reading about this book, in case you, like I, have been all Hey, what’s with so many of those objectivist/Black Mountain/L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poets being J-O-Os? (Look out for my new blog, WTF Zukofsky?!, currently seeking its niche.) Anyway, if this book showed up on my door step I would not be disappointed. I was excited to find an excerpt essay here, the first paragraph of which is chock full of puns. O I can’t wait.
Here’s what my students are reading for today, because I am a sucker for things like this:
Each poem in becoming generates the laws by which it is generated: extensions of the laws to other peoples never completely take. […] We are obliged to both begin internally with a given poem and work toward generalization and to approach the poem externally to test it with a set—and never quite the same set—of a priori generalizations.
The sum of our clarities should return us where we belong, to confusion and, hopefully, to more complicated and better assessments.
Nothing like starting the semester out with a little bit of everything definitive you think you know about needing to know definitively everything is wrong.
All I have to say about this is O thank god they didn’t call it the Sweetness of Venus because my bedroom banter is already awkward enough.
Yesterday I found myself saying “This is the saddest documentary I’ve seen all week.” That’s because the rest of my week involved this (best movie to take place almost entirely on a bus since…that other one) and this (best villain Daniel Day-Lewis never played), both of which were unexpectedly devastating in little ways, but were at the end of the day still utterly sans dolphin-death. I’m not even sure if I like documentaries, but I’m hoping to round out this inadvertent streak of them with this (best at being a movie about my hometown that’s streamable on Netflix), though I’m not sure I need any more excuses to cringe a little at my alma mater or get teary at the sight of the Blue Ridge.
Next time, on Hoostown: Titles of Books Whose Covers Are Permanently Bent From Using the Floor as a Bookmark, & What the Floor Has Told Me I Should Tell You About Them.