[dupe
of facebook post]
of
interest, surely, only to me,
but
owing to my proclivity
for
full disclosure policy
comes
now a bit of info re:
the
loopy Enterprise (drawing & poem) I do every day.
Okay,
so, I draw what some of you have identified as an aging E.T. & his
insurance agent (good one, Mr. Blumenthal), and whilst drawing them, or
more particularly, flooding in their dark violet & ruby background, I
am besieged by (& silently chant to myself) the lilt & meter of
what I sigh to realize must appear as the first two lines
of the accompanying poem to come:
"Out
of the glandular darkness
and
into the mandibles of the rectangular night..."
What
the hell does that mean, you might forgivably ask. I dunno. I just like the
sound.
The
drawing gets finished, the two lines affixed to a page, and -- what do I
do now??. Defeated by any hope of making conscious sense, I decide to write
anything that has meter & rhyme. Which I do.
What
I confess loving about this, is that whatever 'sense' this jabberwocky may eventually
make, it seems to make entirely through its own devices. What I
confess to loving about that, is that there IS some sense going on
somehow and I know that because the poem makes me laugh. Which leads to
another confession, if I don't laugh during and after writing a poem or drawing
a drawing, I know I'm not doing my job. Even when the final felt effect, going
down a few dimensional levels, is putatively 'sad.' Even then, if there isn't a
large wink of cosmic guffaw somewhere in it, then I know I just haven't paid
attention. (I feel this about everything, not just "art." Which
assertion, to anyone knows me, should elicit a "duh.")
Of
course when I post such stuff on my cherished poetry website (which I do daily)
I have often to look the other way when people start plumbing it for, ahem,
Poetic Seriousness. To me, life or art or pretty much anything I can think of
isn't really seen until it registers (on some however perhaps sometimes
secret level) as deeply & strangely hilarious.
So,
glandularly dark, I remain
in
the mandibles of the rectangular night.
(here
it is again.)
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