Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,661
Hello, Ms. b.Hello, Tzara
'grats on a meaty thread full of stuff to feed the mind. Now, I've been perusing your writes and enjoying the control, originality of phrasing, and visuals they contain e.g in Combine, this particular part; most specifically "the mattress of a dream" is where image and sensation combine to render it a recognised thing.
my love for you is sprayed
like paint
flung over the mattress of dream. Disordered,
as dreams are or ought to be,
but colored silly as a mirror
tinted zinc and white.
What other artist has a tired goat
for monogram?
Can you fill me in a little on the inspirations behind this write, and do you feel now, in hindsight, it could work as a shorter piece? Yeah, I'm always seeing how other people's writes could lose bulk without losing impact, but suck at doing the same for my own once they've been written.
"Combine" is an elegy for the American artist Robert Rauschenberg. Much of the imagery in the poem is cribbed from paintings of his. The title itself is from his work--some of his early, influential work is of a form called "combine painting," which mixes sculptural elements with painting. Here I've linked in some of the pieces to the reference in the poem:
Combine
for Robert Rauschenberg
This will be, Bob,
a messy poem, because
my love for you is sprayed
like paint
flung over the mattress of dream. Disordered,
as dreams are or ought to be,
but colored silly as a mirror
tinted zinc and white.
What other artist has a tired goat
for monogram?
Not Rembrandt, by golly,
and he was Dutch. Hell, it
didn't help him much,
nor did it, I guess, help you
to trade up from a coldwater flat
walk-up where Jap
gathered everybody's love and you
were left behind and drew with grass.
I will remember you, Tex,
dancing in a cardboard box
on roller skates with an umbrella
or some such odd thing, always
after something new: Drapery. Postcards.
Russian literature. You were
a fucking demigod
down there in Florida, playing
with ink and stones and shells and things.
And, Bob, now that you're dead,
I hope you've brought along a camera
to snap God's picture
so you can stencil it in next
to a rooster or an astronaut
and some purple goldfish
on that canvas you name Heaven.
The linked pieces, in order, are:
Could it be a shorter piece? Of course, but that would take away from part of the intent of the piece. Rauschenberg's art is raucous, messy, exuberant, flamboyant, bursting with ideas. I wanted some of these same qualities in the poem, so it is deliberately "a messy poem," overdone, overfilled with image as a kind of homage to the artist.for Robert Rauschenberg
This will be, Bob,
a messy poem, because
my love for you is sprayed
like paint
flung over the mattress of dream. Disordered,
as dreams are or ought to be,
but colored silly as a mirror
tinted zinc and white.
What other artist has a tired goat
for monogram?
Not Rembrandt, by golly,
and he was Dutch. Hell, it
didn't help him much,
nor did it, I guess, help you
to trade up from a coldwater flat
walk-up where Jap
gathered everybody's love and you
were left behind and drew with grass.
I will remember you, Tex,
dancing in a cardboard box
on roller skates with an umbrella
or some such odd thing, always
after something new: Drapery. Postcards.
Russian literature. You were
a fucking demigod
down there in Florida, playing
with ink and stones and shells and things.
And, Bob, now that you're dead,
I hope you've brought along a camera
to snap God's picture
so you can stencil it in next
to a rooster or an astronaut
and some purple goldfish
on that canvas you name Heaven.
The linked pieces, in order, are:
- Bed (1955), combine painting
- Star Quarters (c. 1970), serigraph on mirrored Mylar
- Monogram,(1955-1959), combine painting
- Pelican (1963), photograph documenting his dance performance to his own choreography
- Preview (1974), screenprint and paper collage on fabric
- From a Diary, with Andrei Voznesensky (1978), lithograph
- Retroactive I (1964), oil and silkscreen ink on canvas
Were I to write an elegy for Donald Judd, another artist whose work I admire, it would be so spare as to be almost no poem at all, again to reflect the artist's aesthetic.
That decision--to make "Combine" kind of a mess--might not be a very good one, but it was what I intended to do.