Writing the same poem.

[eagleyez]

Hmmm. writing.
a drive of so many minutes
thru orange haybails,
a memory field
palimpsestual high water marks,
history times moment equals
bassbeat rumbling feet
top of the head
vibrating-
percusion of the trees
music
words
downbeat
heavy bell.

writing
drives the car
sometimes wildly
most often down the middle.

 

[Angeline]

This thread reminds me of a legal case between John Fogarty and his originial recording company. When he wanted to go independent, he discovered he had signed away rights to his early music and could not play it in concerts without paying a licence fee. He went on tour with a new song book and was quickly served by the record company, who charged him with changing the titles and the lyrics, but using the same music.

Fogarty's defense was simple. "All my songs sound the same because they are the same."

The judge listened to him play about 4 songs in the courtroom and agreed. The judge's ruling said, in effect they knew about Fogarty's limited creative range when they originally wrote the contract and had no one to blame but themselves.

I have been accused of writing the same poem a couple times, but its really a case of the same inspiration.
We develope our particular style and voice as we mature. I know poets who can spin out 6 lines describing the sunset everyday and never repeat themselves, but find it impossible to write a ballad or a narrative.

I don't think there is anything bad in writing the same poem over and over. I kind of like the idea someone might read enough of my work to notice.

Hey you came over! Welcome!

And good on Fogerty. I feel for these artists who get trapped in the shuffle of the music industry. When John Hammond "discovered" Count Basie he was horrified to find that Basie had sold the rights to everything he recorded for the next three years for $300. I believe that Hammond got him out of that contract (or somehow worked around it) and those 3 years worth of recordings are now The Complete Decca Recordings. Great stuff.

And I remember when Springsteen was locked in litigation with his original manager. For around 15 months (I think) he couldn't do any concerts or play any new material publically. Something like that, very restricted.

I was an undergrad at Rutgers in New Jersey then and benefitted from Bruce's troubles by seeing him sit in with a local band at the student center. The room couldn't have held more than 50-60 people, and he sang a lot of his earliest stuff and old r&r covers. and it all sounded the same then (I think he's grown much since), but that "song" was so marvelous it didn't matter a bit.

 

[Angeline]

Hmmm. writing.
a drive of so many minutes
thru orange haybails,
a memory field
palimpsestual high water marks,
history times moment equals
bassbeat rumbling feet
top of the head
vibrating-
percusion of the trees
music
words
downbeat
heavy bell.

writing
drives the car
sometimes wildly
most often down the middle.

Hmmm. Leaves,
slips and old socks
balled in greenorange nests
and half-bare trees undressed
in crooked grins, knobbly elbows
pointed pen-shaped fingers
that j'acuse then shiver delicious
in an apple-scented breeze.
The autumn benediction
upon us, the promise
of one last winter, the blessing
of freeze and prison bars
that melt to puddle, soak
the ground and drink the Sun
until we plot our steps
through Queen Anne's Lace.

Our benediction. The other side
of sorrow. The cup half full
of cider, a hint of bitterness
for remembrance under big top
notes sweet and syrupy
when my lips smile on yours.

 

[Tathagata]

"is he writing about scotch again?"

well he writes what he knows, what is happening

"Yes but Jesus he needs drama in his life, he needs disgruntled spouses and cyber love and paranoia. we're sick of the drunk stuff"

I'll mention it to him

"Good, and tell him he isn't funny. it borders on insulting and demeaning, I mean where does he get off, he's some fuckin Buddhist isn't he? Why isn't he writing about nice things?"

I'll be sure and ask him

"Well don't start him off on one of his Alan Watts everything is Zen epics either. "

I shall do my utmost to explain

" And the grand kid shit has to stop. We just don't care. Some of us don't like children. There's nothing worse than some cloying drivel about first steps and princess hats. We need real life, misery, beatings, take a political stance for fucks sake, there are more important things in life than some toothless child making every one feel all squishy"

I'm sure he realizes his redundancy. He is well into his dotage you know

"Oh yes we know all the health stuff and Death, Christ on a tricycle, he goes on and on about death. It's fuckin depressing. Same two or three themes over and over. He is never going to amount to anything writing that shit ad nauseum.He never writes anything erotic. Does he ever have sex? He needs help I think, probably drinks too much, probably a masturbator. God only knows what it is that excites him, snuff films or drunk college chicks. He has nothing to say to us. I mean nothing at all we can relate to.

He is a man of peculiar albeit interesting tastes I agree

Well get him some shit to read. Get him some real poets, tell him to look it up, Realpoets dot com. oh and no more haiku, they make my teeth hurt.

I'm sure he will welcome your advice and your concern for his creativity

He never tells us where or even if he ever gets published.
I mean if he was actually doing something right he'd tell us wouldn't he?
what's the point of being in print if you don't tell anyone?

I believe he is just lazy, probably tired from the drink and masturbation

Yes I suppose, well tell him we really like him and think he has tremendous potential, but he really has to shape up and fly right, ok?

Your wisdom and worry will be a great comfort to him. I'm sure he will consider all your assessments with his usual open mindedness . He values all input from his peers

 

[Angeline]

"is he writing about scotch again?"

<snip>

[/I]

I'm bringin it back, Just for you.

 

[eagleyez]

Alan Watts-"Does it Matter."
A good ole book.

I still have my original copy of his "Way of Zen." Standard reading in mid seventies in norcal's evaporating bohemian scene as cocaine took over till ya couldnt get a joint but eight balls were available on every corner. Remember how that bathing of the day was just a thing, puffing herb and drinking strong coffee a routine thru Moscone and Milk, the Peoples Temple, 3 tours of Wailers, accidental freebase, peyote walks down Shasta, weddings hospitals funerals, backroom piano stayed in such sweet tune, the pedal steel sheds flowers with siren three part harmony,
bass bass were my shoes.

I enjoyed the hell out of reading the above Tath.

 

[Tathagata]

Alan Watts-"Does it Matter."
A good ole book.

I still have my original copy of his "Way of Zen." Standard reading in mid seventies in norcal's evaporating bohemian scene as cocaine took over till ya couldnt get a joint but eight balls were available on every corner. Remember how that bathing of the day was just a thing, puffing herb and drinking strong coffee a routine thru Moscone and Milk, the Peoples Temple, 3 tours of Wailers, accidental freebase, peyote walks down Shasta, weddings hospitals funerals, backroom piano stayed in such sweet tune, the pedal steel sheds flowers with siren three part harmony,
bass bass were my shoes.

I enjoyed the hell out of reading the above Tath.

Funny while cleaning up all the stuff from the attic I came across a few books by Watts, set a few aside to re-read

There are magic days, feelings that you never forget, when you are connected and everything just blends
I envy you your life in the west during the heyday
Like Ram Dass said " Sometimes we just need to get together to remind each other that what we feel is real"
I get a lot of that from your poetry
It feels like the 60's to me always

Glad you enjoyed it my friend

 

[Tathagata]

I'm bringin it back, Just for you.

I believe I'm number 6 most days

 

[Rumpleteazer]

nicely put bronzeage

 

[eagleyez]

Hmmm. Leaves,
slips and old socks
balled in greenorange nests
and half-bare trees undressed
in crooked grins, knobbly elbows
pointed pen-shaped fingers
that j'acuse then shiver delicious
in an apple-scented breeze.
The autumn benediction
upon us, the promise
of one last winter, the blessing
of freeze and prison bars
that melt to puddle, soak
the ground and drink the Sun
until we plot our steps
through Queen Anne's Lace.

Our benediction. The other side
of sorrow. The cup half full
of cider, a hint of bitterness
for remembrance under big top
notes sweet and syrupy
when my lips smile on yours.

Amazing
such viewing shared by a
familiar eye,
lookit there, the diamond is a lone pine
caught in the faraway glare bending orange into red.
silver and gold,
drycreek prospects
drowned in springwater,
easing our silt beds out
for sleeping, the fishawk keeping time
with the river.

 

[Angeline]

I believe I'm number 6 most days

That's exactly what Eve said.

 

[Tathagata]

That's exactly what Eve said.

Does this mean I have to write " slut" on my chest?"

 

[Angeline]

Does this mean I have to write " slut" on my chest?"

Try not to look so excited when you ask that.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Does this mean I have to write " slut" on my chest?"

okay, yes. it does.

we want pictures.

 

[Tzara]

Does this mean I have to write " slut" on my chest?"

I suppose you could use that nasty molybdenum sulfate stuff Champie mentioned, or the always reliable lipstick.

Just don't, please, preface it with a phrase that turns the whole thing into:

RED SOX SLUT​

Uh, 'cuz we all know that already.

Enjoy the game.