#TheWombwellRainbow #Poeticformschallenge last week was a #CutUpMethod. Enjoy examples by Tim Fellows, Robert Frede Kenter and Jerome Berglund read how they felt when writing one.

Currents 1 & 2
Currents 3 & 4

Texts Used:
Barthes, R. Mythologies, NY Hill and Wang, 1972.
Gilligan, Rogers & Tolman, Women, Girls & Psychotherapy: Reframing Resistance, Binghamton, NY, Harrington Park Press, 1991.
NIV Holy Bible, New International Version, Zondervan Press, 2011

How Did It Go?

Started from a line drawing, then began to add cut out text from random pages in the above books; text to include emerged from scanning torn pages and snipping words or phrases, intuitively placed around the drawing. CURRENTS #1 is a photo-document of the first take. CURRENTS #2 I began to add colour and additional web-elements culled at random: star map, 3-D figures and some manipulation of texts etc. Iteration CURRENTS # 3 was a further exploration of moving, reshaping, altering colours to pink/purple. I created a number of these, different hues, configurations. CURRENTS #4 is a flattening and an act of erasure – Texts and colour and shapes are largely removed – to leave a template abstract glitch of all of the above.

Robert Frede Kenter

Green

So windfall green his moon
And turning of light
the born leaves;
And on slowly awake foxes
about time the songs, pheasants, easy dark few
honoured the morning.
Holy as lamb and grace
sang to green chimneys
and carefree his cold fled the young
famous house wanderer.

Rivers sleep ran easy;
time and moon shining
as thronged from over grass the spinning play.
My horses, the children, nightjars follow lovely farm;
high the Nor was and starry white. Golden time
warm over under was bearing in below;
was happy and pebbles singing lordly Adam.

Once the night that sun wagons come let
as new of the eyes made
golden high calves as such green days.
And so his streams, tunes, yard of the sabbath maiden
swallow stable of green
among the owls, daisies, horses walking I held
sky, sun, birth the white of Nothing.

Orwellian

He had only one criticism, he said, to make of Mr. Pilkington’s
A good deal of the literature of the past was, indeed, already being
excellent and neighbourly speech. Mr. Pilkington had referred,
transformed in this way, considerations of
throughout to “Animal Farm.” He could not of course know-for he,
prestige made it desirable to preserve the memory of certain
Napoleon, was only now for the first time announcing it-that the name
historical figures, while at the same time bringing
“Animal Farm” had been abolished. Henceforward the farm was to be
their achievements into line with the philosophy of Ingsoc.
known as “The Manor Farm”-which, he believed,
Various writers, such as Shakespeare, Milton, Swift, Byron,
was its correct and original name. “Gentlemen,” concluded Napoleon, “I will give you the same toast as
Dickens, and some others were therefore in process of
before, but in a different form. Fill your glasses to the brim. Gentlemen, here is my
translation: when the task had been completed, their original
toast: To the prosperity of The Manor Farm! ”
Writings, with all else that survived of the literature
There was the same hearty cheering as before, and the mugs were
of the past, would be destroyed. These translations were
emptied to the dregs. But as the animals outside gazed at the scene,
a slow and difficult business, and it was not expected that
it seemed to them that some strange thing was happening. What was it
they would be finished before the first or second decade of
that had altered in the faces of the pigs? Clover’s old dim eyes flitted
the twenty-first century. There were also large quantities
from one face to another. Some of them had five chins, some had four,
of merely utilitarian literature—indispensable technical manuals –
some had three. But what was it that seemed to be melting
and the like—that had to be treated in the same way.
and changing? Then, the applause having come to an end, the company took up.
It was chiefly in order to allow time for the preliminary work of
their cards and continued the game that had been interrupted, and the
translation that the final adoption of Newspeak had been
animals crept silently away.

Fixed for so late a date as 2050
the creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and
from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say
which was which. It was a political act.

How Did It Go?

Here are my cutups. The first takes pieces of Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas. I used a “cut-up randomiser” on the internet to do some of the scissor work.

The second interlaces lines from end sections of Animal Farm and 1984, with a little bit of modification of line endings (but without modifying the text) to make it more readable. The last section uses the end of Animal Farm but the last (and famous) line of a previous chapter.

I have doubts about whether these poems are really yours or the original author’s. I think the second one is more clearly Orwell, the first could be identified as Thomasesque if you knew his work.

Tim Fellows

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costumes
are heard, imagine
round tables

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forecast:
dragon now
streaming

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grateful
the race signature
subscribe today

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discovery
we’re just getting started
outstanding dreams

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Amazon
the final season
candid conversations

How Did It Go?

This was one of the most enjoyable and exhilarating form challenges yet for me in writing process, my own results and excitement to read other participants’ efforts. I feel very fortunate to have gotten recent practice with this style thanks to wonderful, informative and inspiring discussion and workshops written by incomparable writer and renowned teacher Alan Summers, Call of the Page program founder, who shared extraordinary tips and recommendations on how this approach might be employed in short form poetic pursuits in the debut issue of his new journal Pan Haiku Review, those interested in further sharpening their skills with these methods should definitely investigate that phenomenal, robust edition. There are also some poets I greatly admire whose work made me want to try this, and reading it helped me with the task here, including Lachlan McDougall, J.D. Nelson, and petro c.k. If you’d like to read more additional examples of these techniques admirably applied I highly encourage you to seek out their work in dada and surrealist modes. Personally I was quite thrilled while puzzling out each poem, the way it looks like we’re creating ransom notes or refrigerator art, how serendipity and instinct guides us and the formations take shape, with something of a quality of divination or soothsaying, ouiji boards or questioning the I ching. No doubt the raw material one utilizes should be carefully chosen and will highly impact eventual material, it was also fun to play with words and find very different alternative meanings from source originating context, invariably these will reflect the writer’s inner life and world view in fascinating ways. This is definitely a numbers game which will require a lot of things hitting the wall for a few pieces which stick. I drew my verbiage from advertisements and headlines in the Hollywood Reporter, a trade magazine for professionals in film and television production, the entertainment industry. It seems that practice makes for improvement, my early attempts at such exercises were not successful but with time I got happier with verses. Having a large pool of words and combinations is also in a cento appropriator’s best interests. It’s liberating to surrender to the magnetism drawing these parts together into cohesive constructions, end pieces are as surprising and fascinating for ‘author’ as eventual audience. An excellent form I’m so grateful Paul invited the writing community to explore!

Jerome Berglund

Bios and Links

Robert Frede Kenter

is a writer & visual artist, editor & publisher of Ice Floe Press (www.icefloepress.net). Robert’s work is published widely in print & in web formats. Recent work in Olney Magazine, Visual Verse, Street Cake Magazine, Fevers Of, The Storms Journal and many others. Appearances soon in anthologies incl.  Sidhe Press & Steel Incisors. EDEN, visual poetry work is available from Rare Swan Press, Switzerland (https://rareswanpress.com). Twitter: @frede_kenter

Launch Feature – Elizabeth M. Castillo

Patricia M Osborne's avatarPatricia M Osborne

Please join me in congratulating Elizabeth M. Castillo on the launch of her poetry pamphlet Not Quite An Ocean published by Nine Pens.

Not Quite an Ocean by Elizabeth M. Castillo is a paean to the feminine, to motherhood and to the natural world. At once these poems are both unabashed in their celebration of womanhood, and are searing in their unflinching confrontation with darker undercurrents that threaten to break and destroy. The poems in Not Quite an Ocean are beacons, are rallying calls, and are ultimately a roars of strength, pride and hope that cannot be silenced or subdued:

Order your copy from HERE

About Elizabeth M. Castillo

Elizabeth M Castillo is a British-Mauritian poet, writer, workshop teacher, and a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee. She lives in Paris with her family and two cats, where she runs a variety of different businesses, writes a variety of different things…

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The Blue Motel Rooms Poetry & Art inspired by Joni Mitchell Print edition link

davidlonan1's avatarFevers of the Mind

This is the U.S. only link for the print edition. Please check for the availability in your country. I will try to have links later next week if not. https://tinyurl.com/5n67amvw

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Review of ‘Rebel Blood Cells’ by Jamie Woods

Nigel Kent's avatarNigel Kent - Poet and Reviewer

I have in the recent past reviewed two fine pamphlets that explore the profound impact of life-threatening illness, namely Nikki Strange’s Body Talk and Ross McGivern’s Fragments and Stages. Jamie Woods’ Rebel Blood Cells (Punkdust Poetry, 2023) has a similar focus, but like Strange’s and McGivern’s work, it has a unique, uncompromising story to tell. In Woods’ case he takes us through the story of his diagnosis of acute leukaemia, the illness, his treatment and his ultimate recovery. What made the pamphlet particularly powerful for me is the rawness, the authenticity and the honesty of the poems.

These are emotionally engaging poems. Sometimes almost too heart-rending to read, yet I don’t think Woods is asking for our sympathy. He is merely telling it like it was. Take for example, Diagnosis, which tells of the moment his wife informs him that ‘They think you have Leukaemia.’ Woods is clearly suffering…

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30 June: Flash Fiction – Eternity of Green

Misky's avatarIt's Still Life

AI artwork: a sorcerer-looking old man with a long beard in the forest

Day 30. Write a short story about a hidden, enchanted forest where magical creatures dwell.

An Eternity of Green

In the depths of the forest, where ribbons of pale sunlight tease out shadows, enchantment lives.

Tree roots are chiselled, emerald mist floats luminescent, insects fly in trails of stardust singing in notes to please the ear. Just occasionally, white feathers blow from dandelions – a sprite’s breath.

It is a world that gnaws on the hearts of some mortals, it lurks unobserved like sparks around fire.

This forest is built of beauty, leaf on leaf, with dawn’s promise to heal the world with nature’s seed. And the only mortal who is allowed to enter the forest is a woodsman with a low and slow voice. He lives in the heart of a tree on a shadowy steep hillside. The morning sun warms him when he wakes and bluebells ring out…

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Poem from Victoria Leigh Bennett “A Random Parasite Bemoans the Fallen Light”

davidlonan1's avatarFevers of the Mind

A Random Parasite Bemoans the Fallen Light

From glorious clouds to wayward seas, to earth’s horizon and below, Opines our muted panoply: “Intuit in green, oh, stubbornness,” “Oh, humans failing us, forefend, Who forthright with their undertow align our cosmos in their schemes.” For we take it as opining, and think the war is one of ours, But yet contests of water, bowers, Are not ours to direct. We shrink from humble servitude To all we should be sustained by, To us, our faces are supreme in photographs, in ego’s memes, And we do not involve the earth Except to think it photo-bombed us in our pictures of ourselves. Background, we think, because we fear To know we could destroy our source, These are my flowers, we say to friends, Look! Blooming here, my peonies, Or on the hills, this is my gorse, And it’s so much the easier to…

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The High Window Reviews

The High Window Review's avatarThe High Window

reviewer

*****

William Carlos Williams: Paterson  •  Tom Lachais:Three Hundred Streets of Venice California • Calvin Wharton: This Here Paradise 

*****

Paterson by William Carlos Williams. £20. Carcanet Classics. ISBN: ‎ 978-1800173613
reviewed by Tom Phillips

williams paterson

The poetry that falls within the broad category of modernism however we want to definite that exhibits two opposite tendencies, both driven by a desire to – in Ezra Pound’s words – ‘make it new’: one essentially minimalist, the other essentially maximalist. On the one hand, there are haiku-esque Imagist miniatures; on the other, The Waste Land, The Cantos, Four Quartets, Paterson, Maximus Poems, Briggflats and so on. Despite the flourishing of the former, long or at least longish poems are as much a part of the landscape of modernism as they are of romanticism, neo-classicism et al. Don’t just make it new, in other words, make it big.
Most immediately, perhaps, the…

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5 poems about Love from Steve Evans

davidlonan1's avatarFevers of the Mind

photo from pixabay (Klau2018)

Bio of Steve can be found here: https://www.flinders.edu.au/people/steve.evans

Sending You a River

In the second part of this poem,
I will be played by a different actor
with the wrong accent

so, I’m cancelling the subscription
to my own newsletter
after first writing a letter of complaint,

and if I hear another love song
rhyming start and heart,
I think I’ll rip the singer’s chest apart.

But for now, I’m sending you a river,
one mouthful at a time —
not quite enough to drown in.

And Then

And then he kissed her,
in French
without subtitles.

Her Love Poems for Others She offers them to me as if to tease, testing the bounds of my jealousies. The answer’s clear, and merciless. I admire their highwire plays and twists, their luxurious, earthing lust for place, but wrench to imagine her this way. I’m not proud of…

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Tim Fellows: “I’ve reviewed @PaulDragonwolf1’s two recent publications. If you haven’t go them yet, you should.”

54 Poems by John Levy (Shearsman Books)

tearsinthefence's avatarTears in the Fence

I’ve been thinking about poetry networks. I know that’s a word which carries all sorts of negative associations, but I don’t know what else to use in its place. Poetry has always relied on contacts and correspondence, but that of course is much quicker now thanks to email and the internet. Recently, I spent a great couple of hours talking to and drinking coffee with a publisher I have ‘known’ online for many years: it was great to finally meet, and one of the things we talked about was how both geographical and online clusters of poets exist; also, how unlikely some of those clusters and contacts are.

Later the same day, the postman delivered a copy of John Levy’s new book, sent and inscribed by the author. I was trying to think about how John and I knew each other, whether it was from one of my visits to…

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