|
Klaus Bung:
Whore
Eighteen poems
Proportional representation
Whore
Paradox
Media
Quakers
Truth
The English Tone
When Yasin Scorned
In principio
Three Bumblebee Poems
Abstract 576
Fear no more
Bumbled Funeral Service
Bridge
Pentheum and Nixon, drunk, react to Bacchus'
abuse
Submarine-like the spirit
of essential
essence of sense
Notes on 'The Sense of Non-Sense Poetry'
The Point
Salman
La jouissance
| A Burnley Street. |
|
| |
|
| Yasin: |
Hello, Tayyaba, how wonderful you look today!
|
| Tayyaba: |
Thank you, Yasin, where have you been? |
| Yasin: |
In the library. |
| Tayyaba: |
What is that leaflet you are carrying? |
| Yasin: |
A literary campaign against racism, I picked it up in
the library. |
| Tayyaba: |
Ah, look there, Shahida, they've even got it in Urdu. |
| Yasin: |
Just a three-line summary on the last page. In fifty
years time, we will put a summary in English - so the poor sods can
understand. We must be kind to them.
(3 August 1997)
|
|
|
|
Luigi said:
Do not try to save money: go
to an expert. Stay away
from the cowgirls. He who loves
his life shall lose it.*
Get yourself a good
accountant.
Do not accept favours. Pay
for everything. Favours are
the most expensive services.
Equo ne credite, Teucri*:
pregnant gift horses need gold
fillings and breed
murderous colts:
Quidquid id est, timeo feminas.
Pray to St Onan. Spill the beans.* Do it
yourself.
Bugger the pope -
but take your precautions. Don't
thrust him an inch. That is the best form
of contraception. Don't look
to the virgin for aids. She does not
have it. Do not
touch her, for she has a blessing
in disguise.
She will conceive if a pigeon
only so much as looks at her. Do not let her
give the world yet
another saviour. One
is more than enough. You do
not want to pay. Avert
your gaze.
Veni, creator spiritus.*
Veni divine coitus.
Behold, I come quickly.*
O do not hurry, my love.
La jouissance, jeu quotidien
surréaliste.*
And when the union took place,
choirs of angels chanted Anglican
Psalms and at their sound,
Al-Raqim* stood up, wagged
his tail, laid back his head, and howled
his divine joy to heaven:
Wollust ward dem Hund gegeben,
und die Jungfrau schläft mit Gott.*
Ecce ancilla domini.*
Ibi sunt gaudia.
Tristis anima mea*.
Even God sometimes
needs relief for his overflowing
love. It is lonely
to be top dog in reverse. Where
is his Shakti*?
The most expensive
professional
is the best and the cheapest.
Contract a muta
marriage.
You are permitted, as the Book says, in
addition
to seek out wives with your wealth
in modest conduct but not
in fornication; give them
their pay for the enjoyment
you have had of them for
a specified period as a duty. God wishes
to lighten your burden: for man was created
weak in flesh*. What God has
enjoined, let no khalifa*
abrogate.
If you stand, know where you stand.
Pay in advance.
Be respectable: go to an
honest whore. Every good family
has one in the basement.
Take one who is registered,
for VAT*, and who insists on
cash on the nail, not one who gives
credit and demands
interest. For God has permitted
trade and forbidden
usury*. Thus spake the Lord
to Moses: If you lend
money to any of my people, you will
not play the usurer with him*.
|
|
Sir Terence Conran had to pay ten
million pounds to his ex-
wife in a divorce
settlement*. She was
an amateur, for she once
loved him.
A professional
would have been cheaper.
|
|
|
Surely there are signs in this for
thinking men.
As the Book says.
Thus spake Luigi.
(4 July 1997)
|
|
1 shall lose it: John
12:25
2 Teucri: Virgil:
Aeneid 2:48: Do not trust the horse, Trojans. Quidquid ...: Whatever it
be, I fear women.
3 Spill the beans: Gen.
38:9
4 Veni, creator
spiritus: Come, God Creator, Holy Ghost
5 Behold, I come
quickly: Apoc. 22:20
6 La jouissance, jeu
quotidien surréaliste: Orgasm, daily surrealist game
7 Al-Raqim: The
faithful dog of the Seven Sleepers
8 Wollust ward dem Hund
gegeben: Lust was given to the dog, and the virgin sleeps with God
(après Schiller: Ode to Joy)
9 Ecce ancilla domini:
Behold the handmaid of the Lord (Luke 1:38)
10 Ibi sunt gaudia.
Tristis anima mea: Ibi sunt gaudia: There are the joys? (after
Christmas carol: In dulci jubilo). Tristis: Mt. 26:38: My soul is
exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.
11 Shakti: Sanskrit:
Divine Consort
12 weak in flesh: après
Koran 4:24,28
13 khalifa: Umar = Omar
ibn al-Kha'ab, the Second Caliph, lived 581-644 A.D., reigned 634-644,
tried to abolish muta marriage
14 VAT: Value Added Tax
15 usury: Koran 2:275
16 you will not play
the usurer with him: Exod. 22:24
17 divorce settlement
of Sir Terence Conran: This was reported in the press on 4 July 1997
|
|
|
|
She, who was
compassionate and kind enough to pray
also for Hitler
(Peace be Upon Him, for
it is not the Holy Prophet but the greatest
sinners or criminals
who need our prayers most),
would therefore ever help and never hurt
a Jew.
Therefore let us now pray
for Sadam Hussein and Idi Amin,
for Salman Rushdie, but not for the Queen
well, rather not in this context,
we'll pray for her on Friday next
and for all tax collectors
past and present and absent.
|
|
What do you do? I am a writer.
What are you writing? My will.
(22 Aug 2003)
(not for publication)
media vita in morte sumus:
quem quaerimus adiutorem
nisi te, Domine,
qui pro peccatis nostris
iuste irasceris ?
sancte Deus, sancte fortis,
sancte et misericors Salvator,
amarae morti ne tradas nos!
(Notker Balbulus)
|
|
Sometimes I think Quakers
would make
good poets
I love your
I love their gentle smile
They sit in silence
|
|
|
|
for a whole hour
Sometimes one of them gets
up and speaks one
or two sentences
No more
That is poetry
I think
He
is
AM
(11 June 1998)
|
|
For twenty minutes I had been pacing
up and down
and down the flagstones
beside a London church
protected by its iron fence
from traffic noise and from
pedestrians who were
hurrying past on the pavement,
and I was speaking
into my machine,
visible to everyone,
thoughts for a poem which
demanded birth
here
and
now.
I was in labour. Pange lingua*.
There he stood on the threshold of his
church,
where is thy staff? where is thy flaming sword?*
visibly threatened by my mysterious presence,
more mysterious than that of his God,
the verger, with a bunch of keys dangling
from his belt.
St Peter only has
one, but it is strong and it suffices
to keep me out of heaven.
This verger angel
must have been watching me
for some time and been
perturbed by my persistent
peri and pathetic presence.
"Can I help you?", he asked,
which is lingua divina for
"Get out", "Fuck off".
But God or Englishman is not
so brutal. You must
understand what he really means. You need
a commentary.
I explained that I
needed no help, that I
like it here, that I
am simply walking up and down because
the place is quiet, that I
will enter and will pay a visit to
his church and to his God
later.
He suggested kindly that
I could go to the larger public garden
adjacent to the church. I would have
more space there, be more comfortable
and it seems, I thought, it is
intended by the church
for tourists,
and for people who sit down,
with rucksacks, or with prams
and fish and chips and babies
and a giro in their pocket, and for tramps
who will perambulate with prams,
and people who pace up and down,
like me,
it is intended.
And if I went there I would not wear down
the flagstones adjacent to his church.
This is intended.
This simple,
much more narrow,
stretch of paving adjacent to the church was not for pacing, it was for
the two
cars which were parked there, for the vicar's car and perhaps the
verger's.
It was intended.
But not for strange outlandish characters who pace,
no peace,
with dictaphone, and rucksack, and
a handbag - is he man or woman!
Ordnung muss sein*, even in the King's Own Country.
Even in England.
Specially in church, but even outside church,
and strangers threaten
to bring back tohu wa bohu*.
For in the beginning God created
order
and separated
earth from heaven, light from darkness,
sea from dry land, friend from foe,
one from zero, good from evil,
us from them.
We are his folk, he does us feed,
And for his sheep he doth us take.*
Of course, we will
always be polite. No-one can thus
accuse us,
ever,
of having been anything other
than generous and kind,
like Mrs Marples and John Betjeman, and the divine,
the English Rose -
|
whose name escapes me, but who does
remind me
of that extinct Mauritian bird, with naked cheeks,
denuded by the practice of offering the other,
in mortal enmity with pigs*, -
|
|
and helpful and compassionate and
Christian
not native, but European, civilised and English,
so academic Oxfordian Anglican
and so truly superior,
we wouldn't insist but we are
so speak the law,
the wrens and the ponce.*
Yes, in this country
mankind is kind. Why should
these people
come and disturb our calm.
I am not evicting
anybody. Only trying
to help.
And yet this fellow makes
me nervous,
incessantly walking up
and down, outside my church,
with his dictaphone.
What is he brooding, what is he saying, what
is he planning, what is he scheming, what is he doing,
outside my church.
This is not done, and we can do without
them.
Churches are not intended
for walking up and down outside them
and talking into dictaphones,
this will not do at all.
English people, civilised people, normal
people, educated people,
do not behave like this.
They enter
quietly, sit down, say
their prayers, perhaps look at
the stained glass windows and
the monuments and artefacts,
say their prayer and leave.
They do not pace up
and down outside my church as if
haunted by the evil spirit,
may God protect us from
his machinations and from all his works. This is
my church. A quiet English church,
in noisy London. We can do without
these foreigners, thank you very much.
I have watched him,
tolerantly, for twenty minutes.
I have said nothing. Nothing. Now I can
bear it no longer.
I must ask him what he is
doing there. Of course,
I could not bear to tell him to get out.
I would not dare,
I could not bear,
that would not do at all, oh dear
no.
Oh, I will wait here on my
threshold until he reaches it
for the old one hundredth time.
I will ask:
"Can I help you?". The stranger thought:
"God help you!"
(177 lines)
|
|
1 Pange lingua: Thomas
Aquinas: Praise, o tongue, the mystery
2 thy flaming sword: Genesis 3:24
3 Ordnung muss sein: Untranslateable (because so German in spirit)
catchphrase: "There must be order"
4 tohu wa bohu: Genesis 1:2
5 We are his folk ... doth us take: From: All people that on earth do
dwell. Psalm 100, the Old 100th
6 mortal enmity with pigs: Genesis 3:15: "And I will put enmity between
thee and the pig"
7 so speak the law, the wrens and the ponce: of course in "The Oxford
Voice"
|
| |
|
| Yasin: |
Idolater, you pray to lifeless
statues, to elephants and monkeys, have you
no better sense? Why do you
follow this primitive religion?
Is not God greater
than your animals and artefacts,
is not God greater
than all human beings,
is He not spirit
as our Holy Scripture says,
and that of Jesus and of Abraham?
|
| Naresh: |
Forgive
my simple-minded loving ignorance,
which I have inherited from
my mother. I've always felt very close
to God. I like
to see her, touch him, pamper him
and love her that way.
But you say,
all this is sinful aberration and idolatry,
and I'll be punished
on the day of doom? You make me
much afraid.
Now you tell me, I should
no longer worship
Ganésh and Hánuman, beloved friends,
no longer keep close company
of Ráma and of Krishna,
of Shíva and of Dévi, our mother,
of Ámba Máta, of Síta and of Sáti,
of Úma, Lákshmi and Saráswati,
who accompany me everywhere,
in spirit,
and give me strength
in all my enterprises.
I should forsake them all?
You tell me, righteousness requires
that I miss all these comforts?
Will I not be lonely if
I must pray only to Allah,
who is spirit, who is infinitely great and who is
so far away.
I'll find it hard to bear.
I find it hard to give up MY god
if you do not help me
to find YOURS.
Therefore, Friend, tell me
where is Allah?
Is he above me
in the sky, below me
in the earth, does he stand
on my right hand?
Or on my left hand (which God forbid)?
Does he float behind me (which God forbid),
or do I search for Him in front of me?
|
| Yasin: |
Allah is everywhere, my Friend.
|
| Naresh: |
But where is Allah, outside me or inside
me?
|
| Yasin: |
Allah is everywhere, my Friend.
|
| Naresh: |
Look at the dustbin there across the road.
I know now Allah is outside it.
Surely he is not inside
that thing, that vessel
of wrath and filth.
|
| Yasin: |
Oh no, my Friend,
Allah is everywhere,
even in
that filthy bin,
and He will sanctify it, as He sanctifies
all things.
|
| Naresh: |
Friend, now you perplex me. Your
omnipresent
Allah causes me unease. I have another
question. Forgive me if it seems
offensive. But I have
to ask it, to be sure
and really get your meaning.
The matter is important.
As you say
eternal bliss
or infinite damnation
of my soul depends on it. I must
get it right. So please forgive
and answer.
Surely there are three places
where Allah is not found,
firstly not in this bowl of excrement and second not
in all that is contained
within the covers of
The Satanic Verses
and thirdly not in Salman Rushdie's heart.
Admit that Allah is not there.
|
| Yasin: |
You press me hard,
my Friend.
We do not really like to think and talk about
extreme examples, constructed
and displeasing as they are. But
since you press me thus,
I must admit, Allah is everywhere, even
in all those places, which you named.
They are
disgusting only for our simple
human minds, but Allah far
transcends such petty feelings
of disgust and does not truly
like a petty tyrant care
if his subjects indulge in pretty
poetic mockery, provided they
mock well and with esprit.
He likes a good laugh, and he
more than we
is capable of laughing at himself.
If He is angry, He's not really angry, He
only pretends to be
and plays with us.
|
| Naresh: |
Thank you, my Friend, for being honest.
I think you are close to converting me.
I like this Illat or Allah of yours.
Take off your shoes,
Allah is in the room
we are about to enter,
and in the carpet we will step upon.
Here is my Ganesh,
my dearest loving friend.
We are agreed, Allah is in this room.
But surely He is not
within this statue, to which
I pray and which
I worship and which
you have so often
mocked.
Surely not.
|
| Yasin: |
You're a tease, my Friend, but I'm at ease
with you - and Allah
is everywhere.
|
| Naresh: |
I rest my case.
Let's go and worship Him together.
(18 July 1998)
|
|
In the beginning was the curse,
and the curse was with God,
and blasphemy was God.
In blasphemy was life;
and blasphemy was the light of men.
And blasphemy shineth in the darkness;
and the priest comprehended it not.
That was the true Light,
which lighteth every man
that cometh into the world.
Blasphemy was in the world,
and the world was made by her,
and the world knew her not.
She came unto her own,
and her own received her not.
But as many as received blasphemy,
to them gave she power
to become the daughters of God,
even to them that believe on her name
and on its truth.
She was The Mother.
And her name was Illat
and her name was al'Uzza
and Manat, the third, the other.
Mother, Daughter, and Holy Ghost:
these are the swans exalted
whose blessing is to be hoped for.
And the earth did not split asunder,
the clouds did not break,
and the mountains not shake.
The verse was divine,
and she was divine.
And we loved Lilith.
And blasphemy was made flesh,
and she dwelt among us,
and we beheld her glory,
graciosa,
full of grace and truth.
(1997)
|
|
blue geranium
bumble bee dead on flagstone
so do I want to die
|
|
On the garden path below
a cluster of deep blue
Meadow Cranebills
lies a dead bumble bee.
In the midst of life
we are in death.
You died in active service,
now do inactive service.
May you rest in peace.
May my death be like yours.
|
|
No longer lords it over the flies,*
no longer beels the bubbs,*
no longer scares the fuzz away
no longer calls the buzz,
a bumble humble bee,
lies
plumb
dead
lead*
on the garden path below
a cluster of deep blue
Meadow Cranebills.
Carved in flagstone:
Media in wia* in mumorte sumus
Here bumbled Bumble Bee
Here rambled Bamble Bee
Here sttammered Balbuli*,
Here stumbled Bumble Bee
Hic iacet* Humble Bee.
Aman* is mortal, Amen
are mortal,
Ah, we are mortal,
motorways are mortal
ways. Mortal ways are
mortar ways.
Loving ways are pestle ways?
O bumble, -
bee, -
be humble.
No, no, assert thyself,
O, humble B, -
be C!
She died in active service,
now does inactive service.
May she rest in peace.
Wear the beestars*, suck the I!
May my death be like yours.
1 over the flies: For
entomological details, see William Golding: "Lord of the Flies. A study
of the role of the bumblebee in the ecosystem." Penguin Books,
Harmondsworth
2 beels the bubbs: 2
Kings 1:2. Matth. 12:24 about the virtues of natural pest control
(Jesus used bumble bees [in active service] to drive away the
bluebottles, a method since taken up by anarchists all over the world.)
His magic words were: "Shoe fly, shoe fly, don't bother me / you and me
no company."
3 dead lead: Pronounce
"lead" to rhyme with "dead".
4 Media in vita in
morte sumus (Notker Balbulus; St Gallen, died 912 A.D.) = In the midst
of life we are in death. Media in via = In the middle of the road. To
be sung. A double-u is a stammered u.
5 Latin: Balbuli = The
little stammerers. Notker Balbulus = Notker, the Little Stammerer
6 Hic iacet: Here rests
7 Aman: Hindu girls'
name
8 Wear the beestars:
Shakespeare, Tempest, 5.1: Sing to Arne's tune. Suck the eye! = German:
Sauge das Auge!
|
|
it is the I which holds
the thing together
erect an I
contract an i -
the other pillar jitters
an I for an I
a U for a U
introinvert it
bridge the gap between my friends
an IOU extracts your tooth
even from the bloody alphabet
and no anaesthetic forsooth
fail to dot
the i and you
can no longer cross
Tee, Tay and Tiber [1]
the pontifice [2]
begins to crumble
Pontifex Maxime shrieks
into a would-be
Gregorian miniom [3]
soon you will have pillars
catering for nothing
Hei, das gibt einen Ringelreihn,
und die Brücke muß in den Grund hinein.
Und der Zug, der in die Brücke tritt
um die siebente Stund? Ei, der muß mit.
Muß mit.
Tand, Tand
ist das Gebilde von Menschenhand. [4]
break pride brake speed you fall the abyss
of I
heavenly bride
pull down his breaches
búild the brídge between bríde and gróom
stríp out the g gíve us the áir [5]
on the stríng
o wholly holy danse macabre [6]
gíve more róom
tó the gróom
pestle mostar
to its doom
let the bride
ride the bridge
use the bloody
bridebroom's switch
sweep the Pont
Mirabeau [7]
throw the muck
into the flow
of the heartless happy Seine
until it becomes humane
make the bridge sigh [8]
make Nepomuck jump [9]
let Ganga flee from the water
térror, in cúrse, there ésrever rívers the téll
dans
le cont d'Avignon [10]
l'on
y passe l'on y danse
sous
le pont d'Avignon le
diable
baise tous en rond [11]
thús drúmmed the dévil hér diabólical dánce
and there he pounded his pitiless piston of pain
foebridge joining enarmy to foe
Buda, do not be a pest
Mostar [12]
blow up the old bridge
stop contact
stop conflict
give distact
and disflict
break
down
the
rich
let peace break out
péace cannot cóme
únless in píecis the brídge
peace
now
this bridge leads to the other
shore the bank of truth
strip out the I leave us the e
i.e.
EST
st
SAT
[13]
when you
have reached it
you can drop
the i
and e
will no longer
be needed [14]
(3 July 1998)
|
|
1 Tiber: Pontifex
Maximus (Chief Bridge Builder) in Rome originally in charge of
maintaining the bridges across the river Tiber; later in charge of
interpreting the divince laws. Term even later applied to the popes.
2 pontifice: Latin:
pontem = bridge
3 Gregorian miniom:
Minim: a musical note value, which does not occur in Gregorian chant.
4 Menschenhand: Theodor
Fontane (1819-1898): "Die Brücke am Tay". On 28 December 1879, the
bridge over the River Tay, just completed, the longest of its time and
considered a miracle of engineering, collapsed in a storm as the train
from Edinburgh crossed it. The three weather witches in Fontane's text
say: "Ah, we will lead a cheerful dance, and the bridge must fall into
the gorge. And the train which will enter the bridge at seven, pwa,
that must go too. Toys, toys are all things created by human hand."
5 gíve us the áir: Take
off the g-string, play Bach's so-called "Air on a g-string".
6 danse macabre: Piece
by Saint-Saens (1835-1921)
7 Pont Mirabeau:
Apollinaire: "Le Pont Mirabeau" (in: Alcools). "Sous le pont Mirabeau
coule la Seine"
8 bridge sigh: Venice
9 Nepomuck: Prague
10 dans le cont
d'Avignon: To be chanted to the well-known tune.
11 diable baise tous en
rond: To be chanted to the well-known tune of the popular French
nursery rhyme showing that every womb has a silver lining (except that
of the Virgin Mary, which was gold) and every bridge an underbelly.
Translation: In the cunt of Avignon, everyone strolls, everone dances;
under the bridge of Avignon, the devil fucks all around.
12 Mostar (Old Bridge):
Embattled town (1997-1998)in former Yugoslavia. most = bridge; stary =
old
13 Latin: est = is.
Sanskrit: sat = existence
14 will no longer be
needed: The letters i and e in "i.e." (id est) are the only vowels in
the word "bridge". If they are removed only two pillars remain. But
these letters have their own deeper significance in a state in which a
bridge is no longer needed because only SAT remains and there is nobody
else to contemplate "id".
|
|
Two versions of this poem, with two different titles
Background:
Euripides' bacchae copulated with Bill Gates in 1997 to produce a
homunculus called Pentheum who in turn was raped by Nixon. The fruit of
this unholy alliance was Pentax. Pentheus had a brush with Bacchus...
This poem is to be
recited with strong emphasis on the underlined bold syllables, with the
ferocious sledge-hammer blows of so-called dance music.
Method:
Though this be motto,
yet there is madness in't.
(Hamlet,
2.2:204)
Warning: This poem contains
computer language
that some listeners may find
obfuscating.
In this healthier this
/ are Teresa's Dave and Amanda
and beta edge talking through
/ this bloody machine of course.
It gives every fucking finger
/ long and it is
our real
laughable of the sort
/ of a stupid natural
nonsense
that this fucking programme
/ produces. One new only word
that it gets right consistently
/ Jewish pork
that is "fucking".
And is a sister fucking
/ programme effect
is a master.
Mother fucking is more
/ difficult.
Is on more
complex adrift and had Oedi/puss in order
to learn
how it is done is it is
/ pretty and bad
nor expectant.
The issue consider the number
/ flew corrections
to make you
them as afternoon
/ awful if I
in full thought.
For the major a current
/ Ides of Mars
and of course
he providing each line
/ never about
it corrections
and is no since kind sense
/ won't recognisable
there.
Pure semiotics and more
/ deeper bereft
mere after
notice it is a correct
/ immediately
in as a rebel.
Forger gets less than for some
/ stab in here
they are pure.
Summit the more to the beverages
/ afterwards no
feel a fall
its immediately wooded
/ dodo then die as a rebel.
For it gets less than in I
/ am now making lists of put forward
brutify substitution,
/ Kadmos his pimp
screw the inmates
coming making you once
/ whenever he
was against them
at coming making you once
/ when it's toyboy making renew
once
you once new once you once
/ so traffic tests vicious that fucking
stupid programme the only
/ way to be handed
of course are
no mere dictators bigger
/ than speaking creeking and now
in
did not bring bigger beating
/ now but I am
black hygiene
bigger dictate dictators
/ for bigger wants fans and much decent
must conceivably or
/ detected with published want lust.
It is investors 0603 among Brutus
reeks pretty
stupid we fucking this fate
/ this bustle
of a machine
history obvious terms
/ clarke with the microphone off
now!
(20 July 1998)
|
|
|
|
Another version of the same:
Submarine-like
the spirit of essential essence
of sense
sometimes rises
above the incessant
noise of the waters
Method:
Though this be motto,
yet there is madness in't.
(Hamlet,
2.2:204)
Warning: This poem contains
computer language
that some listeners may find
obfuscating.
In their healthier days
/ Teiresias, Dave
and Amanda
beta grades talking through
/ this bloody machine of course.
It gives every fucking
/ finger long
and it is
our own real laughable
/ stupid natural
nonsense
that this fucking programme
/ produces and there's only one
word
that it gets right consistently
/ British Beef
that is "fucking".
And is a sister fucking
/ programme effect
is a master.
Mother fucking is more
/ difficult.
Is on more
complex adrift and had Oedi/puss in order
to learn
how it is done. But she is
/ pretty and bad
nor expectant.
Now consider the issue
/ consider the number corrected
do it each afternoon
/ awful is merciful
better.
We men are women for current
/ Idaho Mars
and of course
must provide each line
/ never about
it corrections
and is no since nor sense
/ won't recognisable
there.
Pure semiotics and more
/ deeper bereft
mere after
notice it is a correct
/ immediately
in as a rebel.
Forger gets less than for some.
/ Stab in here:
they are pure.
Summit the more to the beverages
/ afterwards Nuffield
a fall
its immediately wooded
/ dodo then die
as a rebel.
For it gets less than in I
/ now making lists
of hoot forward
brutify substitution,
/ Kadmos his pimp
screw the inmates
coming making you once
/ whenever he
was against them.
Sneck up! When coming at once
/ when my toyboy sends the renewal
notice, you once new at once
/ so traffic vice blessed that fucking
stupid programme. The only
/ way to be handled
of course are
no mere dictators at large
/ than speaking creeking, and now
roasting like succulent pigs
/ in a hell that is full of hyenas.
Faster dictates my dictator
/ for louder he cheers his fans,
must conceive me tomorrow
/ detected with unpublished lust.
It is investors 0603 we know Brutus
reeks pretty
stupid, befucking his fate,
/ this bustle
of a machine.
His story sacks his terms.
/ Bark with the microphone off
now!
|
- As in all difficult poems, it is the task of the
reader to discover the sense largely covered by white noise. The poet
is not obliged to provide explanatory footnotes or essays. In this
respect the reader is put into the same position as the poet if the
latter starts working from randomly created words in order to stimulate
his creativity (de-familiarisation) and wean himself away from
prejudice and habit.
- Poems provide structures (patterns) of sound and
text: a paraphraseable message is secondary or unnecessary (Analogies
in other art forms: Abstract painting)
- Poetic exploration of parahuman random generators
and their effects (I.T. devices etc) (Analogies in other art forms:
modern music (aleatory music), e.g. Pierre Boulez, Henri Pousseur, John
Cage, Luciano Berio; indeterminism in music). Poetic confrontation with
the modern technological world.
- Sense on a senseless world (or poem) to be imposed
or developed by the reader, rather than a given sense being forced upon
the reader by the poet.
- As in much modern music (cf Alban Berg), the
emerging of obvious sense from surrounding non-sense has a particularly
poignant effect, like the emergence of conventional harmonies in the
midst of a sea of dissonance.
- The poet must challenge again and again traditional
cosy conventions and expectations (cf Dadaists and Surrealists), e.g.
that of the existence a message with which he can readily agree.
|
|
Sometimes looking at a poem
of mine
after six months or a year,
even I no longer know
of some words
or lines
why I put them in.
Does that make sense?
Is the text still valid?
If I can no longer understand it,
how can anybody else?
What is the point
of the exercise?
Is it that I make myself
understood?
Or is it that I give
words to the reader
which are sufficiently
attractive or intriguing
to make him want
to read, and ponder
over, them,
but with which he can and
should
do absolutely
anything he likes?
Or is it, is it, is it, is it
(28 June 1998)
|
|
Klaus Bung seems to
have found himself in the company of Robert Browning who, when asked to
explain the meaning of his poem "Sordello", replied (allegedly): "When
it was written, God and Robert Browning knew what it meant; now only
God knows." (Oxford Book of Literary Quotations)
|
|
Don't rush to die, don't rush to kill,
peaceful and wise like your name be your life.
(1998?)
|
 |
|
Ingrédients:
1 banane, 2 oeufs, 1 Petite Madeleine
Procédure: Quolibet
|
(20 March 1995)
|
from:
Klaus Bung
68 Brantfell Road
Blackburn BB1-8DL
England
Offer: First Serial Rights (for any given territory)
Payment: By arrangement.
Copyright 1995-2003: Klaus Bung
|
|
