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Just had this in my inbox. The person wants critique. Couldn't find the thread they asked for, so I made this thread. The crossover between email and barb has made it look not so shiny, but the text has remained unaltered for obvious reasons.
Two poems carry an olive branch:
Noise by Robert Redgrave
Suddenly in this dream I was printer's ink
Poured through the presses, patterned in every man's
mind,
Ideas lodged in his farthest recesses were mine,
Had taken in my angular black, the engrams
Of my pain under the presses.
Now I revenge for when one dies
I let him see it all clearly, all that he's learned
Now in it's entirety for the first time known,
Laid in front of his soul's eye, painfully learned…
Then lightly, laughingly, carelessly I withdraw my spirit.
Letters, sentences, paragraphs shudder and mingle, a little
black smear
Replaces each most delicate printed utterance,
A little ragged black snigger like a smudge
That bites like a scorched hole, spreading,
And each book blackens with thick noise
Full of the cries of the world lost in it.
And the libraries! They haemorrhage from their stacks.
So you would do well never again to read books
Nor to build up your children's brains on foundations of
books
For it is a bookless pain and it lacks pictures
And it is an ocean of night-pain and noise.
Silence by Secretposter
(A plagiarism of Robert Redgrave's 'Noise')
Suddenly in this dream I was virtual words
Light pouring from a screen, an illusory hand reaching for
yours,
Ideas in one moment, instant and immediate
Now shinning, lyrical but unsure, as an engram
Of need and expression
That never ends, and never dies
and is perpetuated and preserved, by each suspended,
fragmented mirage of life; the words of the text are
images trapped in glass and each one a mirrored facet of the soul …
Given freely, and uncensored, I carelessly give myself, I give my all.
Letters, sentences, paragraphs shudder and mingle, a skein
of white doves
Replaces each most delicate typed utterance
A white winged sign of days to come
That takes flight, over perfect binary hearts
Worn on quixotic and strange binary sleeves,
They silence all cries but those from which they are become.
And the Libraries! They haemorrahage from their fledged stacks!
So you would do well to read into everything
And build your tower of language on foundations of
Love.
For it is a wordless pleasure
That is in truth expressed. |
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