wool, family

6:53 PM / Posted by indolent mendicant / comments (0)

Here's yet another poem constructed from text that has been translated into
multiple languages. It started as spam from Taiwan, as the others did. Unusual in this case is that it emerged in English as prose, probably stolen from somewhere to pad the spam. I kept intact (and enhanced) the odd imagery that emerged.

I am thought,
by raising it in feet and
by observing with ego.
Father and mother, do they like their devotees?
With their external part
I light the room.

This night, significant with the father and the mother,
the father and their mother took us to them:
Care to leave ours born?
Born ours in a more first life place, like a child.
The child awakes and it acts awaked,
happiness, innocence, beauty and the dream
of wool, family.
There, family is quit.

They obtained the brothers and the sisters.
The brothers and the sisters are branches of family.
Love exists with their enormous upper part;
Much of the birds will come, to remain under this tonality.
I disguise two, to have joined peace and have joined reality.
There peace is, and there, reality.
They are constructed on their comprehension.
There, comprehension is an effluence of compassion.
Basically, compassion adjusts thought.

There! I thought it!
When there are adjustments, vision will also adjust.
Where it adjusts, vision reverses in my heart.
My heart is full with pretty kindness.
The summer withdraws from the father, and finest wool.

I make it room, let it rain,
rain much with strong and there,
electric lantern of wool,
electric illumination runs
over exposed things.
To the wind, to the wind,
if to cool and one month’s thought,
guide this night within.

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the first Taiwanese poem of 2011

6:52 PM / Posted by indolent mendicant / comments (0)

low-cost undertakings establish the daily necessities of life -

general merchandise
wholesale chain-like circuit recruits
enterprise partner –
which various counties have a mind to manage.

Historically, the most simple becoming-rich pattern
so long as you want
becomes simple, guaranteed
as turns the rich man,
so turns the rich man.

Ultra low undertaking thresholds!
Share several hundred types of human spirit daily necessities!
The most simple becoming-rich pattern
has nothing to do with booming –
every kind is the source of income fund assets.
The experience
the team
the product
the marketing, prepared for you

Did not need the fund completely
did not need to exempt the experience
did not need to store up goods –
you should become the high salary race.

the last Taiwanese poem of 2010

6:18 PM / Posted by indolent mendicant / comments (0)

The use appeal thing can,

given enough time forward moving,

improve the sexual affection quality

 

"attendant versatile female assigns special-purpose good"


the lifelike second child:

this commodity often renews

for diverse consumer choice –

to pull the bead,

to gasify the baby superiorly

 

for consumer choice diversity

the commodity often renews  

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7:27 PM / Posted by indolent mendicant / comments (1)
7:26 PM / Posted by indolent mendicant / comments (0)

Mac Low, Eigner, Weiner, Howe, Coolidge

9:26 AM / Posted by indolent mendicant / comments (0)

Jackson Mac Low had some things to tell me in his poetry. In 'Dances' there is life in movement and motion. There are unders and overs. Things happen. His quote from the intro made sense as a guiding principle when writing poetry: "avoid the intrusions of the author as ego (and to foreground language as such)."
'Trope Market' - luscious word play. Musical, complex, ending with a jazz drum beat. And '59th Light' is lovely. Is the ending inconsistent with the rest of the piece? Well, if I'm being picky I guess it is, but that doesn't mean it's inappropriate. I liked the poem, nonetheless.
Then there comes the 'Twenties.' Meh. Spaces are the absence of meaning.

Eigner has done some nice things. I like his back story, his condition of existence, because he lives his own constraint. What he writes is a presenting without insisting.

Weiner and Howe, and even the venerated Clark Coolidge left me cold. The anthology presents all works as important by virtue of being collected. So I wish to regard them with appropriate reverence. But their aim is not true, in my case. I loosed their arrows at my perceptions, and they all missed. Should specific disparagements be asked for, I will supply them.

for Greta

9:49 PM / Posted by indolent mendicant / comments (2)

warm tea in the huge mug

in the sun

by the garden

bees regard me

as one more flower