post-lang po meta-jack bruce said...
I wouldn't want to post a comment in a post that meta-critiques meta-language and meta-bullshit, but...
"Faith in the idea that faith in text that critiques some snark that asks a series of rhetorical questions about a post that meta-snarks with regard to the proposition that meta-language and rhetorical questions are bullshit is total fucking shit, wouldn't you agree?"
posted by Snark @ 1:20 AM
4 Comments:
There is more poetry in good pyrotechnic prose -- fiction or nonfiction -- than there is in most experimental verse.
I'm tired of wasting my time on stuff like "langpo." There are too many other things to do with my time.
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To Barron I say, lang poo is snark snot, and poe wang is bo-rang. Poe Wang Chung, however, holds promise to redeem the future of the art by allowing everyone to have fun tonight.
To r. c. bald, I say, Hong Kong revivalist poetry makes we want to poo poo all over your platter. You must have vertigo or something. Go back to Austerlitz, nerd.
"The hyacinths
birdcages and my
(distant)
love lies
beyond the stacks
of a thousand
beauty's-born
boats in the harbour,
boats born
boats asunder under
(love's)
distanter flower
distanter than time
distantlier, O distantlier..."
Gerald Thurmond, "Abroad," 1988
If we concentrate on the frayed, lossening strands of the final era of Hong Kong expatriate verse, I do think we see it beginning to come to terms with its tradition through a complex and emotionally charged method of textual practice, a method that might hold some refuge, O irascible snarkers, from the solipsistic tinkerings of contemporary experimental verse. The traditional English elegy finds itself fractured, displaced in space, through a kind of Celanian refabrication of the poetic texture. But these fissures, of course, find themselves deeply tied to expatriate displacement in general. Do they fall into an unfortunate orientalism? At times, perhaps. Mostly, I'm uncomfortable with the term "Hong Kong revivalist" to speak about how one would necessarily incorporate these texts into a contemporary poetics.
Here's another section from Thurmond that might be instructive:
"transparent auto
mobile this bouganvilla tele
vision advertises what
to get you I need
to get you. I needs
of glass a junk of reeds
the flute they forgot
you are unreachably
foreign and undocumented
marvel to western"
&c., &c., ...
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