Ophelia's Nun

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  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    The dichotomy I was asserting was between eclecticism and outright plagiarism. There was an essay entitled "Tradition and the Individual Talent" that was produced in 1921 by TS Eliot. Eliot argued that the corpus of literature is intercommunicative (years later, Julia Kristeva would use the term "intertextual"). Theorists such as Bakhtin and, later, Derrida would perceive all words as sign systems admitting traces of every other utterance and context in which they were used. So, in a phrase or utterance in a poem there is an intertextual echo or consonantal trace of every other time that phrase has been used in any other poem, or even communicative context anywhere. Words and phrases interact in this sense of the free flow of linguistic and significatory play here, but they rely on the concept of (and this isn't a spelling mistake or typo here) "differAnce" in order to interoperate.And parody or imitation can subvert the "master" discourse and create a "third space" for the subversive, iconoclastic text to deconstruct its immediate progenitor.

    BUT, imitation that is too linguistically close to its source constitutes plagiarism. I argue that interaction between texts, whether satirical or critical or meta-meta-meta-pretentiously theoretical-critical, strengthens linguistic and literary expression even if the elements of a text are internally in conflict. This is the wonder of the multi-dialogic potential of interactive Internet poetry. But there is a particularly monologic tendency in some poetry which is too imitative to reword language and text sufficiently to be different (or "differAnt", referring non-plagiaristically but intertextually to Derrida here); I was referring to specific examples of this above. The notion of "communal" poetry isn't the same in my mind as interactive, shared poetry (often contradictory but geared towards the excitement of the perpetuation of ideas). To commune in the production of poetry implies that all should speak monologically and deliberately with the same voice.

    In Stalin's era, particularly in the 30s, poets were encouraged to "commune" and work together, effectively and inevitably in support of the Party. Dissidents were killed or imprisoned, as the writings of Anna Akhmatova describe. The poets and artistic figures who banded together in collaboration to defend poetic expression from Stalin's Yezhov Terror worked interactively and often with internal quarrels, to produce a multiplicity of voices challenging the monologic dominant linguistic ideology enforced upon "communal" worker-poets.
  • tenaciousA
    tenaciousA Posts: 604
    holy cow

    i'm going to need to take paid leave off to read that reply...


    LOL



    love to you :)
    ~all is full of love~
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    From "King Lear", 3.4.


    Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,
    That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
    How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
    Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
    From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
    Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
    Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
    That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
    And show the heavens more just.
  • tenaciousA
    tenaciousA Posts: 604
    Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots


    ...in a phrase or utterance in a poem there is an intertextual echo or consonantal trace of every other time that phrase has been used in any other poem, or even communicative context anywhere. Words and phrases interact in this sense of the free flow of linguistic and significatory play here, but they rely on the concept of "differAnce" in order to interoperate.


    what's interoperate mean?


    And parody or imitation can subvert the "master" discourse and create a "third space" for the subversive, iconoclastic text to deconstruct its immediate progenitor.


    and this, i'm sorry... i don't get it... :(


    BUT, imitation that is too linguistically close to its source constitutes plagiarism.

    I argue that interaction between texts, whether satirical or critical or meta-meta-meta-pretentiously theoretical-critical, strengthens linguistic and literary expression even if the elements of a text are internally in conflict.

    nor this :(



    This is the wonder of the multi-dialogic potential of interactive Internet poetry. But there is a particularly monologic tendency in some poetry which is too imitative to reword language and text sufficiently to be "differAnt",

    i SEE


    The notion of "communal" poetry isn't the same in my mind as interactive, shared poetry (often contradictory but geared towards the excitement of the perpetuation of ideas). To commune in the production of poetry implies that all should speak monologically and deliberately with the same voice.


    this is the spirit in which I sometimes "tag" opp (other ppl's poetry) :D I think it might offend some poets, especially if I read a phrase that reminds me of something I once wrote and go ahead and post it or send it to them... but it is only that... the perpetuation of ideas.... exciting, indeed especially in this anonymous forum...

    In Stalin's era, particularly in the 30s, poets were encouraged to "commune" and work together, effectively and inevitably in support of the Party. Dissidents were killed or imprisoned, as the writings of Anna Akhmatova describe. The poets and artistic figures who banded together in collaboration to defend poetic expression from Stalin's Yezhov Terror worked interactively and often with internal quarrels, to produce a multiplicity of voices challenging the monologic dominant linguistic ideology enforced upon "communal" worker-poets.


    dem crazy commies... LOL




    i think i shoulda ate some Wheaties before the second attempt here


    :P


    but... i think... i get you for the most part
    ~all is full of love~
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I'm ready for ya, Tenacious! :D I know you're up ta somethin'...

    ;)
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Ah, ya posted before me! I thought I was gonna be all pre-emptive and schtuff...

    :D:D:D

    Interoperate? In a free flow of signs at play in a deconstructed text, signifiers interoperate to reinforce the Derridan notion that "There is nothing (in terms of signified "meaning") outside of the text."


    The thing about the third space; it's actually often applied in practice as a theoretical discourse of deconstruction to postcolonial theory, but its principles overlap with many other post-structuralist methodologies (go find 'em ... come back ... report! :D). However, its roots are in Bakhtin and Derrida.

    Read this:

    http://www.emory.edu/ENGLISH/Bahri/1WEBPAGE.HTML

    My next points about texts in conflict in an unbreakable web of differAnce? Try this:

    http://web.utk.edu/~misty/Derrida376.html

    There were post Derridans who WOULD question the notion of "meaning", though.

    ;)
  • tenaciousA
    tenaciousA Posts: 604
    i like to use the word "deconstruct" to mean

    take apart... passionately :)



    i'll get to reading some time soon, :)
    ~all is full of love~
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I think to deconstruct is, ironically, to see with what complexity language is put together, and to celebrate this, but to tear apart some of the cruder, often dominant-ideological ways of reducing interpretation to fixed readings or "constructs" of "meaning".

    :)

    Night!
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Blue whisper out of range over the beach
    out from each wave; strain the ear to hear
    the echoes fumbling low free from reach
    and never clear (and never clear)

    But where the black ford hits the sea (where?) -
    quick - capture, rich upon this breaking shore
    her call.. it's there!... She's here!...
    The Blue. Just under!

    Here.
  • tenaciousA
    tenaciousA Posts: 604
    lovely sir :)
    ~all is full of love~
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    :)
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Hunter's moon, my mavourneen.
    Nightglade and the elmshade.
    Ripples make a warning:
    Wiseheads, watch the landhead.
    With our robe and our food
    With our look and our word
    They will tear down our wood
    but we've the Blood.

    Journeymen rhyme, my mavourneen;
    Not in hairline of our wordmen.
    They mimic our kings in the morning;
    They're the no-ones:
    we're the scions.

    With the clasp on our tongue
    with a watch on our throng
    they want the air of our song
    but we're the ones
    we're the ones
    we're the ones
    we're the ones

    MAVOURNEEN
    MAVOURNEEN
    MAVOURNEEN
    MAVOURNEEN

    And with the clasp on our tongue
    And with a watch on our throng
    they want the air of our song:
    Well, we're the ones
    we're the ones
    we're the ones
    we're the ones

    MAVOURNEEN
    MAVOURNEEN
    MAVOURNEEN
    MAVOURNEEN
  • tenaciousA
    tenaciousA Posts: 604
    And that's the way it always is and that's the way
    it always ends and the fire and the rose are one
    and always the same scene and always the same
    subject right from the beginning like in the Bible
    or The Sun Also Rises which begins Robert Cohn
    was middleweight boxing champion of his class
    but later we lost our balls and there we go again
    there we are again there's the same old theme
    and scene again with all the citizens and all
    the characters all working up to it right from
    the first and it looks like all they ever think of
    is doing it It and it doesn't matter much with who
    half the time but the other half it matters more
    than anything O the sweet love fevers yes and
    there's always complications like maybe she has
    no eyes for him or him no eyes for her or her no
    eyes for her or him no eyes for him or something
    or other stands in the way like his mother or
    her father or someone like that but they go right
    on trying to get it all the time like in Shakespeare
    or The Waste Land or Proust remembering his Things
    Past or wherever And there they all are struggling
    toward each other or after each other like those
    marble maidens on that Grecian Urn or any market
    street or merrygoround around and around they go
    all hunting love and half the hungry time not even
    knowing just what is really eating them like Robin
    walking in her Nightwood streets although it isn't
    quite as simple as all that as if all she really
    needed was a good fivecent cigar oh no and those
    who have not hunted will not recognize the hunting
    poise and then the hawks that hover where the
    heart is hid and the hungry horses crying and
    the stone angels and heaven and hell and Yerma
    with her blind breasts under her dress and then
    Christopher Columbus sailing off in search and
    Rudolph Valentino and Juliet and Romeo and John
    Barrymore and Anna Livia and Abie's Irish Rose
    and so Goodnight Sweet Prince all over again
    with everyone and everybody laughing and crying
    along wherever night and day winter and summer
    spring and tomorrow like Anna Karenina lost in
    the snow and the cry of hunters in a great wood
    and the soldiers coming and Freud and Ulysses
    always on their hungry travels after the same
    hot grail like King Arthur and his nighttime knights
    and everybody wondering where and how it will all
    end like in the movies or in some nightmaze novel
    yes as in a nightmaze Yes I said Yes I will and he
    called me his Andalusian rose and I said Yes my
    heart was going like mad and that's the way Ulysses
    ends as everything always ends when that hunting
    cock of flesh at last cries out and has his glory
    moment God and then comes tumbling down the sound
    of axes in the wood and the trees falling and down
    it goes the sweet cock's sword so wilting in the
    fair flesh fields away alone at last and loved
    and lost and found upon a riverbank along a
    riverrun right where it all began and so begins again


    "A Coney Island of the Mind" Copyright © 1958 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.
    ~all is full of love~
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    This is another good one. This time, the words to a play:

    http://www.emory.edu/ENGLISH/DRAMA/beckettnoti.html
  • tenaciousA
    tenaciousA Posts: 604
    i will read that later :)


    thanks!
    ~all is full of love~
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I see you on the kraal now, looking out towards the veld,
    at poison rushes, waving underneath
    tonight's uncommon knifewind. And I know, all night, you've held
    That moon deep in your gaze, seeking its death
    not in descent but hollowing by love's relentless night:
    You wish Her any fate except to die
    prostrate before the Sun in all His truth-defining light
    that rents the heart's dreamveil. You defy
    inevitable dawn with your proud eye.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    How do you start a pudding race?

    Sago.


    :D
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    "Here we are, starving to death, and all you can think of is food!"

    Spike Milligan
    :D
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Usually it's all improvs from me on this thread, but here is a really old song lyric of mine.

    Singing to the Silence

    The dusktide's meander, a moon-mystic reel
    Courts shadows from yesterday time cannot heal
    No longer reflecting old splendours contained
    I've watched your eyes darken until light's all drained
    Before the feature stills
    To cease flights unfufilled
    There's comfort to be found
    When silence reigns on far

    Concluding to capture a rest to this line
    No more in contention, you shamble behind
    With merely your gesture of voice to defend
    an existence that cries out at sunset for end
    And when the light has gone
    And after all is done
    There's comfort to be found
    When silence reigns on far

    Revealing an apathy seeking disguise
    as sustinence falters, night prayers arise
    But will you adhere it their fashions profane
    And slip through their promise, to darkness attain?
    With dreams that ride the now
    Made futile by the hour
    There's comfort to be found
    As silence falls on far


    July 28th 1990