Geof Huth's Blog, page 47
October 29, 2010
October 28, 2010
What You Know about Me Only My Closed Eyes Can Tell
My Own Eyes from Kate Greenstreet on Vimeo.
What might come to us in a dream might come to us in a poem, might even come to us in a film. Or if there were a film of a poet put together lovingly by the poet's husband, whose tender eye could not even bear to show her to us for more than a few seconds, then we would learn that the poet wasn't a body, but a voice. Or, in some sense, a body of words. And if we would watch the film for almost thirty minutes, but a little less than that, then we would see the poet as a painter, the poems as words seen and heard, the poem as a physical presence, but glancingly so, and we would learn that the word is the image, that the human imagination is the world itself. Especially if the poet were Kate Greenstreet and the filmmaker was Max Greenstreet. Or is it the other way around?
ecr. l'inf.
October 27, 2010
12 for Roy Arenella in Anticipation of Many More
Today, I went to see my friend, the mailartist, photographer, and visual poet Roy Arenella, in the hospital, but before I went to see him, I created something to cheer him up and entertain him for a few minutes. I created a tiny little handmade publication of a dozen recent fidgetglyphs of mine. It was a simple gift, but one that took a little time and care. All packaged up in an inert plastic envelope and created upon high-quality and stable paper, it's ready for permanent retention. After creating it, I looked over it and recorded a few words about it, so that I could remember this dozen of good wishes gone out into the world. Good wishes to my friend Roy, and may he soon be better than ever.
12 for Roy Arenella from Geof Huth on Vimeo.
ecr. l'inf.
October 24, 2010
October 21, 2010
October 18, 2010
Brussels Sprouts Poetry
Gerry Rasmussen and Gary Delainey, "Betty" (18 October 2010)It seems like someone has figured out something about poetry, or not. Why would poetry (or even poems) be Brussels sprouts, I wonder? Because they can be small and smelly? Because if cooked right (sauteed with a tiny bit of oil some lemon and some fresh garlic) they can be a remarkable delicacy? Because no-one knows how to make them right? Because they come in all kinds of sizes and almost in a mottled green? Because they are cute? Because no-one needs them to survive? Because some people cannot live without them? Because some Airedales cannot live without them? Because people fear they are good for them? Because they are difficult to harvest? to pull out of the frozen earth? to cut with a knife off the tough stem? Because they can be made in so many different ways? Because they are never made right and are smelly and mushy? Because they are never made right and are smelly and mushy? Because they are never made right and are smelly and mushy?And what would visual poetry be? Kohlrabi?
ecr. l'inf.
