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A Winter in Munich
for Rowen S and Newsclippings
PRELUDE
An error occurred at my bank. It was xmas and none of the guys over there felt the need to fix it. … yet! So I, on my way to work, collected the cash, a two-months income for me, in order to waste it. You could say: I had a plan.
Moving on, I considered to not go to work, but instead take the train to Munich to bacchanalize my life. And my birthday was coming up soon, too.
FUGUE IN THREE VOICES
Voice 1:
Close the doors, put out the light*
My bourgeois lamp dimmed down
while I sat on my Bordeaux cushion
drinking Blue Curaçao straight from
the pretty bottle I had bought as a
bad imitation of a soother for a lost boy.
Landed at Munich's grand station
feeling more warm by then.
I strolled through Schillerstraße
(a Harlemized NYC 5th Avenue)
rented a bed at a hotel called:
Heimat meaning Home or better: at home
is where me heart should be.
Me, blue-blooded now, ventured into
the scene of horses and downers:
The H was good: I was Bowie for just
one day, needing a Queen to satisfy
my needs, and I found one queen bee
of the smack. She wanted to lay me and
screw, but I: my brain needed the powder.
So, it took her about a million years
and not one single fucking second less
to apporting what was mine. All was
mine because me, I paid for it.
Major league hit through my nose:
Next thing I know is: her exposing
her breasts, first to me and then to
the mirror, me recalling: I'd fuck
me hard
from the silence of the lambs,
but I doubt we made love
because I blacked out.
I only remember, we stole magnum bottles
of champaign in order to sell them to a downtown
bar in order to get cash for horse of course.
It worked. Me feeling like a cultural anthropo-
logical field worker, getting too inclined.
In that same winter with a dark cloud for a sun,
covering what was wrong with me, my bourgeois
lamp dimmed down lowest.
---
Voice 2:
The winds of Thor are blowing cold*
On the night of my birthday I walked through
a snow-flake hazard, singing the shadow of a
smile to myself, getting stoned on being free
from people but enslaved by drugs instead. I went
to the Allotria, a Jazz bar***, where after announcing
my celebration day I got a nice faced woman suddenly sitting next
to me, pretending interest in my affairs I did not tell
her about anyway, and trying to get me into talking about
what I have not the slightest clue. In nuce
it was - so it seemed to me – about her marvelous breasts
and why I did not desire to touch them.
I was less inclined, because of the music and the whiskey.
Voice 3:
They choose the path where no-one goes
Bad timing? She paid herself the glass of bad champaign
because I felt gentlemanishly enough to appreciate
her emancipation, she should care more about that, maybe
but then: who am I to judge? And then also: who am I to care?
Four fingers of whiskey (I insisted on Bourbon)
I got for free, so I doubled them of course
and, adding to the supposedly fun thing not to come,
I had one musical wish for free. I wanted Hancock's
Water Melon Man, but that was rejected because of being too
mainstream plastic pop bs, so I , now Marlowe, turned to the
typically ugly-faced piano man and said: You know what:
The shadow of your smile, please, (“but not your smile“, I thought),
which made him smile, but not me (because of the Marlowe thing
I had going by then). Must have been the whiskey.
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Gut gemacht! Leider, I'm extremely tired and can't offer any serious crit but I enjoyed the first read. I'll see if I can offer you anything tomorrow. Peace
'...only this time one exciting opportunity was precisely as good as the next exciting opportunity. Which is to say, simply, that nobody got paid anymore' - Algren
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I like Algren esp, for "the man with the golden arm" with a young H-addicted Sinatra and a very fine Jazz drum solo (Al Green, too: e.g: http://youtu.be/Pmn2KDiW-kE).
dream well or better: dream up good stuff, Lewis ;-)
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Lewis: re your quote: Algren sounds like Vonnegut in that one. I dig them both: So one more reason to raise my bottle. cheers
It might be unfair to critique work that has my name on it. And who wouldn't want their name filed alongside Newsclippy? She might not know it yet, but she has talent that's growing.
I also can't critique because I'm drinking and have drunk.
In America we drink Absinthe right out of the bottle, because French is a synonym for gay. Not that gay's bad when I'm drunk. It gets me to the same place.
It's not winter, it's spring!
May Day was dark and gloomy.
May-eve was dark and gloomy, and I did something bad.
But I have wine and beer in abundance left over.
I'll get back to this poem, if I haven't drunkenly pig's-arsed it.
I don't think one post can do that, now.
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It is not finished yet: The 3rd voice (most likely News') is missing still.
as to absinthe: we have a harmlessified ;-) version here. It is very important when you are polytox.
The winter is a concrete winter and a winter metaphor, too.
I don't care about spring. Spring bores me. But it is good that I can go out with just a t-shirt and jeans, and smoke freely in street cafés.
Our
(Germans') minorities here are close to rioting: it is getting cold in the sun.
Just one remark bc you are one of the addresses of this here: It is dedicated TO you and her. But it is about me of course.
To please Leanne, the teacher, I could use now Keats' Ode ON a Grecian Urn to make my point.
My poem is not Keats-ish
of course.
the difference cbetwen TO and ON
I can only write to you both.
you know that anyway
Abundance-wise: yah me too.
I have a hard time to choose what to drink next, so I try to drink everything
simultaneousy.
One xmas back 3 years I almost died on absinthe plus stuff. was pretty creepy.
blabla ;-)
and as to unfair: do no care about that pls.
cheers!
I started to listen to Led Zeppelin, and decided to read the poem again when I was in a less violent mood.
On special days, I'm a May-eve and Hallowe'en American, I use my sister's credit card, and order booze from out of the country. I pay her, I just don't have a card. Though it's mostly ritual glamour; if I can survive American food, I can down foreign poison, no sweat.
I still feel the seasons. And spring is real for me. Though it could be winter here today. It's still dark and gloomy.
I'll get back. And you can finish it.
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I cannot finish it without news.
We're your human caterpillar?
I'd normally prefer to be the front section. But with News, it might not be bad the other way around. I don't feel normal, and she's a looker.
I'm leaving now before we get sent to the principal's office.
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it is easier for me to write to someone
I write this for her and you, bc i like both your styles.
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I don't know. I feel overwhelmed for some reason. I can't critique.
Though I read it. It is nice to loft through.
Makes me want to drink too.
I'll be there in a minute.
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I got talking to a street performer once who noticed a copy of Algren's 'Wak on the Wild Side' in my bag. He told me that he himself was once an addict, and how every Tuesday he would get his methadone script, get loaded and for some reason the film of 'The Man with the Golden Arm' was nearly always on T.V. He said he fucking hated it haha. Anyway, the tea's been prepared which I guess means it's time for an edit...
(05-02-2013, 04:50 AM)serge gurkski Wrote: PRELUDE
A Winter in Munich
for Rowen S and Newsclippings
An error occurred at my bank. It was xmas and none of the guys over there felt the need to fix it. … yet! So I, on my way to work, collected the cash, a two-months income for me, in order to waste it. You could say: I had a plan.
Moving on, I considered to not go to work, but instead take the train to Munich to bacchanalize my life. And my birthday was coming up soon, too. is this little back story part of the piece? Or is it a separate anecdote to contextualize the poem for us forum-heads? Either way, I quite like it. It's daring, amusing and somehow a little ominous too.
FUGUE IN THREE VOICES
Voice 1:
Close the doors, put out the light*
My bourgeois lamp dimmed down because of 'Bordeaux' in the second line, I'll let you get away with using 'bourgeois' in this line because at least your use of French is consistent. We studied Marx recently and after hearing/reading/saying/writing the word so many times it just pisses me off haha, but I digress, I do like how the piece opens. Only, why does the lamp dim?
while I sat on my Bordeaux cushion
drinking Blue Curaçao straight from
the pretty bottle I had bought as a
bad imitation of a soother for a lost boy. 'pretty bottle' works really well. Solid first stanza, I'm not sure about 'soother' but can't think of anything else 
Landed at Munich's grand station
feeling more warm by then.
I strolled through Schillerstraße
(a Harlemized NYC 5th Avenue)
rented a bed at a hotel called:
Heimat. Home or better: at home. You're killing me, this stanza is great. I love trivial motion in poetry, very Frank O'Hara-esque. I may be a little partial given my own fond memories of Munich's grand station, but hey. Also, I assume if the last line was prose it would read 'Heimat, which means home, or better yet; at home.' If I'm wrong in saying that, then I'm wrong. If I'm right, it may only be on account of my ability to speak German (poorly), perhaps you could make it a little more comprehensible for all the non-German mono-linguistic scum, unless you're shooting for esoteric-ism.
Me, blue-blooded now, ventured into
the scene of horses and downers:
The H was good: I was Bowie for just these references are very cheeky, unless I'm looking to far into them. Bowie [heroes] for just one day? And Queen being, among the other meanings, reference to Bowie's colab with Freddie? How's my aim?
one day, needing a Queen to satisfy
my needs, and I found one queen bee
of the smack. She wanted to lay me and if you mean lay me as in sex and screw as in sex, I think it's best if you scrap one.
screw, but I: my brain needed the powder. very nice. the personal pronoun proceeded by 'my brain' seems to separate you as you from the dependent gears within you.
So, it took her about a million years
to apporting what was mine. All was apport or apporting?
mine because me, I paid for it. again, me and I, some may call it fault, I like it though.
Major league hit through my nose:
Next thing I know is: her exposing
her breasts, first to me and then to
the mirror, me recalling: I'd fuck myself
from the silence of the lambs, but I doubt
we made love because I blacked out. starts to get hectic and ends with a satirical subversion (sort of). It's cool, but I don't know about the silence of lambs thing.
I only remember, we stole magnum bottles
of champaign in order to sell them to a downtown
bar in order to get cash for horse of course.
It worked. Me feeling like a cultural anthropo-
logical field worker, getting too inclined. repetition of 'in order to,' to highlight the linear progress of it all? I get it, I think, but I'm not sure if I'm a huge fan of it.
In that same winter with a dark cloud for a sun,
covering what was wrong with me, my bourgeois
lamp dimmed down lowest. Aha! so here 'dimmed' is an adjective ("the red lamp/the dimmed lamp") is this how it was meant to be in the first stanza? Because the word 'while' in L2 suggests you've used 'dimmed' as a verb (i dimmed my lamp down/my lamp miraculously dimmed itself down).
sorry but I have an assignment to complete so I can't crit part 2 at the moment.
thoroughly enjoyable, Frank O'Hara meets William Burroughs without the trite-ness that each of them have from time to time. Vielen Dank
'...only this time one exciting opportunity was precisely as good as the next exciting opportunity. Which is to say, simply, that nobody got paid anymore' - Algren
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(05-03-2013, 10:34 AM)newsclippings Wrote: I don't know. I feel overwhelmed for some reason. I can't critique.
Though I read it. It is nice to loft through.
Makes me want to drink too. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
to Newsclippings:
damn!
I almost missed your reply! I do not want to lead you into temptation. If you can do without alc, pls stay that way and save yourself
(I cannot )
I must fumble with the underbelly of this text.
cautious cheers!
serge
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Good afternoon Lewis,
I just started reading your critique, but in advance:
1. bourgeois is used because of : " un bourgeois tout petit petit (the movie:
http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Un_bourgeoi...etit_petit
(so Marx was close)
(to quote from wiki: "Forte et pessimiste dénonciation de la médiocrité."
It is also a tongue in cheek ref to
Buñuel's Le charme discret de la bourgeoise:
http://youtu.be/7Z50Gg_16H4
"Only, why does the lamp dim? ", you asked.
This a triple reference I might foot note. Most important is:
This poem by Belgian master stylist Émile Verhaeren:
" C'est la bonne heure où la lampe s'allume : ..."
( http://poesie.webnet.fr/lesgrandsclassiq...llume.html)
more later
cheers
serge
Is it caterpillar or centipede? I think it's centipede that I meant to say last time.
So you have one more part to finish? My concentration is slowly forming a comeback. Though I'm still zoning in and out. I keep forgetting where I am, and I have a sneaking feeling I'm not alone in the house.
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(05-03-2013, 11:34 AM)lewis taylor Wrote: I got talking to a street performer once who noticed a copy of Algren's 'Wak on the Wild Side' in my bag. He told me that he himself was once an addict, and how every Tuesday he would get his methadone script, get loaded and for some reason the film of 'The Man with the Golden Arm'
<<< yes, I get that. ;-)
was nearly always on T.V. He said he fucking hated it haha. Anyway, the tea's been prepared which I guess means it's time for an edit...
(05-02-2013, 04:50 AM)serge gurkski Wrote: PRELUDE
A Winter in Munich
for Rowen S and Newsclippings
An error occurred at my bank. It was xmas and none of the guys over there felt the need to fix it. … yet! So I, on my way to work, collected the cash, a two-months income for me, in order to waste it. You could say: I had a plan.
Moving on, I considered to not go to work, but instead take the train to Munich to bacchanalize my life. And my birthday was coming up soon, too. is this little back story part of the piece? Or is it a separate anecdote to contextualize the poem for us forum-heads? Either way, I quite like it. It's daring, amusing and somehow a little ominous too.
<<< You are almost there: this prelude sets the scene. But I address the general public (not just the Pigpen members).
FUGUE IN THREE VOICES
Voice 1:
Close the doors, put out the light*
My bourgeois lamp dimmed down because of 'Bordeaux' in the second line, I'll let you get away with using 'bourgeois' in this line because at least your use of French is consistent.
[b]<<< Verharen was a bourgeois voice in a modernist choir of early 20th century.
We studied Marx recently and after hearing/reading/saying/writing the word so many times it just pisses me off haha, but I digress, I do like how the piece opens. Only, why does the lamp dim? [/b]
while I sat on my Bordeaux cushion
drinking Blue Curaçao straight from
the pretty bottle I had bought as a
bad imitation of a soother for a lost boy. 'pretty bottle' works really well. Solid first stanza, I'm not sure about 'soother' but can't think of anything else <<< well, I can, lol: pacifier (I like how my brain reacts to that: association: soother -- pacifier --- peacemaker etc )
Landed at Munich's grand station
feeling more warm by then.
I strolled through Schillerstraße
(a Harlemized NYC 5th Avenue) <<< Harlem does not fit in here anymore (too posh now) but I keep it for euphonic reasons )
rented a bed at a hotel called:Heimat meaning Home or better: at home.
You're killing me, this stanza is great. I love trivial motion in poetry, very Frank O'Hara-esque. I may be a little partial given my own fond memories of Munich's grand station, but hey. Also, I assume if the last line was prose
it would read 'Heimat, which means home, or better yet; at home.'
[b]<<< that would be correct! ,-)
If I'm wrong in saying that, then I'm wrong. If I'm right, it may only be on account of my ability to speak German (poorly), perhaps you could make it a little more comprehensible for all the non-German mono-linguistic scum, unless you're shooting for esoteric-ism. [/b] <<< I added meaning: Heimat is german for "home" in home is where my heart is (song ref)
Me, blue-blooded now, ventured into
the scene of horses and downers:
The H was good: I was Bowie for just these references are very cheeky, unless I'm looking to far into them. Bowie [heroes] for just one day? [b]<<< yes!
And Queen being, among the other meanings, reference to Bowie's colab with Freddie? How's my aim? [/b] << this time you are wrong:
"needing a Queen to satisfy
my needs, and I found one queen bee
of the smack. She wanted to lay me and
screw, but I: my brain needed the powder."
is the narrative (the red thread). Maybe too opaque.
one day, needing a Queen to satisfy
my needs, and I found one queen bee
of the smack. She wanted to lay me and if you mean lay me as in sex and screw as in sex, I think it's best if you scrap one.
screw, but I: my brain needed the powder. very nice. the personal pronoun proceeded by 'my brain' seems to separate you as you from the dependent gears within you.
So, it took her about a million years
to apporting what was mine. All was apport or apporting?
mine because me, I paid for it. again, me and I, some may call it fault, I like it though.
Major league hit through my nose:
Next thing I know is: her exposing
her breasts, first to me and then to
the mirror, me recalling: I'd fuck myself
from the silence of the lambs, but I doubt
we made love because I blacked out. starts to get hectic and ends with a satirical subversion (sort of). It's cool, but I don't know about the silence of lambs thing.
<< I'will link you later.
this here:
"Next thing I know is: her exposing
her breasts, first to me and then to
the mirror, me recalling: I'd fuck myself
from the silence of the lambs, but I doubt
we made love because I blacked out.
is my homage to rowen's style.
I only remember, we stole magnum bottles
of champaign in order to sell them to a downtown
bar in order to get cash for horse of course.
It worked. Me feeling like a cultural anthropo-
logical field worker, getting too inclined. repetition of 'in order to,' to highlight the linear progress of it all? I get it, I think, but I'm not sure if I'm a huge fan of it.
In that same winter with a dark cloud for a sun,
covering what was wrong with me, my bourgeois
lamp dimmed down lowest. Aha! so here 'dimmed' is an adjective ("the red lamp/the dimmed lamp") is this how it was meant to be in the first stanza? Because the word 'while' in L2 suggests you've used 'dimmed' as a verb (i dimmed my lamp down/my lamp miraculously dimmed itself down). <<< No, this time you missed me.
It is about prostution and a ref to:
[b]Turn your lights down low
(look here please:
and part of the lyrics:
Turn your lights down low;
Never try to resist, oh no!
Oh, let my love come tumbling in -
Into our life again, .....
is the verbal equivalent of the soother I mentioned earlier.
http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/bobmarley...wnlow.html
sorry but I have an assignment to complete so I can't crit part 2 at the moment.
thoroughly enjoyable, Frank O'Hara meets William Burroughs without the trite-ness that each of them have from time to time. Vielen D[/b]ank
You are welcome and I thank you for getting so much into it. .-)
serge
The backbone metaphor of this text is Bach's Wohltemperiertes Klavier: Präludium und Fuge (through all scales (Tonleitern).
(05-03-2013, 09:28 PM)rowens Wrote: Is it caterpillar or centipede? I think it's centipede that I meant to say last time. << both is correct but what is not correct is centi: they do not have a hundred feet. I nevr coumted them myself, but instead rely her totally on the poor biologists who had to count them.
So you have one more part to finish? My concentration is slowly forming a comeback. Though I'm still zoning in and out. I keep forgetting where I am, and I have a sneaking feeling I'm not alone in the house.
So you are getting better. Don't worry. I am totally fucked up but it want it to be in finer way: the being fucked up feeling. Maybe by analogy I can explain:
http://youtu.be/qgjYM6mlLVM
Please, when listening look at the blue galaxy in front of you. Could be a nebular glaxy punkified.
But I love blue glass ( explains i wrote upstairs.)
The paranoia you mention, in my opinion is best treated with either a woman who wants to play with you or beer plus valeriana (with the occasional booze shut in the the beer-drinking breaks.
I here have this prob: My substance intakes make my body weigh a thousand pounds. You will understand that that fact constitutes a barrier between me and what I want.
(05-03-2013, 09:28 PM)rowens Wrote: Is it caterpillar or centipede? I think it's centipede that I meant to say last time. << both is correct but what is not correct is centi: they do not have a hundred feet. I nevr coumted them myself, but instead rely her totally on the poor biologists who had to count them.
So you have one more part to finish? My concentration is slowly forming a comeback. Though I'm still zoning in and out. I keep forgetting where I am, and I have a sneaking feeling I'm not alone in the house.
So you are getting better. Don't worry. I am totally fucked up but it want it to be in finer way: the being fucked up feeling. Maybe by analogy I can explain:
http://youtu.be/qgjYM6mlLVM
Please, when listening look at the blue galaxy in front of you. Could be a nebular glaxy punkified.
But I love blue glass ( explains i wrote upstairs.)
The paranoia you mention, in my opinion is best treated with either a woman who wants to play with you or beer plus valeriana (with the occasional booze shut in the the beer-drinking breaks.
I here have this prob: My substance intakes make my body weigh a thousand pounds. You will understand that that fact constitutes a barrier between me and what I want.
It's a centipede in the title of that dumb movie I'm talking about. I don't even know if it's a translated title. And a poem I haven't finished called The Lonely Centipede, where I wonder about about a girl that left me to sew her lips to some asshole. I have to use the word asshole for it to make sense; despite the argument we had about holes I still stand by.
All this might help with getting your poem finished. There are lots of roundabout ways to get to the heart of a poem.
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I do not consider our hole talk an argument.
I know you were pissed bc of my introducing logics into affari d'amore.
I was rather good back then: pissing off you ANd Leanne simultaneously. etc babla.
........................
To Lewis: here is what I referred to (silence of the lambs, I misquoted what the killer said to himself:
http://youtu.be/0-plPj9LGu8
refers to:
Next thing I know is: her exposing
her breasts, first to me and then to
the mirror, me recalling: I'd fuck myself
from the silence of the lambs,
...
at rowen: I am fully aware of the fact we have a problem (not outspoken ) regarding the third voice. La terza voce di una poetessa brilliante ...
Can't help it, sorry.
I talked about that Silence of the Lambs thing the other week, while advertising Saint Annie. Is that how it got in the poem?
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No. I was bored enough (and boozeless) to watch one of those sensationalist "documentary" about serial killers.
But actually now my poem is done and for myself only I will
create surreal havoc now because i want to.
arrividerla! ,-)
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(05-03-2013, 11:51 PM)rowens Wrote: I talked about that Silence of the Lambs thing the other week, while advertising Saint Annie. Is that how it got in the poem?
Aternative reply (sum over hysteric(al) hip stories:
Yes, it was as you said.
I had preferred Bread eats stones' Wall street serial killer imitation instead.
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