Thing Language by Jack Spicer
March 18th 2008 00:09
Thing Language
by Jack Spicer
by Jack Spicer
This ocean, humiliating in its disguises
Tougher than anything.
No one listens to poetry. The ocean
Does not mean to be listened to. A drop
Or crash of water. It means
Nothing.
It
Is bread and butter
Pepper and salt. The death
That young men hope for. Aimlessly
It pounds the shore. White and aimless signals. No
One listens to poetry.
Here is Jack Spicer reading his poem "Things Language" Followed by Allen Ginsberg doing "Howl"
Review in Poem by Dexter
Buckowski, Ginsberg, Kerouac, as the song goes
Beat poet Jack Spicer, often not in melody,
Staunch individual, tragic choices, dead in poverty.
Nature is, does not exist to be judged,
Nor does it bare witness to truth, it is.
A writer’s primal existence, to hunt with a pen,
To fearlessly create, painfully acknowledge.
To share secret emotion, espionage of spirit,
A purpose not to entertain, instead enlighten and inspire.
Eternal neglect, demand for easy satisfaction,
Superseded design, profit and affirmation rewarded.
Petty restraint of ideals, society’s acceptance not sought,
Ignore opinion if the quest is pure, an uncontrollable addiction.
Impossible to cage, a creative essence expressed,
Guaranteed victory in a war of attrition,
Who cares if no one notices?
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