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Deflated
Ego 8: Philip Terry on Philip Terry
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Everything
I have to say about this collection has been said already in an afterword I
wrote for the book. Here it is: This book has a number
of sources, but one inspiration came while curating an exhibition of art and
concrete poetry at Essex University with Marina Warner and Dawn Ades, in
2008. This exhibition, You Silently: Image-Object-Text, began with a
forgotten folder of love poems, written in the early 1960s by the Greek poet
and editor Nikos Stangos, and grew to include work by poets and artists from
Tom Raworth, Ted Berrigan and Augusto de Campos to Ian Hamilton Finlay,
Richard Wentworth and Fiona Banner. In particular, I was struck by the art of
Graham Parker, whose text based work unearths found poetry in SPAM, by
isolating phrases that have been grabbed at random from books chosen to match
the messages' cryptic content - titles such as Persuasion by Jane Austen and
The Master Key by L. Frank Baum, author of The Wizard of Oz. What excited me,
here, was both the way Parker found meanings in the generally overlooked
white noise of the everyday, and the tantalising suggestion that an already
existing book might be remade out of texts found elsewhere, and this inspired
me to set about transforming a number of Shakespeare's sonnets using the
language of found texts, from newspapers and magazines to novels, phrase
books and so on. It's an idea, I soon realised, that had much in common with the
work of the Oulipo: the transforming technique which they call the 'chimaera'
rewrites an already existing text by allowing the language of another work to
interfere with the one being transformed. Very soon, I found myself grappling
with all 154 sonnets, and as I proceeded I tried to rework the sonnets in as
many different ways as possible. Much of the time I was working by instinct,
but with the benefit of hindsight - 'emotion recollected in tranquillity' - I
can identify the following transforming techniques:
3) Subtraction, as in the work of Basil Bunting,
who was set the exercise of removing unnecessary rhetoric from the sonnets by
Pound. 8) Permutations of
word order. Four
books I read constantly while writing Shakespeare's Sonnets were: Raymond Queneau's Exercises
in Style,
Tim Atkins' Horace,
Tony Lopez's False Memory and Ted Berrigan's Collected Poems. I'm still reading All of
these books. That
Ruby's toes might never drop, Yet
who's the ice-cream for? The
outside lavatory? What
fit tart wouldn't spread 'em for The
bounteous gift of The Ramones, Sit
checked with frost their lust quite spent. Often
the swamp took From
highmost parch, Ask
any microbiologist. A
horse, a horse, my estate for a horse!
my love
prognosticate 'available'
'for the' 'individual' 'bluetit'. II
When
I consider Living
on Stilton, Icy
winds do freeze the Russian Steppes, Falling
asleep reading Derrida. Put
a sock in it, Will, Cramp
thee, I
love this pinkish tinge, Do
you think love goes on forever? Wireless
speakers allow
you to listen 'in
a stilled' 'beginning' 'as separable entities' To
my sightless view That
the crazy valet smashed away, With
his single... Sure. Anything to shut you up old man. III
The
sun goes to the heart of your chart And
spiralling debt: Saudi Arabia Is
now a university teacher
blow jobs I
admire the way you move As
I am a cowboy and you imaginary In
a crack of fiendish glee. 'What
hadst thou then' 'reading the sonnet' 'a little' In
a jumpsuit. My
seat forbear, Then
I will take my leave. I'm
shagged out. Formica Receiving
naught by elements so slow Alone. IV
Are
we at a mortal war Each
trilby under the truest baritone to thrust, When
thy liver, called to audit, Spends
its days on eBay. The
beast that bears me, tired with my whinging, and tired with my pricking and
goading of his
flanks,
can seem Bounty
on the hardshoulder, 'willy-nilly'
'his portrait' 'on Helen's
cheek', Beneath
the visor live Even
in the eye rhymes of all postscripts
(roughly translated) In
the dormitories, hundreds of dead starfish Hath
been before, how are our brains beguiled. V
Like
as the wives make towards the pectoral shim Through
the undergrowth, It
is not so great, Stepping
out of a trendy restaurant. The
troublesome hormonal spots, Firm
soil,
gates of steel
underage drinkers To blush
through lively veins Making
no soap. Goodbye,
Will. The
paper is at an end. VI
O
Lester, the world should tax you Tories Without
all bail to carry me away, M e a
n
s l o t As
'twixt moose and popinjay. It's
not about being beautiful, Making
hazardous applications, Yet
robs
my love 'but
this' 'noisy reading' 'in print' Trapped
on the London Eye. Impair,
returning from the movies, Making
his style
admired everywhere. 'The
Spear-Danes in days gone by...' VII
Is
there anything back on the bottle? You
don't half fancy yourself. Say
that you didst forsake me for some fault, fffffffff My
gills shall not persuade me I am a fish, Hen
hout, posed might. The
mulatress approached in the hall, Shut
nac my vole cuseex eht wosl effonce, As
we, lifting our crucifixes, Same
day as you saw your brother Metamorphosed
into
the counterinsurgents' hands. VIII
In
Dunoon, Begrimed
with lofty dust, 'the
young' 'wolf' 'appearing' 'an addition' Our
main concern is the welfare of swans; And
yet this time out was summer
in odour And
budgets of marmalade, had stol'n thy hake That
feeds on cartilage and Pavarotti And
thus be praised. My
love for you is no less, my lord, if I do not write. O
blame me not if I no more can write, For
they look'd but with mortician's eyes When
she blocked her husband's path, Where
vintage cars and outbound burglars would show it dead. IX
Never
speak with a falsetto voice, or sing sea shanties, I
have, here and there - Alas,
'tis true, I have gone...hic!...here and there, The
hamster is happy in my carburettor. My
eye rolls around in the dark, Sparking
fears for children at risk; It
is the stenographer to every wand'ring basilisk, Lord
Strange's men, 'the
hypothetical' 'it shuttles to and fro'. What
a bitch it is when true sorrow hits, Entropy, Love,
otherness and colonisation, This
I do vow, and this shall ever be:
a beautiful bathroom. X
Taught
bore (O
thou my Luddite bracket who in thy power drill) But
I've read Black Beauty and know I'm
isolated from the rest of the world; Far
away hands halt To
toss the caber in inward of thy hand, As
a swallowed bait behind a dream Or
a traffic warden Snapped
in a corset and stockings, with a whip, The
dentist's drill hath a far more pleasing sound. Thy
Jolly Roger is fairest doubloon. Mondays
he comes home with his bag full of girls' knickers; 'Friendly,
motherly,' thereby allowing the wording to conform. XI
So
The
firestorm Tie
me to the bed, Hans
and Wilma went off to the buffet, Oh,
mockery! Then thy soul is blind! Addicted
to Barbarella at
22, Is
your wife changed at all - physically? Ah,
my love well knows, Resolved
in tingling, Sin
awards me pain Whom
thine eyes woo, Now
there is a darkness taking her over: Heave tell
own, And
my sinful earth dead, there's no more dying then. XII
'Booth's'
'contrary pulls' 'perhaps' 'alone' Fighting
these kung fu Jedis in capes, Feeding
on that which doth preserve the ill, My
Booky Wook,
into a movie. Chilly
after a false eye, On
whom frown'st thou the which I do fawn upon, pray? 'the
lovers' dyad' 'the extra people' A
mammoth, But
most believe it is politically important, Rhizomed
at thy name, And
to enlighten thee gave eye-liner to blondinette, And
thither hied, a sad guest, Come
there for booze; and this by that I prove: Lingerie
perpetual inflates breeches, Hendrix tickles desire. © Philip Terry 2010 |