Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Change of address

A while back I tried to set up a WordPress blog but gave up because I'm such a loser when it comes to computers. Imperfect Offering's migration prompted me to check WP out again, and it's much more user-friendly now. So, I've moved. (I still plan to set something more sophisticated up, but that will probably have to wait until mid-September or so.) Please visit!

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Some videos.
A performance:

We at Said Like Reeds or Things make every effort to remain within the bounds of the socially acceptable and productive (yes, we too see warning flags on both counts, yet we sincerely prefer to play nice). We also try to keep things fresh, so we occasionally introduce new flavours. With this in mind, stay tuned for a possible series of speculative and exploratory posts under the title "What Would the Community Think? (Kill Yr Ideals)."

In the meantime, a blast-from-the-past treat:



P.S. Kill yr ideas, too. You likely already have too many.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Today I said "wrong" when I meant "being logically inconsistent."

Geddy watch

Tonight Geddy had his hair in a ponytail and was wearing a stupid bucket hat.

The paparazzi have nothing on me.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

If you get Sportsnet, turn on the Blue Jay game. Geddy Lee is sitting behind the plate.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

I don't know, Rob. You might have a point. I think, though, that a titleless poem, especially if it's positioned near the centre of the page, asks the reader to imagine an uninflected space or silence around it (or, as you say, the poem produces "the feeling of nothing happening before you enter"), much as most books ask the reader to shut out extraneous thoughts or noise, at least momentarily. Of course performing this act of shutting out is artificial and likely an ideal that is never actually attained. And we don't have to do what we're asked.

And of course this request on the part of the poem and the conventions on which it is based are fair game for challenge or critique.

But I think it's possible.
Dear Mississauga workshop participants:

Here is a conventional English translation of the Lorca poem. It's by Greg Simon and Steven F. White:



AFTER A WALK

Cut down by the sky.
Between shapes moving toward the serpent
and crystal-craving shapes,
I'll let my hair grow.

With the amputated tree that doesn't sing
and the child with the blank face of an egg.

With the little animals whose skulls are cracked
and the water, dressed in rags, but with dry feet.

With all the bone-tired, deaf-and-dumb things
and a butterfly drowned in the inkwell.

Bumping into my own face, different each day.
Cut down by the sky!

Friday, July 07, 2006

No time to blog lately, which is a shame because there's much to blog about. If you see me, ask me, and we can chat about what might appear here.

More soon. Maybe better-digested stuff than would have come together otherwise.