Better than Ron

"The ethic is behavioral. I am a poet. It seems to me a point of honour and deep responsibility that I not number among my friends a cop, or a doctor or lawyer, or a president of the united states, or the head of an insane asylum, or a gangster" - Ed Dorn, 1963

Yt Com News //// HEX YT SKUM

the yt communication blog (see link in sidebar) is now back in action, as are we. the role of the artist is a disturber of the peace. more noise. abolish the vortex of snobbery.

Two Translations from Baudelaire

Traps

You can listen to me reading some of my translations of Baudelaire here. Also, around about here is a video of me in Cork, although I've had a new head and jacket fitted since then Thats about it. Resignation note coming soon.

understand capitalist architecture
as the infinite made entirely
measureable, each packed number
a pit of in-numerable mysteries
marketed as just the tool you need
to make your skin pop with
the burden of being a blazing core
of happiness, dizzy with the
spendour of actively being
a symbol of government mathematics
melted down to the base signal rate
& packed into poisoned land
till vocabulary re-enters the
stratosphere as simple thumbnail
equation: this building equals ‘you’,
any other calculation results in
immediate instersection of
your back-up image with re-hab
static & stars in all our eyes -
the burst cells accumulate as
dog-puke at clandestine borders
where negative alphabets conspire
with your spit is lovely and
rings through every occulted corridor,
the line-manager’s deranged eyeglass.

Modern poetry brought us here
& dropped us off, without a
keyhole or even a view; the
windows are sealed & the sun
is kept strictly bound inside
anti-vascular jelly, that is
to say, hard cash. Some poets,
oiled & flavoured, are left
out in the heat till entirely
dessicated, their works taken
off by the US military for
research purposes, plugged
into the social mainframe as
overheard conversation, or
‘legality’ as ‘torture’, kept
entirely clean & seperable
in the mind of an award-
winning poet, gods own
property, used as a flag or
romantic veil: “I am making
a world that has no place for
orange, I am awoken by buzzers
all day and all night and what
they say is we want all the
money’s half-life flutters in-
side all the language as melt-
core of what some prick in
America tells us it says”. Mean-
while, people are being starved.
They are sealed and the poets
haven’t seen them, how could they
as competition ups the ante &
everyone without a full plate
is silently taken out & shot:
the police method of knowledge
is the newer, cleaner avant-garde.


(((NB - the photograph at the top of this post shows the king and queen of Official Verse Culture being entertained by the public murder of Saddam Hussein)))