Doidgey Poetry

Like a piece of pie on a pig's
Kant you see my point, dear sir?

Re: Doidgey Poetry

Exactly, you nearly always have to cheat slightly in order to make the resulting piece of writing actually make sense. Even the most committed surealists acknowledged that 'pure automatism' (that is using some sort of random process to write, without the use of the critical faculty) could never actually produce art. They suggested the use of automatism to provide striking connections between things that could later be developed more fully. An example of this sort of thing in the above piece is the description of the language of music as a necklace. The second was to provide insight into your own unconscious a sort of 'truth game' where you could never cheat at because you had no control over what you were saying.

I was quite pleased with how the cut up articles seemed to fit together with fairly minimal cheating and produce an almost sensible story of colonial oppression and revolt, so posted it even though it could in no way regarded as a finished piece of poetry. Any insights it afford into my subconscious come completely free and I shall be interested to hear about them.

What did you think of the tiramsu recipe?

Which bits came from Rod Stewart's wife?

Cheers,
Tarquin

Rod Stewart's wife

The bit about the 'necklace to celebrate' (her birthday), South Africa (Rod took her on holiday there), and 'an emotional moment' (whilst in South Africa a lion came very close to their jeep). I did wonder at the time if the emotion that she felt was fear, but the article didn't say. I should probably thank the people at the Observer Magazine for writing the articles for me to cut up.

The language of music was a more eloquent
Neckbrace to celebrate raping South Africa.

One day we came,
Nine of us dressed as officers

And the rest chimed
Versed in the language of the Bible.

Brandishing a wide variety of instruments
Some even began to (de)compose.

They wrote requiems, jokes and jigs.
Every officer who walked through the gate

Was (re)tired.
A shameful moment.

The lineation was mine just to give it some sort of structure. It seems like unrhyming couplets are fairly 'forgiving' as the couplets can be considered more or less in isolation from each other and even writing out stuff randomly every so often you are bound to hit a pararhyme or echo the consonants.

The first two lines are basically a pentameter, and the rest of the poem deviates from this quite a lot. The overall question is how regular to make it overall. I would try and make couplets 2 & 3 longer so that at the end
around the 'break' or change in mood with the officers retiring at line 10 is marked by a change in the length of the lines.

The ending is a bit weak and is an anti-climax with the officers just retiring for no real reason. It would be better if the land were to wreak some kind of revenge for the exploitation that it has undergone.

'Out of the blazing whiteness,
Come drums and dark fire

The musicians are slaughtered
While the officers retire'

The final line should be cut altogether as it explicitly states the theme of the poem which should have been made clear by the past 11 lines.

The brackets are a nice effect, and line 4-6 & 8 are now easily better than any other bit.

I shall have a bit of a go at tweeking and post the result tomorrow.

Thanks

The language of music seemed the most eloquent
Device to celebrate raping South Africa.

One day we came, we saw, we conquered:
Most of us posing as officers

Whilst the rest chimed-out
Infernal Bible verses.

A wide variety of instruments
Conspire to (de)compose

the requiem, joke or speech.
No bugle calls just trumpet-blowing.

Slouching towards the Transvaal to be born.

Re: Thanks

The language of music was a more elegant
device to celebrate raping South Africa.

One day we came, carrying our case,
Some of us posing as officers of the peace.

And with us the rest chimed
Versed in the language of the Bible

Brandishing their instruments
Some began to compose themselves,

Writing requiems, jokes and jigs
And dancing motley in horsehair wigs.

Until out of the blazing whiteness,
A drumbeat sets the fires

And whilst the musicians are slaughtered
We officers gracefully retire.