Paul

Pedantic I know, but there's something really odd going on with full stops
and caps here. Don't know if its deliberate but its quite intrusive for me
as I read it.

The poem is genuinely raw. Not sure about stanza three - a rant too far? -
it's all language and no imagery which always fails to evoke for me
personally.

Puzzled about the way the poet appears to talk about himself - its doesn't
feel natural for a first person voice.

I'm guessing this is biographical rather than autobiographical - I have some
guesses - but can't help wondering if the poet spoke of himself better than
anyone else has done since! Danger of writing about poetry and art maybe.

Hm, hm. Thought provoking as always.

Helen



----- Original Message -----
From: paul murphy <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Saturday, November 08, 2003 1:06 PM
Subject: new sub - experiences


> EXPERIENCES
>
> Experiences, atom bombs
> In the park a swan neatly
> pierced with a crossbow bolt
> Through its throat but it is still alive.
>
> Hooligans, vandals, yahoos, apaches,
> thugs, rakers, peep O day boys.
> You see them congregate on street corners
> smelly little bastards, queer bashers.
>
> disharmonised, disfunctional, defunctive
> mentally disturbed, emotionally gangrenous
> a limb of society cut off, left to rot
> something leftover, useless and sordid.
>
> Their game is to spook me up
> this poofy unknown lone queer
> who writes unknown, unknowable lines of poetry
> who paints emotional, plashed lines of colour.
>
> For the galleries of high art
> For the bookshelves of middle-class homes
> the libraries in America, the universities
> in Tashkent, the bookshops in Sao Paolo.
>
> They can't relate to poetry or to art
> at all, they read The Sun, pick their noses
> scratch their backsides, fart, shit
> fuck, fight, kick the bucket.
>
> inbetween they glimpse the poetic light
> as if they see it through a black and white film
> a bad LSD trip, a hangover, underwater
> or come to it through age, experience
>
> or even 'The Balled of Dan McGrew'.
> what can I say, what can I do?
> I am this unknown lone queer poet
> but I know about love, they do not?
>
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