If we are going to get serious about comedy in poetry... then ok.....  Let's get serious.  First of all why is there no definition of the move that, in the second place, undercuts and transfixes this easy literary chat derivative and vain?

May I add myself to the roundtable?  

Joe Green
  Comedy::  The L'espacement of the 
 Aufhebung that ravishes -- under a "false" appearance -- absence that -- 
 tourjours deja perdu -- re-presents itself as the copula between 
 Being and Becoming.
I wrote that in 92 damn it.  No-one noticed?

  This definition is, of course, post-festum.
  My post-festum definition -- the really nice mockery of a certain copula -- 
 is really what is required.  Off we would go to Nietzsche for the 
 earnest joke that is Aufbehung -- a sly hint at often hung -- 
 a quick glance at the crucifixion then quickly back to the supplement 
 -- the fine excess -- of the two "thes" -- the sturdy Anglo-Saxon "the" 
 and its shield wall and the "L" -- the woman -- the Norman invader 
 that supplements the "the" (we are talking about the Norman invasion 
 here -- Hastings -- the beginning of English) that -- I say -- 
 supplements the "the" but... actually forces it out -- the point of 
 "espacement" -- so now the suspicion that what is really meant 
 is Lebensraum and so a gulf is opened between the French and the 
 German -- a little WW1 -- an abyss but also a trench and who WHO 
 charges across the no-man's land but the doughty English possessive 
 "of" and the most definite definite Austin-like definite article "the." 
  So here in five words that begin the definition we have a summary 
 of 1000 years of history and literature as well as a reflection 
 on the fate (or fatum) of the transcendental ego. 
  
So maybe now we can make a beginning.

Ho Ho -- time for a personal anecdote.

 Several years ago I met Peter O'Toole as we were micturating 
 together.  (We older fellows micturate).  I've met a lot of notable 
 fellows this way -- including Northrop Frye -- and you get to feel 
 that you know a person when you meet in this manner.  I began 
 the conversation by using the word "soigne."  I then followed up 
 with a deft "soi-distant."  I was holding an O'Toole Martini in 
 one hand (which is, by the way, a swish of Glennlivet, icy Bombay 
 Sapphire, Tio Pepe and an incendiary twist of orange) and gesticulating 
 with the other which may account for the fact that Peter was looking 
 wildly about during our conversation.  I mentioned that I would like 
 to manufacture a prosthesis that could be fitted around the shoulders 
 of gentlemen under their jackets to help their jackets drape 
 in the O'Toolish manner beloved by all.  He seemed quite agreeable. 
 I also mentioned in passing that there was a secret society of 
 Atlantean origins called the O'Tooles dedicated to bringing a little 
 sang-froid to the numinous void and began recounting the history of 
 our organization but he zipped up after bouncing only once (Nature 
 has, presumably, favored him with the ability to do this and remain 
 quite dry) quickly moved out of the way of the amber stream of 
 my own contentment (the man moves like a fencer) said something 
 cheery to me in High British and was out the door.  

Which brings us to comedy in poetry.

I am a comic poet.

Let me fix the rest of you fellows with a gimlet eye and address you.:

Here
  "You see how it is.  I accept this Eternity of Pain so that you 
 might live.  Do you think that there is no-one holding back 
 the dark that would devour you just because so far you have 
 given no indication that you have read the essays of Sir 
 Thomas Browne and no indication that you ever will?  Do you not 
 know that you would be whisked off to Hell in a trice if I were 
 not holding back the dark that dogs our feet that eats what's 
 sickened of?  You caper about playing of your lute under windows, 
 delighting in your close-kneed colored suit and the new gilt-handled 
 sword and dandling your bastard children and trapping Doll in the stairwell 
 and remarking to your diary of the strange slavery you hold to beauty 
 and never know -- you darling of Aurora's bed -- of the forces that 
 would do so much more than nibble your nice phlebotomy -- if  we comic poets 
  did not -- boot and saddle to horse and away, hurrah! -- ride 
 into Tophet itself to keep you -- YOU -- from all harm."
Ok maybe in this little instance, I am the only fellow at this here roundtable to penetrate the limits of the diaphane.
That's how it is.  Grace comes but once.  I came twice and got the job.  Next.

  



 
  



 
  



 
   



TheOldMole <[log in to unmask]> wrote: This is actually a subject I think about as little as possible, since I 
mostly can't keep humor out of my poems for very long. And anything you 
can't get away from, it's best not to try to understand too much. That's 
why my marriage has worked so well.

Gabriel Gudding wrote:
> http://jacketmagazine.com/33/humpo-discussion.shtml
>
>
> George Bowering
> Maxine Chernoff
> Katie Degentesh
> Gabriel Gudding
> Rachel Loden
> Ange Mlinko
> K. Silem Mohammad
> D. A. Powell
> Ron Silliman
> Gary Sullivan
>

-- 
Tad Richards
http://www.opus40.org/tadrichards/
http://opusforty.blogspot.com/


       
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