G'MORNING, POETRY! is the flagship morning poetry blog on Blogger that we administer for those who need to know *now*.
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
Monday, 8 August 2011
This Tuesday is Take Your Poet To Work Day!
August 3, 2011 By Leave a Comment
On Tuesday August 9, 2011 businesses, animal shelters and poet-care professionals from around the world will work together to better the lives of poets everywhere. Thousands of businesses will open their doors to employees’ furious, two-legged fiends on this day in celebration of the great companions poets make and to promote poet adoption.
“Take Your Poet To Work Day has grown by leaps and bounds since its inaugural celebration in 1999,” said PSI president Patti Moran. “We’ve found that once businesses experience the fun and goodwill of the event, they are eager to participate year after year.”
Dodger M. Rupracht, Secreterrier
Millie, Veteran Nary Receptionist & Office Muse
Beemer at the Office about to Poem
Poet Sitters International (PSI), event creator, offers four reasons why working with your bard on TYPTWDay can be a business-savvy decision:
1. TYPTWDay offers a positive, unique opportunity to increase community involvement and establish new community ties. Businesses can partner with a local animal shelter, rescue group or humane organization to host aTYPTWDay event—and often garner local or national media coverage of their efforts as well.
2. Studies have shown that having poets in the workplace increases productivity and creativity. Surveys also indicate that employees credit rhymesters in the workplace for decreased absenteeism and improved co-worker relationships and teamwork.
3. Participation in TYPTWDay is a fun, low-cost “perk” to offer employees. At a time when some businesses have been forced to cut jobs and decrease benefits, this simple event may boost employee morale and job satisfaction.
4. TYPTWDay is for a good cause—to promote poet adoption. This fun day of celebrating the great companion writers make could encourage employees to adopt a new bestfriend of their own and raise awareness of local adoptable poets.
And here are a few other reasons–Oh, and BTW you can vote for your favorite photo on http://takeyourpoet.com. Just click on the photo gallery. Here are some of my faves!
Jake, Flarf Sales
And of course every office has one of these!
Peppa, The Office Creeper
And we’ve all had days like Essie and Blue Anne Gray…
Essie Poeming a Masterpeace
Blue Anne Gray, Assistant Keyboard
And who doesn’t love Noodle???
Noodle the Poodle, Chief Exe-CUTE-ive Villanellest
If you are a business who wants to get involved, or if YOU want to take your versifier to work this Tuesday then visit this page.
Here is a list of the TOP 10 Poet Friendly Companies.
- PoetSmart
- Goodle.com
- Banfield, the Poet Hospital
- Diversified Technical Solutions, Inc. Co Ltd.
- Big Sur La Table
- Amazon.calm
- Naturist Conservancy
- Dartmouth Collage
- ValueOptionals
- Warren Tallman & Associates
Now, I don’t personally have my own poet, but I just so happen to be bard-sitting my favorite French Sonneteer, “Wilbur,” again this week. Wilbur requested a lap nap and a two hour lunch so I am going to have to run that by my boss. Ok see you at the orifice!
Wilbur, Lyricist Shmyricist
- Besos xoxoxo Vanessa
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Saturday, 6 August 2011
Rahilly Responds
— What is poetry's problem?
Line breaks. I.e, vertical obesity, horizontal neglect, return keys bashed to death, margins wasted far and wide. And to think poets live in cities.
— What is the best way to write a non-eyebrow poem?
There is only one way to write a non-eyebrow poem. I first did it during a trip to Utah in 2005.
In a moment of mental ecstasy brought on by a gorgeous clearing in the red landscape of Moab, I encounter a large, loud, gear-heavy machine looming ahead on the horizon. It is nineteen feet tall, and ten wide.
In the center of this citadel of oil and metal, rests a transparent, human-sized cylinder. I am asked to sit down inside of it. For someone like myself, who possesses woolly-mammoth-like, expressive eyebrows, even the process of sitting down can take minutes—what, with the rapid ascents, plunges and furrowing jostling my head several feet in different direction with each such spasm.
You see, I’d never learned to express myself properly, and can make poetry in no other way than by moving my eyebrows with the freneticism of a Parkinson’s patient dancing to vomitechno. In this moment, my eyebrows, if appropriately translated, may have said something along the lines of “the machine so great / a man’s shell molted incarnate / nary a button nor plug to call the graze of my finger-punch / he crafts the damp soil into a floor to hold my lunch.”
Once sitting, two large metal arms, each like a dentist’s lamp, navigate gently toward my forehead. Unbeknownst to me, an invisible calming mist has filled the cylinder, melting my anxiety with mellow recollections of a happy childhood I never had. But, then, without warning, my eyebrows are locked down by the twin clamps of the machine’s arms. I am roused from my daydream with the terse rumblings of its engine accompanied by an overwhelming smell, much like a self-cleaning oven cleaning itself.
My eyebrows are immobile. A panel opens in the cylinder, and a notepad from the local Bank of America clumsily presents itself on the end of a rod. I feel my arms rise and tumble, my body shift and turn, and yet my eyebrows are completely stationary. The machine chortles and pops. The view grows foggy, and I fade. My recollection of what happened then is blurry at best.
Hours must have past. Dusk has settled on the desert. I look at the notepad and see what I have never been able to say: it’s pure catharsis written by a smooth hand, rendered in elegant English: the experience of sleeping.
I’ve used the machine many times since then, and as time has passed, technology has allowed the device to shrink in size. In fact, everything you are reading right now had been channelled through my eyebrows by my garage unit.
Thank you for listening to my story.
— If you had a choice between sitting down to dinner with Damien Hirst or Louise Bourgeois or Ai Wei Wei who would you choose and, like, dude, why?
I would sit down to dinner with Weiwei, but I would sit down 8000 miles away, and consume a single grape with my eyes closed while humming a falsetto F sharp.
— Is there a difference between visual poetry and video art?
Visual poetry is like a credit sequence of a film, but without the film and sound before, so the credits have to explain the film. Video art is like a no-budget film without a title, sound, or a plot, and is either much more interesting, or much more boring.
If film were reality, video art would be the commercials.
Also, visual poetry has less yellow in it than video art.
—If you could fill a swimming pool with anything other than water... you know the rest!
Pedialyte and Kraft Singles’ wrappers.
(This is contingent on the fact that I would not be required to pay a fee associated with the general upkeep nor the removal of accumulated rainwater and spittle collected from both senile and delinquent visitors.)
Line breaks. I.e, vertical obesity, horizontal neglect, return keys bashed to death, margins wasted far and wide. And to think poets live in cities.
— What is the best way to write a non-eyebrow poem?
There is only one way to write a non-eyebrow poem. I first did it during a trip to Utah in 2005.
In a moment of mental ecstasy brought on by a gorgeous clearing in the red landscape of Moab, I encounter a large, loud, gear-heavy machine looming ahead on the horizon. It is nineteen feet tall, and ten wide.
In the center of this citadel of oil and metal, rests a transparent, human-sized cylinder. I am asked to sit down inside of it. For someone like myself, who possesses woolly-mammoth-like, expressive eyebrows, even the process of sitting down can take minutes—what, with the rapid ascents, plunges and furrowing jostling my head several feet in different direction with each such spasm.
You see, I’d never learned to express myself properly, and can make poetry in no other way than by moving my eyebrows with the freneticism of a Parkinson’s patient dancing to vomitechno. In this moment, my eyebrows, if appropriately translated, may have said something along the lines of “the machine so great / a man’s shell molted incarnate / nary a button nor plug to call the graze of my finger-punch / he crafts the damp soil into a floor to hold my lunch.”
Once sitting, two large metal arms, each like a dentist’s lamp, navigate gently toward my forehead. Unbeknownst to me, an invisible calming mist has filled the cylinder, melting my anxiety with mellow recollections of a happy childhood I never had. But, then, without warning, my eyebrows are locked down by the twin clamps of the machine’s arms. I am roused from my daydream with the terse rumblings of its engine accompanied by an overwhelming smell, much like a self-cleaning oven cleaning itself.
My eyebrows are immobile. A panel opens in the cylinder, and a notepad from the local Bank of America clumsily presents itself on the end of a rod. I feel my arms rise and tumble, my body shift and turn, and yet my eyebrows are completely stationary. The machine chortles and pops. The view grows foggy, and I fade. My recollection of what happened then is blurry at best.
Hours must have past. Dusk has settled on the desert. I look at the notepad and see what I have never been able to say: it’s pure catharsis written by a smooth hand, rendered in elegant English: the experience of sleeping.
I’ve used the machine many times since then, and as time has passed, technology has allowed the device to shrink in size. In fact, everything you are reading right now had been channelled through my eyebrows by my garage unit.
Thank you for listening to my story.
— If you had a choice between sitting down to dinner with Damien Hirst or Louise Bourgeois or Ai Wei Wei who would you choose and, like, dude, why?
I would sit down to dinner with Weiwei, but I would sit down 8000 miles away, and consume a single grape with my eyes closed while humming a falsetto F sharp.
— Is there a difference between visual poetry and video art?
Visual poetry is like a credit sequence of a film, but without the film and sound before, so the credits have to explain the film. Video art is like a no-budget film without a title, sound, or a plot, and is either much more interesting, or much more boring.
If film were reality, video art would be the commercials.
Also, visual poetry has less yellow in it than video art.
—If you could fill a swimming pool with anything other than water... you know the rest!
Pedialyte and Kraft Singles’ wrappers.
(This is contingent on the fact that I would not be required to pay a fee associated with the general upkeep nor the removal of accumulated rainwater and spittle collected from both senile and delinquent visitors.)
William Rahilly is a musician and video artist in Brooklyn, NY.
Please visit William Rahilly (find your own url!) for more information.
Please visit William Rahilly (find your own url!) for more information.
Friday, 5 August 2011
Thursday, 4 August 2011
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