sonata forms back

but who can tell
europe
room
a porn clip would not require the french press

the four crossed boulevard richard lenoir in two couples,
steadily. why, in those two, the dead of night.

coordinates missing
presumed holiday

study money

the city. grave of the sippers

trees on their way to town

thought of the page spoiling

dough climbing
down the organs
to print dresses flush with bodies
pass
express & yourself
by chairs
the door stopped

he stooped compared
to his fingernails

obligatory fields, obscurantist hair
i get trouble from the customs
officer for talking

carefully described hatred of towns flowing under the concrete steps.

a message comes over the tapestry
those are just some vices

all paintings in men are brothers

red heaven

follow like wax

planet fuck

life the frustration of living force,
said thru a kazoo

shofar practice

move from bungalow to salon
a little in the giant flow

don’t ask me when i am coming back to europe
but i will fly there on my spare copy of à rebours

neutral final

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Et Tu

Josh Mei-Ling Dubrau's Et Tu

Click on the image above to launch this video, or else try opening it in a new window.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

mixtape (sub-version):

THIS IS THE ONLY PLACE I’VE EVER HEARD ANYONE PLAY THE SOUNDTRACK FROM GHOSTBUSTERS sadly my dad is not rapping in hebrew with his rainstick, it just sits there next to the pile of newspapers we have.. i spent good money on that thing, do you want bubblegum for your cough? ____ is cute & we have fought twice, which isn’t bad. (both times about her mobile.) my results were ok, but not perfect. there is a castle here. grandma is convinced a MUSLIM woman is cutting the heads off her gardenias. she seems to be covered in a layer of what appears to be fine dust. or ash. perhaps i’m a marxist? this is not like _____ coming out in one he was the bigfoot & he & neil diamond were selling an album they’ve made on garage band i went to see kevin johansen play for a second time. drunk a lot of mate. haven’t got a job. today i helped a man catch his runaway donkey. but i had better start from the start. everything else in tokyo seems to be just as good as
their toilets. it’s weird to be in a place with no bogans tomorrow we’re going to disneyland! my boss watched centerstage…she tell me to write this movie…i want a nice bed linen…i loved so much to stay the wife…i want that here in japan i am an old man. & you are a beautiful chicken. CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!! this marks one week without an infection. no pus for you! we are professional blueberry pickers. we are now professional apple pickers. sorry for my lacadazeical approach & spelling of lackadazecal i am the quote dirty dirty child who doesn’t succeed & hasn’t made the movie of the year. love, john-hair-implants-didnt-work-galliano o i think i can be famous…but i feel tired…please lets go shopping i miss you like it is winter here.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

We Are Called

Otherwise volatile substance, walks past in the rain
and how nearly we are human,
failing and uncontained, within new ways of looking.

What to call the genetic distance between us?
Sightings of the unwieldy zorse, the liger, the wholphin,
sometimes jaunty above their smiles.

Then there is the problem of touch, centuries
the nervous system transmits of spurious instructions
slights and channels, fraught and sniping

all dismissed with careful knife-work. If only we agree
on what we will call them: blind-sight, money
well spent. How uncomfortably close they come

each with their carefully constructed surfaces
we map with meaning. Mirrors like our children,
what will we call them…

and they, our children, what will they call us?

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Animal Light

Being small and neatly branched
your glanced-at limbs manufacture a pressure:
Oh shiny thing as you rearrange yourself
make me happy.

Mid-deal, water-tower in the background
a suburban species of sleet to the fore,
neither of us makes headway. There is a lot
to misunderstand:

our common creeping from the cost and strut
of machines to
our poorly developed momentum requiring
constant clinical resolve.

Where would we be without GPS?
Imperceptible slowness, manifest
in bemused muscle and patent hand signals.
The truth or perfect.

If I want to hold something nailed down
why strap on a jet-pack? In the fall
the air around me is a movie soundtrack
of unopened parachute silk.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Parsley

(With thanks to Nick Driscoll)

 

Parsley rarely receives
what she deserves, though
she rarely deserves what she has

received she maintains
discussing entitlement with
Carolyn, Nicholas, Maurice and

Georgina in the garden
of thyme and time, spotting
uncertainty. Like a canopy of

constant azure above
the greenhouse built by her
orchid-growing parents, who

were mindful enough to
deconstruct cells of certainty
and foster leaves of fortitude.

Too late now to ask
Petronella and Paul
what they thought of belonging.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

sample

1

we have over 45 years experience
skin , launched in 1960 with soap
messaging ( sm ) and presence protocol suite
deal with , use , etc . : a matter
contributed online encyclopedia intended for people
sneakers make us happy . we like

1

of dollars per year on groceries
made easier every day with real
nutritious recipes which can be prepared
this final issue of scrapbooks magazine
is to provide a truly embeddable
and examples of machines in action

1

always rides with a big smile
the interest formula is often abbreviated
oils and herbs , handmade in australia
computer by obtaining an interest loan
involved or complicated ; easy : a task
with a focus on interesting melody

1

had to write for the english
a high performance xml serialization and
and solutions to common life problems
is the goal of the project
the perfect tool to manage perfectly
our philosophy is . . . . we believe in

1

anybody who wants to have fun
people with their way of life
with beautiful wedding albums , free downloads
2 to 10 minutes to complete
time tracking . stop wasting time tracking
having or composed of only one

1

rich , completely integrated and fully scalable
hunger for fast , fresh , and appealing
the simplest and most professional approach
water information | radar | learn about meteorology
the life , the food , the goods
post your buy & sell ads

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

nothing left in

nothing left in

Click on the image above to launch this piece or open it in a new window.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

waves

punch & paw out a slippery motif post
tourist hotel shots smack it down all
fourths-&-fifthsy while the event gloss
still burns white chase the midi sync
& loop up in a drizzled morning snap
to the rotodrum drone & channel it
make the pulsekickers pulse like trains
out your windowframe further outcast
yourself from the last of the generic
neighbours with several different
levels of treble & unease stew on
the ambiance & structure over coffee
generate a wash that mirrors the sun’s
struggle with cloud while the mood
lasts & filter a set of harmonics to
parallel dust over the mantle bang
bliss out on the click track swing
it until dance wouldn’t feel right
then effect a nightmare ocsillation
prove your point & howl:
bring about stray recognition dub
your plaintive tones high but enlist
your sister for more jaggzy lines
the hook and the breathing
don’t hesitate face the sun
cresting the hedge now call
adele / jones / olaf write collage
into all cities the collaborative
dew collects a triple threat of
rave stagnation bleeding into
the annals listen softly

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Iseult to Tristan

1
A sudden wind
brought the cold:
I took my coat out of its shroud

and closed my face
against the icy dust.

I put my hands inside my pockets
and found you there.

 
2
Tiredness
has a way of filling your bones

then seeping out
glutinous like blood

to cover
desks and screens.

I asked for rest
got to breathe

and key for the sail
on the empty sea.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Organ Charms

Grinding jaw against splintered bench,
clear smears: ethical sheen. Umbilical
chords imitate charm, hidden between
enameled prayer; left to mix into bites
on my back. I squeeze scent from split
ends, recalling your black cloak brush
over cheek; warm glowing water gush
from my mouth, or was it yours, Vicar.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Where o where

Are they dampening my friends’ wind chimes’ silly noises or stuck helplessly in their hairs like cats in a monsoon gutter.

Are they in the hands of tiny incompetent jugglers hellbent on forging their own useless and beautiful careers.

Are they going to school alone despite their minor age the buses late the bells loud the sisters and brothers off with their older maybe boyfriends.

Are they fixing engines happy in grease and knuckles wrinkled from endless brilliant exertions that unjust yet profitable bosses wish.

Are they traveling on unexpected buses theirs fears left in Melbourne the corner of Collins and Spring Sts hopeless really while expected rallies flat as a medieval earth fall.

Are they dating online fucking in toilets under bridges at the beach in the forest yes let them be there inhaling the air thick with life lingering while they catch their breaths just a minute I’ll be with you.

Where o where are my dreadlocks now.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

The Freedom Fighter

In case you die and they don’t know whose side you are on, you have an identity card that states your distinguishing features, like the mole on your neck. At night you and your friends smoke hashish and then jump in the soft snow. Your father mines opals in the mountains near you, and eventually you will go blow up mountains with him. You told me once that you had witnessed the death of your friend’s family as they were fired upon by the enemy across the mountains. Now as we travel through the snow engulfed valley, I look out the window of the Jeep and try to spot the enemy, but all I see is a land divided into bare trees and great valleys. My father patrols the edges of our conversations and we move further apart. You talk about blowing up mountains and offer me a shot of brandy, but I am terrified I might get caught. You keep a rifle under the driver’s seat and your pashmina round your shoulders. I see the swollen scar of a bullet wound on your forearm. I see a thick silver necklace adorned with coins and lapis lazuli in a roadside shop and beg my father for the money to buy it. But my father ignores me and vanishes in the street. You appear moments later with the necklace and hand it to me. Later when I leave those mountains, a parcel arrives for me in Karachi, and in it are two silver pens. No one makes a comment about them and I say nothing. In the afternoon before I catch my plane back to Australia, I hide them under the empty rabbit hutch on the rooftop.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA |

Sound-less-scape

Sound-less-scape

Click on the image above to launch this piece or open it in a new window.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Stained Glass

they descend in their flight like falling
conformity      confirmand      confetti
getting caught in your
Hail Mary        hahnium          hair
                   if         you peered             at their

ballade             bollocks           balletic
stillness you would swear
they were holding their
bream              breather           breath

in         the                   glass
dolomite       dollar mark              dome
where the spread
and rubber greens

swarf             sweat sock         sweat
the noise rush &
factory floor    faience
fades
to a brilliant murmur
look in the glare
of sunlight                               for that
stained glass effect
navy with dark veins
rests on information
planning permission         plasterboard
plaque
of another breed

assortment of tiny colours
people on high
bdellium         beams    beans
beaks                             beads
blind eyes on branches

nearby                                    keep still        to
revere              sequinned          be ings
seem                                      to    watch you

waiting

make the mistake
of  moving             the
tram     tramp    trance
is broken          you

gaze

they float         away.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Last Hole

It’s hard to get this guy,
This guy invented by typing monkeys.
This kid wins money just by breathing –
Last pumpkin I ever do Cinderella for.
Everywhere players get career transplants and then
Last out the years trying to forget;
As now the biggest amateur may savor
More roars than the greatest fairway performer.
Buy your grandkids shares in newspapers
When sportswriters play careers by ear.

How will my teammates keep up?
Only a cheap guy that putts
More than he strokes even gets seen:
As sheep calls tiger dad in hell,
Doesn’t your world rest in RuPaul’s lap,
Every chance for a birdie now off?
This is going in your playoff record.
He says he’s seen enough empty victory.
Every guy is a broken god.
Everybody here put that guy down.

 
 

Remixed using text from Rick Reilly’s article “The Greatest Show on Earth” in the August 29th, 2000 edition of Sports Illustrated. 

							
Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

learnts

number of sips equals number of tastes
cirrus is a smeared, silent language
smother hides mother holds other
more salve in horizons than creeds
thinks spin but a moon librates
we’re ants in the blind search for sweetness
monks can tell one silence from another
in ICU it’s the day and your name
it’s in forgetting, losing North
not long after I’m dead, you’ll be dead
a peppermint brailles in bark
we’re all wide-eyed in the sudden light
a hammer feels the purpose of a nail
and can see the black in the blue

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Another Mouthwash Day

She wakes with a new taste in her mouth,
decay,
a type of metallica
fillings falling out,
or setting herself in a mercury bath.

A vibration peddles nerves
gives electronica edges,
loss & disturb
bones point in different directions.
Today would be a day of abuse.

She showers and her colours run into themselves
bleedings on the wellness of skin.
Head talk works in all her wrecking voices
yet the white sands, green waters
rubbed by the pencil of greige mists
shut it all up.

She swallows each good thing as pills
uses her tongue to sever the others.

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Program Summer;

Program Summer;

     Begin

        Repeat

        write ‘The summer has come early this year, I think.’

        IF TheSummerHasComeEarly equals true THEN

            write ‘I dream a thick electric blue’

            write ‘like Sydney Nolan. I dream Ned Kelly eyes.’

        IF TheSummerHasComeEarly does not equal true THEN

            Repeat

                write ‘a chill winter moves the soul, over’

                write ‘a lost land where my heart lies’

                write ‘beside you. Your hands had’

                write ‘enchanted me, eager and soft. But I’

                write ‘was not enough, together, we were’

                write ‘not enough and you alone and I’

                write ‘alone, in that cold house where now’

                write ‘a moon moves between thin branches,’

                write ‘like a dead face beneath still water…’

            Until the sun goes down.

        Until we quit this town.

End

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

ELECTRONICA Editorial

This issue of Cordite makes a bow to music and the ways musicians in various modes and guises have used electric technologies to generate sound.

When David suggested this editing gig to me, I thought how odd, and then, perhaps, how right. The word electronica could suggest club life and that’s not really me (well, not that really). But as method, well, yes. Enough of what I do samples my own work, and other texts of all kinds. That’s one kind of electronica.

The earliest 20th century experiments of composers such as Edgard Varèse and Milton Babbitt, among others, have led the way to so much opening out of musical forms, from Cagean chance generation and Stockhausen’s serial composition to dancefloor and doof, scratch and turntablism, ambient sound scapes, sampling and glitch, etc etc. And the Dr Who theme.

And making or composing poetry out of text and from sound has obvious connections to making or composing music. Therefore, there was much in these modern technical and experimental musical developments that had analogues (if I can use that term) with poetry making and new forms of poetics.

It was this we wanted to focus on, what I looked for, another take on the technologies of modernism and beyond. Naturally, some people thought immediately of club life, of its music, beats, anthems. There was plenty of that in the submissions, and in those that are in this issue. Poems have beats, poems are or can be songs, poems are made of words spliced from other poems, just as even the oldest of songs have been as they passed from singer to singer.

So, some the work in this issue has taken up the idea of sampling and the ways in which composers have manipulated and raided sound sources. This also bounces off the idea of play, from press play to playing with, playing in and playing along with. Of course, sampling or other ways of generating one text from an/other text isn’t new to poets but sometimes it’s good to play with the idea, loudly. Data moshing, digital decay and glitching are newer ways of using errors and unexpected artifacts in the making of a work.


Image: Pulse by Louise Molloy

The clubbing aspect of electronica generated narratives and dialogues which dealt with ways of thinking about sound and text generated out of communal mind-altering spaces, including memory, thought of electronically as well as bodily.

Music can be read, obviously. It has its own visual patterns in composed forms, and in the 20th century musical notation has extended from common staff notation or tablatures, to other forms of graphic notation. The poem on the page also has its patterns, greatly enhanced by the digitisation of typographical design in the late 20th century. Sure, the Dada crowd were having fun with type a way back, not to forget our old friend, Mallarme. But the digital moves it onto other levels, layers and means of access.

Then there is the performative aspect of all this, whether live or recorded performance, or the performance of text (including punctuation and space) on a page. There are pieces in this issue that play with these ideas as well. You can see them or listen to them.

Some of these poems engage with theme rather than method. That’s OK, a poem can name-check cultural influences and work off them into somewhere else.

You could argue that all poetry is electronic these days and has been for a while. Even if any of these words began with a pen or pencil and end up in print media, the final draft and the final output relies on electronic processes. And, here, online, pencil and paper don’t cut it. Instead, we have beats and repeats, atmospheres, the splicing of texts, eras and genres, the big mashup that is this latest issue of Cordite.

Posted in ESSAYS | Tagged

DANGER: POELECTRONICA!

Posted in ARTWORKS | Tagged

Electronica Spoken Word Mix

[audio:http://cordite.org.au/audio/Yes-I-Dream-Of-Electric-Sheep.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/Collyer-_Redmond_I-do-want-it.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/McCooey_CollectiveHypnosis.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/Burton-Trouble-Shooter.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/Whelan_DreamMachines.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/bio_komninos.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/Pravda_WeAreHere.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/The-Fire-That-Baba-Threw.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/Crixus_TheNeedFeed.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/moss_myautopsy.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/Jackson_Gathering.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/Recipes-for-the-Disaster.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/05-My-Old-Amish-Grampa.mp3,http://cordite.org.au/audio/Gibbins_the_simple_life.mp3|titles=Yes I Dream of Electric Sheep,I do want it,Collective Hypnosis,Trouble Shooter,Dream Machines,bio,We Are Here,The Fire That Baba Threw,The Need Feed,My Autopsy,Gathering the Pieces of Your Shattered Palace,Recipes for the Disaster,My Old Amish Grampa,The Simple Life|artists=Philip Norton,Emilie Collyer & Tim Redmond,David McCooey,Pascalle Burton,Sean M Whelan & Isnod,komninos zervos,Joseph Baron Pravda,Alice Melike Ülgezer & Mark Pedersen,Crixus,Sara Moss,Mark William Jackson,Gareth Jenkins,Jamison Lee,Ian Gibbins]

Various Artists
Cordite Electronica Spoken Word Mix (60:34)

New tracks will load automatically …

Track Listing:

    1. Philip Norton – Yes I Dream of Electric Sheep (5:39)
    2. Emilie Collyer & Tim Redmond – I do want it (4:59)
    3. David McCooey – Collective Hypnosis (1:41)
    4. Pascalle Burton – Trouble Shooter (3:08)
    5. Sean M Whelan & Isnod – Dream Machines (4:25)
    6. komninos zervos – bio (1:10)
    7. Joseph Baron Pravda – We Are Here (1:39)
    8. Alice Melike Ülgezer & Mark Pedersen – The Fire That Baba Threw (2:06)
    9. Crixus – The Need Feed (5:00)
    10. Sara Moss – My Autopsy (2:35)
    11. Mark William Jackson – Gathering the Pieces of Your Shattered Palace (1:13)
    12. Gareth Jenkins – Recipes for the Disaster (17:35)
    13. Jamison Lee – My Old Amish Grampa (4:16)
    14. The Simple Life – Ian Gibbins (5.08)
Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dream Machines

[audio:http://cordite.org.au/audio/Whelan_DreamMachines.mp3|titles=Dream Machines – Sean M Whelan & Isnod]
Dream Machines (4:25)
Written and produced by Sean M Whelan & Isnod

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Trouble Shooter

[audio:http://cordite.org.au/audio/Burton-Trouble-Shooter.mp3|titles=Trouble Shooter – Pascalle Burton]
Trouble Shooter (3:08)
Written and produced by Pascalle Burton and featuring Justin Leegwater and David Stavanger

Posted in 46: ELECTRONICA | Tagged