Could anyone be bothered pressing these in clay? Or scratching them in polished stone? Words once were more than writing, were their own accomplishment - you didn't read at ease, you read at work, you dragged them from a field. Then words were stooked, hand-tied, and lined in rows. You harvested whatever you could carry. But now, each day's another dictionary, a library of untranslated prose. We weigh the chaff and think we're talking yield. I don't believe there's anything to say that someone reading this in 3010 might think was truly worth the waste of clay except, "I was alive like you. Back then."
30.0: CUSTOM
Poetry Editor joanne burnsReleased July 2009
Index of Poems
Cover Image: David Prater
Custom/Made was released in two parts. 30.0: CUSTOM contains poems selected by joanne burns. 30.1: MADE consists of remixes of these poems by the contributors.
Love it. Nice to see the trending moratorium on rhyme is not absolute.
John, WA
I agree. That is a truely wonderful poem. Precise, careful and close to the best possible expression of an idea beyond the cleverness of the poet. Great work.
I have seen other work of “Firkin” (not a real name I am sure – could be a pseudonym of Dr I. Veller) and in one of them he freighted up quite simple words like ‘um’ with so much import that they simply collapsed under the weight of their own collossalness.
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm …
I think you’re onto something, Brody. It’s clearly a pseudonym. Firkin is a pseud for sure.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …