That K. Silem Mohammad thought to ask: Is Poetry a Technology?: is impressive. That--especially in the second post--he leans toward a no answer, and yet allows doubt and uncertainty in/ either because he honestly is unsure or he is purposely so since he wishes to maintain a critical distance/ made me think of Keats. These are the two posts: - 1) Is Poetry a Technology? - 2) More on Poetry and Technology (sort of) Oh: Read the comments beneath the posts. >1< >2< Rho00145
Monday, August 11, 2008
KSM's Poetry and Technology posts
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Alvin Turner as Farmer
a book of 60 poems by William Kloefkorn originally published in 1972 by Road Runner Press in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, as a special Road Apple Review summer 1972 vol. iv no. 2 edited by Terry Smith and Brian Salchert is its author's first collection of poems. At that time Mr. Kloefkorn was a teacher at Nebraska Wesleyan, and Bill Evans, who was a friend and colleague there, contributed 8 pen and ink sketches. See cover image. Subsequently, because this book was popular, in 1974 it was republished by Ted Kooser's Windflower Press. In 2004 Logan House Press published it a third time. Here is a short poem from the book: (15) After a difference We go together as We fall apart: with words. They are clear and clipped and Gently strange, And hearing them I think Their sound is like the little noise Of needles, knitting. Rho00144
Friday, August 8, 2008
Humanity Is a Doomed Species
unless--and I don't think I need to say why; but here are three articles that broach this: "Doomed to early demise" by Edward O. Wilson from UNESCO "Why Global Warming Efforts are Doomed" by Stu Flashman from his web site "I See Doomed People" by George Musser This is an abridged version of an interview of the movie director, M. Night Shyamalan, pertaining to his: The Happening. from Scientific American Rho00143
Thursday, August 7, 2008
the move to smaller vehicles
Here is an article from mlive.com Saginaw News: * Also, though drivers of them need to be careful, some states and municipalities are now allowing golf carts on their streets and roads. Even local government agencies are using them. Our society is changing in the face of less oil. Rho00142
the movie that describes us
From James Howard Kunstler's Dark (K)night post: "We're so far gone that real human emotion is beyond us." Dark (K)night Rho00141
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
I have decided
outside of what I've been doing--placing a .txt copy of each of my posts in an appropriate offline folder-- that in spite of the inevitability of the structuring of canons by individuals and groups of individuals, I favor saving as much as can reasonably be saved. Why? Because canons, whether they are compendiums arrived at by popular acclamation or by the aesthetic stance of this one / that one / these / those, cannot be other than interesting introductions, and because the course of every human's death journey is of value beyond any vaunted canonicity. Death begins at birth. Therefore, death is the only life worth living. Thus one should try to live for as long as one rationally can since it is not possible to know what engendering encounters will occur before that moment one actually dies. To be clear: I am not against canons or manifestoes or explications. Interesting introductions are fine by me. I have several such in this blog's Poetry Oases section. My barriers are these: 1) a general openness which dissuades me from adopting a method other than what emanates from the thing being made/ even when I have chosen beforehand/ the form of that thing/ because words are wicked wonders/ often having designs of their own 2) as widely as I have read, over the years I have drifted in and out of realms pertaining to poetry, and so have read less widely in those realms than I otherwise would have 3) I have an above average intelligence which only on occasion, and then only through diligent effort, have I been able to ratchet above 140, and so my memory is weak and likewise my spatial recognition abilities 4) emotions seem to direct my choices more than do common and not-so-common logics, although rational thinking is not foreign to me. These days there are so many makers of poems using so many different styles and languages, I doubt any one person could get through that cornucopia, and the robots cannot be trusted. Back in the 1980s when I was into poetics, mathematics, and market analytics all at the same time, Derrida's strong deconstruction position effectively ended my curiosity about those approaches to literature. To me it seemed he was not only deconstructing others but also himself, to which the only proper response was laughter. Recently I have been reading (possibly rereading) Hannah Arendt's The Human Condition, a complex, provocative delving into where humans have been, are, and are heading. On page 255 of the Doubleday Anchor edition I own is an insight that may seem too obvious today, but which I think merits repeating: "The seen tree may be real enough for the sensation of vision, just as the dreamed tree is real enough for the dreamer as long as the dream lasts, but neither can ever become a real tree." Poets and scientists can refine and refine how they depict realities of atomic substance by means of their envisionings, and I would suggest the more angles of vision the better, but those realities will continue to be bark-on, wave-whacking, wind- dervishing incomprehensible. That is the sadness and that is the joy, and that is the truth and the beauty of it. I don't care how compellingly this Era of humanity draws us to irony and satire, the persistence of natura naturans, the ongoing, tells us transcendence remains. Language itself is an eminent example: meaning created out of nothing. Swing the side of your fist against what we call a "tree" and you might come back calling that object an "uuh". So who were my literary progenitors? Who cares. But the answer is: anything and anyone. Sure I was influenced by him and her and her and him somewhere along my journey. Being as I am easily influenced, even now I am being influenced; but I still wend my own way. Heck, Ron Silliman's The New Sentence influenced me, but not in ways he would have thought possible. You see, just like all others who enjoy interacting with words, I draw from the happenings around me and the happenings in my mind. You've read one or two of my poems and did not like it (them). That's okay. I'm inexhaustible--ha ha. Look for me in the cracks in your walls. Rho00140
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
back to 0.4 or
Toward a Type 1 civilization from the L. A. Times this op ed by Michael Shermer Rho00139
search engine result errors
Prompted by Cuil, I just searched my name (Brian Salchert) at Google, MSN Live, and Yahoo! in order to verify what I have long known to be true at Google: results that provide a snippet of a comment supposedly by me but which in fact are not by me. All 4 of these s-engines make this kind of error, usually attributing a comment below mine to me. In case you do not understand what I am saying: this note is about comments I (or anyone) make beneath a post on a blog maintained by another blogger. Something is wrong with the technologies used or with the ways they are used. I don't think the search engines intend to deceive, but they do. Not certain how these errors/ can be corrected. Perhaps they can't be. To be fair, many times errors of this kind are not made. They are made often enough however. Rho00138
defense against nuclear weapons
newsmax.com is a conservative news source but a recent article in it by Ken Timmerman is worth reading - do this search: Iran Plans Nuclear Strike on U.S. * I don't want to link to it. Rho00137
Monday, August 4, 2008
why i am isolated
Reasons: health, time, money, opinions Health: Due mostly to one disease and the complications of it. I inherited a frail body. That body led to osteoporosis when I was in my late fifties. Causes beyond the genetic ones were multiple. It didn't help that I wasn't careful enough when I encountered situations requiring strength. I have three fractured vertebrae, and so have exacerbated kyphosis. Once 5'6.5", I am now less than 4'11". Disease number two--now being controlled by a medication-- is adult-onset epilepsy. During the time when it was not yet under control, I was forced to quit both working and driving at the same time. Could probably go back to driving, but don't think it would be a wise choice. Time: Use of it is difficult, not that it ever was easy for me. My thoughts and my imaginings have always taken precedence in spite of my knowing I must have a body which is sufficiently healthy first. Money: Barely have enough to survive on. Therefore, I have had to stop indulging several pleasures, driving being one of them. Opinions: I am an aesthetic chameleon. My interests are varied, and persist in ways I suspect most others are unable to comfortably relate to. I make no special claims for myself. A Richard Wagner I'm not. So why am I even online? Because however odd I am, I do need to interact, to learn, to share; and the Internet is at this time the best place to be for one who wishes to do such things. Actually, it has gotten so that even if every other who is online shut me out, I would remain with the winds and the shadows of my being in my chosen places, and continue to tap tap tap. Rho00136
Saturday, August 2, 2008
foreclosure crisis
from AlterNet "One million homes lost and counting: how to end the foreclosure crisis now" by Fred Moseley, Dollars and Sense Posted August 2, 2008 what/ needs to be done Rho00135
about a certain bank
"America's Smartest Banker" by Daniel Gross a short article which appears in today's Slate growth the common sense way Rho00134
Friday, August 1, 2008
a look ahead
Something sad but more hopeful from James Howard Kunstler: "The Coming Re-Becoming" thoughts on a drive north of Albany, New York. Rho00133
Thursday, July 31, 2008
a beginning perhaps
Gambryon 1 poem was moved to tg00008 the ghost in the dumpster on 2008-08-31. Rho00132
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
catmap
[2008-07-30 note: Rhodingeedaddee major categories (to which others may be added) presently are poetics, autobiography, poets, money, note, poet, environment, health, books, civilizations, philosophy, poems, science, poem, aesthetics, review, photos, evolution, society, religion, list] * use back arrow to return to this page * directory2007 poetics autobiography poets money note poet environment health books civilizations philosophy poems science poem aesthetics review photos evolution society religion list essay technology poetry Rho00131 *
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
avoid credit learn to save
Peter D. Schiff is a seasoned market analyst who says the coming bailouts of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac will only add fuel to America's economic fire, and he explains why; but I am not going there in this post. Rather, today I am providing a link to an archive of articles by Mr. Schiff and also to one particular article in that archive: "China's Simple Solution". Peter Schiff's archive Read this brief article carefully. There are links of interest in this article. One is to his free on-line newsletter. Do a Peter Schiff search for more information. Right or wrong--and there is no way to know--Mr. Schiff says in one video that had this nation not gone off the gold standard in 1971, oil would now be $3.50 a barrel. Not everyone agrees with his views, but he has been right during this century. Rho00130
Monday, July 28, 2008
read why bye bye democracy
Recently I subscribed to emails from Edge [see in my E-Whip Oases], an organization pointing toward where Earth's community of humans is heading. In this morning's email from Edge is A Talk By Mark Pesce feature: "Hyperpolitics (American Style)". This talk explains why and how sharing is replacing the primacy of the individual. Think Twitter, Flickr, Facebook. Think interconnectivity. care and share Rho00129
Sunday, July 27, 2008
allergy research news
If you, like me, have allergies, especially dust mite and cat dander allergies, a Swiss biotechnology company's news release from earlier this month might interest you. The trial period for their injection is not yet over but results so far are promising, and the product is at base better than those currently available. The company's name is Cytos. The release is in PDF format. News I found out about this company and its in- trial product through the weekly e-mail I get from KurzweilAI (kurzweilai.net). Rho00128
Saturday, July 26, 2008
a United States debt clock
Ed Hall's U.S. debt clock and much more can be found here: a U.S. debt clock Rho00127
Friday, July 25, 2008
Paul Hoover on US
In his links post for Friday July 25, 2008, Ron Silliman has a Paul Hoover link to a page where he responds to questions about the US as it presently is. So far, the simplest way I have found to get to that page is by doing this Google-search: Paul Hoover decadence US Rho00126
Thursday, July 24, 2008
revisiting me and artifacts
My view may not be a popular one, but I learned early on a made object is only as good as are the judgments of those who attend it. This does not mean that a maker of an object can avoid being concerned about quality; but it does mean that whatever the medium or mediums, whatever the tools, whatever the construction, however refined the maker's judgment is, the values of a finished artifact exist beyond the opinions of the person who made it. Therefore, once a maker has crafted an artifact and is willing to share it with others, those others should be allowed to discern its worth. The maker can answer any questions about it, but should not get on a high horse about it. If no artifact a certain person makes is considered exceptional or even mildly good, then that's that person's maker fate. One does what one is moved to do, and if what one is moved to do results in objects unacceptable to this or that coterie, so be it. It is a horrid mistake to fashion something just to appeal to the promoters of some current taste. In the poetry sphere there is always someone or a group--usually more than one--practicing and advocating a different way to make poems. What else would one expect as arguments fly like rooks out of night? All such is interesting / useful. I, however, despite how often I/ proffer comments, remain aloof. Rho00125
a history of US money
At his dollardaze.org blog, Mike Hewitt presents a history of "paper fiat currency" and the role of the central banks in these United States in a long article: "America's Forgotten War Against the Central Banks" This article is available at several sites, but here is his article as it appears on his blog. Rho00124
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
gold and the gold standard
* * There have been times when the price of gold equalled the value of the Dow, and there is a market analyst who thinks it is going to occur again soon/ and may even become the norm. So, unless the Dow (DJIA) falls below the current price of gold, gold is likely to rise to that value the Dow has, be it 7000 or 27000. This means that if he is right, gold could well go much higher than it now is. Some think the gold standard should be put in place again. Some think that would not work. At the Truth is Treason in the Empire of Lies is "The Central Bank's War on the Middle Class" posted on 2008-06-04. Mark Thornton sides with those who favor going back to the gold standard. This search: freethemarketman.wordpress.com/ will take you to the site. For the article, search: freethemarketman.wordpress.com/2008/06/ 04/the-central-banks-war-on-the-middle-class/ But here is a link to it: . . . . . [ Note: On the page the link connects to it says that the post was made by freemarketman, and I have no way of knowing for sure if freemarketman is Mark Thornton. ] - [ see comment ] - Rho00123
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
somewhere apart
Dead Zone is a poem that was here but was moved to tg00007 the ghost in the dumpster on 2008-08-31. Rho00122
the present moment in America
Essentially, the reality the interview and the two articles point to here is: free market capitalism/ is dead. "Nightmare on Wall Street: Washington Can't Bail Out the Sea of Red Ink": William Greider's conversation with Bill Moyers is available at www.pbs.org/ moyers/journal/07182008/watch.html but the type in the script of that conversation (interview) is larger at www.alternet.org/workplace/92286/ Therefore, it is best to go there. Paul B. Farrell's article: "11 reasons America's a new socialist economy" can be found at www.marketwatch.com/news/ story/eleven-reasons-america-new-top/ Matt Taibbi's article: "It's a class war, stupid" appeared in Rolling Stone. www.rollingstone.com/politics/story/ 21830103/its_a_class_war_stupid Have decided not to provide links, but a search such as Matt Taibbi class war might work; or you can try copying and pasting. 10:36 PM - Had trouble with copying and pasting the MarketWatch URL, but just tried a search that worked: Paul B Farrell America socialist economy ~ Rho00121
Sunday, July 20, 2008
In Transit four
While in high school the notion of being a priest obsessed me, leading me to the Jesuits. When they answered my query, they said that since I had not been in a Jesuit high school/ I should first attend Marquette University for one year. I knew I might be totally wrong, but I also knew I had to explore my desire; and so--with help from an aunt--I went to Marquette. My year there did not dissuade me, but it should have. The inner me was like two persons at odds with each other, a condition that was already at least seven years old. Had someone been able to follow me, that someone would have noted how the outer me mirrored the inner me. Two events that I want to relate would clearly show the split in me, but I am going to reveal something other. I was informed by another student in the dorm wing about a personality test of some kind. Some had taken it and, while that wasn't a sufficient prod for me to take it, I did. Actually, although at the time I didn't consider that possibility, the whole thing could well have been a ruse. I know opinions are formed about me, opinions I'm never made aware of. Anyway, the test said/ I lacked integrity. I dissed that result, but was unable to stop pondering it. I simply was not ready to face the truth. In that dorm wing that 1959/1960 year each room had two beds and two residents. Schroeder Hall was a huge dorm. In a room near the south end were two dark-skinned--Negroes was probably the term used then--residents. The one from Chicago was small like me. The one from Rochester, NY, was of medium build but over six feet tall. He and I got into evening bowling together at the university's lanes. He had a cooler character, and often tried to cool the temperature of mine. Usually--maybe always--on our return, we stopped at the White Tower restaurant for a quick snack such as a buttered bun. That was the extent of our relationship. I haven't forgotten his name. When the day came to head up to Minnesota north of St. Paul, a passenger with me (a high school classmate who had an older brother who was a Jesuit) on the back seat/ was a welcome surprise, not that he and I were friends or ever would be, but it was good to have someone to converse with. I had an uncle who for a while operated what was then popular and was called a teen bar. I told this passenger I had never been to a teen bar. He told me I hadn't missed anything. Of course, I didn't need to go out to a bar. There was a bar in our basement. Even with that, I wasn't a drinker those days. What I do remember were the parties my parents had and the frosted bar glasses, each of which had a clear keyhole and through each keyhole one could see a sexy lady painted inside. I also remember the cases of Kingsbury beer. Still, even though I ate lunch with three other guys during high school, and even though there was a large neighborhood of kids around us and I did get somewhat close to a few of them, I remained essentially distant. So we arrive at this grand property outside of St. Bonifacius, MN, where a structure shaped like a cross loomed. Priests and brothers and four years of seminarians were housed there. Each seminarian had his own room, and each was provided with a traditional Jesuit garb. For me it was perfect at the beginning. Somehow, while I was there, I and one who became and yet is a Jesuit, entered into a friendship of a kind. Memories from those Novitiate days are numerous. I did learn from that experience, but in the end I was not fit. So it was that on Pentecost Sunday in 1962, after having come within moments of dying from complications due to a ruptured appendix, I--after being blessed by one of the priests in a cloister walk while Mass was being celebrated within--exited. I did write poems while I was there. The most important of them are online over at Sprintedon Hollow (Salchert's Hermitage / Salchert's Hole). Further proof of part of what was wrong with me. Perhaps still is. One constant in my life is my push to learn. I am always on a learning curve. Problem is that by the time I have learned something/ much of its value has long passed. Lime vodka sweet. Guinness stout. Michelob dark. I was a mystic. Rather, I was a Miss Tick, and no Tock. - Rho00120 Gustav Holst The Planets Op.32 Neptune
Saturday, July 19, 2008
interlude-my-e-whip-oases
This is a plug for my E-Whip Oases. Peruse it. Access to some valuable reads and sites are there. Even if you come here just for what can be found through the hyperlinks in this section, fine. I would recommend several, but it is best if you make your own choices. The list is not static. Today I added an interview with K S Mohammad on Flarf. I am not a Flarfist, but the description Mr. Mohammad provides is the best I've read. The connection to the Poetry Foundation's Harriet is a favorite of mine. Rho00119
Friday, July 18, 2008
In Transit three
Three After finishing Morning Kindergarten, I was placed in Afternoon Kindergarten because it was determined I was not socially ready to enter First Grade. What they did not realize was that I would never be socially ready. The Second Grade I was in also had students who were in the Third Grade. A day came when the teacher was teaching Third Grade math. I was watching. She saw that I was watching. Strangely, when a Third Grade student up at the blackboard (greenboard?) was unable to produce the correct answer to the problem there, she asked me to try. Since I do not recall the problem, I cannot say I answered it correctly, but my emotional memory says I did. No big deal, though, since I didn't get moved up to the Third Grade. When I was in the First Grade, my parents had me take piano lessons, but there were two conditions against me: small hands and poor brain-to-fingers coordination. It happened I became ill with measles during that time. Dealing with them gave me time to think. I decided to/ quit taking piano lessons. My parents also got me into a cub scout den and then into a boy scout troop. What I learned from those experiences was worth the while, but I never made First Class as a boy scout. Due to breathing difficulties I was unable to overcome, I couldn't swim the required 50 yards. One summer I came upon an empty "tiny" white cardboard box, a box which may have been for some item of jewelry. I took it and made it a magical box, placing short curlicues of white paper in it & other things, all of which I made magical. It was then that the word "Rhodingeedaddee" arrived. Why? From where? I have no clue, but that is the way I remember it. What they did not realize was: I never would be socially ready. When I was eleven or twelve, my interest in space and stars made me want to become an astrophysicist. However, I was exploring other disciplines also, one which resulted in the crafting of my first poem. I call that poem a verse now. It, along with 23 other early verses, is online in my S H. In high school I found math and sciences less appealing than the humanities. My grades were on the exceptional side/ but had I been placed a grade higher/ I feel to this day/ I would have put more effort into what I was studying. I did resume trying to write poems, and one was sent to a national high school competition and was included in an anthology and a year or so later in an issue of the Marquette Journal. It was my first sonnet, but it began as a longer, looser poem (verse). Somehow, while in high school, Charles Péguy ..... drew my attention. Attempted to imitate him, but just once. Rho00118 Gustav Holst The Planets Op.32 Uranus
Thursday, July 17, 2008
In Transit two
Two Shortly after I was born/ I was taken back to the hospital. Somehow I had contracted impetigo. That disease is contagious. I've been told I was placed in a warm room and was unclothed. Recollections of those days are nil, but I have an unprovable theory about them. Since it was somewhat like returning to the comfort of the womb, I think it may have had a positive effect on me. On the other hand, since I was unclothed, I think my exhibitionist tendencies and/ may have begun there. Although I do not recall those times either, I was, apparently, somewhat aggressively precocious. One of my sisters has told me I would get up on top of the kitchen table and attempt to argue with my dad, but as he wanted nothing to do with it, he would just eat a little faster and go outside. One day when I was yet quite young I had a conversation with an adult female neighbor while sitting with her on their family's front steps. The contents of that conversation I have no memory of, but I later found out she told my mother I talked like an adult. We and our neighbors lived near what then was the west edge of FdL, yet we had sidewalks and sewers and street lights. Oh the stories they were props in! Unlike most other kids--being a dreamer and adventurer, during my tricycle days I sometimes pedalled beyond our corner lots. Two such got me into trouble. Around two blocks to the south/ the sidewalk along the street our house faced/ passed a vacant lot, and there was a shallow dip. Don't recall how I got past it going south, but I do recall deciding to ride through it on my way back north. Suddenly, the dip proved/ I was the dip. Incident two was propelled by curiosity. I heard music in the distance to the east, and I pedalled off in search of its source. I found it: a band, a marching-type band, near the railroad tracks just north of the train station. That station was nearly a mile from where we lived. On my way home, my parents showed up in the family car. Am unclear about that, but I think that is what happened. When I was older, my sisters and I got the brilliant idea of twirling our bodies around in our livingroom. It was a dizzy idea, and who was the first victim: I was. Splat. My forehead against the wooden arm of dad's easy chair. Mother called the family doctor and rushed me to his office. 4 stitches. One of the first questions a neurologist asks when you visit him/her because you have had a seizure is: "Have you had any head injuries?" I haven't kept a count. Rho00117 Gustav Holst The Planets Op.32 Mars
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
In Transit
One It is late; but I am beginning here a something: a ponding brook, a cloud of debris, an opening. The majority of my days as a viable human/ have passed, and I--now the hermit I thought I always wanted to be--am grateful, yet lost. There is in me a quivering understanding of how I got to where I am, moment into moment into moment; but no understanding at all of what comes next. A swirl of humans accompanies me/ on this planet: some of whom I interact with; most of whom I do not know. I have and use a name: a family name, a first name, a middle name, and a chosen-by-me Confirmation name. Yet, I constantly question it/them. Who am I, really? In my imagination there is another me who is a philanthropist, or was a philanthropist. My existence at this moment is an absolute mystery, a mystery which is the result of choices beyond comprehension. The choices include choices I have made, choices of all levels of good and evil. Really, who am I? Why am I? What motivates me to pursue what I pursue? It is late. Rho00116 - Gustav Holst The Planets Op.32 Jupiter
