HIS RHYTHMIC SPIRIT
I have 3 new poems on Zeno Press, including ‘A Univocalic Biography of Vaslav Nijinsky’. Another contains a sinkhole.
The Cold Tap Sings
the p-word
Tag: Univocalism
February 9, 2013
OISEAUX
The strangeness of univocalist poems is at its most striking when you hear them performed. I suppose in essence they’re tongue-twisters. Here’s a recording of my suite of A-E-I-O-U poems about birds.
Earlier drafts of the individual sections of ‘Oiseaux’ can be found here. Listen to my other recordings on SoundCloud here.
January 23, 2013
HUBBUB
After completing the O section of my suite of univocalist poems I was worried that the U section would be the hardest. And I was right. No pronouns or articles this time.* Ouch! Well, here goes…
***
Hubbub
Plump gulls must sup.
Suck up luxury hummus.
Chuck up burgundy mucus.
Lungfuls. Such tumult!
Dumbstruck ducks cuss.
Sun
sunk thru cumulus
unfurls.
Cumulus turns succubus.
Succumbs.
***
And there we have it. Read the other poems in the suite here. And stay tuned for an audio recording of ‘Oiseaux’.
*well, technically I could use ‘us’, but I didn’t.
January 12, 2013
CROW’S BOOKS
Here’s the penultimate section of my suite of univocalist poems about birds. I found this one difficult to write because I couldn’t use any pronouns (I, you, we, us, they) or articles (a, an, the), but got around it by writing about a character, Crow, the mythological creature created by Ted Hughes.
***
Crow’s Books
after Ted Hughes
Crow confronts Wordsworth’s works.
Frowns. Throws books off rooftop.
Loots London’s bookshops
to look for old school scrolls
on cosmology, cosmogony,
crowology. Howls. Twofold.
Stomps on rows of snowdrops.
Drops soot on Stockport.
Owls sport scowls.
Crow downs oloroso.
***
I can’t imagine Crow liking Wordsworth, so I thought it a faithful homage. Read the other poems in my univocalist suite here.
Now for U, which I have a feeling will be harder still…
December 13, 2012
TWITCHING
Poem three in my univocalist suite … it’s called ‘Twitching’.
***
Twitching
First light.
Chill mist.
Nihilistic swifts
in whirligigs
kiss wingtips;
siskins
lit with indistinct light
sing:
writing is instinct.
Writing is instinct
imprinting infinity.
***
You can read the other poems in the univocalist suite, as well as a potted history of the form, here.
The Cold Tap Sings 