Thursday, June 26, 2014

Epithetic Elephant Erasers



image borrowed from bing


Epithetic Elephant Erasers

“All the world’s religions are just the mirror
of the One Face.”--Dada JP Vaswani.

Never give a pink goose      a nickel-plated .45,
                             for you need paper-mache 
rhino skin to survive
                     all those impregnated voyages
                             of discovery,
                             or deeper yet, dropping below
                     the sagittal crust.

Words can be
           spoken,
           sung, or
           written,
no matter whose foul gums they have been between,
            but certainly before
            utilization,
                                 as you spew their spawn
            like dancing dew bubbles dangling lustily
all along the dazzling ditches
                                 of spider web blue highways,
watch the five crows flying
                                 on gossamer bat wings
                                 into the dusky jeweled colon
of the nearly noxious night. 

Truth is, can be,
         as gritty as alkaline dust
         clinging to the calculus
between your malicious molars, because
         everyone already knows,
                         but chooses to ignore the fact
that Morality dissipates quickly
                         after the angry guns
                         are drawn,
because God & Jesus don’t ride Mopeds, man,
                         and the Beasts can easily outrun you. 
If you do shoot a grizzly
                         in your pajamas,
how in hell did he get them on?

So conflictingly droll to see God daily
                         using public transport,
mantled China Red in bloody robes,
                                               like a mad monk,
              postulating that Music is
              the Gospel Silence
              between the black lines,
                             below the bars,
                             adjacent to,
                             over the naughty notes,
because elitist demi-gods ride the hot rails
              preferring first class,
                              thrusting invisible wisdom
              into brown sausage skins
                              beyond our pitiful grasp,
worshipping manic mimicry
             over any form of original thought. 

Contrary to media blitzes, Plato
                   was so much more than
                   a randy cross-dressing putz
                                running roughshod
over his nubile harem of young boys, so
if your female doctor
                    asks you to stop masturbating,
                                 perhaps even with her wet lips
                                 pursed, she only wants
to listen to your heart, being
                    dismayed at hearing the half-beats
of loneliness, realizing that you have neglected
                     to connect
to that counterpoint companion
                     that still might complete you. 

We do adore our heroes
            until they machete off their
            girlfriend’s head, disregarding
that only Monarch butterflies
            fully understand the transience of Beauty,
while rejecting longevity, 
burning brightly, never missing a chance
                           to appear at a Town Hall Meeting,
                           or to flutter naked in
a Butthole Surfers rock video. 

Is all Art just
        shredded reconstituted
        plagiarism, of do we come
into this world astride a bilious bubble
              of cosmic dew,
already cognizant that Sartre
              ate horse shit sandwiches,
already understanding that Paul & John
were not popes, God forbid, no
              they were Beatled revolutionaries
                               leading us blithely to the government
ghettos of Dystopian Depths
                               or Utopian Heights,
as city planners enjoy the developer’s dole,
           greedily suckling the neon tits of Graft. 
                       

          
Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets MTB

Would you like to hear the author read this Dada poem to you?

22 comments:

Mary said...

Lots of ideas to digest here, Glenn. Yes, sometimes it seems that all art could be shredded, reconstituted.....but as long as the audience is new, it doesn't matter. Yes, and truth can be quite gritty, whether shredded or reconstituted or clinging to the calculus between molars. Smiles.

Claudia said...

dang it - what a mix of images - the spider web blue highways...alkaline dust to horse shit sandwiches...gritty and real.. and i bet jesus would've rode a moped when they would've had them already back in 0
smiles

Victoria said...

This is so full of meaningful snapshots of philosophy, truth. I hope everyone takes the time to listen to it, to digest it in tiny morsels. As you read it aloud with all the skill and talent of your acting background I think of Masterpiece Theater. Skillful use of images and alliteration. Dadadist, but jam-packed with meaning.

Gabriella said...

First at the risk of sounding not very original, I want to say once again that I enjoy the quotes you choose for us, Glenn. They are always very thought-provoking.
"We do adore our heroes
until they machete off their
girlfriend’s head" - this is so very true. Society loves its heroes but is ready to condemn them just as readily as it was to praise them.

Susan said...

See, now? I'm going to have to READ this! Groan.

As if all the religions were present in that cage Mark Twain suggested in his famous essay: so many body parts and mouths still chewing to spew ...so why even meet?
Take what comes.

Beachanny said...

Well if ever a dada poem as a dada poem crystallized thoughts out of fragments, it's this! Taking the whole and not bothering to digest it, one gets a movie of civilization, a sequence of thought provoking realities pastiched onto the idea of what and who nature is and how we arrive at it, knowing nothing, being nothing, but thinking we do (so arrogant) that we with infinite hubris can manipulate and stupidly destroy it. Wow! Great piece.

Brian Miller said...

ha. nice blend of philosophy man...is all art regurgitated...maybe...maybe we can show different perspectives on the same things...does that make it new? or is it new Coke, a different sweetener and a stripe on a can? some startling images in this too man...

Björn Rudberg said...

I most definitely agree that Plato's view on young boys could be questioned.. though I think it was his teacher who was served the bitter chalice.. there are many other nice little gems in your reconstruction of reality.. but to me this is the apex of the poem..

Kathy said...

A wordsmith you are and I read a screenplay here, I think, for the movie of a lifetime, an Academy Award winner (not that that means a heck of a lot)...I was taken away by your unique visions..ie..the mad monk, worshipping manic mimicry, Beatled revolutionaries, and other gritty images...a dadaist rant...smiles

freyawrites.com said...

everyone already knows,
but chooses to ignore the fact
that Morality dissipates quickly
after the angry guns
are drawn,

And isn't that partly what Dadaism was borne out of - their horror at the destruction and madness of the First World War?
As ever, you pack so much in to your poetry - I feel quite dizzy with it!

charliezero1 said...

I've said this to you before and I'll say it again.

You sir are such a brilliant writer. You are my favorite visual writer. :)

We should collaborate together on a poem. Trust me on this one. We will blow everyone's minds away with our images. :)

Grace said...

And you did this without the dada poem generator? I am impressed Glenn ~ I love the title to the written words of alkaline dust, the mad monk (who is Chinese), monarch butterflies who seem wiser than the popes ~

Nara Malone said...

"If you do shoot a grizzly
in your pajamas,
how in hell did he get them on?"

I know I'll dream a grizzly bear in a lace teddy tonight.

Audrey Howitt aka Divalounger said...

Well this was different--lots of images---malicious molars made me smile a bit--shred me, reconstitute me--liking this piece a bunch

vivinfrance said...

This one's a WOW poem. You've explored so much in a zany mixture that has to be re-read and again.
I love the lines in the final stanza

"Is all Art just
shredded reconstituted
plagiarism..."

sharonlee said...

What a journey this is... so many palpable images... hypnotizing.

I definitely missunderstood the concept of Dada.

Marina Sofia said...

Ha, ha, ha, admit it, Glenn, you had great fun with this! Your theatrical background is evident here - and it's true performance poetry owes much to Dadaism (after all, it originated at Cabaret Voltaire in Zurich, right). I especially loved these lines:
Words can be
spoken,
sung, or
written,
no matter whose foul gums they have been between,
but certainly before
utilization,

Hala Hoagland said...

This is full of righteous word associaytion and spirited soul tunes, the heavy lines are perfectly suited to the subject-love love love it

Sumana Roy said...

Now that's a grand display of images and my favorite one is " we come
into this world astride a bilious bubble of cosmic dew,"...

Arathi Harihar said...

From alkaline truth to cosmic dew beautiful it is with lot of wisdom thrown in..smiles

georgeplaceblog said...

Wow, you really wrote a Dadaist poem.

Carrie Van Horn said...

Truth is gritty, but you are witty Glen.....sorry I could not help myself....I do love how you weaved a lot of wisdom in your array of images here! :-)