Beat Poetry theme for Silliman

Silliman spoke about Hettie Jones' poetry and it interested me because, in an interview, she said that she was too linear to be a beat poet. I find myself relating to her abilities. Beat poetry, as displayed on Silliman's blog, can be abstract, musical, and simply linguistic. I think that it takes a lot more work to be a beat poet than to simply write linear, classic poetry. It seems to take more inner strength and control to create work that is laking control. Beat poetry has to be, in some ways, entertaining which is what classic poetry does not have to worry about being.

Christian Bok's DNA

Bok's proposal on creating poetry within genes is remarkable. Not only would this benefit the preservation of human culture and poetry, it would shine light onto the complexity of DNA and poetry. This seems to be the creme de la creme of poetry in technology. Scientists and artists, which have always seemed to be opposites would now have a chance to appreciate one another's work. Bok shows us how far human technology has really come. We have come so far from the introduction of the computer. Technology is now fun. Technology can now become a way of showcasing our lives, rather than controlling our lives.

Dear Reader
By Rita Mae Reese

You have forgotten it all.

You have forgotten your name,

where you lived, who you

loved, why.

                      I am simply

your nurse, terse and unlovely

I point to things

and remind you what they are:

chair, book, daughter, soup.

 

And when we are alone

I tell you what lies

in each direction: This way

is death, and this way, after

a longer walk, is death,

and that way is death but you

won’t see it

until it is right

in front of you.

 

              Once after

your niece had been to visit you

and I said something about

how you must love her

or she must love you

or something useless like that,

you gripped my forearm

in your terrible swift hand

and said, she is

everything—you gave

me a shake—everything

to me.

               And then you fell

back into the well. Deep

in the well of everything. And I

stand at the edge and call:

                  chair, book, daughter, soup.