Suddenly, I am filled with the desire to capitalize. Not always, not necessarily tomorrow, occasionally in the past, but definitely now. This is a step somewhere, I think. I think.


Suddenly I am filled with the desire to be somewhere, in class or reading some hideous contemporary poet just to hate him (or her, as the case may be), crawling, clawing my way toward an MFA. Still, today, Siliman rambles about iconic poems. Yesterday, it was phone conversations and emails as “conceptual poetry”.

Suddenly, I wonder: is “conceptual poetry” taking Kundera’s idea one step further, combining the ethics of essential and archive, such that the archive is presented as the essential itself. And I think, “Phone conversations? Emails? Somewhere, John Cage is laughing. At us, not with. Phone conversations? I think that’s about 54 years late. Sorry.”


Suddenly, further, I think, “What a great MFA paper this would all be.” Alas, this post will be its resting place.

Suddenly, even further, I think, “But perhaps an archeologist of poetry will unearth, as it were, this post, and designate it an iconic piece. Perhaps it already is, perhaps disgrace.” Perhaps.


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