Counterpoint

This is another table poem – the words and lines formatted within the rectangles of a table inserted into a document. The table consists of 5 columns and 21 rows. A kind of counterpoint is created when the poem is read horizontally, vertically, diagonally. Formatting widgets (spacing, alignments left or right, cuts, etc.) have been added as musical accent marks.

counter

point part s po sh not
again st

co nter

culture

priv ate

lake

mass

shore

ount

deck

effect
ass ump tion sit sting out

cou

entry
un der

palms up

fronds down

pile green

noucter

prick

pluck

plectrum

finger

nails

percussive fingerling

apron

strings hooks

count

1

Two

3

Four
syncopate

swooooons

c u t
how l o n g

jay sus

woh

how here

owh
nogl

l o n g

on
ow
un clear im precise lack s clar ity cri tic

pun

c

a hack’s ear

u ate shun too smpl not
4
yes

re

me m ber us

cross

together

prable

back when
whole point

told

aft you

cave out

Ires & Ears & Reader Satisfaction Survey

Instructions: Read each row left to right, then, in each empty cell in the first column, insert a word that irks you. In the corresponding empty cell in the far right column, insert your irky word’s opposite. If you can’t think of a word that irks you, insert a word that feels good to your ears. (Note: You may also read the words by column, top to bottom, or bottom to top – individual reader experience may vary.)

play ear piquancy
ear wig able
ear ate oblige
ear riff hive
ear rev rant
iron browse nose
ear irk sum
ir clothed ears
ear iris bow
ear nose spell
ire oh you
rear reverse ably
wear plus tear
spread sheet foot on
oval ire head
for get it
come out side

 

Reader Satisfaction Survey

In the cell to the right of the comment, indicate your level of satisfaction with The Coming of the Toads blog, using a 1 for “highly likely,” 2 for “depends,” 3 for “no opinion,” 4 for “not likely,” and 5 for “no way.” If the question suggests an “agree” or “disagree” answer, use 1 for “totally agree,” 2 for “agree somewhat,” 3 for “sometimes,” 4 for “I meditate often,” and 5 for “totally disagree.”

1

2

3

4

5

I’ll probably stop reading your blog soon:
I’d rather listen to the radio or watch TV:
I prefer posts that are not poetry:
I want to see more pictures:
You should sponsor some giveaways:
Have you thought of knitting for a hobby?
I liked the recent bicycle post:
I’m not sure what you mean by a post?:
I’m currently reading “War and Peace”:
I’m thinking of subscribing to a magazine:
I’m thinking of buying a new car:
I have enough clothes to suit my needs:
I can never get a plumber when I need one:
I got here by mistake:
I was referred here by my plumber:
My socio-economic demographic sucks:

Thank you for visiting The Coming of the Toads and for participating in the survey.

A few gratuitous pics for this post, because some readers have come to expect pics with words, and, believe it or not, appreciate a good selfie when they see one:

 

Vowel Motion & Consonant Commotion

Vowel Motion

accelerate encyclopedia inch along
oval verbs Uranus Your > yr
wave  ~ func
funa  [this space left blank] fank
fenk fink Fonk
funk  [purposelessly] California
Faulkner Mississippi Oak Grove
Umbrella  #dearjohn Adieu Aeiou – Ah, You!

Consonant Commotion

Click and clack bicycle rack tongue and tooth
cat myrrh-th parts, spokes and wheels
synth Dry gin groove
Sly tryst Hymnal perpendicular hill
WHY THIS?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

AND NOT WHAT?
 nothing Peaceful city  nothing goin’ on
Slow whisper shy summer down by the wyrm bay
consonants moving by & by

 

Scamble and Cramble Find Readers

Scamble and Cramble: Two Hep Cats and Other Tall Tales” is finding readers with enthusiastic response.

I gave ZZ a proof copy to test the waters. She dug it, and smiled when she saw the dedication page, and started in reading immediately, and when she got to the song, nothing would do but she had to sing it aloud. “Scamble and Cramble” is a hit!

But I had already decided to change the cover, which has delayed the “look inside” feature, which I had wanted to wait for before saying much more about the book. But I’ve been getting these pics from readers, and they make for a great review! Thanks to ZZ and Briana and Felicia and crew.

Something new happens on almost every page of “Scamble and Cramble.” Readers are surprised as they see the characters take shape and run with the stories. There are pages to read, and pages simply to watch. There are things to find. There’s a parade, a cast of characters, portraits, stories, talking cats and other animals, and Peepa and Moopa seem a new species. There are happy and sad tales, and Nana and Papa make an appearance. And it’s all told with commonly used keyboard symbols.

Happy Readers!

 A look inside of “Scamble and Cramble: Two Hep Cats and Other Tall Tales”:

A Look Inside

 

  • Paperback: 108 pages
  • Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (June 24, 2016)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1533501084
  • ISBN-13: 978-1533501080
  • Product Dimensions: 5.2 x 0.3 x 8 inches

 

Deconstruction & Design

Scamble and Cramble Cover DesignIn the process of deconstruction we discover new ideas. We need not start with a design in hand. We don’t necessarily need a plan. Unless, of course, there is some destination we are particularly interested in, we need to get to. If that’s the case, we’ll usually find ourselves on the wrong path, wrong way on a one way street, people barking directions at us, flipping us off. But if we begin with deconstructing that destination, we often find we discover interesting things along the route we end up taking we would have otherwise missed. There will be constraints. Fences and gates. Do Not Enter signs. No Solicitors. Beware the Dangerous Critic!

At the same time, we shouldn’t be afraid to ask for directions, listen to our critics, gather advice, ask for consent, patience, forgiveness of our trespasses. That the severe critic may be lurking behind the next corner, hiding in a recessed alcove doorway, spitting sunflower seed shells from an open second story window, pulling us over to ask for license and registration – that the severe critic lurks in the shadows of our path is a good thing. The critic keeps us awake when we might otherwise fall asleep, and reminds us of our responsibilities to audience, sense, time, and place, direction, design, and deconstructions.

Coming Soon!

Common keyboard signs and punctuation marks become characters in this experimental children’s book for readers of all ages. Scamble and Cramble are two cats observing, interpreting, and commenting on daily events. Other animals come and go, too, changing with text and form and story. “Scamble and Cramble” may work best for independent middle grade readers. Younger children may enjoy perusing the book with an older guide. The book’s Concrete Poetry techniques use standard keyboard symbols and readily accessible font types and sizes. Readers may be encouraged to explore more the world of concrete poetry.

  • Paperback: 108 pages
  • Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (June 24, 2016)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1533501084
  • ISBN-13: 978-1533501080
  • Product Dimensions: 5.2 x 0.3 x 8 inches

Scamble and Cramble
Two Hep Cats
and Other Tall Tales

A Concrete Poem at VERStype

The concrete poem, “A Visual Depiction of the Chapter ‘On a Surfboard in Santa Monica Bay,’” published yesterday by VERStype, is an illustration that might appear somewhere in the sixth chapter of “Penina’s Letters,” were the novel a comic book. There are no words in the poem. The poem is composed primarily of tildes.

“A Visual Depiction of the Chapter ‘On a Surfboard in Santa Monica Bay’ [from the novel “Penina’s Letters”], VERStype, 20 May 2016.

Flashing Lights and Random Noise in the City of the Brain

The ophthalmologist asked if I was still seeing the flashing lights. Rarely, but hard to predict. So the brain has gotten used to them, and is ignoring them, she said, and I immediately wondered why that same brain couldn’t ignore the tinnitus sounds also.

Sophisticated sound systems increase chances of distraction from random noise. If you must cough, wait until the crescendo is about to peak. Clarity of sound is valued. Increase pixels, dots, from cartoon to photograph. Whatever might muddy the waters is considered distraction. Clarity is a value that dithers. We must learn to connect the dots.

But what is distraction? And when might distraction be desirable? Rocks viewed through water look different after the creek dries out. The transistor radio is the perfect transmitter of the three minute basement tape composition recorded on a single track hand held device. Form may distort or obscure content so that we might hear, see, feel, smell, or taste what we might otherwise have missed, though the effort often fails.

Kindness, sense of humor, forgiving, joy of life.

Culture provides for cloistered clarity, photographs viewed through filters, the eye a sieve. The ear a strainer. We may not wince quite as much from scenes in a film when intoxicated from the smell of buttered popcorn.

“How do you know but every bird
that cuts the airy way
Is an immense world of delight,
closed by your senses five?”

Just so, but in any case,

“A fool sees not the same tree that a
wise man sees.”

(Two quotes above from William Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell).

I first heard of random noise working with some actuaries on multivariate analyses. In the context, noise is unpredictable and therefore unreliable. Random noise does not appear to correlate, nor can its causes or effects be accurately tracked or explained. Probability becomes problematic. The treatment is the same as for tinnitus, where smoothing or dithering renders the unwanted noise invisible. Random noise is asymmetrical, or anti-symmetrical, and expressed by numbers, sounds, colors, or any other output, a given sequence of random noise probably cannot be duplicated.

Things are rarely right on, but approximate; why then the need for clarity, for perfection, for proper grammar, pronunciation, spelling, punctuation? Prescription is an attempt to clarify, but description is far more accurate.

“Bright lights, big city, gone to my baby’s head” (Jimmy Reed, 1961).

Here is a four stanza composition, each stanza four lines long, expressing random noise in hexadecimal format. The piece can be played musically if each letter is expressed as a note and each number expressed as a duration (the absence of g might be noted, because the base is 16). There are no more instructions. The fewer instructions, the more random the results. Randomness may be the prefect solution for writers with copyright issues. Interested readers may reproduce the exercise below at the ANU Quantum Random Numbers Server, but no matter how many times you try, you will probably never come up with the same sequence shown below. Plus, each line below has been truncated from its original. Other arbitrary changes made to the original output from the server include all zeros removed, and spacing and line breaks added.

Dither # 1

1ee 9f 9f7454 cd2 a a77114 da a4
6f2 8eab 4fc1 bad b9a13 c8 d23
19f e3 5a 27bd 4c361 e8 dec c211
b3 6a f5 4645407 d85 9 fa 35 efcbbacb

86c c3 681 d5 f5 74bc c3a 8ee8 6 f2 92 c5
91 c5 1 b3 4 b7 f68793753 dd 38ba 34f1e2d
814 eff c6884 aa 30d4 e1 a8 dc5 6c 4b
182986 bfd 982 d5 805854 c7

fc6 6e2172 eab fb 2b5
74 4afef c8 40 c57 c9 4 bab 1
b86fa 8c 4 9a 39 ffba 99ac 89 bd5 be
97 b8 8c f79 477 a c5 7d 9d d 13b 2

53 79 53 d3 61d3b178c68882aa 6 cefbbf77
d8b449 efaf 73fa8917 bfb 473774ffc1 d7 d9dfe8
1d3c c8 99761685 c21cd9 2569935ca2de6b7 ebb
23513e76b828b a5 ac

And the lines below were copied from “The matrix” streamed live from the AUS Lab and pasted without changes, except to color – the original contains the matrix green flavor, but it wouldn’t copy, so I’ve approximated the color with a font change. As I read through the composition, I could find no distractions, but upon preview of the post, it appears that WordPress coding has been added, probably because of the change I made to the font color. I find the result distracting.

È[Õ‚‚ω9(C∫}¾„õ°v¸JËBؾ{ΨÉŠq®ψξ
.Ó½ïpÚ±/zò→‹πɲ˼ΦÏ‚óæ;MIÅ<9Ð9š֑±ªGæ↔Ñ
ïΧ8β)hDœa1tR˜Χε¯Š4∫ÈQ”R/Ì),¦êí‰f9õÚ¯Xîé:
#¿7{‘‡ÆÙ™κë‹g¡ÖÀoªyÖ‡ƒPiDë»öÝ√üÄΩ¹+∪ÊDγÌ
xKòÁNπ:∂t-Eh픉#.=φðρ—yœ9UR—λY¤ω→ÂZãé}:σ
öÝ=±¨Íθ*Ší%τ~νËÍ[&αζF7ÏòUœκ_λωW#θ‡ûqº•Ëã
ú‡LêμÞÑÖ2:λ∂F↓°ψÌ¡pΤ›e–à.N!ÎûƒûˆhqÔÏa?ƒ</span>
<span style="color:#00ff00;"> ↔ζÆ~8ΤºÇ!#∄8ÃLLØθ¡&amp;∪ß|cZk±xÁúο@∪ÏDÜþè'¡{</span>
<span style="color:#00ff00;"> ù’;θfÑÆÏ7ψμE„&lt;ºÙ∃’a√ÖΧŠΣσÕ¢¥æÆ5Æρ
ÄO“jJω

Readers often ask what a poem means. Usually, if nothing else, what poetry means, in spite of repetition in form and sound and sense, is that you can’t guess what comes next:

What is correct in quantum indeterminacy?

One year, we went to hear the jazz trumpeter Donald Byrd at the Ash Grove in Los Angeles. But he was too loud, and we had to leave. I’d already had some hearing damage, forgetting my ear plugs at the Fort Bliss rifle range, working the jack hammer from the compressor truck without plugs, thinking I guess that I was born with immortal hearing. Should have known better; my father suffered from ear damage. The high school I attended, Saint Bernard, in Playa del Rey, sat next to the runways of LAX, the planes taking off often a welcome break to a hard-boiled lecture.

My father often heard what was said, but muffled, without clarity. He taught himself to read lips. He was a good listener, and an avid talker, in spite of a stutter. I suspect he stuttered because he was unsure of pronunciations, the result of his hearing difficulties. Or maybe because he could not hear himself talk. One year, hearing aid technology having improved, he had surgery on both ears, to clear out rotted bone and crud, and was fitted with new hearing aids. In no time, his stutter disappeared. My mother was sure this was a miracle.

We went back to the Ash Grove to hear the guitarist John Fahey. We were seated in front. John came out with his guitar and a giant Bubble Up bottle. He sat down and drank the entire bottle of Bubble Up in one long swig, its neck stuck deep under his duck-like protruding upper lip. He put the bottle down on the floor and began to play guitar. I thought maybe he might use the Bubble Up bottle for some bottleneck guitar, but he did not. He said not one word the entire evening, nor do I recall a single burp. In short, he was not too loud. I still have his “The Yellow Princess” in vinyl album format, the one where you can hear the door close and footsteps.

The ophthalmologist asked me if my eyes felt like sandpaper. She said one of my optic nerves was larger than the other. I told her I also had asymmetrical hearing, which she apparently considered a distraction. She suggested artificial tears for the dry grit in the eyes feeling.

The brain is a megacity of flashing lights and random noise, a conurbation of neighborhoods in various stages of going to seed.

Lost on Me – Fables Sans Morals

Some time ago, a friend mentioned driving north on I-5 with California plates and being pulled over by the local highway patrol around Olympia. “In Washington,” the patrolman said, “we like to think of the speed limit as more than a mere suggestion.” Apparently, the self-satisfaction rewarded from this afflatus meant that all the more that was needed to restore calm to that section of his freeway was a warning. Was this a cop whose partner was a muse?

The first critical review of my poem “16 Tiny Camels Found in Wood Box in Garage Stale,” up Monday at VERStype, began, “Beyond me my friend! I love the first line but lost on the rest.” “Ah! fellow musician,” I replied, “we often get lost on the rests.” I had, no doubt somewhat obnoxiously, tagged a few friends on Facebook to bring their attention to the newly published poem. Why? We are surrounded by poetry. No wonder erasure has become popular. If poetry habitually obliterates meaning, this is because poetry speaks allusively. We might define poetry as what can only suggest. But must we erase ourselves out of every poem? New hazards require new signs, new designs.Do Not

To allude is to hint. To hint is to keep something hidden, perhaps from fear, or to play, or to tease, or because to point directly is either impossible or too dangerous (like looking directly at an eclipsed sun), or erases too much from the peripheral shadows. Maybe poetry is a peripheral device, necessary to navigate around meaning. A road sign does not have time to solve every ambiguity. Stop means stop. But after stopping, we can go. Maybe the ubiquitous Stop sign should read: PAUSE. But the idea (stop) is not up for discussion, for our consideration. But what does a bevy of signs mean? We are surrounded by instructions. It’s easy to get confused. Road signs are like poems; they speak allusively. But poetry may not be instructional.

Sign Stories.jpeg

But there are all manner of poems, and the function of poetry may vary with each poem. And language is an ogre whose sleep poetry tries not to disrupt, usually to little avail. There are a few one way streets in our neighborhood. Occasionally, a miscreant driver goes the wrong way, honking and freaking out at all the drivers going the correct way. That’s what the poetic experience is sometimes like – that sudden moment when you realize you’re the swine driving the wrong way down a one way street, the epiphany sending you up and over the curb, everyone honking and shouting suggestions. Every sign contains a moral. Poetry is amoral. The perfect poem traffics not in values but in virtues.

VERStype is a new venue devoted to a particular kind of poetry. How we say something is as important as what we say, and how we say something includes both shape and syntax, tone and style, font and CamelCase. Jazz drums used to be called the skins, and to skin is to zest, peel, flay. How do you do that in a poem? Moving toward a lyric that mobilizes concrete techniques to carry melody and choreography with images of surreal dream dance. “JAZZSKIN” was published a long time ago in the El Camino College arts magazine, Silent Quicksand. No quicker way to obscurity, my friend Tim quipped at the time.

jazzskin2 (1)