(Slightly edited, just my words snatched from among the many)
From writers.819.21, Wed 18 Aug 93
in this cafe of noplace
here beneath my fingertips
and before my eyes
could the wild wine
words
that send us reeling
ever become deliciously antiquated
obviously intoxicating but
complexly dated,
bottled and cellared, put a cork in it,
without a moan of protest, a song of tribute,
a brawl or two?
Here
in the modem cafe
we have the clear cold dandelion whine and the burning claret, too.
In the cafe of the split second
between pen and page, or between keystrike and character
sent.
The cafe of the instant of seeing the letters
and reading the patterns.
This cafe of the buzzing lines, and any cafe of
the space between poet and poetee.
What does sumo know of the future of poetry? Sumo is
an antiquated form that is having a tremendous international revival
right now. It's very ancient and
ritualized, and that is part of its appeal.
Poetry is looking to be reborn.
Text based virtual reality... fun with email...
whatever this interactive
text cafe is for you... craves poetry. Slobbers over an evocative image.
And doesn't mind much if it's extemporaneous.
Extemporaneous poem-making is
frowned on in other corners of our sophisticated world!
I think this medium gives hope to another rebirth of The Poet.
From poetry.279.83 Mon 19 Dec 94
Two part poem in progress, read at the Cafe Arts Month WELL poets' night
1. Bumpertalk
Information is
pouring past me fast in the passing lane --
"I believe you Anita", "I brake for Jesus",
"I believe you, MTV"...
"I brake for a sixpack," "Lead, follow, or
get out of the way."
And just where would you lead?
Shall we all follow you down your offramp,
up your avenue,
down your street and pull into your precious parking place?
Or can we weave on wrecklessly, artfully
a conversation of cars and bodies,
a line-dance of words, a
sweet jam of ideas?
2. Signal to Noise: Come in Please!
tilde r tilde r tilde r r r are you?
shift, shift, return.
tilde r tilde r return.
How do I counter thee, oh flood, oh cloud of characters,
oh whirlwind of the scattered bones of meaning,
black hole of text sans context?
How do I answer thee, oh thousand monkeys
typing in search of Shakespeare?
Is my attempt to crystalize a grammar, my grasping for a starting place, for
grasping some known prompt,
mere interference to your perfect random storm, oh my found partner?
How many KB of synchronicity do u ~ u ~ u ~ require
to name me
Dances With Line Noise?
(Historic note: Old modems sometimes interpretted static or other noise on the phone lines as random "garbage' characters such as rrr~u~u~u!!!! and displayed them on your screen. How fast can we manufacture anachronisms!)