Poeta Doctus

Ironically, at a time when text is at its most material (as something to be cut and pasted, or mindlessly composed or translated by software) it is at the same time most invisible, the sign a mere window onto its meaning, disposable as a paper coffee cup once the latté is finished. Poets have, understandably, especially in recent decades, worked against this trend.

“Elenium” (aside from the elusiveness of its title) slows down the too-ready consumption of the language by complicating its logic. The poem collages overheard bits of conversation without any indication of which words belong to which speakers or even how many speakers there are. However old (and it is very old) this device is, it caused no little consternation to the most vociferous of the reviewers of Ladonian Magnitudes (see the “Product Description” at the book’s page at Amazon.ca) from which this poem is taken.

Happily, the poem inspired a video interpretation (by Ty “Jake the Dog” Hochban), viewable after the poem itself.

Elenium

The isle is full of voices

a tiny little yellow oval pill

Judy Garland ravaged by her phantoms

it’ll all be alright

they’re all pretty full—one’s puffed up

hashish, port, and In Memoriam

we must have some music, some more to drink

and then we are ready for “Shades of Callimachus…”

late night calls for coke are disturbing and boring

I always bring him something from Holland

what have we done yet? —I can see

the flower in the bud—and she is a bud!

let’s remember hysteria was thought to be a migrating uterus

you having sex would never look good

a colony mongrel hand-me-down genes

yet eyes are the guides of love still

that must have given you a twitch or two

with the Xanax I don’t feel like I need a cigarette

though you wouldn’t say you have beaten out your exile