It may appear that i am a Neo-Luddite proselytizing an impending apocalypse of human consciousness as it becomes absorbed into the devices sold it by the great Silicon Overlords (Overloads?). But i am not, really.
i am not religious, though may be along the lines of what Shelley said (as i seem to remember he says somewhere) when he expresses that he was profoundly religious. As Kenneth Burke said to a Communist Writing Conference in 1935, the worker should be replaced by the people. Nobody wants their fate to be a cog in a machine. Marxism, according to Burke, should borrow something from religion, owing to the root meaning of religion, from religare meaning a “binding together of people.” & isn’t this what tech promises? But is it delivering our humanity, or making us a cog in its apparatus?
i am not particularly fond, nor am i against tech. It interests me in no other way than as a phenomenon that expresses something about us.
There is something tugging me to it as a metaphor, a replacement for the poet who is moving from religious & pantheistic speculations, into a world in which these matters struggle to the fore in their own wardrobe & rather dress themselves in another’s, incapable of hiding themselves entirely, the parapraxes of their inherent character bubbling to the surface in anticipation, in hope of being found out.
There is only the human to figure in this; nature, nor God says much without personification & systems of power that invest interest in the pursuit of correction or faith.
These days, in my poems, there is something of a will-to-get-to-grips with the modern problem of conditioned reflexes of the psyche, of the things that are currently appearing & happening.
i don’t want to change anything, or rather, i do not presume to be able to change anything with a line, stanza, poem or even collection; neither do i want to, as such, speculate to make advances; i only want to be a witness of my time & let others judge the standard.
i get the feeling at times that people who don’t write poetry seem to assume we all want to make alterations to the regulating systems of society, to be a branch in the spokes, that we think our way is a way to make advanced decisions; this is seldom, if ever the case.
The poet observes & alters only what is perceived, into a format at once both at odds & in cahoots with a certain method of looking & converting, which a few train or are just able to do. There is something of an elitism, but not because we are better, but only because we chose to invest more of ourselves in one method of creating culture with art. Poetry doesn’t have to be a universal medium, though it can be, same as any other creative medium.
Does that make sense as a brief expression of my intent? Or have i just said a lot of words which seem to be an effort to make myself look clued in? Should i just shut up & get to the poetry? Be honest, & perhaps we can discuss this effort. i do think transparency of intent is important though, if only to lessen the mystery of communication through art.
Sheathed in prophylactic | body & conscience
—nothing gets in nor out
not the old woman hit by a car |
the magpie that broke its neck on the billboard
thinking it was just sky—nothing.
Once upon a time God saw all this
but He’s got all preoccupied or | dead.
“Now the algorithm took his job & it’s doing fine”
—Google knows no matter your discretion
your face to face cautions.
The head of the mob is bowed |
their chins lit not by
buttercups | nodeenodee no no NO!
Not by a vegetative thing | no carrots
stuffed with LED or
halogen kelp.— “Do you think
it’s morally correct to
program wires | chips & silicon into a God?
To have our mathematics play
guess who/what | & commit psychometric tests
to memory?” Knock…knock…