Flarf poetry is an avant garde poetry movement of the early 21st century. The term Flarf was coined by the poet Gary Sullivan, who also wrote and published the earliest Flarf poems.
Its first practitioners, working in loose collaboration on an email
listserv, used an approach that rejected conventional standards of
quality and explored subject matter and tonality not typically
considered appropriate for poetry. One of their central methods,
invented by Drew Gardner, was to mine the Internet with odd search terms then distill the results into often hilarious and sometimes disturbing poems, plays and other texts.Pioneers of the movement include Jordan Davis, Katie Degentesh, Drew Gardner, Nada Gordon, Mitch Highfill, Rodney Koeneke, Michael Magee, Sharon Mesmer, Mel Nichols, Michael Paradis, K. Silem Mohammad, Rod Smith, Gary Sullivan and others.
Angry Women Are
Posted: April 7, 2012 in Ink & FeatherTags: Anger, Angry Women Are, Bias, Catherynne M. Valente, Christopher Priest, Feminism, Flarf, Flarf Poetry, Gender, Poem, Poetry, Sexism, Women
By Catherynne M. Valente’s excellent post on the Christopher Priest scandal,
wherein she points out that women are not generally allowed to get as
angry as men without suffering worse social consequences.
Angry Women AreWhat to do when a woman is angry?
More than anything, it’s time that we answer.
Women usually get the message
that anger is unpleasant and unfeminine.
(Women are often ashamed.)
.
The angry women
are sitting in Encorpera cubicles across the nation,
seething with rage
that following feminist directives has turned them
into control freaks, looking for an alpha male.
(Anger is unacceptable.)
.
Angry women screech about equality,
and ensure it is only you
who may one day be drafted.
(Anger hurts a female candidate.)
.
An angry woman, a she-monster melding
images of Medea, the Furies, harpies – see,
other women hate her. They see her as a threat,
a great big husband-stealing threat
in a semi-permanent state of panic.
(She is rarely welcomed.)
.
Angry women are angry.
Since when were artists,
especially female artists, required
to prostrate themselves and allow
people to verbally ejaculate on them?
(Don’t be angry.)
.
Why do women feel so angry?
Angry women are powerful women.
Angry women are sharpenin’ their knives.
Welcome to the age of female rage.
.
Angry women are right here and
we’re not going anywhere.
write. write. write.
Posted: December 3, 2013 in Ink & FeatherTags: Strength, Time, will, Words, write, Writing
So often I have the words, but lack the time.
So often I have the time, but lack the words.
So often I have the strength, but lack the will.
So often I have the will, but lack the strength.
.
Words. Time. Strength. Will.
You need all four to write.
.
Like clock hands, they might align predictably, but rarely.
Like dice rolls, they might align often, but unpredictably.
Like connecting trains, they might align both often and predictably.
Like weather phenomena, they might align both rarely and unpredictably.
.
It doesn’t matter.
When you can, you write.
.
Write slow and sweet, like a lingering kiss.
Write bitter and fast, like a burning house.
Write bitter and slow, like a killing frost.
Write fast and sweet, like a shooting star.
.
Write with what’s in you.
Write with what isn’t.
.
Write like your words can mend the unmeetable.
Write like your words can break the unbreakable.
Write like your words can build the unbuildable.
Write like your words can destroy the indestructible -
.
and one day, maybe,
they will.
.
Words are bombs, my darlings.
They explode our hearts
and whether they do it with fireworks or shrapnel
is up to you.
JABBERWOCKY
Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872) `Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
dshaw@jabberwocky.com
Return to Glorious Nonsense
Return to Lewis Carroll
Return to Jabberwocky
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