Search This Blog

Friday, March 29, 2019

Sestinable, or, How, On First Looking Into Bishop's Quinti-Sensual "Sestina," I Composed My Own Queer De-Sensical Sestina: a Tutouliporial of Sorts

Here are combinations of the letters O P S T. The six forming words, used as end words in the sestina, are in underlined italics.

S P O T    P O T S    O T P S    T S O P     S P T O    P O S T    O T S P    T S O P
S O P T    P T O S    O S T P    T P O S     S O T P    P T S O    O S P T    T P S O
S T O P    P S O T    O P T S    T O S P     S T P O    P S T O    O P S T    T O P S

Typically, sestina end words aren't anagrams of each other. That this sestina's are is but one characteristic distinguishing it from less rigorous examples of the form.

Here each of the six end words is assigned a numeral: 'opts' > 1  'post' > 2   'stop' > 3   'tops' > 4   'pots' > 5   'spot' > 6

Here are the sequences in which the words will be permuted through the lines of the six stanzas.

1  2  3  4  5  6 first stanza    6  1  5  2  4  3 second stanza    3  6  4  1  2  5 third stanza
5  3  2  6  1  4 fourth stanza    4  5  1  3  6  2 fifth stanza    2  4  6  5  3  1 sixth stanza

Here are the six stanzas, plus the three lines of the envoi. Note that all lines are in alexandrines and that the whole, with the inclusion of the envoi, forms an acrostic. Note as well that the envoi employs all six end words both at ends of lines and internally halfway through each line.

So: Phoppe, who'd cop to "Best Sestin'er Ever," opts
to score 'n' share three pair o' anagrams on 'post.'
What's more, he'd bare such fare -- nor there'd he stop,
but, totting, syst'matize (verse-wise, sum guys be tops)
this list, then scribbl'it down. (Clowns flush theirs down pals' pots,
so hectorors their feckless anagrams won't spot.) 

Exhibits Phoppe his heartware. Where? You'll know the spot:
Ru'de l'Oulipo, where each sestina author opts
to rake in (po'try's play'd like poker) all the pots.
He'd do it, too, were he to, on some off site, post
these "piroulipolettes" (his verse? Like spinning tops)
to collocate, curl, gyrate, twirl -- nor ne'er to stop. 

Touts query Phoppe, when on his blog they chance to stop,
while fancy'ng not to put the poe' boy on the spot,
yet blown away how homeboy players' licks he tops
(though not, when each round's won, to lick his chops he opts):
"How so: your pluprose shows up in The Denver Post,
whose pages peddle pablum'd prose -- plus pans 'n' pots?"

To parry pryers' pot shots -- mots Phoppe knows as 'pots' --
he'll let roam po'ms where're, Lord knows, nor never stop
composing -- not (riposte) composting -- 'em, then post-
ing 'em on Fou.com (for Nonsense, 'tis THE spot.
I'm wont to note: Der Phoppster, on occasion, opts
to smoke each po'm -- each toke (no joke) in lieu of Tops.)

Inhaling verse? Which Joes won't curse -- gross'd, toes to tops.
This even when Verlaine (the fave of whose? Pol Pot's)
goes up in smoke. Yup, jokester Phoppe, a loner, opts
to torch the French Romantics, though the cops cry, "Stop!"
Phoppe's lot -- Jane, Puff, Dick, Mother, Baby Sally, Spot --
rue scorching art. (Elsewise, though? Dumber than a post.)

Now omega looms; green rooms grown dim. The noon post
lies, unread, in stacks unshreded. Table tops
o'erflow with letters dead. Each missive bears this spot:
tre nightshades noir, ones never made by flame-scorch'd pots.
And although Phoppe, who, sensing denoument, shouts, "Stop,"
he chooses to continue -- like he always opts.

At close o' show, who'd spot a poetaster opts
to sift hot sand for potsherds Classic (pre- or post-),
and classify Phoppe "TOPS" -- and cherish Phoppe full stop. 
                                                


Monday, March 25, 2019

Hommage á Gorey





Here' it is: the director's cut of Hommage á Gorey. (An earlier version, posted last May, 
has mysteriously discombobulated. Oh, these tiresome comput-a-machines!) To those 
who viewed it the first time around we say, "It's back, baby, and better than ever." 
To those who've never viewed it we say, "Avanti, Monte!" To both mobs we say, 
"Leave a comment or a question at jhiggins27@verizon.net -- and be quick about it...
please."

Thursday, March 21, 2019

Potential Profiles in Textiles

TV Bad Dude Mr. Tea 
Former First Son-in-law Jared Cushioner 

Theatrical Polymath Noel Cowhide 
Singer Johnny Cashmere 
Playwright George Bernard Shawl 

Actor Cloth Rains
Actress Canvas Bergen 
Minimalist Composer Philip Glassine 

Dr. Martin Loofah King, Jr. 
Actor Benedict Cumberbund
Astronomer Neil deGrasse Ties

Actor Denzel Washantung 
President BarRag Obama
Greek Philosopher Socksrates

Monday, March 18, 2019

ShakesBeer: Three Act III, Scene I Beverage Coasters

 "Et tu, Brew?" 
Julius Caesar 
Act III, Scene I
"A keg on both your houses!"
Romeo and Juliet 
Act III, Scene I

"To beer or not to beer..."
Hamlet 
Act III, Scene I

Sunday, March 17, 2019

Dantegrams (and a Mobygram) for St. Paddy's Day

Midway on the journey of our life
we jury found the oily moon arife.
One pony an' a well be there? Oh, dear!
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!

Midway on the journey of our life
we jury found the oily moon afire.
Need no owl be here? Nah! Altho' a pyre...
(Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.)

Call me Ishmael.
Mail me a "C" shell.

Friday, March 15, 2019

Go Figurata!

Hand Book or My Manualphabet: Verses Embodying a Carmina Figurata 























An artist’s hand impersonates: it’s counterfeiting life. A bachelor’s hand procrastinates: it’s disinclined to wife.
The Christ’s hand grins ‘n’ bears it as Delilah’s hand deceives. An empty hand? It supplicates. A four-in-hand inweaves.
Guidonian hands elaborate Mnemosyne with runes. An hour hand meanders through one's endless afternoons.
Does Israel Hands bear malice? Yes, though Horner’s hand would play, whilst Karloff’s hand dehydrates and your left leads me astray.
A mojo hand infatuates, its victims paralyzed. Napoleon’s hand dissimulates, its hubris well disguised.
An open hand calumniates. A penn’d hand signifies. A Qainchi hand embellishes. A read hand prophesies.
A sever’d hand vituperates, its future’s come to grief. A tether’d hand excruciates, despairing of relief.
An underhand informs against. A vampire’s hand garrote's. A waving hand dismisses. A xanthoma’d hand? All spots.
A yogi’s hand surrenders: its beginning is its end. Then Zeus’s hand cracks down on me, though bidding me, “Transcend!”

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Bananagraffe on 'T H E S H R E W'


As Saiph, with Beta Ceti, set,
to wit: abandoning to wet
erewhile sere isles -- soon sunk, you see,
beneath sopp'd southern seas (too twee!) --
more stars sank slowly in the West,
while I from Morpheus more rest
to wrest limn'd imprecations three:
"Bonjour." "Shalom." "Good morrow, thee.
O Morph: do do thy thing in re
this matter of my dreaming, eh?
Down from thy hypnagogic tree
descend, while cachennating, 'Whee!'
Then grant that hibernation we're
so keen on. Hear! Hear! (Or, Here! Here!)
Here ends the pangelingual stew
I've call'd "The Framing of 'T H E  S H R E W.'" 

Sunday, March 10, 2019

"Now, Frog!"




Arma Virique (Pace, Virgil) or Second Amendment Flights

Four men, three armed, from 
a well-regulated militia of nineteen  
drawn by a very close friend of the blog 
several years ago. 

Other arms rendered, whose 
bearers aren't included here, are:
a sword, a slingshot, a wand, a bow,
an axe, a staff, a spear, a whip, a scythe,
a shield, a bomb , a hammer (two, in fact),
a stick and a plata. The young artist 
also drew a lone dead combatant.
Verses originally accompanying
the drawings appear below. 

Adrian's Arsenal: a Stockpile of Constrained Verse

Zany stick        fygures (sic)        pencill'd plain.
You but scroll        to butt whole        worlds of pain.

Chum: beware        l'homme de guerre        avec sword!
His fell move        may well prove        untoward.

Let's assume        gents with boom-        erangs might...
take their best        shots from nests        out of sight.

Any king        heaving sling-        shotted stone...
may assail.        (David's tale        is well known.) 

Do avoid        you a 'droid        with a wand!
Run! Go now!        (None know how        to respond.)

                                                                 (cont'd below)

Note twin schmos        totin' bows.        (Where's his br'er?)
Skip their bar-        rows: tipp'd ar-        rows. Take care!

Fear these guys!        Near their thighs        hangs a knife.
Who's not bet-        tin' they'll threat-        en your life?

Ought a per-        son caught cur-        sin' wield axes?
Not at all!        Swat that gall         'fore it waxes!

Where's the luck!        There's this schmuck        with a crossbow.
'Nuf's enuf!      None need suf-        fer such loss. Go!

Shit! His staff        splits me chaff        from me wheat.
Clue this gent:         "Git thee bent!"        [Hit 'delete.']

                                                                             (cont'd below) 





When a bloke's         yen to poke        with a spear
your left side,        what's left...? Hide!        Disappear!

Chimes nex' cad,        "I'm Rex Bhadd!        Fear my pata!"
Joke's on him:        folks him limn        "vir non grata."

Ought a lad        thought "not bad"        with cane whips
get to snag        that lit fag        'twixt pain'd lips?

Men may writhe        when with scythe        you attack 'em.
Moral's clear:        more foil fear        when they pack 'em.

"E-e-e-ek! A bomb,"        squeaks the Mom        of this fellow.
"Show no fear!"        'swhat the dear        gal should bellow.

Ev'ry boy-        chik who'd toye        (sic) with hammer...
must be tarr'd.        (Trust you'll pard-        on my grammar.) 

Might who wields        fright'ning shields        run the risk...
 of a scrap        with a chap        with a disc?

   Sound th'alarm!        Bounder's arm'd        with a stick.
      Answer? Charm:        lance his karm-        a with schtick!

     Tykes with noth-        in' like Goths        in old Edda --
     combat blind --        though that kind        should know betta.

     "One's soul's dead,"        some droll said,        "empty handed.
     Sans one's gun,        man's undone:        'no-man's land'ed!"

Saturday, March 9, 2019

Carpenter Redux: remember this guy?

Carpenter Reimagined: 
a caricature based on John Tenniel's illustration 
from Lewis Carroll's "Alice Through the Looking Glass."
Print, hand colored in colored pencil, 
of original drawing in graphite pencil
14" x 17" 

Friday, March 8, 2019

Another Profile in Textile

Profiles in Textiles: Men of the Cloth 
Political Journalist Robert Coaster 
Graphite Pencil on Gesso'd Beer Mats Glued to Canvas
16" x 20"

Christmas Day: A Mare Egg...

     "A Mare Egg, Her Wrist, "Miss Two 'U'"