My Beauty is an Occupiable Space: 37 Prosed Sonnets
Sonnet31 - Burrow into a hole 18 inches thick and extract a poem
Accordingly it gratifies our theoretic need in a supremely beautiful way. Anyhow and apparently
the woodchuck that’s living behind my garage seems to appear early in the morning in adroitness of
design and plastic makes perfect, thrown off our stools by a strange and beautiful light that appears when you turn away, or does it. Can’t we break away from all this, just you and I, and lodge with my fleas? I’ve sort of had water on the nerve the whole morning. My beauty is an index of Fatalities in West Virginia Coal Mines 1883-1925. If anyone would like priority placed on any particular name near the little town of Cherry Replacements, I’d be happy to turn the light out. You can help keep the stories coming by making a donation to The Moonlit Road. My problem is mountaintop removal coal mining. It destroys ... Karen's Mountain Top Removal Story ... And a lot of the men would ask me, 'Why are you here? If a convict miner died, the state would furnish a new convict to replace the convict who died at no cost to the mine owner or the state. Coal Miners Mock Topless Ashley Judd Self-described 'hillbilly' actress Craving Coal Dust 'Like Nicotine,' "No poet could burrow into a hole 18 inches thick and extract a poem."
Sonnet32 – Avec, Avec
“Kant is Sade.” Built in front of this theater a pure fake, a model village with beautiful houses; the
wolves are totally out of options. They will be placed on the road to (or in the river of) death and
made outlaws; i.e. and e.g. ad infinitum. Yes, Anne, what we do is not ridiculous. Here’s the story
extolled by Kafka as the most wonderful story in the World, UNEXPECTED REUNION By Johann
Peter Hebel / Translated by John Hibberd: At Falun in Sweden, a good fifty years ago, a young miner kissed his pretty young bride-to-be and said, ‘On the feast of Saint Lucia the parson will bless our love and we shall become man and wife and start a home of our own’. ‘And may peace and love dwell there with us’, said his lovely bride, and smiled sweetly, ‘for if you are everything to me, and without you I‘d sooner be in the grave than anywhere else’. ‘When however, before the feast of Saint Lucia, the parson had called out their names in the church for the second time: ‘If any of you know cause, or just hindrance, why these two persons should not get joined together in holy Matrimony’ - Death paid a call. For the next day when the young man passed her house in his black miner’s suit (a miner is always dressed ready for the funeral), he tapped at the window as usual and wished her good
Sonnet33 – Parfum d’Empire
morning all right, but he did not wish her good evening. He did not return from the mine,
and in vain that same morning she sewed a red border on a black neckerchief for him to
wear on their wedding day, and when he did not come back she put it away, and she wept for him, and never forgot him. In the meantime the city of Lisbon in Portugal was destroyed by an earthquake, the Seven Years War came and went, the Emperor Francis I died, the Jesuits were dissolved, Poland was partitioned, the Empress Maria Theresa died, and Struensee was executed, and America became independent, and the combined French and Spanish force failed to take the Gibraltar. The Turks cooped up General Stein in the Veterane Cave in Hungary, and the Emperor Joseph died too. King Gustavus of Sweden conquered Russian Finland, the French Revolution came and the long war began, and the Emperor Leopold II was buried. Napoleon defeated Prussia, the English bombarded Copenhagen, and the farmers sowed and reaped. The millers ground the corn, the blacksmiths wielded their hammers, and the miners dug for seams of metal in their workplace under the ground.
Sonnet34 – Went to the dermatologist and discussed “fighting dragons”
But in 1809, within a day or two of the feast of Saint John, when the miners at Falun were
trying to open up a passage between two shafts, they dug out from the rubble and the vitriol water, a good three hundred yards below the ground, the body of a young man soaked in ferrous vitriol but otherwise untouched by decay and unchanged, so that all his features and his age were still clearly recognizable, as if he had died only an hour before or had just nodded off at work. Yet when they brought him to the surface his father and mother and friends and acquaintances were all long since dead, and no one claimed to know the sleeping youth or to remember his misadventure, until the woman came who had once been promised to the miner who one day had gone below and had not returned. Grey and bent, she hobbled up on a crutch to where he lay and recognized her bridegroom, and more in joyous rapture than in grief, she sank down over the beloved corpse, and it was some time before she had recovered from her fervent emotion. ‘It is my betrothed’, she said at last, ‘whom I have mourned these past fifty years, and now God grants that I see him once more before I die.
Sonnet35 - Pamplona Makeover
Wedding dresses made out of information technologies. We give our consent to dogs. Do we
have assurances that there is an architecture of the sun? My beauty is an interpreted commodity,
a constitutive force. As an atom becomes an ion, as an air mass cools to its dew point, as an
object falls freely down. An extended error has occurred. He got the Pamplona Makeover. Even
their bedding was extreme. Is this my beauty, this competition for nutrients and light? Your
beauty’s in the trunk with the typewriter (photo by Weegee). I was surprised at first by how
tiny the Woodmans. But only at first. And the crushed cars, and the 9th Ward Ark, and the Tale
of the Crippled Boy … L’art pour la “Gray Zone,” where the “network of relationships” “can’t be
reduced to ... victims and persecutors,” and where “the enemy is all around … but also inside” …
The posturing is critical since it indicates where the damage is: in people pleasing and approval addiction. We can regard the entire phrase as one unit and leave out the commas performed by
Misery Signals. Is it safe to come out again? In skin, they were sinking or swimming. The word
coma comes from the Greek word koma , which means "state of sleep.”
Sonnet36 – “At 10,000 feet, at Jane’s”
They cleaned out the breathing tube in her neck and again she start moving. Head out on a quest
to find your sister and save her from the cage in which you come to a fishing pier. I search his face
for any movement...especially the eyes and there was none. An entire season in which everything
goes wrong for the stars that come pouring out of doorways. The patient was perfected. In 2011,
there were at least two bands I should have showered with. I missed it, and I still regret that, but
in the next few years I was so Antarctica. Asleep but consciously composing poetry. In my mind’s
eye we was dressed in black leather, eating locusts providing Hawaiian-style music. Not to put a
blatant plug in for my own Area 51 proposal, but raw nuts are a great source of protein. And Bök
— and Stevens, although not the later Auden — regret that their Aa.s- happened tfobleiig liegt tt)o
bte 2HofeI in ben where long worms come out to feed to snap any minute and riddle the place with
Spam-O-Rama PTSD. Dance is a metaphor here, a “conceptual metaphor”, a “brave new concept in
motoring”. “He sings with such a beautiful legato!” Send my FREE video of 9 exercises to do with my
baby! U.S. stocks are opening mostly lower after angry voters in Greece and France rejected
Sonnet37 - Beneath our beauties lie the beach
painful budget cuts. .... Will John get the job? .... Science » · AP Photos: Supermoon glows around
the globe · What killed Lenin? Here's the thing: None of us really want to believe that he's not
important. He cuts his hair neatly and vows to become more business saavy. tell your suicide story,
either as a person contemplating it, ... I've changed majors from chemical engineering to psychology
to computer science. I love ... Not going to classes, putting off projects, that sort of thing. ... And it'll
be fun when I'm looking for a job and employers get their hands on my transcript. In the banal
language of the brutally efficient bureaucrat, my beauty simply had a job to do. “Carry me along,
Taddy, like you done through the toy fair.” “This is the story of things that happened; / job losses
and science, / derivatives and past lives.” Be realistic; demand the impossible. Beneath our beauties
lie the beach. In an age where we are defined by our Facebook status updates, various Pinterests
boards and YouTube video compilations of kittens, the beach still smells like 1966. Even if we’re
landlocked beauties: lost-lasting, close-wearing. Gloriously muted colors: green. Put heat in a
bottle. Here is the abstraction of a Northeast Atlantic beach, iodine laden until it disappears.
The “source text” for this sequence is Lynn Behrendt, This is the story of Things that Happened.
Alternating lines, we took the nouns from each and processed them via one of two computing techniques. The first involved wetware and the hidden algorithms of the imagination. The second involved Google. Neither of us consulted or inquired as to how the other was engaging with these techniques. The only other compositional constraints were
- that this was a poem revolving around the phrase “my beauty”, the “who” in “my” never being specified, and thus floating between personae and pronouns, and
- that each time we hit fourteen lines we called it a sonnet and went on to the next one.
We turned these sonnets into titled ‘prosed sonnets’ when we finished the project. We did this in order to lose track of who originated what. We are both gladly responsible for all of it.
A number of the titles are derived from another collaboration, this being “Crisscross”, by Jack Collom and Lyn Hejinian.
Copyright © John Bloomberg-Rissman and Anne Gorrick, 2013