A repeat of Diana Manister’s spooky cleave suite

This is for those who enjoy the spooky: a repeat of Diana Manister’s great cleave suite.

Dancing with Mary Shelley and Henry James

A Cleave Suite

the phantasmagoric audience – all of them having

strangely –  the same face

takes the stage, –  multiples of one man

acting all the parts –  a replicating fantôme

in the dark –  populating the nightscape

of dreaming’s Cartesian theater – by morning melting away

withdrawing into daylight –  uncovered by lightless night

The place, with its gray sky and withered garlands, its bared spaces and

scattered dead leaves, was like a theater after the performance — all strewn

with crumpled playbills …

the entity –  I

the first person – me or mine

is it separate or  – just a named hallucination

a wave in a sea of they  – a drop of rain

Whisper Your Name Three Times Into the Wind and It Will Go

to that imaginary land of – signs

titles, drawings & stories –  of love

songs alluding to – April’s fragrance

facsimiles of – r e a l sun

showerless – showers

counterfeit flowers –  bees in the buddleia

always a step away from sensations – feelings and real places

nothing is wonderful but the word –  W O N D E R

leaving behind a sigh –  a n  e x h a l A t i o n

whose name blew away – on a windy day

a word as virtual as signified snow – let it rise as a whisper and go

I saw the master — nothing could be more evident — in the light of an intense

emotion,and I trembled, I remember, in every limb, while at the same time, by a

blest fortune, emotion produced no luminous blur, but left him shining indeed,

only shining with august particulars.

I busied myself with – concocting a tale

a story – that would speak to

mysterious – fears

awakening dread – quickening the blood

I saw a body – made of ghastly fragments

stolen from a graveyard – showing signs of animation

moving eerily – due to its creators skill

the pale student of unhallowed arts – making that progeny conscious

cackling in triumph – alive at last

I caught him, yes, I held him — it may be imagined with what a passion; but at

the end of a minute I began to feel what it truly was that I held.

seemingly normal – nodding responses

but hollow inside – cognizant, bright

having no lack of  – emotional

affects yet not  – conscious of being

a self  – in a condition of

rather uncanny – I-less life

cloned with indifference or cloned with a difference

The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the

obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on Christmas Eve in an old house, a

strange tale should essentially be.

despite disaster –  this single thing

language  remains – survives the damage

panic forms – phrases

sentences – take shape

writing alone escapes – from nothing’s pure night

so

let us go then you and I – along with our alters

under the Titian-white sky

what is the nouveau siècle to its whyless wide

to its dumb sun

all of us subsequents – formed by the story

until the text ends

Wonderful was it thus to see, and thrilling inwardly to note, that since the

question was of personal values so great no faintest fraction of the whole could

succeed in not counting for interest.

Marrow, a 3 way cleave by Andrea Barton

                             Marrow
    The union between–at the core of us–the heart and the hand
     a poet’s heart–is a gossamer strand–must work
             and his hand–of steel–as one
is the fine gilt thread–binding love–to fuse poetry
                 of words–to loss–to feeling.

Argentina by Dennis Kelly

                Argentina

“Los artificios y candor del hombre”
—Jorge Luis Borges,
“El golem”

  already you can see—the tragic setting
      each thing here—in its appointed place
       the broadsword—the ash destined for dido
             the coin—ready for belisarius
      why do you weep—searching in lazy
bronze old hexameters—gone old empires?
  when 7 feet of dirt—waits for you
 a slow rush of blood—Argentina
      watches you now—the mirror of death
      dreaming you up—spitting in your face
 all your crummy dayz—so bourgeois
 goodbye middle class—it was the house
        by the street—you grew up in
 but now peron, evita—Argentina
        wants it back—again

(previously here)

Two personal political cleaves from Jennifer Semple Siegel

Here are 2 more personal political cleaves from Jennifer Semple Siegel.

If Obama were in the Army, you’d call him–A FIVE-STAR GENERAL
If he were an athlete, you’d call him–A GOLD MEDALIST
If he were a plumber, you’d call him–A MUCH IN-DEMAND MASTER PROFESSIONAL
If he were a student, you’d call him–A PH.D. CANDIDATE (ABD)
If he were your doctor, you’d call him–ASAP!!!!
(First published here).

***

Mavericks (Apologies to William Wordsworth)

The cock is crowing — The Mav’rick a-groaning

The stream is flowing — The bullshit a-running

The small birds twitter — The GOP a-flitter

The lake doth glitter — The banks a-slippin’

The green field sleeps in the sun; — In fog, the Moose a-hidin’

The oldest and youngest — He and She wanna-bees

Are at work with the strongest; — At odds with odds the longest;

The cattle are grazing, — Joe’s six-packs are amazin’

Their heads never raising; — Their polls ne’er a-risin’;

There are forty feeding like one! — Seven hundred billion? Who won?

*

Like an army defeated — The Mav’ricks march unheeded

The snow hath retreated, — The rescue near defeated,

And now doth fare ill — Almost disappearin’ to nil

On the top of the bare hill; — Come the Dems to save the bill;

The plowboy is whooping–anon-anon: — Former playboy, flound’ring–Viet-nam:

There’s joy in the mountains; — There’s no joy in mudslinging;

There’s life in the fountains; — No life in the campaignin’;

Small clouds are sailing, — There’s a-slumpin’ in autumn,

Blue sky prevailing; — Barracuda’s a-floppin’;

The rain is over and gone! — Over and gone: McPalin’s pain!
Seed Poem: “March,” by William Wordsworth

(First published here).

Cleave poetry on Ron Silliman’s blog

We here at The Cleave feel incredibly privileged to have Ron Silliman link to us from his blog
Silliman’s Blog (A weblog focused on contemporary poetry and poetics).

Welcome all.

Enjoy some great pieces of poetry.

Join in.

translations by Dennis Kelly

translations

“The recognition that the 
very presence of the line
is predominant current
signifier of the Poetic will
cause some poets to discard
at least for a time, its use”

—Ron Silliman,

“Of Theory, To Practice

 cleaving masters—like ezra pound

    more than just—translating them

     word for word—line for line

stanza for stanza—poem for poem

       it’s more like—sargasso seas

       sinking down—bermuda triangles

       disappearing—deep time & space

           jettisoning—jetsam & flotsam

          all the way—downward

What is cleave poetry? A summary of my thoughts so far

What is in a name?

Cleave : is a contranym, a word with 2 opposite meanings:

• verb 1) split or sever along a natural grain or line. 2) divide; split.
• verb 1) stick fast to. 2) become strongly involved with or emotionally attached to.

— ORIGIN Old English Compact Oxford English Dictionary

In its most basic form it is three poems:

• two parallel ‘vertical’ poems (left and right)
• a third ‘horizontal’ poem being the fusion of the vertical poems read together.

This is a simple and elegant concept, but it is a paradigm shift.

It has been interesting to see the development of the cleave form so far. In less than 2 months cleave poets have modified and made it their own, making cleave in their own poetic image by cleaving in at least these ways:

1. fusion
2. division
3. seeding
4. co-operating
5. using cleave as a meta-form

It has been incredible to see the versatility of the cleave form. Something I had not expected, indeed it is very exciting.

As a summary, here are 11 points. These are my current thoughts on cleave poetics.  I will expand on each subsequently. They are for discussion. Please comment and dialogue.

1. a foundation for creativity
2. gives freedom to explore
3. a framework for that exploration
4. art fused with craft
5. focuses on multiplicity of meanings
   
6. allows simultaneous seeing of the whole and its parts
7. synergistic
8. exercise in poetics and linguistics
9. a meta-form
10. poetic maturity
11. communication and dialogue

Finally here are some thoughts for the future:

• Potential for multiple cleave forms and ways of cleaving including multilingual cleaves.
• The cleave in education as a tool around which language can be taught and skills honed.
• The cleave in poetry as a new poetic form.
• The cleave as a way of bringing people and cultures together.

Phuoc-Tan

Maypole – a 6 way cleave by Andrea Barton

A 6-way cleave by Andrea Barton - a concrete cleave?
Here are her words:

"this is a six way poem based on the cleave form. 
I'm going to wait and see if anyone can figure out 
the six ways in which this poem can be read..."

                   Maypole

                     The
brightly colored - center - celebration of
            spring - of - ribbons
         held by - poems - this way
          colors - are - dancing
        girls - maypoles - that way
        twirling - driven - skipping
      twisting - into - light steps of
        children - the - laughter and
         hope - earth - in the sun
                   and
                    w
                    a
                    i
                    t
                    i
                    n
                    g

The Cleave poetry webzine promotion and publicity via social bookmarking

Dear cleave poets, cleave readers
In my quest to release the cleave form to the public
I am employing the following social bookmarking sites:

• technorati
• digg
• stumbleupon
• reddit
• delicious
• mybloglog

If you have the time and the inclination please pick one or more of these to join and ‘digg, bookmark, share etc’. This will raise the profile of The Cleave webzine and help others to find us.

I will be most grateful.
Thanks
The Editor

PS. You will see below each post is an “ADD THIS”  button, clicking on it will give you a list of more bookmarking sites and services than you knew existed.

All Along the Campaign Trail! by Jennifer Siegel

A personal political cleave poem by Jennifer Semple Siegel,
seeded with Robert Louis Stevenson.
(First appearance: here).

                All Along the Campaign Trail!

       In the other gardens -- On the endless networks
       And all up the vale, -- And all through cyberspace,
   From the autumn bonfires -- From Springtime surprises
       See the smoke trail! -- Now see how they placed!
                             *
       Pleasant summer over -- Conventions now passed
And all the summer flowers, -- And all summer potshots,
       The red fire blazes, -- O'Biden blazes hot,
     The grey smoke towers. -- McPalin does not.
                             *
    Sing a song of seasons! -- Sing a song of absurdity!
   Something bright in all! -- All frightful in Fall!
     Flowers in the summer, -- Hucksters all through Summer,
         Fires in the fall! -- One winner nabs all!

--Seed Poem: "Autumn Fires," Robert Louis Stevenson--