Posts Tagged ‘#swagtag’

Vollmer Quotables, The Newest Greeting Card Sensation:

Sunday, March 31st, 2013


“I’m always trying to push the narrative line to it’s greatest intensity.”

“Spring cleaning was a military operation in our house. My grandmother rolled up her pant legs then took her teeth out.”

“It’s OK to have a mundane life, you just have to do the work; make the effort to see things differently.”

“I come from the school of get drunk: on wine, on poetry, on the world–be altered.”

Icky Muse Vollmer Playlist

Wednesday, March 27th, 2013

01 Mr. Wiggles

08 Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof O

Vollmer’s consistent refrences to Water 

Specific Poems to draw your attention:

“Camping on the Hudson”, “The Water Carriers”, “The Gem Cutter”, “The Silver Tray”, “In an Ancient Garden”, ” Camping on Youghiogheny”

The sounds of Parliament-Funkadelic: One Nation Under a Groove and one of the baddest bass players in the land: William Earl “Bootsy” Collins.

06 Liquid Sunshine

03 P-Funk (Wants to Get Funked Up)

11 Body Slam

01 Flashlight

02 Bop Gun (Endangered Species) – “Camping on Youghiogheny”

04 Aqua Boogie (A Psychoalphadiscobe


I’ll probably keep adding songs to this list and being to lazy to put them down here.

Contradiction is Juicy

Wednesday, March 27th, 2013

I tried to read it with music                               playing

But they had other sayings of the same thing

In different form I turned down and off

The music with words and moved toward      a!

More instrumental mental state where no

Humans spoke      prunes that help these

Bowels to flow more smoothly                       I wanted

To ride the wave                                               the Vollmer vomit

Spat on the page peaceful rage                      and

Timeless age


I tried to read it near a window

With the sun shining in but                        the words

Shine their own light                                   and the reflections

Too bright contradicting redundant

Contrast                                                        I had to pull

Blind and lose sight of                               the land and

Dry slander a salamander                         step into her waters

One foot washed by the bubble bath

then came waves on waves

Having fun being tossed and turned

By no punctual punctuation

Colored People Time


I tried to read it with a dictionary near

But I’d have to slow myself and get

Back on the shelf with my binding against

The wall looking down afraid to fall

In  Be lost  tossed once again

A gain from no strain to understand it

All good in the hooded Trayvon walks

Innocence meets darkness on occasion

To lighten it with the

Tastes of the rainbow.


I’m a line! I’ll do WHATEVER I wanna do!!

Monday, March 25th, 2013

Lines do what they want to do?

  • Focus of process and form
  • Not on depth
  • Form grows out of the content

Do you agree or disagree?

Emerson’s work often requires that we trace etymologies?

Monday, March 25th, 2013

Do you think it’s necessary in bettering or understanding of the poetry itself? (not only with her work) but with poets in general?

Experiments=lack of flow?

Monday, March 25th, 2013

When you experiment with the form of a poem does it disrupt your intended flow?

Q: What do Babies, Fungus, Oppressed Women & The Cold War have in common?

Monday, March 25th, 2013

A: Sylvia Plath’s 1959 Poem “Mushrooms” has been speculated to be written about each.

When I first read this poem (on page 139 of our Collected), I was struck by how simple, hopeful and almost childlike it was (at least in comparison to the other works we had assigned last week). Of course, my initial reading was a literal one,  encouraged by the objectist voice Plath uses. For 11 stanzas, she speaks from the mushroom’s perspective…

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot’s in the door.

Consider some of the following interpretations as you reread. What’s your take?

  • Women seen as purely domestic objects by men:  ‘We are shelves, we are Tables..”
  • “Overnight very whitely, discreetly, very quietly”: is this a description of conception?
  • Similar description of birth: “Perfectly voiceless, Widen the crannies, Shoulder through holes”
  • “Diet on Water, On crumbs of shadow, bland-mannered, asking little or nothing. So many of us! So many of us”: description of lower class struggle, buttressed by last line “our foot’s in the door.”

Who’s foot? WHO’S FOOT?!


Saturday, March 23rd, 2013

Morning time mourning until The

sun begins dawning then I start

my yawning and soon comes the gnaw-

ing like something is pawing.  Sharp

talons scar my talents and I

feel cornered but the coroner

will not come.  Good! My food will be

thought.  Will not think of how I fought

but how I won.  When I became

One with the One who salvages

the savages roaming for a

home: nomads who are mad no more

moving forward for a ward, not

the awards: that material

matter, gets you high then makes you

sadder.  In the former you look

for more.  In the latter you climb

the ladder above the things that

pull you down.  Gravity is real

but how do you feel?  You can heal.


Saturday, March 23rd, 2013

Violent Vocab,

Violet Telle-

Tubby heart, please don’t

Let this barrier

Tear us apart.  These

Are mere flashcards and

Nothing more.  Even

With your rosy horned

Lipstick, I know you

Are not a whore: but

I am physical.

A coddler at heart

Or an oral liq-

uid trade off. Oh, The

Lips that we part. We

Can talk over a

Meal or the under

Table favors of

Feel. We can roll up The

Shrubs and tickle our

Bulbs.  The Spring time is

Close. Why not give it

A push? From bush to

Bush, we walk through this

Field.  We can read all

The signs but we roll

Through the yield. We just

Roll on our wheels.  The

Wind blows, swerves, and plays:

And just like the leaf

You may fly away.



Because nobody interpretively performed “Daddy”

Saturday, March 23rd, 2013

So let’s hear it from Sylvia.