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You Should Read This: Poetry As Insurgent Art by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Abstract image resembling a shadow over dots
You must decide if bird cries are cries of ecstasy or cries of despair, by which you will know if you are a tragic or a lyric poet. -Lawrence Ferlinghetti
One of the distinctions that I sometimes hear people making is “regular” Sf and “literary” SF, usually with some baggage about the literary SF being art. I say, if you’re making something you don’t really interact with for food, shelter, or clothing (and even then, in some cases), you are probably making art.

Word-wrangling is art, no matter whether it is used for the lowest purposes or the most exalted, and the artist who relaxes and enjoys it learns to use artful techniques for the entertainment or edification of her/his readers. And they may, in that process, create something lasting.

At the same time, a dose of art in whatever form — visual, music, verbal — can shake things loose in our heads to the point where better and more interesting words fall out. This is why you should read books like Poetry as Insurgent Art.

Here’s Ferlinghetti himself on the notion of rejecting poetry, aka all that artsy stuff.

Don’t let them tell you poetry is bullshit.

Don’t let them tell you poetry is for the birds.

Have a good laugh at those who tell you poets are misfits or potential terrorists and a danger to the state.

Don’t let them tell you poetry is a neurosis that some people never outgrow.

Laugh at those who tell you poetry is all written by the Holy Ghost and you’re just a ghost-writer.

Don’t ever believe poetry is irrelevant in dark times.

If you’ve ever been inside Ciy Lights Bookstore in San Francisco, you’ve walked the same floorboards as Ferlinghetti, who co-founded the store with Peter Martin in 1953. He and Shig Murao, the manager, were arrested in 1956 on obscenity charges for selling copies of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl.

Why should you read this? I tell you what. I’ll let Ferlinghetti speak for himself by quoting the beginning of Poetry as Insurgent Art.

I am signaling you through the flames.

The North Pole is not where it used to be.

Manifest Destiny is no longer manifest.

Civilization self-destructs.

Nemesis is knocking at the door.

What are poets for, in such an age? What is the use of poetry?

The state of the world calls out for poetry to save it. (A voice in the wilderness!)

If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this means sounding apocalyptic.

You are Whitman, you are Poe, you are Mark Twain, you are Emily Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay, you are Neruda and Mayakovsky and Pasolini, you are an American or a non-American, you can conquer the conquerers with words.

If you would be a poet, write living newspapers. Be a reporter from outer space, filing dispatches to some supreme managing editor who believes in full disclosure and has a low tolerance for bullshit.

Ferlinghetti should be read as a subversive act:

The idea of poetry as an arm of class war disturbs the sleep of those who do not wish to be disturbed in the pursuit of happiness.

The poet by definition is the bearer of Eros and love and freedom and thus the natural-born non-violent enemy of any police state.

Read this for the sake of poetry, “the last lighthouse in rising seas.”

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“Twin daughters,” Doctor Fantastik said. “That’s very sad. A friend of yours?”
“I bring him spices from the Southern Isles when I come up from there. Saves him on the merchanting mark-up.”
“And the duty, no doubt,” Doctor Fantastik said.
The sailor shrugged. “I’ll give you the address, and you tell ’em Cyril sent ya. They’ll see to my fee. They’re right desperate.”
“How so?”
“At least one of the girls been turned poltergeist,” Cyril said.

“Not both?”
“I wouldn’t believe it of Ellie, she was sweet as punch,” Cyril said. “But that Kim, she was a handful and half of hellion. If the poltergeist’s one of them ““ and the timing’s right as rain for that ““ my money’s on Kim.”
“I’ve extracted poltergeists before,” the doctor said reflectively. He fingered the pin on his lapel.
The girl leaned close. “You detach them,” she said.
He nodded.
“You put them in bottles.” Her breathing quickened and she licked her smile wider.
“Parts of them, certainly,” the doctor said. “I capture certain effluences that are useful in some experiments.”
He looked at the sailor, who was taking quick gulps of his fish tea. Dots of green seaweed clung to his moustache.
The girl pursed her lips as the doctor turned back to her, ignoring the man. His tone when he addressed her was as firm as though he were instructing a dimwitted and unruly child. “Go and find us a place to sleep tonight, Charlotte. Make sure that the rooms are clean and that the fees are under a silver apiece.”
She slid from her seat with an attitude of resignation, ignoring the newspaper, which the man was currently folding into a new shape as though to catch her notice. Her silk skirts rustled, nigh-inaudible ““ or perhaps that was her sigh? ““ as she moved back to the door.
The man gave up on folding his newspaper and laid it down on the counter in front of him, extracting his cup of fish tea from among the folds. “She your apprentice?” he asked.
Doctor Fantastik shook his head, indicating with a delicate shudder the impracticality of such a notion.
“Your daughter?”
“Charlotte is a patient who I am treating for a pronounced and malignant affliction,” the doctor said mournfully.
“A ghost affliction?”
“Indeed.”

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Headed back into SteamCon in another hour...

Headed back into SteamCon in another hour or so for a couple of panels, one at 11 on H.G. Wells and one at 2 on "Rustproof Steampunk" (underwater stuff, of which I can think of only a few.) I've got to say, I really think it's one of the better organized cons around, and holy cow, are the costumes gorgeous. I go wearing my jeans rather than try to assemble some half-assed costume that simply could not measure up to some of the creations wandering around.

The reading last night was fine, and the subsequent panel (I should be posting the notes next week) a good and lively one, plus I got to meet someone else writing about VIctoria Woodhull! I'm pre-odering Michelle Black's SEANCE IN SEPIA, which comes out next week, right now!.

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