Saturday, April 9, 2016
Friday, April 8, 2016
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Another Shape of a Pwoermd
The panpwoermd, a pwoermd made with every letter of the alphabet.
pw(o’er)md
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Monday, April 4, 2016
The Shapes the Pwoermd Takes
The pwoermd, the poem of but a single word, was originally just a written word. A lone word. With time, the pwoermd took different forms. People interpreted what a word could be.
To start, a pwoermd could be a spoken word, an isolated word somehow able to to mean only from its sound. The oral and aural pwoermd might be and extended sequence of vocables expressed in a single breath. It might consist of nonsense sounds or weirdly meaning sounds. Even a "real" word might do. It merely need be spoken with the intent to speak a poem.
Asemic pwoermd by Stephen Nelson
Even in its written form, a pwoermd could take a new form. Just as an aural pwoermd could be nonsensical, so could a visible pwoermd. Consisting of a sequence of characters, or a single one, the asemic pwoermd could suggest written language without expressing direct meaning.
Asemic pwoermds depend on their visual form for expression, so they are also visual pwoermds. But even semantic pwoermds with a specific required visual form can be visual pwoermds, because they meaning depends on their precise visual presence.
The final visual form of the pwoermd is as an object, in which case the object that carries the pwoermd is also the pwoermd.
And these are the forms of pwoermds.
pw(o’er)mds
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Errotic Contaguous Transfromation
We know that merely moving from one side to another changes us. Cis-pacific by birth, transatlantic by happenstance, I am now cis-atlantic and I so see differently. Sean Smith's "transfrom" tells us of such changes better, more efficiently. It is. It does not merely tell.
We perceive borders where there may be none. We forget how the smallest change changes everything. We fail to remember how we are infected by what is closest to us—how contagion comes from that that in contiguous with us. Sean shows us this again.
We are driven by desires programmed into us, desires that keep us as individuals and as a species alive and continuing. But those desires do not always move us without our causing mistakes via their engines pushing us. The magic of life is its unlikelihood in the face of its reality, its irrationality in the face of its perfect order, its disorder in the face of its ability to thrive.
A single word can tell us this. A true smith can tell us with a single word.
pw(o’er)md
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Making "rustacean"
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| Geof Huth, "rustacean" (2 April 2016) |
But the pwoermd was not meant to be just a word. It was also an object. And I needed the right object.
Karen and I walked the too-clean (who knew?) streets of Manhattan searching for something rusty.
She suggested a couple of nails in boards, but we could not remove them. Rebar protruding from concrete wouldn't work for the same reason.
But I found on Hudson Street a metal planter, rusting along its edges, and I was able to bend a loose end back and forth enough to get the rustacean I needed.
(All my object pwoermds are adamic to some degree.)
And I wrote upon it my word, though it did not show enough. I wanted a different ink, but I did not have it.
We do not always have everything we need. We do not always make everything we want.
pw(o'er)md
Friday, April 1, 2016
It is Not Easy to Change
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| Sven Staelens, "change" (2016) |
A familiar sight now quite arranged as it usually is still reminds us of itself.
We return to our memory to find out reality changed.
What remains the same is everything we have forgotten has happened.
When Sven swins swans swoon.
We see only because we have been made to see.
pw(o’er)md
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