If you are having difficulty choosing the direction of your thesis, I hope this will help.
I’ve been working on variously formed scripts to parse large amounts of text as a starting point to write some content for a larger piece of work. I’m trying to produce the content first this time, and then focus on the transformations, functions that will become essential in that work.
Anyway, I’m experimenting with some cutup engines and throwing together some deliberately disparate yet thematically related texts, and coming up with some pretty decent rough texts. I’m using some Shakespeare texts that have mistaken identity as a theme, combined with some deconstruction theory texts. I will be incorporating many more texts as I go, the idea being to bring in sources that deal with various forms of assumption based on limited information. I wanted to produce a ‘posthuman’ text – one that constructs you as you construct it – and this happened to fall at the same time as the whole PRiSM scandal landed. It made me think about algorithms being responsible for people becoming ‘people of interest’ based on quite bizarre and seemingly arbitrary choices of vocabulary, and how these relate to a very limited picture of a human being that might nonetheless be framed as a ‘terrorist’ or some other danger to society based on a purely quantitative set of data. This seemed fairly naturally to relate to the sense of inadequacy in language to assert certainty onto what is a persistently relative, metaphorical system.
This cutup system cuts and joins based on fairly standard joining words (” as “, ” and “) but also “a” – without the space – meaning that many instances occur where words become split and fused. Some of these words sound like they should mean something, and I’d like to work with these elusive but kind of weighty words more in the work. Certainty vs. confusion. Not such a clear boundary.
Oh here’s the short poem:
Ma song. Come on; there is ass. Now let’s hail responsibility
the fool has an endless calculus
he shall tear and hear; your contagious, logico-empirical Latin
and make distro God
observe his construction of this uncivil rule: she shay, though she hace, the detours,
[ ]atches. Sneck up!
The other day, I noticed a curious tweet from the Electronic Literature Organization. It is a fairly common occurrence for them to tweet on others’ posts, aggregating posts of interest, and I ♥ E-Poetry features often. I clicked the link, and was unexpectedly met with the stock WordPress “About” page – the dummy page that every installation of the web software authors automatically as an example page.
At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of the page. Was it just a mistake? But already I began to think of it as sort of a piece of ingenious conceptual digital art, regardless of whether or not this was intentional. The page that is authored for you by software had already got me thinking acutely about the contexts for the text I have read in literally hundreds of incarnations whenever I have installed WordPress.
But what is so special about the page? Nothing per se, except that I had been sent here under the impression that I was about to encounter either a digital poem or a short essay about a digital poem. This expectation had me thinking entirely differently about the meaning of the text. “Hello World!” – the excited exclamation that is synonymous with testing output, experimenting, learning and newness – foregrounds conventions and cliches in developer discourses. The publication of the page is a stark reminder of the automated nature of installation and the commonality of software across a huge range of applications; a representation of the dichotomy between the unique “I” of one’s own identity sculpted through ongoing posts to a blog and the generic nature of the placeholder, designed to be erased and common to all WordPress blogs at their beginning stages. I think that it is important for digital poetry, net art, or any creative work that is digital, to engage with or at least be aware of its material contexts – contexts that have cultural relations and which are, as I have hopefully just shown, crucial not just to function but to signification in a work.
The link made me think about automation; did the ELO churn out the link arbitrarily, in error? Regardless, I received the tweet as a recommendation – one that in turn had its effect of poetic interpretation on me. Taken out of context, “Hello World!” might maintain trace of the cultural weight of optimism with which it happily replicates itself at birth, but taken out of that temporality, the gesture seems especially blank – highly charged with arbitrary energy. At the same time, the “Hello World!” page ceased to be generic and instead opened itself up to a curious moment of critical engagement, inviting me to think about how a text is affected by its publication methods and its promotion. the arbitrary motions of automated aggregation (automated Twitter postings) announce the new with habitual importance – that this new post contained no ‘new information’ compared to any other “Hello World!” was at once a foregrounding of error whilst also being a (however unwitting) statement on the promotion of unique content, published and promoted to the world. However, as can be seen even in other “Hello World!” pages, failure to delete or edit the page still shows nuances through the coding of the site’s theme.
Having said all this, it appears that Flores did indeed install a new WordPress blog, and presumably there is a system set up to have the ELO automatically tweet blog updates (the initial “Hello World!” post has been removed). Regardless, I was happy to have caught myself in a particularly odd combination of factors that presented such a generic text in a framework of actually highly relevant cultural and technological conventions – a happy mistake that reminded me of the various contexts that give a text its expressive charge.
As I slowly learn pigeon-Python, I’m trying to find some interesting applications for my tests. This is a very short and simple text simulation of the experience of watching CNN at this time.
Please let me know if you modify this – I’m sure it could be improved!
weeks months have passed since my initial post on the Poetry off the Page Symposium in Tucson. Technical difficulties with the admin for this blog, and a new job, are to blame for the hiatus, but I did want to devote some time to a work that was especially interesting to me, particularly in its interrogation of the relationship between old and new media, and in identifying a space in which there is a reflexive relationship between the two in which both media further the importance of the other. Further impetus for writing up my thoughts on this work came from my attendance at the recent Convergence on Poetics conference in Bothell, WA – a conference whose discussions will merit a further post or two of their own.
Amaranth Borsuk and Brad Bouse’s Between Page and Screen is a hybrid work whose title considers the space occupied somewhere in between the two media coupled together to perform readings. ‘Coupled’ here is a word chosen carefully. Many of the page/screen performances constitute letter exchanges between P and S (Page and Screen would be the logical presumption), and these are themselves manipulated, words extracted and turned into discrete concrete poems. These relationships are always within the context of manipulation by a body, a relationship foregrounded in the webcam interface. The poems themselves are also the basis for an investigation into etymology – and thus might be considered to parallel (through semantic / linguistic evolutionary interrogation) the material constructive developments of text works – materialities clearly fundamental to reader agency when presented in this way.
Clearly, Borsuk and Bouse’s vision here seems not to challenge the creative and dynamic potentials of the printed page; indeed, they harness the stasis of print to trigger the dynamism of the animated and volatile screen renderings of text. In this work, the screen and the page work together to produce a work that exceeds the potentials of both media in isolation. Rather than witness language in spite of its media, we instead are invited to participate in the mutual influence of linguistic, formal and physical materials.
The book element of the text defies the standard notion of what constitutes a ‘text’, comprising solely of geometric shapes that act as coded triggers for the Flash application. This application interprets the shapes as instructive keys for which poem to display. One medium completes the other in a reflexive relationship of decoding. Without digital interpretation, the book on its own does nothing (it does imply a coded layer and is therefore implicitly expressive, but regardless of the speculative gain this entices, it is nonetheless impenetrable referentially) and without the book, the program has no input and is similarly impotent. Performance surfaces are similarly co-dependent; the book acts literally as a physical platform upon which the texts ‘stand’ whilst at the same time requiring the screen to render this play. This interplay of visual trigger and translation into textual action on-screen requires careful attention at first, as one learns the methods of extracting a text from the page, and with it, learns the nuances and quirks of the activity of the software.
This previous point is not a trivial one: at several points during her demonstration of the work, Borsuk’s manipulation of the book triggered (presumably unintended) explosive endings to the textual renderings (this occurred in the Tucson reading). The software, when interpreting an action as either the closing of the book or the turning of the page, performs closing action that explodes the text into disappearance. Far from being considered some kind of failure or buggy behaviour in the work, to me this foregrounded the relationships described above and underscored the relationship between the volatile text being rendered and the supposed ‘stable’ – yet on the surface non-referential – printed trigger.
This instability is a useful point of reference when considering the texts themselves (yes, there are texts to be read here!), and although perhaps tenuous, so too is the geometric form of the trigger texts. Considering these shapes as texts (they are commands – they mean something unique and quantifiable) yet (for me anyway) being easy to forget in terms of their uniqueness merely as shapes, they represent the often subtle or unnoticed qualities of a language as it develops, literally shapes. So then do Borsuk and Bouse’s text enact this process and discuss it in content. Borsuk’s own explanation does a far better job than I could (especially her discussion of the “shield” page) of relating how the various concrete works enact formally and semantically the etymologies of key words taken from the exchange of the letters they intersperse.
Amaranth Borsuk discussing Between Page and Screen at the Poetry Off the Page Symposium (University of Arizona Poetry Center – via the Voca website)
I just read a pretty fascinating couple of short articles and thought I’d meld them into some half-baked thoughts. What else are blogs for, right?
In a recent post on Grand Text Auto, Nick Montfort discusses briefly Ottar Ormstad’s making “the case for non-translation at the recent Paris 8 conference.” Though I have not heard this case, I can attempt some guesses at what some of its arguments might be.
A major attribute of much concrete poetry (itself a variety of sub-genres and wildly varying in aesthetic approaches) is one of being self-contained. If the poem exploits semantics at all, these semantics can tend to be insular, not looking outward to a wider context of social-historical system. Instead, meaning is often derived from the interaction of space and content in the poem. An example of this might be an old favourite, Eugen Gomringer’s Silencio poem, in which the meaning of the word is exemplified by its absence in the centre of a box created by that very word. Articulation articulates non-articulation.
Funnily enough, Silencio might offer itself up as a prime candidate for translation, since it really doesn’t matter what language the poem is in. Silence means silence, and its visual absence enacts its meaning. One might also consider this an argument against translation, since the translation does nothing new to the poem other than offer a direct equivalence of reference.
Montfort notes the “langauge-specific[ity]” of the Padin poem shown by Ormstad:
He then links to a further article in which he has attempted to ‘translate’ the poem.
What interests me about this effort (and the explanation of it) is that the material constraints with which Montfort is working necessitate a considerations and reconfiguring of the thinking of language and its associative qualities. Shifting the focus from direct referential equivalence to the implicit meanings created by the word associations resulting from material fusions, Montfort hits at the heart of the originating message-through-material-fusion, being forced (no matter how tongue-in-cheek the manner) to consider how such a message might be conveyed through material and subsequently vocabulary-based restrictions in another language.
What I really don’t know, however, is whether this look outwards is an argument for, or an argument against, translation in a concrete poem…
This post is the first of what will be a few write-ups of my experiences at the Poetry Off the Page Symposium, held at the University of Arizona Poetry Center last weekend (18-20 May). Rather than provide a comprehensive account of everything, the following and subsequent posts aim to get my thoughts, musings, ramblings and questions into some kind of articulation. If any attendees end up reading this, I welcome input through comments on the event!
By way of introduction, The symposium ran from 18-20 May 2012, and was organised by the University of Arizona Poetry Center (whose Executive Director is Gail Browne). The event curator was Annie Guthrie, who did an outstanding job, both in her programming of the event and in keeping events as much to schedule as could be reasonably expected given the performance nature of so many events. My thanks to both Annie and Gail for this event – a departure from the poetic norm for which I hunger!
The symposium’s reception was a time to mingle and and check out the installed works throughout the Poetry Center’s library and upstairs areas, including Christine Hume’s installation piece Pillowtalk (Covers): a Sonic Insomnia, a table of pillows with integrated speakers that encourage participants to sit, heads firmly on desk pillows, and play the work into their ears. Perhaps it was the reception Corona, but there was not much of a chance of me surviving such comfortable participation for longer than 5 minutes without waking up several hours later. I had to keep moving!
Of particular relevance to the readings that were to follow were Claudia Rankine’s The Situation series of films. The symposium site describes these short films as
video essays [that] speak to national and international moments in contemporary culture and address our visually saturated culture by bringing language to the images we consume. The series attempts to juxtapose temporal memory alongside historical critique through the layering of sound and image.1
The moments captured or represented on the screen were therefore highly charged with their social, cultural or historical contexts. Particularly in the cases of Situations 1, 3 and 5, I found that the layers of noise or visual effects fragmented these moments and their temporal specificity, introducing an abstraction compounded by occasional repeated phrasings. The famous World Cup Zinedine Zidane incident, for example – a flash of a moment in literally the final moments of the footballer’s career – is stretched across several minutes, with the stop-start frame stretching making the incident an achingly slow build-up whose climax is at once the basis for the film yet at the same time relatively inconsequential in the scheme of the holistic work. Likewise, with Situation 3, the screen noise, garish and technologically foregrounding, masks and then reveals horrific, graphic depictions of the dead.
Rankine’s presentation further contextualised the works, showing an additional film not (as far as I could tell) focused on a specific historical moment as in the case of the The Situation films, but instead reciting the accounts of several black interviewees relating their experiences of being pulled over by the police. Alongside this, a suitably quotidien coverage of black youths in a clothing store – pointedly mundane and inconsequential.
Prior to Rankine’s talk, Christine Hume gave a performance of her sound work, Speech Talks Back, a documentary-/essay-poem whose spoken text was placed in dialogue with the materials being used alongside. References to Gregory Whitehead were well placed in the piece, as Hume (I believe?) used some Whitehead, before using overlapping and looping of archived speech / interview language, including 911 call sound from the Travon Martin incident, and Steve Reich’s Come Out, which utilises a short quote from one of the Harlem Six to overlap itself, slightly out of sync, before becoming increasingly distorted and unintelligable. Eventually these looping structures transition into seemingly pure rhythm, overriding the semiotics of the phrase. The sentence looped begins to sound like a distorted heartbeat, or a piece of industrial machinery. This is perhaps a suitable comparison, since machinery can also mean the apparatus at work behind abstract systems, such as language and culture / politics, and these are the very machinations that are being interrogated.
Cecilia Vicuña was up next, and gave a (semi?-) improvisational talk for the symposium. Beginning by literally threading the audience with long strands of woolen material, she then spoke through various degrees of noise, volume and clarity to deliver the talk. Imagine a gentler-sounding version of Diamanda Galás’ vocal gymnastics and you may get an idea in terms of the noise/clarity dichotomy, though that comparison is admittedly inadequate. Vicuña’s account of the process noted that, despite her desire to “thread” the people of Tucson in her preparations for the talk, the heat meant that there were hardly any people to thread. Instead, she threaded landscapes and other animals, and of course, us, the audience, into her poetic body.
It seems appropriate to consider a thread of my own to close the post. To me, what ran through all three of these performance-talks was the importance of the noise element to sense, and to the delivery of the voice as carrier / personalisation / ownership of language. Noise seemed to me to be fundamental in the foregrounding of its opposite – of those intense moments of clarity of language and/or historical significance. These were subsequently often humorous (Vicuña) or, as in the case of Hume and Rankine, horrific. Yet they always complicated themselves through the displacement of vocal authority either through displaced recitation (the relating of accounts of experiences of release from prison, and being pulled over in Rankine) or through noise filtration (the dynamics of the voice in Vicuña or the source materials of looped / filtered vocals in Hume).
- Poetry Off the Page Schedule, http://poetry.arizona.edu/content/poetry-page-schedule. Accessed 22 May 2012 ↩
The quite brilliant minds of Becky Cremin and Ryan Ormonde have collided and from the splattery big bang that resulted, a new evening has been born. If you are in the area, you should check it out, it’s bound to be interesting.
press free press @ curzon soho: NEW evening of performing/writing/thinking
we invite one performer, set one writing experiment and you reply to one question
this month’s performer: NAT RAHA
this month’s question:HOW DOES THE PLACE/SPACE YOU ARE IN INITIATE YOUR FIRST ACTION?
bring along your reply – max 50 words