All right, this is another fairly long poem, though not
so long as the really long one.
It's the first fairly long section of a longer three part
poem.
The title of the poem is Old-Fashioned Romance on CBS.
It's a collage poem.
Much of the language from it-- about half I suppose,
is from a New York Times Review by John Jay O'Connor,
was made for TV drama.
All right, the review was published in May 2, 1979.
And I just finished this week, tinkering around with the poem.
So I've been playing around with it for a little while,
not all the time of course I should also explain
that there are two phrases.
One from the review and one not, that get
tinkered around in the poem in a way
that's clear graphically, but maybe not orally.
The first phrase is "erased art,"
and that phrase itself begins to be erased
and turns into other phrases as the poem goes along.
And the other one, which is from the John Jay O'Connor review
is the phrase, "the lyrics groaned on melodiously,"
which also begins to lose some of its letters
and be transmuted.
I've never read the poem before.
It's very disjunctive, with phrases
coming from different speakers.
So it may be really rough going, or it may not.
We'll see.
So Old-Fashioned Romance on CBS One.
The movie on CBS TV tonight at 9 o'clock, a woman's picture
in the old-fashioned sense.
Write it down, but you a little bit too.
Floyd called tonight.
He wanted to know how to translate
handbag into Norwegian, or else into Swedish.
A business proposition.
Batik fish torn between two lovers,
a woman's picture in the old-fashioned sense,
write it down.
The batik fish swam slowly across the wall.
Doris Silverton was inspired, then licking.
Red aviator jumpsuit on loan from Bloomingdale's, felt
trapped along the contours of your body.
It wanted, get off, get back where it came from.
Get up, and I wouldn't really blame you
if you turned and licking.
Peter Yarrow song, which was a hit a couple of years ago,
inspired Sweden, Belgium, Italy, possibly France like distance.
Filmed in Toronto, where licking fragment of erased art.
All this may seem a bit, threads move through the batik fish,
slowly crossing the wall.
We are the batik fish.
The way fish move through waves, I love you both.
Representation, exclusively with yogurt and caviar.
You were also on loan to Bloomingdale's at $25 per hour,
or no then, from Bloomingdale's, you are on loan from
Bloomingdale's.
Or Sweden, where the heart was torn between,
the lyrics groaned on melodiously.
Yes, Sweden was on loan with all its fetching occupants,
imaginatively disposed inside by the capacity
for representation.
Pure torture ransacking Sweden, all
over those snow filled fields.
A representation inside a representation of Sweden.
Choked on I love him madly.
I can't write.
Keep writing it down, the garters then dialogue.
Mixing physical states and states of consciousness
in a single report, no.
The plant looked on, not wearing its pants.
The zipper is unzipped, and curving loops
approach the abdomen.
The plant looked on, everything red
turned white, revealing a land as America's shores were
revealed both backward and forward
along the verges of the spatial temporal horizon.
Value, which rendered itself the substance
under a network of curving zippers,
a lattice, which would have been opened.
Revealing a land as America's shores were revealed,
the lyrics groaned on.
The plant took off its pants, unashamed to go naked.
Stranded at Kennedy Airport during a snowstorm.
It had not learned writing yet, it
was not yet a violent plant, disposing
spatial temporal continuum.
The batik fish seemed to move.
The plant looked on morosely.
Approaching the bright green shores, erased.
This queer thing thought.
He whisks her away, the lyrics groaned.
The batik fish commanded the field of representation.
Red aviator jumpsuit, made of threads.
We are the batik fish.
He groan, hello Penelope, weaving, erased srt.
All this may seem a bit, folding her laundry,
Penelope roaned on melodiously, I love you both.
No, naus, pickle, he growls, open marriage,
is that what you a rather ordinary kind of?
All over those bright green shores,
carefully designed to allow wives' romantic fantasies.
They went to bed with a, I can't step
into the river, tax accountant, just once, groan odiously.
Suddenly red aviator jumpsuit, loom
receding into the labyrinths of history, revitalized as myths.
Somewhat later, licking question one.
Kissing the fragment, disappear, rerun eras at batik fish,
one wild moment named Diane.
It looks as if refrigerator stocked, wouldn't really
blame you if you turned and exclusively
with yogurt and woman is named.
You get 100%, what do I get?
Lopsided, in favor of smooth Paul but bed with Paul.
I love you both, multi-levelled modern studio lopsided in favor
of smooth, full share, but does love rough edged pickle,
he growls.
Diane really does love rough-edge Ted.
Your body escaped me.
The fish edged through batik, its threads
wove slowly across the wall.
Trapped in desire to escape the fates of which they were
the tools, I mean, materials.
Red aviator jumpsuit seem redundant,
and we behaved like fish writhing invisible nets.
Like threads, the fish was inside,
in the other room I mean.
Doris Silverton was inspired, that's enough of that stuff
now.
The red aviator jumpsuit like groveling on the floor,
pleading to be returned.
I love him madly.
The plant looked on, thinking the dialogue must have
been written by someone else.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]