There was a time when I was fairly enchanted by my own “intelligence.” This time crossed over my creative writing class. We read many 20th century American poets in that class, among them this fellow—Philip Whalen. I do not pretend to have any idea what this poem is about. But it is not well-written. Even for a Beatnik.
“Further Notice” by Philip Whalen
I can’t live in this world
And I refuse to kill myself
Or let you kill me
The dill plant lives, the airplane
My alarm clock, this ink
I won’t go away
I shall be myself—
Free, a genius, an embarrassment
Like the Indian, the buffalo
Like Yellowstone National Park.
Well, rest-assured, that ol’ Philip is still around. Perhaps he is now a park ranger at Yellowstone.
Well he did say he was an embarassment….
Actually, I think he died in like 2002 or something…
[...] But back to Minnesota Mom. She’s funny (a big hit with yours truly)…proof in the pudding (random off-shoot about pudding…I tried a new recipe that was a take on rice pudding but using cottage cheese, milk, vanilla pudding mix and cinnamon. Um, Jojo h.a.t.e.d it…it’s like I forced him to try vegemite or something. THREE small curds of EVIL forced him to go face down onto a napkin, where he forceably wiped his tongue free of the nastiness…)… BACK TO my story about Minnesota Mom… ok, so she posts bad poetry. [...]
and here I thought I was going to be reading YOUR bad poetry. then maybe I would feel inclined to share some of my own bad poetry from years previous.
Hey Carrisa–check out week one. It’s all mine.
Ms. Squirrel–THANKS!!! You rock.
dang it I missed bpm again!!! NEXT WEEK!