Chicano Poet

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

I always loved Creeley, but the son of a bitch
couldn’t spell worth a sheet. I ask you, what
the hell would it have cost him to buy a dictionary
or turn on spell check. What a moron. For the
life of me, how are we to guess at what these
misspelled words mean, sd, yr, ag, etc. I quote
the entire poem hoping someone has the
patience to figure it out.

I Know A Fuhl

As I sd to my
fd, be I am
al, tk, ---Jn, I

sd, wh, was no hs
nm, th dk su
rn us, wh

cn we do ag
it, or el, sh we &
wy no, by a gd bg cr

dr, he sd fo
cht sk, lk
ot wh yr go.


Go ahead. Elucidate me. I wish you luck. I know
R. P. Blackmur gave it a gallant effort once, but
gave up broken-hearted. Even that silly, little
chipmunk of a critic William Logan gave it a shot,
embarrassing both himself and the New Criterion.
Namaste.

3 Comments:

At 2:00 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Is he pre or post Alurista? jejejeje

Esmeralda Bernal

 
At 4:24 AM, Blogger Jim Murdoch said...

My wife and I had a go at this and this is as far as we got before we decided to google it. I have to say we both suggested 'car' for 'cr' but we got hung up on 'drink' for 'dk' rather than 'darkness' and that threw us off. It was fun to do but I'm not sure how much of a poem it is when you have to do so much work to make it readable.


As I said to my
friend, because I am
all talk, ---John, I

said, which, was not his
name, this drink sure
ruins us, what

can we do against
it, or hell, should we &
why not, buy a good big cr

dr, he said for
christ's sake, look
out where you're going.


This seems a closer interpretation:


As I said to my
friend, because I am
always talking, -- John, I

said, which was not his
name, the darkness sur-
rounds us, what

can we do against
it, or else, shall we &
why not, buy a goddamn big car,

drive, he said, for
christ's sake, look
out where you're going.

 
At 12:13 PM, Blogger RC said...

Esmeralda,I had not thought of it but it is Alurista-like.

Jim,yes,the shorthand almost gives itself away.But it's almost a WCW poem.

 

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