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Page 25
(extract):
Around about that time (it was the time of the Mortadella Man,
Dearly Beloved) Aikin' Bum and Lil' Fucker were strolling down a
bent country road when they come across The Third Billy Goat Gruff,
[POV Shot] who's sitting outside a sort of Tracey Emin beach hut,
knocking back DraughtFlow Body with Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox and
pouring his heart out about some
family hassle with a Scandinavian
punkabestia. -Have a crisp- says Brer Fox, -Ta Baby- replies Brer Rabbit,
and seeing Aikin' & Lil',
Brer Fox plot dumps the scene where BBG3,
tired of the stench of boiled
brethren, hooks a hind hoof into the
soft foothill, whips out a Rocket
Powered Recoilless Weapon and,
bleating a Vin Diesel one liner -you can flog a dead horse, but you
can't make it drink- sends
Sodaroundalot, the one-shot Troll, to
meet his maker, who turns out to be a sockpuppet astroturfer
(in reality, the Troll himself) high on glory holes and scopofilia -
the way she stoops; tightens her things- [Gaze Shot: Dita Von //
-her lip gloss stings the air with fruit pulp embedded with chrome
shards; her storm-hewn eyelids
are powder kegs. I used to tense
at the sound of brittle hooves
ratting; at the thin bleating of a faithless
- Tempo da lupi- I reply -wolf weather-
the frottoir zips, unzips Acadian off-beats
whisk broom spanked
[why not? Grins the Witch]
as Boozoo Chavis tugs at the dance of the
Rougarou
This example; first aired in Great Works is
perhaps a model of what is going on in this book of poetry. There is a clear
diminutive, confessional existentialism, that refrains from the norm. There
is a dichotomy of modern day existence taken from a post-modernist conscript
set against a flailing duality of the self. Partake this and amalgam it to a
basic corporate intersperse, thrown at the first person level and we are
closer still. Combine all of this in a careful context of philosophy
involving the vital shaping of a person's self-chosen mode of existence or
stance with respect to their world and we get a little closer. We have logic
enough - well I think enough - to govern each quantifier and thus asserting
the existence of something by saying that there is at least one object in
each poem that possesses the properties specified - an object - or
objectivism.
Objectivism is a term that describes a branch of philosophy that originated
in the early nineteenth century. Gottlob Frege was the first to apply it,
when he expounded an epistemological and metaphysical theory contrary to that
of Immanuel Kant. Kant's rationalism attempted to reconcile the failures he
perceived in realism, empiricism, and idealism and to establish a critical
method of approach in the distinction between epistemology and metaphysics.
Objectivism, in the context of this work, is an alternative name for
philosophical realism, the view that there is a reality, or ontological realm
of objects and facts, that exists independent of the mind. Stronger versions
of this claim hold that there is only one correct description of this
reality. If it is true that reality is mind-independent, then reality might
include objects that are unknown to consciousness and thus might include
objects not the subject of intensionality. This is here in these poems of
extreme craft and confidence.
This is what I feel these two poets have achieved. Objectivity in referring
requires a definition of truth. According to metaphysical objectivists, an
object may truthfully be said to have this or that attribute, as in the
statement "This object exists," whereas the statement "This
object is true" or "false" is meaningless. For them, only
propositions have truth values. Essentially, the terms
"objectivity" and "objectivism" are not synonymous, with
objectivism being an ontological theory that incorporates a commitment to the
objectivity of objects.
Here is the truth of this work simply breathtaking.
Well worth a read.
© James McLaughlin
2011
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