CONCRETE / VISUAL
/ COLLAGE
a poem wholly composed of language found on personal ads
that appeared on Nerve.com (http://personals.nerve.com/)
during August, 2004
These are Adrian Lurssen's notes. I've inserted three texts of the poem in progress:
the raw material gleaned from the web site, the first full draft of a poem, and the last draft.
MAIN
PAGE
I’m Not
Hollywood: Notes on Process
I gave myself only two rules: 1) the ad must appear on Nerve.com (although the personals service is also published on other sites); and 2) while I could lift any line (or lines) that I liked from anywhere in the personal, no one ad should dominate the whole. (i.e., I couldn’t lift entire paragraphs). As it happened, on most days that I checked I found at least one cool line.
I was
also struck by the struggle with language mentioned by so many of the
prospective singles. “You should know that who I am cannot be captured
on this
page...” seemed to be a common refrain.
Nervedotcom: raw material
dream
girl
found:
nerve personals 8/2/04 to 8/end
none
movies are not real
waking
up
sometimes
ok
year
of the horse
Veronica
Decides to Die
being
misunderstood
just
leave me here
and
tongues
minimal
and colorful array of nothingness
knowledge
is sexy
drenched
in sweat running toward a large body of water.
I am
mortal
a soft silence breaking breath or whisper
something
will happen
I
have so much to tell you
I sing and dance alone
I try to find beauty in the other three
Yes,
they look like me
she
accused me of dressing like a drag queen
A
big ass bed
someone
caught me by my backpack
I
think I'm a gypsy...
having
a conversation, I'd probably die
turns
my ten-foot long eyelashes into man magnets
Someone
exactly like me
I
belch and slap him a high five.
Marlon
Brando
a
bowl of milk and me purring
allure
is multi-dimensional
Since
the house is on fire, let us warm ourselves
I
made him invisible
This is one of those lies that you're allowed
in life, because it increases the dreams of a child
im
not
forgets
to take the maps
Maybe
I'll be a celebrity one day and I can resemble myself most
Things
pleading and strong
I'm
just
antique
furniture
ten
thousand books and notebooks
Anywhere
but here.
The
Book of Tea
Woman
in the Dunes generally rocked my shit
verita
strokes
her wooden sensation sculpture
the
look on his face when he puts his head in it.
magnetic
poetry
You
be the judge
a
carpenter. or a rock star. preferably both
finally
woken
In a
big, beautiful old house in the woods of
Somewhere
a Clock is Ticking
something
creative to do with my hands
the
hissing of the summer lawns"
shirtless
gay boys make out with each other to thumpthump music
i
called a jewish cemetery to make sure i could be buried there with a
tattoo.
i
called a jewish cemetery to make sure i could be buried there with a
tattoo.
you
need reasons?
he
whispered
we
are all accidents waiting to happen.
then
whatever does or doesn't happen
It's
a favorable journey
Something
about the way she speaks of Desire. You can almost taste her.
This much is true.
Some
lines jumped out at me when I first saw them. (Ex: “Veronica decides to
die”
and “I think I’m a gypsy”) and I remember thinking: here’s a keeper!
Turns out
I never used either. And others that seemed awesome also went unused.
The
entire collection is up for grabs; someone could and should do better
than
this.
When all the lines were in, I wrote down the title and gave myself the task of creating five or so “people” -- five “vignettes” about five people looking for love. I suspected that there was enough distinctive language in my collection to pull it off. My first “character” was Veronica, who decides to die and wakes up in
I started again, this time trying to tell something from the p.o.v. of just one person -- and instead of naming and committing him or her to some kind of death from which he/she awakens into a strange world full of forced meaning, I decided that there might be more value in ambiguity and mystery. As soon as I made that decision, things began to click. For one thing, I immediately started using the line “Sometimes OK, Always OK, Never OK” -- an aspect of the singles profile that each person must consider in answer to a series of questions. It seemed a central refrain to the process of online dating, and also to the meaning that emerged in these profiles. I realized that I would be peppering that wonderfully ambiguous line throughout the text, and that whatever arrived next (whatever I wrote) would be more of a question than an answer -- whatever that meant...
From ambiguity I arrived at repetition. I realized that if I was going to use “Sometimes OK...” throughout, then the structure of the piece could simply be one big act of repetition. There were enough good lines in my collection that could be used in different ways, with different meanings, which would be an interesting counterpoint to the never-changing repeat of the ‘Sometimes Ok” line. And I realized that this usage somehow extended the meaning of what I was doing anyway: distinct personalities revealing themselves through lines, lines, lines, all related and sounding similar but with different shades of meaning.
Armed with a sense of repetition and ambiguity and structure, I started again and very quickly arrived at the draft that is “Willing to Adapt.” A quick cut and paste job from one file to another.
I have so much to tell you. Waking up is (always ok, sometimes ok, never ok) a big-ass bed where knowledge is sexy and tongues are: a soft silence breaking breath
or
whisper. Just leave me here. I am drenched in sweat, minimal, mortal.
2.
or rock star, preferably both. I’ll be a celebrity one day and can resemble
myself
most. Then something finally woken will happen.
3.
Being
misunderstood is (always ok, sometimes ok, never ok) a soft silence
breaking
breath, or whisper. I made Marlon Brando a big-ass bed, on it a bowl of
milk
and me purring while shirtless gay boys made out to thumpthump music
and somewhere
a ticking
clock whispered: I need something creative to do with my hands.
4.
there with a tattoo. Allure is multi-dimensional. Having a conversation (always ok, sometimes ok, never ok) turns my ten-foot long eyelashes into man magnets.
I'd probably die, a minimal and colorful array of nothingness who forgets to take the
maps. I made him invisible. Just leave me here on my big-ass, mortal bed.
5.
Whatever
does or doesn’t happen it’s a favorable journey. You be the judge. For
example
here comes Marlon Brando, someone exactly like me. I belch and slap him
high-five. His voice a soft silence breaking breath or whisper, a
hissing of
the summer lawns, like things pleading and strong. I’m not
I’m just
(to tell
you).
6.
The Book
of Tea is one of those lies you’re allowed in life, because it
increases ten
thousand books and notebooks, like magnetic poetry finally woken. It’s
all part
of a favorable journey. Whatever does or doesn’t happen we are all
accidents
waiting to happen. I think I am someone like me, drenched in sweat
&
running to a large body
It was
fun. And there were happy surprises. I’d always liked the line “I’m not
Hollywood” (seemed to resonate deeply with my initial response to this
exercise) and when I used it, it was the first time I really noticed
‘I’m just
I thought the first few sections read well. (Another happy surprise “ticking clock” and “I need something creative to do with my hands.”) But I felt that as the poem progressed it simply became a tapestry of found language that did not further any of the meaning or thought that was driving me to do this in the first place. I thought it was okay, and probably worked, but it wasn’t anything great. I set it aside.
The distance of time helped me to be more objective. When I re-read the piece I realized that for starters I needed to fix the second half and put into it a common thread that unified the whole. I tried to make my way to the Book of Tea line by adding tea here and there, starting early. Much to my surprise, it turns out that occasionally tea is not the right way to fix a problem. So I tried something else: I changed one sentence in the last section, #6. “Whatever does or doesn’t happen we are all accidents waiting to happen” became “Whatever does or doesn’t happen we are all Marlon Brando waiting to happen.” More ambiguity and Marlon Brando became the arc throughout. (And it made the earlier line “I made him invisible” take on shades of ambiguity [could be Marlon, might not be Marlon] that seemed to “further the cause.”) Once this was done it became obvious that I needed to cut gratuitous lines in the second half that did nothing to further the cause.”
You can see for yourself which lines were removed. This exercise was a good lesson for me in the hard skill of deleting lines that you like. Some were obvious. “You need reasons?” comes out of nowhere and nothing before it suggests that anyone does in fact need reasons. But the Book of Tea line survived for too long because I love tea. What can you do? Though, once I deleted it, I really liked the front-and-center placement of “like magnetic poetry finally woken” all by itself at the end -- it comes as a kind of summation of the whole process of found text collage (he humbly suggested). When I saw this, I realized the title did not need to say it, too. And as the text improved (and the speaker’s voice came into its own) I was able to admit to myself that the title in fact sucked. It became obvious what the new one should be.
For me, another strong lesson in the power of editing came when I removed the first line and put it at the end of that first section. For one thing, it diminished the smugness that I sensed. It also created, in the new opening lines, a different sense of voice so that by the time it arrives (after “I am drenched in sweat, minimal, mortal”) I felt a reader might have a better sense of how to receive the line. It made the speaker all the more likeable up front, I felt. The poem also starts on a more active footing now, too... And I feel it sounds truer where it is (whatever that means).
Also by removing the gratuitous asides in the middle and leaving just one to stand by itself “I called a Jewish cemetery...” I felt I’d left some color without digressing into pointlessness. What a great line; it deserved to stay.
And by placing the line in the epigraph I felt I was continuing something I’d done throughout -- repeating lines in different contexts (and with different tones) ... I was also creating “tell” up front, by crediting the line to a Nerve.com personal ad. It tells a reader a little more about what’s going on. A quick way to introduce wry irony instead of smugness. And, in keeping with the layering and repetition, it creates, albeit briefly, a new voice -- that of the author (or finder), reaching out over the voice of the poem’s speaker. (A speaker whose voice, with these new edits, seemed to be more unified, clearer ... one, as I’ve said, that had finally emerged.)
Whether or not the poem lives up to all of my intentions, to this explanation, I was happier with the new draft. I felt that I had arrived at something that I might want to say, if in fact someone else hadn’t said it first...
Adrian Lurssen
DISCLAIMER:
As it happens I do live in a beautiful old house in the woods of
- Nerve.com personal ad
1.
or whisper. Just leave me here. I am drenched in sweat, minimal, mortal.
I have so much to tell you.
2.
I sing
and dance alone. Movies are not real: I made Marlon Brando invisible
and you
are (always ok, sometimes ok, never ok) someone exactly like me
only in
a beautiful old house in the woods in
or rock
star, preferably both. I’ll be a celebrity one day and can resemble
3.
Being
misunderstood is (always ok, sometimes ok, never ok) a soft silence
breaking
breath, or whisper. I made Marlon Brando a big-ass bed, on it a bowl of
milk
and me purring while shirtless gay boys made out to thumpthump music
and
somewhere
a ticking
clock whispered: I need something creative to do with my hands.
4.
Allure is
multi-dimensional. Having a conversation (always ok, sometimes ok,
never ok)
turns my ten-foot long eyelashes into man magnets. I’d probably die, a
minimal
and colorful array of nothingness who forgets to take the maps. I made
him
invisible.
I called
a Jewish cemetery to make sure I could be buried there with a tattoo.
Just
leave me here on my big-ass, mortal bed.
5.
Whatever
does or doesn’t happen it’s a favorable journey. You be the judge. For
example
here comes Marlon Brando, someone exactly like me. I belch and slap him
high-five. His voice a soft silence breaking breath or whisper, a
hissing of
the summer lawns, like things pleading and strong. I’m not
I’m just
6.
Like
magnetic poetry finally woken, it’s all part of a favorable journey.
Whatever
does or doesn’t happen we are all Marlon Brando waiting to happen. I
think I am
someone like me, drenched in sweat & running to a large body