Irving Layton, a serial offender of celebratory proportions, and author of a list of poetry books the length of Yonge Street wrote “whatever else, poetry is freedom.” This assertion of his personal creed, when Googled, produces a myriad of commentary by many in the poetic community.
His contempt for mediocrity and for the most bloated bland glands in the world was summed up in this prescient comment in his book, The Whole Bloody Bird: “Canadians are a nice people; I can think of nothing else to say against them.”
Irving Layton, who wrote these lines in 1966, in a wonderfully offensive and insolent put-down poem, Hymn to the Republic, slamming the left-lib baffle-gag of the day, “I am sorry for you, America. You deserve grander neighbours than assholes covered with ten gallon hats!”
Irving Layton was chosen by the Minister With Poetfolio of the Peoples Republic of Poetry, to play the role of Big Brother in the poetic event, Re-Verse of 2 Minutes Hate. Big Brother was appropoetically re-versed to BIG BRAT. Layton’s inspiring comment motivated the many assembled units of verse, the poetariet:
“There is no force more subversive than poetry and that is why tyrants have always feared it and sought to suppress it. But not only tyrants. Everyone who has a vested interest in preventing the individual from discovering the truth of his own self and his own capacities fears the liberating power that resides in poetry.”
+txt.jpg)
Poetry In Motion, is not just the title of a sickly syrupy song. Poetry is Poetency in action. Poetry was vociferously manifested on Parliament Hill, August 20, 1978 by dozens of units of verse who had been instructed by the Poetburo to hate out loud, way out loud, and especially in the face of Govern Mental Disorder. The full instructions can be found here: page 1, 2, 3.
The “mad haters club” assembled at the S.A.W. Gallery, Ottawa’s premier cutting-edge gallery for the avante garde. The poetariet decontaminated themselves of all foreign identification paraphernalia (SIN cards, driver licences, credit cards, etc). The ID was placed into a safe. The poetariet wore their Poetic Licence Cards. Finally, the poetariet was advised that all questions asked by non-poetariet were to be answered with “I am at liberty not to say.” Ottawa police provided a poetective escort for the poetariet as they proceed from the SAW gallery to Parliament Hill.
The “mad haters club” assembled at the S.A.W. Gallery, Ottawa’s premier cutting-edge gallery for the avante garde. The poetariet decontaminated themselves of all foreign identification paraphernalia (SIN cards, driver licences, credit cards, etc). The ID was placed into a safe. The poetariet wore their Poetic Licence Cards. Finally, the poetariet was advised that all questions asked by non-poetariet were to be answered with “I am at liberty not to say.” Ottawa police provided a poetective escort for the poetariet as they proceed from the SAW gallery to Parliament Hill.
The Peoples Republic of Poetry was an early believer in the di-Verse. Placards reading Big Data Watches, Little Brother Watches Back and other slogans were rendered in a wide assortment of languages. Everybody has a right to be a write wringer.
Here's mud in your lens.
In accordance with the policy of Little Brother Watches Back, the PRP documents itself, via Sony Portpak, reel-to-reel 1.2 inch tape.
Chrome data placards make for cool reflections; it re-verses reality, thereby reflecting govern mental disorders.
Defying the REDs
Attributing irresponsibility
The poetariet is green to go
The poetariet paraded their wit around the circumference of Parliament Hill twice. Chrome placards shaped like computer data cards reflected sunlight down the nine security cameras that monitor the Hill. Solar flares deconstructed direct feed to the RCMP editing studios; the imagery was further aggravated by the overwhelming “whitemess” of the poetariet. The location of the cameras had been mapped the previous evening.
The poetariet gathered at a pre-determined location which provided the clearest view for the RCMP. A speech on a chrome printout scroll was read. [Poem-speech page 1, 2, 3.]
It was at this location that a large chrome banner was unfurled, revealing the face of Solicitor-General, Jean-Jacques Blais, the boss of the RCMP, who was the target of the hate. He was billed as the Enemy of the Peephole. He was a stand-in for Emmanuel Goldstein, who was the Enemy of the People in George Orwell’s book, 1984.
What sweet irony and poetic justice that the RCMP were witnessing and recording citizens from a foreign state of mind, the imagine nation of the Peoples Republic of Poetry, hating their boss with total impunity, right there, in the cradle of Canada’s govern mental disorder.
They witnessed and recorded the contemptuous throwing of assorted legislation against the image of their boss, including the shredding and throwing of the Human Rights Act amongst other Acts. The hate-on ejaculated with fierce energy, splattering witnesses with wonderful wit. It was free screech in rock concert decibels. The news media swallowed it all, and spit it into the living-rooms of the nation later that evening.
It was at this location that a large chrome banner was unfurled, revealing the face of Solicitor-General, Jean-Jacques Blais, the boss of the RCMP, who was the target of the hate. He was billed as the Enemy of the Peephole. He was a stand-in for Emmanuel Goldstein, who was the Enemy of the People in George Orwell’s book, 1984.
What sweet irony and poetic justice that the RCMP were witnessing and recording citizens from a foreign state of mind, the imagine nation of the Peoples Republic of Poetry, hating their boss with total impunity, right there, in the cradle of Canada’s govern mental disorder.
They witnessed and recorded the contemptuous throwing of assorted legislation against the image of their boss, including the shredding and throwing of the Human Rights Act amongst other Acts. The hate-on ejaculated with fierce energy, splattering witnesses with wonderful wit. It was free screech in rock concert decibels. The news media swallowed it all, and spit it into the living-rooms of the nation later that evening.
Canadians and media witness wit in a rage.
There goes the Human Rights Act, thrown right into the face of the Solicitor General of Canada.
Hatred is getting out of bland.
Two minutes of hating can be exhausing -- recommended only for the physical fit.
Sexy babe in a rage of hate.
At the end of the 2 minute hatefest, a large image of Canada’s sexiest poet, Irving Layton, was unfurled. The poetariet was in reverie, chanting:
HIS POETRY! HIS POETENCY!
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment