Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork. I create the artwork. My darker, semi-schizophrenic alter ego creates the poetry.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
It's What The Story Is About
The mind looted,
Tumbling off cliffs.
Courage and suffering renders,
Meaningless contradiction.
Never pay for lies.
Tiny beauty, apparently threatened.
Grammar, which somehow becomes transgressive.
Done only to kill.
Deliberate, mind-blowing.
The monotone of a man's soul.
One year later, most sincere.
It's a classic.
A Physical Representation of The Id
Condemned to the irrelevant.
Anti-depressants of the global economy.
The paradox of insanity.
Maybe the pendulum swings.
Sometimes incoherent,
The unconscious in ourselves.
A man with an asymmetric sexual fantasy.
Eyes shut, harvesting dangerous desires.
Waiting for things to appear.
What we desire,
Tells us what to desire.
Desire a dream.
We can imagine.
The Vibe Is Established
Blue poetry.
A particular obsession,
Between language and thought.
The eye should listen.
Language, a paradox.
Margins reverberate throughout,
Of proverbs trapped.
The possibilities.
Every dream is vital,
To the thinkers and stones.
Fused so seamlessly,
Without gray spaces.
Seeing a Chinese film.
Asking the same question.
Look, but not always.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Random, Abstract Poetry - 2/18/09
Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork. I create the artwork. My darker, semi-schizophrenic alter ego creates the poetry.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
Just There
You know, I began going nowhere.
I remember that.
Like Van Gogh's drawings.
The drawings were very important.
Even now, they are lucid.
Color is something really open.
It was art with people,
who couldn't talk.
If you went over there,
they'd stop and not talk.
I didn't fit in.
You belonged to the color.
But I didn't really feel comfortable.
That was true.
The color didn't have structure.
Struggling and struggling.
Just trying to draw.
Too many choices.
You can't give people too many choices.
Going to Egypt?
I should go to Egypt.
The pyramids.
I could stack together,
and not move the air.
I realized.
It just came to me.
The last key to the puzzle.
You got to struggle to figure out color.
I think that's about right.
I Didn't Know People
Shakespeare hardly had any friends.
But his ghost was present,
as though he'd never left.
An education in literature imagined.
So innovative and experimental.
A very unorthodox critic, traumatized.
Because I did not have the tools to write.
Thinking creatively in whatever.
Probably philosophy.
None Of This Was Ever Really Spoken
You were born early.
I wonder how that influenced you?
It was very intense.
They couldn't figure me out.
I read everything.
The war had a lot of resonance.
The 21st century complexity,
and so on.
The complexity of identity.
I found out later,
I wore rosary beads.
Much later in life,
I invented the process,
of organizing beloved figures.
I got very nervous.
They would vibrate any time the train went by.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
Just There
You know, I began going nowhere.
I remember that.
Like Van Gogh's drawings.
The drawings were very important.
Even now, they are lucid.
Color is something really open.
It was art with people,
who couldn't talk.
If you went over there,
they'd stop and not talk.
I didn't fit in.
You belonged to the color.
But I didn't really feel comfortable.
That was true.
The color didn't have structure.
Struggling and struggling.
Just trying to draw.
Too many choices.
You can't give people too many choices.
Going to Egypt?
I should go to Egypt.
The pyramids.
I could stack together,
and not move the air.
I realized.
It just came to me.
The last key to the puzzle.
You got to struggle to figure out color.
I think that's about right.
I Didn't Know People
Shakespeare hardly had any friends.
But his ghost was present,
as though he'd never left.
An education in literature imagined.
So innovative and experimental.
A very unorthodox critic, traumatized.
Because I did not have the tools to write.
Thinking creatively in whatever.
Probably philosophy.
None Of This Was Ever Really Spoken
You were born early.
I wonder how that influenced you?
It was very intense.
They couldn't figure me out.
I read everything.
The war had a lot of resonance.
The 21st century complexity,
and so on.
The complexity of identity.
I found out later,
I wore rosary beads.
Much later in life,
I invented the process,
of organizing beloved figures.
I got very nervous.
They would vibrate any time the train went by.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Random, Abstract Poetry - 02/12/09
Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork. I create the artwork. My darker, semi-schizophrenic alter ego creates the poetry.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
Door-to-Door Salesmen
The creators, looking to deceive.
Intellectual principles all centered on,
A devotion to the idea.
Peddled to the curious.
People bought complex, scientific theories.
This was decidedly odd.
Odd or ridiculous.
Unorthodox as much as sarcastic.
Hilariously hilarious.
Orchestrated ideas with humor.
It really is hilarious.
It might even be great.
It is strange to think,
But that's what happened.
Harmless Except To Himself
You talk literature with them.
Actually English.
You talk about anything?
He didn't talk much.
A very quiet, ominous language.
It wasn't literary,
But very intelligent, of course.
What were they like?
Sometimes, usually a psychoanalyst.
Concentrated on one person.
You get the idea?
Then next time,
It would be somebody else.
One thing was funny.
He didn't like Ireland.
It was a long story, I remember.
And I didn't notice the manuscript.
So strange.
The pauses taught silence.
He taught in silence.
This woman stood up and said,
This is terrible.
I wouldn't call that a great success.
But I guess it was successful.
The Way It Functions
This is a common thing.
People who don't believe.
When I believe.
Who really believes?
People are hostile.
Like Wal-Mart before they come in.
It's not planned cynicism.
But cynicism is not.
If you think it's a good thing,
To make people cynical,
What are you going to do?
There are two ways of looking at that.
Which never changes.
A laissez-faire state.
Sort of anti-ideology.
All the stuff gets tossed away.
Things, stuff,
And the red stuff.
That stuff has very little place.
You rarely hear about it.
Just a cynical maneuver?
I think so.
The magnetic power has exerted itself.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
Door-to-Door Salesmen
The creators, looking to deceive.
Intellectual principles all centered on,
A devotion to the idea.
Peddled to the curious.
People bought complex, scientific theories.
This was decidedly odd.
Odd or ridiculous.
Unorthodox as much as sarcastic.
Hilariously hilarious.
Orchestrated ideas with humor.
It really is hilarious.
It might even be great.
It is strange to think,
But that's what happened.
Harmless Except To Himself
You talk literature with them.
Actually English.
You talk about anything?
He didn't talk much.
A very quiet, ominous language.
It wasn't literary,
But very intelligent, of course.
What were they like?
Sometimes, usually a psychoanalyst.
Concentrated on one person.
You get the idea?
Then next time,
It would be somebody else.
One thing was funny.
He didn't like Ireland.
It was a long story, I remember.
And I didn't notice the manuscript.
So strange.
The pauses taught silence.
He taught in silence.
This woman stood up and said,
This is terrible.
I wouldn't call that a great success.
But I guess it was successful.
The Way It Functions
This is a common thing.
People who don't believe.
When I believe.
Who really believes?
People are hostile.
Like Wal-Mart before they come in.
It's not planned cynicism.
But cynicism is not.
If you think it's a good thing,
To make people cynical,
What are you going to do?
There are two ways of looking at that.
Which never changes.
A laissez-faire state.
Sort of anti-ideology.
All the stuff gets tossed away.
Things, stuff,
And the red stuff.
That stuff has very little place.
You rarely hear about it.
Just a cynical maneuver?
I think so.
The magnetic power has exerted itself.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Random, Abstract Poetry - 1/25/09
Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork. I create the artwork. My darker, semi-schizophrenic alter ego creates the poetry.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
An Opportunity To Understand Something
You figure out where because,
I don't feel whatever happened,
Cannot change.
People called me, and then
They tell me to go.
That was pretty wild.
We went out to walk.
A guy says, "Where are you?"
"Well, I'm here."
He says, "No, you're not here."
"I was here."
And the guy's like, "No, you're not here."
And I remember you were.
I was devastated.
But then I realized.
I'm here.
People tell me to go back.
I can go back.
If I tell, do they know,
They are supposed to go?
They would have to go,
Right?
I know I can always go.
That moment, I realized that.
[Laughs.]
A Hollowed Out Onion
One then another.
Down to three.
Where the woods begin,
The lesser one remains.
Heavy weather turned to rain.
Clouds which loom.
A picturesque backdrop.
That evening,
Stars dangled above.
Mushrooms in fleece and wool socks.
Behind a velvet curtain,
The composer conducted.
A thick sonata.
An interwoven symphony.
False notes slipped.
The failed attempt to engage.
The influence of the masks then spoke:
Beyond science and demolition.
What was monolithic?
To have never loved another?
Deep in the morning, skeptically observe,
That which wouldn't exist.
On the sunny afternoon, our final day.
Dead, emptied, systematically wrecked.
Humor must fail.
The end, in the face of realities.
The audience, with thrilling vigor,
Showed a complex-minded capacity to laugh.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
An Opportunity To Understand Something
You figure out where because,
I don't feel whatever happened,
Cannot change.
People called me, and then
They tell me to go.
That was pretty wild.
We went out to walk.
A guy says, "Where are you?"
"Well, I'm here."
He says, "No, you're not here."
"I was here."
And the guy's like, "No, you're not here."
And I remember you were.
I was devastated.
But then I realized.
I'm here.
People tell me to go back.
I can go back.
If I tell, do they know,
They are supposed to go?
They would have to go,
Right?
I know I can always go.
That moment, I realized that.
[Laughs.]
A Hollowed Out Onion
One then another.
Down to three.
Where the woods begin,
The lesser one remains.
Heavy weather turned to rain.
Clouds which loom.
A picturesque backdrop.
That evening,
Stars dangled above.
Mushrooms in fleece and wool socks.
Behind a velvet curtain,
The composer conducted.
A thick sonata.
An interwoven symphony.
False notes slipped.
The failed attempt to engage.
The influence of the masks then spoke:
Beyond science and demolition.
What was monolithic?
To have never loved another?
Deep in the morning, skeptically observe,
That which wouldn't exist.
On the sunny afternoon, our final day.
Dead, emptied, systematically wrecked.
Humor must fail.
The end, in the face of realities.
The audience, with thrilling vigor,
Showed a complex-minded capacity to laugh.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Random, Abstract Poetry - 1/18/2009
Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork. I create the artwork. My darker, semi-schizophrenic alter ego creates the poetry.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
Edges Negotiated
Disintegration is necessary,
In order to create new ones.
Lines don't intersect like this.
That's true.
They break down.
Things break down.
Give the positive,
To make the negative.
I want the opposite of break down.
My approach uses unpredictable images.
Time can be condensed.
Construction is destruction.
A consequence of both.
Nature, in a way proactive.
It's a quicker tempo.
More extreme.
I don't really have any control over that.
A very complicated transparency,
Set in motion.
Together Again
There's this whole thing about recognizing.
An agenda of the government.
They recognize these people.
Then they filter whoever.
Our government.
What do you take from this?
People don't realize,
What appears to be.
Ends up being really intense.
Some sort of connection.
Seen around the world.
They break apart,
Then come back.
Or vice versa.
Painful To Be Purple
Free falling into a pit of snakes.
Coming unhinged,
Is more precise.
Time, a conventional structure.
More articulation.
Waiting for the beat.
Infused and broken down.
A song called.
Can you see?
The final song to everyone.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
Edges Negotiated
Disintegration is necessary,
In order to create new ones.
Lines don't intersect like this.
That's true.
They break down.
Things break down.
Give the positive,
To make the negative.
I want the opposite of break down.
My approach uses unpredictable images.
Time can be condensed.
Construction is destruction.
A consequence of both.
Nature, in a way proactive.
It's a quicker tempo.
More extreme.
I don't really have any control over that.
A very complicated transparency,
Set in motion.
Together Again
There's this whole thing about recognizing.
An agenda of the government.
They recognize these people.
Then they filter whoever.
Our government.
What do you take from this?
People don't realize,
What appears to be.
Ends up being really intense.
Some sort of connection.
Seen around the world.
They break apart,
Then come back.
Or vice versa.
Painful To Be Purple
Free falling into a pit of snakes.
Coming unhinged,
Is more precise.
Time, a conventional structure.
More articulation.
Waiting for the beat.
Infused and broken down.
A song called.
Can you see?
The final song to everyone.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Random, Abstract Poetry - 1/11/09
Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork. I create the artwork. My darker, semi-schizophrenic alter ego creates the poetry.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
In A New Land
Our dialog about life and myth.
The intimate experience with expectations.
Can you talk about that?
It was two years ago.
Seems like yesterday.
I got on the wrong plane.
Landed in Africa.
Then, got run over by a car.
Very naive.
I had this idea about living.
Living, I thought.
A really interesting phenomenon.
All these people living,
All over.
From different worlds.
The mixture is most wonderful.
It takes time to realize.
I was living.
It's all beautiful.
It's About Dirt
Coming to a new place.
Often in a dream.
I realized only recently.
Connected personally from before.
Seeking, and could not find it.
Because, they didn't want to.
That sense of alienation.
Isolation.
A thought.
What had happened?
People without their feet.
Wars fought over land.
It's religion,
Or it's oil.
If you really look,
At what defines.
Notions Of The Cosmos
Obsessed with the stones.
The way they look.
Not in any way.
I feel a tremendous attraction.
They tie themselves into a puzzle.
A structure to reveal.
Like reading patterns.
Kind of abstract.
It struck me,
Those stones.
The planets?
We see these ancient forms.
The stones might hypothesize.
Which neither you nor I,
Care for.
I think some things are happening.
This kind of deformation.
Other levels of reality.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Examples: You can see actual articles from the Brooklyn Rail with the poetry on my website at - www.ErikVP.com/poetry
In A New Land
Our dialog about life and myth.
The intimate experience with expectations.
Can you talk about that?
It was two years ago.
Seems like yesterday.
I got on the wrong plane.
Landed in Africa.
Then, got run over by a car.
Very naive.
I had this idea about living.
Living, I thought.
A really interesting phenomenon.
All these people living,
All over.
From different worlds.
The mixture is most wonderful.
It takes time to realize.
I was living.
It's all beautiful.
It's About Dirt
Coming to a new place.
Often in a dream.
I realized only recently.
Connected personally from before.
Seeking, and could not find it.
Because, they didn't want to.
That sense of alienation.
Isolation.
A thought.
What had happened?
People without their feet.
Wars fought over land.
It's religion,
Or it's oil.
If you really look,
At what defines.
Notions Of The Cosmos
Obsessed with the stones.
The way they look.
Not in any way.
I feel a tremendous attraction.
They tie themselves into a puzzle.
A structure to reveal.
Like reading patterns.
Kind of abstract.
It struck me,
Those stones.
The planets?
We see these ancient forms.
The stones might hypothesize.
Which neither you nor I,
Care for.
I think some things are happening.
This kind of deformation.
Other levels of reality.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Random, Abstract Poetry - 1/4/09
I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork. I create the artwork. My darker, semi-schizophrenic alter ego creates the poetry.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Who Remain Largely Unknown
The sun rises,
In the early morning,
On a cold, icy day.
Bright spots mark the time.
The colors become obvious.
It's the day before Thanksgiving.
Go to the second floor.
You go, because it's warm.
Nobody there.
Where are they going?
Sitting in the cold,
Embracing and chanting.
We are all part of the fabric.
A fabric of no color.
The reality is,
You might not exist.
You can sleep now.
As They Sing
Because it's not safe,
Take chances because.
It sounds a lot like folk.
Addiction.
Meandering into the ether.
Plants and animals describe math.
Loosely translated.
Like here and there.
Talented, but occasionally open.
To say you got up.
You're doing well.
Throughout
Somewhat ridiculous.
This guy pays a fine.
If you're looking,
This could be the guy.
That brings to mind.
I'm spilling out my heart.
Lonely, depressing.
Start sparsely, then slowly build.
This is my last song.
A theme continued.
The good news is,
Imagery is beautiful.
And you will have,
No trouble remembering.
Original Elevator
That's a bad thing.
Channeling cowboys and angels.
I like their influence.
We all have secrets.
Don't tell.
Feeling alone.
There's a difference between,
Being influenced, and being.
Between recycling, and doing.
Start believing.
They have been shoveling even more.
Go No Further
Watching.
I had the uncontrollable urge.
Fond of adventurous souls.
Neither like the other.
Similarity with the king?
Yes, in fact, many.
You might hear noise,
When they listen.
That doesn't sound coherent.
You have heard it,
More than a few times.
Mechanical and emotional.
The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition I visited at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.
Who Remain Largely Unknown
The sun rises,
In the early morning,
On a cold, icy day.
Bright spots mark the time.
The colors become obvious.
It's the day before Thanksgiving.
Go to the second floor.
You go, because it's warm.
Nobody there.
Where are they going?
Sitting in the cold,
Embracing and chanting.
We are all part of the fabric.
A fabric of no color.
The reality is,
You might not exist.
You can sleep now.
As They Sing
Because it's not safe,
Take chances because.
It sounds a lot like folk.
Addiction.
Meandering into the ether.
Plants and animals describe math.
Loosely translated.
Like here and there.
Talented, but occasionally open.
To say you got up.
You're doing well.
Throughout
Somewhat ridiculous.
This guy pays a fine.
If you're looking,
This could be the guy.
That brings to mind.
I'm spilling out my heart.
Lonely, depressing.
Start sparsely, then slowly build.
This is my last song.
A theme continued.
The good news is,
Imagery is beautiful.
And you will have,
No trouble remembering.
Original Elevator
That's a bad thing.
Channeling cowboys and angels.
I like their influence.
We all have secrets.
Don't tell.
Feeling alone.
There's a difference between,
Being influenced, and being.
Between recycling, and doing.
Start believing.
They have been shoveling even more.
Go No Further
Watching.
I had the uncontrollable urge.
Fond of adventurous souls.
Neither like the other.
Similarity with the king?
Yes, in fact, many.
You might hear noise,
When they listen.
That doesn't sound coherent.
You have heard it,
More than a few times.
Mechanical and emotional.
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