New Media: honks, tweets and sassy talk

by l. l. barkat on April 16, 2009

guitar

L.L. here, with Random Acts of Poetry— reveling in how New Media is inspiring new poetry and offering a shared space for old verse too.

It makes me wonder about statements like this one: “…virtual community is like playing the guitar with one string. You can make music; it’s just not as interesting or as good as music on a guitar with six strings.” (Shane Hipps, quoted by Marcus Goodyear’s post Does Your Social Media Honk like an Oboe?)

Truth is, I don’t have any “real-life” arenas that are nearly as lively when it comes to the writing and sharing of poetry. For me and poetry, “real-life” is the guitar with one string, while places like HCB and Catapult are the six-string— playing the verse I love, riffing stuff I never anticipated, in a room full of people who’re tapping and clapping with me.

For instance, not long ago, our own Marcus Goodyear ‘wrote’ Ode to Twitter and Breakfast. But people like Tom Watson see poetry in Twitter too. Says Tom,

So I was about to pass on Twitter. And then, this message flashed across my Twitterstream:

Driving down to West Cork used to be a quiet pleasure.
Now it’s a melancholy chore.
Still, the sky is absolutely full of stars.

Wow. Poetry. Quite possibly the best social networking post I’d ever read. And I thought, hmmm – this Twitter thing may have legs, but not in the way its founders or a few self-obsessed wired wonksters may think. See, Twitter is a poetry machine.

Then you’ve got fun stunts like Booker winner Ben Okri publishing his new poem line by line on Twitter. It is New Media which makes this possible. (I can hear the six-string now!) And it is New Media which makes possible this sassy little poem by HCB’er Steve McCoy:

This is Just to Say

I left
an insulting comment
on your
blog

when you
heartily
recommended the new
U2 album

Forgive me
I was already
logged in
and have functioning ears

If you read the poem at Steve’s original post, you’ll see the old William’s verse that became a platform for the new. And maybe that’s the point. Or part of the point. In the best of worlds, old and new work together, in a give-and-take process that eschews fear or disdain and strums for the community what is truly worth hearing.

If you would like to participate in Random Acts of Poetry, read here for instructions.

Six-String photo by Sara B. Used with permission. Post written by L.L. Barkat.

Poetry around the network:
Cindy’s Mysterious Gentleman
Monica’s This Wrath He Bore
Ann’s All Things New
LL’s I’m Following You Now
Steve’s Just to Say
Erica’s Bend
nAncY’s Therapeia
Laure’s Not Yet Conceived But Gleaming
Jim’s Twitter Poetry
Deb’s When Quiet Needs Song

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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }

Marcus Goodyear April 17, 2009 at 8:17 am

L.L, thanks for this. Returning to the music metaphor really struck me in light of this week’s earlier post on Bicycle Built for 2000.

There was so much business this week, I didn’t quite have time for poetry. But yesterday, I still managed to discover a great little magazine called Liturgical Credo which has great stuff like “Counting Miracles at the State Asylum.”

Speaking of miracles, Steve McCoy. That is some kind of fantastic riff on William Carlos Williams. It makes me think playful snarkiness can be a bit like a sweet plum sometimes. Delicious.

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L.L. Barkat April 17, 2009 at 8:56 am

I didn’t even think of the video, but I did remember Erica’s Jazz post. Two birds. : ) (Oh gosh, did I say that in a comment on a post that talks about tweeting?)

No time for poetry? Hmmm…. I’m going to say…not true. The proof is on my blog. (Sometimes we are speaking poetry and we don’t even know it, nor do we know that someone is listening.)

Playful snarkiness like a plum. Now that’s fun. Yes, the shiny purple skin held taut, then, “Pop!” …. sweet and sour goodness.

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Megan April 17, 2009 at 10:57 am

Joining the fray! I really look forward to Fridays now!

RAP: New Media

There are six strings inside my brain
like the strings of a guitar.
For years I was content to play the first five.

The pinky hovered over the last string,
so rarely played,
so long considered unnecessary.

In this world of anonymous friends,
who post and blog and tweet,
that string finally gets plucked.

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L.L. Barkat April 17, 2009 at 9:59 pm

I like this, Megan. As a guitar player who too often leaves off the last string (it’s just so out of reach), I could feel the satisfaction that comes when the string is finally plucked (I’m tired and I’m thinking my grammar is all off there, but who cares… I’m here to say I like your poem. : )

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Megan April 20, 2009 at 1:38 pm

Thanks, L.L. I wish I played guitar. I don’t even play Guitar Hero, unlike my kids, who rock.

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Erin April 22, 2009 at 7:48 am

Megan
That’s a great insight into how our human nature tends to cull the things we deem unnecessary or unreachable. We just skip the 6th string and go on our merry way, thinking we really haven’t missed out on all that much. (And it was too time consuming or awkward to learn to jut that pinkie finger way up there anyhow. (Ask me how I know this?!) )

But playing that 6th string…
What wholeness and vivacity might it bring to the sound experience?

Do you ever wonder how many strings God has on His guitar?

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Dianne April 23, 2009 at 3:41 am

Have you seen the cookbook on twitter – quite creative in her attemtpt to condense recipes into 140 characters. not exactly poetry but nevertheless creative. http://twitter.com/cookbook

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