Articles by Jean Cocteau
...Been working (Well, actually playing) toward a synthesis between pre-Raphaelite literary modeling and a classical framing of the, say, salt-is-not-soup Mallarméan brand of Gestaltpsychologie. Rilly. Began sublimating meaning & elevating functions of other elements of poetic prosody in early 80s. Seems like it was only yesterday. Everything in time, everything moves in origin and destiny, court & spark. Time and again, there will be time, soft as a cloud, soft as my blanket, soft as lemon & lime. And me. Just a tad surreal. Word soup, Pollack-goop, Betty Boop, oooop shoop: ‘s’still rock and roll to me! Like, if two birds were to suddenly veer from a flock, there would be talk. There would be time. There will be. Time.
Scraping Blackboards in a World Without Love
and/or:
Short Waves in the City of Light, Scraping
Concrete, Dancing on Myth, Swallowing
Up All the Mercury Vapour in Sight
by Cocateau
The door is open, dusk/ can be so beautiful. So, too, …
A postmodern artist or writer is in the position of a philosopher: the text he writes, the work he produces are not in principle governed by pre-established rules, and they cannot be fudged according to a determining judgment, by applying familiar categories to the text or to the work. Those rules and categories are what the work of art itself is looking for. –Jean-Francois Lyotard
The Idea of North
by Cocteau
The Idea of North. Coldly practical.
Why are we drawn to over-the-top-stair-seriality merely to drift
into an impression of order at just keys, or to plumb tone-centers
of melodious grapes. The hunter captured by …
Them!
by cocteau
Physics & labia, pocketa-pocketa.
G=L=O=R=I=A~
The fascia of every object/ consumes
the colour of its adjacent.
No event is innate in/[or] its exclusive colour,
obviously ever a denunciation of the notion
that time is constant or deterministic.
O broad panorama! Lush …
Plymouth Rocks, the Grey Album
by cocteau
“All wordz/ belong to all people [‘cept these].”
– Marty Esworthy
History, c’mon, tell me a story: GAUL!
Three parts! Yeah, one part pet rock,
two parts, poison-dart. Mais, dans
l’obscurité, tous les chats sont …
When Earth Bathed its Sidewalks in Octobery Chalk Strokes
by cocteau
A chalky, palm-printy arc of the rendering
is believed to be the progenitor
of a fifteenth-century
Milanese labyrinthine-red-on-pink on Oooh-bla-dee.
Inky– diffuse, aglow, rotating like June
moons around a gentle star. …
By Aeroplane to Iceland
by cocteau
She looked down to the tea table, humming.
Remembering. All bird songs are learnt within
the first month after learning to fly. You always
remember where the tiger attacked you.
Like cloud-to-cloud lightning. Looking down
into …
Ascending Degress of Mirage
by cocteau
Decending Scales of Trance
O, it’s a hot damn day, yet, it would take 700 suns to span
the diameter of Antares. Sergeants stress this because
there is a dearth of salt tablets.
American …
VrombantAutobahn’
Autobahn-Vrombant
by cocteau
Speeding
circuitry-of-image
without error without end
like a perfect wave of the geometry
of the very brightest stars
in dream flight
~stylin’~
through cool/ white/ noise.
[Kissinger-esque]
I/ vould talk German luv to you/ if I
could only find ze vordz.
88 88 88 88 …
Un.imitatable Moons
by cocteau
maintain moans. Alms, them elms, beeg Barry
Ul-anov. Singin’ psalms: ague, éclat, éclair.
Cool, con-flatable
pretty-pret-ty parsnips stipple& ripple. Rattle & roam.
Tha’ riotous rollicking moon, rune. Elderberry, cranberry
bogs/ ê -clipsed. Rima rued. Ague, ague, ague.
Ain’t it …
Reset Your Body Glock
by cocteau
All day everyday. Clock. Board up the windows,
it’s hardly coincidence that hurricanes wreak more
havoc than time travel or melting ice caps.
Stars in the suns, Clouds in your coffee, peace
is yours if …
Whither Bernice, My Bernadette,
& All them Bernadettes D’Antan?
by cocteau
Sashaying. Whiskbrooms.
Stunt kiting, windmills… some osage.
Thyme & pantoum. Boom-Boom, Boom
BOUM! Hooker & Heat. Hot chocolates par-
boiling.
…
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