Cutting up A.M. Klein's "The Mountain"

The mountain in the distance, at Mount Royal and Park Avenue

This is in response to Jason Camlot’s “After the Mountain; The A.M. Klein Reboot Project”. Klein’s original poem, “The Mountain”, is published below; it is followed by my cut-up of Klein’s poem, published in a chapbook of the same title, compiled and edited by Jason Camlot, and published by Synapse Press, Montreal, 2011:

For many years I have been interested in William Burroughs and Brion Gysins’ experiments in “cutting-up” texts. In this poem I have literally “re-mixed” A.M. Klein’s poem “The Mountain”. This “re-mix” is a fairly conservative cut-up of Klein’s original poem; that is, I have kept the integrity of Klein’s lines in tact but I have re-mixed the order of the lines. Klein’s text was cut-up with scissors and then randomly reassembled. The resulting “cut-up” text changes a straight linear poem—Klein’s lyrical “A Mountain”—reassembles or re-mixes the poem, and finds in the new text a similar lyrical expression as in Klein’s poem, but without the linearity of the original poem. Meaning persists, but it emerges strangely transformed by the re-mix.

Stephen Morrissey
14 November 2011



Klein’s original poem:

The Mountain

A.M. Klein

Who knows it only by the famous cross which bleeds
into the fifty miles of night its light
knows a night—scene;
and who upon a postcard knows its shape —
the buffalo straggled of the laurentian herd, —
holds in his hand a postcard.

In layers of mountains the history of mankind,
and in Mount Royal
which daily in a streetcar I surround
my youth, my childhood —
the pissabed dandelion, the coolie acorn,
green prickly husk of chestnut beneath mat of grass—
O all the amber afternoons
are still to be found.

There is a meadow, near the pebbly brook,
where buttercups, like once on the under of my chin
upon my heart still throw their rounds of yellow.

And Cartier's monument, based with nude figures
still stands where playing hookey
Lefty and I tested our gravel aim
(with occupation flinging away our guilt)
against the bronze tits of Justice.

And all my Aprils there are marked and spotted
upon the adder's tongue, darting in light,
upon the easy threes of trilliums, dark green, green, and white,
threaded with earth, and rooted
beside the bloodroots near the leaning fence—
corms and corollas of childhood,
a teacher's presents.

And chokecherry summer clowning black on my teeth!

The birchtree stripped by the golden zigzag still
stands at the mouth of the dry cave where I
one suppertime in August watched the sky
grow dark, the wood quiet, and then suddenly spill
from barrels of thunder and broken staves of lightning —
terror and holiday!

One of these days I shall go up to the second terrace
to see if it still is there—
the uncomfortable sentimental bench
where, — as we listened to the brass of the band concerts
made soft and to our mood by dark and distance—
I told the girl I loved
I loved her.


The Mountain, Re-mix One

Stephen Morrissey

O all the amber afternoons
are still to be found.
And all my Aprils there are marked and spotted
upon the adder’s tongue, darting in light,
the pissabed dandelion, the coolie acorn,
green prickly husk of chestnut beneath mat of grass —
from barrels of thunder and broken staves of lightning —
terror and holiday!
Who knows it only by the famous cross which bleeds
into fifty miles of night its light
upon the easy threes of trillium, dark, green, and white,
threaded with earth, and rooted
And Cartier’s monument, based with nude figures
still stands where playing hookey
Lefty and I tested our gravel aim
(with occupation flinging away our guilt)
holds in his hand a postcard.
In layers of mountains the history of mankind,
and in Mount Royal
There is a meadow, near the pebbly brook,
where buttercups, like once on the under of my chin
a teacher’s presents.
And chokecherry summer clowning black on my teeth!
One of these days I shall go up to the second terrace
to see if it is still there—
one suppertime in August watched the sky
grow dark, the wood quiet, and then suddenly spill
The birch tree stripped by the golden zigzag still
stands at the mouth of the dry cave where I
which daily in a streetcar I surround
my youth, my childhood—
against the bronze tits of Justice.
the uncomfortable sentimental bench
where, —as we listened to the brass of the band concerts
knows a night-scene;
and who upon a postcard knows its shape —
the buffalo straggled of the laurentian herd, —
upon my heart still throw their rounds of yellow.
made soft and to our mood by dark and distance —
I told the girl I loved
I loved her.
beside the bloodroots near the leaning fence—
corms and corollas of childhood.


The Mountain, Re-mix Two, unpublished


Stephen Morrissey

one suppertime in August watched the sky
grow dark, the wood quiet, and then suddenly spill
a night-scene;
and who upon a postcard knows its shape
stands at the mouth of a dry cave where I
beside the bloodroots near the leaning fence—
corms and corollas of childhood,
against the bronze tits of Justice.
And all my Aprils there are marked and spotted
the pissabed dandelion, the coolie acorn,
green prickly husk of chestnut beneath mat of grass—
There is a meadow, near the pebbly brook,
where buttercups, like once on the under of my chin
The birchtree striped by the golden zigzag still
(with occupation flinging away our guilt)
and in Mount Royal
which daily in a streetcar I surround
holds in his hand a postcard.
In layers of mountains the history of mankind,
into the fifty miles of night
from barrels of thunder and broken staves of lightning—
terror and holiday!
upon the adder’s tongue, darting in light,
upon the easy threes of trilliums, dark, green, and white,
One of these days I shall go to the second terrace
upon my heart still throw their rounds of yellow..
And Cartier’s monument, based with nude figures
Who knows it only by the famous cross which bleeds
threaded with earth, and rooted
to see if it still is there—
the uncomfortable sentimental bench
still stands where playing hookey
Lefty and I tested our gravel aim
my youth, my childhood—
O all the amber afternoons
are still to be found.
where,—as we listened to the brass of the band concerts
made soft and to our mood by dark and distance—
I told the girl I loved
And chokecherry summer clowning on my teeth
the buffalo straggled of the laurentian herd,—
a teacher’s presents.
I loved her.

11 November 2011

The Making of Collages (8)

The Making of Collages (7)

The Making of Collages (6)

The Making of Collages (5)

The Making of Collages (4)

The Making of Collages (3)

The Making of Collages (2)

This begins a series of collages--for the next two weeks--made in the winter and spring of 2010. Each collage became, for me, a point of meditation, an insight into the post-modern age.

Each collage is a visual cut-up. The narrative running through our minds of how the world is constructed, how it works, is ended by tearing it into pieces. The random re-organization of these pieces gives us a new narrative, a new insight into how things work.

A longer introduction to The Making of Collages can be found in the posting of last June 28th.

The Making of Collages

A collage juxtaposes images or parts of images that seem to have little association with each other; the collage presents these images in an unexpected and seemingly random way. Profound images, for instance images of human suffering and hurt, become images describing our age. Archetypal images juxtaposed beside each other give a new association, a new idea of the age. The random aspect of the collage is also interesting, this is interesting because any image placed beside any other image gives a third and new image, a new idea or insight coming from the collage. These collages are a kind of Tarot card reading, or divination, of our age, there is the sudden appearance of some insight in the collage.

Collages are similar to Brion Gysin's cut-up technique which works with words and sounds instead of images. I think you could take any issue of TIME magazine, which has excellent photo-journalism, take the images and cut or tear them up at random, and then glue them to a surface in any order that they occur, and you will have a collage that reveals something of the age in which we live. This is what I did with the collages I am putting up here. There is no "thought" in the making of any of these collages. Gradually gluing down the images becomes a system, a process, for instance beginning every collage at the bottom right hand corner, or trying to impose some kind of order or intelligence on the collage as it is being made. When this happens you have to stop and eliminate this thought interference in the making of the collage.

Then, you can also take the collage and ask what does it suggest? What ideas are there in the collage? Archetypal images contain their own energy, their own impetus in driving the unconscious mind. They are an entrance into the collective unconscious and as such they can be very powerful. My suggestion is always to begin with the archetype and then proceed from there; you can try but you can never really defeat the authority of archetypes that are innate in the human psyche.

How Poets Think and an Introduction to Dream Journeys (1)

Here is William Blake's home when he lived in Felpham, near Bognor Regis, on the coast south of
London. I often walked passed here while visiting with my friend R.R. Skinner.
This is one of the first selfies, that is my finger ruining the photo...

(1)

How do poets think? Not all poets, but how do some poets think? How do poets experience the world? According to Peter Ackroyd`s biography of William Blake, the first morning Blake was in Felpham, his home for two years on the coast south of London, “Blake came out of his cottage and found a ploughman in an neighbouring field. At this moment the ploughboy working with him called out ‘Father, the gate is open.’ For Blake, this was an emblem of his new life, and the work he was about to begin.” (234-235) Blake perceived this experience as an auspicious sign from the universe, one indicating a future of openness, creativity, and the presence of the divine intervening in his life. At that moment Blake knew that he had made the right choice in moving to Felpham; the universe told him as much. This is one example indicating how poet’s think.


(2)

How poets think, as it is sometimes shown in their work (and in their lives), can be acausal, sometimes synchronistic, sometimes symbolical and metaphorical, sometimes analytical, sometimes archetypal, and often poet’s thinking works simultaneously on at least two levels of meaning. The usual linear thinking that we all do, thinking that is grounded in cause and effect, is of secondary importance in writing a poem, or thinking poetically.


(3)

I have written elsewhere of how two dreams, when I was young, changed my life. One dream told me to remember my life, and that this could be done by writing a diary; a second dream revealed to me the insecurity of life. Both were profound and life changing dreams. I always assumed that everyone had “big dreams,” but this was a mistake. Everyone dreams but most people don’t listen to their dreams, they forget them as soon as they wake, or if the dream is remembered it is either ignored or sloughed off. They don’t want to be disturbed by dreams, or by re-visioning their life, or by becoming more conscious, or by the discomfort of psychological insight. This is how poets think: they allow for the presence of dreams as a form of communication from the unconscious, and the dream is then listened to.


(4)

God communicates to people in two ways: through angels and through our dreams. If you want to communicate with God, or receive a message from God, then be open to your dreams. Dreams coming from God are the “big dreams,” and we may have only a few of these during our whole life. Dreams have some interest for poets and artists, dreams are psychic collages juxtaposing images that one would probably never put together. They are of interest in an aesthetic sense, as a curiosity, and importantly for therapists as a door into the psyche of their client. Discussing a dream is a way into the psyche, it is a catalyst for discussion. Surrealism as a movement grew out of Freud’s positioning of dream interpretation as an important part of therapeutic work. The Surrealists were more fascinated by the dream as an aesthetic event than by its therapeutic value. Dreams, then, as life changing events, can be an important aspect of how poets think; as well, dream imagery can be transformed into a poem.


(5)

Two other minor examples of poetic thinking: when I returned to live in the neighbourhood where I grew up, I would regularly see people who I used to see in the streets when I was young. They were not older versions of themselves, they were the same people that I used to see, as though, over the intervening years, they had never changed. I no longer see these people, they seem to have departed, where they have gone to I don’t know, but I would often see them, just as they were so many years ago. A second example: I have always believed that when we think of someone we used to know, but have lost contact with them, and they suddenly come to mind, for no reason at all, at that same moment they are thinking of us. For example, sometimes we think of an old friend with whom we have lost contact and then, only a few seconds later, the phone rings and it is the person we have been thinking of.

(6)

It is the essence of the shamanic journey that what is perceived is not a product of the imagination but is “real.” The important thing is the experience in which our awareness and consciousness is not always subject to cause and effect. Dreams juxtapose images that are usually not associated with each other. In essence the dream is a collage or a "cut-up" (as invented by Brion Gysin). Dreams fascinate us when they open the door of archetypal association. A door, for instance, allows us to enter a room, but a "door" for William Blake is an image opening our awareness and our perception of the symbolical world of the psyche. Almost two hundred years later Jim Morrison resonated to Blake's perception and the music of The Doors followed.

(7)

Dreams, Tarot cards, Sabian Symvbols, the Aquarian Symbols, archetypal images, paintings by Odilon Redon (and others), photographs by Man Ray, all help open an entrance into the deeper levels of the psyche; at this deeper level we become conscious of people, events, and a narrative not always available to the conscious mind. I would include fairy tales and mythology in this list of ways to access the unconscious mnd.


(8)

Poetry, in essence, deals with the soul and soul making. Just about any subject can be transformed into poetry, but a poet’s soul is needed for this transformation of the everyday into poetry. Poetry is transformation. Dreams, in essence, transform everyday reality into an expression of the psyche or the soul, and these dreams can sometimes give us access into our own souls. This is also a beginning of a definition of how poets think.
________________________________

In the coming weeks I will include here various poems inspired by dream imagery, under the heading of Dream Journeys.

Instant Shaman (four)

Brion Gysin wanted to “disorder the mind,” and he succeeded in two well-known discoveries. One is the reordering of a text by the Cut-up method of composition and the second is the Dream Machine he co-invented with Ian Sommerville in the early 1960s. Sommerville was a colleague of William S. Burroughs, and Burroughs used Gysin’s Cut-up method in part of the writing of his novel Naked Lunch. Both of Gysin’s inventions move the conscious mind away from consensual reality, and assert what poets have known all along, that the visionary experience is fundamental to the art of poetry. Brian Sheehan’s documentary, FlicKer, is an excellent and engrossing introduction to Gysin’s Dream Machine. The Dream Machine is basically a cylinder containing a light bulb and various shaped forms cut from the walls of the cylinder; the cylinder revolves at a predetermined speed. The observer sits beside the Dream Machine with closed eyes, allowing the flickering images caused by the Dream Machine to induce mental images of colour, shapes, and symbols. The flickering produces a hypnogogic state—perhaps it is alpha wave activity—and what is visualized during this state can then be used in a work of art, or left as an experience in itself. Gysin had an early, prototypical experience of this when traveling by bus, and while sitting with closed eyes, there was a flickering caused when trees and buildings were juxtaposed between the sunlight and the bus, similar to the experience of observing the Dream Machine. After seeing Sheehan’s documentary, FlicKer, I remembered my own experiments using the Eeman Circuit in the late 1980s. In The Cameron Aurameter (ed. Meade Layne and Riley H. Crabb, Borderland Sciences Research Foundation, Vista, 1970), there is a description and short discussion of the Eeman Circuit, the subject of experiments I tried in the mid-1980s. The Eeman Circuit is simple to assemble and use:

The circuit is made by fastening six feet of insulated copper wire to a copper or brass handle on one end and to copper wire or meshed strands… Two of these outfits are used. One is placed under the base of the spine of a person lying on his back… The wire with the handle to be gripped in the right hand, is brought out from the screen and held in the right hand. The second screen is placed under the head and the wire brought out so its handle can be placed in the left hand… The idea is that the body electricity (our mana) will be picked up by the screens and caused to flow along the wires to the hands so that changes in normal flow are brought about.

My own experience of using the Eeman Circuit is that I was overwhelmed with dream imagery while using it. I don’t remember using the Circuit many times, it was uncomfortable to lie on, and when I moved back to the city twelve years ago I didn’t bring it with me. But it is worth trying out, as one might try out the Dream Machine. All of these strategies—the Dream Machine or the Eeman Circuit; mirror gazing or the psychomateum—are ways to try to access the visionary experience; they are small doors into the unconscious, small doors to shamanic and visionary experiences. Not everyone will be interested in a shamanic approach to poetry, but it is offered for those who might resonate to some of these ideas.

The Cut-up Technique

John Cage poem by Stephen Morrissey

The process of making cut-ups is fairly simple. Take a page of someone’s writing—for instance Arthur Rimbaud or Blaise Cendrars—and cut the page into four, eight, ten, or whatever number of pieces one chooses. Then, randomly assemble the cut-up pieces of text by gluing them onto a fresh sheet of paper. Now, you have a new piece of writing by the same author, but changed, the words altered, a new voice speaking through the random assemblage of fragments of their work. The linear writing you began with has been re-visioned in a non-linear way, often producing surprising new phrases that contradict normal rational logic. As a variation on this process, you can take two authors, cut-up their writing, and assemble a new, single, and combined page of, for instance, Rimbaud-Cendrars.

I learned of the cut-up method in William Burroughs and Brion Gysin’s book Minutes to Go that I read in the early 1970s. I was just beginning to read my work in public and the cut-ups made a huge impression on me at the time. Indeed, the writings of Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso and William Burroughs, and others, spoke to many of us in a personal and relevant way. Writing poetry was our journey and these older writers were our mentors. I also read all of Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin, and other writers that Henry Miller recommended in his The Books in my Life; indeed, that’s where I first heard of Blaise Cendrars and, possibly, J. Krishnamurti. At the time of these early public readings and performances, I was also involved with the writings of John Cage that emphasized silence, randomness, coincidence/synchronicity, and non-linearity in art.

I have always liked several things about making cut-ups: For instance, 1) the physicality (or non-cerebral aspect) of the cut-ups, using scissors and glue to create new writing; 2) the relationship of the cut-ups to making collages, which are really visual cut-ups; 3) I have always been intrigued by the randomness of the cut-ups, allowing a new voice to emerge from the writing; 4) the connection to visual art (painting, film, etc.) interested me; 5) avoiding the imposition of the ego in the writing, always seemed to me one of the objectives I was attempting to achieve in my experimental writing; 6) cut-ups can be performed using several voices, or a room full of voices, or the reading/performance can have several cut-ups read simultaneously.

The cut-ups remind us of a serious ambition in poetry, in sound poetry, in visual poetry, and in printed poetry. In my writing since the cut-ups—writing concerned with redemption and witness—the context has always been living in an existential world in which insight and affirmation of life has been hard-won. The cut-ups affirm life, they show meaning and creativity in randomness and coincidence.

A final note: you can't escape the jester archetype in all of this. The idea of new, intelligible poems coming from the cut-up remains of someone else's poems suggests a supreme act of jesting. Are our poems so slight, or so dense, that a new and possibly significant text can be found after its cut-up pieces are randomly assembled? Is the cut-up up technique also some kind of jest or put-on? Of course, the jest is a part of the process...

SM, 30 October, 2008