Houdini & The Afterlife

Houdini & The Afterlife

Houdini & The Afterlife

And now,

Your attention please
Ladies and gentlemen

Join hands…

In a “Séance”

Halloween.

The gone goodbye. The last touch for the last time
all dies and memories all linger & all fade

Leave.

Requiem.

Invite the ghosts for all the
night and all the long
days which they have waited

energies ionized
multiplied and magnified,
minimized by all of their shells
and souls, thoughts &
incantations. the beings who you no longer want or
even want to be. wanted to see glamorized
and desensitized. all once originals off the shelf.
For you must now sleep ~ dream manifest and bury all their
remains. For life is like a lion or a goddess,
a secret history of all these things of being awake….and walking

without the privilege of being seen the
never meant to be that was never meant into being again
which slips away. into the real and in the incomprehensible darkness,

Like the mysteries & the chains

this life and you the  E C H O

We wait… for the sign;

E

S C A

P E

IN TO

THE VAST

LIGHT

OF

BE –

ING

Where.

At a table, we all sit

The electricity. In a room where the voice was lost,
darkness gone eyes closed as the magician enters

They awaited the message

“Turn out the light”

http://www.hulu.com/watch/184742/biography-houdini-the-great-escape

__________________

R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011 

LEXIKON…

Lexikon ...

LEXIKON

Initiate.

Trans-mute, Transcend
All “Matter”

Bring Forth,
And Thus Summon

All Gods … And Words
Obsolete (They Return)

Creation. Soul. Dimension. Time.

AWAKEN “The Dead”

Sound~ECHO Of Crashing Waves Entities
Dying Against All Flesh Bleeding, Bled

Into VOICE.

As the Smoke Of Her Cigarettes, Her Smell
& The Image Of Her Body All Still Linger,

Like A Poem, Perfume Instilled

Unto That One Perfect Dream

Of Youth.

Spring.

Roar.

Snow.

Moon.

Soar In & Thru

Eternity, A Song
Of Beauty Beneath & Hidden
Between

“Days”

To Wish To Pray
To Become & Believe

In Some Vacant Thought

Un-Aware

Called “Inspiration”

_____________

R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011

Comte Lautremont~The Songs of Malador

The First Voyage…

Here on my blog it’s one thing to read or check out my work but as I have been doing now for some years I wish to share and explore the works of poets & writers whom I’ve labeled “Un-Sung Heroes”. Among these writers, musicians and poets in the past have been Steve Kilbey (Poet, Painter & Musician) of the band The Church, Michael Stanley (Musician), Aragon, Thomas Wolfe & many others In the future I now intend to explore more of the writings and poems of many other gifted writers of the past & the present, among them the American, British & French Surrealists and what have been referred to also as the “Vagabond Poets”Among them? Charles Baudelaire, Arthur Rimbaud , The Marquis De Sade, Edgar Allan Poe & others such as Francois Villion, William Blake, Dante & Voltaire.

So to begin with, I have chosen Comte de Lautréamont whose real name was Isidore  Ducasse, 1846–1870. Born in Montevideo, Uruguay, he moved to Paris in 1867, where he lived like a hermit until his death at the age of 24. In 1870 he published a volume of poetry, Poésies. He is best known for his only other work, Les Chants de Maldoror (1868, tr. 1943), a nightmarish epic poem replete with grotesque, often erotic, imagery. Because of his hallucinatory, nonrepresentational style, Lautréamont was viewed by the surrealists as a progenitor.”

Isidore Lucien Ducasse-Malador

Les Chants de Maldoror is a poem of six cantos which are subdivided into 60 verses of different length (I/14, II/16, III/5, IV/8, V/7, VI/10). The verses were originally not numbered, but rather separated by lines. The final eight verses of the last canto form a small novel, and were marked with Roman numerals. Each canto closes with a line to indicate its end.

It is difficult to summarize the work because it does not have specific plot in the traditional sense, and the narrative style is non-linear and often surrealistic. The work concerns the misanthropic character of Maldoror, a figure of absolute evil who is opposed to God and humanity, and has renounced conventional morality and decency. The iconoclastic imagery and tone is typically violent and macabre, and ostensibly nihilistic. Much of the imagery was borrowed from the popular gothic literature of the period, in particular Lord Byron’s Manfred, Charles Robert Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer and Goethe’s Faust. Of these figures, the latter two are particularly significant in their description of a negative and Satanic anti-hero who is in hostile opposition to God. The last eight stanzas of the final canto are in a way a small novel dealing with the seduction and murder of a youth.

At the beginning and end of the cantos, the text often refers to the work itself; Lautréamont also references himself in the capacity of the author of the work; Isidore is recognized as the “Montevidean”. In order to enable the reader to realise that he is embarking on a “dangerous philosophical journey”, Lautréamont uses stylistic means of identification with the reader, a procedure which author Baudelaire already used in his introduction of Les Fleurs du Mal. He also comments on the work, providing instructions for reading. The first sentence contains a “warning” to the reader.

FIRST CANTO

Stanza 1: The Reader Forewarned

God grant that the reader, emboldened and having become at present as fierce as what he is reading, find, without loss of bearings, his way, his wild and treacherous passage through the desolate swamps of these sombre, poison-soaked pages; for, unless he should bring to his reading a rigorous logic and a sustained mental effort at least as strong as his distrust, the lethal fumes of this book shall dissolve his soul as water does sugar. It is not right that everyone read the pages that follow: a sole few will savour this bitter fruit without danger. As a result, wavering soul, before penetrating further into such uncharted barrens, draw back, step no deeper. Mark my words: draw back, step no deeper, like the eyes of a son respectfully flinching away from his mother’s august contemplation, or rather, like an acute angle formation of cold-sensitive cranes stretching beyond the eye can reach, soaring through the winter silence in deep meditation, under tight sail towards a focal point on the horizon, from where there suddenly rises a peculiar gust of wind, omen of a storm. The oldest crane, alone at the forefront, on seeing this, shakes his head like a rational person and consequently his beak too, which he clicks, as he is uneasy (and so would I be, in his shoes); whilst his old, feather-stripped neck, contemporary of three generations of cranes, sways in irritated undulations that foreshadow the oncoming thunderstorm. After looking with composure several times in every direction with eyes that bespeak experience, the first crane (for he is the privileged one to show his tail feathers to the other, intellectually inferior cranes) vigilantly cries out like a melancholy sentinel driving back the common enemy, and then carefully steers the nose of the geometric figure (it would be a triangle, but the third side, formed in space by these curious avian wayfarers, is invisible), be it to port, or to starboard, like a skilful captain; and, manoeuvring with wings that seem no larger than those of a sparrow, he thus adopts, since he is no dumb creature, a different and safer philosophical course.

– Isidore Lucien Ducasse.

Born April 4, 1846 in Montevideo, Uruguay
Ethnicity: French
Residences: Paris, Tarbes, Pau, France, Montevideo, Uruguay,
Died November 24, 1870 in Paris, France
Nationality: French
Language: French

Little is known about Isidore Lucien Ducasse, who later took the pseudonym Le Comte de Lautreamont. He was born in Montevideo, Uruguay on April 4, 1846 to a French Consular Officer and his wife. His mother died when he was 18 months old, a suspected suicide. His youth in Uruguay remains a mystery, though we know that during this Ducasse’s youth civil wars and outbreaks of cholera beset the region.

When Isidore was 10, his father returned to France briefly and left young Ducasse with relatives in Tarbes to finish school. Isidore attended a couple of lycées in Tarbes and Pau where he was remembered as sullen introvert with a sharp voice and a distant, haughty demeanor.

At school, Lucien displayed a dislike for Latin and Mathematics, but showed interest in literature. He dismayed his teachers with ‘excesses of thought and style’, which, oddly, would later earn him a permanent place in French literature. After leaving school at 19, it is speculated that Ducasse traveled, perhaps to visit his father in Uruguay or in the Bordeaux region in France where he may have made literary contacts. Lucien received an allowance from his father that ensured him a comfortable living situation during his travels.

In 1867 or 1868, Lucien moved to Paris to study at the Polytechnic or School of Mines, though no enrollment records exist. While in Paris, most scholars assume he began composing Maldoror, (a name that has received various interpretations, from ‘dawn of evil’ to ‘evil from the beginning.’). Lucien took his own pseudonym, Lautreamont, presumably from Eugene Sue’s novel “Lautreamont”, which features an arrogant and blasphemous hero similar to Lucien’s Maldoror character. His publisher said that Lautreamont ‘only wrote at night seated at his piano. He would declaim his sentences as he forged them, punctuating his harangues with chords on the piano.’

In 1868, Lautreamont traveled to Uruguay to show his father the first part of Maldoror and get him to finance its publication. The first canto was published anonymously in 1868. Lautreamont arranged to have the entire work published a few months later by a Belgium printer who was partners with Lautreamont’s French publisher, Albert Lacroix, who had worked as an editor for Emile Zola, Victor Hugo, and Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. The book was printed in the summer of 1869, but Lacroix and company feared prosecution because of the blasphemous and obscene nature of the work and never put the book on sale. Lautreamont pressed his publishers to release the book to no avail.

A year later, Lautreamont wrote them about his new collection of poems, a seeming negation of Maldoror that spoke of ‘hope, faith, calm, happiness and duty.‘Lautreamont did not complete this work, nor did he see his Maldoror available to the public during his lifetime.’

Lautreamont died November 24, 1870 in a Paris hotel room at the age of 24. In 1874, after the publishing house changed hands, Lautreamont’s works were finally made available to the public, but this initial publication met with little commercial success. It was not until a Belgian literary journal published Lautreamont’s work in 1885 that his work began to emerge from obscurity and find an audience among the literary avant-garde.

It was the 1927 publication of Lautreamont’s work in a magazine entitled, “At Any Cost” released by the Surrealists Philippe Soupault and Andre Breton that assured Lautreamont a permanent place in French literature, and conferred the status of The Patron Saint of the Surrealist movement.

Les Chants de Maldoror is considered to have been a major influence upon French Symbolism, Dada, and Surrealism. Several editions of the book have included lithographs by the French symbolist painter Odilon Redon. Surrealist painter Salvador Dalí also illustrated one edition of the book. The Italian painter Amedeo Modigliani used to carry a copy around in Montparnasse and quote from it. The outsider artist Unica Zürn was also influenced by it in writing her The Man of Jasmine. William T. Vollmann mentioned it as the most influenced book for his writing life.

 

To Read The Songs Of Malador In French ?

http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=2042913

Sources:

WIKIPEDIA


Collected Poems Article, 2006.

Engelhardt Publishes His Collected Poems

MICHAEL ECK Special to the Times Union
Section: Arts-Events, Page: H1

Date: Sunday, October 29, 2006THE LAST CIGARETTE : R.M. Engelhardt

THE LAST CIGARETTE : R.M. Engelhardt

R.M. Engelhardt wears black sunglasses in the shade. He chain-smokes Djarums until his head is wreathed in a clove-scented cloud. And, in the middle of the day, he sucks down coffee like a trucker on a midnight run.

Engelhardt, in case you haven’t already figured it out, is a poet. But he doesn’t just walk the role, he talks it, too. In fact, he’s been speaking his poetic mind in public for more than a decade, at least on occasion as the host the long-running Vox and School of Night readings series, both of which he founded, fostered and produced at local nightclubs. Engelhardt, 42, is one of the leading lights of the Albany poetry scene, and he is finally, rightfully, celebrating himself with the publication of “The Last Cigarette: The New & Collected Poems of R.M. Engelhardt” on his own Dead Man’s Press.

He calls the work, which includes selections previously published in journals, online magazines and in his own chapbooks, “a handbook of my life.”

Q: Why do you write poetry?

A: Why do people breathe? Why do people make music?

I’ve been writing since I was a kid. I wrote a Greek myth when I was 12 years old. We were studying Greek myths and my sixth-grade teacher freaked out. That was my first clue it was like, hmmm, I did something interesting.

When I was about 15 years old, I was a Doors fan. I liked Jim Morrison and all that. Then I read (Danny Sugerman’s Morrison biography) “No One Here Gets Out Alive” and he made references to Blake and Rimbaud and other poets. Of course, being an introverted, quiet kid, in junior high, with glasses, the whole thing, I spent my time in the library, in the corner, reading all those books.

I started writing a lot at that time. It’s just a part of life. It’s who I am.

Q: Your work has been published and you’ve performed it as well, which do you prefer, the page or the stage?

A: Actually, I’m more partial to the page. I’ve written more than just poetry. I’ve written prose pieces and things like that, which are also in the book. I like the craft of writing itself.

I do enjoy performing, but I find lately that I’m staying in more and writing, rather than going out all the time.

It’s kind of crucial that you have a place where you can share your work with other people and perform your stuff and get feedback on it, but as I’m getting older I see that the form and the style in the clubs is changing, with poetry slams and poetry battles.

I’m old-school, and my style is different from what’s coming out now. You won’t see me doing any slams in the future. I’ve done them before, but it’s not for me.

Q: Why Albany?

A: I’m a sixth-generation Albanian. That’s one reason. My family’s been here since 1890.

Albany is where I grew up. It’s a part of me. A lot of people I know have died here. Their memories are here. It’s my city. It’s my town.

I tried Florida, just to see what it was like. I thought maybe I would stay in the Keys there’s a great quality to the way it’s laid back there but the funny thing was, I had nothing to write about. It wasn’t like Hemingway-land. It was more geared toward parrots, bad shirts and rich eccentrics with long beards.

Albany is it. I’ll probably live here the rest of my life.

Besides, in Florida it was very hard to find clove cigarettes.

Q: If you could trade places with one writer, who would it be?

A: I’d love to be in the Renaissance era, when poets were rock stars. But if it had to be one person, it would probably be Baudelaire or Poe but hopefully with a happier life and a nicer mustache.

Since I was a kid, Poe has been one of those influences that’s been inescapable. His work, his stories, they’re phenomenal. He had an imagination like you wouldn’t believe. At the same time I wouldn’t want to end up in his shoes. He died alone, and nobody wants to die alone.

Q: What do words mean to you?

A: Words are powerful. Words make a difference. They can create and destroy. They can open doors and close doors. Words can create illusion or magic, love or destruction. … All those things.

Michael Eck, a freelance writer from Albany, is a frequent contributor to the Times Union.

****FACT BOX:****

Verse and a `Cigarette’

Here are excerpts from R.M. Engelhardt’s “The Last Cigarette”:

“THE LAST CIGARETTE”

I think of you tonight

As I smoke my last cigarette.

I inhale

And in the smoke

I see you

Disappear…

_____________

http://www.scribd.com/doc/17440405/THE-LAST-CIGARETTE-THE-COLLECTED-POEMS-OF-RM-ENGELHARDT-19892006-Read-in-Fullscreen

A Review Of “Versus” By R.M. Engelhardt

“Versus” by R.M. Engelhardt

"Versus" ~Poems By R.M. Engelhardt 2010

Friday, June 25th, 2010~

Reviewed By Lynn Alexander * Full Of Crow

“Versus”, R.M. Engelhardt

Pushing verses

Past their limits

R.M. Engelhardt acknowledges that there is a difference between the passive participant and those who live a passion-driven life, but can often be seen in “Versus” wondering if there is a difference in the end. Passion clearly perpetuates the creative  imperative, manifest in poets like Engelhardt as non-negotiable, but to what end? There comes a time in the life of the poet where this question has to be dealt with. It is one thing to accept the terms of “the muse”. It is another to toil in the direction of some outcome, some goal. What, beyond that yielding and succumbing, is the poet desirous of? Fame, significance, appreciation, relevance? 

The poet succumbs because he or she must, but it doesn’t end there. The poet is driven to more just as the living are driven to interact in this world beyond survival. We do more than eat and breed and sleep, there is something that pushes us. But why?

In the years that I have been aware of Engelhardt’s work, it is this willingness to examine these concerns head on and in a surprisingly candid manner that I think captures my interest the most in his work, which often gets into the problematic terrain of ego, and the ways that we relate to one another through not only our life’s work but through love and community. He states rather directly in “Versus” that poetry is dead, he comments on the state of popular culture and asks the obvious questions about the poet’s role in it. Why bother, and why persist?

Persistence, I think, is the theme in Engelhardt’s work that prompts people to characterize him as “romantic” as many of the poems convey a sense of pining, portraying people desirous not only of love but of transcendent relationships. “She believes in something unseen”, (8, “Perhaps”) “I’m just sick of passing romances”. (“In Cleopatra’s Eyes”, 9)

In ‘Versus”, we see that relationship between the speakers and both issues: wanting to do more than write, wanting to do have more than a date on a Saturday night. (“toys”, 6, “More than just another dance”, 2) This idea of wanting more, wanting to believe in and have faith in that but at the same time considering one’s observations and wanting to be rational.

Persistence then is challenged by cynicism, both inner and external:

“The time for poets has passed”

“And someone once told me that honest people don’t exist anymore in the 21st century”

“And someone once told me ‘That love…is dead.”

Do we persist, press on anyway? In “Naïve”,  Engelhardt describes the urge to avoid the trainwreck. In “Truth” we see people opening boxes, digging through metaphorical “boxes” of expectations mingled with mythology. What happens when people confront truth? Some thrive, some perish, some vanish immediately in the sight of their realizations. This brings us back, again and again, to the questions in “Versus”. What are we after? And can we get there?

‘We all grow older/Still trying to find our way/Like children” (“Any Day Now”, 11)

Many poets grapple with a maturing phase not unlike the point around mid-life when one begins to really take stock about where to put energy, what to be concerned with and what to let go of. Some describe it much like finding their way, having gone through what some describe as a period similar to the honeymoon phase of a relationship. There are burdens in the poet’s world, choices about resources and time and energy and in the beginning there can be a sense of eventual payoff that in later years we learn can be quite elusive. There’s no denying that Engelhardt has love for the craft, but he pushes us to consider what that means, and to perhaps distinguish between the love of writing and the expectations. In some instances, the object of love can be easily interchangeable with “the muse” as both are subjects in these poems of that transcendent longing. The love that leaves for the man who promises everything, the “angel” who vanishes, the losses are connected: the poet wants to believe in more, wants to have faith in more, but life can be a series of losses, followed by grief.

Engelhardt closes “Versus” with a shout-out to those who persist, who don’t give up, who keep searching and don’t give in, who stay true to the realm of dreams.

A Review Of “Versus” By R.M. Engelhardt

The 2011 Albany Wordfest~National Poetry Month

2011 AlbanyWordfest

In celebration of National Poetry Month, Albany Poets is proud to

present the 2011 Albany Word Fest featuring the poetry,

spoken word, and music of upstate New York.  This year’s event will

take place on Saturday, April 16, 2011 at The Linda

(339 Central Ave., Albany).

This year’s event is the 10th anniversary of the Albany Word Fest and with

that in mind, Albany Poets is promising big things.

Thom Francis, Albany Poets President, says, “When we started

this event ten years ago on a Saturday afternoon in Thatcher Park,

we never thought it would become one of the biggest ‘mark-your-

calendar’ events of each and every year. We are very proud of

how we have been able to continue hosting one of the biggest

poetry open mics in upstate New York for ten years.”

The 2011 Albany Word Fest will kick-off with the 12-Hour Open

Mic at 7:00AM at The Linda. Albany Poets Vice President

Mary Panza says, “After the success of the last two 12-hour open

mics, we have decided to do it again, but this time, during the day.

This will give poets a better opportunity to share their work and

also give the audience more time to appreciate the talent in the

poetry and spoken word community.”  This open mic for poetry and

spoken word will be held from 7:00AM – 7:00PM.

Poets who wish to participate in the open mic can sign up online

by going to the Albany Word Fest website, www.albanywordfest.com

until 5:00pm on Friday, April 15.  Performers will also have a limited

opportunity to sign up at the event itself.  Each poet will have 10 -15

minutes to share their work. The open mic is open to all poets and

spoken word artists with no style or content restrictions. 

After the Open Mic, starting at 7:00PM, the 2011 Albany Word Fest

brings the annual Psycho Cluster F*#k to the The

Linda featuring poetry, music and spoken word from upstate New

York artists David Fey, Olivia Quillio, Avery, Daniel Nester,

Poetyc Vyzyonz, Mother Judge’s Open Mic Showcase, Metroland’s

Best Poets of 2011: Mary Panza, R.M. Engelhardt, and KC Orcutt,

and much more.

Admission for this event is $10.00. Tickets will be available for purchase on

The Linda’s website and at the door on the day of the event. This event is

open to all ages ( 21+ with a picture ID required to drink). 

The 2011 Albany Word Fest is sponsored by Albany Poets, McGeary’s,

The Linda, and the very generous donations of supporters of the arts

in upstate New York.

The 2011 Albany Wordfest~National Poetry Month

A 21st Century Dirge For America

A TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 

DIRGE FOR AMERICA
"Don't Tread On Me"


Another dead song for a dead man

A dead art in no man’s land.

“CENSORED”


For Being REAL
As they stop the world,
Judge and destroyall that which theycannot make
Or see.   

FOR WE THE PEOPLE BELIEVE IN


Anarchy Archery Douche-Beggary38 Flavors & Fifty Stars Officially
And nothing more.
For to say the least  it’s yourApathy Banality AbsolutelyAn Analogy, Abruptly. America SoBlow MeFrom Sea to Shining Sea &Lovingly Bitterly Swallow Me

In Poverty


“Amen”


Or ? You can Literally Be, Continue In The Middle OrSee-Dream OfVespucci, Liberty With SymmetrySynchronicity or Being

True.


So Are We Truly  Free? 
Re-discovered or The Undiscovered CountryLand Of The BraveThat Has Never Truly Ever Seen


DEATH.


“Up-Close” 


So America I ask you beg you Please;

To 
Tax Me Take Me Fuck Me Love Me And Then Silently Leave Me
In The Dark.
But Please,Don’t Use Me, Tread On MeAbuse Me or Ever Break My Heart
“Again”
For NowLady Liberty is walking the streets & Looking To Make A Buck, & Is   Saying  “Heeeeeeeyyyy Chhhhiiiinnnna”
How Are You?
While, like an angry lover, Jealous, she watches your 
EVERY 
“Move”
And Domestically, MajesticallyAnd Carefully
She says ever so softly; PAY UP.
So,
Democrat Republican Soccer Mom White or BlackWelcome to the Homeland The Tea Party & The Land Of The Numb


WHERE WE THE PEOPLE, ONCE BELIEVED


Once …

BELIEVED
In This, This World 


 IN FREEDOM

And Not Merely
The Dead Sound, Dull Thud Of It,As It’s Soul Is Bleeding Out.

(Don’t Tread On Me)


________________


R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011

_________________





http://www.wikio.com