Friday, September 29, 2006


JH: To purpose the poem is to provide its first word, a word invisible to the reader, but a word not necessarily unutterable, since it may be utterable as "This poem is an elegy.". What then when the word isn't present to anyone but the author (in the case of an extremely personal impetus) or even to the author (the very first sonnet, or the very first poem in a literary movement yet to be named)? It doesn't bother me to purpose a poem. Sometimes a word arrives to begin the poem invisibly, sometimes visibly. In my latest GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE poem the last word of a line (the first, processionally) is in a phrase from which the last word is extracted to move down future lines, answering the question of where, in the GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE, does the processional word come from, and raising the question of where does the phrase come from. The processional word is included in a phrase only in its first and last appearance, in its other appearances the phrase is invisible, though the word is visible. The word "marble", for example, does not get a second visible phrase, but the reader knows "marble" is due for one. The phrase is not repeated the same way so the invisible phrase cannot be read, whether mentally or visually. It may be read imaginatively, but not the same from reader to reader or reading to reading. No other word in a phrase is repeated throughout the poem. The processional word in the first phrase (the first phrase to be read, actually the last phrase in the procession), or, rather, in the phrase at the beginning of the first visible line of the poem, and the processional word in the phrase at the end of the final visible line are indeterminate, lost as they are in a phrase whose each word is distinct from any word in the poem.


thought thee diminished; knit; just; dear; wrought our fall
with graces knit; just; dear; fall; diurnal star leaves cold this night
just the unjust will save; dear; fall; leaves; forget thyself to marble
Parthenope's dear tomb; fall; leaves; marble; might that noise reside
fall in universal ruin; leaves; marble; noise; languished hope revived
leaves of an unvalued book; marble; noise; hope; sceptre or quaint staff

The poem does not end with ellipsis points, as do other poems in this series, as this could indicate words omitted from the phrase. The introduction of this poem into this discussion presents this poem as an enactment of the word that appears from a mass of other words, on the page or in the poet's head, to begin a poem or to begin a line. A poem breaks free, and is open, but does it free itself, or open itself? Does a poem need the reader to do this for it? The poem is self-contained, so why shouldn't the interpretation/content (one, interpretation or content, cannot exist without the other?) be self-contained? The poem as an elevated speech (whether W.B. Yeats or Edgar Guest) whose message is humanly simple but whose language runs alongside the language it is written in (each word a pun whose second meaning, whose very status as pun, is lost on the human reader/auditor). The word arriving from nowhere could present the poet with an opportunity to use the comprehensible half of this pun to attempt to write a grammar of this language. Once the grammar is completed, a different kind of poetry (the word "poetry" as opposed to the word "poems") may be written (perhaps this has already happened), or the need for poetry will be no more, and any poems written from then on are but homages to (as opposed to elegies for) poetry (perhaps they already are). How would we know this grammar is completed? Or, how would we know a significant portion of this grammar has been completed? The attention paid to language in the last two centuries may be an indication that a portion was completed, or is nearing completion.

AHB: Maybe the poem is dead, and Poetry is thinking up another guise for its exhaustive antics. Your questions all seem bundled around whether or not the poem is participating with us readers, or if it has finished and moved on. Looking at some middle of the road poetic claptrap today, I won't bother to name the perps, and the form of so many of these poems, even the ones I enjoyed or respected, seemed plain done. poetry, however, goes on. the problem with those MOR poetry volumes is an attenuation of force (not a bang, a whimper). we've heard poems such as these, seemingly can't avoid them. it would be nice to call them bad poems, but that's not enough, nor is it accurate. many are crummy exercises, but not all are. the poems bother me with their complacency. these poems survive because they are familiar, obeying the strictures. the grammar, as you say, is completed. I don't mean my stance to sound so snotty, but I think there's a genre of comfortable poems. those are poems that are content in their restrictions. Poetry, on the other hand, is the vast question mark addressed to language. Poetry trumps poem every time. a poem is a microcosmic possibility, a point on the map. I don't know if I am answering any of your questions. I see in them a sense of poetry as a process of agitation. a general ennui signals that the grammar has been completed. the US Poet Laureates have, in recent years (not that I've paid much attention to these lofty figures of Parnassus), been big on developing ways to trick people into liking poetry. they may convince some few to like certain poems, but poetry requires an inspired dedication. homages are the last hint of the freshening wave.

Monday, September 18, 2006


JH: Thanks! A plush playground is an apt description of the Wryting list! I don't know why there's a elegiac note to "Knots of Hilda Doolittle" - another knot to untie. Indeed, this nameless series provides a exegetical knot that I'm unmodernly trying to unfasten. What is hidden, what may be non-existent outside the human imagination, may well be elegized, yes? Something has passed, something never seen alive has surely died. To elegize the imaginary mourns the dying of what could not be born, only conceived. To write a poem is not to create, but to memorialize what existed in the poet's mind, unseen by others except through the poet's index of it on the page or in the spoken poem. Much of the description in this series is factual, but from where does it arrive other than in the context of the poem? Nobody asked me, and it's not a plan to educate anyone who would be interested in learning how to tie knots or identify ducks. Such groundless, though factual, information is imaginary. An allusion to Mount Parnassus in a poem gives the name of an actual extra-literary place, as well as line of sight through all texts that have mentioned Mount Parnassus (or words that may be mistaken, unwittingly or punningly, for Mount Parnassus). The name is information, is an index within an index, yet is groundless since the poem does not explicitly call for the entry of Mount Parnassus (even if preceding lines are what may be recognized as a definition of Mount Parnassus, or words commonly associated with Mount Parnassus, as the poem does not explicitly call, and aren't all calls explicit?, for these lines). What does a poem call for? Itself, and any words will do? Why then revision, and willing direction? Are the poem and the imaginary at odds? The poem may not be prime, in the sense that a thought is said to initiate other thoughts. A thought may initiate other thoughts, and amidst these thoughts is the poem (twenty places, nineteen are thoughts; places one through fifteen are thoughts, place sixteen is the poem, places seventeen through twenty are thoughts), which may not have anything to do with the thoughts, only hitching a ride on brain waves. If the poem is at odds with the imaginary, then the elegy has nothing to do with the elegiac. There may be an elegy without an elegiac tone, only words that are commonly associated with the elegiac.

AHB: HD's work always showed a great presence of the past, and this can present an element of elegy to the mind, in reading of those knots. I think, yes, a poem is not prime. even words may not be prime, so many meanings and shades in each. poems exist thru intersection of those colours and meanings and shades. and a shade of elegy could be there, or wonder or what. I think the poem, and art works generally, are attempts at the imaginary. provocations towards some density of the imagined. I recently wrote some poems under a clearly elegiac instigation. William Shatner, Paris Hilton, Flava Flav, H. P. Lovecraft and others flow thru these poems, which surprise even me. I think I needed to remove some of the hoary aspects of the elegy from consideration. the tone remains typically gloomy, but Shatner silliness is my hope to let the elegy free itself, find itself. just as the conjunction of knots and HD in a way frees both. free in the sense that water is free, urging toward boundless. Gray's Elegy, I've always loved that. it's unspecific, guided by landscape. seemingly all these elegiac cribs of Gray's acquaintance manifested themselves in this autumnal mood, or so I infer. in a way, he did what you and I each did, hoping influx from disparate sources can agree as a whole. I think of rewriting mostly as cleaning up the channel thru which flows. I'm always aware of surprises, eager for them, and disappointed when the unsurprising appears. does the idea of writing an elegy, purposing the poem, bother you? in he pieces I mentioned above, I didn't sit down to write elegies, the circumstances were very present.

Friday, September 08, 2006


JH: "We've got Everest in our hands. It purrs, so small in its geologic niftiness." Could you speak about your Everest series (which I'd love to see as a chapbook)? Yes, I've read Aaron Kunin's The Mauberly Series, which I admire, and thanks for reminding me of Steve Benson, whom I haven't read enough, but will soon remedy. I love the theme of allusions in poems, as what allusion is accessible enough to a hypothetical body of readers? You could mention the Statue of Liberty, and there may be someone who hasn't heard of it. What you consider to be a simple word may be for someone tantamount to a scientific term. Conversely, what allusion is rare enough? And, what process complicated enough? To some, an allusion to an ancient Greek religious practice obscure to most classics scholars will be as clear as a reference to the Statue of Liberty. To some, a complex procedure will be clear as 2 + X = 6. So, what is meant to be clear and speed along to the rest of the poem may be a stumbling block for one reader, and what is meant to roughen the texture of the poem or provide freedom of invention through esotericism is clear, fixed, and unobstructive. One of the things I like about the "Tale of the Roving Orange" is it could be oral as well as written, and indeed, could also have never been written, only narrated, whether in print or by voice: "The 'Tale of the Roving Orange' consists of after line of the word 'banana', except at about the center of the word block is the word 'orange'." The poet would then have the option of adding "It is modeled after the knock-knock joke 'orange you glad I didn't say banana?'." and then possibly telling the particular knock-knock joke (any Antic View reader who doesn't know it may Google the punch line we've quoted). We've spoken about print and internet publishing, what about orality? How about memorizing poems (would this necessitate musicality and relative brevity? would some poems be adjudged preferable due to the orator's skill?) and reciting them to people? If poetry is human, why not keep it human, why not make it inseparable from the human body (approximately locatable site of the mind) instead of bringing technology into the matter? Human speech could be for prose and poetry (bonjour, Monsieur Jourdain), and print could be solely for prose, as it was in the beginning, one human speaking poetry to another human, with the poetry more revealed as a result, borrowing none of the authority print offers (confirmation of information's accuracy, reception, and worthiness of remaining preserved).

AHB: my Everest poems came out of reading about Everest climbs, specifically the climbing season, May 1995, when I think it is 8 people died on the mountain. I've read 6 books by people who were on the mountain at the time (I believe 3 more exist), Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air being the most famous. thinking of the personal, local travail, and the heinous political situation 'up there' (I mean Nepal and Tibet, but of course that connects with America's grim ursurpation of elsewheres), just resonated into a 'story' that never really clarifies what it is telling. timor mortis conturbats me, no doubt. your question, 'what allusion is accessible enough to a hypothetical body of readers?' waltzes in nicely because, if you haven't done the particular armchair expedition that I've been on, you'd maybe not 'get' what my Everest rumination wants to be. 'Tale of the Roving Orange' was, in fact, orally presented before I actually saw the text, which itself, I'm guessing, could've been an afterthought. my friend was one of two people I've known whose dreams were a sort of literature. both people could recount their dreams in great, lavish detail. the narratives were specific and extravagant, and you'd have to be Jung on acid to squeeze them into any sort of interpretative compartment. in both cases, these dramatic recitations proved to be their art. orality is an interesting thing. I do not memorize agreeably, it's a labour. but I'm thinking of Robert Genier's recent work, how he has personalized the event. I seem no longer to have a link to the gallery offering some of his prints, which are pen scribblings (I use the word kindly) of words. the particular nerviness of his lines and no one else's. early on, I opted for the keyboard (typewriter, at the time), rather than hand scribble, but the niftiness of type does come at the cost of scribble warmth. I have a book by Frances Yates about memorization in the ancient world, which I've only just begun, but she touches on an interesting problem of how the ancients held on to SO MUCH. the Pali Canon consists of all of the Buddha's many sermons, none of which were originally written. all was memorized and passed down orally. it is humanly possible, and in fact, such crass new phenomena as Youtube can offer a route for oral broadcast. anyway, let me switch gears to more of your recent work, again from our plush playground the Wryting-L listserv.

Knots of Hilda Doolittle


to tie a Bowline Knot

Bowline is tied to:
swift thru dolorous lessers

form an eye

eye is tied to:
ships (schooners) affrighted

with the standing part
of the rope running underneath.

run the free end thru the
dolorous lessers swiftly, then
thru the eye (wide, affrighted
by schooners), making a loop
below said eye. take a turn
the standing part & feed
the free end back down
the eye & hold there.

pull standing part to tighten knot.



the Double Fisherman's Knot
is made by looping a rope
into a figure-8 in order to tie
two ropes together. since beyond
rope, as in breath, is almost certainly
tyranny, it is recommended the
ropes be secured by their ends.
endless amounts of rope is desired.
practical is to tie two ropes into a loop.
the Double Fisherman will make another
knot secure when tied with the tag end
of the rope behind another knot, in other
words, when half of the Double Fisherman
is tied around the standing line of another knot.



to make a Clove Hitch, make a turn
around a post with the free end
running underneath the standing part,
not exactly artistically. was Virginia's idea.
take a second around in the same
direction and feed the free end thru
the eye of the second turn /. pull tight.

It was Virginia's idea to make a Clove Hitch, but Neaera was ready to fall in with it. It was to be done thoroughly and lastingly but not exactly artistically. Virginia and Neaera were war widows and had made a solemn compact to remain widows forever. Ianthe had confessed... As for Appius, he tied very few knots and very few people asked him to tie anything. O, he felt to the full the lure of treading WHERE NO HUMAN FOOT HAD EVER TROD. Ianthe had thrown her wedding-ring at him and flown out of the house. How Virginia and Neaera would show him they were widows indeed!

easy to tie and untie, it holds firmly but is not totally secure.



beware! the Square Knot will untie
itself under movement. do not trust
the Square Knot to join two ropes
together. the Square Knot will capsize
under a heavy load. when tying the Square
Knot, both parts of the rope must exit
together. whence the untrustworthiness
and trickiness of the Square Knot? gather
around: but no, I will breathe not a word,
not until the Double Fisherman runs out of

these are the words he was at last compelled to write.



to tie an Anchor Bend Knot,
make two turns around
the shackle, leaving turns
open. knots may evade us,
as our own features are
less familiar to us, to our.
take a half-turn around
the standing line and
feed the free end thru
the turns and pull tight.

the Anchor Bend Knot was a ruin awash in wilderness when I found it.

* * * * *

this intersection of HD and knot tying just boggles me wonderfully. I can't imagine where you came up with these classical knot tying exegeses, and you don't need to tell me. there's an implied conundrum to all of HD's work. she was an analysand of Freud, and you can hear her questions thruout her work, which I do love. the odd grandeur of the knot explications and HD's charismatic identification with ancient Greece just explodes like fireworks for me. wonderful! I remember in Boy Scouts learning knots, the square's the only one I can tie now. indeed, knots may evade us. I recently saw, on the History Channel, a lump of rope representing the Gordian Knot. of course you would take a sword to it. you would if you were MODERN. HD herself was a kind of battleground between pagan intensity and modern diligence. ah, but why is there an elegiac note to these HD knots?

Thursday, September 07, 2006


JH: I wanted to ask you about your Joan Houlihan poems - the poem you quoted, "honed jewel in hand", is the poem that I had in mind, too! A very fortunate error, the replacement of "i" with "Joan Houlihan". In procedure, the trick is a topic. I don't mind explaining mechanics at all. A question could be, is it useful that a poet present an explanation of procedure together with the poem? If an explanation is provided with the poem, the explanation becomes part of the reader's pre-existing store of information, and then it is no different than when a poem references Caligula without any explanation and the reader already knows who Caligula is. A procedural poem presented to the reader with an explanation can be read as a poem without obtrusive procedure, as when a reader acquainted with sonnets reads a sonnet without being distracted by the sonnet form (with any variation from a traditional sonnet form being noted as a variation and not an invention). However, since a poem is defined, partially, by its self-containment, an explanation, which is defined, partially, as what comes from outside the explained, is unnecessary. The series as a poem: elements of the poem being made clear by precursors intrinsic to the poem: my poem (entry?) P: GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE is explained by (though may be read without reference to anything, even the English language) reference to the main procedure of the GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE series, a sentence of a set number of words (not counting connectors such as "eke", "&", "of", "n", etc) followed by a sentence that is the previous sentence with the first word removed and a new word added to the end (example: "megarynchos of creallocate of sprnyde of lyreams of padmirme / creallocate of sprnyde of lyreams of padmirme of hierxoti") and so on, ending with ellipsis points to indicate the interminability of the poem:


Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginie
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginie Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia
Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia Virginia...

In P: GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE, the last word in line one and the first word in line four is "Virginie". According to the main GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE procedure, "Virginia" is shown to be a connector as well as a mobile word through the placements of "Virginie". "Virginie" needs to move three places in order to get from the position of the last word to the first word. Here's an illustration, using different words, and a connector different from any of these words, instead of all "Virginia":

fish of dog of cat of Virginie
dog of cat of Virginie of mouse
cat of Virginie of mouse of bird
Virginie of mouse of bird of rock

The initial appearance of "Virginie" as the last word in a line of words that are "Virginia" shows that a new word has been added, something not easily seen in prior GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE poems. "Virginie" makes two appearances, its first and its final, in order to show the true appearance, movement, and disappearance throughout the entire poem of the "Virginia" words. The procedure animates words that are static on the page, and differentiates "Virginia" as mobile word from "Virginia" as connector. It is possible to present all 140 words as "Virginia" and present an explanation of the poem (though this would lose the highlighting of the final word in the first line), but to use "Virginie" in two positions refers to the poem GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE (or, to put it another way, whether synonymously or more accurately I don't know, the GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE poems) itself. In addition to speaking more on your Joan Houlihan poems, could you please say a few words about your superb poem "Anglo Saxon Purity"

Marcel Duchamp spoke to me
during the course of the Second world

humans could not budge because
they had webbed jointless limbs

the science of apportionment
division discontinuity

the word “art” interests me
very much if it comes from Sanscrit

as I'm no prophet my job is making
windows where there were once walls

a poeticized culture would not
insist we find the real wall behind

AHB: Joan Houlihan's omnipresence attracted me, when I saw my mistake. one thinks that critics desire omnipresence, as arbiter or whatever. and just the visual insistence of the name. which I've been using in at least 20 poems, probably more. I have no particular animus against Houlihan, except that she's one more critic as distancing factor. me, I would like to get closer to the poem, any poem, not driven away. I've said afore that Jackson Mac Low's procedural notes are part of the poem, and think likewise of Steve Benson. those come to mind immediately. when people read publicly, they often detail the provenance of the work, and it seems essential, at least partly (partial essence, hah!) to do so. Pound and Eliot were my 1st examples of poets who didn't explain allusions and references. and as the young writer who wanted things clear, that was quite aggravating. their assumption, or demand, was that I be well read (in their curriculum). which I guess I proceeded to attempt. not so much for their sake, but that they identified useful centers of concern. your GRANDUNCLE poems grow more interesting to me as each one appears. they make me want to change my routine. which I am resistant to, even as I feel the gravity pull. GRANDUNCLE P reminds me of a poem a friend wrote in high school: “Tale of the Roving Orange”. it consisted of line after line of the word 'banana', except at about the center of the textblock was the word 'orange'. kind of a take off of the knock knock joke (orange you glad I didn't say banana?). seeing your poem made me just about crow, because the process had boiled down to such seeming simplicity, yet a pregnant one. I wonder if you know The Mauberly Series by Aaron Kunin, which can be downloaded here, at he uses a limited vocabulary derived from Pound's series. Kunin is something of a magister, I think. I've taken to Joan Houlihan as a point of obsession. it's good (to me) that she's in Massachusetts, living a couple of towns away (no, I haven't stalked her). local as haven, perhaps. that the gravesites of Thoreau, Emerson and Hawthorn are maybe 3 miles away has a deep effect on me, and Walden Pond some 5 miles. so she works better for me than, say, Harold Bloom, Margorie Perloff (crap, did I misspell her name?), Helen Vendler or whoever might be propounding. perhaps indicative of my commitment (I hope not!), I've had to bend my brain to remember writing "Anglo Saxon Purity". I think the words were all taken from quotes at the beginning of chapters of Trickster Makes the World by Lewis Hyde. I think I took the first line of each quote in the book. I have to read more John Cage, because I know my procedure lacks buddhist purity, there is something wonderful about his willingness to commit to randomness. what I did was semi random. I'm super hankering for Jeff Harrison books, which brings up the big wtf. you've amassed a wicked pile of material, and many others are likewise surfeit with great work that isn't seen enough. my wife wants to design a chapbook for a series of poems I've done (my Mt Everest poems), she has a great vision for its look and visuals. to do it, tho, needs money and it needs time. I believe in DYI (side note: check out Shanna Compton's useful, and let us saying giving (she seems like an angel in gthe nervy poetry world), assistance here) but, you know, logistics. what's to be done? I mean the internet is good, righto, but it aint enough...

Wednesday, September 06, 2006


JH: Yes, I can see them twining. Duncan had the right idea. To put entries in an ongoing series in collections of various poems leaves the series more open. Books as ellipsis points. When I post a poem to the Wryting list, or any list, it has been completed, except for when I go back to change one or two things - such as the title of "Thus, We Speak of the Language of Hopeful No Return". The Wryting list does not bear on my procedure, except as publication. Were there no internet, they would just pile up in a box to be published later in a book and/or singly in magazines. I don't envision publishing a complete collection of the nameless series full of names ("The Ducks of Cotton Mather" being a poem in this series), or having every single poem in this series scattered through several books. It interests me to see how many poems could be omitted with a series still retaining whatever it had to offer (see Antic View 85). If a series of poems is offered complete, is it still a series? Isn't it rather a poem? A long poem? Any long poem, and a series read consecutively or entire counts as a long poem, could do without certain lines - and have lines added to it. So, does presenting a series incomplete prevent it from being a long poem? One could track down every single poem in the series, and still be unconvinced that the poet doesn't have others. The Faerie Queene is incomplete, yet is still a long poem. So the omission of entries in a series more resembles the omission of lines in a lyric poem? If the reader wasn't aware that poems were missing from the series, it's unlikely that the incompletion would be a factor in the reading. So why are all the entries in a series needed? Why would the omission of any entries matter? If one or two entries that were to take the series in a new direction were omitted the series would still be a series. What is the minimum number of poems to make a series? I believe three is the minimum number for a pattern. I think in patterns when it comes to series. So why not just three poems per series? Any poem added to a pattern does not extend the pattern, but places new poems, new patterns even, next to the original pattern - these new poems are at best allusions to the original pattern. One could write a series of series connected by allusions, but doesn't "a series of series connected by allusions" also describe an anthology of poems by different poets from different eras, or a magazine? A book containing poems similar in form, appearance, and word usage allows a reader to look for patterns within one physical location, seeing the poems as related by being in one body. Is any pattern, such as my GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE, capable of thwarting contamination by the very idea of pattern, of being conflated with any poem that has basic similarities such as the English language, enjambment, or punctuation?

AHB: Ya got me. I hadn't thought of a complete series as a poem. well I have but you explain it freshly. I was thinking you have to read Paradise Lost or Dante's Comedy in order, because they are stories, but that isn't the case. things can be read out of chronological order, especially as each story is familiar to most of us even if we haven't read the works. the modernist long poem like The Cantos can certainly be read out of order. there may be value in reading them as presented, but I doubt that it is a necessity. I won't even try to answer your last question. I think I stay in the box too much. yesterday I was doodling up yet another Joan Houlihan poem (I've done at least 20), a flarfy exercise. I wanted to do a find and replace for all I's (1st person singular) in the text. I did it wrong and every 'i' got replaced by 'Joan Houlihan'. usually I just undo the error, but this time I kept it. this is the result:

Joan Houlihan turned to see a long-haJoan Houlihanredfu-manchu LJoan Houlihanmbo to the
"Banana Boat Song" "Thats Stoner rock man! ... lol A fJoan Houlihanrst person narratJoan Houlihanve about growJoan Houlihanng up wJoan Houlihanth a CaucasJoan Houlihanan [wearJoan Houlihanng a banana costume]:

Joan Houlihan'ma prJoan Houlihanvate banana who bruJoan Houlihanses easJoan Houlihanly

Well let me see last tJoan Houlihanme Joan Houlihan checked the WHJoan HoulihanTE men saJoan Houlihand Fu Manchu was tryJoan Houlihanng to unJoan Houlihante all of AsJoan Houlihana to take over the world, hmmm where have Joan Houlihan heard that

"ThJoan Houlihans Joan Houlihans a trJoan Houlihanumph for you, SmJoan Houlihanth," Joan Houlihan saJoan Houlihand "Joan Houlihan wJoan Houlihanll devote the whole of my attentJoan Houlihanon to Dr. Fu-Manchu!" he added grJoan Houlihanmly Fu Manchu could only play for so long onstage '"That Joan Houlihans almost Joan HoulihanncredJoan Houlihanble," Joan Houlihan saJoan Houlihand Fu Manchu plots to assassJoan Houlihannate foreJoan Houlihangn world leaders by usJoan Houlihanng slave gJoan Houlihanrls wJoan Houlihanth poJoan Houlihansoned lJoan Houlihanps

I liked the Joan Houlihan intrusion. I suppose there's a what the hell is this potential for lot of readers. when a procedure is used, doesn't it tempt the reader to explain the trick? is such explanation off topic? where perhaps the reader had ought to enjoy the text as is. I once saw a photographer give a showing of some of his pictures. during the question period, most queries were of the what f stop did you use variety. the photographer became frustrated that people weren't reacting so much to the pictures' effects, were stuck in the technical. does it bother you, on some level, to explain the mechanics of a work of yours? or does such explaining help define the world in which that poem can live, so that the explanation extends the poem's purview?