Has the poet always been a sort of hacker?

I’m not sure how far back you can go in literary history and make this work, but there’s no question in my mind that poets such as Emily Dickinson, Stéphane Mallarmé, and of course a whole host of experimental early twentieth century poets were pushing up against the limits of what the media of their time could and could not do for/with writing. And to the extent that these poets are engaged in a continuous cycling of tinkering with the limits and possibilities of writing media of their time which in turn re-enlivens our language, it does seem like poetry [defined as such] could be seen as hacking” …

Against the Frictionless Interface! – Monty Cantsin interviews Lori Emerson

Ocean, Death, Passion, Elves, Reading and Friends

Not sure when these are from exactly although I believe they date to around the early-mid Aughts.

Ocean

Walking down the shell lined beach.

Feeling the sand through my toes.

Wind rustling my hair.

Hearing the calm, emptiness.

Peacefully dreaming.

Don’t you wish you were here?

Death

Always there never thinking about it.

Draws closer everyday.

Makes you think of what?

Pain…

Passion

The raw passion inside your body.

Very difficult to control.

When you want to be celibate…

Elves

Tall thin pointy ears.

Wise very old.

Hairless faces.

Very suspicious.

Reading

In your own world.

Solitude and confinement.

Drown your sorrows.

Lives suspended, gaining knowledge.

Friends

We were best friends.

Until you moved.

I lived at school.

Friends no more.

From fall 2012

Written while N is driving a U-haul to NC
If my memory (below is from notes) I saw some wildlife (fowl and hog) early on, towards the Florida/Georgia border.

A day begins. Not a new road traveled but a new trip.
One where I won’t be returning to the same home of, even a few weeks ago.
The fun of traveling, because you must…(because you have to).
Anytime, moving, work or just vacation.
I guess I am receiving that “I want more travel in my life”, aspiration. prayer etc.

High, (as colloquial expression) tired (somewhere in there) and home/love/sick.
Would like to be here seriously, intently with purpose.
Doing so is (would be) a sign of maturity?
People are everywhere, are in everything sick(seek) it all. So do, you know what it is?
You are trying to attain.
Although honestly (perhaps?) not of your own merit…
Is it that the “easy” or “easier way”?
Can you simplify, check in and/or check out?
As a…against what you may not know.

“desolution” a poem (?) from sometime last year…

Recently was tidying up my desk and came across this written on a random piece of scrap paper. It was sharing the “page” with a shopping list and a doodle.

The difference

between loneliness and solitude.

Strength, desolution,

or something else.

Going beyond or returning.

Over and over again.

Which is worse (?), creation or re-creation,

simple or not, so simple…

ed. note: I realized in re-reading this that desolution was really a conjunction in my mind of desolation and dissolution. However, a quick Google search discovered desolution over at the Urban Dictionary. The definition, “Someone/Something that is incredibly awesome and should not be messed with“, which almost I think works better than either of the two original/real options.