“I, too, wondered whether I could do ABDUCTIONS something honest to become poor in life. For some time I had been sucessfull at anyjohn rindpest thing. I am fifty five years old now... wafbooks
Finally the idea of in insincerely sincere and I set to work st end of one year I s written to a friend is poetry” he said “ lish part of it.” “ “If I sell some boo seems these are the
nventing something e crossed my mind traightaway. At the showed what I had d publisher. “But it “and I’ll try to pub“Agreed” I replied. oks, I take 10%. It e usual conditions”.
What is poe it is pretent spared in bo sell. And it’s impossible t
etry? In fact tious words ooks hard to s practically to live of it.
My poetry is not art, but it seems as much as possible with art without ceasing to be poetry. I do not care that they regard my poetry as art that it is not. I do not even question poetry (or its medium), except by play, by accident, by imitation, or by foolishness (it may happen). It is an “animal vocation” that ends up registering in several supports. I’ve been writing poetry for forty years and I have not even gotten a penny from it. I don’t mind to be very rich through poems, but I suspect such luck. Glory, as Lowry said, can destroy our life. I want to live it the best I can, and am not willing to sacrifice it for a posterity that I will not live.
It has long been known that art is the ornament of capitalism, despite its self-questioning and denouncing all forms of power on a regular basis. On the contrary, the poet has become increasingly irrelevant in an audiovisual culture. Capitalism cultivates the concept, the idea and the design. Poetry is mostly metaphorical, it is a resistance to the common use of language and intentions, and it is useless. It is often born of unsuitable, non-social creatures, quite the opposite of the entreprising artist who runs about between expositions that try to cover the geography of the planet.
FUCK is the magazine of the assumed failure and of the voluntary complication, out of which only three numbers came out. Confused vocabulary and rehearsed selfdenigration set the tone. Not being a stupid publication, the magazine aspires to a visual intelligence, which is rare among poets. Having poetry a strong visual component, I am astonished at the ignorance of the poets in matters of space, typography and (why not?) ornamentation.
Poetry is an occasion to remix myself. For this I work either with tautologies or with chance. My identity (if I have one) is a discontinuous serial experience. Unlike Wittgenstein and Sol Lewitt, there is nothing mystical about it, nor does it play with the inexpressible or with the silence. If I expose poetry, it is due to ironic exhibitionism. Or to eroticism. It is a resistance to a modesty that is natural to me. I love to contradict it whenever possible.
This book is the result of a drive. It was completed on June 21, 2017. Here on the left is me, John Rindpest, in Madrid, a long long time ago.
if
Art becomes Poetry