Lately--at blogs and websites
similar to this one--I've been coming across a fair
amount of talk regarding 'found poetry' and the like--
something I haven't been seeing a large amount of
publication space dedicated to for a while.  So I
got to thinking: Have I ever written any found poetry?
or anything at least resembling found poetry?

I started looking through all my files and notebooks
I've kept over the years, right back into the mid 80s,
and lo and behold, I discovered that the two pieces
that come the closest to being examples of 'found poetry'
are two of the earliest things I ever wrote and deemed
worthy (at the time) of stashing away in a bedroom
drawer for 'posterity'.

The first dates from 12th grade when I was about 17
or 18, and consists of little bits and pieces from
the third paragraph of James Joyce's 'Araby'.  The
fractals were the results of circling and shading
cloud-like through the paragraph--a technique I
probably picked up from the artwork used on a
King Crimson album I was listening to quite a
bit during this period.  The original fractals
were "winter came/street/of ever-changing violet,/
The cold air/the silent street./lanes behind
the houses,/cottages, to the/the ashpits,/horse".
My final result after editing was the following:

Winter came
Street of ever-changing violet
The cold air
The silent night
Lanes behind the houses
Leading to the ashpits
The horse shits

Some sense of stupid humour I had, don't you think?

I'll get back to you with the other example later.
I can only send a limited amount of material through
your message box at any given time, and then it
refuses to work....

Rob (R. W. Watkins)


Watkins here again, this time with that other early
attempt at 'found poetry'.

No. 2 dates from the winter of '87-'88, when I
was doing an extra year of high school to compensate
for some missing math credits required for university
acceptance.  While my friend Rodney and I were lazing
around in an empty junior-level classroom during one
of our many free periods, we came upon some girl's
stray notebook, spilling its guts upon the floor.
Hanging out of it was a note, torn into many pieces.
Partly out of nosey laziness, and probably partly out
f teenage horniness, we began piecing the 'puzzle'
together.  Later that night I incorporated it into
the following poem, which--if I recall correctly--
I typed up on one of the machines in the empty
typing classroom the next day....


TRACE ELEMENTS


Dates
Stop
      Listen

               Look  Torn notes in a young girl's book.

May 8/87
Visit old folks' home with Girl Guides

June 2/87
X-rays

June 13/87
School party

June 20/87
Janice's birthday party
Sleep in her new tent

Candles & wishes
Thin paper dishes
The birthday girl has warm blankets
A pretty face...

                & bold thoughts.


If I recall correctly, the young girl Janice
(pronounced Janis) was already rumoured to be
gay or bisexual or something.  That's what I
was probably trying to hint at in the final lines.

Anyway, It's been a larf rereading and reliving
these early Watkins 'masterpieces' and sharing
them with someone.  I hope you got a kick out
of them.  I don't think there have been any other
examples of found poetry in my repertoire in the
years since these early years!

Rob (R. W. Watkins)