My (Computer's) Wallace Stevens: A Cento

—a composition made from documents on my 2019 MacBookPro, activated via search > Wallace Stevens, which produced files from June 2019–Dec. 6, 2004; lines extracted after searching "Stevens" within a document and selecting the line(s) featuring that term OR the first sentence/lines of the document. Lines are sometimes made to enjamb. If documents repeated in several forms over many years (and several did), and I got bored, I occasionally skipped them, or chose another line/sentence from the document. Documents were searched in reverse chronological order, as presented by my search window. This Cento obviously fails the rigorous test of procedural/uncreative/etc. writing. It may fail many other tests as well, including Stevens's "It must give pleasure."

My (Computer's) Wallace Stevens: A Cento.

Oh but Georges Enesco.

Thinkers without final thoughts: Notational Sufficiency?

Attention, Possession, Notation—THE WORLD

AS MEDITATION, Maureen Noelle McLane.

The sey was In, at thai stoppyt and stud. On loud he criyt and bad thaim tak the flud.

Graden Floe and the other sea quags that fortified the shore against invaders.

Then there came a single call on the sea-pipe, and that was the signal.

His sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow.

"He was a seaman," said George Merry, who was examining the rags of clothing. "Leastways, this is good sea-cloth."

Salgada, the Plant call'd Sea-pot-herb.

Most musical most melancholy bird a nightingale is not that said Coleridge exasperated by Milton and Wallace Stevens never heard a nightingale though yes he several times said blackbird.

Toward the end of his life, Wallace Stevens admitted to himself that he was not quite human. "Life is an affair of people not of places," he mused to himself, "but for me life is an affair of places." Wallace Stevens sometimes cried before he set out for the insurance office; most times he swallowed the cry in his throat and walked the streets of Hartford, Connecticut, in as meticulous and composed a fashion as he could muster. Some have said he suffered in a loveless marriage; others have commented on the effects of segregation in his life—his ability to cut off his writing from the workaday week. This segregation saved him, in one sense. It kept a certain violence just below the surface.

Everywhere in Stevens's poetry, some critics say, one can find marks of bourgeois displacement—the hallmark of false consciousness. Wallace Stevens created beautiful things in the midst of a neat but squalid life of regulated industry. But Wallace Stevens suffered even before his loveless marriage, because he knew he was not, could never be, quite human. He wrote exquisitely human, false things out of his real not-quite-humanity. In the next world he avoids Milton, because Milton was exceedingly human and created out of himself the most inhuman poetry in the English language. In heaven, Wallace Stevens is afraid of John Milton.

Vagrancy in the Park:

"They will get it straight one day at the Sorbonne."

We will be expecting to receive all revised chapters by September 1, 2016.

No one living a snowed-in life / can sleep without a blindfold.

My one eye / does not match—The Friends and Enemies of Wallace Stevens

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a White Man: Hop for probe-quash.

Capable hymen, tho.

In his notebooks, Wallace Stevens wrote, "Poetry is, (and should be,) for the poet, a source of pleasure and satisfaction, and not a source of honors."

Can all men, together, avenge / One of the leaves that have fallen in autumn?

The world is what you make of it: Recommended Hotels in Paris: All suggested hotels are very well located on the historic Left Bank.

My Wallace Stevens is an insurgent inchling in the bristling forest and a stolid giant rolling metaphysical rhymes down the mountain.

Here's an updated document with practical arrangements.

ITALY TRIP JUNE 2017.

TUM-Ti-TUM: Ploughing on Sunday

The poems in this collection were originally published in the following—

Vagrancy in the Park.

I don't hate poetry, nor do I love it.

In...