I was cleaning up my bookmarks today, and accidentally clicked on a Deviantart bookmark. For the uninitiated, Deviantart is one of the largest online art communities out there. Since the browser already loaded up the page, I decided to browse around for a bit. A few minutes in, I found something remarkable.
I came across a Deviantart user by the name of carriezona.
She finds poetry on pages of books by connecting words together; words that are not intended by the original author to be together; words that form poetic sentences that touch upon, albeit ever so slightly, the original meaning of the text but through a whole different form of literature.
This is found poetry, and below are a "few" of my favorites.
(I've typed out each poem in plain text in case the original is hard to follow. Best results if you keep an open-mind about how words are used here; I know some of these poems may read a bit disjointedly!)
The books separated him,
He would wait for that time alone.
Reasons to live:
A few friends
The gravity insisted upon daybreak,
The new day became any other,
All sober and smiling.
Heaven is anywhere.
No explanation needed :)
One night I went to him,
And I offered my soul.
About getting swept up in love.
Two in perfect unity,
A number created heaven for the universe,
To bond and fuse,
Into all things and one but two,
Understand that your soul is not bound by,
Three-dimensional earthly existence.
In my nature is one who wishes to know himself,
I am a sleeping thought that does not cease thinking.
I am the dream that I see and feel I am.
We are all in the circle together,
Drawn to the center.
The world is engulfed in battle,
Lest we reach the sublime.
Men of language speak,
And their souls confuse words,
With machines as neither should think,
On their own,
Yet they have a mind,
As any of us do.
But swaying unevenly to and fro,
Motion again shook them,
Shaken threshing borne away,
And from one,
All things began to form.
Love is a spark of light,
Dazzling blaze of flame,
Like accidents which happen,
In the untempered heat we feel.
Death is a reshuffling,
Of bodies and truth,
Whose order is changed,
Taking away everything else,
And leaving some raw fire.
His hands began to seek,
And found me in forever.
How to look at trees and recognize something beautiful,
In the formation of an ordered beauty as to catch the eye,
And discover the secret of the whole,
Such is the grandeur against the sky,
And we are the broken light silhouette of.
True meaning appears to anyone who can see,
That his mind is not a copy,
But a thing-in-itself embodied in significance,
Never bound to reality.
Let the thing we mean to be,
Know the thing we feel we are.
Life is inertia,
Ever losing something under the setting sun,
Echoing the same word over again,
Let me shoot the arrow of chaos into your creation,
And become an invented being.
"Why?" I asked,
And the world answered,
With centuries of carnage and selfish quietness.
There was a secret of the world,
That would be unaware of me.
The night overtakes us in an eager desire.
We soon lost sight of the sun.
We go seeking looking for a conscious meaning,
I doubt if there are any who know it knowingly.
I thought to myself, he would...
...he would...would be...
He would see,
He is so a part of the cosmos in me.
He knew the danger of passion,
Formed in the hollows like breath in the lung.
The heart is always feeding the visions.
To find a proper burn,
They trace the path into the ground,
With atomic rays.
The feeling of gravity,
Keeps us down.
The passing through time,
Is a new blood falling into that one hollow heart,
One hundred times a day.
Yesterday is almost like a moment in my mind,
A well-furnished collection of memories that,
I forgot at the time.
Distance and time,
"I, uh stumbled into a moment."
The city is desolate,
With a weeping recollection of joy.
These lights replaced the forest,
Arcades of foliage,
Broken by lines of avenue,
You have all my heart,
You have me.
Why shouldn't the cat have a pretty thin story,
He threw it downstairs across the fireplace,
He was clearly an expert.
The cat could not be trusted.
And there was the evening breeze on his neck and he knew.
But what is a man?
An unravel of flesh and bones,
And the soul.
Subtle like vapour,
I was a thought,
I had to feel to be.
At the beginning,
He wrote of the end.
Carrie no longer updates her Deviantart page as often as before, but you can find her and her found poetry project at her tumblr page here: http://foundpoetries.tumblr.com/.
I've sent her an email asking for an interview, and will update this blog post with the interview!