Oulipo

I got invited to join a poetry group that meets once a month and does critique of each other's poetry online the rest fo the month. A chance to meet new people and enter different poetry circles. In the latest email, I received the explanation of Oulipo, which coincides with my French 1A studies and the kali poetry manuscript I'm writing.

One difficulty of writing poetry is the possibility of everything. Every topic, every style, is at the fingertips of the writer. But what happens when that everything is restricted? If it's the same as energy as in kali, the structure, the restriction can create a sharper slow that can be controlled based on how much one restricts the flow of energy. Particularly in the "prisoner's restraint" below, it reminds me of a story about how Billy Joel would play on a piano with keys that were broken or missing and how he would simply figure out how to write or play a song not involving those keys. How does creating this restriction cause one to see something new, see something differently than before?

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Oulipo stands for "Ouvroir de littérature potentielle", which translates roughly as "workshop of potential literature". It is a loose gathering of French-speaking writers and mathematicians, and seeks to create works using constrained writing techniques. It was founded in 1960 by Raymond Queneau and Francois Le Lionnais. Other notable members include novelists Georges Perec and Italo Calvino , and poet and mathematician Jacques Roubaud.

The group defines the term 'littérature potentielle' as (rough translation): "the seeking of new structures and patterns which may be used by writers in any way they enjoy".

Constraints are used as a means of triggering ideas and inspiration, most notably Perec's "story-making machine" which he used in the construction of Life: A User's Manual. As well as established techniques, such as Lipograms (Perec's novel A Void) and palindromes , the group devises new techniques, often based on mathematical problems such as the Knight's Tour of the ches-board and permutations.

Constraints

Some Oulipian constraints:

The "N+7" method: replace every noun in a text with the word that falls 7 places ahead of it in the dictionary. Thus "Call me Ishmael. Some years ago..." (from Moby Dick) becomes "Call me islander. Some yeggs ago...".

The prisoner's constraint (a.k.a the "macao" constraint) consists of writing a text using no letters with legs (i.e., b, d, f, g, h, j, k, l, p, q, t, and y are banned).

Snowball: a poem in which each line is a single word, and each successive word is one letter longer.


Here's a oulipo poem . . .

I. Hervé Le Tellier, All Our Thoughts (excerpts):
I think of you.

I think I'm wrong to write my love letters on a computer and print them. There have been complaints. What do they want me to do? Recopy the text that's on the screen?

I think that in the lavatory, just before I flush, I can't help looking at the contents of the toilet bowl.

I think the exact shade of your eyes is No. 574 in the Pantone color scale.

I think that with a little bit of imagination it's hard to be faithful, but that with a huge amount of imagination it may be possible.

I think that I don't have much imagination.

I think that certain free-thinking dogs only half believe in the existence of man.

I think that I regret nothing, not even you. Stop, that was meant to be funny.

I think that often I'm sexually attracted to women that I would never dare introduce to my friends.

I think it would have been better if I'd shut up.

I think that during the fifteen seconds spent in an elevator with a pretty woman it is virtually impossible to reveal one's intelligence, charm, and sense of humor.

I think that if I taught drawing, I would have my students draw the Mona Lisa's feet.

I think that with pretty women I try to seem as intelligent as they are beautiful and that I'll never succeed.

I think that I have never spent an evening with a woman without thinking, even if only for a moment, of another woman.

I think you look like the Mona Lisa. You always seem to be at a window admiring the landscape that is actually behind you.

I think that every time I try to take off my pants with my shoes on I find myself in a ridiculous situation.

I think that if I had a better sense of humor, life would be even more depressing.

I think that I'd like being a ventriloquist in order to listen to the statues in church.

I think I like brunettes, whatever color their hair is.

I think that the pretty brunette to whom I mentioned E.M.Forster and who asked "Who?" never realized how much she contributed to my personal stability.

I think that it's fairly true that after lovemaking the first one who speaks says something stupid.

I think Hitler was at least useful in showing that being fond of dogs doesn't mean anything.

I think that the logic of religious faith is war.

I think one always opens one's mouth when spoonfeeding a baby.

I think that there must be a good reason for the Mona Lisa's fame and that I don't know what it is