Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol.
The poem is much better than its title.
Well, Daniel B., I meant it both as an homage and as a jest. I feel Andy's artwork was cynical more about industrial society than art. And his use of repetition I would even consider a form abstract expressionism itself. I feel every art movement has made valid strides, and great contributions. I love Mark Rothko! You should check out my poem, Poem Fields based on his concept. I'm not a big fan of Pollock, but I recognize his work and process. Check out Like Pollock Does Art.
I called your humor in your ARS POETICA poem an example of wit. Well, this one is also witty. You go right to the essence of Warhol's art which was REPETITION and REPLICATION. I am not a fan of Andy Warhol because he made his art from a core of cynicism (that's my view) and he hated the Abstract Expressionists like Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock whom I revere. Your poem is clever: it uses Warhol's own technique to point out his shortcomings. (However, if I am misinterpreting you, and you meant this poem as a homage, I'll forgive you!)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Daniel, First off, thank you for your interpretation of my poem,53. Actually, it was a poem I wrote several weeks ago when my best friend was an inch away from his death in the ICU. I was hoping that God would show Grace to him. He was not a believer, and I had plenty of chances while he was healthy to at least share some semblance of the promises of faith, and I did not act. It was a poem of personal guilt and one of hopeful Divine redemption. Your Andy Warhol poem gave me a chuckle, as I live in Pittsburgh where the Warhol Museum is located and is the birthplace of Warhol(real name, Worhola) . I've never been a fan of his and could never figure out his celebrity talent. To me he was an assembly line painter of cans of foods you would be able to purchase for a nickel when he painted them. Honestly, I haven't a clue about your ulterior thoughts on this poem, but you have opened up a can of worms for unappreciative art cynics such as myself! No soup for you! Keep up your writing. It is very well thought out and delivered. Thanks again. P.S. If you have an inkling, read my poem, The Actual Arena.