User talk:0cakeordeath0

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• Also, are you a fan of Eddie Izzard by any chance? :) WilliamH (talk) 13:50, 17 May 2008 (UTC)[reply]

Please refrain from introducing inappropriate pages such as Wikifiedpoetry, to Wikipedia. Doing so is not in accordance with our policies. If you would like to experiment, please use the sandbox.

If you think that this notice was placed here in error, you may contest the deletion by adding {{hangon}} to the top of the page that has been nominated for deletion (just below the existing speedy deletion or "db" tag), coupled with adding a note on the talk page explaining your position, but be aware that once tagged for speedy deletion, if the article meets the criterion it may be deleted without delay. Please do not remove the speedy deletion tag yourself, but don't hesitate to add information to the article that would would render it more in conformance with Wikipedia's policies and guidelines. Lastly, please note that if the article does get deleted, you can contact one of these admins to request that a copy be emailed to you. Ironholds (talk) 17:16, 19 May 2008 (UTC)[reply]

I do not think that the article constituted vandalism or patent nonsense... It presented a very interesting discussion pertaining to both copyright and wikipedia... If you want to be thoughtless/uncritical about it and call it nonsense or vandalism then you probably should not be in the position of being a "neutral" administrator. I posted the article about someone else's poetic idea and I think that it stands as an interesting artice and point of discussion on wikipedia...Therefore, I will recreate the article with less hypertext and then I think you have no grounds from which to delete it as it stands as an article that describes something "out there" in the world. Please see hyper

Cheers --0cakeordeath0 (talk) 18:05, 19 May 2008 (UTC)[reply]

I will post the Wikified poetry page below as it was online before it was deleted after 2 minutes of publication. This way we might have an interesting discussion surrounding the issues it might raise.

Wikified Poetry is completely written in internal links on wikipedia. This is a way of questioning intellectual property and the distinction between form and content. The poetic of wikified poetry is to situate poetry within the collective web of knowledge by revealing text as encyclopaedic category. Also to ultimately break down the poem into a kind of collective criticism. It also poses a criticism of who a wikipoem should be said to belong to? Does the following poem below belong to T.S. Eliot, The Snark Dance^[1] or to the Wikipedia community? To what extent does meta-text or hypertext recreate old artworks into new artworks? What is the difference between an artist and a thief? This question lies at the very heart of wikified poetry, derivative works and the debate on cultural production and property.^[2]

According to the Vertical Inscriptions^[3]

According to the vertical inscriptions^[4]
The path through which the sun appears ^[5]
is a symbol of christ as the vine which gives ^[6]
acheivements in war and peace^[7]

An enemy chariot, distinctive with its eight-spoked wheels collapses in front of ^[8]
A 3-dimensional model of the heavens^[9]
Such figures lined the spirit roads leading to tombs^[10]
of the eyes, and foreshadows the artistic mannerisms^[11]

Soldiers play catch with enemy heads ^[12]
Wearing the divine tripartite wig ^[13]
The scene is continued to left and right ^[14]
In order to compare them and trace the progress of nations ^[15]

Musicians celebrate with harps and a tamborine^[16]
A vulture plucks at the ^[17]
circles for the tropics of cancer and capricorn^[18]
Driven by a clockwork mechanism housed inside it^[19]

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD ^[20]

APRIL is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu. Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? 'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
'You! hypocrite lecteur!— mon semblable,— mon frère!'