Friday, February 25, 2011

"Lay the obscure person against a grid..." / Two Poems over at O Sweet Flowery Roses

Poet-florist Russell Jaffe has put up two poems over at his lovely O Sweet Flowery Roses. May a sunny sun uncurl all his flowers and photosynthesize everyone.

Like this

O Sweet Flowery Roses puts up new poems every few days, so keep sharpish and prevent wilting by checking back. Also(!) they're currently seeking submissions dealing with the very non-flowery business of MMA for their ( magnificently titled ) first downloadable issue, Finishing Hammers: MMA Poetry.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Structuralism/ Post-structuralism / Cry-Baby

Unearthed my In-Case-Of-Apocalypse stash of lit/poetry readers from Santa Cruz (!) Hundreds of dollars of theoretical and foundational texts arrayed in anime-pinks, molting-oranges, horror-reds. I feel like Cry-Baby when Iggy Pop gives him a new motorbike. God bless Dwight D. Eisenhower. God bless the draft-board. God bless credit card debt.

Structuralism/Post-structuralism/Deconstruction brush-up:

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Juggling Space - Alice Blue # 13

Finishing out alice blue # ( 13 ), a highline assortment of writing. I started with the author listed last then worked my way forward, so I was treated immediately to a Russell Jaffe poem. This opened the issue smashingly:

...And flowers were those things that pulled you out, but

now damp and folded and piled like dams in the morning where it’s

bluish and everything’s one color but not the same amount angry, they

are zones.

I did find myself getting upset at the sameness by which the predominant form unifies most every writing. It's obvious in it's very streamlinedness that great attention has been paid to presentation/pagination, font, spacial design/layout, and how this array of physical aspects affects a prose poetry audience.

The dissection of a whole, consistent or parallel trajectory, then, becomes fundamental to the reading of alice. In reading a volume ( albeit in the wrong direction ), one must recognize that it's the intention of alice to be read only for its letter; one is forced to disregard the look and feel of the thing for its taste, simply, because that superficial edifice attempts, tacitly, to have you have it, is too nice, too easy, too worked on. The presentation is a nice seduction device, a groomed goatee. By character of its very slickness, without avenue to deliberate its illusion.

Each writer, however, is given only the space of two or three pieces to de-homogenize. If, and this is my very only beef with alice, one is to go rooting into hermeneutics ( of a volume's mere physicality ), I want more of the writing that ought amaze, reward the reader. Perform the trick, get the doggie treat.

I may have had a dream last night wherein I thought the writers over at alice blue have a grand 'ol time writing what they write. I think the place, though in this instance, overtends a concern for how a thing is said over what's saying.

Spend some time, take a read at ( in reverse order ) Russell Jaffe, Nate Slawson, Trey Jordan Harris, Jenn Marie Nunes, Ruth Williams.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Out of Our # 9 - Better Than Graveyard-Stew

Quick (!) run over to City Lights or Dog Eared Books in The Mission and slip the newest Out of Our ( #9 ) into your coat innards while it's still coat-weather. ( If you wait, it'll just turn warm and you'll have a hard time explaining that rectangular bulge in the front of your cutoff jean shorts. ) Thus are we one, and you are like the tooth fairy having another tooth and I am a dreaming boy who will wake up with a shiny new coin.

And it's the waiting game for me as the next Anemone Sidecar ( #14 ) may arrive with two poems ( "The stars think I have a job but I do not" & "Anne Sexton" ). Currently, these two tidbits are having a staring contest with internet limbo and who knows who'll come out on top.

*A treat, goodness, a treat (!) - The Unpublished Book of Blues

Monday, February 14, 2011

St. Valentine's Day Revival

Whenever I was in a poem I knew

that other poems would take part

and would have already been other

parts of the universe.

- Duncan ( in a letter to Robin Blaser )

Today was a day for hopscotch-playing in a timeworn fold of Jacket

And, from the now-defunct Fascicle: Geraldine Monk's Collaborations With The Dead, wherein the dead are called to rise, ponder current events, then compose collaborative poems with her.

... [A] breath between

tooth and
could mouth a sound
to form an
it would say
my claw
my claw

has been
hurting for days -
if I could count the days -
I would call out for drugs.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

All The Cantos You Can Check-Out

Extensive public library time today ( waiting for Isabell to get a new 'control switch' ). Found among the trash an 803 pg., 2.2 lb orange book: The Cantos of Ezra Pound ( New Directions, 1972 ). I lay down in the aisle and when my wrists got numb I shifted. I
have read The Cantos ( always 'abridged', always 'selected' portions ), but the physicality of having that much of The Cantos was like a heavy, unfathomable car part in my arms.

Emily already knows all of this ( she sought out Olson's equally heroic Maximus Poems and lugged it away from Green Apple ). But the public library
(!), all taxes I have paid here reimbursed (!) Reading them in order is a way. Not like squinting at old graveyard etchings or understanding fish from what they appear to be out of the water. The admittedly unfinished, unfinishable trajectory of the thing, a lifelong dedication to the wrestling of history and/in language, the copyright section at the front of the book spanned over sixty years. The thought of stealing from the library occurred to me.

And then went down to the ship,
Set keel to breakers, forth on the godly sea, and
We set up mast and sail on that swart ship,
Bore sheep aboard her, and our bodies also
Heavy with weeping, and winds from sternward
Bore us onward...

Sixty pages in, I overturned the tablet to its other side, the last page:

...I have tried to write paradise

Do not move
Let the wind speak
that is paradise.

Let the gods forgive what I
have made
Let those I love try to forgive
what I have made.

* Recommended immensely: Duncan's Lecture on/reading of Pound -
Part 1 / Part 2