Monday, January 3, 2011

"With / no sound of metals this tundra sings..." / Baseball Poems in the next GlitterPony / Chapbook Announcement


I'm overjoyed at the news that a few pieces of "I'm sorry , about Baseball" have found a more homier home over at GlitterPony. Listed in the 'Other Legit Places' section over on the right of this page, GlitterPony is, as its placement defines, legit. Here's their most recent rag, Issue Ten. Keep your ears open for Issue Eleven, due out god knows when.

And so...

A poem that started as universal apology for baseball's tired meanings unfolded into a glory song of hidden celebrations enacted in the game. Youth-age, masculine-feminine dichotomy, commercialism-peasantry, formlessness-geometry, memory-statistic, nationalism-community, black magic-polytheism, selfhood-voyeurism, urban-agrarian associations, performance-solipsism, speech-mantra. Celebrate the 2010 World Series Champion San Francisco Giants with an abstract long poem whydon'tchya?


Each chapbook showcases a unique cover/back-cover done up by artist Meagen Crawford.






"I'm sorry , about Baseball"

By Matthew Johnstone
4.5" x 6"
30 pages
$5 ( or not )

Email me for details. hemouthsmewrong@gmail.com

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Mrs. Ted Hughes, the writer



Re-reading Miss Plath's 84 page The Colossus and Other Poems ( Random House, 1960 ). A gorgeous construction of pieces - "for Ted" - in the same way religious passages are gorgeous.


I am lulled by the acute attention to rhythm of the short line and the manner by which single sentences are skewed/tugged into three, four, five shorter lines, pulsing along, prompting a series of re-reads, evaluating a re-surging connectivity ( the entire of "Man in Black" joins three line stanzas to exhale 21 lines from a single sentence ). Stabilizing this trail of impression is always a period at the end. Always a capital letter begins the flushed-left line. One is placed within the poem, directed to sense, intuit from the conditions, on the terms, of the poem.


The manner in which simple lists of noun become surreal landscapes through an exact diction akin to meditation spurring epiphany. Lulled by the corset of the stanzas. They are trim. There's a taxing and archaic, but/therefore genuine, quality to the poetry. I don't use the word surgical, or deliberate, or reasonable ( though the poems are all of these things ), I say painful, and that which is painful deserves to be considered directly in composition, post-composition. That Sylvia informs me how to engage and disengage my own aggressions and maddenings is only one compliment.


"The Eye-mote," "Suicide off Egg Rock," and "Full Fathom Five."



Thursday, December 16, 2010

"Let's be close..." / Book Just Out


"Let's be close Rope to mast, you Old light," is now a wad of actual mass, externalized brain, a commodity into the world. One may find/purchase it at the Blue & Yellow Dog Dog bookstore, here, or at Better Homes Through Poems here. It's also listed, floating forever, over there on the right-hand side of this page.

My thanks to poet-artist-friendo Meagen Crawford for doing the cover, and to the man in the director's chair, Raymond Farr.


Some magic tid-bits to entice:


/"I bet you drive all the dry riverboys wild..."


/"A space is by fierce influence..."


/"The people are savage about
the symmetry withdrawing into its sky a star's
bones are savage
about their night."


/"...boredom on the rock,
Boredom in the stars of neckline."


/"We are animals because the sailors never see us
spit out on the shore..."


/"...I don't tell you let's
not try to be the dead."


/"Then I fell into the rosebushes,
about the green ones:
they were looking at the red ones."




Tuesday, December 14, 2010

"Being someone who still dies in fires, All has the hour..." / Winter Poems Up at Blue & Yellow Dog


The Winter 2010 Issue of Blue & Yellow Dog just went up today. New work by Sheila Murphy, Joel Chace, and Philip Byron Oakes. Grab a scoopful of barnuts and read it here.



Also blowing wind at Silliman's writings on the substance and significance of the sentence. In his collections of essays, The New Sentence (Roof, 1987), Silliman characterizes his sentence, what he determines to be the primary unit of meaning not a fragment. Working toward contextualizing the sentence, not the poetic line, he takes into account the sentence as explored by Stein, Marx's ideas on exchange-value/use-value, and Derrida (even providing a point by point breakdown of his sentence's qualities). A heavy but nutritious dose: "Disappearance of the Word, Appearance of the World."

A magnificent piece on the matter is over at The Reading Experience 2.0: "The Horizon of The Sentence."


Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Get That Loot Kid, You Know My Function / Insulation Poems



As per the title of this venue, I've been chewing the fat of the voice. The assumed/conjured voice, rather. If agency is nowhere, or with the spooks (Spicer), or with me, who am I to unfold? If the "me" is not I, if the "I" ain't me, is a trick being played? Do we not enjoy tricks?


As a response to the charge that contemporary American literature is simply too insulated (Click-Me), I placed myself firmly within the equation of utility (user+subject=used subject) that develops away from utility toward exploitation. To see what's what, and... who's what. Stories of platform (you know, for conjuring over) I stuck with:


-33 Chilean miners trapped a half mile underground for 70 days.

-Red toxic sludge flood in Hungary.

-Mexican bicentennial amid nationwide drug war.


My response (American, to be sure) was firstly in the very approach. My efforts to keep informed of the Chilean miner situation involved simply reading the paper and collecting clippings, eyeing the telly, catching online updates (as they arrived at me, akin to how an average (?) American might've stumbled to them), discussing the stories with friends and strangers.


Secondly, the method of composing a response was a sort of conjuring, allowing the writing to respond for and about itself: several references to purchasing. Mentionings, also, of the agony of citizenship, beer, significant periods of time spent in alleys, fog horns, solitude, colonialism, blind dogs, elections, outsourcing dangerous industrial practices, crooked politicians, general and acute paranoia, rejection of the body as representative shell of character, insomnia, wondering where they buried Garcia Lorca.


I stuck with these stories for as long as they were carried by The NY Times, SF Chronicle, and USA Today.


What is ultimately, though not solely, fascinating is the fact that in the case of the miners, they began to exploit the system that championed their story, then marketed themselves to become compensated through it. Holla.


They became agents of their own exploits. Kardashians without ever having to... do whatever the Kardashians did to become The Kardashians. Had they and their dyer situation not been utilized, exploited to sell papers ( comment on mining conditions in the country, reflect the efficient leadership of the Chilean president, even showcase the global engineering technologies industry to the whole wide world ) they would not now have the opportunity to utilize, exploit that same audience to get that chedduh by selling interviews, sponsoring themselves out to various causes/products, signing autographs at malls, appearing on Letterman.




Friday, December 3, 2010

"I am a perfect cornfield I am a perfect cornfield..." / 'Baseball' in the next Otoliths



The next volume of Otoliths will feature a healthy sample from my long poem "I'm sorry , about Baseball." This extended piece commemorates my re-acquaintance with the game of baseball during the Fall of 2010, the second half of The Giants' World Series winning season. So there's fervor.

Otoliths is a quarterly e-zine that presents a varied and international cast of writers and artists that I've been eyeballing for some time. Due out in February, issue #20 is sure to be gansta, east and west coasts, no matter how you roll.




Wednesday, December 1, 2010

(Blue & Yellow Dog Titles)


Available soon: Matthew Johnstone’s Let’s be close Rope to mast, you Old light,
Adam Fieled’s Equations, and
Richard Kostelanetz’s chap book FICT IONS.