Vanishing Texts
Beckett's *Unprotected Texts* are rapidly vanshing-get 'em while you can [via Soluble Census]
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I'll be reading on Thursday, June 7th at 7:30 at the Ceres Gallery 547 West 27th Street NY NY 10001 (212) 947-6100 with Corinne Robins. The gallery is featuring the excellent work of Carol Goebel.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
On My Desk
When I received my library copy of The Selected Letters of Stephane Mallarme, I opened it to a letter to Odilon Redon. Mallarme wrote to Redon on February 2, 1885: "A highly mysterious sympathy made you depict in that delicious mad hermit the poor little man who, in the depths of my soul, I'd like to be; and I'll hang this drawing on its own on a wall of my memory so I can judge the others in a more disinterested way. The head of Dream, that marsh flower, illuminates, with a light known to herself alone and which cannot be pronounced, the whole tragic lantern of ordinary existence..."
**
Yesterday I happned to visit Mercer Street Books & records (206 Mercer Street) and walked straight into *To Myself: Notes on LIfe, Art and Letters* by Odilon Redon, Braziller, 1986. Lately I've been obsessed with the music of Robert Schumann. If you've never heard the early piano works of Schumann, like Papillons, op.2 and Davidsbundler-Tanze, op. 8, you have a major treat waiting for you. I opened the book to this passage (about Schumann): "'Be a noble artist', Schuman said, 'and all the rest will be given to you.' It is because he was noble himself if one understands by "noble" the absolute unselfishness, generosity, expansion and the vivid exuberance of a full and strong soul. Schumann has given his fruit: he has given it, as the apple-tree gives apples witout personal wishes, and without regrets. He has given his heart and his thought, his works, his life in the same way as those who suffer for others, and therein lies the supreme grace, the characteristic sign of profound genius. One cann say this about everybody; one could not say this about somebody like Berlioz, for example...(December, 1915)
By the way, Debussy wrote of Berlioz in *Monsieur Croche* his book of articles about music: "Incidentally, the work of Berlioz, through he pre-occupation with color and incident, became at once a subject for artists; one might even say without irony that Berlioz has always been the favorite musician of those who do not know much about music."
**
St,-John Perse, *On Poetry*, translated by W.H. Auden, Bollingen Series. (Nobel prize acceptance speech, December 10, 1960. "Poetry rarely received public homage. The gulf between poetic creation and the activities of a society subjected to material bondage grows ever wider,..the poet keeps us in touch with the permanance and unity of Being. And his messsage is one of optimism. To him, one law of harmony govers the whole world of things. Nothing can occur there which by its nature is incommensuable with man. The worst catastrophes of history are but seasonal rhythms in a vaster cycle of repetitions and renewals. The Furies who cross the stage, torches high, do but throw light upon one moment in the immense plot as it unfolds itself through time. Growing civilizations do not perish from the pangs of one autumn; they mrerely shed their leaves. Inertia is the only mortal dange. Poet is he who breaks for us the bonds of habit."
Distribution Automatique
Friday, June 1
Contradicta
Every moment offers its part of a nimble, affectionate melody that counters contentious disharmony.
****
But once in a while play a strong, harsh chord to discourage the bullies.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Dreamers of the World, Unite
pseudpodium
Ray Davis has some kind words to say about *fait accompli*, blog and book.
Ray: gather ye damn rosebuds, put together a book and get it published!
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
"SHE'LL BE COMING' ROUND"
by James Sherry
She'll be comin' round the mountain when the shell sometimes is empty
She'll be comin' sometimes and the shell is an evasion,
when she comes round the mountain
to put in an appearnce
and this is the introduction we're all trying' to come 'round to.
She'll be drivin' six white and well-bred young mares,
She''ll be trying' to be comin', when one of the horses slips on a curve,
but the traces hold her up
like a beautiful horse about to describe
the great vehicle she'll conduct, when she comes.
And we'll all go out to meet her when the well is dry and cracked
and the water is too neutral to hold
even a chance encounter when we're tryin' to be comin'
and breathe too much or that's what I
heard when tryin' too hard to meet her, when she comes.
And we'll all have chicken and dumplings in a context
of the human shell, water in the trough,
the gopher holds, how hot leather is in the desert mining town
except to the horses,
when she comes."
from *Part Songs* by James Sherry
Roof Books, 1978
Every moment offers its part of a nimble, affectionate melody that counters contentious disharmony.
****
But once in a while play a strong, harsh chord to discourage the bullies.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Dreamers of the World, Unite
pseudpodium
Ray Davis has some kind words to say about *fait accompli*, blog and book.
Ray: gather ye damn rosebuds, put together a book and get it published!
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
"SHE'LL BE COMING' ROUND"
by James Sherry
She'll be comin' round the mountain when the shell sometimes is empty
She'll be comin' sometimes and the shell is an evasion,
when she comes round the mountain
to put in an appearnce
and this is the introduction we're all trying' to come 'round to.
She'll be drivin' six white and well-bred young mares,
She''ll be trying' to be comin', when one of the horses slips on a curve,
but the traces hold her up
like a beautiful horse about to describe
the great vehicle she'll conduct, when she comes.
And we'll all go out to meet her when the well is dry and cracked
and the water is too neutral to hold
even a chance encounter when we're tryin' to be comin'
and breathe too much or that's what I
heard when tryin' too hard to meet her, when she comes.
And we'll all have chicken and dumplings in a context
of the human shell, water in the trough,
the gopher holds, how hot leather is in the desert mining town
except to the horses,
when she comes."
from *Part Songs* by James Sherry
Roof Books, 1978
Thursday, May 31
On My Desk
Selected Letters of Stephane Mallarme, edited and translated by Rosemary LLoyd, Univ of Chicago, 1988
"Leo d'Orfer 27 June, 1884
It's a real punch, momentarily blinding, that abrupt demand of yours: "Define Poetry." Bruised,I stutter:
*Poetry is the expression, in human language restored to its essential rhythm, of the mysterious meaning of the aspects of existence: in this way it confers authenticity on our time on earth and constitutes the only perpetual task there is.*
Farewell, but you owe me an apology."
"Paul Verlaine 8 December 1884
Of course. [Verlaine had written Mallarme apologizing for not sending a free copy of his book of poems,* Jadis et naguere*, but explaining that the publisher opposed such a move on the grounds that even for a poet the cost was not too high. Verlaine asked Mallarme to explain this to their mutural friends]. Basically the poet has no other choice; and his destiny becomes too ironic by far if he has to provide free copies to the hundred readers who would otherwise allow him- I won't say to live!- but to have bread or cigars. In future this will have to become standard practice between colleagues, and, something that's tacitly understood".
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
George Burns, *Gracie, A Love Story*, GP PUtnam's Sons, 1988
"Sex is certainly a very important part of any marriage. Gracie and I had a wonderful life together, and a wonderful marriage, and sex was part of it, but not the major part. Probably the most important thing about sex is that it helps sell a lot of books. I have to be honest. I was a lousy lover. Fortunately Gracie married me for laughs, not for sex. Of course she got both of them- when we had sex, she laughed.
Gracie and I always had a nice time together, but after we'd made love she never gave me a standing ovation. In our marriage- I suspect in every marriage- the really important things became, "How do you feel?" "Is the soup hot?" "Want to see a movie tonight?" These are the things that keep a marriage together."
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Poetry on You Tube by Nico Vassilakis from the
Continental Review
and
DIPTYCHS a book of visual poetry is out from Otoliths.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
New poem by Ray DiPalma from The Harvard Review
Selected Letters of Stephane Mallarme, edited and translated by Rosemary LLoyd, Univ of Chicago, 1988
"Leo d'Orfer 27 June, 1884
It's a real punch, momentarily blinding, that abrupt demand of yours: "Define Poetry." Bruised,I stutter:
*Poetry is the expression, in human language restored to its essential rhythm, of the mysterious meaning of the aspects of existence: in this way it confers authenticity on our time on earth and constitutes the only perpetual task there is.*
Farewell, but you owe me an apology."
"Paul Verlaine 8 December 1884
Of course. [Verlaine had written Mallarme apologizing for not sending a free copy of his book of poems,* Jadis et naguere*, but explaining that the publisher opposed such a move on the grounds that even for a poet the cost was not too high. Verlaine asked Mallarme to explain this to their mutural friends]. Basically the poet has no other choice; and his destiny becomes too ironic by far if he has to provide free copies to the hundred readers who would otherwise allow him- I won't say to live!- but to have bread or cigars. In future this will have to become standard practice between colleagues, and, something that's tacitly understood".
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
George Burns, *Gracie, A Love Story*, GP PUtnam's Sons, 1988
"Sex is certainly a very important part of any marriage. Gracie and I had a wonderful life together, and a wonderful marriage, and sex was part of it, but not the major part. Probably the most important thing about sex is that it helps sell a lot of books. I have to be honest. I was a lousy lover. Fortunately Gracie married me for laughs, not for sex. Of course she got both of them- when we had sex, she laughed.
Gracie and I always had a nice time together, but after we'd made love she never gave me a standing ovation. In our marriage- I suspect in every marriage- the really important things became, "How do you feel?" "Is the soup hot?" "Want to see a movie tonight?" These are the things that keep a marriage together."
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Poetry on You Tube by Nico Vassilakis from the
Continental Review
and
DIPTYCHS a book of visual poetry is out from Otoliths.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
New poem by Ray DiPalma from The Harvard Review
Sunday, May 27
Rae Armantrout and Elaine Equi
read at the BPC on Saturday, hosted by Tim Peterson and Erika Kauffman. This was the last reading of the season. When I arrived I found standing outside at the door Michael Lally, Anne Waldman, Jerome Sala, and Elaine Equi. Soon after, Abigail Child and others arrived. Plenty of people were inside already. After a few minutes of chatting Tim Peterson came to the door and waved us in. I needed to ask Michael for his New Jersey address as he has a particularly important cameo in my book *fait accompli* and I wanted to mail him a copy. This was surely one of the best readings of the year, if not the decade. Both readers read from new books. The place was packed. Elaine and Rae are close friends and have no doubt been following each others work closely for many years. Both write gnomic, terse poems of infinite wit, shrewd social critique and verbal grace; Rae seems to draw more from irony and Elaine from pop culture but these are only surface qualities. Hearing them together, you realize how much their combined work encompasses what is most treasured and loved in contemporary poetry:aphoristic insight, humor, pungent, but not complaining, satire, compressed imagery and sophisticated, imagistic word play. And this isn't even half of it. There is also not a small amount of tough love and self mockery. I could go on and on but they don't and that is one of the things we like best about them, no? Rae is a fairly infrequent visitor so may I share with you the inscription I wrote in the copy of my new book, I brought for her? OK, I will, thanks:
Dear Rae: Listening to your reading I thought of two things I wanted to tell you about your poetry. 1) It is sharp, but it doesn't wound, so this is maybe one of the reasons why my mind allows your words to go in so deep. 2) One of your poems says that you heard a couple bickering and why not. I am married to poetry and we have plenty to bicker about- and why not? Love, Nick
Next BPC reading is in October.
read at the BPC on Saturday, hosted by Tim Peterson and Erika Kauffman. This was the last reading of the season. When I arrived I found standing outside at the door Michael Lally, Anne Waldman, Jerome Sala, and Elaine Equi. Soon after, Abigail Child and others arrived. Plenty of people were inside already. After a few minutes of chatting Tim Peterson came to the door and waved us in. I needed to ask Michael for his New Jersey address as he has a particularly important cameo in my book *fait accompli* and I wanted to mail him a copy. This was surely one of the best readings of the year, if not the decade. Both readers read from new books. The place was packed. Elaine and Rae are close friends and have no doubt been following each others work closely for many years. Both write gnomic, terse poems of infinite wit, shrewd social critique and verbal grace; Rae seems to draw more from irony and Elaine from pop culture but these are only surface qualities. Hearing them together, you realize how much their combined work encompasses what is most treasured and loved in contemporary poetry:aphoristic insight, humor, pungent, but not complaining, satire, compressed imagery and sophisticated, imagistic word play. And this isn't even half of it. There is also not a small amount of tough love and self mockery. I could go on and on but they don't and that is one of the things we like best about them, no? Rae is a fairly infrequent visitor so may I share with you the inscription I wrote in the copy of my new book, I brought for her? OK, I will, thanks:
Dear Rae: Listening to your reading I thought of two things I wanted to tell you about your poetry. 1) It is sharp, but it doesn't wound, so this is maybe one of the reasons why my mind allows your words to go in so deep. 2) One of your poems says that you heard a couple bickering and why not. I am married to poetry and we have plenty to bicker about- and why not? Love, Nick
Next BPC reading is in October.
Tuesday, May 22
Sunday, May 20
Support Small Presses and Magazines:
It's Not Too Late To Sign The Petition To
Stamp Out the Rate Hikes
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Peter Manson's Links
It's Not Too Late To Sign The Petition To
Stamp Out the Rate Hikes
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Peter Manson's Links
Saturday, May 19
On My Desk
Paul Gauguin, *Noa Noa* , NIcholas L Brown, 1919
"Tehura, immobile, naked, lying face downward flat on the bed with the eyes inordinately large with fear. She looked at me, and seemed not to recognize me, As for myself I stood for some moments strangely uncertain. A contagion emanated from the terror of Tehura. I had the illusion that a phosphorescent light was streaming from her staring eyes. Never had I seen her so beautiful, so tremulously beautiful. And then in this half-light which was surely peopled for her with dangerous appariations, I was afraid to make any movement which might increase the child's paroxysm of fright. How could I know what at that moment I might seem to her? Might she not with my frightened face take me for one of the demons and specters, one of the Tupapaus, with which the legends of her race people sleepless nights? Did i really know who in truth she was herself? The intensity of fright which had dominated her as the result of the physical and moral power of her superstitions had transformed her into a strange being, entirely different from anything I had known heretofore."
****
Sylvia Plath reads-, Caedmon, 50 minute cassette
The Poetry of Sylvia Plath/Stanford
****
Anne Sexton: the voice of the poet, 60 minute cassette, 64 page book
"Tonight I will learn to love you twice;
learn your first days, your mid-Victorian face.
Tonight I will speak up and interrupt
your letters, warning you that wars are coming,
that the Count will die, that you will accept
your America back to live like a prim thing
on the farm in Maine. I tell you, you will come
here,to the suburbs of Boston to see the blue-nose
world go drunk each night, to see the handsome
children jitterbug, to feel your left ear close
on Friday on Symphony. And I tell you,
you will tip your boot feet out of that hall,
rocking from its sour sound, out onto
the crowded street, letting your spectacles fall
and your hair net tangle as you stop passers-by
to mumble your guilty love while your ears die."
Anne Sexton reads
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Ernesto Priego, who makes his home in Mexico City, now a student in Britain, opines on mouth-watering
Fish and Chips, a la Roland Barthes
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Mark Young, who makes his home in Australia, muses on the oddities of discovering John Cage's *X writings* at book fair in Rockhampton, and takes note of how much I am enjoying his *Falsely Goethe* (Otoliths). By the way, when Kimberly Lyons, Nada Gordon and Gary Sullivan were visiting here last (speaking of mouth watering) to feast on Toni's awesome baked chicken and fries, and store bought Key Lime pie-at the moment Gary was talking about Tom Beckett, Kim had opened Mark's book to his poem that refers to Tom's *Unprotected Texts* gamma ways
(from *Falsely Goethe* by Mark Young)
"*Day twenty-one*
Today the
postman brought
me Tom Beckett's *Unprotected
Texts*. Special delivery.
Bubble wrapped
inside a plain
brown envelope. I
opened it up. That
print smell was
wonderful."
""Day ninety-six*
Today the
postman brought
me a new edition of *The
Selected Works of
Signumd Freud.* It's
full of what
appear at first glance
typos- though on
reflection perhaps
deliberate. Esp. when
you find such lines as
'...he dreamt his
mother fucked
him into bed.'"
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
New on Penn Sound
Paul Gauguin, *Noa Noa* , NIcholas L Brown, 1919
"Tehura, immobile, naked, lying face downward flat on the bed with the eyes inordinately large with fear. She looked at me, and seemed not to recognize me, As for myself I stood for some moments strangely uncertain. A contagion emanated from the terror of Tehura. I had the illusion that a phosphorescent light was streaming from her staring eyes. Never had I seen her so beautiful, so tremulously beautiful. And then in this half-light which was surely peopled for her with dangerous appariations, I was afraid to make any movement which might increase the child's paroxysm of fright. How could I know what at that moment I might seem to her? Might she not with my frightened face take me for one of the demons and specters, one of the Tupapaus, with which the legends of her race people sleepless nights? Did i really know who in truth she was herself? The intensity of fright which had dominated her as the result of the physical and moral power of her superstitions had transformed her into a strange being, entirely different from anything I had known heretofore."
****
Sylvia Plath reads-, Caedmon, 50 minute cassette
The Poetry of Sylvia Plath/Stanford
****
Anne Sexton: the voice of the poet, 60 minute cassette, 64 page book
"Tonight I will learn to love you twice;
learn your first days, your mid-Victorian face.
Tonight I will speak up and interrupt
your letters, warning you that wars are coming,
that the Count will die, that you will accept
your America back to live like a prim thing
on the farm in Maine. I tell you, you will come
here,to the suburbs of Boston to see the blue-nose
world go drunk each night, to see the handsome
children jitterbug, to feel your left ear close
on Friday on Symphony. And I tell you,
you will tip your boot feet out of that hall,
rocking from its sour sound, out onto
the crowded street, letting your spectacles fall
and your hair net tangle as you stop passers-by
to mumble your guilty love while your ears die."
Anne Sexton reads
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Ernesto Priego, who makes his home in Mexico City, now a student in Britain, opines on mouth-watering
Fish and Chips, a la Roland Barthes
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Mark Young, who makes his home in Australia, muses on the oddities of discovering John Cage's *X writings* at book fair in Rockhampton, and takes note of how much I am enjoying his *Falsely Goethe* (Otoliths). By the way, when Kimberly Lyons, Nada Gordon and Gary Sullivan were visiting here last (speaking of mouth watering) to feast on Toni's awesome baked chicken and fries, and store bought Key Lime pie-at the moment Gary was talking about Tom Beckett, Kim had opened Mark's book to his poem that refers to Tom's *Unprotected Texts* gamma ways
(from *Falsely Goethe* by Mark Young)
"*Day twenty-one*
Today the
postman brought
me Tom Beckett's *Unprotected
Texts*. Special delivery.
Bubble wrapped
inside a plain
brown envelope. I
opened it up. That
print smell was
wonderful."
""Day ninety-six*
Today the
postman brought
me a new edition of *The
Selected Works of
Signumd Freud.* It's
full of what
appear at first glance
typos- though on
reflection perhaps
deliberate. Esp. when
you find such lines as
'...he dreamt his
mother fucked
him into bed.'"
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
New on Penn Sound
Friday, May 18
On My Desk
Cesar Vallejo, *Aphorisms*, translated from the Spanish by Stephen Kessler, Green Integer, 2002
**
"I love plants for the root, not for the flower."
**
"Nature creates eternity of substance. Art creates eternity of form."
**
"My simple anarchy, my great pain composed of joys."
**
"Aviation in air, in water and spirit. Its laws are different in all three cases. The spirit soars the more it weighs and sinks into itself. The heavier the spirit, the higher and farther it flies."
**
"CAREFUL with the human substance of poetry."
**
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Frank Hlton, *Baudelaire in Chains: A portrait of the artist as a drug addict*, Peter Owen, 2004
"'There are moments when I'm seized by a desire to sleep for ever; but I cannot sleep anymore, because I'm always thinking...So, to sum up, it has been *demonstrated* to me this year that I could really earn money, and with application and persistence, a lot of money. But the disorders already mentioned, unceasing poverty, a new deficit to make up, the wearing away of my energy by little worries and finally, in a word, my tendency to reverie have nullified everything.' For reverie, read 'opium'. The former is a favourity euphemism for the drug among all the literary opium users of the time. For Baudelaire, it means a phantom world of dreams and plans and projects for poems,plays, articles, novels, stories- all revolving endlessly in his mind, repetitively listed among his papers but rarely developed beyond that point."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Tom Beckett on Prime Time
Nicholas Manning announces "The Continental Review: videos of and by poets; the first issue includes a video by Tom Beckett.
Cesar Vallejo, *Aphorisms*, translated from the Spanish by Stephen Kessler, Green Integer, 2002
**
"I love plants for the root, not for the flower."
**
"Nature creates eternity of substance. Art creates eternity of form."
**
"My simple anarchy, my great pain composed of joys."
**
"Aviation in air, in water and spirit. Its laws are different in all three cases. The spirit soars the more it weighs and sinks into itself. The heavier the spirit, the higher and farther it flies."
**
"CAREFUL with the human substance of poetry."
**
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Frank Hlton, *Baudelaire in Chains: A portrait of the artist as a drug addict*, Peter Owen, 2004
"'There are moments when I'm seized by a desire to sleep for ever; but I cannot sleep anymore, because I'm always thinking...So, to sum up, it has been *demonstrated* to me this year that I could really earn money, and with application and persistence, a lot of money. But the disorders already mentioned, unceasing poverty, a new deficit to make up, the wearing away of my energy by little worries and finally, in a word, my tendency to reverie have nullified everything.' For reverie, read 'opium'. The former is a favourity euphemism for the drug among all the literary opium users of the time. For Baudelaire, it means a phantom world of dreams and plans and projects for poems,plays, articles, novels, stories- all revolving endlessly in his mind, repetitively listed among his papers but rarely developed beyond that point."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Tom Beckett on Prime Time
Nicholas Manning announces "The Continental Review: videos of and by poets; the first issue includes a video by Tom Beckett.
Thursday, May 17
a loaf of bread, mark woods' blog, a jug of wine and thou beside me singing in the wilderness; ah wilderness were paradise enow
**
*fait accompli*, the book: Four Years in the Making, with a cast of about six; me, Toni Simon, Gary Sullivan, Bill Marsh and Octavia Davis, iwth an assist from Nada Gordon- and, now, hopefully, you, the readers, who have visited or clicked on this blog, over 300,000 times since February, 2003
*fait accompli* has been available for free for over four years. If you feel an urge to support this blog, please consider buying a copy of the book based on it, published by Factory School, titled *fait accompli* If you don't find it at your bookstore you can buy it from Small Press Distribution or Factory School. Based on many of the responses I have been receiving so far, I feel confident you will appreciate having it.
**
*fait accompli*, the book: Four Years in the Making, with a cast of about six; me, Toni Simon, Gary Sullivan, Bill Marsh and Octavia Davis, iwth an assist from Nada Gordon- and, now, hopefully, you, the readers, who have visited or clicked on this blog, over 300,000 times since February, 2003
*fait accompli* has been available for free for over four years. If you feel an urge to support this blog, please consider buying a copy of the book based on it, published by Factory School, titled *fait accompli* If you don't find it at your bookstore you can buy it from Small Press Distribution or Factory School. Based on many of the responses I have been receiving so far, I feel confident you will appreciate having it.
Wednesday, May 16
Monday, May 14
Contradicta
Rise above the petty thoughts which viewed as pains will unite into chains.
**********
Anger, hurt and cruelty are helpless without each other.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Penn Sounds Radio Buzz
Charles Bernstein interviewed re: Penn Sound on San Francisco radio
Rise above the petty thoughts which viewed as pains will unite into chains.
**********
Anger, hurt and cruelty are helpless without each other.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Penn Sounds Radio Buzz
Charles Bernstein interviewed re: Penn Sound on San Francisco radio
Sunday, May 13
On My Desk
Again, from Mark Young's terrific *Falsely Goethe*, Otloliths
"Day Fifteen
The pretend gypsy
who is also a
genuine mother
figure tells me
that a storm
composed of the
active ingrediets
from soft handwash
lotions is brewing
again. Expect
more of the same,
she says, unless I
can deliver to her
a 1950's-themed stereo-
scopic 3D extravaganza
of America's entry
into racing's victory
circles within the
next three days. She
also says she has
messages from
all our ancestors."
Otoliths Lulu Storefront
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Did you know David Shapiro was a child prodigy on violin and still plays?
from David Shapiro, New and Selected Poems, (1965-2006),The Overlook Press, 2007
*Friday Night Quartet*: 1, ST. BARNABAS
"My mother said
All surgeons want to do is surge.
And as one took the staples from her skull
She said, Neurosurgeons are not nice.
Mostly blind and leaning against a wall
She told my father, Irv, you can be replaced
God forbid I should sit where I want to sit,
And what's wrong with this chair pray?
Sitting and crying, she said
This is not Chekhovian
Or Tolstoyan David.
This is annoying.
Lying on the angiogram cot, strapped down and hot and bloody,
My mother said, The worst words in the English language
Are these David- Don't move.
And what do you think the best words are: Here's some water.
My mother said,
I'm not wavery because I have a wall
And I love it-
Walls are convenient because they don't move...."
David Shapiro Overlook Press
Again, from Mark Young's terrific *Falsely Goethe*, Otloliths
"Day Fifteen
The pretend gypsy
who is also a
genuine mother
figure tells me
that a storm
composed of the
active ingrediets
from soft handwash
lotions is brewing
again. Expect
more of the same,
she says, unless I
can deliver to her
a 1950's-themed stereo-
scopic 3D extravaganza
of America's entry
into racing's victory
circles within the
next three days. She
also says she has
messages from
all our ancestors."
Otoliths Lulu Storefront
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Did you know David Shapiro was a child prodigy on violin and still plays?
from David Shapiro, New and Selected Poems, (1965-2006),The Overlook Press, 2007
*Friday Night Quartet*: 1, ST. BARNABAS
"My mother said
All surgeons want to do is surge.
And as one took the staples from her skull
She said, Neurosurgeons are not nice.
Mostly blind and leaning against a wall
She told my father, Irv, you can be replaced
God forbid I should sit where I want to sit,
And what's wrong with this chair pray?
Sitting and crying, she said
This is not Chekhovian
Or Tolstoyan David.
This is annoying.
Lying on the angiogram cot, strapped down and hot and bloody,
My mother said, The worst words in the English language
Are these David- Don't move.
And what do you think the best words are: Here's some water.
My mother said,
I'm not wavery because I have a wall
And I love it-
Walls are convenient because they don't move...."
David Shapiro Overlook Press
Saturday, May 12
On My Desk
Mark Young, *Falsely Goethe*, Otoliths, 2007
"Day seventy-four
Today the
postman brought
me John Cage's
*X, writings
'79-82.* I went
to sign my
name. "Already
done," he said. "Seen
one X, seen them
all." I watched
the postman until
he went around
the corner. Took
him four minutes
& thirty-three
seconds. I stood
silent. He kept
whistling."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
In 1982 I went to a book signing for John Cage's *X writings.* Cage signed the book for me and said he was double signing it (meaning he signed over his own signaature) because then it would be worth more. Cage was not only brilliant and productive, but kind.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<
*Franz Kafka: The Zurau Aphorisms* with an introduction and afterword by Roberto Calasso*, Schocken
"All human errors stem from impatience, a premature breaking off of a methodical approach, an ostensible pinning down of an ostensible object."
**
"From a certain point on there is no turnng back. This is the point that must be reached."
**
"The spirit only becomes free at the point when it ceases to be invoked as a support."
Mark Young, *Falsely Goethe*, Otoliths, 2007
"Day seventy-four
Today the
postman brought
me John Cage's
*X, writings
'79-82.* I went
to sign my
name. "Already
done," he said. "Seen
one X, seen them
all." I watched
the postman until
he went around
the corner. Took
him four minutes
& thirty-three
seconds. I stood
silent. He kept
whistling."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
In 1982 I went to a book signing for John Cage's *X writings.* Cage signed the book for me and said he was double signing it (meaning he signed over his own signaature) because then it would be worth more. Cage was not only brilliant and productive, but kind.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<
*Franz Kafka: The Zurau Aphorisms* with an introduction and afterword by Roberto Calasso*, Schocken
"All human errors stem from impatience, a premature breaking off of a methodical approach, an ostensible pinning down of an ostensible object."
**
"From a certain point on there is no turnng back. This is the point that must be reached."
**
"The spirit only becomes free at the point when it ceases to be invoked as a support."
Friday, May 11
On My Desk
Joshua Corey, *Selah*, Barrow Street Press, 2003, Barrow Steet Poetry Prize selected by Robert Pinksky
"I refused to stoop to your level.
I was only lips on the stoop.
I was a life-support system for a scream.
I was a brain in a vat of Fresca.
I was an eyeball in a ziplock bag of eyeballs.
I was neuron, twitch. I was detached.
You straddled past and put me in your pocket.
Kept walking. You burst into sun
and disappeared."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
William Worringer, *Abstraction and Empathy*: A Contribution to the Psychology of Style*, International Universities Press, (1908, first published in the US 1933, reprinted 1980)
"The enfeeblement of the world-instinct, modest contentment with an external orientation within the world-picture, is always accompanied by the strengthening of the urge to empathy, which is latently present in every human, and held in check only by the 'dread of space', by the urge to abstraction. Anxiety diminished, confidence grows, and now, for the first time, the outer world begins to live and it receives all its life from man, who now anthropomorphises all its inner essence, all its inner forces.The sensation of oneself-in-things naturally sharpens the feeling for the inexpressibly beautiful content of organic form, and paths are revealed to artistic volition, and paths of artistic naturalism, for which the natural model merely serves as a substratum to the will to form that is guided by its feeling for the organic. Now the artist learns 'to apprehend every random form as a theatre within which to experience the joy of moving hither and thither in the company of nameless forces.' (Lotze, *Geschichte der Asthhetik*, 75).
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Brooklyn Rail/May
Art Seen/Brooklyn Rail: Susan Bee
<><><><><>
Diary/blog by Tan Lin- The Brooklyn Rail
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Gary Sullivan's New Comic!
Elsewhere
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Hypertext Index
via Charles Bernstein Web Log
Joshua Corey, *Selah*, Barrow Street Press, 2003, Barrow Steet Poetry Prize selected by Robert Pinksky
"I refused to stoop to your level.
I was only lips on the stoop.
I was a life-support system for a scream.
I was a brain in a vat of Fresca.
I was an eyeball in a ziplock bag of eyeballs.
I was neuron, twitch. I was detached.
You straddled past and put me in your pocket.
Kept walking. You burst into sun
and disappeared."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
William Worringer, *Abstraction and Empathy*: A Contribution to the Psychology of Style*, International Universities Press, (1908, first published in the US 1933, reprinted 1980)
"The enfeeblement of the world-instinct, modest contentment with an external orientation within the world-picture, is always accompanied by the strengthening of the urge to empathy, which is latently present in every human, and held in check only by the 'dread of space', by the urge to abstraction. Anxiety diminished, confidence grows, and now, for the first time, the outer world begins to live and it receives all its life from man, who now anthropomorphises all its inner essence, all its inner forces.The sensation of oneself-in-things naturally sharpens the feeling for the inexpressibly beautiful content of organic form, and paths are revealed to artistic volition, and paths of artistic naturalism, for which the natural model merely serves as a substratum to the will to form that is guided by its feeling for the organic. Now the artist learns 'to apprehend every random form as a theatre within which to experience the joy of moving hither and thither in the company of nameless forces.' (Lotze, *Geschichte der Asthhetik*, 75).
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Brooklyn Rail/May
Art Seen/Brooklyn Rail: Susan Bee
<><><><><>
Diary/blog by Tan Lin- The Brooklyn Rail
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Gary Sullivan's New Comic!
Elsewhere
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Hypertext Index
via Charles Bernstein Web Log
Wednesday, May 9
Joel Kuzsai and Wystan Curnow
read last evening at Saatchi and Saatchi. It's an impressive place, though some of my poet friends described it as a corporate cathedral. Huge gorgeous Elizabeth Murray painting/assemblages[my mistake- Wystan corrected me today at lunch- they are late Frank Stella paintings] grace the walls of the lobby when you enter.Three doorman were needed to guide you to an impressive reading room on the 16th floor that had a skylight on a round gabled glass ceiling thaf must have been 30 feet high. There were elegant aperitifs and an open bar. Both poets read from recent and earlier work, and the performances complemented each other well. When I thought about what these poets had in common I realized that both have a powerful curatorial impulse, Wystan in art and Joel in publishing (he's the publisher of Factory School books, along with Bill Marsh). These were readers who offer multilayered performances of striking intensity and subtle, yet pervasive irony which no doubt stems from a profound critical impulse. Joel's references included the Wizard of Oz and Wystan's another Oz known as Dada. Both poets clearly have thought long and hard about what they had to say before they said it, yet read with relaxed directedness and focus that lets the listeners think- but not overly long - always moving right along, no carelessness, but little rigidity. Joel read a second autobiographal, and very dramatic piece that I enjoyed immensely. Wystan ended with a poem about Matisse's erratic sleep habits that was both dreamlike and intensely wakeful- how did he do this?- that seemed to amplify everything that been performed thoughout the evening. The audience was excitedly appreciative: there were three children there who were graceful and attentive- a significant coup for any group of readers (Adeena Karasik's daughter and the daughters of Joel Kuzsai's associate Bill Marsh's- my recent publisher's- wife Octavia Davis. She'll be teaching writing at St. John's in the fall). Although she and Bill are relatively recent arrivals in Jackson Heights, Queens, I was happy to hear they are considering moving so they can stay for a long time. Charles Bernstein introduced both readers as close friends whose work he strongly feels deserves complete and wide attention. He is right, and the audience members, that included numerous fine poets and artists (I think I had met the painter Max Gimlet once before, as well as book collector and soon to be publisher Patrick Lovelace), Of course there were many others frequently mentioned on this blog. When Wystan comes next from New Zealand don't miss him; and if you see him ask Joel Kuzsai if he might read more often. Another treat was a quick conversation I had with Robert Fitterman whose review in Jacket was mentioned here this past Sunday. I told him that I had pointed my readers to Gilbert Adair's fascinating review of Rob's newest episodes of Metropolis. Rob mentioned an earlier review in Jacket sometime back that would complement this one- I plan to find that one too. Joel announced that all his poetry is procedural, and Patrick Lovelace mentioned to me that the graduate school poet friends he knows are all interested in Rob Fitterman's-and, no doubt Joel's, conceptual (found) poetry. Also, I had a chance to tell Susan Bee how impressed I was with her two page spread in the Brooklyn Rail-I liked the smiling photo (taken by Charles B it turns out). Also the interviewer, while pointing to all the important info- like the availability online now of M/E/A/N/I/N/G that Susan edited with Myra Schor, was witty as well. I left the reading feeling I had had a vacation in Oz and I wouldn't mind staying longer. But someone has to point you to the Emerald walk, don't they? Plenty of poets aournd these days seem willing and able to do just that, Wystan and Joel last night invoking and evoking the Tin Man, Max Ernst, Kurt Schwitters,and Dorothy; Lex- who knows Maryann Shaneen reminded me how we had all been graced with Bunny ears and photographed at her birthday party a couple of years ago, in honor of Marianne's upcoming documentary about the Furries- people who take their animal personas very seriously.. Poets as Furries; must be something to that. Wystan said-in one of his poems- that at times Max Ernst truly didn't know if he was a man or a bird.
read last evening at Saatchi and Saatchi. It's an impressive place, though some of my poet friends described it as a corporate cathedral. Huge gorgeous Elizabeth Murray painting/assemblages[my mistake- Wystan corrected me today at lunch- they are late Frank Stella paintings] grace the walls of the lobby when you enter.Three doorman were needed to guide you to an impressive reading room on the 16th floor that had a skylight on a round gabled glass ceiling thaf must have been 30 feet high. There were elegant aperitifs and an open bar. Both poets read from recent and earlier work, and the performances complemented each other well. When I thought about what these poets had in common I realized that both have a powerful curatorial impulse, Wystan in art and Joel in publishing (he's the publisher of Factory School books, along with Bill Marsh). These were readers who offer multilayered performances of striking intensity and subtle, yet pervasive irony which no doubt stems from a profound critical impulse. Joel's references included the Wizard of Oz and Wystan's another Oz known as Dada. Both poets clearly have thought long and hard about what they had to say before they said it, yet read with relaxed directedness and focus that lets the listeners think- but not overly long - always moving right along, no carelessness, but little rigidity. Joel read a second autobiographal, and very dramatic piece that I enjoyed immensely. Wystan ended with a poem about Matisse's erratic sleep habits that was both dreamlike and intensely wakeful- how did he do this?- that seemed to amplify everything that been performed thoughout the evening. The audience was excitedly appreciative: there were three children there who were graceful and attentive- a significant coup for any group of readers (Adeena Karasik's daughter and the daughters of Joel Kuzsai's associate Bill Marsh's- my recent publisher's- wife Octavia Davis. She'll be teaching writing at St. John's in the fall). Although she and Bill are relatively recent arrivals in Jackson Heights, Queens, I was happy to hear they are considering moving so they can stay for a long time. Charles Bernstein introduced both readers as close friends whose work he strongly feels deserves complete and wide attention. He is right, and the audience members, that included numerous fine poets and artists (I think I had met the painter Max Gimlet once before, as well as book collector and soon to be publisher Patrick Lovelace), Of course there were many others frequently mentioned on this blog. When Wystan comes next from New Zealand don't miss him; and if you see him ask Joel Kuzsai if he might read more often. Another treat was a quick conversation I had with Robert Fitterman whose review in Jacket was mentioned here this past Sunday. I told him that I had pointed my readers to Gilbert Adair's fascinating review of Rob's newest episodes of Metropolis. Rob mentioned an earlier review in Jacket sometime back that would complement this one- I plan to find that one too. Joel announced that all his poetry is procedural, and Patrick Lovelace mentioned to me that the graduate school poet friends he knows are all interested in Rob Fitterman's-and, no doubt Joel's, conceptual (found) poetry. Also, I had a chance to tell Susan Bee how impressed I was with her two page spread in the Brooklyn Rail-I liked the smiling photo (taken by Charles B it turns out). Also the interviewer, while pointing to all the important info- like the availability online now of M/E/A/N/I/N/G that Susan edited with Myra Schor, was witty as well. I left the reading feeling I had had a vacation in Oz and I wouldn't mind staying longer. But someone has to point you to the Emerald walk, don't they? Plenty of poets aournd these days seem willing and able to do just that, Wystan and Joel last night invoking and evoking the Tin Man, Max Ernst, Kurt Schwitters,and Dorothy; Lex- who knows Maryann Shaneen reminded me how we had all been graced with Bunny ears and photographed at her birthday party a couple of years ago, in honor of Marianne's upcoming documentary about the Furries- people who take their animal personas very seriously.. Poets as Furries; must be something to that. Wystan said-in one of his poems- that at times Max Ernst truly didn't know if he was a man or a bird.
Monday, May 7
On My Desk
David Antin: The Review of Contemporary Fiction, Spring 2001
"If I draw on the sense of exile, it's more in the cheerful exilic mode of Marcel Duchamp than in the anguished mode of Kafka. Probably because by now it seems clear nobody has a permanent home on the face of the earth."
Richard Foreman, *No-Body, a novel in parts*, The Overlook Press, 1997
""Oh, Eddie, Eddie-you broke my heart with your stories about a brilliant childhood."
Somerset Maugham, *The Moon and Sixpence*, 1919
"'I think Strickland knew it was a masterpiece. He had achieved what he wanted. His life was complete. He had made a world and saw that it was good. Then, in pride and contempt, he destroyed it.'"
Sharon Mesmer, *Half Angel, Half Lunch*, Hard Press, 1998
"He said, 'I'd like to explore the erotic aspect of this relationship.'
She said, 'Can it wait till the commercial?'
He said,'Have you ever read 'The Wasteland?'
She said, 'My last boyfriend took me to Hoboken for the weekend.'"
Otto Rank, *Art and Artist: Creative Urge and Personality Development*, 1932
"Achievement and success are seen to be psychologcally representative of the two basic tendencies that struggle against one another in the artist, the individual and the social. Achivement is ideological, success is personal; and the more the artist achieves in idea, the less disposed he will he be to follow this up by personal success...for success, even when it is won by artistic means, implies a personal success in life and is thus that very life from which the artist had originally fled to art as a refuge."
Wallace Stevens reads (cassette, recorded 1955, digitally remastered 1993), includes, *The Life of a Poet (A Prose Note)*
Arthur Sze, *The Redshifting Web; Poems 1970-1998, Copper Canyon
"Reality /is like a contemporary string/ quartet:/the first violinist puts on a crow's head./ And the cellist/soliloquizes on a white lotus/in the rain./The violinist discusses/love, rage and terror/And the second violinist reports on the latest coup/in Afghanistan"
(All, except the Maugham, found Sunday at Unnameable (formerly Adam's) Books-456 Bergen Street, Brooklyn; 718-789-1534 for $40!)
David Antin: The Review of Contemporary Fiction, Spring 2001
"If I draw on the sense of exile, it's more in the cheerful exilic mode of Marcel Duchamp than in the anguished mode of Kafka. Probably because by now it seems clear nobody has a permanent home on the face of the earth."
Richard Foreman, *No-Body, a novel in parts*, The Overlook Press, 1997
""Oh, Eddie, Eddie-you broke my heart with your stories about a brilliant childhood."
Somerset Maugham, *The Moon and Sixpence*, 1919
"'I think Strickland knew it was a masterpiece. He had achieved what he wanted. His life was complete. He had made a world and saw that it was good. Then, in pride and contempt, he destroyed it.'"
Sharon Mesmer, *Half Angel, Half Lunch*, Hard Press, 1998
"He said, 'I'd like to explore the erotic aspect of this relationship.'
She said, 'Can it wait till the commercial?'
He said,'Have you ever read 'The Wasteland?'
She said, 'My last boyfriend took me to Hoboken for the weekend.'"
Otto Rank, *Art and Artist: Creative Urge and Personality Development*, 1932
"Achievement and success are seen to be psychologcally representative of the two basic tendencies that struggle against one another in the artist, the individual and the social. Achivement is ideological, success is personal; and the more the artist achieves in idea, the less disposed he will he be to follow this up by personal success...for success, even when it is won by artistic means, implies a personal success in life and is thus that very life from which the artist had originally fled to art as a refuge."
Wallace Stevens reads (cassette, recorded 1955, digitally remastered 1993), includes, *The Life of a Poet (A Prose Note)*
Arthur Sze, *The Redshifting Web; Poems 1970-1998, Copper Canyon
"Reality /is like a contemporary string/ quartet:/the first violinist puts on a crow's head./ And the cellist/soliloquizes on a white lotus/in the rain./The violinist discusses/love, rage and terror/And the second violinist reports on the latest coup/in Afghanistan"
(All, except the Maugham, found Sunday at Unnameable (formerly Adam's) Books-456 Bergen Street, Brooklyn; 718-789-1534 for $40!)
Sunday, May 6
The Past Refound Rebound or Rebounds: Visitations, Celebrations, Reconstructions, Citations, Quotations
Jacket 32
The Holiday Album: Greeting Card Poems For All Occasions, edited by Elaine Equi, Douglas Messerli's What Is To Be Done, Fitterman's Metropolis deciphered by Gilbert Adair, Joan Retallack on Juliana Spahr and Jonathan Skinner, Jena Osman on Cecelia Vicuna and found art, Michael Gottlieb on flarf and Katie Degentesh's Anger Scale, James Sherry on The Grand Piano, Carolyn Bergvall's The Franker Tale and much,much more
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Contradicta
The only things worth being understood in what we say are those things we make clear in what others have said.
***************
Truths about poety are the keys that unlock the cages. You are there to watch the birds fly away and when they go you never think twice about the truth, the keys or the cages,
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Freud's Discontents in a Post 9/11 World- "Hail to the Analysand* NY Times Op-Ed
Jacket 32
The Holiday Album: Greeting Card Poems For All Occasions, edited by Elaine Equi, Douglas Messerli's What Is To Be Done, Fitterman's Metropolis deciphered by Gilbert Adair, Joan Retallack on Juliana Spahr and Jonathan Skinner, Jena Osman on Cecelia Vicuna and found art, Michael Gottlieb on flarf and Katie Degentesh's Anger Scale, James Sherry on The Grand Piano, Carolyn Bergvall's The Franker Tale and much,much more
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Contradicta
The only things worth being understood in what we say are those things we make clear in what others have said.
***************
Truths about poety are the keys that unlock the cages. You are there to watch the birds fly away and when they go you never think twice about the truth, the keys or the cages,
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Freud's Discontents in a Post 9/11 World- "Hail to the Analysand* NY Times Op-Ed
Saturday, May 5
Wednesday, May 2
A Serbian in Chelsea
Toni and I introduced Serbian poet Dubrava Duric to Chelsea yesterday. Toni performed one of her incomparable Chelsea tours. No time now to write a long post but two shows you must not miss are:
Leonardo Drew Leonardo Drew lives in New York and before that in Tallahasse, Florida.
Tobias Putrih's *Macula series A & 1"*, which was the star of the under and 30 something artist's show at "PS 1's Greater New York 2005", is on view at Max Protetch, 511 W. 22cd Street. Dubravka was saying the her husband Misko, who is a literary theorist in Belgrade, liked to spend time with friends in Slovenia. As it happens, Putrih was born there, and his latest work is the Slovvenian offering for the 2007 Venice Biennale. The Putrih large, biomorphic shaped cardboard sculptures are eerily monumental while remaining light-porous and delicate
Toni and I introduced Serbian poet Dubrava Duric to Chelsea yesterday. Toni performed one of her incomparable Chelsea tours. No time now to write a long post but two shows you must not miss are:
Leonardo Drew Leonardo Drew lives in New York and before that in Tallahasse, Florida.
Tobias Putrih's *Macula series A & 1"*, which was the star of the under and 30 something artist's show at "PS 1's Greater New York 2005", is on view at Max Protetch, 511 W. 22cd Street. Dubravka was saying the her husband Misko, who is a literary theorist in Belgrade, liked to spend time with friends in Slovenia. As it happens, Putrih was born there, and his latest work is the Slovvenian offering for the 2007 Venice Biennale. The Putrih large, biomorphic shaped cardboard sculptures are eerily monumental while remaining light-porous and delicate
Tuesday, May 1
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