Noam Chomsky
who we've been watching tonight on
C Span
is a brilliant academic political commentator
but
Reno {click here}
who will be
back at the Bowery Poetry Club {click here} for two shows:
Fri., 2/13, 8pm
Sat, 2/20, 8pm
is much funnier! And also politically astute!
Her recent scathingly funny
but thoughtful and insightful monologue
on the far right Christian coalition
mesmerized the Bowery
Poetry Club audience a few weekends ago,
and, I'm told, the Poetry Project audience
on New Year's day.

Weekend

Excuse me, but remember the time when most lit bloggers
didn't blog on weekends? I just checked my "favorites"
on bl.ogs and counted 33 bloggers who posted today. And these
are not by far all my favorites! Including
Notes from the Dovecote {click here},
the former *Solipsistic Gazette*, surely among the
most drop dead beautiful of all blogs, who apparently now has a partner,
and has been presenting a new blog daily of late.

**

After publishing one of the best blogged
reading reviews I've seen yet,
Pantaloons:Tykes on Poetry (Jack Kimball) {click here} on Friday posted a lovely prose poem
titled, quite simply, "Close".

from *Fits of Dawn*
Joseph Ceravolo
C Press, 1965

"SATURDAYS
'There the same squint untrue of the feast
There songe utility
Swoop quays of skies
Whore for the cyclone always
Hum cherry fleet lettuce of the hill---
Day listing quiet who love booze of
The clothes, hannibal tumble.
The stars a doze C soothing counter!
Poor sessame his self
Dawn the evening this this acquarian unwren
In the bundle of the coo some-
Times Theodosia is yours
For the lotus like a toy you marry
Eternity wink: jamais hotel'"

Thanks to Vanishing Points (Tom Beckett){click here}
for the link and kind words about this blog and
our Friday *Desert Island Book List* post

from Where is Raed? (Salem Pax) {click here}
"My new computer background image says:
'Re-examine every thought and concept you have'".
:: salam 4:52 AM [+] ::

Bemsha Swing (Jonathan Mayhew) {click here} expressed jealousy regarding my
copy of *Fits of Dawn* by Joe Ceravolo.
But may I remind him that on Feb. 3rd
he published the following:

"The urge to collect additional Ceravolo books...
Some are quite difficult to find, but the
internet makes it all too easy."

A cursory check of about 6 used and rare
book search web sites turned up 0 for "Fits of Dawn."
While the web is good for finding some
books, others are impossible to find this way.
I learned this searching for first editions of
certain books by William Hazlitt, which I am still longing for.

Desert Island Book List

Consciousness, that master poet, never forgets that final touch
even when the heart itself does.

**
Awhile back in blogland, there was a spate of writers listing
what books they would take with them to a desert island.

Having spent a little time over my life in places where I couldn't
get the books I needed, you remember how this kind of list can have serious consequences
in terms of readerly frustrations.

For one thing, for example when I lived in Rapallo, Italy once for
six months I realized not only quality, but quantity can be a real issue
for readers who have all their time free and want to read all the time.
Also, in this town there was no tv and no movie theaters either, no
bookstores with English language books either. I brought a huge
suitcase full of books, but that went quickly. Luckily there was an English
language library. Every single one of Virginia Woolf's books were there, a
lot of other stuff and then I went through all of that. Though all this
was annoying, I got so bored that that's how I started to make collages, which
I made by obtaining large quanities of European magazines in Genoa, with
the help of my friend, the artist John Freda.

Somehow thinking about how Gill Ott had died the same day that the Chax/Boog
City reading took place (I had had a strange thought the night before that I should post
a part of a poem by Gill Ott ; I had heard of course that he was very ill, that very soon
he would no longer be with us). Today I thought about
the title: *Knowing When To Stop* by Ned Rorem. That Gill Ott's timing of the moment
to die was a kind of spirit-poem- an elegie concrete, perhaps. In any case, thinking
of that title gets me back to the desert island issue.

I think what I would mostly take with me would be diaries- for example, the diaries of the American
composer Ned Rorem. Rorem is the author of *The Paris Diary*, *The New York Diary*, *The Nantucket Diary*, *The Later Diaries*, *The Final Diary*, (which, of course is not the final diary) and the more recent *Knowing When To Stop*. Having these books, as a group, that I've never
had a chance to read exhaustively, but have nibbled at endlessly, would be the equivalent
of having a complete daily blog to read daily for a long period of time that evokes the dailiness of
an inventive and witty mind.

Quote from *The Paris Diaries*:

"'Nothing is worse than death. And if one consoles oneself
that death is the end of all, it's also certain that nothing is
worse than life.Why work, Why bother? For of that which was
Nikolai Nikolanievitch nothing remains. (Tolstoy on his brother's
death). '"
******

(to be continued)

Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Al Gore, Jesse Jackson and Jordan Davis
campaign for vice-president on Jim Behrle's Famous: The Jim Side {click here}

Many of the poets at yesterday's Boog City/Chax reading
at ACA Galleries, including the publisher/poet Charles Alexander
were close friends with Gill Ott, poet and publisher of Singing Horse Press
who died yesterday. It was noted that Charles Bernstein and Bob
Perelman both had visited him at his hospital bed last Tuesday. Mr. Ott
had had numerous kidney transplants throughout his brief but
very fruitful life, so had faced this threat for nearly 25 years,
as Charles Bernstein explained during his portion of the group reading.
The reading was in honor of Chax Press' 20th birthday.
Here is a bit more of Gill Ott's poetry from his book *The Whole Note*
from Zasterle Press.

"This feeble stick, this debris. Pry with a twig
the mass aready man dances to reconcile
sounds from a rural grave with vacant uni-
son. He is revealed

spirits demanded split from the grove of
hands to burn, incarnate, white up a sweat.
Name deity the rounds of the blank assem-
bled to charge fealty with alcohol, poverty to
congregate

penury undone. Out of the blood a knife's
work freed him for these rounds and un-
marked he every mark inspected. Glazed

the city of souls thick dependence momen-
tarily undone. Raw sensory equivalence an
animal tongue, a limp or worse affliction
raises the dead among us. Harm and again
relieved."

(another short passage from this book
appeared on ::fait accompli:: yesterday.)

**
For More on Gill Ott click here for Ron Silliman's Blog
Gill Ott memorial page & more links right now on The Philly Sound {click here}

Saturday, February 7th. 4:00 p.m.
Eleni Sikelianos
Christopher Stackhouse

Segue Series at
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery, New York, NY 10012
212.614.0505
**** $5.00 cover ****
Coffee, tea, sandwiches plus full bar available.

Note: We are trying to start readings promptly this spring.

foot of First Street, between Houston & Bleecker
across the street from CBGBs
F train to Second Ave, or 6 train to Bleecker

CHRISTOPHER STACKHOUSE
Christopher Stackhouse’s writing has appeared in the journals Aufgabe, Bridge, Hambone, and NYArts, among others. Seismosis, a book featuring his line drawings with text by writer John Keene was published as a letterpress, limited-edition book by The Center for Book Arts in NYC in November 2003. He is a poetry editor for Fence and a Cave Canem Writers Fellow. He is also a former events/readings curator at The Poetry Project at St. Mark's Church.

ELENI SIKELIANOS
Eleni Sikelianos' most recent book is The Monster Lives of Boys & Girls (Green Integer/National Poetry Series 2003). Previous books include Earliest Worlds (Coffee House) & The Book of Tendons (Post-Apollo). Forthcoming are The Book of Jon (City Lights) & The California Poem (Coffee House). Sikelianos currently lives in Colorado, where she teaches at Naropa & Denver Univ.’s Creative PhD Program.

The Segue Reading Series is made possible by the support of The Segue Foundation and The New York State Council on the Arts. For more information, please visit www.segue.org/calendar, http://bowerypoetry.com/midsection.htm or call (212) 614-0505. Curators: Feb.-March by Dan Machlin & Charles Borkhuis, April-May by Karen Weiser & Tonya Foster.

Notebook: November 2000

God Bless Obscurity

God bless obscurity
land that I love
stand beside her
and guide her
with the dark from the spark
of a glove

[inspiration=concentration/yearly income]

[or concentration=inspiration x yearly income]

from the dictionary
to the libraries
to the used bookstoress
deep in debt
God bless obscurity
my home sweet home
that dear old gnome

**

Graffiti In The Cafe Jaffa

"Give me ambiguity or give me something else."

**
Since there has been building noise on the street outside
my apartment for months, it seems for years, and since
because of this I listen
to music every morning. I got into the habit of listening
to Chopin, particularly the Ballades. I don't know why, but
this music appears to be of inexhaustible interest to me. Surely,
eventually I will tire of it, but when? Like Debussy, it
opens out into feelings I want to return to endlessly.

from *The Whole Note*
by Gill Ott
Zasterle Press, 1996

"My love, in all my imperfection, are here,
despite your attribution to another entry. Less
than breeze, than presence, the transmission

circles like a hawk, or any other problem set to
right

candles to tense, in our knowledge of each
other, three. This difficulty multiplies a pin-
point phrases, care taken in song's resolve.
My rider has descended, you."

Elsewhere (Gary Sullivan) {click here} is suggesting, along with
ululations (Nada Gordon) {click here}
[scroll down to Monday, February 2
*When Will The Book Be Ready*]
that they are anxious to see
a "big book"
of *fait accompli*. Among other nicer things,
they've observed that time is passing.
Well, the manuscript is
in the works, but first Toni and I have to move.
Many thanks to Gary and Nada for the
boost!

Lorianne Schaub (Hoarded Ordinaries) {click here}
posted the following (and more) on
Heart @ Work,
a blog that is now running a series on one
of my favorite topics, "Why I blog": "The thought
that you are sitting there reading keeps me writing,
for writing is lonely if not shared. In my mind nestles
the hope that if my memories inspire--
if they touch a trigger in your own
heart, a place where similar
memories reside--you too might notice the
the ordinary, the forgotten, and the unloved.
For the world is filled with ordinaries--a limitless,
unending supply--but we have only a finite number of
hearts and eyes. Pay attention, pay attention: the
world is passing like a parade, and all its
drummers and dancers are destined
to die. How much can you notice
of this beautiful daily panorama?
How many shop-window
bargains in your
heart of hearts
can you save?"
# posted by Lois @ 7:37 AM

I don't know if there is a conscious
reference to Walter Benjamin's
*Arcades Project* here, but
I appreciated the connection,
and the thought.

Beginning Again At The Mouth of the River

Often I'll think of adding something here, and then
think, why would I do that? I feel strangely
embarassed about the idea, like why would anyone
want to to see this, or, everybody knows about
this, say, or has read it.

This is what happened with these lines from *Four Quartets*
by TS Eliot. Ah, the old anti-semite, everybody's bored with his stilted
mawkish jokes and musings. But then I reread it in a few minutes and think:
(I'm moving so I'm starting to pack my books and this one somehow ended
up on the floor in front of my reading chair)-

But it's all there, isn't it, a lot of what I think about still.

"Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past."

This is what I understand as the basis of
time travel. If we examine the past carefully,
we find correspondances and links to the present,
possibly by means of a kind of linking between the two,
a very brief hopskotch into the future.

"Go, go, go said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.'

This seems obvious, yet again...

"Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present"

Gertrude Stein all the way.

..."Time past and time future
Allow but little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time...
Only through time, time is conquered."

Now we're getting into the meat of the matter.

For most, all that can be expected is

",,,Only a flicker
over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction"

A simpler, or more basic description or diagnosis of contemporary consciousness
is hard to imagine- so much said in five words
about what continues to be the heart of the backsliding
observeable in the overall human ability to focus and comprehend
a situation and its implications, its roots and branches into the future.

"Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now. Words strain,
Crack and sometime break, under the burden
Will not stay still....

It appears that a pattern is being sought, but this
isn't true

"For the pattern is new in every moment
And every moment is a new and shocking
Valuation of all we have been..."

This timeless place is in time and is found
most of all in memories.

"There is a time for the evening under starlight
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album)"

And despite this, due to time's ultimate paradox
"...not escaping from the past
Into different lives, or into any future;
You are not the same people who left that station
Or will arrive at any terminus...
You shall not think "the past is finished"
Or "the future is before us."

Because the final surprise is
"I sometimes wonder of that is what Krishna meant-
...The mind of a man may be intent
At the time of death'- that is the one action
(And the time of death is every moment)

So it seems that

"...to apprehend
The point of intersection of the timeless
with time, is an occupation for the saint-
No occupation either, but something given
And taken..."

Since this is an impossibility, yet human
must move towards this,

"...right action is freedom
From past and future also,
For most of us, this is the aim
Never here to be realized..."

That this is an idealization is acknowledged,
so we have to search the past for specifics
to ground ourselves in life as we actually live
it-

"We die with the dying:
See, they depart and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.

After all this learning, and striving to
connect with all being and not-being

"We shall not cease from exploration
And at the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."

Full circle: the paradox of living is
not eternity, but the interconnection
between all states of being and not-being

There is a kind of surprise in all experience
which is a constant reminder of the

"...unknown remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall."

At first the sound of the waterfall
is distant and strange, maybe even
an invasion of the quiet soundlessness.
Something is jarring, a sound is heard'
as though a thought wanted to be heard.
The thought at first was a naive thought,
a shy being hardly even dressed or self-aware.
It has to be left to itself to find its feet at last,
to find a way to dress itself, and then address
itself to others to be heard.

Now, again I guess I'll leave these poems to themselves
for awhile, even a long while, it doesn't matter. They
themselves more and more become what they tried
to address in the world- finally becoming more known
than unknown, and thus becoming less distinguishable
from their objects.

I just noticed that "The Dry Salvages" is a small group
of rocks ,with a beacon, off the N.E. coast of Cape Ann
Massachusetts.

All these books scattered around like rocks on the shores
of my consciousness. Or are they the shores of my consciousness?

Poetry In Boston

Jack Kimball {click here} reports on
a group reading at Tim Peterson's apartment.

Never Neutral (Ernesto Priego){click here}
opens with a sweet tune today, played
hauntingly on a what sounds to be a slightly out
of tune old piano or a child's music box.

Jonathan Mayhew (Bemsha Swing) {click here}
boasts of finding a Joseph Ceravolo book
online, and how easy it was, speaking
like a hunter disappointed at the relative
ease in tracking down his quarry.
But he is unlikely to match a great find
I purchased some years ago from Steve Clay
of Granary Books. A copy of * Fits of Dawn* bound by
Ted Berrigan in pebbly black dissertation covers, and published by
his *C* Press in 1965. By far Ceravolo's most abstract work
it features poems with lines like:

"...Beyond you jar unself
aroma ax almul chad rugyrebel sex
Leapon silent rebel chain riding
silence aback him eruption pile-
on disk outsent babe nibble have
a shu lift Kota memory ahoy
cultivate so all chomine recussion
soulen boy mirage resume
Ecola! Going there! make ya took
Caribbean remind exuberance
tabu avalance voyant will curse"

What moxie, eh?
And how about that Ted Berrigan
for publishing it so lovingly?

Recently I rather peevishly complained
that a certain blogger had incorporated
my link list without acknowledgement.

Now, This Certain Blogger {click here}
has not only acknowledged my link list,
but he's added a photo of the cover of my most
recent book to the list. I'm smiling from ear to ear
and I am abashed. Thanks, Mr. Gordon!

Where else could this happen but in Blogland, I ask you?

Or, maybe I should say, Massachusetts?

And, this is, as I am on record as having stated before,
further evidence that the New Brutalists are anything but.

Black Spring (Menno ter Braak) {click here}
dedicated a poem yesterday to
Tom Beckett (Vanishing Points of Resemblance) {click here},
along with some laudatory words, that
this tireless contributor to the contemporary
poetry scene certainly well deserves
(be sure to check out
Beckett's new blog).
Black Spring also features a discussion of
Barrett Watten's excellent book
*Bad History* (scroll down to January 29).
A controversial, imaginative hybrid of fiction, essay, prose poetry, philosophy,
commentary, this 1998 book from Atelos is, in a word, indispensable.