DIY Poetics

Subtle Plague

2008-07-30T21:43:00.000-04:00

a private occasion in a public place

2008-06-17T08:49:00.001-04:00

I understand the question

we are both very mixed
 in exchange,
the correct version
again and again
i feel dodging
closer


half hear
cannot answer
less bound
surprisingly clear


know how,
know that
word by word
we're on our own


lovely day on
the hills i'm
glad we were
all there

Influence

2008-05-02T19:04:00.000-04:00

Ric Caddel, 1949-2003

2008-04-02T20:05:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of the death of the British poet Richard Caddel. I've written a little bit about him here and a little bit more in the introduction to Uncertain Time, the first US edition of one of his books, which Pressed Wafer will be bringing out later this year. So for now all I'll say is that Ric had a very big influence on me as a writer, reader, and maker of poems, and even though I never knew him I miss him.

Here's one from Uncertain Time which has been particularly with me this past year:

GRACKLES

Words, words.

The tumult
to live where
you would be
loved.

The waters
rising.

Poguespoguespogues

2008-03-19T23:53:00.003-04:00

Just got home from the Pogues show. Amazed that Shane still has it. Or has it again. Any of it. Whatever. It was pretty amazing. I meant to write down the setlist, but forgot. Suffice to say that if you wanted to hear it, they probably played it. My Top 5 Pogues songs, kind of:

1. Transmetropolitan
2. Dark Streets of London
3. Turkish Song of the Damned
4. If I Should Fall From Grace With God
5. Everything else off the first three albums.

#1 is the only one on that list they didn't play. "Streams of Whiskey" was first followed by "If I Should Fall From Grace With God" and after that it's a big blur. Phil Chevron completely rocked "Thousands Are Sailing." Spider Stacy (the baddest tin whistler alive) sang a few. Virtually everything Shane said in between songs was nigh incomprehensible. The encores were "Sally Maclennane," "Rainy Night in Soho," a couple other songs (including "The Irish Rover" and some other trad tune sung by Andrew Rankin) and finally "Fiesta" which featured Spider and Shane smashing drinks trays into their heads repeatedly.

I am continually amazed and reassured to see older bands rocking out. For example, James Fearnley. Dropping to your knees can be a dodgy act; jumping off a drum riser and landing on your knees, even more so. Doing that at the age of 53 while carrying an accordion is absolutely ridiculous, and brilliant.

Only minor bummer, other than the show having to end? I saw it billed somewhere as featuring "all original members," however the badass Cait O'Riorden was not there. I mean, I knew she wouldn't be, but still. (I only thought of it at that line in "Fiesta" though).

Otherwise, I'm quite happy, head ringing, drizzle drizzling, work in the morning.

Pogues

2008-01-26T22:57:00.001-05:00

And speaking of Shane & The Pogues - who are coming to town in March, and who I am going to be seeing when they do - my two favorite songs in one badly-recored video:

More Nick Cave

2008-01-26T22:36:00.000-05:00

with Shane MacGowan, of course.

Why I do not fear getting older

2008-01-26T22:28:00.000-05:00

Nick Cave is 50.

Boys Next Door

2008-01-26T22:14:00.000-05:00

Nick Zinner, we've found you out.

making fun

2008-01-26T10:22:00.001-05:00

An easy target but I did chuckle.

Naked

2008-01-23T22:59:00.000-05:00

and inspired by Mike Leigh's Naked:

Tim Eriksen, "Amazing Grace"

2008-01-20T23:14:00.001-05:00

From the vault

2008-01-17T22:12:00.000-05:00

This originally appeared in the email zine WHEN AARONS ATTACK!, now archived athttp://whenaaronsattack.blogspot.com.

A DAY IN THE LIFE, v. 1.0
written by Correspondent Aaron T
no code

COMMON, near the gazebo.

You are standing in the rain on the Common at the beginning of your lunch break. Before you is a large white gazebo. To the west is your office. To the east a grassy hill covered in leaves leads to a statue of mysterious origin. The Common sprawls indiscriminately in all other directions.

>in

GAZEBO

You are standing in the middle of the gazebo on Boston Common. There is some graffiti on one of the posts.

>read post

"Geo lived here two years - no one cares in Boston - going south for winter - maybe Califas."

You notice some other graffiti nearby.

>read graffiti
(other)

"what about life"

You are hungry.

>i

You are carrying:

a lightweight parka (being worn)
a can of ginger ale
a can of mountain dew
a Drake's Apple pie.

>eat pie.

Are you sure?

>y.

You have eaten the pie. You feel slightly better, except for a toothache.

>drink can

You can't do that!

>open can. drink ginger.

Yum.

>l rain

The rain is wet and falls down like mist on the empty Common.

>l common

You're looking pretty common already!

>l at common

The Common is empty. Even the homeless seem to have largely fled the drizzle. Days like this make you feel as though you are in the world of some text-adventure game, where everything is ancient and beautiful and abandoned. It is a good feeling.

>diagnose

You are no longer hungry or thirsty. You have a small toothache. Your spirit is subdued but pleasant. You are very tired.

Revelation

2008-01-17T19:37:00.000-05:00

Thank fuck that's over

2008-01-01T00:06:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year, everybody.

Billy's balloon

2007-12-26T23:11:00.000-05:00

One more

2007-12-22T17:54:00.001-05:00

Five years gone

2007-12-21T23:09:00.000-05:00

OK, all this other stuff I've been posting is fun but this is where it's really at:

John Graham "Woody" Mellor
a/k/a
JOE STRUMMER
August 21, 1952 – December 22, 2002

Car Jam

 for Joe Strummer

Left eye optic static  morning
through wet pines shines  full
of sugar & fervent listening
to rockets from the speakers
we were like sticks of dynamite
like trousers like brain  bent
at permanent angles  yesterday’s papers
scrawled in ice cream.

The piano has the sound of the town.
Car tears dry in the windscreen sun.

"Without people you're nothing."

Thanks, Joe.

Paranoimia

2007-12-21T22:57:00.001-05:00

Truth is out of style

2007-12-21T22:56:00.001-05:00

Ich bin ein auslander

2007-12-21T22:55:00.001-05:00

Doctorin' the TARDIS

2007-12-21T22:53:00.001-05:00

Lou Reed: "Magic and Loss"

2007-12-13T20:14:00.001-05:00

When you pass through the fire
you pass through humble
You pass through a maze of self doubt
When you pass through humble
the lights can blind you
Some people never figure that out
You pass through arrogance you pass through hurt
You pass through an ever present past
and it's best not to wait for luck to save you
Pass through the fire to the light

As you pass through the fire
your right hand waving
there are things you have to throw out
That caustic dread inside your head
will never help you out
You have to be very strong
'cause you'll start from zero
over and over again
And as the smoke clears
there's an all consuming fire
lying straight ahead

They say no one person can do it all
but you want to in your head
But you can't be Shakespeare
and you can't be Joyce
so what is left instead
You're stuck with yourself
and a rage that can hurt you
You have to start at the beginning again
And just this moment
This wonderful fire started up again

When you pass through humble
when you pass through sickly
When you pass through
I'm better than you all
When you pass through
anger and self deprecation
and have the strength to acknowledge it all
When the past makes you laugh
and you can savor the magic
that let you survive your own war
You find that that fire is passion
and there's a door up ahead not a wall

As you pass through fire as you pass through fire
trying to remember its name
When you pass through fire licking at your lips
you cannot remain the same
And if the building's burning
move towards that door
but don't put the flames out
There's a bit of magic in everything
and then some loss to even things out

Black Fantasia

2007-12-07T21:42:00.000-05:00

Note

2007-11-19T13:47:00.000-05:00

If you're looking for my old fishblog, the url is now

aarontieger2.blogspot.com

You'll be pumping Ovaltine

2007-11-01T23:38:00.000-04:00

Please watch this.

A brief message

2007-09-08T23:12:00.000-04:00

I'm interrupting this (semi-permanent) hiatus to note that tonight's SOON Productions reading, Laura Solomon and Dorothea Lasky, was blisteringly hot (and not just because of the lack of air-conditioning at the new venue). Both poets were amazing, and Dotty in particular - her poems break my heart wide open and then pour honey on the pieces.

This was also my last reading as a member of SOON, and I want to thank my fellow curators and our loyal audience members for a memorable experience.

Teenage Riot in a Coffee Shop?

2007-06-16T09:14:00.000-04:00

Starbucks to Release Sonic Youth Celebrity Compilation

"Thurston: "We asked all these different people to choose their favorite Sonic Youth song. Jeff Tweedy, Beck, Marc Jacobs, Portia de Rossi, Michelle Williams ... Starbucks is the new record store, right?"

Highlights of the hiatus thus far

2007-06-10T22:50:00.000-04:00

("High" as in "notable" not necessarily "great")

Discovering my car's AC to be dead, on a 6 hour road trip with a dog in the car.

What seemed to be a successful alumni reading with Mark Lamoureux, Sean Cole, Cate Marvin, and Jay Davis. Said success later confirmed upon hearing that an audience member proclaimed that all readers except Sean and Jay "should be shot."

Wedding of a born-again Christian relative to a woman whose parents thought said relative "not religious enough." Jesus Christ, indeed.

My mother lending me her car with a working AC. And taking care of the dog.

Lovely vacation in Vacationland, of all places. Mountains and oceans. And trees, all in one convenient state. (Well, not so convenient).

Feeling worse about Ithaca while in Portland; feeling better about Ithaca while in Bar Harbor.

Pirates of the Caribbean 3: Not as bad as feared.

My wife spraining her ankle while eating ice cream.

Returning home to Clark Coolidge's Counting on Planet Zero, courtesy of Fewer & Further. Very nice.

Also receiving Michael Carr's Softer White from House Press. Also very nice.

The dog killing a second baby bunny.

Weather, flowers, birds.

An absolutely wonderful reading here in Ithaca last night featuring Gina Franco and Mairead Byrne. And a wonderful time putting up Mairead and her daughter Clio.

Burn, baby, burn

2007-05-15T21:52:00.000-04:00

Falwell's dead.

Further Anchorite

2007-05-02T19:44:00.000-04:00

Please ditch work early and come out to this tomorrow night. Anchorite and Fewer & Further are two of the most exciting micropresses out there, and I'm truly stoked to be reading with such a great array of poets/friends/unmet friends.

Boog City presents

d.a. levy lives: celebrating the renegade press

Anchorite Editions
(Albany, N.Y.)

and

Fewer & Further Press
(Wendell, Mass.)

Thurs. May 3, 6:00 p.m. sharp, free

ACA Galleries
529 W.20th St., 5th Flr.
NYC

Event will be hosted by
Fewer & Further Press editor Jess Mynes

Featuring readings from

Anchorite Editions authors

Theo Hummer
John Mulrooney
Aaron Tieger
Jess Mynes

and

Fewer & Further authors

Michael Carr
Brenda Iijima
Andrew Mister
Aaron Tieger

and music from
Kansas State Flower

There will be wine, cheese, and crackers, too.

Daffodils

2007-05-01T17:55:00.000-04:00

Suddenly I like Wordsworth a whole lot more.

Check it.

An Entirely Incomplete List of Things a Non–Illiterate Designer Should Know Before Being a Designer

2007-04-24T09:02:00.000-04:00

* That text will inevitably be read before it is looked at
* That words themselves make remarkably effective clip art
* That the self–conscious layering of messages usually subtracts more value than it adds
* That the practical value of white space towers over its value as a design element
* That the deep symbolism of a design decision, referring perhaps to a treasured memory of the designer, is irrelevant to the person attempting to glean something from the work
* That print designers who gauge their work on the screen, and web designers who gauge their work exclusively on their own machines, are arrogant in their disregard
* That the physiobiology of reading is one that demands easy points of exit and entry
* That simply paying attention to the design of type, or distinguishing it as “fine” or “invisible” or “classical” is like making a big deal about putting salt on a boiled egg
* That letters are not pictures of things, but things
* That words are not things, but pictures of things
* That arbitrarily altering (or allowing software to alter) the shapes of letters, and the spacing between letters and words, is done at one’s own risk
* That emphasis comes at a cost
* That overstating the obvious can be effective, but not all the time
* The precise point at which a quantity of information no longer requires assistance to be differentiated from another
* The knowledge to back up design decisions clearly without falling into a fog of hidden meaning, or so–called “creativity”

(swiped from A List Apart)

If I made this up I'd sound like an asshole

2007-04-19T23:47:00.000-04:00

Found in the classifieds of Poets & Writers:

"FLUID DISCHARGE is a new magazine created to empower women writers."

Fluid discharge.

Things you can blog

2007-04-18T22:24:00.000-04:00

1. Lots of goodness in the mail of late. The titan is Meng's Tonight's the Night, which is just brilliant. Also NEG's Inbox, which is amusing, and the other new one, the one with "fiddle" "throat" and "sparrow" in the title, along with a verb and some prepositions I can't remember exactly, which I haven't had the chance to read yet.

And a nice parcel from Zach & the CultSoc.

And at last, my copies of *1 and *2 from Fewer & Further, which are also wonderful. I'm lucky to be in such company as Massey, Tharp and Phillips.

Not to mention a package containing hard-to-finds by Aram Saroyan, Tom Pickard, and Tony Baker, as well as High on the Walls: a Morden Tower Anthology. Thanks to Sam "Bill" Ward for these babies.

I don't know when I'll actually be able to read all of these, since all of my energy seems to be channeling itself into the D&D campaign setting I've been working on (the truth comes out!), so in lieu of anything intelligent to say, here's a video:

which reminds me of this.

(After watching the Plastic Bertrand, you can go to Turntable + Blue Light & read the poem I made out of that song).

That's it for now.

Snow, again

2007-04-16T15:36:00.000-04:00

Turntable & Bluelight

2007-04-15T23:03:00.000-04:00

Check out the new work at Turntable & Bluelight:

~Madame Talbot's Victorian Era Dead~~Athanasius Kircher & the Cabinet
of Curiosity~~Hoarding, writing & objects by G.L. Ford~~

~Arielle Guy's new editorial about growing up music-challenged in Philly~

~Sunny Buick's Paintings & Tattoos~~Review of Kiiiii by Diana Slampyak~

~Magnet 659, a short story by Sadie Worth~~Poetry by Aaron Tieger~

~Poetry by Catherine Daly~~Paintings by Tim Lane~

Cute

2007-04-15T23:00:00.000-04:00

New mag!

2007-03-08T14:08:00.000-05:00

Now available:

The Can
issue #1

$4

The Can is a magazine of essays on poetry. The first issue includes
these pieces:

- Aaron Tieger on Ryan Murphy
- Guillermo Parra on Edward Upward
- Gina Myers on Kate Greenstreet
- Michael Slosek on Eric Unger
- Brenda Iijima on Akilah Oliver
- Mark Lamoureux on Gertrude Stein
- Dorothea Lasky on Recycling
- Cedar Sigo on Narration & Figure

Buy one through this link with paypal:
http://katalanchepress2.blogspot.com/

or send a check for $4 (payable to Michael Carr) to:

The Can
c/o Carr
9 Malcolm Rd, #1
Cambridge, MA 02138

Zombified

2007-03-07T22:05:00.000-05:00

All this sociological talk about poetry makes my head hurt, and me clamber for brains. I read and read and read, and a thousand half-formed sentences/retorts/questions come to mind... but there's too much. I only think "Brains... brains..."

I've just scribbled out three different paragraphs responding to the whole to-do on Josh & Seth's blogs. I can't formulate any coherent response, so I leave you with this moderately amusing zombie video:

Thinking about what's mine

2007-03-02T08:31:00.000-05:00

Birthday yesterday, along with Botticelli, Chopin, David Niven, Bill Gaines, Harry Belafonte, Mike d'Abo, Roger Daltrey, Alan Thicke, Burning Spear, and of course the poets: Robert Lowell, Howard Nemerov, Richard Wilbur, and Basil Bunting.

Not to mention the start of the Salem Witch Trials, the Watergate indictments, the Annexing of the Republic of Texas (way to go, President Tyler), the Castle Bravo, the introduction of the Swatch, the Secret Service raid on Steve Jackson Games, and Nirvana's last show.

But really what matters is that things are finally looking up. A wealth of well-wishers, birthday-related plans by my wife that exceed all expectation (and imagination), a surprise visit by an old friend, a new, good, job... and of course, some cool stuff.

Yesterday I was working at the new job, sitting on the couch, listening to John Cale, with the dog and cat and wife and good friend in the spare room, and I swear, I actually felt happy for the first time in months. Thanks to everyone who wrote or called - I needed this.

my favorite John Cale song

2007-02-28T23:02:00.000-05:00

Dying On The Vine

I've been chasing ghosts and I don't like it
I wish someone would show me where to draw the line
I'd lay down my sword if you would take it
And tell everyone back home I'm doing fine

I was with you down in Acapulco
Trading clothing for some wine
Smelling like an old adobe woman
Or a William Burroughs playing for lost time

I was thinking about my mother
I was thinking about what's mine
I was living my life like a Hollywood
But I was dying on the vine

Who could sleep through all that noisy chatter
The troops, the celebrations in the sun
The authorities say my papers are all in order
And if I wasn't such a coward I would run

I'll see you me when all the shooting's over
Meet me on the other side of town
Yes, you can bring all your friends along for protection
It's always nice to have them hanging around

I was thinking about my mother
I was thinking about what's mine
I was living my life like a Hollywood
But I was dying, dying on the vine

CARVE 8 now available!

2007-02-27T23:13:00.000-05:00

Finally, I am pleased to announce the for-real publication of CARVE 8. Featuring poems by Erica Kaufman (Brooklyn, NY), Lars Palm (Lund, Sweden), Ryan Murphy (New York, NY), Amy Whitney (Ithaca, NY), Arielle Guy (Brooklyn, NY), and Joseph Massey (Arcata, CA), this issue is sure to please!

CARVE 8 can be purchased via this paypal button:
or by the same button at CARVE Poems. Or, if you prefer, a check (made payable to AARON TIEGER) or cleverly concealed cash to 1964 Slaterville Rd., Ithaca NY 14850.

Please order your copy today. Support small presses and the poets who publish in them!

Effing 6

2007-02-26T22:43:00.000-05:00

has finally reached me, and goddamn is it good. I'm out of steam & words at the end of this day but this poem by Shannon Tharp just blew me away:

10:31

Red numbers
above the moon
on the floor,

hoarse
with how
long I've known

you.

Evasion's an angel's
legacy.
I look

at alarm
as
a

wife.

& I'll say it again: excellent work by some of my favorite poets: Chris Rizzo, Mairead Byrne, John Phillips, Jess Mynes (like you've never seen him before). Also intrigued by Zach Barocas and Andy Mister, both of whose work is new to me. And it just goes on and on. Get this one while it lasts, folks.

Move ease

2007-02-23T13:22:00.000-05:00

Tagged by Mark, here's a list of movies that are either now or have been in my top 10. I tend to prefer my movies with a heavy dose of goofy escapism; thus I'm not claiming any kind of "bestness" about this list, or even relevance (I haven't really seen Breathless in almost a decade, for example, so don't know if it still resonates, etc).

Anyway:

1. Blade Runner
2. Breathless
3. Quadrophenia
4. Dogtown & Z-Boys
5. Spinal Tap
6. Withnail & I
7. Shaun of the Dead
8. Office Space
9. Brotherhood of the Wolf
10. Shaving Ryan's Privates

I'm sure there are others that could as easily occupy some of these (non-hierarchical) slots.

Ex-spear; mental.

2007-02-22T22:50:00.000-05:00

I'm not a big fan of generalizations - critical or otherwise - but "experimental" has always felt to me like an internal descriptor rather than an external one. That is, I feel like everything I write - everything I write that I like - is in some way an experiment - for myself. I wrote a poem once that I was pretty proud of that an astute reader described - not unfavorably - as being "cutting edge circa 1974." Fine - it was still new for me.

But it seems useless to me to describe the work of another in terms of experimental vs. not experimental. Maybe Pound was just phoning in some of those later Cantos. Who knows?

This after reading - not very closely at all - this.

Good news, at last

2007-02-22T22:38:00.000-05:00

In this week of work stress, roof leakage, septic tank chaos, and pre-inlaws scouring, it's pretty exciting to report that Effing 6 is now available. Edited by Joe Massey & featuring Zach Barocas, Christopher Rizzo, Mairéad Byrne, Andrew Mister, Rae Armantrout, Shannon Tharp, Aaron Tieger, Thomas Devaney, Julie Doxsee, Sandra Simonds, Jess Mynes, and John Phillips. 7x8.5, 64 pages, thread-bound, letterpressed covers, with a linocut by Jared Faulkner.

Only $6! Can you believe it? Get it here.

Discarding my own presence for a moment, this is sure to be my favorite Effing yet. Some of my favorite poets are in this: Rizzo! Byrne! Armantrout! Mynes! Phillips! Thanks to Joe and Scott Pierce for making this happen, and for making me a part of it.

"Ask"

2007-02-17T22:20:00.000-05:00

* What does next year have in store for me?

"No Way Out" (D Generation)

* What does my love life look like?

"Celebrated Summer" (Husker Du)

* What do I say when life gets hard?

"First and Last and Always" (Sisters of Mercy)

* What do I think of when I get up in the morning?

"Strange Town" (The Jam)

* What song will I dance to at my wedding?

"Country" (Jacket Weather), which I did not dance to at my wedding.

* What do I want for my career?

"Give Me The Cure" (Fugazi)

* Favorite saying?

"Academy Fight Song" (Mission of Burma)

* Favorite place?

"I Want the One I Can't Have" (The Smiths)

* What do I think of my parents?

"All the Love in the World" (Nine Inch Nails)

* Where would I go on a first date?

"Complete Control" (The Clash)

* Drug of Choice?

"Traumm" (Antipop Consortium)

* How do I describe myself?

"I'm Afraid of Americans" (David Bowie)

* What is the thing I like doing the most?

"Sex and Dying in High Society" (X)

* What is my state of mind like at the moment?

"That's Entertainment" (The Jam)

* How will I die?

"Rebel Yell" (Billy Idol)

* Song they'll play at my funeral?

"The Bubblemen Are Coming" (The Bubblemen a.k.a. Love and Rockets)

* What song will I put as the subject of this post?

See above, by the Smiths.

Skicka

2007-02-16T10:19:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to recommend Lars Palm's new blogzine Skicka for awhile now, and what better occasion than to point you to some new poems of mine I'm really excited about? Others from this series are soon to appear in Effing. Please read them and the rest of the work at Skicka.

Weather appropriate

2007-02-13T22:40:00.000-05:00

Well I listen to the weather
And he's changed his tone of voice
And he can see it on the radar
Only seven hours away
Well there's gonna be a snowstorm
When the t.v.'s goin out
And they got nothin else to think of
And they're letting me go home

Well I'm lookin at the snowflakes
And they all look the same
And the clouds are goin by me
They're playin some kind of game
Well you know there's a snowstorm
When the t.v. has gone out
And they got nothin else to think of
And they're letting me go home

And slightly less relevant but still excellent:

This is why events unnerve me,
They find it all, a different story,
Notice whom for wheels are turning,
Turn again and turn towards this time,
All she asks the strength to hold me,
Then again the same old story,
World will travel, oh so quickly,
Travel first and lean towards this time.

Oh, Ill break them down, no mercy shown,
Heaven knows, its got to be this time,
Watching her, these things she said,
The times she cried,
Too frail to wake this time.

Oh Ill break them down, no mercy shown
Heaven knows, its got to be this time,
Avenues all lined with trees,
Picture me and then you start watching,
Watching forever, forever,
Watching love grow, forever,
Letting me know, forever.

CARVE 8!

2007-02-12T21:25:00.000-05:00

I'm very pleased to announce that at long last, CARVE 8 is at the printer. It's not up on the website yet, but here's the lineup:

Erica Kaufman (Brooklyn, NY)
Lars Palm (Lund, Sweden)
Ryan Murphy (New York, NY)
Amy Whitney (Ithaca, NY)
Arielle Guy (Brooklyn, NY)
Joseph Massey (Arcata, CA)

with a pet-friendly cover by me.

Only $5, you can pre-order your copy by clicking the button:

Please note that pre-orders can take several weeks to fill, as I don't actually have the issue in my hands just yet.

Do support the work of these excellent poets, won't you?

On an unrelated note

2007-02-10T23:48:00.000-05:00

Tonight I am angry at the world. So please be nice to me.

Poetry

2007-02-10T23:40:00.000-05:00

Alex Papanicolopoulos read for SOON tonight. He was supposed to be joined by Robert Strong, but Robert lives in that part of New York that has like twenty feet of snow. (I mistyped "snot" for "snow", by the way. They probably have that too.) So Alex brought his guitar and plated a couple songs. One was his and the other was "Girl From Ipanema" which may be one of my SOON highlights.

One thing that interested me was the (typical) lack of applause after each poem, interrupted by copious applause after each song. Why this convention? My theory is that people assume anyone can read, but the fact that someone can carry a tune while playing an instrument is significantly more impressive.

Anyway, it was a good reading, with a good turnout. Thanks, Ithaca.

Inkjet question

2007-02-09T12:45:00.000-05:00

All you inkjet-using small-press types, here's a question. Last night my Epson CX4800 all-in-one decided that it no longer wanted to print on plain white cardstock (80#, I think). I have printed on this same stock many many times with no problem. Printing on regular 20# is fine, and I even got it to print on a manila cardstock of the same weight as the white. Once I did that, a sheet of the white worked OK.

What happens is that the printer just doesn't grab the sheet. Or if it does, it then slides it on through without really registering that it's there & attempting to print on it.

It's been dry as heck around here. Could this be a humidity issue?

"Blog post"

2007-02-01T11:58:00.000-05:00

Just as I'm in the process of writing off one old friend for good, an old friend reasserts her presence. It's tremendously reassuring.

I like to sit on the couch with the dog and cat.

Both these statements are intrinsic to my poetics.

Wrong

2007-01-31T19:31:00.000-05:00

Not that I want to deprive poets of any opportunity to make any kind of a living from their work, but the idea of a poet laureate in Boston strikes me as completely ridiculous.

Boston's best poets - the ones who most successfully evoke Boston (among other things - have all existed outside of any institution, if not opposed to one.* I'm thinking of Wieners, Jonas, Corbett. Columbus Square Journal or Joe Torra's "Brisk Walk to Harvard Square" are so wonderful because they evince their sense of place in a completely unsanctioned capacity. To attempt to render such life official (or to attempt to render it in an official capacity) is laughable.

If this is incoherent please excuse me - I'm medicated.

*(in fact, come to think of it, virtually every Boston poet - young, old, alive, dead, past, present - whose work I like falls into this category)

Stevie Washington, the Angry Youth

2007-01-30T10:51:00.000-05:00

John Hall

2007-01-29T20:19:00.000-05:00

SONG

some pain
          
          hovers above my heart &

really I don't care

        to be more precise

than that

don't block my wheels cause if you got my back I'll be your

2007-01-28T21:58:00.000-05:00

Antipop Consortium: "Human Shield"

Dodge (out of)

2007-01-10T20:37:00.000-05:00

Heading out of town tomorrow (or this morning, depending on when you're reading this. If you're reading this), for 4 days to Western MA. Then I'm back in town for 24 hours before heading east again, to Boston.

Not that this will have much affect on my blogging (or lack therof), but this much-needed psychic breather is nicely timed with the arrival in the mail of Joe Torra's After the Chinese (Pressed Wafer, 200$). It's a second copy - my first one seems not to have survived the move - and I'm enjoying just as much as I did in 2004. Particularly the poem "Brisk Walk to Harvard Square" which I very much enjoyed publishing in Art New England. Some of it:

...Sick
of house-husband
duties, boredom
and drudgery of
laundry, cooking,
cleaning, grocery
shopping, diaper
changing, Celeste Dan
crying, Julia Gan's
"DAD" "DAD" "DAD"
ten thousand times
per day. Sick
of poetry not
giving as much
as it takes.

The last sentence in particular is in my head a lot these days. Not that poetry in fact has the power to give anything (not that it even exists in such a capacity), but that I - can I say we? - spend so much time and energy writing poems, reading poems, talking about poems, designing broadsides for poems, writing about poems, etc. and honestly, the world doesn't care - I'm still unemployed & unable to see a clear way out.

But as Fanny Howe says, "My vagabondage is unlonelied by poetry" (or words to that effect). When I saw Joe read this poem at MIT in 2004, a switch flipped in my head & I think it was then that I really started getting it together, poetry-wise. & very nice that it comes back to me now, when I need it.

Anyway, I'm off.

Answers to questions

2007-01-04T21:59:00.000-05:00

Sam Ward asks some questions, which I've answered below.

1. Do you write daily?___ weekly?___ irregularly?___ Is the writing a fixed part of routine, or does it follow other pressures/dictates? Please specify:

I write "spontaneously" to put it charitably. Though if I'm on a project I tend to apply myself a bit more diligently; almost obsesssively.

2. These days do you write in the same place e.g. in the kitchen/bathroom etc; on the bus to work? Is the workplace in any sense a protected space? Please specify:

I write wherever I am when the notion seizes me, provided I've remembered to carry my notebook. Most of Days and Days and my half of Coltsfoot Insularity were written either on the subway, at my desk, or on my lunch break.

3. Drafting: notebooks, scraps of paper, word processor or what?

Notebooks. I always start in longhand. In the past I've used legal pads to great success, for the last year it's been (unlined) Moleskines. Once something is ready to be viewed more objectively, I type it up (on the computer) and then take a pen to that. Repeat as necessary.

3a. How are drafts organised - in linear/sequential mode, or in a more complex structure? Please describe:

Linear. Page after page.

3b-e. Why? How long has it taken this practice to evolve? Are you consistent in this? How aware are you of other writers' strategies in this respect?

Because that's the way they happen. When I was younger (before and including college) I would regularly make an upsetting number of drafts, sometimes varying only by a semicolon. Once I started writing again after college, I became much more reasonable. I have no idea what anyone else does about this.

4. A route-to-work question: what, in general terms, is the relationship between draft and completion?

Almost identical. In marked contrast to my earlier practice, I sometimes only make one or two revisions to a poem. As Richard Hugo said (quoting Jack Nicklaus), "The more I practice the luckier I get."

4a. Does your motivation/intent change during this process? If so can you say how? An example might help.

I've no idea what this question means.

4b. What do you mean by "completion"?

When I've said what I want to say, in a way that those who know how to listen can hear me.

5. Input: is there a way of generalising your raw materials? Are there, for instance, groups of books, musics, other artworks, or people in your life, which you plunder repeatedly? Name the most significant:

Rock and roll. Other people's lyrics are everywhere in my work. Recently overheard: the Minutemen, Sonic Youth, the Clash, New Order, Fugazi, Black Flag, Mission of Burma, White Zombie

& if it's not a direct or indirect lyrical lift, I'm often trying to "write music with the same [effect] as [certain band or piece of music].

I rarely think about or utilize poetry this way. I have no idea why.

5a. What conditions input? Weather? Nation? the Sports pages? Rejection of all of these?

Weather (I'm a big fan of the pathetic fallacy) and blood-sugar.

6. How open to mistakes are you? What steps do you take to encourage or discourage them?

As Brian Eno says, "Honor thy error as hidden intention." Because I use small notepads, and because I tend to use a lot of fairly funky spacing, I often find that the difference between an intentional linebreak and one made of necessity blurs. Whichever looks best.

7. Roadtesting your writing: on a few friends? at readings? read to the cat? leave in a drawer for 6 weeks? Not at all?

One or two friends, without question; after a certain point, occasionally my wife. & I will let stuff sit in the notebook for weeks or months before going back to it, but I almost never roadtest something "in progress" at a reading. Too much of a control freak.

7a. Does this process transform the work? If so how?

It helps to clarify my vision if I know a knowing other sees the same thing. Or if they don't.

8. Do you have lots of pieces of work on the go at the same time? Are they separate or all part of the same fabric? Or do you work methodically at one piece, then the next, then the next? Or in none of these ways? Please
specify:

As Neil Young says, "It's all one song!" That said, the song changes keys and styles periodically. My poems tend to be too short to sit on for very long, so unless I'm working on a project they tend to come and go. Occasionally I will have a longer project going on and then write some other stuff on the side, but rarely.

9. How do you plan/prepare for performance? To what extent is this incorporated in the drafting? Is performance a fixed point in your intent?

I used to rehearse intensely for each reading, timing the poems with and without banter. Lately I've gotten lazy, but the need for rehearsal is actually greater, because the starts & stops & turns I'm using are a lot weirder than they used to be. It requires a fair amount of attention, which I think is as it should be

10. Are you obsessive about the practices you've described? Or could you stop and do something else?

I do what I need to do. When I do something else it'll be because I need to.

From the vault

2006-12-31T18:18:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! This dates back to 2001, from the now-defunct email zine WHEN AARONS ATTACK!

Well, we’ve been away but now we’re back— just in time
for the end of the party. The temptation is strong at
this time to compose lists: best records, films, etc.
Who cares? As Scrawl sings, “Was it a good year do I
really need to know ‘cause now it’s behind me
forever/It was a good year because it was such a bad
year that this year could only be better.”

In this spirit, we at WHEN AARONS ATTACK! bring you

THE YEAR IN DREAMS

(Please note that initials are not consistent from
dream to dream. One A is not necessarily the same as
another.)

Saturday, January 27

I had just moved into a large house. It wasn’t in
England but P.’s roommates T. and E. and also K from
Canada, lived there, along with some others. My room
was little more than a crawlspace. On my first night
in the house there was a large party, with Innerpink
scheduled to play. Apparently tour place was at the
top of some large resort-like house on the side of a
hill (I think the whole thing took place in Maine),
and as one ascended the hill, each part of the
building had its own entrance. We were hanging out in
some bar somewhere near the house before the show
eating buffalo wings. There was a gorgeous girl with
jet-black hair, who apparently I was hanging out with.
I offered her the last wing, and then was so drunk I
had to take a lurchy walk around the building. I found
a funeral party on the lower floors, and I didn’t want
to get in trouble, so I disguised myself by wearing
all black, including sunglasses and a balaclava. I
guess I passed out because the next thing I knew it
was morning and I hadn’t heard any of the band. And
because it was my first morning living there and I was
hung over, I couldn’t find anything, including my way
back.

Wednesday, February 14

I was driving M. to some mountain where he was due to
meet his friend’s family for hiking and camping. He
was worrying that a rash on his hand might be a
symptom of diarrhea. I asked him if his stools were
messy and he said no, they were big and firm. Told him
it couldn’t possibly be diarrhea. Then we were at the
base of the mountain and he was worrying about not
being able to drive the family’s car, an old Ford. I
told him not to worry, that old Fords were like
(something very clever that didn’t stay with me upon
waking). Suddenly the scene changed and we were in a
bed on a stage, about to perform in some play called
“Romeo and Juliet” (not the Shakespeare one). He was
all the way at one end and I at the other and he made
a farting noise. I couldn’t tell if it was real or
not, but a customer who had just bought his ticket saw
us lying there and heard the noise and tried to return
his ticket on moral grounds. I said “Oh, fuck you” and
he got very agitated and despite my groveling
apologies informed the manager. A small riot began to
form and the manager, who apparently was also the
director, pulled me down off the stage and started
waxing pompous about my horrible deed and preparing to
fire me. But a horrible noise sounded outside my
window and I woke up before he could!

Tuesday, March 13

Parents & I were visiting my brother’s family, who
were in China doing missionary work. We all ate in a
Chinese restaurant with very good noodles, as well as
pornographic videos at each table, and I tried to
explain to the waiter the phenomenon of “pan-Asian”
noodle shops. Then we went outside and started
climbing the hill next to the parking lot, except that
there were bears, so we turned back. Except Dad, who
didn’t see the bear, which pushed him off the cliff.
The rest of us ran: my brother and his wife off
somewhere, and Mom and I to the Volvo, though we were
unsure if that was the proper way to handle bear
attack.

Thursday, April 12

I moved into a new house, and one of the roommates was
a girl who started hitting on me immediately. It went
so far as for us to get naked and for me to go down on
her, an unusually vivid sensation: I had to be certain
to go slowly because she had been somehow burned
during the waxing process. Then things turned into
some kind of John Irving story: by moving in, I had
entered a family of sorts, and all of us were
high-school age or younger, looking out for each
other… strange and complex and very nice and
close-knit. It also rained a lot.

Wednesday, May 23

At boarding school somewhere rural, when the U.S.
imposes martial law. Students resist in various ways,
overt & covert, and resistance is dealt with
summarily. Film student at crafts fair tries to get me
a copy of his documentary about the takeover, is
caught and removed, I end up in a play by a
revolutionary classmate, but nothing seems to come of
it.

Thursday, June 7

My bootlaces turned into a king cobra. The snake not
the 40.

Monday, July 23

I was at DB’s house – he had moved to Somerville – and
he was cooking dinner. He asked me to deliver a coffin
to Out of the Blue for a group exhibition. But when I
got there I realize I had lost it (it was about the
size of a violin case). Couldn’t find it anywhere.
Went to the Sligo and checked the bathroom, where I
met the producer Scott Litt. He couldn’t help me but
was very amusing.

Tuesday, August 7

Childhood sandwiches personified as living cartoons.
Mr. Peanut Butter was changing his name to Mr. Peanut
Butter and Jelly because he had “an infection.” And
Ms. Marshmallow Fluff was nothing but a two-bit whore.

Monday, September 24

A. & I were driving in her vehicle along the coast. My
arm on the back of her seat. The road was flush with
the beach. We came upon a section that was
clothing-optional. People were in various states of
being garbed. We parked and watched the ocean. I said,
“I wish I had my bathing suit” and she dove straight
out the door into the water. Her clothes had suddenly
been replaced by a black bikini. I followed her,
naked, and we swam a bit before I woke up.

Thursday, October 18

I fell in love. There was a girl and we’d had one
date. I’d liked her but never heard back, so I wrote
her off. When the dream started I was floating on a
not-to-be-used-as-a-lifesaving-device air mattress in
a pond. I saw her and some of her friends on the far
shore, and they yelled and waved me over. But I was
embarrassed to meet them with my shirt off, so I
returned to my own. They found me anyway, and she
said, “Didn’t want to be seen with us, eh?” in a
half-joking way. I tried to explain that actually I
quite liked her, but was too awkward and embarrassed
to say so, but before I could she took off her belt
and started playfully spanking me. I “pretended” to
enjoy it. Then we were sitting on a couch, also at the
beach, under a blanket. I was rubbing the sole of her
bare foot. She kept kissing my cheek, and so I turned
my head, and she kissed my mouth, and we both said,
“This is cool.” Then we were walking in a stiff wind
up College Ave. in Davis Square toward Tufts. I put my
arm around her and at first she resisted, but then
yielded, saying she had to “remind” herself that it
was “for real.” I asked when she knew it was for real,
and she said, “I got off four times while you rubbing
my feet.” I decided that I loved her.

Tuesday, November 28

Singing. Turned into screaming. Woke myself up doing
this.

Saturday, December 1

I went to hike Monadnock, and on the way down I saw
two speakers and a receiver that I had left there five
years before. Somebody said to me “They want to hang
you for littering,” and I laughed but in the lodge LF
stepped out from behind a pillar and warned me not to
try and run because the guards – a pair of camels –
would get me.

So apparently I was to be tried for littering. Various
members of the community, including G., had prepared
speeches against me. The community contained people I
knew from college as well as UFE. The trial began with
people reading long, rambling, not-strictly-relevant
speeches about me. We mostly sat on the floor of a
coffee shop. Nobody seemed to be on my side, though K.
continued to be as friendly as he could. And there
were a few speeches that were neither pro- nor anti-
me.

Finally it was lunch break. I wandered around campus
trying to marshal my thoughts. At one point I saw a
bear, and went down a path to the Music Festival to
ask if anyone knew whether or not to run from bears. A
nice hippie woman said “not anymore” and a guy said,
“you’re supposed to display rage.” Then the bear
pulled its head off to reveal that it was really some
dude in a costume. I felt silly, but as it was a very
good costume nobody seemed to care, and I patted the
hippie woman’s thigh and moved on.

After lunch things were a bit more organized. My
professor, B., was due to speak, though whether for or
against I don’t know, and I told him I had recently
read two books that he’d bee interested in. He guessed
that one was Giles Goat-boy, and when I told him the
other was Freddy’s Book he laughed. Then he gave a
long speech, concluding with the perhaps-facetious
proposal that my littering was actually a form of
site-specific art.

I kept trying to figure out how best to express my
outrage without actually using the words “kangaroo
court,” but woke up before I was given the chance.

Birthdays!

2006-12-21T22:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday:

Mike Watt!

Today:

Richard Hugo!

And also my dad.

Stephen Jonas fans

2006-12-20T14:33:00.000-05:00

Please identify yourselves, or backchannel.

I'm not a big Beach Boys fan but

2006-12-19T23:00:00.001-05:00

this

is a pretty brilliant tune. An absolutely awful video, but it's all I could come up with.

Lyrics:

I keep looking for a place to fit
Where I can speak my mind
I've been trying hard to find the people
That I won't leave behind

They say I got brains
But they ain't doing me no good
I wish they could

Each time things start to happen again
I think I got something good goin' for myself
But what goes wrong

Sometimes I feel very sad
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
I guess I just wasn't made for these times

Every time I get the inspiration
To go change things around
No one wants to help me look for places
Where new things might be found

Where can I turn when my fair weather friends cop out
What's it all about

Each time things start to happen again
I think I got something good goin' for myself
But what goes wrong

Sometimes I feel very sad
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)

I guess I just wasn't made for these times
I guess I just wasn't made for these times
I guess I just wasn't made for these times
I guess I just wasn't made for these times
I guess I just wasn't made for these times
I guess I just wasn't made for these times

Just the thing

2006-12-16T11:44:00.000-05:00

to cut through a fog of copy editing:

Chad Vader: Day Shift Manager

Happy Birthday, Paul Simonon!

2006-12-15T17:53:00.001-05:00

CARVE hiatus

2006-12-12T11:44:00.000-05:00

Time to make this formal: CARVE is shutting down operations "for a little while." I'm saying till the end of the year, at which time I'll hopefully be gearing up again. If we've been talking about a CARVE project together, never fear: it will happen. Things might be a bit delayed, however.

The reason? "the most dreary of practical exigencies money"

What else?

Thanks for your patience.

(This blog, on the other hand, will continue in the sporadic way it has been).

Poetry weekend

2006-12-10T20:09:00.000-05:00

Saturday afternoon, went to the newest poetry event in town: an open reading at the bookstore I work at hosted by local poetry stalwart & nice guy Jay Leeming. The thing about this open reading is that you're not allowed to read your own work; just covers, the idea being to lure some non-poets out in public. So Jay read some poems by a Canadian guy whose name I can't remember; a local guy read his translation of one of Horace's Odes & something by a German poet whose name I can't remember; I read Gabe Gudding's "Ronald Reagan," the Weardale section of Ric Caddel's "Fantasia in the English Choral Tradition," and two poems by Jess Mynes. somebody read a poem by either C.K. Williams or C.D. Wright; and then I had to leave so I could make the gym before the SOON reading. About 12 or 14 people showed, including Jay, the store owner, and me. Not a bad turnout, and an event I'll be interested to catch in the future.

Saturday night was the latest SOON reading:

Chad Bennett

and Gabe Gudding.

I must confess a mental distraction during Chad's reading, so my memory's a bit hazy. I did like that he read confidently (if a bit quietly) and steadily. This is the poem I made into a broadside:

[WHICH—TAKEN—RISE—]

Which—taken—rise—
which—bodied forth—like guttering candles—
which—spine in turning—leaves face behind—
which—eye-and-socket’s—missed reflection—
which—unhooked telephone’s—cry—
which—crouching figure—at the inquisition—
which—inquisition—

which—through the elm’s—dark curtains—
which—bedroom’s shadows—drive circles—
which—face shaken—to bone—
which—steaming mouth’s—gray teeth—
which—haywire—speech—

which—takes Accident—as a bride—
which—taken—rise—

I like it because (among other reasons) it reminds me of both Martin Amis and Emily Dickinson.

I was able to tune in a bit more for Gabe's reading, and wow. The last time I saw him read must have been 2002, and either I'd forgotten or he'd developed a reading style that is absolutely hypnotic. Oratorical without suffering from bardism; and the tenderness, the fundamental kindness (& humor) of the poems just knocks me out. I think that alongisde Aaron Kunin and Sean Cole he may be the most captivating reader I know.

He read an unpublished poem addressed to the sun, of which I obtained (and promptly lost); the (prose) prologue to the forthcoming Rhode Island: Notebook (we have to wait til 08 for this?); and a single poem from A Defense of Poetry. All of which floored me.

We had a good crowd - about 40, I think, all told - and, it seemed, a crowd particularly enthusiastic about helping clean up after, which is always warming.

This was our last reading until February, when we'll return with another year of excellent poets.

& now it's Sunday night, and the weekend's chores beckon.

Incessant in my head

2006-12-08T16:56:00.000-05:00

Just a thought

2006-12-07T14:35:00.000-05:00

Isn't it a little ridiculous to use words like aporetic in an essay on anarchism?

A find

2006-12-03T00:38:00.000-05:00

My favorite magazine ever, the now-defunct Hermenaut, has a website with lots of excellent online content, including Ingrid Schorr's article about being the girl from this song:

Check out the link.

What goes on

2006-11-28T22:16:00.000-05:00

We do in fact have bunnies in our yard. We also have deer (though one less since yesterday, when a car hit one & it wandered into our yard & died) and a lot of leaves.

What with these things, & another installment in the ongoing saga of work- and career- related existential dilemmas, & various attempts to cope with that, I've been feeling decidedly non-poetic lately. Hence the not blogging. Hence the tardiness of CARVE 8, and of several parcels I owe people.

I did, however, play guitar with another person for the first time since 2002 on Sunday. While I love playing music with people, I also hate playing music with people. There's nothing I hate more than sitting around with a couple other dudes with guitars and saying "Do you know this one?" Echoes (and reverbs) of awful Saturday nights in high school.

This time was pretty excellent, though, even though we were both rusty. What made it so good for me was the understanding that we weren't Starting a Band, and that we were both interested in improvising (something that I am traditionally not so great at when it comes to music). The lack of consequence thus made it easier for me to let go & concentrate on making some interesting sounds. (It was also instructive to notice that even though I really haven't played guitar at all since then, my style's definitely changed. For the record: less tight & pretty, more like sloppy loud blocks).

Even though I've been playing more or less since I was 14, it was relatively late in life (age 27 or so) that I began being able to THINK with a guitar (see Jacket Weather). I don't know why it never occurred to me before - like taking French all through high school & college, but not actually being able to think in it.

I always thought that in order to be satisfied with playing music I'd have to give up all my other hobbies & interests (specifically poetry) in order to concentrate my energy. But now I'm working on the idea of playing music as a form of ~~meditation~~ thinking - a temporal rough draft in a different medium.

Just thinking.

1996 I miss this

2006-11-27T21:19:00.000-05:00

Part I:

Part II:

Is anyone listening

2006-11-25T21:13:00.000-05:00

who has a copy of Solanki's Buzz or Howl Under the Influence of Leeds 6 that they'd like to burn - or even tape - for me?

Found

2006-11-22T00:27:00.000-05:00

This is a poem written at my wedding by Theo Hummer, Jess Mynes, Michael Carr, Brenda Iijima, Mark Lamoureux, Chris Rizzo, and Josh Corey (not necessarily in that order). It was lost in the shuffle of moving & now has resurfaced.

first vine final line the candles are sinking

she and he are starting out and roundly

what is one, they ask, but one

not as if or as but the quantity itself
that's no quantity but

intrinsic solubility, brilliance: glow you both do
there is no exclamation to signal your beauty

no saving throw or art nouveau, no
verse but the whisper, confluent and

kinetic, bread crumbs for the birds innocent
jumpstart a bobbing branch

mellifluous, round phenomena, bright trellis
lit air                     expanse
               limned

and this was the real return of the native

Thanks, everybody.

Since I'm on the subject

2006-11-20T22:10:00.000-05:00

SLACK MOTHERFUCKER (& 2 others):

This ain't no picnic

2006-11-20T20:45:00.000-05:00

Wendy gave me a copy of We Jam Econo, the Minutemen documentary & I finally got around to watching Disc 1 last night. It's pretty amazing. Not just George Hurley's New Wave hair & Mike Watt's Fidel beard, but the passion & intensity with which Watt, Hurley & D. Boon lived, wrote, played, & worked. Their dedication to DIY was really a big influence on both my lifestyle & poetics. Post-Azerrad, it's almost a cliche to quote this, but it's true: "Our band could be your life." (I got a little choked up watching the excellent live acoustic version of this in the movie.)

The clip above is just about my favorite song of theirs, and timely (at least for me). Here are the lyrics:

Working on the edge
losing my self-respect
for a man who presides over me
the principles of his creed
punch in punch out
8 hours 5 days a week
sweat pain and agony
on Friday I'll get paid

THIS AIN'T NO PICNIC

Hey mister don't look down on me
(for what I believe in-
I got my bills and the rent)
I should go pitch a tent
but our land is not free
so I'll work my youth away
in the place of a machine

THIS AIN'T NO PICNIC

The gay democrat from Massachusetts is an asshole, too

2006-11-19T12:28:00.000-05:00

"'I'm a capitalist, and that means I'm for inequality,' Frank told Boston business leaders on the morning after Election Day..."

"'I think employer-paid health care is a mistake,' he said. "I think it depresses wages.'"

What's on my mind

2006-11-19T00:11:00.000-05:00

In gradschool I had a class in Principles of Management. At the time I though it was just plain common sense, & how could anyone not know this stuff, etc.

Yet I find myself w/not one, but two bosses who could benefit from such a class.

Also: your average half-time Starbucks employee gets more benefits than I do. Which is to say, I get no benefits. Of any kind.

Excuse my whinging. This is what comes of working two shifts on a Saturday.

Back to my regularly scheduled laziness about blogging.

Weekend

2006-11-13T19:57:00.000-05:00

Josh has a pretty apt writeup of Saturday's reading, so I won't add anything, except this, the background image for the broadside I made of Ryan's poem "City of the Big Bang":

After the reading there was dinner at one of our usual haunts, & then Ryan, Kira & I returned to the house where they were our first houseguests. We drank a bottle of Chateau Mynes & had a great time. Then slept till 10 Sunday; drove downtown & got some breakfast supplies; came back & cooked it all up. When they left around 2 I got back in my pj's and slept for about 2 1/2 hours. It was very nice.

Minor disappointments

2006-11-11T12:00:00.000-05:00

Borat was not bad. Not nearly as brilliant as I'd hoped - I'd hoped to sit down and not get up until I was sitting in a puddle of mirth-induced urine - but pretty great. The real problem is the plot, or rather the idea of plot, which was pretty much unneccesary. The bits were great, but overall it didn't really cohere as well as it does on TV. Also, if you're thinking about catching some previews on Youtube or something - don't. We'd already seen many of the best bits by the time we got to the theater, and while they held up, I think they're most effective the first time around.

I also wish they'd left the cameras running longer. On the show there are often moments which go on too long, leaving you goggling at the awkwardness. In the movie there's a tendency to cut away just after the shock sinks in, leaving you with a punchline but not much more. I want to know how he escapes the rodeo.

Other small disappointments: the disparities of screen color and ink color, to which I finally yielded whilst making one of the broadsides. It's just as good - perhaps even better - but still.

& disappointed also at having to work today. Does anyone else have a boss who a) takes 90 minute lunches EVERY DAY, and b) expects you to interrupt your Saturday for 90 minutes so he can walk home & eat lunch? Is this fucked up, or is it just me?

Despite all this, it's going to be an outstanding day because tonight Shanna Compton and Ryan Murphy are gracing this rainy town with their poetic, uh, grace. Be there.

Friday night: 4/4 120 bpm

2006-11-10T20:29:00.000-05:00

Up in my office, listening to Sabbath, YMing Tony Robinson, desperately trying to finish designing the broadsides for tomorrow's reading in the next 17 minutes so we can go see Borat. Struggling with the difference between color on screen and color on paper. Also my complete ineptitude with measuring anything. Thank god I don't letterpress these.

The broadsides - and the reading - and the readers - are gonna be HOTT.

Happy Halloween

2006-10-31T19:41:00.000-05:00

You don't hear much about Satanism these days, at least not in the popular culture. Rock and roll needs more Satan. So does poetry, for that matter. Anyone want to make an anthology of Satanic poems?

Who's the Black Sabbath of poetry?

Back for the attack

2006-10-23T19:09:00.000-04:00

What a thoroughly fulfilling weekend.

Friday I ditched work & got up early to drive out to Fewer & Further HQ in Wendell, MA. Stopped in Albany to pick up Chris Rizzo. Made great time & arrrived at Jess' excellent new ranch (yee-HAW!), where we were delighted to find Mick Carr and Joe Massey, as well as a vast quantity of food being prepared.

Stayed in & ate, drank (homemade wine & cider, yum), sat around reading poems & talking about poetry. Like Joe, reading followed by dialogue is something I'm not used to, and it's very compelling.

Saturday, more great food for breakfast & then Mick & I headed out to Troubadour Books. Some good finds:

The Memorial Fountain, Roy Fisher (Northern House Pamphlet Poets)
Splendide-Hotel, Gilbert Sorrentino (New Directions)
Wattteau Sky, Ed Barrett & Joe Torra (Quale Press)
From the Devil's Pulpit, John Agard (Bloodaxe)
A Gathering of Poems, Gael Turnbull (Anvil).

Also found the third issue of The Boston Eagle, the short-lived magazine edited by Bill Corbett, Lewish Warsh, & Lee Harwood. This one was initialed by Bernadette Mayer (though it looked more like a child had done it for her) & so was out of my range on top of the other stuff.

Then to Cambridge, where we somehow managed to get decent parking in Harvard Square (despite Head of the Charles) & make it on time to whatever that gallery is that's attached to Lame Duck Books (on Arrow St.), where Bill Corbett gave a wonderful-but-brief reading from The Letters of James Schuyler to Frank O'Hara, a handsome little volume. Good to see Boston poetry friends John Mulrooney, Joe Torra, Gerrit Lansing, and Joel Sloman, as well as Peter Gizzi AND, to my immense surprise, Lee Harwood.

After the reading I split to meet some non-poet friends, my oldest friends, & we had an excellent dinner at Tip Top Thai, which is hands down the best Thai food I've ever had, followed by drinks at Rudy's, home of the Caliente Margarita. Then back to their place where we had some cake batter ice cream from JP Licks before bed. An excellent time that reminded me of the old days in Boston, when we would pass a very similar night, albeit with the very significant difference that this time I did not go home to my miserable apartment and mope about how lonely I was.

Sunday I headed to JP for brunch with another dear non-poet friend, which was equally gratifying. Then to Cambridge & People's Republik, where after more great parking luck I found Mick & Joe preparing for the reading. We were joined by Jess, Sarah, Rizzo, and a very charming LJ friend of Joe's. & John. Then Bill and Lee (!) showed up & we talked about some stuff that I'm not at liberty to mention, other than that it's big news that'll be public sooner or later.

At 6 we all trooped over to the Plough & Stars, which was packed & full of bluegrass as usual. Eventually we all sat & the reading started. Massey took the mic & shut down the stupid talking bar trash with some clever scatalogy. Then a great reading, his delicate tough poems smooth in a modest voice & bracketed by off-the-cuff commentary that could have been awful in the hands of another but in this case really fleshed out the vaguely (?) diaristic suggestion of the poems.

& Jess Mynes of course read wonderfully - possibly the best I've seen him, though I always think that. Jess I think is really the Muhammed Ali of poetry - butterfly/bee, etc.

Afterward some great socializing, of a sort that was profoundly inspiring (in non-poetic ways as well). Then Rizzo & I split for the long haul home. Great time de- and re-constructing the weekend & catching up on life; then I made the rest of the trip in the company of Red Bull & my ipod

Got in around 2:30 & managed to get to sleep within about an hour. Wrecked today; no work.

Despite serious constant upper back pain, it was a really rejuvenating weekend on several levels. Been writing poems consistently since Thursday, after a long dry spell. Even poets in my dreams: first that Jess died from shellfish poisoning, then that Bill Corbett showed my work to Wieners and Olson, who said "He needs to run away."

More, more to come, soon.

The hits keep coming

2006-10-18T10:09:00.000-04:00

& I keep not having the mental space to say anything. There's a lot I'd blog about if I had the time: Silliman's stupid comments about English poetry, Behrle's stupid comments about blogs and poetry... not to mention the wonderful flow of chapbooks that's been reaching me lately. Most recently is Mark Lamoureux's Traceland (Transmission), which showed up last night & which I had a chance to skim. Some really nice moments, & it's interesting to see Mark continually develop from book to book. Nothing more to say right now, but I will.

Looking forward to hanging out with and seeing lots of poets in Western MA & Boston this weekend, culminating in Sunday's reading at the Plough & Stars in Cambridge: Jess Mynes & Joe Massey at 6 pm. Should be excellent. Hoping this weekend provides me with the kick in the ass I need to start using my brain again.

What's been occupying me? Health, house, dog, ~~work~~ job, though not necessarily in that order.

I'll get it together soon, though.

Fiona!

2006-10-08T12:06:00.000-04:00

In the mail

2006-10-06T21:59:00.000-04:00

Among the many wonderful things I've received in the mail of late are the two new books from Jess Mynes' Fewer & Further Press: Property Line by Joseph Massey and The Breaks by Christopher Rizzo. While I haven't had the chance to tuck in to either book yet I am eager to as they are two of my favorite poets. AND they're the most beautiful books Jess has made yet. I'm continually impressed at the work he produces.

Get yourself over to F&F (link in the sidebar) & get your mitts on these.

File under: SPARSECORE

2006-10-06T19:40:00.000-04:00

JACKET WEATHER was a band that existed in Massachusetts during Fall of 2001. It consisted of

Aaron Tieger: guitar/vocals
Cath Oss: viola/ vocals
Christopher DuBois: keyboards/recording

all of whom were only in the same room together four times: one rehearsal, a radio gig, a live gig, and a final recording session. I wrote all the words and the basic music tracks; Cath and Chris contributed brilliant other parts.

If you like Galaxie 500, VU, Cordelia's Dad, Codeine, or Low, you might like this collection of demos & live stuff (though I will point out that I had never heard Low until after the band ceased to exist).

Enjoy! (Please).

Wondering

2006-10-04T23:42:00.000-04:00

Back to poetry soon - been swamped with travel, grant-writing, and sickness - but in the meantime I've been reading the Harry Potter books, which makes me the next-to-last person in the world to do so (my wife will be the last, if she ever does). I've read the first three & 1/4, and while they're fairly engaging & I am curious about what happens next, I still have to ask: What's the big deal?

Can anyone explain?

String

2006-09-23T15:50:00.000-04:00

of Small Machines finally arrived in my mailbox today, and wow. I have not been this excited for a magazine in quite awhile. Physically pushing the limits of what you can do with staples, this mammoth zine has hand-made covers of beauteous decay (one of my copies got slightly torn, and it looks perfect) by Chelsea Warren, some cool interior art, and A LOT of great poems. I haven't had the chance to really dig into it, but at a couple flipthroughs here are the names that strike me: Stacy Szymaszek, Michael Carr, Logan Ryan Smith, Jess Mynes (excerpts from a REALLY long manuscript that is gonna knock your socks off), Eric Unger, Kate Greenstreet, Dorothea Lasky, Aaron Loewinger. That's just for starters. Big big ups to House Press. Get yourself a copy. (O, & I'm in it too.)

Also, George Oppen has a blog! Not really - Jess Mynes has started it up, it's a group blog for commenting on Oppen's work. Not much out there just yet but knowing some of the other contributors, there's bound to be a lot going on soon enough.

Printing the broadsides for tonight's SOON reading. Uncomfortable last-minute, as happens all too often. Looks like this time it's a race against my printer's cyan cartridge. "100 more pages" eh? We'll see...

Also, if I've promised you mail in the last week (that is, mail that you would receive within the last week) - it'll go out Monday. Sorry.

Also also (also?), what the fuck is up with people who leave their dogs in cages all day? I'm not talking about crating. I'm talking about cages, full of shit & empty water bowls & lonely, sad, angry dogs. Apparently this doesn't fall under the legal definition of "animal cruelty" in this state. I see some liberated animals in the future...

I am still here

2006-09-22T23:35:00.000-04:00

Really.

For Joe Massey, and others

2006-09-15T21:20:00.000-04:00

Five terrible fake Morrissey songs

1. Bachelor in a Casserole
2. The Swirling Clergyman’s Lament
3. St. Sebastian’s Disused Quiver
4. Dolorous Dolores
5. Gracious Knows These Trousers Bind

On the web

2006-09-15T10:19:00.000-04:00

Jim Goar debuts issue 1 of Past Simple, featuring wonderful work by Reb Livingston, Richard Froude, Tao Lin, Tyler Smith, Farid Matuk, Logan Ryan Smith, Dorothea Lasky, me, Gabriella Torres, Pirooz Kalayeh, Gina Myers, and Matthew Langley.

Nice layout, great poems. Especially Dottie's. Nice work, Jim!

In the mail

2006-09-15T10:12:00.000-04:00

The latest round of projects from Cy Gist. Absolutely beautiful. I've only had the chance to read Guillermo Parra's Caracas Notebook, and though I've read it many times in manuscript (having printed several of the poems in CARVE 5) it remains fresh. Mark's done the work justice, which is what we designers (and poets) strive for. Bravo!

George Carlin

2006-09-13T10:50:00.000-04:00

"It's called the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it."

S l o w

2006-09-11T20:44:00.000-04:00

Things received in the mail:

1. The Present Work, Matvei Yankelevich (Palm Press). (See some of Matvei's work in the new CARVE!)

2. Carbon, Michael Ford (Ugly Duckling Presse.

3. Another in an excellent series of "foldouts" from Pressed Wafer, this one featuring text by Caitie Barrett, Sam Kaufman, Vincent Katz, and Katie Peterson & art by Helen Wilkes.

4. If By Sea, David Gruber (Tempest Books).

& some other stuff I can't figure out where I put. Hoping to use my brain for something other than Michael Moorcock any day now.

Domesticity continues to be good. So good that leaving the house proves difficult. Mowed a lawn for the first time since I was 15.

Realized that my life has been absolutely nuts since about May. No wonder I'm burnt (hence the Moorcock).

Beep beep caesura

2006-09-07T12:37:00.000-04:00

Game Poets Society.

Larry Eigner

2006-09-05T23:22:00.000-04:00

Can anyone recommend a good starting point?

I get it together

2006-09-05T21:12:00.000-04:00

Sent out the rest of the subscriber's copies and all of the contributor's copies for CARVE 7 today. A few stragglers go out tomorrow. Thanks to everyone for your patience with this issue.

Also, do any other editors get this: somebody sends you an email entitled "submissions" (or something like that) and the email consists of a link and a note saying "Check out my work"? Is it petty of me to be irritated by this?