Wednesday, May 26, 2010

The bird that can sing and will not sing must be made to sing.


My Two Dads (Ben E & I) are putting on a reading tomorrow night with Macgregor Card, Chris Martin, & Matthew Klane. All details here

***



On Friday Im making it in Brooklyn at the Earshot Reading Series. Please come, or EG will black eye everyone.

7:30 PM @ Rose Live Music w/ John Murillo. Mike Soto, Samantha K. Smith & Martin Rock. invite

***

Poets for Living Waters--------a good stop for thought.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Larry Fagin* I'll Be Seeing You: Poems 1962-1976 (Full Court Press, 1978)


An Ideal Life


When the sun shines
I'm up witht he birds
orange blue red green

bath breakfast walk
across the city
visit and talk

with P, C M, & E
home again write
rest and read

A light lunch
letters to D
K, F, R & T

records and the radio
a substantial dinner
go to a show

Back home exercise
smoke some dope
close my eyes

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Do You know Anna Swir?


I Knocked My Head against the Wall

by Anna Swir


As a child
I put my finger in the fire
to become
a saint.

As a teenager
every day I would knock my head against the wall.

As a young girl
I went out through a window of a garret
to the roof
in order to jump.

As a woman
I had lice all over my body.
They cracked when I was ironing my sweater.

I waited sixty minutes
to be executed.
I was hungry for six years.

Then I bore a child,
they were carving me
without putting me to sleep.

Then a thunderbolt killed me
three times and I had to rise from the dead three times
without anyone’s help.

Now I am resting
after three resurrections.
***


All poets are matchstick men.


Wednesday, May 19, 2010

The Best Spring into Summer Poetry Book




Jon Woodward * Rain (Wave Books, 2006)


but the house sparrows
are mating again each on top
of the other or sideways
flapping and chirping they're so
immodest so indiscriminate with each

other although it doesn't look
like it actually feels good
it looks like some voltage
is making them do it
but they do it regardless

and you don't see them
screaming in pain unless that's
what all that chirping is
we meanwhile couldn't have asked
for all our free will




Jon,

I am thinking of opening a hot dog cart.

Please advise.


Monday, May 17, 2010

Here is a book I've read four times, now available from Octopus

How by Emily Pettit
Staple-bound
Edition of 200

26 pages
$8 (includes shipping)


There is also a new issue of Saltgrass starring Lisa Jarnot, Paige Ackerson-Kiely, Natalie Lyalin, Sandra Simonds, Laura Eve Engel, Tristan Tzara, Gabe Durham, Maged Zaher, Jennifer
Denrow, Catherine Meng, and Mark Yakick.


Jennifer Denrow's chapbook FROM CALIFORNIA, ON will be the next release from Brave Men Press this fall. Some of those poems appear in the issue. Get a sneak.




I blurbed a book. This book. My first blurb. Luckily I didnt have to lie. I loved the book. It is
Bird Any Damn Kind by Lucas Farrell, just out on Caketrain Books. Read pieces and buy here



Sunday, May 16, 2010

Last Night You Showed Me Larry Fagin

Twelve Poems

A balloon
is going up
filled with problems.

When I think
of the thought
machines

I whistle
softly
to myself.

*

Self

In my pale
face
is a grim

mask,
but I have
to laugh.

My arm
is a bone —
I

love
it
so.

*

a red
tin pan
of tan
doom

*

Gravity
pulls
me
down

so
hard
I
can

only
say
my
name.

*

"When my head
goes too fast
I get out
and walk."

*

The evil eye
is ridiculous,
but it exists.

*

Personal

I'd like
to keep
myself

out
of this. . .
this. . .

whatever
you
call it.

*

It's too easy
to say
yes,
now—

difficult
to think,
say,
now.

*

I get
the idea
I can die
anytime,
then
I forget
it.

*

When a tree falls
on your head,
it says yes
or no.

*

I walk
you walk
we walk

through
each
other

into
our
selves

Friday, May 14, 2010

Have you read The Black Eye? If you have, would you mind sharing your thoughts on Good Reads?

***



I've got some books to read.





Nate Pritts * Unrequited Sonnets :Bird to Feather (self released chapbook, 2010) -
Written in one day November 2009

"It's Novemeber, it's Syracuse.
It's Dear Hearther: Hello. You'r in Chicago. Phillip Sydney
is dead & I'm lonley without you. Matt is lonely since
his foot broke loose. He is filled with phlox. He is howling
for his foot. Gabi is lonely. Gina is in Saginaw. Annie
is in Tucson & Matt's on narcotics in Cinncinat. I'll show you
I'm better. Dear Feather: I'm thinking about words.



Michael O'brien* Sleeping & Walking (Flood, 2007)

"work against correspondence, the
world is not a
book, everything is
not something else, you
could look it up"

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Monday, May 10, 2010

by Forrest Gander

From Conjunctions


Muse

What words go with crossing? Orange and security and ventriloquist. This is a special message. The movie is unbearable and there isn’t even a movie. The condensation of a fart poured into a plastic mold and set in the window like sushi or landscape. The way he laughed, I hated him more than his own mother. It wasn’t really a special message but the same message as always. As a tapeworm sucks nutrients from your experience. Which is the reason, duh, for your throbbing sadness. But to extract it, you’ll need to place the honey-word at the tip of your tongue and wait to lure the worm upward. Just when you feel it twitching at the back of your throat, making you cough and retch at once, you’ll have to stick out your tongue as far as it goes. There’ll be one chance, just one, as the worm stretches for the honey-word. That’s when you pinch its head between your fingers. Too gently, it snaps back like a rubber band. Too hard, you kill it and in its death spasm, it evacuates all its eggs inside you.

Sunday, May 9, 2010



I made this video for my mom using stolen Mark Leidner technology. It is of an EE Cummings poem. The best mother poem ever.

My mom makes rad pastels. Would you believe she's only been doing it a year?






Sometimes she makes these


Happy Mothers Day, Mom. I like where I come from.

Ive Spring Fever. For books. Ive acquired all these new titles I only now have time for. Here are my two favorites. Mothers, lock up your manuscripts.





Julie Doxsee is one my favorite writers out there now. Her new Objects for a Fog Death.


Aaron Kunin's The Sore Throat is profound in its reserved wildness. His new chapbook Cold Genius is great too.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

James Tate loves final lines. He has good finality. Its one of his trademarks. Here are the final lines from each poem of James Tates’ THE GHOST SOLDIERS, the lines standing alone. Together they make something still.


- “Noon at Sadie’s,” I said

- I slunk out of his room with my head nearly banging against my knees, longing for my bed again, not knowing if I’d ever find it.

- “Everything,” he said

- “The Memory palace has no memory. See, it just doesn’t care,” he said

- I started licking my chocolate cone with a deep sense of mystery.

- They were a lost tribe, and I wasn’t lost, just confused.

- I started firing every which way, blind as a bat.

- “That’s their native ground,” he said.

- “I don’t want to talk about that now. It’s such a beautiful night.”

- Our sun’s going to go out in twenty-five billion years, what then?

- My shoes are on the wrong feet, or so it seems to me now.

- And so the afternoon passed into the evening, and in the evening I sewed a button on my shirt, and felt really good about that.

- She was looking pretty good by now.

- He was walking fast and didn’t even look back at me.

- “Never believe in miracles” he said. “I won’t” I said.

- I wanted to put my finger on her forehead, but there was nothing there.

- I howled in pain.

- And then I slept and was happy.

- They call them the ghost soldiers, much beloved even by their enemies, and I guess that’s why I went to the parade, just to feel them march past, that little rush of cold air.

- I am worried the cricket may have been struck by some lightning of its own.

- Birdseed was her middle name.

- The starry sky, the police hiding in the bushes, God, it’s good to be alive, I think, and pee behind my car in the darkness of my own private darkness.

- Otto Guttchen showed me a fossil.

- “You’re beautiful,” he said, laughing, while nearly suffocating me with his fraternal bear hug.

- It was a parallel night, much like the other, and that was some comfort, cold comfort, as they like to say.

- “Martinez, nullify the Buddha.”

- I like the old fire engine, and the beat up roads.

- I respect them too much to ever try and trap one of them, although my fondest dream is to spend an evening with one, alone, in my home and for him or her to like me, to look me in the eyes, and for both of us to speak our hearts, for life is a serious business, never quite what it seems, and, the, always more.

- “Still, nice horse,” I said

- Nobody wants to have fun.

- “Lester! Lester Cunningham! Your dinner is getting cold.”

- “Bad bunnies,” she says, “very bad bunnies.”

- “You look a little peaked. Maybe a spider bit you, “I said.

- And then I went to bed.

- Then he went and fixed my lock.

- “Good, we can share a taxi,” he said.

- It was coming, and I was ready.

- Then, it changed.

- Any fool could see that.

- I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face.

- “Beef stew,” he said.

- My poor mother never believes a word of it.

- She’d walk out onto the porch and stare at the stars, not sharing her thoughts with anyone, and that’s the way I want to be from now on.

- It already resembles one when I squint my eyes.

- I soon found myself in the midst of a lively crowd of shoppers, and I smiled at anyone who would accept my smile, and several who would not, and bought a hat from a lady whose hand I touched.

- Otters don’t lay eggs, but I was starving.

- “Just wildflowers and butterflies.”

- I was pulling a yak over a mountaintop, hauling water and rice to a dead wise man, who knows nothing, says nothing.

- I threw the newspaper into the trashcan and walked toward the fountain between two six-year-old hoodlums.

- He was just a crazy man, I told myself, one of those people who think they’re above the fray, when in fact they’ve already been crushed by it.

- “Well, now we’ve met. We’ve broken the ice.”

- “Those are the caringest people you’ll ever meet, “I said.

- “And, besides, if we had stolen that statue of Calvin Coolidge, this town would have nothing. It would blow away in the wind,” I said.

- “I’m sorry I ever told you about the swordfish. It was probably crazy anyway,” she said.

- The doe and two fauns were gone, but their ghosts remained.

- “Over my dead body,” he says.

- One soldier was startled by a shadow and fired at it.

- “But he’s missing,” I said.

- I dated that waitress for a while, but she left me for a drummer.

- “National security. It’s for your own good.”

- “You’re a very poor snake,” he said.

- “Well it’s time we did something,” she said.

- “Oh, cool,” he said.

- I looked stunned, then we both started laughing.

- “Let’s pretend you are my cowboy,” he said.

- “That was their calling. They went happily to the land of the vapors,” she said.

- I was surprisingly calm.

- “I know, I know,” and he held his arms out toward me.

- A Happy Think Tank just wasn’t my style.

- Tweetee’ relentless pursuit of knowledge had taken him into the darkest and most dangerous waters, and the whale waited patiently with one thing in mind.

- But Spinoza knows and I know, we were there.

- Instead, I loved the little man, almost to death.

- She was the only Patty I knew.

- I got up and started walking toward them, then stopped, turned around and left the park, a rich man, a stranger.

- But a pig that can count to ten is a thing of glory.

- I saw the monster with my own two eyes, and he was real, as much as anything’s real.

- I thought, I’m going to take this ship down to the bottom of the deep blue sea where we can rest at last, and maybe have some fun.

- Back home, I reflected on the mystery of life, then forgot it.

- It seemed to be fire resistant.

- I had until seven to find a human in me, to teach him to walk and talk, and maybe even to care, though maybe that was asking too much.

- I stood under the paulownia tree, its panicles of fragrant violet flowers almost smothering.

- He’s like a very flawed, lowly God, poor man.

- That would really be something.

- He looked really friendly and I was already starting to like him.

- “Meanwhile, try Candy Spots in the third,” he said.

- So I sat and waited, and no one ever came.

- “yes, mothers always do,” I said.

- “Impossible! There is nothing to know,” he said.

- I wondered how many prayers had been said with it, and if any of them had been answered, but I guess it is the faith that matters most, only to end up in Linda’s panties.

- Or I think we did.

- Something deep down was broken.

- I still didn’t know which side I was on

Tuesday, May 4, 2010



Two poems in 751 Magazine.