“My mug shot totally turned me against being photographed.”
-C.D. Wright, One Big Self (2007)
In an eye-opening article called “Securing Arizona: What Americans Can Learn From Their Rogue State” (Boston Review, March/April 2011), Tom Barry traces, among other things, “the state’s history of anti-immigrant animus and vigilantism.” He recounts the story of Sheriff Harry Wheeler who, in 1917, deputized a posse of citizens to round up 1,200 suspected immigrants who were subsequently dumped, without food or water, in the middle of the New Mexico badlands. Cochise ranchers Roger and Don Barnett continue this tradition as they patrol their 22,000-acre ranch “with night-vision goggles and assault rifles.” According to Barry, “a trio of county sheriffs— [Joe] Arpaio in Maricopa County, Larry Dever in Cochise County, and Paul Babeu in Pinal County—have given critical law-enforcement credibility to border-security hawks who rely on popular anxiety to get elected.”
Sheriff Arpaio has recently been in the news again since the launch of his new and controversial website. The so-called “America’s Toughest Sheriff” has created a webpage that features booking photos of pre-trial inmates. “Numerous people are booked into our jails each day,” says the site, “Vote for the mug shot you like best then see if your choice makes mug shot of the day tomorrow! You can change your mind as often as you like but your final vote will be the only one cast. Tell us what you think!” A kind of interactive version of the reality show COPS, Arpaio’s site trades upon a late-capitalist logic of consumer choice and feedback while consolidating the socio-economic differences between the “normal” voyeurs/voters and the othered and often mentally-ill populations which are the objects of both police control and public delectation and ridicule; this “public service” of visual entertainment and interactivity seems to tacitly justify the public resources spent on law enforcement and immigration control while it mockingly labels detainees as social deviants and delinquents. Continue reading
Poetry Time, a “reading series held at Space Space in Ridgewood, Queens,” will be holding an event tonight featuring readings by Jon Leon, Eileen Myles, and Nathaniel Otting along with video by Brandon Downing.
Beer and Flowers.
390 Seneca Ave / Entry on Stanhope
L train to Dekalb
Check out the Poetry Time Archive here and the video by Brandon Downing below:
Delete Press, a fine looking press based in Fort Collins, CO, is expanding its young catalogue in an exciting way…details below…
Delete Press is pleased to announce the release of a new chapbook, called, by Kate Greenstreet
Two pieces of original artwork make up the book covers, the images registered from linoleum cuts
Saddle stitch and linen slip sleeves
$10 includes shipping
Kate is the author of The Last 4 Things and case sensitive (Ahsahta Press, 2009 and 06), and the chapbooks “but even now I am perhaps not speaking” (Imprint Press, 2010), This is why I hurt you (Lame house Press, 08), Rushes (above/ground press, 07), and Learning the Language (Etherdome Press, 05). Her new work can be found in the Chicago Review, Colorado Review, Volt, Fence, Boston Review, and elsewhere.
Review copies are available, and books can be purchased through the Delete Press website: deletepress.org
We love hearing from you: email@example.com
Holy smokes! Nephew, an exciting new imprint of Mud Luscious Press, has announced its first title: Darby Larson’s The Iguana Complex, “a wonder of negation & meta-narrative, a mountain of little steps walking in circles.” Nephew publishes raw & aggressive pocket-sized titles in limited-editions of 150 copies or for a sales period of three months, whichever comes first. There will be no subsequent editions (Translation: get in on this bad-ass action now! Only $10. And what a stunning cover).
Larson has had short fiction published recently at The Collagist, Everyday Genius, Caketrain, & New York Tyrant. He is also the editor of Abjective.
Here’s a little somthing to whet the appetite:
They are to each other after and on the flower near the crackling fire next to each other but when she looks she’s no longer looks at him. Looks at him. She’s not there looks at him. No longer on, she’s not there, the lone floor of Freeman’s living room and/or the opera stage where the deafening noise, rather, from our crowd’s spoke-woken her. She must have passed, missed, slipped out, slipped, must have hurled herself in the path of a hurled pointy hat. The crowd’s on their endingly feet singing neverendingly songs over and over, the song Cassandra beguttoned a day or so ago.
Oh Reuben, oh Reuben, offstage jumping: keep it going, yes yes, keep singing, keep it going. But she’s jumped and banged and heaven’s sake and sang enough for heaven’s sake, was just pointed-hat-hurled on stage for heaven’s sake, hurled in the pointed hurled hat with a head.
The crowd sobers when the loss of their leader is lost from the strange of the onstage. They file, the crowd, out of our theater seats whistling like a bird-caller army in their cars, near their dinners, at their desserts, within dreams, out from deserts, under oceans, sleepwalking-whistling to kitchens preparing two egg in the morning salad sandwiches.
Freeman prepares himself and his components, the components of the egg salad sandwich at two in the morning with his kitchen around him, tea kettle whistling. Whistling.
No longer whistling. Can you barely? You’ll need to look closer: Cassandra fashioning at Freeman’s kitchen table, the square one, eyes open, a mug of tea, ghost roses parading and the donkey playing a cello.
In a recent comment, John Domini remarked how Kafka is “a major marketing tool” in Prague (Kafka beer steins, Kafka underwear, etc.), which reminded me, in a U.S. context, of how Levi’s exploitatively enlisted Walt Whitman’s poem “O Pioneers” for their 2009 “Go Forth” ad campaign. The commercial is a laughably bad example of corporate propaganda that turns Whitmanian address into capitalist interpellation (I remember the commercial was loudly booed when it was shown before a screening of Pedro Almodóvar’s Broken Embraces).
In an apparently non-ironic comment, YouTube user sapporo1992 says, “i seriously get so inspired when i see this. haha and i do kinda live a life like that full of adventure maybe thats why i relate to it so much…and i love walt whitman’s poetry.”
In contrast to the “inspiring” and “adventurous” Whitman (this is the Whitman of “Song of the Open Road”), the recent The Simpson’s episode “The Squirt and the Whale” (episode 460) presents us with the “comforting” and “compassionate” Whitman (this is the Whitman of “Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night”). In the episode, Lisa comforts a beached blue whale (she names her “Bluella”) by reading her a passage from Leaves of Grass. She says to the whale, “When I’m sad I read something beautiful and true: poetry” and then reads aloud the first three lines of “The World below the Brine” (“The world below the brine; / Forests at the bottom of the sea—the branches and leaves, / Sea-lettuce, vast lichens…”) before falling asleep beside the beast. When she awakes, she finds that Bluella is dead.
In “20 Questions” (which is collected in The L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Book), Barbara Barg ironically presents the following multiple choice question:
12. Women writers
a) are only concerned with content b) don’t have happy marriages c) should always have men edit their works d) are naturally gullible d) [sic] are always referred to as “women writers”
Obviously, the correct choice is no choice at all. Or it would be to abandon the multiple choice format altogether since such choices (especially “a” and “d”) delimit and hypostatize what women’s writing can be. Bone Bouquet: A Journal of Poetry by Women is a new venture that intends to fight such delimitation and is, according to the editorial statement in the inaugural issue, “not a venue for feminine poetry or the poetry of ‘women’s issues.’” Rather, it “seek[s] to highlight the best new writing being produced by artists both established and emerging.” This is a welcome mission particularly in light of the 2010 stats just released by VIDA: Women in Literary Arts that indicate huge disparities between men and women in terms of contributors and books reviewed in a range of high profile publications (the tally for Poetry, for example, counts 246 men and 165 women). VIDA committee member Amy King writes, “We’re ready to invest our efforts and energy into the radical notion that women are writers too.” Bone Bouquet is, then, concerned more specifically with advancing the liberating notion that women that are writers are not just “women writers.”
If the poetry found in the first print issue of Bone Bouquet engages with content that is recognizably “feminine,” then it is content elaborated within the high-pressure crucible of poetic form. Or it is content made performative by means of a savvy conceptualism. Take, for example, Dana Teen Lomax’s “Lullaby” which concludes the issue:
You want your ears pierced.
You want your ears pierced.
You want your ears pierced.
You want your ears pierced.
You want your ears pierced.
You want your ears pierced.
You want your ears pierced.
You want your ears pierced.
You want your ears pierced.
Compared to James Tate’s “Lewis and Clark Overheard in Conversation” (Tate’s poem is simply the line “then we’ll get us some wine and spare ribs” iterated 23 times), which is content to frolic in the bone-headed silliness of male homosociality, Lomax’s poem is concerned with gendered normativites and ideological interpellation (which is particularly insidious when cast as a lullaby).
Including front and back matter, Bone Bouquet (Volume 2, Issue 1) is only a slim 31 pages but if more conventional print journals have the advantage of volume, then Bone Bouquet has the advantage of a well orchestrated coherence and a tight editorial vision. The disparate pieces in the volume by Carolyn Guinzio, Emily Skillings, Jennifer H. Fortin, Leigh Stein, Dawn Pendergast, Arielle Greenberg, Claire Hero, Becca Klaver, Jennifer Firestone, Tamiko Beyer, Kara Dorris, and Dana Teen Lomax seem to nicely harmonize with one another that this textual object seems not so much a journal but a smart, multi-authored chapbook (Claire Hero’s prose poem “ruining Dolly” ends “& the bones of my bones lullaby my limbs,” resonating not only with the title of the journal but with the closing Lomax poem that I quoted above).
If one can generalize about the range of writing here then it is marked by a lyrical obliquity and an eccentricity of voice. There is a focus on imagined worlds, on what might emerge from what Becca Klaver (perhaps referencing Brion Gysin) calls the “DREAM MACHINE.” There is a concern with the subjunctive possibility of the “if”; Leigh Stein’s “Autobiography” claims, “If she were a man, she would have sex / with the cactus for the cactus’s birthday.” All of this surprising work represents a great riposte to those who think they know what women’s writing sounds like or should look like.
I end, following Barbara Barg, with a multiple question of my own:
Bone Bouquet is
a) meant to show that special pooch how much you care by sending a gift of crunchy bones that will have him begging for more b) a reference to Stéphane Mallarmé c) a gorgeous grouping of delicate bone china flowers arranged in a white vase that can be had for the “Buy it Now” price of $28.99 d) a journal to watch
Gung Hay Fat Choy! I missed Wallace Stevens week last fall because of a hectic schedule, but here’s “A Rabbit as King of the Ghosts” to celebrate the occasion:
The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur—
There was the cat slopping its milk all day,
Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, white milk
And August the most peaceful month.
To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time,
Without that monument of cat,
The cat forgotten on the moon;
And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light
In which everything is meant for you
And nothing need be explained;
Then there is nothing to think of. It comes of itself;
And east rushes west and west rushes down,
No matter. The grass is full
And full of yourself. The trees around are for you,
The whole of the wideness of night is for you,
A self that touches all edges,
You become a self that fills the four corners of night.
The red cat hides away in the fur-light
And there you are humped high, humped up,
You are humped higher and higher, black as stone—
You sit with your head like a carving in space
And the little green cat is a bug in the grass.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted these, so bear with me for a little background information again. Earlier last year, Melissa Broder at We Who Are About To Die invited me to submit a “self-review,” and, shortly thereafter, I received (due to a software glitch) a batch of misprinted copies of my chapbook Midnight’s Marsupium (The Knives Forks and Spoons Press, 2010). I decided to use the opportunity to mess with some copies—erasing words, collaging images—as a way of commenting on my own text. I had such a good time doing it that I asked some other people if they wanted to use the remaining copies however they saw fit: and The Midnight’s Marsupium Defacement Project was born. Here are the past contributions:
I’m happy now to present the latest round: erasures and redactions by Stacy Muszynski and a video by Erika deVries of her son doing a fantastic rendition of “Haibun 5” (it’s kind of an unintentional erasure). Enjoy!
[Note: The haibun form, a mix of poetic prose and haiku, was pioneered by Japanese poet Matsuo Bashō in The Hut of the Phantom Dwelling (Genjūan No Ki, 1690) and in his famous travelogue Narrow Road to the Deep North (Oku No Hosomichi, 1694). The half-dozen haibun in John Ashbery’s A Wave (1984) were the inspiration for the pieces in Midnight’s Marsupium.]
To celebrate its one-year anniversary, Philadelphia-based Splitleaves Press is slashing the price of all of their chapbooks by two dollars this month — quite a bargain! I, myself, just took advantage of this and am enjoying some really great, out-of-the-box projects. Here’s a little sampling:
Thursday, February 3rd
at The Fridge
516 8th Street, SE
Charles Alexander (Chax Press)
Amy Allara (Highway 101 Press)
Andrea Bates (Toadlily Press)
James Belfower (Instance Press)
Joe Elliot (Lunar Chandelier)
Jennifer Karmin (Flim Forum Press)
Laura Moriarty (Nightboat Books)
Hoa Nguyen (Fact-Simile Editions)
Sarah Suzor (EtherDome Chapbooks)
The event is FREE!
Snacks will be provided & each press will be selling books.
Please direct any questions to: firstname.lastname@example.org
I recently read Charles Borkhuis’ After Image (Chax Press, 2006), an extremely entertaining detective narrative in verse filled with deliciously uncanny moments such as these:
looking at my reflection
in the toy store window
my hung over
my rubbery red lips
an elderly salesclerk motions
through the glass
once inside I’m handed
a furry dog mask
I squint through tiny eyeholes
at the mirror
“my god” the clerk says
Rodrigo Toscano’s back cover blurb is spot-on:
Charles Borkhuis is one of our most merciless vivisectors of the logics of bodypower exchange. We’re talking forensics here, not schematology. Like Hieronymous Bosch and William Burroughs before him, his art collapses cosmos onto mundus causing “reality” beneath our feet to crack open. Demons and angels (supersolid forms of evanescent knowledge) begin a wild romp in the a f t e r i m a g e of that collapse. The dystopic postmodern city becomes at once funnier & more frightening. The Social Psychology Research wing of Borkhuis Poeticworks has been especially created to debrief each of us on our status as triple agents of late capitalism. You have special clearance. But so does everybody else. What the. Exactly. Add this book to your spy kit.
If David Lynch had an impeccable sense of poetic timing and was trapped in the Black Lodge with a thousand Interzone typewriters, it might just be theoretically possible for him to produce a work such as After Image.
Check out Borkhuis read with Paula Cisewski next Wednesday…details below.
and PAULA CISEWSKI
Wednesday, January 12, 2011 @ 8pm
The Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church
131 E. 10 St. / Second Avenue
212 674-0910 Info@poetryproject.org
Charles Borkhuis is a poet, playwright, essayist, and screenwriter. His books of poems include: Afterimage, Savoir-fear, Alpha Ruins, and Proximity (Stolen Arrows). He was a finalist in the W.C. Williams Poetry Award and is a recipient of a Drama-Logue Award. He curated poetry readings in the Segue series in NYC for 15 years. His radio plays for NPR, poetry readings, and interviews are on www.pennsound. His translation from the French of Franck Andre Jamme’s New Exercises was published by Wave Books (2008). His latest book of poems is Disappearing Acts forthcoming from Chax Press.
Paula Cisewski’s second collection, Ghost Fargo, was selected by Franz Wright for the Nightboat Poetry Prize and published in 2010. She is also the author of Upon Arrival (Black Ocean, 2006) and of three chapbooks: How Birds Work (Fuori Editions, 2002), Or Else What Asked the Flame (w/Mathias Svalina, Scantily Clad e-chap, 2008), and Two Museums (MaCaHu Press 2009). She lives in Minneapolis.
With recent new books by Tan Lin, Roberto Tejada, and Ed Roberson (see the post below on “Lunar Eclipse”), Wesleyan University Press has increasingly become one of my favorite presses for fresh and innovative poetry. Their new spring catalog looks equally exciting with new titles from Rae Armantrout, Elizabeth Willis, and new translations by Césaire. I’m particularly looking forward to Evie Shockley’s the new black, which is now available for pre-order. Here’s a brief example of the kind of verve you’ll find in her poetry (it might also serve as an oblique response to Tim’s recent post on transparency and WikiLeaks):
dear opaque policy,
transparency is the new this
is for your own good. covering
your ears is a sound defense.
the status quo never looked
so good. goods. and servers.
ye gods! the national security
blanket is a crazy quilt. award
awash aweigh awol. a globe
warming up to consumption.
he’s got the whole world in
his lands. friends. ends. trust
me. must we? survey says:
property. and life, and liberty,
but only if you’re not it. tag.
— from “the farewell letters”
“…brought to dazzling eclipse refulgence…”
–Will Alexander, “A Nexus of Phantoms”
This comes from the NASA website:
The last lunar eclipse of 2010 is especially well placed for observers throughout North America. The eclipse occurs at the Moon’s descending node in eastern Taurus, four days before perigee…Penumbral Eclipse Begins: 05:29:17 UT Partial Eclipse Begins: 06:32:37 UT Total Eclipse Begins: 07:40:47 UT Greatest Eclipse: 08:16:57 UT Total Eclipse Ends: 08:53:08 UT Partial Eclipse Ends: 10:01:20 UT Penumbral Eclipse Ends: 11:04:31 UT
You’ve seen only a planed circle of moon,
the white wafer; the low sky’s flat penny
grow into that dime, flipped in the turn
taken by the earth,
until you see
what’s won from behind its veil of brightness
by the lunar eclipse
a red marble,
a pinball of blood and it’s your shot, a ball
of red clay before its pinch into a bowl,
what I want to say and its look
that far away from it.
I want to say it suddenly
turns three dimensional with shadow
shaded in at the drawn
and that darkness
makes shape-informed light clearer rounding out
midnight, and moon,
once it is that lighted ball,
falls above a night now floored with depth
so dark above you you can feel the feet
and meter fill with time. New Years confetti each
speck’s fall a galaxy ago back into space.
Space back into space restored beneath the moon
to here in the shading of eclipse. The distances.
We have to feel the spatial in what we see
to see clearly the eye measure in hands and feet;
as when we kiss,
distance disappears, our eyes close,
and we see bodily
in raised detail
a measure deepen into our world
in each other. And what we are
in the shadow the world makes
of our love, by this earth shine, we see
ourselves whole, see in whole perspective.
I’m in a bit of a pessimistic mood tonight, so bear with me as I revisit some Adorno:
…although the culture industry undeniably speculates on the conscious and unconscious state of the millions towards which it is directed, the masses are not primary, but secondary, they are an object of calculation; an appendage of the machinery. The customer is not king, as the culture industry would have us believe, not its subject but its object…Neither is it a question of primary concern for the masses, nor of the techniques of communication as such, but of the spirit which sufflates them, their master’s voice. The culture industry misuses its concern for the masses in order to duplicate, reinforce and strengthen their mentality…The masses are not the measure but the ideology of the culture industry, even though the culture industry itself could scarcely exist without adapting to the masses.
–Theodor Adorno, “Culture Industry Reconsidered,” trans. Anson G. Rabinbach, New German Critique 6 (Fall 1975)
A December 5th New York Times article by Julie Bosman entitled “Web Site for Teenagers with Literary Leanings” describes a new venture called Figment, an online forum created by Dana Goodyear, a staff writer from The New Yorker and Jacob Lewis, a former managing editor of The New Yorker. Originally intended to be a “social network for young-adult fiction” à la Facebook, Figment, which launced today, defines itself as “a community where you can share your writing, connect with other people who love to read, and discover new stories and authors.”
2011 Poetry Contest for a First or Second Book
JUDGE: Lee Ann Brown * Entry Deadline: February 15, 2011
Send 2 copies of a 48-64 pp. manuscript. Manuscript should be single-spaced, paginated, and bound with a spring clip or paperclip. Please include a table of contents. Include one title page with all author contact information. Include one title page with manuscript title only, no author information.
Include acknowledgement of individual poems that have been previously published on a separate sheet. Enclose a check payable to Carolina Wren Press for $20. This contest is open only to poets who have had no more than one full-length book published. Manuscript being submitted may not have been published or self-published in print or online as a whole. Simultaneous submissions are okay. Please let us know if your manuscript is accepted elsewhere. Contest results anticipated by September 30, 2011. Publication in January, 2013.
Send all materials, postmarked by 2/15/2011 to: Carolina Wren Press 120 Morris Street, Durham, NC 27701. Questions: email@example.com
[this looks like an exciting new project...details below...]
ECCOLINGUISTICS exists to give to Mars what happened. It must consider itself a/n historical log. Otherwise the mere sic art of the ear. It seeks one thing—hoary labor in “Elegy / Churchyard” (impersonal pastorals, Wordsworth’s bone-headed “language used by real men”), D’s unwritten frame in frequent, drafty headaches, and too many Ds—”he had the longest day compeusing in the orchard”—Howe’s thickets of Kim’s colonizing “english” like Iijima’s dirt shake or Doller’s “full jar of heroines,” rambunctious as hell seems Schelling’s and Richardson’s neon mud-caked coyote skin, a bug through the stream of some mountain town, mined shaft Halpern’s future perfect tense toward Williams in a Detroit apartment (forthcoming?) what does it matter—Chirot’s scratched site—”the most extreme consciousness of doom” ASS Adorno’s “idle chatter”—to locate and record and perhaps create the end of whose planet changes where ECCOLINGUISTICS meant catalyst, complexity’s angled, sparks, industrial semiosis a generation’d echo, as if the one new void generations of stalled time, unto blooming Techne
in bloated old samizdat style, in reproduction, its meteoric paradigm its fecundity, possibly free too in the interwebs as though we weren’t paranoid ECCOLINGUISTICS seeks to pursue all politikal affiliations through the woods, piddling in the PANTS of Benjamin, in order that the frightful polar bear adrift makes it to her Lingis on shore. His aviary—the muzic’s background. The swim too long now confusing a maze. Stupid thing. Cruel seals.To such ends, art is a means. It’s pathetic, I know.The fields have already lost shape. It came from the 80s. Of course it did on to Mars.ECCOLINGUISTICS is beyond the field, surrounding it. Its practitioners, soon to be claimed not by these pages, abide by the chance of flooding their own rooms—residents—they are children again, who will miss the libraries. Alexandria.We are not old. They wait. We are not good people.
What says love if it comes from need. Sounds like the “good”much meant “not”—that is, “unmarked” linguistic, read away—unsystemic (strangely) objectives in the west
a poemy clearing that you go
“good” makes “growth”
in one dimension altern OFFICIAL Xulturea proposition passive aggression consumptive
“do less” pretentious behavyrprecise pronouns for past and futureLee and Lum give a distance and the people somewhere, perhaps Nacirema and such. To walk with Skinner’s plan or Tedlock’s “ethno” meant “self-poetics,” even “language” and whooda thought, no structure ‘are ‘are percussion on a disinhibitor’s blog before college kids have parked and now piss in certainty out the window “the lunatic is” seems “on the grass” again
st meoldy intending to medicatetime it with the producer’s third roar it’s Disney (public educationa pastime like newts’ eggs) (early forms of lysergic acids inserted in the eyes) send your work along to ECCOLINGUISTICS. This is a seed. A moving beginning. It’s nothing new. The battery’s charged; the sky doesn’t work. It’s initial-stage phenotype will be a mailing. It will communicate with you as to what that means. From the outside looking in, it could evolve into something more, perhaps morph—it could be programmed already. It is perhaps a point in its favor. Something organic, bio-logic and chemically based, autotrophic, creating its first meal. The first mailing, and all subsequent mailings, will be free. On paper. To anyone who will have you—if you would like to be included on its list, send us your contact data, and it will find you. It makes no promises except this one.Please direct your germ at:
eccolinguistics [at] hotmail [dot] com
130 Middle St. apt. #3
Farmington, ME 04938
In other words, if you would like to receive ECCOLINGUISTICS at your home, it will be free, and we will need your address. We can’t say what it will contain, which seams thrilling. If you would like to send material, please do. Contributors to each issue, or at least this first issue, should be willing to allow that material to be selectively used as these pieces come together. Contributors will have the opportunity to decline the page’s use of the work and everything will be credited to the authors. Because this thing is free, the editor(s) will do their best to respond to everything, and will do their best to keep every single promise. We are also hoping that the price of nothing will encourage many subscriptions. That is, if you trust us.
Or still another way to put it—what we’re up to will more recognizably find shape as materials arrive—it’s an operative principle of ECCOLINGUISTICS—we advocate no mission or school. We will distribute through the mail free thought and art to at least 200 readers. Each issue will be small, necessarily so, and no frills, pleasure and readable, equally necessary, digestible in an hour with a tight conceptual arc. The approach is to wallow in the basics—words on the page. We are looking for work that isn’t stifled, that has actually opened it’s mouth. There will be an attentive, inclusive, and imaginative selection process that will invite, though in no way require, collaboration.We are here for you, the reader. Please send your work, genre is not an issue (polemics and criticism will be welcome), subscribe (did I say it’s FREE?), and pass along to anyone potentially interested the good or bad news. Its price and tangibility (it can be held in the hand) will mean the work of contributors will be read by more readers than happens with many, though by no means all, other costly print publications.In some ways, ECCOLINGUISTICS is an experiment, and certainly one that’s been tried before, and is currently happening elsewhere, in the viral distribution of engaging writing that is not possible with costly production. It will arrive unannounced at your home; you will have done hardly nothing. It will hang around your home and, for a while, probably not be drowned out. It will spread your writing. This is our gimmick.
& Jennifer Karmin with guest performers
Cara Benson, Claire Donato, Thom Donovan,
Curtis Jensen, Pierre Joris, Michael Leong,
and Ronaldo Wilson
at The Poetry Project
131 E. 10th Street, NYC
students & seniors $7
BRANDON SHIMODA was born on the west coast of the United States, and has since lived in nine states and five countries. His collaborations, drawings and writings have appeared in print, online, on vinyl and on walls. Recent books include The Alps (Flim Forum Press, 2008), The Inland Sea (Tarpaulin Sky Press, 2008), Lake M (Corollary Press, 2010) and The Bowling (Greying Ghost Press, 2010), a collaboration with Sommer Browning. He is currently on the road, and lives nowhere.
JENNIFER KARMIN, in a polyvocal improvisation with seven NYC writers, will perform a selection of cantos from Aaaaaaaaaaalice, published by Flim Forum Press in 2010. Karmin curates the Red Rover Series and is co-founder of the public art group Anti Gravity Surprise. Her multidisciplinary projects have been presented at festivals, artist-run spaces, community centers, and on city streets across the U.S., Japan, and Kenya. A proud member of the Dusie Kollektiv, she is the author of the Dusie chapbook Evacuated: Disembodying Katrina. Walking Poem, a collaborative street project, is featured online at How2. In Chicago, Jennifer teaches creative writing to immigrants at Truman College and works as a Poet-in-Residence for the public schools.
CARA BENSON is author of a book of interconnected pre-elegiac texts for plants animals humans and earth called (made). She teaches in a NY State prison.
CLAIRE DONATO lives in Brooklyn, NY and received her MFA in Literary Arts from Brown University. Recent poems have appeared in Denver Quarterly, Octopus and Action Yes.
THOM DONOVAN edits Wild Horses Of Fire weblog, now in its 6th year!, and coedits ON Contemporary Practice. He is an ongoing participant in the Nonsite Collective and the Project on the Commons.
CURTIS JENSEN’s work has appeared in Try!, the Sugar House Review, Precipitate and The Equalizer. Previous to Brooklyn, he has lived and worked in Utah, Wyoming, and Ukraine. He maintains a blog at theendofwaste.blogspot.com
PIERRE JORIS is a poet, translator, essayist & anthologist. He has published over forty books, most recently Aljibar II (poems) and Justifying the Margins (essays). With Jerome Rothenberg he edited the award-winning anthologies Poems for the Millennium.
“MICHAEL LEONG” is an anagram of “helical gnome”; he is the author of several books and chapbooks of poetry including e.s.p. (Silenced Press, 2009), Midnight’s Marsupium (The Knives Forks and Spoons Press, 2010), and Cutting Time with a Knife (Black Square Editions/The Brooklyn Rail, forthcoming).
RONALDO V WILSON’s Narrative of the Life of the Brown Boy and the White Man, won the 2007 Cave Canem Prize, and Poems of the Black Object, the 2010 Thom Gunn Award for Gay Poetry.
[Hessien - We Don't Want to Live in Your Dreams (Bonus track via Fluid Audio)]
Estela Lamat, the Chilean poet I translate, has contributed four new poems in English to Hessien’s EP “Obelisk|Stelea,” which was just released this month by Fluid Audio and Handstitched*. This limited edition (200 copies) is beautifully printed with letter pressed covers and includes an 8-page color booklet.
Hessien usually occurs somewhere between the UK and Australia, somewhere between the hours of 11pm and 6am (Southern Hemisphere) & 9am and 8pm (Northern Hemisphere). Hessien is made up of acoustic noise artist Charles Sage (Australia) and Tim Diagram (UK).