chris murray's *Texfiles*

"A note to Pound in heaven: Only one mistake, Ezra! You should have talked to women" --George Oppen, _Twenty Six Fragments_





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ManY PoETiKaL HaTs LisT:

Holly's Pirate-girl Hat, chrismurray in a straw hat, Michael Helsem's Gray Wyvern NOLA Fedora. Duchamp's Rrose Selavy's flirting hat. Max Ernst's Hats of The Hat Makes the Man. Jordan Davis' The Hat! poetry. hks' smelly head baseball cap. Samuel Beckett's Lucky's Black bowler hat, giving his oration on what's questionable in mankind, in *Waiting for 'God-ot'*. my friend John Phillips's 1969 dove gray fedora w/ wild feather. Bob Dylan's mystery lover's Panama Hat. Bob Creeley's Black Mountain Felt Boater Hat. Duke Ellington's Satin Top Hat. Acorn Hats of Tree. Freud's 1950 City Fedora. Joseph Brodsky's Sailor Cap. Harry K Stammer's Copper Hat Hell. Lewis LaCook's bowler hat(s). Tom Beckett's Bad Hair Day Furry Pimp Hat. Daughter Holly's black beret. harry k stammer's fez. Cat in the Hat's Hat & best hat, Googling Texfiles: crocheted hat with flames. Harry K Stammer's tinseled berets. Tex's 10 gallon Gary Cooper felt Stetson cowboy hat. Jordan Davis's fedora. Dali's High-heel Shoe Hat. Harry K Stammer's en-blog LAPD Hat & aluminum baseball cap. cap'n caps. NY-Yankees caps. the HKS-in-person-caps are blue or green no logos nor captions. Ma Skanky Possum 10's nighttime cap. moose antler hat. propeller beenie hat. doo rag. knit face mask hat. Bob Dylan's & photographer Laziz Hamani's panama hats. Mark Weiss's Publisher's Hat. Rebecca Loudon's Seattle-TX-Hats'n'boots.




Ever-Evolving Links:


Silliman's Links
Dominic Rivron
Unidentified
Br Tom @ One & Plainer
Dan Waber: ars poetica anthology
Dan Waber: altered books anthology
chris daniels: Notes to a Fellow Traveller
Chris Daniels: Toward an Anti-Capitalist Poetry
David Daniels: The Gates Of Paradise
subterranean poets: Beijing Poetry Group
Charles Alexander/Chax Press: Chaxblog
Headlines Poetry: the latest weblog entries
Henry Gould's AlephoeBooks
Julie Choffel's Understory
Tom Murphy's former one
Jean Vengua's New Okir
Roger Pao's Asian-American Poetry
Tom Lisk: Oilcloth and Linoleum
Kevin Doran
Reb Livingston's Cackling Jackal Blog
Janet Holmes: Humanophone
Lorna Dee Cervantes
Mark Young's gamma ways
Brian Campbell: Out of the Woodwork
Shanna's DIY Publishing Blog
Galatea Resurrects: a Poetry Review
Tom Beckett
John Sakkis: BOTH BOTH
New Francois Luong:Voices in Utter Dark, KaBlow!sm is...
Old Francois Luong: Voices in Utter Dark
Margin Walker: Andrew Lundwall
Free Space Comix: the latest BK Stefans blog
Adam Lockhart, Experimentalist Composer
Antic View: Alan Bramhall & Jeff Harrison
lookouchblog: Jessica Smith
MiPOradio
Web Log -- Charles Bernstein
Google Poem Generator: Leevi Lehto
Marie Mutsuki Mockett
Feral Scholar: Stan Goff
worderos: Tom Beckett
In Galatea's Purse
Japundit
Quiet Desperation: Jim Ryal
Luca Antara: Martin Edmond
Brief Epigrams: Ryan Alexander MacDonald
Radio My Vocabulary: 4 pm Sunday Poetry Streams
Mark Lamoreaux: [[[0{:}0]]]
Hot Whiskey Blog
louder
Nick Bruno: They Shoot Poets Don't They?
Joe Massey: Rooted Fool
Kate Greenstreet: every other day
heuriskein: Tom Orange
Chiaroscuro Metropoli: Tom Beckett
Behrle's latest spout!
Fluffy Dollars: Michelle Detorie
Jane Dark's Sugar High!
The Katherine Anne Porter Literary Center
(Charles) Olson Now: Michael Kellaher & Ammiel Alcalay
kari edwards' TranssubMUTATION
Notes on the Revival: Jeremy Hawkins
PurPur: Petrus Pokus
Snapper Missives: Scott Pierce
A Sad Day for Sad Birds II: Gina Meyers
Great Works: Peter Philpot
zafusy: experimental poetry journal
Writeboard: a collaborative writing tool
John Latta: Rue Hazard
KP Harris: Croissant Factory
Stephanie Young's New Site
Stephen Vincent's New Site
Portable Press@Yo~Yo Labs
Square America
Amy King's blog
Robert: Peyoetry Hut
Muisti Kirja: Karri Kokko
Karri Kokko's Blonde on Blonde
Yummeee Blog (recipes)
Nice Guy Syndrome: Tim Botta
Left Hook
Del Ray Cross: anachronizms
Juan Cole: Informed Comment
BuzzFlash - Daily Headlines, Breaking News, Links
Aaron McCollough
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Second Wish
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Radical Druid
Ron is Ron: the Ron Silliman Cartoon by Jim Behrle
Dagzine: Positions, Poetics, Populations: Gary Norris
Shadows within Shadows: Tom Beckett
Self Similar Writing: Jukka Pekka Kervinen
The Little Workshop: Cassie Lewis
Sky Bright: Jay Rosevear
Poesy Galore: Emily Lloyd
Lisa Jarnot's Blog
Poetry Hut: Jilly Dybka (has moved here)
Pornfeld: Michael Hoerman
Seven Apples: Justin Ulmer
Hi Spirits: Andrew Burke
Bacon Bargain!: Joe Massey
Ivy is here: Ivy Alvarez
Whimsy Speaks: Jeff Bahr
Umbrella: Jeff Wietor
Chicanas! (Susana L. Gallardo)
Masters of Photography
Blog of Disquiet: Gary Norris' Teaching Blog
Suzanna Gig Jig
Bad with Titles: Jay Thomas
Spaceship Tumblers! Tony Tost
Desert City: Ken Rumble
E-Po
Zotz!
Optative Mood: Tim Morris
ecritures bleues: Laura Carter
The Ingredient: Alli Warren
Skanky Possum Pouch
Slight Publications
Jewishy-Irishy: Laurel Snyder
Sea-Camel: Alberto Romero Bermo
Growing Nations: Jordan Stempleman
Tom Raworth
Entropy and Me: Hal Johnson
Scott Pierce: Snapper's Junk
Chicano Poet: Reyes Cardenas
Semio-Karl M&M
Stephen Vincent
Hoa Nguyen/Teacher's & Writers
a New Word Placements
Narcissus Works: Anny Ballardini
Richard Lopez
Tributary: Allen Bramhall
The_Delay: Chris Vitiello
Jukka Pekka Kervinen: Nonlinear Poetry
Lanny Quarles: Phaneronoemikon
Clifford Duffy: Fictions of Deleuze & Guattari
DagZine
Carrboro Poetry Festival
Steve Evans: Third Factory
DEBORAH PATILLO
SKANKY POSSUM PRESS
Tim Peterson: Mappemunde
WOOD'S LOT
Geof Huth: DBQP
Ann Marie Eldon
Jim Behrle: The Jim Side
Ray Bianchi:Postmodern Collage Poetry
Never Mind the Beasts
Diaryo
New Broom
Flingdump Scattershot
Tony Tost: Unquiet Grave
Grapez
SB POET
Mark Young's Pelican Dreaming
|||AS/IS2|||
Li's A Private Studio
Anny Ballardini's Poet's Corner
Tom Beckett: Vanishing Points
Dumbfoundry
BadGurrrlNest
Jean Vengua's Okir
Hear-it dot org: info on hearing problems
Tim Yu's Tympan
James Yeager's Modern Lives
Tony Robinson: Geneva Convention
Daniel Nestor's Unpleasant Event
Ex-Lion Tamer
Carlos Arribas: Scriptorium
David Nemeth
Ela's Incertain Plume
Mairead Byrne's Heaven
Catherine Daly
Black Spring
Br.Tom's Finish Yr Phrase
Shin Yu Pai: makura-no-soshi
Harry K. Stammer: Downtown LA
Corina's Fledgling Wordsmith
Jilly Dybka's Poetry Hut
Ben Basan's Luminations
Katey: Chewing on Pencils
YaY!! Eileen Tabios: Chatelaine Poetics !
Jill Jones: Ruby Street
Geoffrey Gatza's BlazeVox
Bill Allegrezza's P-Ramblings
Gary Sullivan's Elsewhere
GoldenRuleJones
Poetry_Heat
Bookslut
Chickee's SuperDeluxeGoodPoems
As-Is !
John Latta's Hotel Point
Sawako Nakayasu's Ongoing Show
Shanna Compton's Brand New Insects
Crag Hill
kari edwards: transdada
Fluss
Michael Helsem's Gray Wyvern
Word Placement
Bogue's Blog
Jordan Davis: Equanimity
Robert Flach's Unadulterated Text
Michelle Bautista
Ironic Cinema
Mike Snider
Farewell Tonio!

In Through the Out Door
The Blonde Brunette
Awake at Dawn on Someone's Couch is Toast
Jukka-Pekka Kervinen:Non-Linear
Xpress(ed) !
Chris Lott's Ruminate
Venepoetics
Laura: Yellowslip
Stick Poet Super Hero
Mighty Jens!
Radio UTA: Toni's Thursday Poetry Show
Tim Morris: Lection
Gabe Gudding
Constant Critic
Sappho's Breathing
Waves of Reading
Jhananin's Insite
Fanaticus
AdvExpo
Stephen Vincent
Stephanie Young: New Well Nourished Moon
Kasey Silem Mohammad's Newest Limetree
Lanny Quarles: (solipsis)//:phaneronoemikon
States Writes
Rebecca's Pocket
Simulacro
Braincase Links
Sentence
Sor Juana
73 Urban Bus Journeys
Poeta Empirica
poetry for the people: canwehaveourballback?
Ernesto Priego's Never Neutral
Nick Piombino's Fait Accompli
Weekly Incite blogresearch
Jim Behrle's first monkey
Jim Behrle's Monkey's Gone to Heaven
David Kirschenbaum's Boog City
Not Nick Moudry
Laurable
David Hess Heathens in Heat
Jack Kimball's Pantaloons
Li Bloom's Abolone
Ron Silliman
Chris Sullivan's Bloggchaff
Chris Sullivan's Slight Publications
Chris Sullivan's Department of Culture
Kasey S. Mohammad's Old-New Limetree
Kasey's Old Limetree
James Meetze: Brutal Kittens
Cassie Lewis: The Jetty
Joseph Mosconi's Harlequin Knights
Nada Gordon's Ululate
ultimate: Stephanie Young's First Well Nourished Moon
Steve Evans: Third Factory
Noah Eli Gordon's Human Verb
Jean Vengua's Blue Kangaroo
Sawako Nakayasu: Texture Notes
Free Space Comix: BK Stefans
Crosfader
Malcolm Davidson's eeksy peeksy
Marsh Hawk Press group
Catherine Meng's Porthole Redux
Josh Corey's Cahiers de Corey
Very Nice! Shampoopoetry
UTA's Lit Mag: ZNine
Wild Honey Press
Jacket
JFK's Poetinresidence
Malcolm Davidson's Tram Spark poems
HYepez: RealiTi
HYpez: Mexperimental
Aimee Nez's Gila Monster
BestMaX: Jim Behrle's jismblog
Cori Copp's Littleshirleybean
Jordan Davis: Million Poems
Eileen Tabios: Corpsepoetics [see Chatelaine above]
YaY! Liz's Thirdwish
Ultra Linking
Henry Gould's HG Poetics




Wednesday, July 07, 2004

 

Yesterday marked the beginning of "the season of the Tanabata" : thus, a call for poems (scroll to Tues., 6 July), at Shin Yu Pai's blog, Makura-No-Soshi [Hi, Shin Yu! Nice to read all this good news and poetry events! Also, very nice to see some of your photos up at Mark Lamoureaux's ("Love is a verb...") mind-driven witful blog, and what a great pic of you and Kort!]

Happy to say here that Shin Yu is moving to Dallas this fall, so we will then be able to tool-around-town a little and see wazzzzup with poetry and art and lots of related things. Looking forward!.


chris at 11:48 PM |

 

my god!
the dog

but omigod
next is yet

temporally
so

prior is this
time-of-year-trash--
its bittersweet
mime, brine of being & bloody
life of concrete bring




EP: Thanks for the reading.


chris at 10:52 PM |

 

My Teacherly *EEEEP*

First day of summer teaching went fine. 14 eager students who want to know more about how to write to persuade. eeeep! now I'm almost scared. But that happens every time: I was just yesterday telling Daughter Holly's friend Jeff, remember those butterflies you would get when you were a kid on the night before school started each year?--and then in varying degrees over the next few days?--until you got a little familiar with the scene and could predict a little of the outcome, or at least could size up what you should do while participating in it? (here also allowing, of course, for the folks who do not have these twinges or similar experiences) Well, yeah. That is the reason for and the drive of this kind of *eeeep!*--it's a little psychic pinch of stage fright but only enough to keep ya striving to assimilate to the situation. It's that little *eeeep*--and how it works itself out, too : )

I wonder if it ever goes away? I feel like asking some of the eldest faculty members here, just to see or hear more about their experiences (if any are similar and what they might do about it) but am not sure I want to admit that I have it! Anyway, it does seem to serve a good end. And being the teacher (ten years now!) is maybe a little easier than being the student. Or, perhaps its that once a teacher (of college courses, but other circumstances could work this way, too), always both a student and a teacher, since teachers are really just graduated students.

Well, enough musing on that particular *eeeep*--I think its over now for a while.


chris at 7:12 PM |

 

from Federico Garcia Lorca, Suites : *

--as translated by Jerome Rothenberg--


Air

The air, pregnant with rainbows
shatters its mirrors
over the grove.

*

Confusion

Is my heart
your heart?
Who is mirroring my thoughts?
Who lends me this un-
rooted passion?
Why are my clothes
changing color?
Everything is a crossroads!
Why does this slime
look so starry?
Brother, are you you
or am I I?
[Hermano, eres tu
o soy yo?]
And these cold hands,
are they his?
I see myself in sunsets
& a swarm of people
wanders through my heart.

*

The Pool

Horned owl
stops his meditations,
cleans his glasses,
sighs.
A firefly
spins downhill
& a star
slides by.
Old owl shakes his wings,
takes up his meditations.


(60-63)



*Federico Garcia Lorca, Selected Verse: a Bilingual Edition. Edited by Christopher Maurer. "Suites" Translated by Jerome Rothenberg. New York: FSG, 1995.





chris at 8:49 AM |

 

Finishing up the Black Stone series, for online...


chris at 8:46 AM |

 

Wish me luck! First day of teaching in my summer course on advanced argumentation. Looking forward...


chris at 8:43 AM |

 

Wish me luck! First day of teaching in my summer course on advanced argumentation. Looking forward...


chris at 8:43 AM |

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

 

Tex is sittin' over here watching mosquitoes laze and dip over the ionized CO2 reflecto sunset, its happy rainbow hues now doubling via the surface of an oil-glazed, three day old puddle.

I'm reading emails and find a very nice one from Harry K Stammer, asking for a copy of *Meme Me Up, Scotty!*--am sending one out tomorrow.

Let me add here, BTW: if you haven't visited Harry's tough-minded, downtown-L.A.-street blog, then you should: his poetry rocks: it is music and meme and questioning everyday life all the way.


chris at 11:16 PM |

 

YaY!! Just had an email from Del Ray Cross: Shampoo 21 is up and running full of bubbly poetry. Del Ray writes:


Dear Sunshine,

Poetry is everywhere.

And no place is it beautifuller than at the brand new
21st issue of SHAMPOO...

www.ShampooPoetry.com

...where you'll find superlicious ditties by Mark Young
& Jukka-Pekka Kervinen, Stephen Vincent, John Tyson,
Mike Topp, Brandon Shimoda, Ken Rumble, Kit Robinson,
Travis Purser, Laurie Price, Christian Peet, Erica Olsen,
Katey Nicosia, John Mulrooney, Murray Moulding,
Camille Martin, Andrew Lundwall, Richard Lopez,
Beth Lifson, Jon Leon, Sasha Laczkowski, Miriam N. Kotzin,
Rodney Koeneke, Amy King, David Huntsperger,
Yuri Hospodar, Jonathan Hayes, Anthony Hawley,
David Hadbawnik, Carolyn Gregory, Nicole Gervace,
Daniel Gallik, Andrew French, Thomas Fink, Michael Farrell,
Anna Eyre, MTC Cronin, Bruce Covey, Kevin Connelly,
Kate Colby, Anne Boyer, and Shane Allison; plus lathery
ShampooArt by Catherine Daly and Katey Nicosia.

Thank you for getting so clean in the shower.

Yay Poetry,

Del Ray Cross, Editor
SHAMPOO
clean hair / good poetry

SHAMPOO 21



I just love the way Del Ray announces Shampoo: his gracious presentation really makes people feel good about poetry. So, not only is it a good read for the poetry, but knowing readers are so graciously welcomed makes it extra special. Shampoo is one of my all time favorite reads... : )

ZaZen, Y'all!



chris at 2:03 PM |

 

A copy of Meme Me Up, Scotty!" also going out to Mark Young, of Pelican Dreaming Blog.


chris at 1:44 PM |

 

from Robert Creeley * :


America


America, you ode for reality!
Give back the people you took.

Let the sun shine again
on the four corners of the world

you thought of first but do not
own, keep like a convenience.

People are your own word, you
invented that locus and term.

Here, you said and say, is
where we are. Give back

what we are, these people you made,
us, and nowhere but you to be.


(151)

* * *


Midnight


When the rain stops
and the cat drops
out of the tree
to walk

away, when the rain stops,
when the others come home, when
the phone stops,
the drip of water, the

potential of a caller
any Sunday afternoon.

(74)


*Robert Creeley, Selected Poems. Berkeley: U of Cal Press, 1991.





chris at 2:47 AM |

 

from Charles Segal, "Spectator and Listener" * :

"... The oral performance engages its audience in a total response, physical and emotional as well as intellectual. Poetry recited or sung in such circumstances involves an intensely personal rapport between bard and audience. ...

"Plato regards such a release of emotion as dangerous and would therefore exclude the poets from his ideal Republic, but the Ion gives us an idea of what such a performance would be like. We see the rhapsode exercising a quasi-hypnotic spell over his audience as he makes visible to them the epic scenes of his narrative (535b). Plato compares the effect to a magnet holding iron rings...

"The Sophist Gorgias at the end of the fifth century regards these affective responses as the special result of the aural power of poetry. ... physiological responses to language confirm what we can infer about the emotional responses... [this takes examples from ancient tragedy but I want to emphasize how it goes beyond that one genre, as well as beyond that one gender of the emphasized "he"--cm]

"The very power of poetry to move the emotions makes it a danger as well as a blessing. As a 'charm' or 'spell,' it exerts a kind of magic, and Gorgias so describes it in the Helen (10, 14). Thelxis, the term for this 'spell,' describes both the song of the Sirens (the bewitching beings of part human and part bird, whose singing was said to drive sailors mad) and the seductive magic of Circe in the Odyssey. Pindar tells how the Siren-like magical figures on the pediments of Apollo's temple at Delphi [the authoritative religious source of a main oracle of truth about life but who spoke in riddles and commanded the activities of agrarian and erotic rites] sang so sweetly that men forgot their families and wasted away, enthralled by the song, so that the gods had to destroy the temple (Paean 8, frag. 521 Snell-Maehler)."

*Charles Segal, "Spectator and Listener," in The Greeks. Jean Pierre Vernant, Editor. Charles Lambert and Teresa Lavender Fagan, Transl. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. 196-197.

Note: Segal is wonderful here. And I want to add about Vernant that every project I have read that Vernant--who is primarily a structuralist vis the Claude Levi Strauss kind of influences--had a hand in writing or editing (as he is here editor of this significant collection of essays), is simply superb. He is a great teacher--all his work leads to learning. He's an incredible scholar yet one that everyone can read--completely accessible, supremely knowledgeable on the Greek cultural, structuralist and even the new-historicist perspectives (he seems somehow to have skipped the blithely ambivalent, self-de-romances of the post-structuralists.


chris at 1:57 AM |

Monday, July 05, 2004

 

Listening:

The Cranberries, Everybody Else Is Doing It So Why Can't We?


I cannot readily speak to the specifics of instrumentation in this compilation right at the moment, but I can offer some impressionistic observations about the presence or force of its vocality--the quality and effects of the voicing: its vocals--as these combine with the instrumentation for a specific kind of erotic effect (also a very rhetorical effect).

Voice here really is another instrument--percussive, and yet also wind, as well as reedy, even, all in the predominance of a breathy, variably-pitched delivery, which in my opinion is the key to understanding the quality of this as music that is supremely poetic. I think that part of the reason this group became so popular at its given moment (ten or so years ago) is due in large part to this effect, which sounded very unique at the time (this is not the only reason, of course), and yet also completely familiar. Why? And how-so? Well, I'd say think about a range of image-voice that would stretch allusively pinging back and forth in western consumerist-cultural memory from, say, Marilyn Monroe: the breathy "Happy Birthday" song to Jack Kennedy, for instance (though there are other more dedicated vocalists to allude to in this, it's just the first well known one that comes to mind for me), right up to the many similarities to Sinead O'Connor's tragic blasts of poetic and musical howl (I'm picking the most visible of examples because their visibility indicates how widespread is their influence).

If poetry results at all in a literal sense from the Greek roots of "inspiration" as well as from figuration of eros--breath being measured as an action with great consequence for life, as its most basic action, in/out, in/out, in synch with its partner, the heart, then there is something very elementally appealing to this music that is akin to poetry. It would seem to be making very economic use of several basic elements with a powerful aesthetic effect. Very persuasive in its economy, then (thus the tie-in to rhetoric). The rhythm arrives in something that seems full of dreamy wandering, yet coalesces quickly to forceful and meaninful magnetism that is nearly sexual insofar as music, not literally a sexual act, can be. Advertisers of course aim for a similar effect, since it is so powerful a draw to both conscious and subconscious levels of psyche. And once again, this is exactly the kind of thing that Plato and Aristotle tried to define and then to warn and even to marginalize. Such pleasure inherent in the rhetorical. Hard to imagine what might have happened if they had succeeded more than they have. We would have no Cranberries, I guess. Thank goodness this phenomenon has survived.


chris at 11:31 PM |

 

Reading today: an Apostrophe to Bones

I'm feeling fortunate today to have Ravi Shankar's exquisite new book, Instrumentality (Cherry Grove Collections, 2004), to keep me company (I met Ravi at Carrboro, and I'm so glad I got a copy of this fine book!--also, I want to say what a very warm and gracious person Ravi is, a poet with great presence), and that I will post a review in the next few days. For now, though, from this lovely, tenacious, sharp-minded lyric-work, here's a little bit of wonder. As soon as you can, do get this book and read, read, read! Here's something to ponder from a poem titled *Rankles* :

"Bones, have you no pliancy?
Propping me up when clearly I've collapsed
Upholding no form save desire. Listen,

All's not right with daylight. A kind of kudzu
Strangles transient hearts. The weight
Of summer has begun to drag down the fall..."

(33)

~~~~~~~~~~~~poetry copyright of Ravi Shankar~~~~~~~~~~


chris at 6:32 PM |

 

Wit!--the very root & berry of dining on syllogisms!


chris at 6:22 PM |

 

From The world's only favorite chatelaine poet, Eileen Tabios! and the Walking Theory poet Steve Vincent! (whose blog has new Walking Theories occuring faster than the speed of kites while he is also very busy writing and writing and writing an angelic flurry of inside-out pteros of Sappho poems :) YaY!!--who have sent me some more requests for "Meme Me Up, Scotty!"--thanks Y'all. And let me add here a special but belated (due to my recent traveling) thanks to Brother Tom Murphy, too, who wrote a nice mention last week about *Meme Me Up." Dang, Y'all are making me feel all warm and fuzzy and stuff! If anyone else would like a copy, just send me an email at cmurray88ATyahooDOTcom


chris at 4:19 PM |

 

eeep!

I just realized while going over recent posts that I misspelled Tony Tost's name in a title to a post last week (even if I got it right a few lines later--go figure!). Anyway, apologies to Tony. I've corrected the misspelling.


chris at 4:13 PM |

 

Oh hey, I'm ordering one of these!--I really like that broadside series.


chris at 2:16 PM |

 

Meme Me Up, Scottie! copies going out this week to Shanna Compton of Brand New Insects, to Jill Jones of Ruby Street, and to Sharon Brogan of SB Poet. Thanks much, Y'all.


chris at 1:10 PM |

Sunday, July 04, 2004

 


Happy Holiday-- Enjoy! ZaZen, Y'all...


chris at 6:05 PM |

 

On Linh Dinh's Excellent *Blood and Soap: Stories* :


I want to share with you something of the fine work from this collection of "stories"--each of which qualifies as the most excellent kind of literary writing. And literary writing, to my mind, is that art which forces people to think hard about life, history, interrelations with these and with all humans one can possibly begin to know not only in philosophical situatedness, but more importantly, just everyday, in everyday life. If that (the "everyday" of "life" in multiples, is a tall order, then do pick up this book: it runs all that through a sieve and ends up giving us something amazing (though not quite edible--but who would want it to be edible, anyway?--see how metaphoric thinking breaks down?--and that is also a major theme of this collection, *Blood and Soap*).

I also want to say a little about how I feel fortunate to have met Linh Dinh and his wife, Zia, at the Carrboro Poetry Festival last month (click on the link and then look for the site's link to the audio files: you can hear Linh Dinh's reading there), as well as being happy to have participated in some conversations with him and others about poetics--mainly on questions of the place of narrative in poetry today. It was a question that I asked, and that was originally raised here by Hoa Nguyen when she, Dale Smith, and I had a few hours to talk about poetry when they visited here last April (Hoa and Dale had kindly come here to give readings in my UTA Poetry_Heat series, and just to have a good time--it was shortly after their second child, Waylon Hart was born). Linh Dinh is a very sharp minded conversationalist about poetics, and on this question he really tested the many facets of inclusive poetics that can be raised by thinking of narrative and poetry together.

Linh Dinh's work is a special treat, being of that wonderful ironic-laconic mode that, although apparently subtle at first glance, nonetheless settles into something with terrific impact, packing, as it were, both a fine sense of humor and something like a bone splitting punch, especially in terms of aiming for cultural critique, and on multiple points all at once. Very intense, very worthwhile reading. If you have not yet acquired this book, you should do so: it is a wonder.

My thanks, Linh Dinh, for taking time out to have some conversation with me and others at Carrboro. And thanks, Zia, for taking time to sit with me and share a few thoughts during and after the readings.

Here are three pieces from Linh's wonderfully intense *Blood and Soap* (Seven Stories Press, 2004)--a book wherein every piece is stellar.



Key Words **


It is often said that grammar provides a sure index to human behavior. Who hasn't noticed that people who write in run-on sentences are also prone to lying, to getting up late, and to alcohol? And those who do not punctuate at all tend to wear oversized clothes?

In an effort to inject more pep and resolve into its lethargic citizens, the government is mandating the use of an exclamation mark at the end of each sentence, spoken or written. "It looks like rain!" for example, or "I must sleep!"

It is now unlawful to omit an exclamation mark from the end of key words. Key words are so numerous, however, that many citizens have found it safest to exclamate each syllable. "I! Am! A! Day! La! Bor! Er!" for example, or "Is! This! The! Ex! It?!"

Yesterday, an elderly gentleman who forgot to exclamate "frontal" in a private conversation with his wife (overheard by a vigilant neighbor) was sentenced to thirty-five years of hard labor to set an edifying example for the next generation.

(61)


* * *


An Idea of Home


Our house has nothing and a shopping center has everything. That's why my wife feels much more at home at a shopping center. "A shopping center is my ideal home," she said. "When I stroll through the wide corridors of a shopping center I am surrounded by all the things you do not provide me with. One moment my arms are brushing against a dozen fluffy mink coats and the next an effeminate man is spraying French perfume on my tired wrists. And when I am absolutely worn out from walking all day I can rest for a moment on a genuine leather couch."

(121)


* * *


Man Carrying Books


It is true that a man carrying a book is always accorded a certain amount of respect, if not outright awe, in any society, whether primitive or advanced. Knowing this fact, Pierre Bui, an illiterate bicycle repairman from the village of Phat Dat, deep in the Mekong Delta, took to carrying a book with him wherever he went.

Its magic became manifest instantaneously: beggars and prostitutes were now very reluctant to accost him, muggers did not dare to mug him, and children always kept quiet in his presence.

Pierre Bui only carried one book at first, but then he realized that with more books, he would make an even better impression. Thus he started to walk around with at least three books at a time. On feast days, when there were large crowds on the streets, Pierre Bui would walk around with a dozen books.

It didn't matter what kinds of books they were--How to Win Friends and Influence People, Our Bodies Ourselves, Under a Tuscan Sky, etc.--as long as they were books. Pierre Bui did seem particularly fond of extremely thick books with tiny prints, however. Perhaps he thought they were more scholarly? In his rapidly growing library one could find many tomes on accounting and white pages of all the world's greatest cities.

The cost of acquiring so many books was not easy on Pierre Bui's tiny bicycle repairman's salary. He had to cut out all of his other expenses except for food. There were many days when he ate nothing but bread and sugar. In spite of this Pierre Bui never sold any of his precious volumes. The respect accorded him by all the other villagers more than compensated for the fact that his stomach was always growling.

Pierre Bui's absolute faith in books was rewarded in 1973 when, during one of the fiercest battles of the war, all the houses of his village were incinerated except for his leaning grass hut, where Pierre Bui squatted trembling but essentially unscathed, surrounded by at least ten thousand books.

(47-48)


** Please Note: I find it especially fun--this is part of what I mean about his humorous subtlety--that Linh Dinh signed my copy of his book this way:

"To Chris ! "


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~stories copyright of Linh Dinh~~~~~~~ cm


chris at 1:20 PM |

 

My chapbook, Meme Me Up, Scotty! is going out tomorrow to Tom Beckett of Vanishing Points blog, to Chris Lott of Ruminate blog, & to Anny Ballardini of Poet's Corner. Thanks, Y'all!


chris at 12:33 PM |

 

My corrected email address: cmurray88ATyahooDOTcom

Thanks to Anny Ballardini for sending me a message to let me know I had mistyped my yahoo address (and thanks, too, David Nemeth, for catching the typo, "Scottie"). Anny suggests that we all spend some time on a beach in Mexico. I'm definitely ready, even if I just got back from a beach last week! My friend Mimi could sure use a vacation, too. Hoping she gets one soon.


chris at 12:27 PM |

 

I still can't believe my friend's news last night. Terrible. Betrayal from loved ones is a major emotional trigger for me, I see. To literally *see* it--to understand it by objectifying it--via writing it out on the blog, is a little weird, but hey, why not?--I think that must be one function of having a blog.


chris at 12:22 PM |

 

Warning: don't read this post if you don't like candid and passionate responses to betrayal.

Mourning of Joy:
Life's full of oddities.
And geeze,

we're so privileged here in North America. But hey, I'm broken hearted over this: just had a phone call from my long-time friend, painter & multi-media artist, Mimi, in Sedona, AZ,

only to hear that meteorific divorce is on the way for her: husband of 23 years and 2 kids--husband claiming he's having a midlife dick affair, and demanding they call it quits. Mimi is a super artist of foto (taught me to appreciate stuff twenty years appre-hence) and painting and many forms including quilting--if yu want one, contact me--still loving this life sit.

Ah,
or *alas* ?

--I have to say I'm just plain broken hearted--

Damn !!! In their lives, I thought they had things straight. Life should, after so many years of all that giving back and forth together, bring on joy, not grief. And so, I'm stuck on sentimental hold, with Emmylou Harris:

All the Federales say ...

the desert's quiet...

outta kindnessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

I suppose.


How do things like this happen?

I want to write many letter Q's blasting every forever and forever

and cry. And it is not even about me.

Cry.

Ya kno? Just cry.


chris at 1:34 AM |

Saturday, July 03, 2004

 

Awwwwww... gee (blushing deeply) -- many thanks to Nemski.com for the good words about my chapbook Meme Me Up, Scottie! And btw, if anyone is interested in seeing it, then email me your address so I can send a copy out to ya. Email me at cmurray88ATyahooDOTcom


chris at 4:29 PM |

 

from Standard Schaefer's superb collection, Nova * :


CYCLONE

It was a gusty kind of house, rambling, brick
        on the inside
and on the outside the fence was all white
like the jury, only more aimless. South and west,
        abstract
as a wall casually tossed up, but invisible
        as the hand that fed us
I gave them mine and they gave me theirs,
        and we waltzed
        in front of
the headlights, outbound like rabbits or leaded gas,
the constant sleet of golf balls bearing down and wild
        engines,
sirens on the CB--and the old man's habit of high beams
cuando no pueden dormir en la noche, todos no pueden
        dormir

wind off the concrete pero no hay paz entre nosotros
having blown past the horrible immensity of no sirens singing,
        no crow where no sigh subjective
when the question is posed in relations of force.

(15)

* * *


LA CIUDAD DE LOS ANGELES

X-ray, Yankee, Zulu. Off with his redneck Ju Ju.
Wear bolder, roll up your windows, and sleep it off,
said el conquistador to the occupant who never stopped
        asking
          "What fort?"
and took the palm beneath the palms to that city
that was never mysterious only exclusive
everyone's crying "Where is the heart?"
habria hecho algo diferente--no es distinto
"My heart is a foreign object,"
the terrible ambiguity, the unproven click
of a latch swung in both directions

(17)



* Standard Schaefer, Nova. Los Angeles: Sun and Moon Press, 2001

~~~~~~~~~~copyright of Standard Schaefer~~~~~~~~~~~~cm o~o/


chris at 1:04 PM |

 

Some very fine work of Anny Ballardini's (another wonderful, former Texfiles Poet of the Week) just up at Nth Position. Do check it out.


chris at 11:21 AM |

Friday, July 02, 2004

 

Yipes: I don't understand this: why does the post that comes right after a preset html post, such as Marcus's poem below and my holiday wishes post just below here,change the margins of the preset html post?--changes it to flush right margin rather than flush left. I mean, it is an interesting feature, poetically, but it's not the effect I wanted, nor is it the way the poem was originally lined out. One of these days I'll get it figured out, ya kno? Meanwhile, it's a sign of my lack of knowledge about webstuff. Thanks for indulging.

And: apologies, Marcus, if this is not how you prefer the poem.


chris at 12:23 PM |

 

Wishing everyone a happy holiday weekend!


chris at 12:21 PM |

 

from Marcus Slease, Texfiles Poet of the Week: 


You'd never want to even TRY NEW SHOES,
because your OLD shoes are the VERY LAST SHOES
you will EVER WANT. ...



(((((((((((()(((((((((((((((((((
(()))))))))))))))))())))))))))))))(
))))))))))))))()))))))))))))))))()))))))))



There’s no magic
in money no mum
in the clouds no guess
list on the table thence
passion betrayal
is a streetcar full of slaphappy
dead tense oak come glory
dulled down metaphysics metacarpal
metacorporeal.



I breathe legions lesions liaisons

the weather he said

I said the weather

he said the weather
is not the issue ditto imagination
or stolen cuff links hibiscus cream jelly
sinister hands.

Resolve: mother many I.
Resolve: wolf crumbs.
Resolve: confess confess confess.

I cry with my little eye swollen on the brink.
The price of carnage never raised
past the eyebrow. Frankesteinian.

How divert, how diverse, how pervert,
how panic the tiger the temper mental elephant
the last good guffaw sent out the window.
I apologize, pluck out my eyes.
Overdid, bit the tit, froze sun.
O wearied one, mistreated, this is a search party.

My sad mistress, mother may I many one,
treason of all sorts, lifelines of bodies.

((((((((((((()((((((((((((((((((((()))
))))))))))))))())))))))))))))())))))))))
))))()))))))))))))))))()))))))))

In case you aren’t for the dogs you might turn
over a new leaf without two shins
to your name for example Krapp’s Last Tape by Mr. Samuel
Beckett interrupt memory memory interrupt a tape that will
not stop winding garbage can ON FIRE thirsty wings ON FIRE
it’s my party and I’ll sing during commercials Mr. Fib
what a lovely memory machine
act now with ALL THE BETTER and receive ALL THE SAME
for free that’s a 99.99 dollar value.

Here’s to the new
year
the new
leaf
the new
toadstool.

((((((((((((()((((((((((((((((((((())
)))))))))))))))())))))))))))))())))))))))))
))()))))))))))))))))()))))))))

In the waiting room mymymy what big tits cushion
for the pushin
and in the other corner
a little man with calculating machine.

The first symptom cannot be named.
It is neither fetal nor fatal.
Second symptom and so on.

((((((((((((()((((((((((((((((((((())))
)))))))))))))())))))))))))))())))))))))))
))()))))))))))))))))()))))))))

Brushed hair lopped off fat morning face a little
less chiseled than the night
before it wouldn’t do so they called for knives
serious engorgement with the body politic you are
what you eat: jellybean
the course of course a three course meal
supper double sized happy meal with lollygagging clown.

((((((((((((()((((((((((((((((((((())))))))))
)))))))())))))))))))))())))))))))))))()))))))
))))))))))()))))))))

Our friends compliment you on your new alligator
shoes and you're barefoot.
OLD IS WHEN you’ve suffered from the dry heat
winter plague of Alligator hide (dry flaky ... Mar 26 '03
Pros: soft smooth skin inexpensive)
Alligator Technologies:
lubricate rough skin with hyperallageneric
the horror film beauty starred in such classics as It
Conquered the World and The Alligator People
test probes have screw-on alligator clips
he pulled into a place called Alligator Jimmy's Fried
"See You Later, Alligator" "Razzle Dazzle" "Rudy's Rock"
ALLIGATOR BELT LACING TOOL, ... $49.98 -$125.00,
- BuyItNow, 6d 15h 52m.



~~~~~~~~copyright of Marcus Slease~~~~~~~~~~


chris at 12:06 PM |

 

Danny O'Connell!--how are you?--email me, please--let me know!


chris at 1:37 AM |

Thursday, July 01, 2004

 

A special post for the Zen-cool *Mr Malimbicus* : )

--from Paulo Leminski, as translated by Chris Daniels* (Chris, Hi!)--

from Chris Daniels's Introduction:

"Paulo Leminski Filho ... worked as a teacher and in advertising, and taught judo. He translated Joyce, Beckett, Mishima, Jarry, John Lennon, Petronius. ... If he were alive today he would remind us with utmost rude hilarity that reverence, if due at all, should not be owed him, but his work.

"... He was the fastest poem in the south, this 'Zen Anarchist' 'bandit who knew [L]atin' this erudite blackguard, rogue judoka, oxymoronic inhabitant of every artificial paradise (especially, and always, poetry)..." [italics are mine, here, for emphasis on what seems especially resonant to me--cm]


from Leminski's poetry in translation :


a letter an ember athwart
inside the text
cloud full of my rain
crossing the desert to me
the mountain way
the sea between the two
a syllable a sob
a yes a no a cry
signs to say us
when we are no more



nothing the sun
could ever explain

all the moon more
chic yet still plain

such flowers do not
fade in rain

...

back then
we were gonna be homer
the work an iliad no less

but then
it got a little harder
we'd settle for a rimbaud
an ungaretti a fernando any old pessoa
a lorca an eluard a ginsberg

and then
we ended up the provincial
poeticule we always were
behind so many masks
time treated like flowers
...



*Paulo Leminski, Meta(/other)poems. Translated by Chris Daniels. Edited by Chris Chen. Berkeley: Grand Quiskadee, 2003.

"TRANSLATION FIGHTS CULTURAL NARCISSISM"--chris daniels


~~~~~~~~~~~~~ZaZen, Y'all~~~~~~~ o~o/



chris at 6:11 PM |

 

Yes, "The lilacs!" [we all] "would never have known..." had you not so generously taken the time out to blog about it for us. Gee, Deborah, I was out of town and so missed this post by several days, but I got it now. Thanks so much for this grand image of lilacs in Russia. I just love thinking about it!


chris at 6:06 PM |

 

Wow! Many thanks, Tom Beckett, for the great post,
detailing the inaugural issue of
Steve Tills' new journal, Black Spring!


chris at 12:58 PM |

 

YaY!! Black Spring is on its merry pranksterish way to Tex

Okay, I finally cleared out the 500 spam emails from my university box, and then got the Yahoo box up and working. Was able to respond to Steve Tills--and ever so gladly!--he's sending me copies of the first issue of his Black Spring lit journal to share around here, which includes work from one of my all time favorite poets/activists, kari edwards, as well as work from Catherine Daly and Steve's own cool work (more on that coming up here tonight or tomorrow & hey, I guess I should also say this inaugural issue even includes some of my work!). More on Black Spring as soon as it arrives here.

So, stay tuned!

: )


chris at 12:06 PM |

 

from Joseph Brodsky : *

Venice: Lido


A rusty Romanian tanker, wallowing out in the azure
like a down-at-heel shoe discarded with sighing pleasure.

The crew, stripped to their pants--womanizers and wankers--
now that they're in the south, sun themselves by the anchors,

without a coin in their pockets to do the city,
which closely resembles a distant pretty

postcard pinned to the sunset; across the water, flocking
clouds, the smell of sweaty armpits, guitars idly plucking.

Ah, the Mediterranean! After your voids, a humble
limb craves a labyrinth, a topographic tangle!

A camel-like superstructure, on its decaying basis,
through binoculars scans the promonade's oasis.

Only by biting the sand, though, all tattoos faded,
can the eye of the needle truly be negotiated

to land at some white table, with a swarthy darling
of local stock, under a floral garland,

and listen as wide-splayed palms, above the bathhouse pennant,
rustle their soiled banknotes, anticipating payment.

1989


(52)



* Joseph Brodsky, So Forth. NY: FSG, 1996.


chris at 11:38 AM |

 

I'm just blown away:

by a baby picture, so happily!--

Jill Stengel sent me an email
with a beautiful picture of her wondrous
new child, Calder Joseph Hilliard, born 14 April,
this year. I would love to say aloud
and to give hugs

but here I am instead, in this non-material
blogosphere space:

So, here goes, in tribute:


Oh, YaY!!--dear Mama Jill, Daddy Andy & family--

The power of many light years
& stars leaning to go to you all, always
& with volumes of the bright-strewn
heaven path that cannot be grasped
yet is always song
with its beloved thumb press to being
goodness & the best
of so much
love

oh, yes, in its many sparkles against ceilings of hot nights & human
attempts: thus means to weave its beloved
cotton to cool
percale & sweet dreams
of summer window breeze
& stars & moon yet of always
& of supple dare:

the threads that weft to say
and to be "love" for this new child,
your beloved Calder!



life's best to you all--
xoxoxoxoxo

chris m



chris at 12:55 AM |

 

Geez. Also went to a baseball game. It rocked! I wish summer would just let itself last all year long--know what I mean?

Big fireworks at the end of the game.
Loved it,
yeah!


 

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