Archives:


xoxo Hey, E-Mail Me! xoxo
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
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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
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Grapez
SB POET
Mark Young's Pelican Dreaming
|||AS/IS2|||
Li's A Private Studio
Anny Ballardini's Poet's Corner
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Dumbfoundry
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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
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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
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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

---

chris at 11:44 PM |

Friday, December 10, 2004

 

Danger Peaks: Eco-Edge of an Ars Poetica: Gary Snyder


Gary Snyder: How Poetry Comes to Me

It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light


(via Modern American Poetry)

*


Gary Snyder: back in poetic action-- see this Seattle Times article about his new book, Danger on Peaks (Shoemaker & Hoard)


found via the superlative blog,
::: wood s lot ::: "the fitful tracing of a portal"--thanks for this one, Mark, I am delighted to see Snyder being highlighted. And thanks, too, for all the wonderfull pastiche of differing works and artists you so thoughtfully find and offer to readers!

*

For readers here who may not be familiar with Gary Snyder and his life of environmental and spiritual activism, and his eco-poetics, here are some more goodies:


--Books by Gary Snyder via City Lights

--UBU web link to mp3 of Gary Snyder reading from his Turtle Island (New Directions)
--the Pulitzer Prize winner in 1975

--An excellent bio-essay at Modern Poetry with links to many threads and people connecting with Snyder and his work

--About Deep Ecology as philosophy and political impetus

--"Longshoreman," a memoir by Don Carpenter of a 1964 Gary Snyder poetry reading"

Another fine essay, "Poem-as-Work-Place: Gary Snyder's Ecological Poetics," by Nick Selby

*

Here's one of Snyder's eco-poems, "At Tower Peak" :


Every tan rolling meadow will turn into housing
Freeways are clogged all day
Academies packed with scholars writing papers
City people lean and dark
This land most real
As its western-tending golden slopes
And bird-entangled central valley swamps
Sea-lion, urchin coasts
Southerly salmon-probes
Into the aromatic almost-Mexican hills
Along a range of granite peaks
The names forgotten,
An eastward running river that ends out in desert
The chipping ground-squirrels in the tumbled blocks
The gloss of glacier ghost on slab
Where we wake refreshed from ten hours sleep
After a long day's walking
Packing burdens to the snow
Wake to the same old world of no names,
No things, new as ever, rock and water,
Cool dawn birdcalls, high jet contrails.
A day or two or million, breathing
A few steps back from what goes down
In the current realm.
A kind of ice age, spreading, filling valleys
Shaving soils, paving fields, you can walk in it
Live in it, drive through it then
It melts away
For whatever sprouts
After the age of
Frozen hearts. Flesh-carved rock
And gusts on the summit,
Smoke from forest fires is white,
The haze above the distant valley like a dusk.
It's just one world, this spine of rock and streams
And snow, and the wash of gravels, silts
Sands, bunchgrasses, saltbrush, bee-fields,
Twenty million human people, downstream, here below.

*

And here's one that my philosopher/theorist of the week, Theodor Adorno (cf the historical materialist elements of Adorno's thought), would probably love:

Gary Snyder's "Hay for the Horses":


He had driven half the night
From far down San Joaquin
Through Mariposa, up the
Dangerous Mountain roads,
And pulled in at eight a.m.
With his big truckload of hay
          behind the barn.
With winch and ropes and hooks
We stacked the bales up clean
To splintery redwood rafters
High in the dark, flecks of alfalfa
Whirling through shingle-cracks of light,
Itch of haydust in the
          sweaty shirt and shoes.
At lunchtime under Black oak
Out in the hot corral,
---The old mare nosing lunchpails,
Grasshoppers crackling in the weeds---
"I'm sixty-eight" he said,
"I first bucked hay when I was seventeen.
I thought, that day I started,
I sure would hate to do this all my life.
And dammit, that's just what
I've gone and done."

(via Online Poems: Gary Snyder, English Dept., UICU .edu)


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~poetry copyright of Gary Snyder~~~~~~~~~~~~ o~o/

ZaZen, Y'all!
--cm

chris at 1:33 PM |

 

from me:

Thicket

            The thicket is no sacred grove.
           --Theodor Adorno, “Memento” (Minima Moralia)


the thicket loves the day plastene
corporate welfare glossies & more fair( )
tales await same ol happened to her: "krrrrrack kkkills"
she sings the girls (wise) crack up--

it’s about arriving at the bus satin,
doors whooshing another lover
entrance: more Adorno to be dovinglett
read: The Whole of Life Must Look Like a Job

No improvement understood: Hello tag!
Penne for your thoughts: Goat cheese & Plato or tauto-
logical love & add R: a baby across the lot
of sunshine intermittently in shriek.

even my breasts out--they are crowing:
brother can you spare a mia
culpa a dime. a mode a mourn is is.
model & train whistle away firefly kiss AeIOu activ[e(itY)]

a fond dog not of my brother
hood stops me in my tracks—-feral
bound of the Basketvilles,
author, signatory, next stop, Lassie: herlock.

Everyone: who always desires a secrete? This, wrong like a cannon
& moor. the closet & door catching a corner of thin neck
geometrics. Egyptian non ancient stereo
typos: concernberus

squares in walnut
gold wool weave to black. reinforced
by the wife’s dogged.
i say

bring me your breath of red
pepper hummus,
please. your
i

please your i
a definite place i can draw
a blind. i said
ducks

not dicks, she sings on the corner
outside La Brea Liquors. L.A. i am looking
for Loki outside Moe’s,
Chris &

wondering about the second chapter—the police
woman nestles up in the corner with
a co-pay of Ghandi. i cannot read the spine
for its chiropractice.

where are mutable multiple one last crumb
you?
identificatory badge of men, two emerging in tow
with drapery smoke. beads of shadow on the balcony, beer, coffee

ice cream. your cigs—but here is my bus. i have to go
now. anyone suburban explorer vehicle bourgeois
society insists. O, Fidelio [Castro,] Beethoven, its a simple uncle
story. deaf or the exertion. will only erecting

BTU not but fuck you force of noon or none. let me send you
a book. here a homeless girl is multinational givens
& thicket somehow acquittal is every no one. each six year old
arrives always Errida: already mourned.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~copyright chris murray~~~~ o~o/

chris at 2:11 AM |

 

Happy Chanukah Week! Look here for some fun stuff: Jewishy-Irishy.

chris at 1:33 AM |

Thursday, December 09, 2004

 

Go Canada!

chris at 7:11 PM |

 

from Texfiles Poet of the Week, Amy King :


Swallow Swallow


1

A saltwater of snowball becomes
the idea of anything in wine floats
up, a symptomatic recession
of the wooden spoon,
of a wooden lathe, of metallic breasts
beaten white with bones
sipping sip. I’m the one you’ve never
known since barely noting herself
this long ago. I drove the car until it
forgave me, starting forever and
a day on the edge of cornered horizon.
Our city surrounds sight like a curtain
over this milky world, like a backdrop
of fireflies swimming in sonnets.

People stroll silken streets nightly.
They walk lanes with lacy independence.
My president never freely took office.
As for love’s lost locket, someone
secretly fondles my body. The right side
up sleeps nearly less than enough.
Swallow swallow, sipping sip.
Glass slides downward, slipping in pocket.

We draw closer to whittling
what remains a yellow spider
between the hollows of fledgling souls.
My hair breaks into fragments.
My hair flies away, evenly divided.
My remaining hairs flap back.
To speak brings pieces into resemblance.
Wine, in turn, breathes gaps in the senses.
What can we do but without it?


2

I go to the same poem
for sustenance or luck;
I witness the story’s avoidance
of the same advice twice.
I learn to love and hate personas
echoing likeminded persons.
It’s the souls’ bodies that betray
dead pumpkins within.

Lurking in night, I fake symbiosis
with the bartender on duty.
Her commercial claims a steadfast hypnosis.
She loves to hate our emergency plans.
Breaking a spiral of glass becomes
another instance. The pieces pretend
an escape hatch whereas the hammer falls
to swinging a repetitive presence.

Which words butter over
to melt your latchkey heart
for probing recollections?
A soccer of years passed slowly
between us and the gateway awakened
a little sparrow singing
the sound of song to mark
in position her songlings
from head over spine.

Even now, the hem of our
own voice holds us apart.

When spoken, a purse of white monkeys
gains disguisable ground whereas
people have underguessed my age
in the dark. I should be younger
than these piling years admit.
Long necked, double-fisted sip
from God’s final tongue
to your unfolded ear in twilight.


3

It’s all restless noise up
till now. But how queer
the clear sleep in spines
of light if dew of night
beckons her keys and
bites the flesh of sight,
presenting temperatures
of gladiolas moist
from her mouth’s sipping
sip, taller for rising inside



~~~~~~~~~~~~~copyright of Amy King~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o~o/ ~~~

chris at 5:59 PM |

 

--John Montrol, "Rhino," via Hans Bodlander, Univ.Utrecht--btw, a great site about Origami

Dept of Signified-to-Signifier: "I am a rhinocerous... rises to the stars."


Re-reading Adorno's Minima Moralia: Reflections from Damaged Life (trans. EFN Jephcott, London: Gresham Press, 1974--written in 1951) for some prose writing I'm doing at the moment--actually, I'm tracking a quote for a footnote--always a tedious thing, the footnote stuff, with all the citational rigamarole of exacting periods here commas there colons more & more page numbers of how many editions (someone--a blogger?--recently said something to the effect that *numbers* are rooted in *numb* so a comment on western cultural over-reliance on quantification--who/where was it?--Chris Sullivan?--Alan Bremhall?--not sure...).

Of course I can never simply read one part (the applicable part), but must wander around all of it. Thus, I find an interesting passage in "Toy Shop":

The relation of children to animals depends entirely on the fact that Utopia goes disguised in the creatures whom Marx even begrudged the surplus value they contribute as workers. In existing witout any purpose recongixable to men, animals hold ou, as if for expressin, their own names, utterly impossible to exchange. This makes them so beloved of children, their contemplation so blissful. I am a rhinocerous, signifies the shape of the rhinocerous. Fairy-tales and operettas know such images, and the ridiculous question of the woman: how do we know that Orion is really called Orion, rises to the stars. (228)

Animal animus, then, where even the champion of all 'underdogs', KMarx, missed the point of their use value in labor and market. And then: in a simple way (fables!) disputing the law of the signifier--hefty bravery in that, herr philosopher. Way to go, Adorno!

ZaZen, Y'all
o~o/
cm

chris at 3:27 PM |

 

The Iraq/Falluja in Pictures blog is in trouble--all pictures are down--apparently they are being threatened legally with a shut-down. They're asking for help and donations. Go have a look. There's an email address for subscribing to them for updates and such.

chris at 1:56 PM |

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

 

RIP, Jackson MacLow (1922-2004)


from Crayon, via Electronic Poetry Center, via MacLow homepage Photo credit is copyright of Anne Tardos.
** (& see note below)


Just heard this unhappy news (whenever a poet passes, it is very sad for me, news passed on by Steve Vincent, namely : Jackson MacLow has passed on. Over which i want to say Bless your rockin' soul, poet-Jackson! : Eat Up Heaven&Hell, all at once, and everything in between, dammit! & safe journey through the fold! We'll all be meeting up on 't' other side, G' willin'. Keep On.

& Here is something that rocked all po-stuff on environmental concerns (as well as other poetic matters) well before the large public awareness we have now, of the import of environmental damage brought about by insecticide use, awareness brought about in part by Rachel Carson's Silent Spring (1962 [thanks to Greg Perry for the note correcting my hasty original post regarding this publication date]), which showed plainly that the US government and the chemicals industry were not concerned about damage to the environment caused by widespread use of insecticides, which was at the time being heavily promoted by corporate interests such as Dow Chemical. By 1971 grass roots movements concerned with issues of the environment, corporatism, and politics, had started up all over the US, which activity resulted in the first Earth Day and new laws regulating the chemicals industries (slowed 'em down, though there is still much controversy on these issues). That awareness included new ways of considering environmental issues in poetry and poetics, as here :

Jackson MacLow :


Insect Assassins (1976) *


Injects no survive. Efforts control the
Animal survive. Survive. Animal survive. Survive. Injects no survive.

In nasty spitting eye cost. This
Assassin spitting spitting assassin spitting spitting in nasty spitting

Insectivorous nutriment species encounter Charles to
Are species species are species species insectivorous nutriment species

Into notoriety. Sweeping eastern capture testimony
As sweeping sweeping as sweeping sweeping into
notoriety. Sweeping

Interest nervous succumb easily: composed tube
Adhesive succumb succumb adhesive succumb succumb interest
nervous succumb

It near spider East closes thorax.
And spider spider and spider spider it near spider

Its needle. Specialized enlarged? Cutting tough
A specialized specialized a specialized specialized its needle.
Specialized

Is nontoxic secretion extremely contains that
Assassin-bug secretion secretion assassin-bug secretion secretion
is nontoxic secretion

I needle-like snake. Enzymes compound TENDON
ANCHORING snake, snake, ANCHORING snake, snake, I
needle-like snake,

INLET not significant, effect cockroach. Thus
About significant, significant, about significant, significant,
INLET not significant,

Insect "natural" surround enzyme constituents time
After surround surround after surround surround insect "natural"
surround

Internal nerve. Sucks especially contents through.
Against sucks sucks. Against sucks sucks. Internal nerve. Sucks

Immediate now share extinguishing controlling them.
Arises: share share arises: share share immediate now share

Insecticide? Needs. Sap; episode. Cimicidae thoroughly
Attributed sap; sap; attributed sap; sap; insecticide? Needs. Sap;

Insects numbing seconds. Each channels. They.
Accordingly seconds. Seconds. Accordingly seconds. Seconds.
Insects numbing seconds.

* -- via Poets . Org


~

And this one breaks mah heart right now:

IV.

This time I'm going to talk about red light.
First of all, it's not very much like emerald light.
Nevertheless, there's still some of it in Pittsburgh.
It adds to the light from eyes an extra light.
This is also true of emerald light.
But red light better suits those with a taste for mythology.
As reflected light it is often paler than the light from a
rhodochrosite.
Such a red light might fall on a bulky, space-suited figure.
In just such a manner might this being be illuminated during
a time gambol.

*

[Ah, Jackson ML, bless yer very gambol and space-suited, 1962 every light, man... ]

*

And this, just briefly:


... positions.

Guided by no affectionate blows, but only by necessity, their awareness has no continuity, as if they were viewing life through beveled glass.

Roots of lexical words come from writings by Charles Hartshorne, Gertrude Stein, Lewis Carroll, and Gerard Manley Hopkins. Numbers of sentences in consecutive strophes follow the Lucas sequence 2, 1, 3, 4, 7, 11.

Please pause for three andante beats between strophes

(a thousand and one, a thousand and two, a thousand and three).


* * Jackson Mac Low * *

New York, NY, and Gate Hill Co-op, Stony Point, NY:

23-28 June, 14 July 2003. * * (via Poets .Org)

*


Yer good poetic being'll be--
and be missed--
bless ya.

*


** Note: I changed the photo I had up after noticing that the same one was also up at Ron Silliman's (that photo is a good choice: it was one of the nicest of the photos available online, I thought). Anyway, I got to thinking, and decided that offering some photographic variety in this is another way of paying tribute to Jackson MacLow. & I also see that Kasey has a nice black and white photo up. So, here's this one, a cover from the premier issue of Crayon, via Buffalo-EPC, also a photo with some nice resonance, and taken by Anne Tardos. --cm

chris at 11:49 PM |

 

Speaking of dialogues, there's a killer one--MultipleCultipleHoot!--by Jim McCrary up at what's becoming another favorite, especially for late night bloggo-bleary-reads (trouble sleeping lately, Y'all--end of semester angst or somesuch) : the
*Wading for Go-Dough
(with lots of squirrel Fur & Nuts)* blog
(& 'scuse me while I kiss this guy'
or just drift off to riff
on the blog name--all riffing meant in good poetic fun!).

Very cool stuff, including a contest (check it out: write a poem from another gender) over there lately, though I also read that it may be closing up shop soon--get yr reads in now, folks--alas:
it may not be there tomorrow, I'm truly sad to say...

chris at 10:10 PM |

 

Corrected my misspelled term highlighted below in the post on the new Bookslut, the term from Zotz : I had it as "hoo-man", when, as you can see from the post linked here, it should have been "hooman." (as in, just how this dialogue concludes, too: Oops--"Silly Hooman."

Something about that economy of sound and sight in the lettering (ooooo's are always nice in sound and sight) that really sticks--or as Malcom most eloquently puts it on Zotz, commenting on a line from the Major Jackson poem in BAP 2004, "Urban Renewal" : "Open vowels draw the 'orbs of jumpropes"... orb suggests royal, the world, celestial." I'm lifting blindly there, perhaps, but only because the textured references used in the quote can as easily apply to fiddling with letters and sounds in the way "hooman" does. That mix of sight sound affinity makes the otherwise unremarkable, even (sorry to say) lackluster term, human, into a newbie being, one alive with lots of texture, some endearing vulnerability via intentional and unintentional homage to fun, and more than a tad of necessary compassion. This hooman is a Phaedrus but one much more 3-D than the Platonic one--indeed, one much more human, if considered in a layered, meta-to-meta way. Very intriguing. That's a lot of weight for one term to caboose, I know. But this hooman one does it just fine and, I see in the post now linked, does keep on chugging. Ahhhh, don't we all know how those hoomans might need all that, eh?

Also, I hadn't yet gotten to note that the dialogues are of interest not only because they innovate dialogue as form, but because they also make use of and innovate the elements of genre/historicity known as fable--stories where animals are the characters--an ancient form, as many readers here will already know, a form/genre that dates back in western rhetorical tradition to Aesop, but is hardly outmoded: it is still in excellent use by many oral-based cultures from the land-bound tribal to the maritime, as well as being perennially one of the top literary resources and sellers written in the form/genre of books for children--think Cat in the Hat, and excellent way to think. In fact, it reminds me: I need to add that hat to my PoetiKal Hats List. Off to do so now, and a tip of all the poetikal tex hats to Zotz for putting together something I for one have come to admire for especial originality and just plain fun.

o~o/
--cm--

chris at 9:17 PM |

 

from Dale Smith's The Flood and the Garden (First Intensity, 2002)

96

My turtle curls close to my neck. His soft breath sweet passes my neck and shoulders. So many hours to pass, watching him, gripped by some biological tenderness. His fat cheeks and bright look check my fear, my servitude in a washed-out economy. He is a world, a still-diving light of penetrating life. He burps and we walk the dark room as dawn's gray light spreads.

*


Here's the photo of Dale and Keaton, which, although not quite focused (I had to smile: Hoa titled it "Fuzzy Dale and Keaton"--fuzzy as in downey ! ), does show Keaton at about the same age as Waylon in the picture with Hoa--see previous post here. So I really like this one for that reason, and because they are having some fun with music there. Which has them swaying together, thus the movement also cause for the 'fuzzy' camera shot.  

*

99

We watch Robert Flaherty's Man from Aran with Philip and Sharon. Cold sea blasts rock coast off Ireland. There are no trees, no soil, only seaweed: bundles of seaweed mulched to grow potatoes. The lens gathers light from the spray and foam as the men haul their leather-bound boat onto the rock surface. The mother and young son meet them too, pulling the precious craft inland. Camera on the barren cliff of some ice age sorrow brings us their struggle and deprivation. Basking sharks swirl round the boats, the young harpooner poised for the blow. Four days later they bring the thing ashore.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~copyright of Dale Smith~~~~~~~~ o~o/ ~~~

chris at 7:19 PM |

 

from Hoa Nguyen's Your Ancient See Through (subpress, 2002)


[INTERLOCKING PROFILES]

Interlocking profiles
how the mouth protrudes
through the other's face
faces joined like vases
smiling lips       nostril x
or a vest with two buttons
has become of union
double secret grin
up-turning chin

*


Hoa Nguyen with baby Waylon, Summer 2004 

This photo's great--Hoa sent it to me in October, and I had a hard time loading it and then I got distracted with other things, and now finally today I figured out what I needed to do. I have another one she sent, of Dale and Keaton when Keaton was about the same age, so I'll try to get it posted tonight. Anyways, enjoy, Y'all!

*

[SHY MOUTH           NOT THE VALUE OF IT
(LIPS)]


Shy mouth           not the value of it (lips)
be happy         zoom like this
curious willow I saw
O self cheer               a valley
O joy's selfish traveling




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~poems copyright of Hoa Nguyen~~~~ o~o/~~~~

chris at 5:05 PM |

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

 

from Iraq-In-Pictures-Blog,
(formerly titled Falluja In Pictures) :


--US Army National Guard Sgt. David Roustrum, Lackawana, NY: funeral,
6 Dec 04.

*

from the Comments Box for the above photo, at Iraq in Pictures (you'll need a hi-speed connection to do this website if you're in a hurry, but if you have time, it's well worth the wait even if you don't have hi-speed--

This response from Candi2059 in Altoona, PA,
whose partner, Army CPL Bryan Hathaway,
is a soldier in Iran/Iraq :

Omg I could only bear to scroll down to about the 8th picture on here. It made me sick, My Boyfriend is in Iraq. He drives HET's in convoys, today he hit 2 ieds and got shot at of course, blew out his windsheild and put a hole in his fuel tank... It is all bullshit, this is Bush's bullshit!

*

from me to Candi & Bryan & family: I am with you completely, Candi2059 & Y'all--keep on sayin' fuck off and whatever else it takes to bring this bullshit to an end--great website you've set up for Bryan, and those kids, too! Best to Y'all--stay safe!--cm

*

from poet Reyes Cardenas :

Falluja In Pictures


This man was a
freedom fighter,
this man

was a freedom fighter.
These men
were freedom fighters.

This boy was
a freedom fighter.
These piles of men

were freedom fighters.
These dead men
piled on the curb

were freedom fighters.
They’re all dressed
in civilian clothes,

civilian clothes
covered in blood---these men
and boys were freedom fighters.

They are free now,
and their country
is free of them.

And we, too,
we used to be
freedom fighters…long ago…

--Reyes Cardenas, 7 Dec 04--

*

from me: Reyes!-- I think it must be very hard to write well about such experiences--once again you captured the moment completely in poetry--bless you!
--cm--



~~~~~~~~~~all work here's *always* copyright-a-da-artistes~~~~ o~o/

--cm

chris at 11:47 PM |

 

Also: a new issue of Constant Critic, see McSweeney on Nowak--fascinating poetry, interesting takes by McSweeney.

chris at 1:51 PM |

 

New Bookslut's O.U.T. & H.O.T.

Have a look into this latest issue of Bookslut, #31, heavy on matters of fiction, a welcome change for my reading habits at the moment (poetry's my first love, but happens best when fed by lots of other reading or otherwise receptive interests).

I had a good look into this interview of Geoffrey H. Goodwin's, with Will Christopher Baer (this link is to his blog--a great read in itself--and whose latest book, third in the series based on ex-junkie main character, Phineas Poe, a nihilist ex-police-IA-detective (this hoo-man * character's got lots of XS!), is _Hell's Half Acre_ [MacAdam/Cage, 2004]), whose work is elsewhere characterized by fiction writer Craig Clevenger (_The Contortionist’s Handbook_) this way: “People like Chris don’t write the kinds of things that make for good holiday dinner conversation.” Drew me right in, being one who never got much of anything out of "holiday dinner," or its small talk. There's also some interesting discussion of proliferation and decline of MFA programs and their uses/non-usefulness to writers, which is another reason to read this.

But heavens, don't stop there--Bookslut's going full bore, looks like to me. Keep on, Jessa!


* the term "hooman" is an interesting piece of phoneme-rhetorical-remnant that sticks in my mind now after reading it in Malcolm Davidson's Zotz writings, which I find great fun, highly innovative--they are dialogues between zoo animals about the BAP 2004 poets/poetry.

chris at 1:18 PM |

 

from Texfiles Poet of the Week, Amy King, Three Poems :


Most Viable Landscape


A heaven’s choir of earthenware
from the patina chair calls
a tiny pigment
from my green stop sign.
We can finally toe out
sideways spelling
and I’m talking to the room
in specific if you think
masculinity isn’t something
defended, consider the bent
signature four minutes ago:
crew cut, hardwired jeans,
the playing muscles’ swelling
match. Sweatshop shifts fresh
from the boat, money in
a slot for massage. You stand
skyward, roof-high for flight.
Look for the saving promise
of indifferent god’s angelic status
over cups of ale with light bulbs
spelling the here is the now,
mindspent sinners, picking out lint.


*

I’m the Man Who Loves You


I’m thinking a correction,
a blemish on the lip of fresh wind
and bright sky, an erasure
of tomorrow never more
than the face of human hands
crossing over twisted panther
boxed in. Fate fails waistlines
and feet deny passage for
beseechers of official things:
loading laundry, light on tour,
lick up floors and glimpse
through towels exposing
the hairs of our bodies
holding personage down,
saving the signboard
that reads the spine down a back,
the book within the book
of prehistoric paintings that
bind my percentage,
folded into snapshots


*

The Thawing Heart


Like hello to the stranger
in elevator, like finer static
encircles thirsty bare legs
replaying a statue’s smile,
a winking remnant of marriage
come back, the merciful holding
of nickled light’s hand with
blue ribbon skyline, officially time.

To burn free from egg-crepe
walls called house culled around,
an eyelash army batted us
down, melting the locks
of the gestures omitting
speech with those never known
on the way to the sixtieth floor,
lung water sighing the cusp of roof side.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~copyright of Amy King~~~~~~~~~ o~o/ ~~~~~

--cm

chris at 3:09 AM |

 

Carrboro! Check in on this one: Patrick Herron's Carrboro Blog: How the much celebrated Carrboro visionary is shaping up new ideas for the next festival. Go Patrick!

Plum Island !And some wonderful writing about Plum Island and winter life, here at Grapez--thanks for this one, Greg, it's very fine.

chris at 1:40 AM |

Monday, December 06, 2004

 

And if you've got hi-speed connection, you might want to follow up my previous post with this one:

There's Something About W --film clips revealing the deception in Bushbag rhetoric. Amazingly well done. Bush is such a sorry-ass fraud.

chris at 7:48 PM |

 

Hey, Y'all, Let's Dance and Sing Along to This One!

Idiot Son of an A**hole: Pump Up the Volume on this mp3, folks--it's one of the best things on the web right now.

I found it via Tim Morris' Optative Mood. Good one, Tim!

chris at 6:02 PM |

 

"The food one eats should be 'happy'. It should be cooked with love and eaten joyfully... " --Peter Russell, 1957 *



Had a great conversation by phone the other night with good friends
Hoa Nguyen and Dale Smith who are the publishers of Skanky Possum Press, as well as the provocative and thoughtful Possum Pouch blog written by Dale.
(& hey: check out this cool interview of Dale in conversation with Kent Johnson, over at Jacket Magazine # 15, when Dale's book, American Rambler (Thorpe Springs, 2001) had come out--it's a favorite of students in my courses, and in my Spring course I'll be having students read Dale's innovative prose-work, The Flood and Garden: a Daybook

( from Lee Chapman's excellent First Intensity Press, 2002)--& I'll also add here, even if most who read texfiles have heard me say this before: Jacket is one of my all time favorite online journals, an all time fave in any medium, print or online--I suggest that Y'all go have a look at some of the other work and interviews Kent's done in Jacket, including an exceptionally fine one--in my opinion, a classic--with poet C.D. Wright, another of my favorites.) And Hoa, among many other things poetic and full of good-home-sense, is the inspiration for the endearing Ma Possum rocking and knitting on the well known cover sketches for Skanky Possum journal, an image, along with its partner, Pa Possum, celebrated in that they made the cover of a recent SPD catalogue.
(here's Hoa's bio page at Write Net, so, also check out Hoa's teaching site at Write Net/Teacher's and Writers--it has been an invaluable resource for me and students in my poetry courses.) Many Thanks, Hoa!--from me & the students.

Dale, Hoa, with their children, Keaton and Waylon (these two are simply amazing growing beings full of the spirit of wonder--as in both the noun and verbal uses), had a fun day in Austin on Saturday, kickin' it with Joshua Edwards (poet and co-editor, with Tony Robinson, of The Canary).

All'd gone out to eat at a place in Austin that I love--Hoa said she thought of me, the fun we've all shared together, when they were there!--so cool to be thought of so well in such a treasured place (thanks, again, Hoa!): Casa De Luz, at 1701 Toomey Road (zip 78704), a wonderful organic/all natural, whole foods/macrobiotic restaurant. When we ate there one day last summer I purchased one of their cookbooks, and mentioned the other night to Hoa that it's about time for me to post another of their great recipes.

The book is Casa De Luz Community Cookbook (Austin: Morgan Publ., 2003) (ISBN 0-9710732-0-1).

It contains recipes for sauces, dressings, condiments, and spreads. I chose it because Hoa had made some wonderful dressing with miso, based on one of their recipes, and when I asked about it, she explained a few things about differing kinds of miso. At the Casa De Luz store I then bought some organic sweet white miso (since it is basic to so many cooking uses)--it's very good. Hoa is one of the best cooks I've ever known (and over the years I have known a few) of organic/natural foods, seasonings, and whole-food ingredients. Last time I was in Austin she made some superb tahini, along with greens and lima beans. Yum! Keaton and I helped with the tahini, peeling and chopping the garlic, squeezing the lemons for juice. Keaton's becoming a fine cook on his own, helping in the kitchen often, and well, even though he is only three years old. If I recall the evening right, Dale, Keaton, baby Waylon and I also went out to the front yard to pick some of that lovely, abundant rosemary they grow, to use it for seasoning one of the dishes. Making me hungry thinking/writing on all this!

So below (after the St. Lucia drawing), then, are two recipes from the Casa De Luz cookbook--Hi Hoa, Dale, Keaton, and Waylon!--See you soon. (I'm heading to Austin this Sunday to visit them for their annual holiday celebration of light, St. Lucia's day, YaY!!).
(& here's a site with some history and recent photos of the celebration in Sweden.)

One of Hoa's favorite condiments at Casa De Luz is called Sun Cheese. We had some there last time I visited. Very Yummy!

Sun Cheese (copyright of Casa De Luz)

Serve this cool and creamy condiment over grains, enchiladas, pasta, or greens.

1 1/4 cup sunflower seeds
1 clove garlic
2 Tbs. lemon juice
2 Tbs. ume vinegar
1 1/2 cups filtered water

Place seeds in bowl and cover with water. Allow seeds to soak 4-6 hours or overnight.

Rub seeds between hands to loosen skins. Skins will float to top of soaking water. Pour out skins and soaking water. Rinse seeds, cover with water and repeat rubbing process 3-4 times until most skins have been removed and poured out. The more skins you remove, the whiter the sauce will be.

Mix seeds with garlic, lemon juice, vinegar, and one cup of water in a blender. For thinner consistency, add up to 1/2 cup more water.

(43)

*

Greta's Orange-Miso Dressing

Serve this citrus-infused dressing over fresh spring greens.

1 cup fresh orange juice
1/2 cup sweet white miso
1/2 cup olive oil
3/4 tsp. orange zest

Blend ingredients together in a suribachi (a Japanese mortar; the bowl has a grooved interior which helps shred food as it is being ground. Especially useful for making sauces) or a blender and serve.

All of this, from the invocation to happiness to the ingredients of the recipes and the imagined/anticipated partaking of the fine food, seems to me highly poetic, entirely fitting for any place of/in/with/for/about poetry.

Here's a piece from Skanky Possum issue 10 (winter of 2003/2004),

from Dale's Notebook, in a section of the issue based on The Possum Pouch:

Two Possums

one walked up
behind a Ford
Explorer and
along a sage
hedge

another later
crossed the street
under cars and
into somebody's
lawn, dank
underbelly round
with fuzz not
really fur--
lost it
in the shadows

(66)




--Notes--
* Qtd. from the epigraph in the Casa De Luz Cookbook.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~recipes copyright of Casa De Luz~~~~~~~~~ o~o/ ~~~

ZaZen, Y'all!
--cm

chris at 1:55 PM |

Sunday, December 05, 2004

 

Big Love Here for the Duke & His Black Satin Top Hat!

This photo of the Duke is one of my all time favorite hat-people-pics--I keep a copy of it on the wall above my desk. Has to be one of the best photos ever taken. Talk about emanating, ya kno?--it fairly vibrates right off the effing wall. Love it!

chris at 5:49 PM |

 

backlogged on emails again here, & in sorting through them (damn-it-all, I get scads of spam everyday in my university email box--I had to delete over a thousand of them when I came back from Thanksgiving, after being offline for only 5 days. Sheesh!), I was very happy to find this: announcement of the latest issue of Poetic Inhalation, which, of course ROCKs!

chris at 5:35 PM |

 

from Alberto Romero Bermo: an exposition on the concept of Querencia and poetry :
Querencia



Dear Chris, *

You ask, “What is the place of sentiment?” And you ask as though the question shouldn’t be too loud, as though it should be whispered. Are poets ashamed of sentiment?

As a Spaniard I despise bullfighting, though that may surprise some Hemingways out there. Many of us demonstrate that stereotypes do nothing but prove exceptions to rules. (Why you’re American, Chris, and don’t like War!) Sentiment in poetry suffers from the unfairness of stereotype.

In bullfighting ** something occurs that is quite interesting. When the bull has been wounded, deeply, when it knows it has lost the battle for survival, he recedes instinctively to a place in the bullring called querencia. I know no way to translate this though some call it “a place of security and serenity”. No one word translates its beautiful meaning and its beautiful sound. There is, in the ring, a place mythical, somehow physical but not, to where the bull retreats. There, in its security, in that home ground, if you will, the bull is most dangerous. The matador must know where the querencia is for all the obvious reasons: the bull is safe in its querencia and within it, it will kill.

Contemporary poets need to find their querencia. They must, as Marianne Moore might say, find the courage of their peculiarities. Poets need to re-establish their home ground, their security. That is where their instincts lie, where words are best sharpened, where poets are most “dangerous”. That is the only place, a place of the heart—and not of the mind alone—where poets unconsciously know what needs to be song. It may be the seed garden of the word, I don’t know. Surely, it is not what they teach in school. It cannot be taught. No books can tell it. It is the only place from which poetry can kill. It is poetic sentiment: where the heart thinks. It is what poetry does best. And no more.

Alberto


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~copyright of Alberto Romero Bermo~~~~~~
* From an email exchange over questions of the place of sentiment in poetry today, which began in part as a response to a post here the other day about Lee Ann Brown's fabulous poems in The Sleep That Changed Everything (Wesleyan, 2003). Here I also want to thank Alberto for taking time to respond so eloquently and meaningfully, and for allowing me to post this provocative piece.--cm

* * On the history and representations of bullfighting, from Metamedia @ Stanford Univ.

Knossos: Minoan (pre Classical fresco)--acrobats with bull--


-- o~o/

chris at 3:57 PM |

 

Check out this site: Sorry Everybody!--found via this interesting site full of poetry and film commentary Sem Titulo

Kind of an interesting take on personal responsibility there in the photo and at that collective apology site. Not sure yet how I think of this phenomenon, however. Definitely raises some issues for critical thinking about post-post-modern-self-in-world, Cartesian-self-in-world, and generally of relations regarding U.S. in world.

A large part of me is not into apologizing for that other dumb-ass half of the US populace who voted for that Bushbag jerk, I am clear enough right now on this phenomenon to say that much. & Sheesh.

But I also appreciate this gesture: emphasis on directing some U.S. humility toward the rest of the world--which is healthy, productive, and just plain right, I think, given that there is a strong norm in U.S. attitudes that contain and promote extreme arrogance about and toward 'the other' in a particularly noxious way, based in identifying one's critical consciousness via nationalizing agendas. Ugh. So on that count I really like this guy's pose and sign, I have to say.

But do check out the others and the exposition about it all at the Sorry Everybody site--see what Y'all think.

chris at 2:55 PM |

 

from Amy King, Texfiles Poet of the Week :

In the Beginning


Godmatter, godmanner, godbreath, half-asleep—we’re all in
godstasis up or down here, depending on perspective. Holy
language waxes into shape within the image. The scalpel cuts but
handwritten? A machine for precision. It is a dream of baby. Not
a dream but it is a baby, patent pending. When does memory
shift from what has happened to an imprint of its own objective
correlation? What body, after all, can fly this thing? In fact, key,
three letters, starts ignition.


*

All in All is Asking Again


He said Film Noir
I said No
He said Film Noirs
I said Perchance
He scalped long noir
of a not present exit—-
Then existed a What’s a girl like
you doing with her burnt bag
of blackened tricks?
What’s a bag of images
if bagless?
Thus escaped our prize goat,
her baby crow,
his compass a sheet
of broken down
flames and wires on fire
for days back and forth
through gravity’s door


*

Witch to the Dream's Ghost *


I am that woman of the crux;
I photograph an image
of my inhibitions,
caught in the cuts of life.
The hiss and spine of recipes
half-written plot
a functional razor,
then grant a new permission,
a cancer of clothing
where unarmed people approach
the hovering spacecraft:
El Nino speaks Spanish
words for "the child." It kills
and burns trees. This child
is more than child. This child
pushes water on land
to flatter our bodies, over under,
inside through. Lightning drowns
our homes for spirits in homage
to the blood forthcoming
like sulfur yet more hypnotic.
I'm bearing out results
bright for blue method
veined wooden frames
within my doubting
cauldron, a stir for every hue.

(4)


* Amy King, Antidotes for an Alibi, (Buffalo: BlazeVox, 2004)



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~poems copyright Amy King~~~~~~~ o~o/ ~~

chris at 1:47 PM |

 

from Jukka-Pekka Kervinen (Hi Jukka!--wonderful work in this one, * as always, thanks so much!) announcing:


the latest Issue (# 26) of xStream, in 4 distinct venues, is now online !

Check it out: xStream 26


1. Regular online issue (Works from 5 poets: Umberto Allegrezza,
Chris Murray, Steve Dalachinsky, Ross Priddle and Andrew Topel)

2. Online issue is also available in PDF (see xStream's sidebar links)

3. Autoissue online: Poems generated by computer from Issue #26 texts, the whole autoissue is generated in "real-time", new version in every refresh (see xStream's sidebar links).

4. xStream is also available now in hardcopy version (POD) from Lulu:

lulu: xStream 26 POD



Sincerely,

Jukka-Pekka Kervinen
Editor
xStream

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Note: I want to add here that I am fascinated with xStream. I think xStream is most interesting and a significant contribution to publishing for several reasons:

First, because of the continued innovations made by Jukka: the online venue makes possible all kinds of versions, not least of all the innovations achieved simply because of using the web page forms. Then, the transformative venue of autogenerated versions of the magazine make a fascinating and fluid (since changing at every opening of the page) comment on the fluidity of textuality and the reading dynamic. Then to add a PDF and the POD versions, well, these are material realizations that bring full circle the multiple possibilities of textuality and publishing today. I'm very pleased that my work is a part of all this. Again, many thanks to Jukka, for all this innovative good work.

Next, with equal import and significance, is the quality and the variety of the poetry offered here (with which I am all at once both humble and happy to be a part in the current issue, as well as to have been a part in issue 15, October 2003). If you take a few moments to browse through the archives of xStream I think you will be amazed at the work collected in this magazine as well as the trajectory of innovation in this excellent publication.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ cm ~~~~~ o~o/ ~~~~

chris at 1:22 PM |