it is a project. 88 edited pages into it . . . might publish it in three parts . . .
check out unedited ones in progress here:
about
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For almost seven years I traveled around the world with one suitcase. I had romantic notions that didn’t quite turn out romantic. Or sometimes they did. Now I am settling down in London. Waiting for the delivery of a used sofa that may not fit through the door. I have a big screen to type on and read from. I still don’t own a TV. I see the TV in the gym and it is unconvincing. Why would anyone want one?
Buddhism has helped a lot. Practical Buddhism. My goal in returning to London (one of them) was to see and acknowledge the new in everyday life. To centre myself with impermanence. From Smashing Time deals with that. I also realised that misery can feed on misery. Philip Whalen taught me how to have a light touch in my writing and in my life. Suffering is not wished away of course. It is often assumed that an artist/writer is consumed with pain and writes or paints or whathaveyou through that pain. But humour seems vital to me. In life and writing. Not forcing it but being able to see it everywhere. I think it was the poet Matthew Rohrer who said in an interview that humour and tragedy are equally important. I think quite a few poets forget the humour or assume it is part of the trivial world of so-called entertainment.
This seems especially apt in the divided world of contemporary British poetry. The so-called experimental (with some very notable exceptions like Tim Atkins, Peter Jaeger and Jeff Hilson) seems deadly serious in its use of theory/academic posturing and politics. But perhaps this is changing. In the so-called mainstream of British poetry they are stuck in the 19th century. Like a contemporary painter painting landscapes from the 19th or 18th century. There is very little playfulness. Or if there is it is the posturing of writing for the “common reader” by writing flat and banal. But mostly the mainstream is an identity parade. The ego is front and centre. See Carol Ann Duffy etc. etc. Flat and banal work can be interesting in the right hands. See Mike Topp etc. There are no shalt and shalt nots. This is all very problematic. Even as I dash this off there are a million holes. But these are general tendencies I have noticed in the last few years. There is a British anthology coming soon (oh no not another one) with a lot of experimental/avant garde poets and some in-between poets. It’s coming out from one of the biggest mainstream publishers (Bloodaxe). I think it might actually be interesting. The poetry world on this tiny provincial island needs a really really good shake-up. Again. The two sides of poetry seemed locked into position and have produced some very very stale and predictable writing. Whether avant garde or mainstream. Again, as always, there are some stellar exceptions. SJ Fowler has shook things up with his European poets reading with British poets, his covers project, his Maintenant Camarade project of British poets collaborating with each other and a million other projects. Openned with Steve Willey and Alex Davies did some good groundwork for opening the field. I think there are many folks who see that experimental/avant garde practice can have a much larger audience (like music, theatre etc. etc.) but how to go about it? Community is one of those hot topics both here and in the U.S. Community practice(s). That’s perhaps the most important. But I think the experimental poetry scene in the U.K. could be freshened up a lot more by moving beyond the disjunctive/performative work of Keston Sutherland (a fine poet) or Prynne and Cambridge or the sound and concrete poetry from the 1970’s and Writer’s Forum etc.
See Tim Atkins and Jeff Hilson for the huge huge exception to all this. Perhaps the most original and interesting poets writing in the U.K. today. Well not just the U.K. I haven’t read anything like their poetry in the U.S. either.
So keeping fresh. Hm . . .
one things for sure . . it starts with reading beyond the very very narrow reading of typical experimental/avant garde British poetry.
There is a ton of great poetry to read. And of course there is all this daily living to do as well.
I am not sure how it was in the 1960’s and 1970’s here in the U.K. I have heard a lot about the poetry wars. It seems from looking at books published in those two decades there was quite a lot of activity. Linking up with some of the New American poets and so on.
The NY Schools of Poetry don’t seem to have made an impact here (again for the exception see Tim Atkins and Jeff Hilson). Why?
There are definite signs of life here though. Maybe Penned in the Margins could become something almost like Fence in the U.S.? Maybe. And Department books and Knives Forks and Spoons have done some interesting books. Veer Books has a few interesting books (In the Assarts by Jeff Hilson and a new book by Richard Parker are by far the most interesting and original). Reality Street has a couple of interesting books from the last twenty years or so (Peter Jaeger’s Rapid Eye Movement and Jim Goar’s Seoul Bus Poems for example). Department Books also has a few good books out and is showing a lot of potential (see especially Jessica Pujol i Duran’s Now Worry).
But we need more. Much much more!!
In all honesty I don’t think there is any UK press that equals Fence, Ugly Ducking, Black Ocean, Wave, Adventures in Poetry (and maybe 100 or so more North American presses) in terms of expanding the possibilities for both poetry and living.Of course North America is a large large place and this is just a tiny island. But still . . I think it is possible to have at least one or maybe two presses that really push what is possible in poetry!
I have a lot of hope. I have made some very very fine friends here. There are fab poets. I am part of a community of artists/poets. That community has made a huge huge difference.
Still waiting for the used sofa . . . it will be nice to have a comfy place to sit . .. finally . . .
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A Hut is Constructed of Loose Stones
this is part the story of Genesisa human is being collectedthe book of thingsthe book of bodiesa pool of chlorinethe skull of a Frankor the skull of sluga lover gives lovewhile snoringwhile thinking about Englandone has to become very smallwith closed eyesone becomes the cator the toothpickbadly one listens to thingslike toffee puddingor top of the popsthe silver button on a plastic boxwhere the living rubs against the skinan uproar and dinwho speaks when you are not speakingahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnear the chirping or rattling of thingsnear the barkingobscurity filled the atmospherethere is nothingthe nearest desertcan explain to the mountaina bad sunning lizardlike an accidentwe never saw comingMitchen’s monsteror a new dust devildropped plush with the desert’s breatha whistle of windthrough cool ridgea poem about mintahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhwe all like it for longest breathnakedwithered down& desolatein the nearby pasthedge tree shrub house hut orenclosure -
trying out wordpress for the simple look . . feeling minimal . . . might migrate Never Mind the Beasts over there:
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never mind the beasts has going on blogspot since 2004. Gonna see what word press can do . . .
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My right knee is popping it has popped before but it is really popping and when it pops it is a painful pop. I’m afraid of it exploding. My left knee also pops. It is not a painful pop. After the pops in my right knee my leg gives out or up. I can’t put much weight on it. In 1995 it blew up like a balloon. I don’t remember a pop.
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A Hut is Constructed of Loose Stonesthis is part the story of Genesisa human is being collectedthe book of thingsthe book of bodiesa pool of chlorinethe skull of a Frankor the skull of sluga lover gives lovewhile snoringwhile thinking about Englandone has to become very smallwith closed eyesone becomes the cator the toothpickbadly one listens to thingslike toffee puddingor top of the popsthe silver button on a plastic boxwhere the living rubs against the skinan uproar and dinwho speaks when you are not speakingahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnear the chirping or rattling of thingsnear the barkingobscurity filled the atmospherethere is nothingthe nearest desertcan explain to the mountaina bad sunning lizardlike an accidentwe never saw comingMitchen’s monsteror a new dust devildropped plush with the desert’s breatha whistle of windthrough cool ridgea poem about mintahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhwe all like it for longest breathnakedwithered down& desolatein the nearby pasthedge tree shrub house hut orenclosure
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Now here’s an ear . . .
Don Yorty reading “Poet Laundromat” in Philly’s Chapterhouse Cafe
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Tim Atkins reading at Maintenant Croatia event. Innovative British and European poetry organised by SJ Fowler. Thank goodness we have it!
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poem written from a prompt in new issue of HOUSEFIRE. Check it here:
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“Kenny Goldsmith was correct in saying that poetry is fifty years behind visual art. Both he and the poetry foundation are, in a certain respect, the vanguard of poetry as it enters a phase wherein its absolute nullity is realized and becomes immediately displaced into these forceful gestures of grandeur which are not too different within the symbolic order from a middle-aged crisis sports car purchase. Visual art assumed the cool smile of complicity decades ago. It’s about time that poetry caught up.” (Brooks Johnson)
So what are we, who care, to do?
How do we rise up?
What is poetry and how does it relate to revolution? Of the mind? Of the “spirit?” Of the socio-economic sphere?
Check out this terrific interview with Brooks Johnson (by Linh Dinh):
poetry foundation and corruption -
This makes living in the U.K. worthwhile. One of my favourite living poets. He is an unforgettable reader/performer.
check it!!!
Poetry and interview over here.
interview with British poet Jeff Hilson
some sample poems from Rinker with the interview:
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The Claudius App is proud to announce the publication of César Vallejo’s “Lost” Interview, published in the Heraldo de Madrid in January 1931, recovered, translated, and generously annotated by Kent Johnson. Over coffee with the Heraldo’s interviewer (Q: César Vallejo, why have you come here? CV: Well, to drink coffee.), Vallejo discusses precision,Trilce in relation to its predecessors and contemporaries, and a non-extant then-forthcoming volume of poems, The Central Institute of Labor. This is the sole record of the great poet’s conversation, and the first appearance of it, unabridged, in English.
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remixed from my journals and notebooks from travel, 18th century travel handbooks, current music on the spin (this one was influenced by Le Tigre), Basho, Herodotus, Buddhism, google sculpting, and of course memory . . . mapping new maps into the present rather than clinging to the past. . . another attempt at an expansive poetics to move away from the constricted mind and ego . . .
this one was re-sampled, re-mixed this morning . . . Milton Keynes and Bletchley . . .
Tossing at night in their own traps. I couldn’t cut a straight line. In this corner of Europe one sees little in the light. An Englishman does not travel to meet an Englishman. In a place that used to be a monastery more than 55 languages are being spoken. We are only looking at the chaise. A man can churl on the sign. You suffer Mon. Dessein. Table tennis at the Bletchley swimming pool. Hot chocolate comes from the machine. The stuffing was coming out of the sleeping bag. It is a dead man’s bag from World War Two. Who shot J.R. Ewing? Being but a poor swordsman I led her up the door to remise. Curse be my gods. Curse . . one two three four. I have withdrawn my hand from across my forehead. We are all ninjas in a cobweb. I fancied it. The characters from a widowed book. Who took the ring from the ram-a-lang-a-ding-dong? Pulling out my tour. The poor monk does not blush. Edit. Remix. I have laid my hand upon your cuff. Sprightliness the prey of sorrow. The poor monk does not blush. Off-setting the new vineyard. We met at the Coffee Hall housing estate. There is no nation under heaven.
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Maintenant Croatiain association with the the Croatian Writers AssociationApril Thursday 26th 2012 – 7pm – Entrance Free –at Europe House32 Smith Square, London SW1P near Westminster / Pimlico tube stationsfrom Croatia:Damir Sodan – Tomica BajsicErvin Jahic – Ivan Hercegnot from Croatia:Tom Warner – Marcus Slease – Tim AtkinsMark Waldron – Claire Potter – Saradha Soobrayenand more tba…Four remarkable Croatian poets visiting London to read for the very first time will be joined by a half dozen London-based poets to celebrate the new generation of Croatian poetic brilliance which has flowered into the beginning of the 21st century. As ever the Maintenant series strives to promote some of the most striking and diverse poetry Europe has to offer.
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This is an apology for the Quakers. I have mounted my horse. This is a beautiful picture of a wail. The fire door says keep shut. My interest is to ungain a name. I leave the house to walk the public streets where animals and children disappear. Forced into blocks with blankly confident boys. To display unconsciousness like the lunch hour crowd. To learn the push of age in the crowd’s unconcern. An easy sided gate. I like a dog alone near which I creep.
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TODAY I AM A ROUGED DOWAGER
Today I am a rouged dowager. After getting up, I, maid of the paternity lie, will climb on the face, powder on the cheeks and the palm and paint a little rouge. I have come out from the refuge of Bilkent. To break wax to break the oozing from the nose I have covered my face with white cake make-up. Patches of cherry rouge on my cheeks and lower lip. Miles and miles to the stepping stone I am in the hot house with a white kilt. I confuse my lover for the kettle drums beating for Ramadan. I have slept on my rectum at Eski Yeni. The Turkish eye has followed me. A very fat man is repairing the highways. Oh little girl little girl little girl the men here are lonesome too. Looting is a purple pose. The Greeks have called on the saints but the see-saws are rusting. I meant to write east but mis-typed feast. The photons of happiness are scraped from a licking horse. The bark on the trees are forming a painting. This is where I sleep. Ears and hands are hazards. The Turkish salute is a hand on the breast. Between continents and between loves I’m working with two blunt pencils. The windmills are squeezed against the mountains. A bright fluid circulates among the soldiers. They are roasting rebels in the snuffbox. I’m carrying a flagpole without a flag. -
2nd revision with some splicing/sampling from my own travel notes from living in Turkey. The other versions were from a 19th century handbook of travel.
TODAY I AM A ROUGED DOWAGER
Today I am a rouged dowager. After getting up, I, maid of the paternity lie, will climb on the face, powder on the cheeks and the palm and paint a little rouge. I have come out from the refuge of Bilkent. To break wax to break the oozing from the nose I have covered my face with white cake make-up. Patches of cherry rouge on my cheeks and lower lip.
Is drunk a kind of weather? Grandmother Jean has cut the cards. Miles and miles to the stepping stone. I am in the hot house with a white kilt. I confuse my lover for the kettle drums beating for Ramadan. I have slept on my rectum at Eski Yeni.
Do you think of us as a family? The Turkish eye has followed me. A very fat man is repairing the highways. Oh little girl little girl little girl the men here are lonesome too.
Looting is a purple pose.The Greeks have called on the saints but the see-saws are rusting. I meant to write east but mis-typed feast.
The photons of happiness are scraped from a licking horse.
The bark on the trees are forming a painting. This is where I sleep. Ears and hands are hazards.
The Turkish salute is a slight inclination of the head. A hand on the breast. Between continents and between loves I’m working with two blunt pencils. The windmills are squeezed against the mountains. A bright fluid circulates among the soldiers. They are roasting rebels in the snuffbox. I’m carrying a flagpole without a flag. -
TODAY I AM A ROUGED DOWAGERToday I am a rouged dowager. After getting up, I, maid of the paternity lie, will climb on the face, powder on the cheeks and the palm and paint a little rouge. I have come out from the refuge of Jehol.
A fortified town, in a wild and rugged mountain pass.
I have covered my face with white cake make-up and placed patches of cherry rouge on my cheeks and lower lip. Grandmother Jia has cut the cards.I have been pre-occupied in the hobhouse. With a white kilt and kettle drums beating we are forming a new delightful spectacle. I have slept on my rectum. A man very fat and not very tall with a fine face is repairing the highways. The women here are lonesome too.I am among the most war-like subjects of the Sultan. The Greeks have called on the saints. The see-saws are rusting. I meant to write east but mis-typed. Fletcher has taken the protons of happiness. A licking horse. A bolt of sick neckties. I refuse to wear a suit. Ears and hands are hazards. The bark on the animation tree is forming a painting. I’m writing in a shady room of the English consul.Between continents and between loves I’m working with two blunt pencils. The windmills are squeezed against the mountains. A bright fluid circulates among the soldiers. They are roasting rebels in the snuffbox. I’m carrying a flagpole without a flag. The Turkish salute is a slight inclination of the head. A hand on the breast. -
TODAY I AM A ROUGED DOWAGER
I have been pre-occupied in the hobhouse. Consisting of a white kilt and kettle drums beating we are forming a new delightful spectacle. But for who? I have slept on my rectum. A man very fat and not very tall with a fine face is repairing the highways. The women here are lonesome too. I am among the most war-like subjects of the Sultan. The Greeks have called on the saints. The see-saws are rusting. I meant to write east but mis-typed. Fletcher has taken the protons of happiness. A licking horse. A bolt of sick neckties. I refuse to wear a suit. Ears and hands are hazards. The bark on the animation tree is forming a painting. I’m writing in a shady room of the English consul.My eyes were hurt by the light. Or crying. They are cruel but not treacherous. Our next conversation was of war and traveling. Between continents and between loves I’m working with two blunt pencils. What will become of the horses in Van? The windmills are squeezed against the mountains. A bright fluid circulates among the soldiers. They are roasting rebels in the snuffbox. I’m carrying a flagpole without a flag. The Turkish salute is a slight inclination of the head. A hand on the breast. Heat and vermin lie in the cottage.——————————————————————————-Today I am sporting a painted complexionToday I am a tapestryToday I am a rouged dowagerAfter getting up, I, maid of the paternity lie, will climb on the face, powder on the cheeks and the palm and paint a little rouge I have come out from refuge of Jehol, a fortified town, in a wild and rugged mountain pass. I have covered my face with white cake make-up and placed patches of cherry rouge on my cheeks and lower lip. Grandmother Jia has cut the cards. -
from Dzanc Books:
A Question Mark Above the Sun
Documents on the Mystery Surrounding a Famous Poem “by” Frank O’HaraExpanded Second EditionKent JohnsonPreface by Eric Lorberer Foreword David Koepsell Afterwords by Jeremy Noel-Tod and Joshua Kotin“At the end of last year, an extraordinary work of detective criticism briefly ap- peared, despite legal threats. Kent Johnson’s A Question Mark Above the Sun (Punch Press) movingly speculates that Kenneth Koch forged one of Frank O’Hara’s greatest poems as a posthumous tribute to his friend. A noir-ish middle also recounts some very funny run-ins with the English avant-garde. Shame on the poets who forced its redaction and suppression.”—Jeremy Noel-Tod, The Times Literary Supplement, including a previous edition of A Question Mark Above the Sun as one of its 2011 Books of the YearWhat you have in your hands is a kind of thought-experiment. It proffers the idea that a radical, se- cret gesture of poetic mourning and love was carried out by Kenneth Koch in memory of his close friend Frank O’Hara. I present the hypothesis as my own very personal expression of homage for the two great poets. The proposal I set forward here, nevertheless, is likely to make some readers annoyed, perhaps even indignant. Some already are. A few fellow writers, even, have worked hard through legal courses to block this book’s publication. The forced redaction of key quotations herein (replaced by paraphrase) is one result of their efforts.In this self-described “thought experiment”—part fiction, part literary detec- tive work, and always daring—Kent Johnson proposes a stunning rewrite of literary history. Suppressed upon initial release, this is a one of a kind book by one of our most provocative contemporary authors.Kent Johnson is the author, translator, or editor of over thirty books of po- etry and criticism, including Beneath a Single Moon: Buddhism in Contemporary American Poetry (Shambhala Publications, 1991), Doubled Flowering: From the Notebooks of Araki Yasusada (Roof Books, 1998), and his most recent collection of poems, Homage to the Last Avante-Garde (Shearsman Books, 2008). Best Known for his radical ideas about authorship, scholarship, and experimentation, it was with his translations of Hiroshima-survivor poet Araki Yasusada that Johnson became both celebrated and castigated. Only after Yasusada’s poems were published in American Poetry Review did readers learn there was no Yasusada, and that Johnson was not a translator on this project, but the author. Johnson is the recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship in Translation. He lives in Illinois, where he is a faculty member in English and Spanish at Highland Community College.Was a beloved Frank O’Hara poem written by Kenneth Koch? Kent Johnson guarantees . . . you’ll never see poetry the same again. -
Grace to be Born and Live as Variously as Possible
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Olympia, Turkey
two hundred fifteen years agowe crossed a large court and entered a large doorthey could tell where we were by the barking of dogsJenny exclaimed “why these weeds are grapevines”tanglesome and troublesome we passed among the housesseeing no road we took a large hill to the leftit was in the time of great floodspart of the way was covered with large loose stoneswe trod on themwe hurried across the ravine and up a winding roadto get a drink we opened the merchant’s freezerwe left him a noteafter a while we arrived at eternal torcheswe took to the bramblesthe gate lead to ancient templesthe orifices were no longer marble -
some ridiculous policing by the NEA. Well behind the times:
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Still revising The Heyday. Lots of re-seeings, re-readings, re-samplings, mixings and so on.
The Heyday (2005-2012) is travel writing. Basho. Walt Whitman. Herodotus. 18-19th travel handbooks, Buddhism, ethics and suffering and so on.
My experiences in South Korea, Katowice Poland, Elblag Poland, Ankara Turkey, Rome yadda yadda . . . .
Sometimes living in extreme circumstances without contact. Sometimes less extreme.
Creative translations from books and life and memories and experiences . .. blurring the lines . . . getting slippery . . . all writing as translation . . all words as already in the public sphere . . . including all poetry . .
The above picture is from visit to a Buddhist temple in South Korea in 2006 (Bongeunsa).
My hands are spread out for different turn-tables, mixing decks and so on.
Lots of books spread out on my table. Including my notebooks of travel notes and musings and poetry scraps. Travel handbooks from 18th century. Various 20th century books of poetry. Basho and Herodotus. Sometimes the music of what I am listening to makes it in the poem as well.
The present and the past collapse.
Here is one still in progress from one section of The Heyday called The Hermit Kingdom (South Korea 2006). Written 2006. Revised through the years.
A bit of Mr. Lautreamont in 2012 gave me the goading I needed . . .
He will perhaps goad me some more!! It is not yet finished:
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The end of week is coming fast. It has been my spring break. I got an HIV test (negative), some blood tests for all sorts of goodies (awaiting), vision test (and a new pair of glasses coming in two weeks), 20 new poems (and revisions). So a health check and writing week.
Got two terrific books in the post today. Matthew Henriksen’s Ordinary Sun (from Black Ocean) and Ariana Reines Coeur De Lion. Last week I got Destroyer and Preserver by Matthew Rohrer (Wave Books).
So when the madness starts next week with 3 hours of daily commuting, I am well armed with mighty fine books!!!
Next week I will be going to a Vispo celebration/exchange with 75 or so poets. SJ Fowler has put it together.
Ewa and I are working on Freudian supermarket comics (from Spanish Fork) for the occasion.
Tomorrow I’m reading some Grzegorz Wroblewski (translated by Adam Zdrodowski) and Yu Jian (translated by Ron Padgett) in East London. Calvert Gallery. Off Press.
I am reading in the second half as part of Steven Fowler’s Maintenant Series. Other British poets reading translations are: Gabi Labi, Patrick Coyle, SJ Fowler, and Tim Atkins.
Here are the details if you around (from the main organiser Marek kazmierski from Off Press):
The event is the culmination of a two-month contemporary arts programme at the Calvert 22 gallery in Shoreditch, and we want to round things off with an intelligent and impassioned bang.
I will start by screening a tiny clip from a Polish political gangster film, using it to develop a discussion on untranslatability.
Next, we will have a slot called “Polish literature around the world in 80 seconds”, looking at the myriad of Polish writers who went into exile in the 20th century (and mostly never came back), the literary, historical, gender, ethnic and other aspects of this flood of “lost” writers.
The following discussion will be led by Dr Ursula Chowaniec from UCL/SSEES, who has written a lovely critique of both Wioletta Grzegorzewska’s book and the introduction in it.
Then we will read some of Wioletta’s poems,
Then drink some wine, smoke some fags, sell some books…
Then we turn over to Maintenant Series – taking the celebration of translated verse beyond my tiny publishing house and opening it up to new languages, interpretations and possibilities.
marek kazmierski
http://www.off-press.org -
Ron Padgett, like so many great NY School poets, is also a fantastic translator. I love his translations of French poetry. They are so fluid and contemporary. I especially love his translations of Apollinaire and Blaise Cendrars. Blaise Cendrars’ Complete Poems is one of my favourite collections of poetry ever. He is also a nomadic poet par excellence. A great inspiration for my own nomadic surrealist project.Ron Padgett’s translations of Yu Jian is part of that expansive poetic tradition. And, like Ron Padgett, there is a childlike quality of wonder and curiosity. I naturally gravitate to this kind of playful poetry.I wonder how much of Ron Padgett is in Yu Jian’s translations. I would imagine they naturally gravitated towards each other with similar aesthetic concerns and so on.Anyway, these translations of Yu Jian by Ron Padgett are terrific. After reading a selection of them at Jacket 2, I am even more curious. I am definitely ordering the whole book of translated poetry. It is called Flash Cards, from Zephyr Press, 2010.
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Ｉ‘ｍ ｉｎ Ｏｓａｋａ， Ｊａｐａｎ
SLEPT in a capsule．More ｌａｔｅｒ．Ｊａｐａｎ is ｖｅｒｙ ｃｌｅａｎ．
乗れ そおｎ
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the possibility of warmth & contact
in the human relationship :
as juxtaposed against the materialistic pig of a technological world,
where relationships are only ‘useful’ i.e., exploited, either
psychologically or materially.
20, the possibility of s o n g
within that world: which is like saying ‘yes’ to sunlight.—————————————————————————–YES YES YES!!!! This makes me want to write! See more over at Jacket Magazine: -
re-enjoying The Louisiana Purchase. Purchase The Louisiana Purchase if you haven’t purchased it already!!!
fab review here (one of many):
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A big thanks to Michael Zand for such an insightful review of my book and work and also Tom Chivers for publishing it in the magazine Hand+Star:
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There is nothing new under the sun
etc.
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me and Peter Jaeger at Camarade II. Photo by Alexander Kell. Special thanks to S.J. Fowler (Steven) for making it all happen!!
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last night 15th Feb 2012
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The OPEN Ealing Arts Project (113 Uxbridge Rd, London W5) presents its first OPEN poetry event on Wednesday 15 February 2012, which will comprise readings from guest poets plus an open-mic session.
CHRISTODOULOS MAKRIS put together the line-up for this inaugural event – which OPEN aims to turn into a regular series – Christodoulos Makris, SJ Fowler, Marcus Slease and Cherry Smyth are reading.
Start time is 8pm and admission is free. -
Me and Peter Jaeger. re-worked 1950’s science fiction story complete with hymn
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fantastic late 70’s songs!!!
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dedication to Stacy Doris
A great reading here by Tim Atkins with a tribute to Stacy Doris.
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fantastic night last night!!! Rich Mix in east London. In the heart of hipsterdom!
Collaboration of U.K. poets!!!!
Some samples above!!!
Special thanks to Steven Fowler!!! Fab poet plus event organiser extraordinaire!!!
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The Dutiful Son
special thanks Joel Oppenheimertweedle de dum dum
this is a sliding pond sonnet
I should be hung but instead I’m horny
and doing research on celery
if you were a plum tree
if you were a peach tree
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reading at The Windmill. Brixton. London. 4th Feb 2012.
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reading at this tonight in Brixton. Revised version of Vale Tudo poems . . .
if you are out and about in Brixton come check it out:
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No War, No Economic Sanction, No Nukes, No Islamic Republic – NOT A WORD LESS!The war propaganda of the West/Israel and the Islamic Republic of Iran (IRI) is all over the map. People in the West rightly want to do something about it. In order to take the right position, a short analysis of the situation is necessary.“At one pole, there stands the most enormous machinery of state terrorism and international intimidation and blackmail. This camp includes the American government and ruling elite, the only force, which has used nuclear bombs against people, reducing hundreds of thousands of innocent and unsuspecting people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki into ashes within seconds. A state that slaughtered millions in Vietnam and razed and ruined their country for many years by chemical bombardments. It includes NATO and coalitions of Western governments who from Iraq to Yugoslavia, have destroyed people’s homes, schools and hospitals and have taken ransom the bread and medicine of millions of children. It includes the Israeli bourgeoisie and state. They occupy, seize, slaughter and deprive. They bomb and shell refugee camps and shoot scared ten-year-old children taking shelter in their fathers’ arms and at school gates. From Hiroshima and Vietnam to Grenada and Iraq, from the killing fields in Indonesia and Chile to the slaughterhouses of Palestine, the track record of this international pole of state terrorism and imperialist intimidation is obvious and irrefutable for all the world to see.”(1)At the opposing pole, there stands Islamic Republic of Iran, the strong head of Islamic terrorism and the reactionary and vile political Islam. This force that was once created and nurtured by the US and the West themselves during the Cold War as a means of organising indigenous reaction against the Left in Iran, have now become an active pole of international terrorism and one contender in the bourgeois power struggle in the Middle East. The Islamic Republic of Iran’s resume includes a wide range of barbarity, from state and state sponsored killings in Iran to a war waged against the whole 80 million population of Iran for 33 years, from the creation of a miserable life through extreme poverty and exploitation to the gender-apartheid, child abuse, racism, and homophobia, …, from the bloody suppression of political and intellectual opponents to imposing reactionary and anti-human Islamic laws on people, particularly women, from Islamic beheadings and mutilations, to daily executions and stoning.These are the highlights in the track record of these reactionaries. The minimum framework for a civilized response to both forces of reaction is this: “No War, No Economic Sanction, No Nukes, No Islamic Republic – NOT A WORD LESS! “.If you’re against war you MUST spell out that you’re against both sides of this conflict or else you fall on the lap of one or the other reactionary forces. Anti-imperialist folks (generally speaking) have proven that they side with Islamic reaction. Islamic Republic goal in this conflict is nothing but to establish its barbaric model in the region. That is, an ultimate suppression of millions upon millions of people (the 99%) for cheap labor via Islamic rules. However, since its model is not quite desired by other states in the region, the IRI seeks the military hegemony via atomic bomb. The US-led objective is to tame the IRI (the US has not a problem with the suppression of people), it seeks an acceptance of the US hegemony. This objective is disguised with the nuclear program of the IRI.What exactly is there to take a side for?A war between states is always against the benefits of the population of either side. So, we need to be against all involved parties. If you are a resident of US-led bloc,* demand the immediate stop of Economic Sanctions,* demand an end to the war propaganda,* demand abolition of all forms of nuclear application (be it nukes or energy),* be supportive of the anti-IRI movement in/outside Iran.There is no room for pacifism, ie abstract “peace”. What peace is there to start with? Is the current situation a “peace” that we need to defend? If so, why did such a propaganda of war start in the first place? How exactly can demanding “peace” benefit anyone including the stoppage of a potential war? Did the demand of “peace” stop the US-led war against Iraq in 2003? I believe that we need to take an ACTIVE stand rather than the pacifist “peace” position. If we mean business we need to puruse our anit-war/anti-sanction cause to the point of threatening the overthrow of both Western and the Islamic Republic of Iran governments altogether.That’s why the people in Iran seek to overthrow the IRI, which would:* Cut the war that IRI have waged against them for 33 years* An end to the unbearable suffer resulted from the economic sanctions* An end to the threat of a war with the West/Israel* An end to the Nukes threat.The war propaganda, what’s the use after all?The mere stand off between the West/Israel and Iran is beneficial for both sides of the conflict. Holding the issue of bombing Iran’s nuclear facilities in Qom, Natanz, Isfahan, Arak, Bushehr and possibly Yazd “on table”, as a possible move by Israel, and yelling it outloud everyday allows the IRI regime to use it as an excuse for harsh handling of its opposition. Both Israel and the IRI are depended of having an external enemy in order to keep the “War alert” button on to continue with their oppressions. Without the mentality of being threatened by foreign hostility they have to face a great deal of vital opposition!Also, note that after a set of recommendations by the IMF in 2010, the Islamic regime of Tehran cut the subsidies on basic needs (food, gas, and similar) and made the capitalist system wide open for free, savage market economy. The IRI implemented all IMF’s recommendations; the IRI was praised by the IMF as the first country in the world that coulds successfully implement all the recommendations (http://www.imf.org/external/pubs/ft/wp/2011/wp11167.pdf).This set of recommendations was enforced on the working class of Iran by means of killings and imprisonment of workers, intellectuals and political opponents. In order to understand the reasons behind the war propaganda, see the above report. In fact, the chances of a war with Iran is very slim, if at all. The real war on working class, however, has already started by the Islamic Republic via implementation of the IMF policies.Abbas GoyaFebruary 2, 2012===============================(1) Mansoor Hekmat, the World After September 11
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A STUDY OF A HORSE FOR DOCTOR MARABOUT:
http://the-otolith.blogspot.com/2012/01/grzegorz-wroblewski.html
check it out!!!
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books checked out from the British Poetry Library for the week:
1) Prose of the Trans-siberian by Blaise Cendrars (trans by Tony Baker)
2) Just Space by Joanne Kyger
3) Kodak by Blaise Cendrars (trans by Ron Padgett)also re-reading for third time:
3:15 by Bernadette Mayer, Jen Hoffer, Danika Dinsmore, Lee Anne Brown
(amazing book!!!)
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read the preface here:
new shearsman book on the poetry of Araki Yasusada
A little background here:
http://jacketmagazine.com/09/yellowbody.html
IN SEARCH OF THE AUTHENTIC OTHER: THE POETRY OF ARAKI YASUSADA by MARJORIE PERLOFF
Doubled Flowering: From the Notebooks of Araki Yasusada was one hell of a book. A must for the collection.
Buying this book of essays soon!!!
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An excellent review of the nomadic poetics of Grzegorz Wroblewski in Jacket 2.
Read it here:
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Spicy frozen pizza for Christmas dinner. A 4AM taxi pickup to Heathrow on Boxing Day. London-Paris-Salt Lake City. Drinking Melissa Tea. It was my favourite tea when I lived in Poland. I have finished The Fertility Show (formally Nerve Movie). Sent it off to a publisher or two. Will have to wait a few months.
The Fertility Show takes it cue from Phillip Whalen’s idea of a nerve movie and Bernadette Mayer (esp Midwinters Day). Written during my daily 3 hour commute on the London underground. It is a poetics of everything. Inside and outside. Biographical, narrative, expansive poetics, compact lyrics, NY School send offs, homophonic translations of Polish and German from overheard conversations on the Piccadilly Line etc. etc.
A poetics that attempts to narrow the gap between art and life. I don’t see any other point.
Another Godzenie (with many many more strategies, modes, attempts to reconcile). A practice in mindfulness.
The poems are written on the tube in London but “take place” in Poland, Turkey, London, Milton Keynes, Las Vegas, North Carolina, Bellingham/Seattle.
A continuous nerve movie.
The other manuscript Smashing Time is also finished.
Now I will continue part two of a manuscript I started last time I was in America. It is called Spanish Fork.
My poetics is a travel poetics. But not in any narrow sense of the genre of travel writing. Orally based But not bardic.
It is also a kind of surrealism.
Let’s call my life project a nomadic surrealism. If it has to be called something that is maybe the closest. There are of course various other elements.
It lives much more off the page than on (methinks). The rhythm of everyday speech is very central.
hm . . . . and the slippery mind . . . quicksilver . . .
I dabbled heavily in flarf in 2004. I dabbled heavily in conceptual poetics as well. Surrealism and political poetry were the entry points into writing poetry.
Now it is many many things. But mindfulness is especially central. And an expansive (rather than constricted) sense of the self and the world.
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doggerel for the masses by Kent Johnson
These various pieces, initially published in journals by Craig Dworkin under the name of “Kent Johnson” (with exception of the tour de force Afterword, presented here for the first time), follow from his call, in the Introductory essay to Against Expression: An Anthology of Conceptual Writing (Northwestern UP, 2010) -
Cold toes and cold hands in Wood Green. Trying to save on heating.
Smashing Time is done and needs to find a home. I am 60 pages into Nerve Movie (poems written during my commute on the underground from Wood Green to Hammersmith then Hammersmith to Richmond).
When I first came to London in 2008 I had high expectations. Expectations of home. Expectations of coming back to the world of poetry. It was tough year. I had to adjust my expectations. I had lived too long in North America to expect to find a sense of home. Something about coming back to where you come from and finding it is not the same place at all. My mind creating narratives and images of Northern Ireland and the U.K. Childhood. No matter if we stay in the same place all our lives we still travel. Childhood.
On my second return to my country of origin (in December 2010) I had less expectations. I wanted to re-connect with the poetry world. I wanted to do readings. I wanted to settle down and get more comfortable and re-start my library. I missed having a library in my world travels. I missed having a sense of place. At the end of six years of world traveling and living very feebly at times out of one suitcase, I wanted to just allow myself to feel some of the comforts of a more settled life.
So here I am. One year into my second go at London. I lived in London when I was seven or so. First in a homeless hostel. Later in Elephant and Castle. This was the 80’s. It wasn’t a good time to have a Northern Irish accent.
This time I have found some good friends. I have found what I love about writing and poetry. Call it a world view. An epistemology? Kenneth Koch, Philip Whalen, Bernadette Mayer, Tim Atkins, Lisa Jarnot, Jeff Hilson, Cathy Wagner, Peter Jaeger, Steven Fowler (especially Minimum Security Prison Dentistry and his Maintenant Series of collaborations and readings of U.K. and European poets).
These are a few of the writers and artists that matter most in terms of living my life. Their work is intimately connected to how I experience life.
And writing through what I love. I have seen this especially in the work of Tim Atkins. And getting out of the way. I have seen this in the various exciting conceptual work of Peter Jaeger. And being child-like in terms of curiosity. Letting everything come in. Including the risk of humour. I have seen this in the work of Jeff Hilson and Tim Atkins. Plus the punk poetics of Cathy Wagner. And the life writing life of Bernadette Mayer. And letting in the multiplicity of voices in the work of Hannah Weiner. And the nerve movies (quicksilver moments of being) of Philip Whalen.
I am having mint tea. It is time to grade final exams. London is not really a home. Perhaps it never will be.
But then again my mindfulness practice has benefited a lot since I have been here for the last year. And I have grown much more comfortable with the North American part of my cultural background. I have learned to create my own America through exile. I thought myself an exile from Northern Ireland when I lived in America. Now I realise my choices are much wider. Much more varied.
I am from the Milky Way.
Good friendship are vital. Writing is vital. Books are vital. Love is vital. Mindfulness and compassion are vital.
And so it goes . . . .
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Every entry on this blog starts with a hyperlink called text. It is the default setting.
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diggin this prog rock band from copenhagen:
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some of my poems from manuscript Smashing Time in new issue of the Norwegian magazine La Granada
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The poetry foundation . . . KEEP OUT . . . pic by Tom Raworth . . .
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covers project . . . Bernadette Mayer’s Maple Syrup sonnet . . . north London . .. near Horse Hospital . .
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Jeff Hilson reading the other night for Steven Fowler’s book release of Minimum Security Prison Dentisry at the Horse Hospital in North London. Great evening. Many fine readings !!!
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Steven Fowler reading the other night for his book release of Minimum Security Prison Dentisry at the Horse Hospital in North London. Great evening. Many fine readings !!!
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Tim Atkins reading the other night for Steven Fowler’s book release of Minimum Security Prison Dentisry at the Horse Hospital in North London. Great evening. Many fine readings !!!
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Holly Pester reading the other night for Steven Fowler’s book release of Minimum Security Prison Dentisry at the Horse Hospital in North London. Great evening. Many fine readings !!! -
reading the other night for Steven Fowler’s book release of Minimum Security Prison Dentisry at the Horse Hospital in North London. Great evening. Many fine readings !!!
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I take the liberty of forwarding this post by Ian Keenan. It concerns John Barr, the President of the Poetry Foundation. It appeared today at Montevidayo blog. It might give some “context” for comprehending why the Poetry Foundation Board is so loose and fast about trying to arrest and send to prison young poets who peacefully protest in the PF’s $21.5 million sanctum.
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Some info on Barr:
1. “The Illinois State’s Attorney is looking into allegations of poor “fiscal practices, conflict of interest, nepotism and playing fast and loose with the rules of charitable organizations” (concerning the Poetry Foundation)
2. “Penny Barr, wife of John Barr, who admits she is “not versed in poetry,” was paid $23,000 by the Foundation for setting up a poetry contest.”
3. “The Poetry Foundation also plans to build a $25 million mansion in the Gold Coast with accommodations for visiting poets of its choice and a stage to host readings on. An ex-trustee accused the Foundation of acting like a “private club” and using Ruth Lilly’s money for “personal gratification.”
source: http://chicagopoetry.com/modul…
4. The company Barr founded, Dynergy, frequently likened in business columns to Enron, paid out a $3 million fine for accounting fraud (after Barr left as an executive) and a US Attorney said in a letter “We have become increasingly concerned that Dynegy’s `cooperation’ is more apparent than real.”
5. John Barr donated the maximum to Rudolph Giuliani in early 2007, a month after Giuliani declared his candidacy. Giuliani’s accomplishments as mayor of NYC including a smear campaign against contemporary artists and the Brooklyn Museum that displayed them, attempting to defund the institution. Soon after Barr’s donation, Giuliani named as his foreign policy adviser Norman Podhoretz right after he published the book World War III which advocated a global war, who in a previous life as a literary editor engaged in critical attacks against Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac.
6. Barr’s current company is lobbying foreign governments, mostly Spanish speaking countries in the hemisphere, to privatize their natural resources on behalf of his clients.
7. Robert Pinsky takes credit for selecting Barr for his position. -
My chapbook Smashing Time is now available for free (digital version). Thank you MIPOesias.
This book was written shortly after returning to live in London. From 2010 to 2011. Influenced by NY School poets (Kenneth Koch, Bernadette Mayer, and Ted Berrigan mostly). Also the buddhism and writing of Philip Whalen. Also my poet friends Tim Atkins and Jeff Hilson.
Ah we are never alone my friends.
Smashing Time is part of my ongoing nomadic surrealist project.
Cover art by Grzegorz Wroblewski -
download for free . . . or buy print version if you so desire . . .
art by Grzegorz Wroblewski
poems by Marcus Slease
from Smashing Time:
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a set of post-punk visual poetry ceramic tile coasters by Grzegorz Wroblewsk ……………… YIPPIE!!!
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SNOBSShe: I am made to BLOW!He: I am made to BLOW!Chorus: We are all made to BLOW!to blow . . .
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taking a 12 hour bus from London to Amsterdam. £30. Delayed summer holiday. Staying on a boat called the Gandalf. Free breakfast included. Never been to Amsterdam. Goin on the cheap. It was Amsterdam versus Bath. Tickets were the same price on the bus. Writing The Fertility Show. Will see what comes up with in Amsterdam. Maybe I am writing one big book split into smaller books.
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zimZalla object 011 will be Deuter Kelner, a set of post-punk visual poetry coasters by Grzegorz Wroblewski. Each coaster measures 9cm x 9cm. Available individually or as a complete set of six. Ideal for the dining room, scullery or mead hall. Out and available to buy on 1st November.
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Recieved Murat Nemet-Nejat’s The Spiritual Life of Replicants. Blade Runner. Skin jobs.
Also Seyhan Erozcelik’s Rosestrikes and Coffee Grinds.
This is the real deal. This Turkish poetry needs wide wide circulation among poets and non-poets. Can’t wait to dig in!!
Also some Ozdemir Asaf over here:
http://www.archipelago.org/vol6-2/asaf.htm -
Covers project . . . Musa Mckim
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it was a nice reading and collaboration with Tim Atkins. Comic book poetry. Check it out over here:
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A foundation for poetry???? NOPE!
A dishonour to the works of the great poets it houses in its dead museum.
As Frances Kruk puts it so well. The Multi million dollar building of the Poetry Foundation is:
an homage to the glass temples of skyscraping capitalism. All of these spaces are gated and intolerant to the disobedient, the dreamer, the dissenter, the whistle-blower. Imagination and dignity are curbed or even forbidden. Rather than taking what a person might be objecting to into serious consideration (in this case, the PF’s corporatism, its lack of principles, and its contempt for the arts it claims to be home to), external punitive measures are employed to control the “offenders”.Raúl Zurita was the guest of honour at the Poetry Foundation when Stephanie Dunn was assaulted by the representatives of the Poetry Foundation (Chicago) and sent to jail for honouring the work of Chilean poet Raul Zurita.
The poetry foundation should be ashamed of their actions. Zurita expressed his support of the actions of these young poets and the Poetry Foundation honours his work by attempting to jail one of his supporters?????
What contradictions! Or not!
This in from Kent Johnson.
A substantial article (October 4th) on the Croatoan Poetic Cell action in La Tercera, one of Chile’s leading newspapers. The article is excellent, in fact, as summary of the event.A passage quoting Zurita, quickly translated, says the following (original Spanish passage below)“On being asked about the action honoring CADA, Zurita confirmed, from the United States: ‘I felt a profound tenderness on witnessing these young people, because I knew it was sign of a much deeper struggle, that of poetry against the powers of a shameful order.’”
“Al ser consultado por la acción a favor del CADA, Zurita aseguró desde Estados Unidos: “Sentí una profunda ternura al ver a estos chicos, porque supe que era el signo de una lucha mucho más profunda, de la poesía contra los poderes de un orden avergonzante”. -
A couple days ago, at the arraignment hearing in Chicago for Stephanie Dunn, the poet and artist arrested at behest of Poetry Foundation a few weeks back for a performance-based protest at the PF Wine and Cheese Gala, an official representative of the Poetry Foundation called on the judge to send Dunn to Cook County Penitentiary until her trial nine days from now. The judge was about to do this (he said as much to the defendant), but a public defender who is otherwise unrelated to the case intervened and convinced the judge to let Dunn go until her trial date– on condition that a guilty plea be entered. The terrified Stephanie agreed.Three days after Raul Zurita’s reading at the Poetry Foundation, where six or seven activists of the Croatoan Poetic Cell peacefully hung banners (one of them praising Zurita and his old activist group CADA) and passed out leaflets calling for the charges against Dunn to be dropped (the cops were also called by the PF on these poets–they scampered away), the Chicago Police Department carried out a raid during a musical event on the warehouse where most of the members of the Croatoan Poetic Cell live. Property was confiscated and three people detained. Minutes after the police left, a car parked outside, belonging to a friend of those involved, burst into flames. I state the bizarre sequence of these events without making any claim of connections between them, for I have no solid proof. But that is the anecdotal record.A statement by members of the Croatoan Poetic Cell will be released in the next days, I understand. It is time for poets to stand publicly against this outrageous overreaction by the Poetry Foundation against young writers and artists guilty of nothing except peaceful, conceptual acts of poetic insurgency– of which there is, to be sure, a long and venerable tradition in our field.— Kent
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The Comarade Project. Collaborations between U.K. poets. My Collaboration is with one of my favourite all time poets: Tim Atkins. It’s a poetry comic.
Available now. Here is the announcement:
Delighted to announce the latest limited edition chapbook from The Red Ceilings Press…Maintenant: the Camarade project featuring Tom Jenks & Chris McCabe; Patrick Coyle & Holly Pester; Sam Riviere & Jack Underwood; Sandeep Parmar & James Byrne; James Wilkes & Ghazal Mosadeq; Emily Critchley & Tamarin Norwood; Sean Bonney & Jeff Hilson; Marcus Slease & Tim Atkins. With an introduction by Steven Fowler. £5 inc P&P (UK)
get it
hot hot hot here:
The Comarade Project
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I am One Hundred Times More A Pale Apple Dream
(dear Ted and Clark, Hello)
my belly
I mean love
This Time We Are Both
a toad in the hole
my flake my flake and my furrow -
I am One Hundred Times More A Pale Apple Dreambreathing thru a wet sheetdry gooseberry whitepasta grapes on the nipplesbanging around my handsmy belly I mean lovecoco cola and the Mormonssanta awash in the seafrontdrips of beans with white cheesea wave in this faraway town
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Asleep in Vallejo California
all of them milking
green machinesDuran Duran
a pair
of tits
An Abundance of Lady Bugs
hello Jeff Hilson
New Lovers
fresh baked
loaves
Clitoral Orals
ah venerationOh LA!Groaning AvenueB or A or -
Opening the Eyelid(for David Rattray)
ripped by rum and oranges
we’ll picnic here
there’s no difference
between homecoming and going
God’s whiskers on Jesus skin
I have an inside to my outside
fireflies in a leaf filtred limelight
thereby fulfilling a prophecy
every moment empty space shines
bathtub rings
I think of your children in spacesuits
Never Mind the Beasts 
