From Steiny and Spicey

"This made him certain"

"Spicer's Language"

Thank you PennSound!

A Sound Called Malice
A sound called music shows lips.
Come and say what toughs all day. A whole few nightengale. There is no Body.
No cut in image and sound waxen and choose burned soles and sound spats really sound divided.
A sound linguistics makes graves. This is not mythology.
Goddess of goddess and a triple a morphology phonology syntax bow morphology phonology tough, tough on the lips.
If it is love then it is language and nearly misshapen in where there is a malicious afterthought.
An Oz to Charlie Parker, noon and moon and moon. A kingdom a cold bastard a brief a phoneme paired and nearly the never and language window.
Nearer in strict sea, nearer and farther, show separation has consonant in sight, show a vowel of children. Count, count more so that bookkeeper and bookkeeper is tough.
I hope schoolteacher has her cow. Consonants a floating, immediately received echoes, sound leading canyons echoes.
Cough out cough out in the heart and really father it is not for.
Ground-rules, ground-rules, double it not phoneme more sound in when.

together we tie our hands/ for Cecilia Vicuná, for Ben and Kelly

Sunlight sounds of clean silverware
Trucks ease from intersection
Tables set for another day
Hours from dawn they argued over
Bailing out and proper attire
An empty fountain
Relieved of the birds
He repeated grammatical rules
While words lettered their way
Approaching old acquaintances
Everyone shaking heads to the
Same solemn rhythm
Like an ice cube sliding towards hell
And no one left to fight fire with fire
She sweeps ashes into a cool breeze
Shuffles cast iron furniture
Out of memory’s basement
The glue still drying
To things attempted to be said
So many years
Between the air and the intention
Someone left the windows down
Or open
Whichever makes sense of sensation
Blowing hair in awkward positions
It isn’t worth thinking too hard
Imagine the smell of dead ladybugs
Suddenly to a breakfast nook
A blue house
A neighbor you never try hard enough
To remember
A smell as obvious as starting a family
No one ever dug the garden
The corn was just there one day
Something new to avoid with the mower
Something symbolizing hope
To be reminisced into significance
Alone with the empty table
Crowned in mid-day sun
On the verge of an event
More concrete
Than surprise yields
So we gather now
Setting letters aside
To offer legible flesh
Born of separate tongues
A new language
The first word
Pregnant with other words

Searching to no avail

Does anyone have a direct link to Michelle Ellsworth videos, in particular a) The Word Made Dress, and b) Dancer/Banana? The closest I can find is her page at UC Boulder, but the video link is disabled. If anyone has a lead on this it would be greatly appreciated.

empty glasses of bad wine,
Tim

ps
Jared, I have a long letter in progress to send you regarding pedagogy and its unfortunate applications in youth treatment programs...be on the lookout.

From Mr. Berrigan

"feminine marvelous and tough"

unadultered joy is released into the universe via Jennifer Koshkina's new Chapbook!

If you expect chapbooks to provide you with the ecstacy you deserve as a citizen of the galaxy, with the serial gesture of imaginative and bodily pleasure, if you expect chapbooks to bring about a performative and interactive theatre of deliberate play, to throw your mind aggressively into a state of transformation, to remind you simultaneously of Charles Olson, Vitezslav Nezval, Eleni Sikelianos, and Diane Arbus, if you expect this and more from your chappy chap chap then email us and get your copy of Periplum Maps Our Star/ Less Shores by Jennifer Koshkina...do it soon...do it today...and prepare to become a summer baby bug, peacock farmer, a beat duck, and a royal leopard!!!

An excerpt:

And for one day he reined
in delirium with trembling
chariot control over winged horses



She was made of cardboard
before humans were made of elastic

He struck lemongrass
in a field of poppy

They knew stars took shape from unicorns

As he tamed carnivorous orchids
and she shielded them from floods and rascality
another shipmate
mildewed in the ears
played crossfire near their campfire
where clutters of gold
shifted aside to light the sunset
of one petunia
near his oar's blade

--------------------------

(note: The flush left margin is a result of my lack of html knowledge...the poems in the book employ more lyrical attention to the line than the flush left margin reveals...much apologies to Jennifer)


Periplum Maps Our Star/ Less Shores, by Jennifer Koshkina, at long last, is now available for trade or donation from Livestock Editions. Email the editors for your own copy or any other correspondence at: livestockeditions@gmail.com.

As of July 1st 2oo7, Livestock Editions are edited by Joseph Cooper, Elizabeth Guthrie, Jared Hayes, and Andrew Peterson: Livestock Editions are distributed out of Boulder, Co, Portland, Or, and Missoula, Mt.

Happy Livestock Editions Release!

A poem by Robert Roley

caffeination
for Jared Hayes

agambenjamin and creekups
without a duck
fucking paddle
stolen velocities
what keep us moving




I recieved this poem via email exactly one day after ranting to Mr. Robert Roley about history and dialectical approaches poetry etc...anyway he gets more of whatever it was i blathered on about in these 5 lines than i probably did the whole time...Gotta love Bob!

Picture of Boulder Creek directly behind Naropa taken by Tim Armentrout...this was our favorite "meditation" spot.

It reads a little differently with Roley's signature line breaks but i can't figure out how to keep em...(can anyone tell me how to do line breaks in html so that this poem reads correctly).

the future of media

J. Hayes J. Sakkis "Playground Installation" Boulder, CO 2005

a leg, a bass, and not enough night

www.naropa.edu/notenoughnight

...

Brandon talks a bit more about Rogue Translators

homecoming

hey everyone...just arrived in boulder about a week ago...everything went well...the drive was as expected: crappy food, cheap coffee, long hours, a hankering for some crazy. rebecca and i are staying with her family for a while until we find a place and i find some consistent work...the sbux will do for now but i'm ultimately looking for a way out. andy peterson and i expressed this concern over dope and cocktails, as he is also itching to scat away from b & n. damn corporate america...seems like the only places that ever hire are the monsters. life's been interesting though...getting a chance to recommune with rebecca's family...not to mention i got together with jen and michael a few days ago for a little mountain sun and laughs...they seem well and quite excited for their move. anyway, if anyone is still in boulder you should ring me up...we'll have a blast...and by the way mr. sakkis...we may or may not be making our way to l.a. but maybe we'll see you here...that goes for the rest of you as well...

Throughout the week my work will be appearing here.

attack of the killer hayesface: clips from the lost X files episodes. For Boom Boom Sakkis and Broseph Koshkin.

my favorite stanza (so far) from Clayton Eshleman's Reciprocal Distillations, Hot Whiskey Press 2007.

From Joan Mitchell's Spinnerets:

You leave before you arrive, you arrive
without having come. But is this not the spring of
self-invention? Of moving out an all,
unconfined by figure or representation, a presence
sea-urchin erect with menstruation, drunkenness,
fucking, friendship! All of which are sensed and hived below
our meeting ground, internal aviation,
our dog fight in the clouds! zooming under you,
then you pepper me from behind, in flames I go down
through a blob of vermillion and a swath of no,
entangled in the ur-done, the undone, the never to be
is pulling something from me,
a memory is tugged out of its carapace.

***

I had written a paragraph trying to unpack this stanza in my own art historical analysis. Instead all I can think of is how this stanza says so much about a poetics of relations. In my own misreading, I see a manifesto for a pre-conceptual poetry. How a pre-conceptual poetry, a poetry that does without a subject before a subject is manifested or a poetry that manifests its own subject, might be important in creating this poetics of relations.

While I know I'm muddling this up a bit, one only has to read the stanza to get an understanding of how knowledge is found in the relationships between reader, author, and image, and that the image is also a dialectical relationship between, author, painter, and reader. Knowledge is constructed through the architecture of these relations. Quite the Stanza!

Now, whether or not I have been clear, I must add that while I think that these relationships always exist in this way, (knowledge existing in relationships) it is the act of poetry which can evoke this kind of thinking (after all, who said, poetry is that which calls attention to itself, Preziosi, was he quoting someone else?). And so, in my misreading, this Eshleman stanza is the manifesto for How to Evoke Relational Dialectics in Poetry. But it is not necessarily overtly a pre-conceptual poem of dialectical relations, rather a call for them.

What I am saying here, I guess, is that Eshleman's relational dialectics, and my reading of Tejada's understanding of them are still confined to subject positions and not necessarily what Eshleman seems to have this stanza calling for. So while Eshleman is creating a kind of poetics of relation he isn't necessarily taking his own advice, "you leave before you arrive, you arrive/ without having come..." So while Eshleman is calling for a reader to complete the loop connecting knowledge between poet, painter and subjective world he is doing so in a fixed relation, this loop is a closed one.

No less important is the open loop of a decentered authorship, a text which forces or encourages a reader to form the subject and/or author in relation to the text and themselves (again, i must say i believe this to always be the case, yet it is not often evoked purposefully by the poetry itself). Which is why I read this as a manifesto. It is declaring something rather than enacting it. (Someone please help me here?!) I mean he is saying to me, a poetics of relations should remove subjective authorship at the outset or the subject should arrive of its own accord. Is this an echo of Spicer's practice of outside, a praising of conceptual poetics that question authorship? Whatever it is, this poem is getting to me right after the Araki Yasusada, Johnson experience and a rethinking of Bhanu Kapil's Vertical Interrogation of Strangers, and so is really hitting on something for me.

In short, this book has me excited about rereading it.

I must add a short note: This book is really a gem. It is one of the nicest new single volume poetry books i've seen. We need more small press books like this! The all around quality of poetry, and bookdesign is really amazing, and this is Hot Whiskey's first full-volume. I must say it follows that a press that puts so much work into their chaps would have the same amount of care put into their larger books. Anyone interested in art historical perspectives in poetry should really buy this book, but not just them, cause this book is a great one, from one of our finest living American poets. Buy it!

.honk.gobble.moo.

after reading agamben and the dictation of poetry

wintered visions with sundials doing all the talking
the little take precedence by moving in pairs - a tat - a tat
tiny steps, consistent like teeth markings on the edge of
a salamander from the overspill of too many breeds
she mem drills the cabinets together the "L" shaped
into the non-conformist (directions from the subway map)

taking the dream vision to somewhereland she martyrs
in the Cool Whip like a Target commercial waiting for
the red lights to sign off and the on-air button to cease

out the window fourteen lines packed into parallel
packed into parallel – a tat – a tat it makes the music
sound less electro punk and more melody for strumming
doing all the talking little pairs work with the sundial
visioning blackened teeth and line breaks all in the wrong
it isn't just poethical wagering it isn't just memes cavorting

Do I owe you anything?