Six Ways to Contact Brenda Iijima

1. call her
2. lay out on her stoop
3. groan to the universe
4. howls work pretty well
5. if there is an animal in a garden, attach your .pdf it
6. specific or unspecific rocks

I Totally Drank This Water

Somehow it didn't look quite so heavenly until Jonpack photographed it.

Some Things To Check Out

Jake Adam York's Murmur (available from Poetry West though I don't see it on their site), a chapbook with some of the poems from his upcoming book A Murmuration of Starlings.

These poems are set of elegies for civil rights martyrs. Tense, compassionate & angry, York make a good argument for the importance of the continued ethical engagement of the narrative tradition in poetry. He uses the poems as vehicles to transform what have become a kind of historical category--civil rights martyrs--into individual stories couched in the human experience. But York never stops smugly at the work of speaking truth & history, he soaks these poems in heartbreaking images. These poems make me clench in anger & fear, while allowing me a new framework to rethink these sometimes familiar stories of atrocity. Check this section from the poem "Murmuration of Starlings":

Photograph strobes
carve the bodies from the dark,

break and pucker of serge and wool
on arms boxed

to catch the blows,

night-sticks straight
from the flex of uniform sleeves

coats taut between the blades,
white helmets' gleam

and above, a heaven of breath
and steam and smoke from which

dark feathers
then spreads

coughing dense night air
at the cusp of the lens

carving the barrel

to spread the shutters blind


It's this dependence on the lyrically oriented image that makes these poems more than simply stories. The events push at the pages, they clutch at me as I read them.






Erin Elizabeth Burke's chapbook Run Down the Emphasis, from Kitchen Press. A collection of poems that wield the sentence like a weapon, terse & accessibly direct yet wildly inventive in their novelty of sound & diction. Check out this poem from the KP website:

Junk the Lament

Indifference, that erratic
hollow ball
buoying up a baited line.

At night I drink and dream of factories.

Got to, love goes on
this once, with no fur lining.

The time change
tests its measures

carting in a processed dawn.
White as deafening flatness.

Introvertable, your absence
is priceless, an overstocked synthetic organ

appealing to no one.

Kiki Smith, Born, 2002

the tiny, the GZA, Will Edmiston

I find Peter Gizzi's aesthetic thoroughly engaging, but friendly, unassuming. Things fall into his poems & slip through. When he's on, the things slip through at the right trajectory, the precisely correct speed. It's a matter of balance, of the unaffected use of the the span of the poem as a canvas. So it somehow surprises me how influential his work is right now, considering that he doesn't really have a forceful ideology to his poems. A lot of the poetry I consider most exciting right now seems to be pushed forward by the hands of the GZA.

I was thinking about this while reading through the wonderful new issue of the tiny, which is full of amazing work & which you should really just go ahead & buy right here. I think this aesthetic is at its best when it does not rely on the slippery images to dazzle but sinks those images into the music of the poem. The best example of this in the tiny, better even than Gizzi's poems in the issue is the closing poem by Will Edminston, a poet whom I hadn't read before this poem. (Though he has a handful of poems in MiPoesis here.) I'm going to put the poem up in its entirety, if you don't mind:



Eugene




everything capable of a fine cadence


butterfly dust left to float and blow through an orchard


the more I flake out about it


the more the entire thing regarding your hand is amazing


like, my stuff looks totally delicate and empty


with something kind of fucked at the bottom


and then through the cloud our hollows with tea




As an emotional landscape, a city portrait, this has an evocative set of images that spread out into an experience. I find the last line especially stunning. These imagistic moves are angularly offset by the talky, personal elements of the banal daily language. (is this the first f-bomb that has appeared on my blog? i think so) If I read the "Eugene" as a person, rather than the city most of the experience remains the same but then the poem grows more sad in regards to the emptiness of the "stuff."

What makes this poem exciting to me is the way Edmiston settles these images & this language into the music of the poem. The rhythm of the first line accentuates the "ca"s so beautifully that without the line having a solid image or even a singular noun I feel fully entered into the poem. And this openness of meaning in the first line runs smack into the romantic-yet-creepy image of the butterfly dust in midair. Here the line modulates each sound from one word to the next. By the third line begins to bring in the classic NY-school conversational phrasing, but the music of the poem is what I'm looking for to propel me.

It is through the music of the poem that the first line begins to cohere the poem more fully--the "fine candence" is the rhythm & rhyme of the poem, which correlates to the potential for this kind of harmonious order in either the city or the relationship with the person.

It is this set up that allows me to buy into the excluding move of the "thing about your hand," which seems like such an inside joke-like experience that I as a reader am entirely incapable of accessing it. And yet this potential for a fine cadence has been demonstrated in the music, allowing me to consider how the whole hand thing creates potential backstories.

It is this marriage of the prosody & the content that I find especially exciting in this little whisp of a poem. When the speaker calls his "stuff" "totally delicate and empty" I'm reading the words differently, willing to see the phonemic strength of these throwaway words. In a small way Edmiston does the transformative poetic work of allowing me to understand these words as brand new packets of energy.

And then, you know, that last line pretty much rocks.

Disclamor

One of my favorite poets & people, GC Waldrep's new book Disclamor is available for preorder from Amazon right here.

Some Sins Are Unforgivable

I admit it. I watched Evan Almighty.

Truth In Spicer

I was attempting to construct a meaning by empirical statements, by imagist statements...

I had in mind specifically the meaning to the mathematician -- a series of empirically true terms.

--George Oppen on Objectivist poetics

I've been thinking about this somewhat famous quote a lot today. When I first thought about it closely a couple of years back I found it silly, the empiricism seemed like a metaphor & therefore irrelevantly, even fatuously phrased as empirical.

But lately I've had the feeling of truth in reading poems. Not a truth of subject or the "emotional truth" that is more often a reinterpretation of experiential cliches, but the feeling that what has been said has been said correctly. I get this feeling from Spicer a lot, especially A Textbook of Poetry. Check it:

If you see him everywhere or exactly nowhere, he becomes as it were the circumference of a circle that has no point but the boundary of your desire. Coming to a point.

And the human witness of this passion is rightly stunned by the incongruity of it. Lifting a human being into a metaphor.

All that we do in bed, or sleep, or sex is limited by this circle which can only be personally defined.

On the outside of it is what everybody talks about. On the outside of it are the dead that try to talk.

Once you try to embrace an absolute geometric circle the naked loss stays with you like a picture echoing.

It's an old-school metaphysical move to equate the erotic with the poetic, one that predicates pretty much everything of Spicer's in my opinion. But rather than the density, the contorted heaviness of the 17th Century model for metaphysical complexity, one picked up by Pound & reframed by, well... almost everyone working in a cerebral mode of experimentation from Oppen to Hejinian to Ben Lehrner, Spicer is working in a Keatsian space of lightness. Not in the images, which are cold & ostensibly cerebral, but in the sentences.

Julie Doxsee described that first sentence of this section as having no gravity & I see what she means. I was at the Rodin this past weekend & I felt like those huge statues of bronze, those busts of marble would essentially float in my hands if i were to touch them.

It is the tone & syntax of A Textbook that makes Spicer's statements take on the feeling of truth to me. The awkward freshborn newness of his sentences offset against the complexity of his sentiments. The genuine desire to attempt to say what he means & the ineffability of his subject mattter evading him like the edge of an expanding universe.

People Are Generally Nice to You When You Are Born

ER wrote me "Happy mathday, birthias." The word birthias is totally gross.

PC bought me a whiskey & I considered touching his sideburns but I refrained.

GM gave me a copy of the new issue of the tiny, which I read half of this morning & am finding to be full of delights.

AB-B gave me a copy of Dylan Thomas poems in English & Croatian, so I can be a rediscoverer of my slavic roots.

JC gave me Malteasers candies, which taste exactly like my heart & a picture of a lemur with a baby lemur wrapped around its belly. She was nice enough to gather people to celebrate my born-ness.

I have seen both halves of The Pines within a month. That is nearly as big a blessing as seeing a baby bear. Nearly.

It's official. I choose all baby animals.

DC & EG got married this past weekend in Philly. This made EG into EC. I stayed with EB. I broke my camera. But I have the memory card with Softskull on it. I saw a lot of people I care deeply about & I cared for them.

I Revised My List of People I like to Include the Following:

[[[Warning!!! Cute Cat Content Below!]]]

Phillip J.
Simone M.
Kristy O.
The Junies.
Eric B.
Laura S.
Nicola, from Verona

Some of them are good to hang out with at Danny's in Chicago. One deserves a big what-what. Some of them will be all full of po-passion. Some of them are amazingly kind enough to host you on their soon-to-be-sold futon. Some of them will feed you Pho, despite having never met you before, & then will dance to Sun Ra's "Space is the Place" in their wonderfully cramped Philadelphia apartment. Some of them are from Verona & will tell you about sausages made from cats.







The new issue of Pilot is up right here

It has a great poem by one of my favorite peeps, Heather Green. You'll be seeing more from her. Believe you me.


It has some poems by me & JC. It has many good poems. Put your eyes all over it.

Pilot #2 features poems from Julie Doxsee, Noah Falck, John Gallaher, Heather Green , Anne Heide, Nathan Hoks, Noelle Kocot, Sueyeun Juliette Lee, Clay Matthews, Jennifer Tolo Pierce, Nate Pritts, Brandon Shimoda, and Justin Taylor; collaborative work from Mathias Svalina & Julia Cohen, Matt Hart, and the Typing Explosion; translations of Paul Dermee by Kim Lohse; an interview with Sierra K. Nelson; as well as a number of chapbook reviews.











I keep getting psyched by rocks.

Blurbs for Books Judo & I Found in Sheridan, Wyoming

The Man Who Loved Children, by Christina Stead

“One of the most truthful and terrifying horror stories ever written about family life…Every page is written with battering intensity in this big black diamond of a book.”

—Time




Limbo Tower, by William Lindsay Gresham

LIFE and LOVE in a Big Hospital

“In this griping novel of hospital life, Dr. Don Crane is torn between his love for a devoted nurse and his infatuation for the wanton mistress of a political boss.”




Me & the Spitter, by Gaylord Perry (with Bob Sudyk)

“If you think Jim Bouton spilled the beans in Ball Four, get ready for a new high-water mark in uninhibited expose!

Now the suspense is over. Not only does Gaylors Perry cheerfully confess, he goes so far as to describe how it was done, why no umpire could ever detect it, and how widespread the secret league of spitball pitchers may be.”




The Great Impersonation, by E. Phillips Oppenheim

“This is unquestionably one of the best stories Mr. Oppenheim has written.”

—Washington Post

“…very ably written.”

—Vogue

Walk Da Erf, Please

I've caught up on some rest. I need to run about a thousand errands tomorrow before heading out again. Tonight I dine with HG, read over the new manuscript Judo & I wrote on the road. I'd tell you the name of it, but then you'd be so overcome you'd either steal it or your insides would shrivel up into cashew-like innards that taste just like cashews.

I've said it before, but only to the churchmice. Brandon Shimoda is some kind of angel. An angel with tinfoil wings. Not only does he write some of the best poems & put on a great reading series. He smells exactly like cinnamony french toast. The reading in Missoula was more fun than I have ever before had in Missoula.

We had a great discussion with Greg Hill's class, who are fantastic. Judo & I wrote a poem for Stephanie who works at a sandwich shop.

The reading was at the house of Rob Schlegel, a great poet who's also been dropping something on a blog

A & Zach are on their way to Alaska. Walkin' Da Erf. I've already received two postcards form them & I expect at least four hundred more.

I miss Julie Doxsee. She seems like honeybees.

I miss the beard that I think I've known for strangely, probably ever.

I have some good news to tell you but I won't tell you until later. It's about your brother. The one with the bear with no legs.

I'll talk more about all the amazing poems I've read recently then to. For now go hunt down everything Brandon Shimoda, Zachary Schomburg & Julie Doxsee have ever written & read it over & over to yourself until you find the center of the circle.

the tiny #3

the tiny #3 features work by Andrea Baker, Ellen Baxt, Edmund Berrigan, Mark Bibbins, Daniel Borzutzky, Kristy Bowen, Joseph Bradshaw, John Coletti, Rachel Conrad, Crystal Curry, Michelle Detorie, Julia Drescher, Will Edmiston, Bonnie Emerick, Betsy Fagin, Paul Fattaruso, Peter Gizzi, Scott Glassman, Sarah Goldstein, Garth Graeper & Jason Sheridan, Eryn Green, Kristen Hanlon, Mike Hauser, Anthony Hawley, Anne Heide, Brenda Iijima, Greg Koehler, Rodney Koeneke, Michael Koshkin, Tim Lantz & Mark Yakich, Lauren Levin, Jill Magi, C.J. Martin, Joseph Massey, Kristi Maxwell, Ange Mlinko, Michael Montlack, Marci Nelligan, Nick Piombino, Billy Ramsell, F. Daniel Rzicznek, Brandon Shimoda, Logan Ryan Smith, Maggie Smith, Chad Sweeney, Derek White, Dustin Williamson, and Devon Wootten, with cover art by Andrew Mister.

the tiny is available for purchase for $12.00 by clicking on the PayPal link below, or by sending a check made out to Gina Myers or Gabriella Torres to the tiny, 95 Verona St. #4, Brooklyn, NY 11231.

Paypal: https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_xclick&business=thetiny%40gmail%2ecom&item_name=the%20tiny%20%233&amount=12%2e00&no_shipping=0&no_note=1¤cy_code=USD&lc=US&bn=PP%2dBuyNowBF&charset=UTF%2d8

the tiny website is currently being updated to include purchasing information for the current issue as well as submission guidelines for our next reading period which will begin in August. Please check back in the next week or two at http://thetinyjournal.com.

The Re Turn

I get back to Lincoln today. I hope my apartment did not flood this time.

I hope there is world peace upon my return.

I head out to Philly Tuesday. Anyone in Lincoln want to drive to Philly with me?



Think a-BOUt it!




Yours
Sincerely,

Franklin Babybird

What Else is There to Do In Sheridan, Wyoming

Morning in Jackson Hole

This Happened in Denver: A One-Act Play

Cast:

Man 1
Man 2
Woman 1

Setting: Denver.

[Man 1 calls Man 2 on telephone. Man 2 is with Woman 1]

Man 1: What are you two doing?

Man 2: [pause] Nothing.

Man 1: Gross.

Welcome to the Quaich

Wind Storms & Dust Storms Lead to Denver: Hot Tips About the Predator

The Most Pathetic Baby Panda Ever

Allison Titus: Instructions from the Narwhale

Order Allison Titus' chapbook from Bateau Press

or from Amazon


For the last few years I've been convinced that Allison is one of the single best poets without any kind of collection of poems available. Her chapbook will be available very soon. After it's out I'll have to amend my thinking & simply say that she is one my favorite poets.

Order it, or you'll feel terrible about yourself.

here is a gram of mustard

The Desire for Sensationalism in Literary Culture

By Barbara Guest

How exciting to sit down.

Sensationalism! How exciting to stir the grains into a bowl of dusty poetry! To light a fire under it: to burrow new chairs to sit by its side!

To calm its sensa
tionalistic nerves! To read the Philosopher Kant! here is a gram of mustard. Here is the muscular salt. Here is a silver spoon with a coat of arms, as in the Revolution! To live during a poetic
Revolution.

LET US OPEN THE SENSATIONAL POETIC JOURNAL. LET US TRY TO BE MORE POETIC AND HAVE OUR PICTURE TAKEN WHILE WRITING LIKE RILKE, and others.

"Poem" by James Tate

This Tate poem is so painful sometimes. At other times it makes me laugh. Or jam, raspberry jam. The kind of jam you want to eat up all in a weekend & simultaneously you want to never eat so that you don't run out.

Poem

Language was almost impossible in those days
as we know it now and then.

When you tell me about your operation
I hear you, but I don't hear you.

Wind gathers behind a barn:
torches are lit, men whisper.

One wears a hat and is very serious
about the war in his bedroom.

"Does it seem like I am sleeping all the time?"
Ask me another question.

Look Ma, I found something beautiful today
out in the forest, it's still alive ...

I've been thinking about this poem a lot recently. Reading it & rereading it to myself. There's a copy of Tate's Selected in a used book store in town & it's autographed. The inscription reads:

To Lucy

--James Tate

When Larry Levis read at my undergrad he signed a couple of my books. I chatted with him for a bit, asked him if he ever felt like he got in a rut of signing books. In one of my books he drew a statue that was outside his house in Richmond. In the other one he wrote "Generic message. Larry Levis."

It was impossible, the way words fall down the stairs. And now it is differently impossible, what with the price of gasoline & length & width of maps. I don't need a new key to read the map. I need a new operation, a new question asked about the little creatures that live inside the hearts of even littler creatures.

Dora Malech in Poetry

check it!

"darling, did you know you remind me / of my old college poetry notebook?" --Sabrina Calle

I read Sabrina Calle's The Gilles Poem - Winter 2006 Collection from Transmission Press & am loving it. Weird, wild, intimate & intellectual. And with pictures!

The chapbook is entrenched in a playful set of correspondences with Deleuze, but focused much more on how this affects the speaker's ability to navigate her carefree wishes & fashion choices than how it could be turned into a Masters thesis. By which I mean that it's more fully Deleuzian than this book on Deleuze & Spinoza I've been trying to get through for months.

It's full of great lines, but their greatness is entirely contextual. Like that college notebook line above--it makes me laugh out loud reading it in the chapbook, but looks a little awkward hanging up at the top of this page.

The only thing bad I can say about it is that I keep momentarily thinking its Sophie Calle, (who has one of the most disconcerting websites) & I get extra excited for a moment & then I remember that it's not her.

(guitar, vocal)

Picked up this Richard Thompson comp on vinyl & it's been getting a lot of play in my apartment. At turns winsome & delicate & busted & brazen, it's the right music for right now.

In Case You Like Me

The Pindeldyboz First & Only Poetry Issue is out. Starring lots of rockers & also me.
Buy here here.


Also, find out what prehistoric America is like. Was like. Is like.

Babies!

Owen!