Another weekend slipped

as it it eased by soft fluff of whisped cloud left with expansed blue up over yes yonder
now
what comes tuesdays and

days belonging to other alphabet drolls or is that dreams? where is the i in imagination
is it you?

music music yes music is what we want want almost most much

much as quiet right before the chorus- everyone qued and rararararararararararararara

yeah rememeber that?


oh no! this is not a poem- just me babbling in stanzas. handed in me thesis today (beat my self-imposed June deadline), sent back my signed offer-sheet letter to eos airlines, watched daises (czech new wave film recommended by jared hohl) and somehow have managed to hurt my foot with all this running betwixt midtown, east village, and cobble hill. also picked up new ish of LIT + recieved poetry and crazy horse in the mail. okay, another glass of knob creek, 3 cheers of exhaustion, and some reading to be done!

Eric Baus' Tuned Droves

Tuned Droves

After an animal beacon sounds, a black disk masks whatever there is to see, three swallows enter a poplar’s pulse, and the entire forest darkens a shade


from GAMMM
http://gammm.org/index.php/2007/04/11/three-texts-eric-baus/

Cornelia and GWN meets T&W wrap-up

I got a few emails this morning in regards to last night- Anjulie, a girl I met at the Bald Ego magazine party seemed pretty excited about the reading and said she was "definitely coming" naturally she didn't come and emailed me this, "Dude! I totally forget." I think this is a perfect example where honesty is the least interesting option- HA! A few other friends got stuck working late- as is the casuality of working in NYC. Nonetheless there was an excellent turn-out for both readings! The Girls Write Now meets Teachers & Writers Collaborative was standing room only for the first half and there weren't many empty seats at Cornelia Street Cafe either.

I got really good feedback from both readings and surprisingly had a blast at both of them. I like to end on a high note and not do any more readings for the whole of Summer, but last night Jason Napoli Brooks invited me to read at his series, The Enclave. Two things- he's a fellow Philadelphian and their readings are always packed with primarily fiction heads so it'd give me an opportunity to woo some non-poets for a change.

Anyways, thanks to all who showed up to my readings and those who may not have been able to make it for various reasons but showed their support ala their interest/desire to attend!

Summer & Random Thoughts

I found myself sitting outside of The Bean (I'm staying in the East Village- cat sitting for my friend Kiely) reading Paul Violi's new book, Overnight, and couldn't help but notice how much like Summer today is... honestly, i'm not a "shorts" person and prefer to not even think about them until, um July- but I have a feeling that I'll be heading back to my apartment in Cobble Hill to get some shorts and slip-on Vans and just roll like whateva...

Last night my ex, Sandy, and our friend, Monica came over and I realised I had absolutely nothing to offer them in regards to refreshments so I sauntered over to Whole Foods fully cafienated on a iced cap and bought a variety of juices.. now this has happened to me a few times already, but why o why would you ever put five or six bottles of liquid into the same bag? Do you realize how fucking heavy and noisy it is to lug that around? of course, by the time it takes the cashier to reassemble into two bags you know you could be half-way home already- all that is to say, i'm really enjoying this pomegranate/blueberry juice,

Paul Violi

Somehow Paul Violi remains one of the most underrated poets still writing. Me thinks his books should sell in the Billy Collins (Paul's close friend) digits or he should be at the least be as lauded as John Ashbery- okay at least a super-close 2nd to Ashbery? His new book, Overnight shows Violi to be in top wit + astounding intellect something rare in today's poetry. So since it's a sunny Monday morning here in New York city let's celebrate one of the finest:

Counterman


What'll it be?

Roast beef on rye, with tomato and mayo.

Whudduhyuh want on it?

A swipe of mayo.
Pepper but no salt.

You got it. Roast beef on rye
. . . You want lettuce on that?

No. Just tomato and mayo.

Tomato and mayo. You got it.
. . . Salt and pepper?

No salt. Just a little pepper.

You got it. No salt.
You want tomato.

Yes. Tomato. No lettuce.

No lettuce. You got it.
. . . No salt, right?

Right. No salt.

You got it. — Pickle?
No, no pickle. Just tomato and mayo.
And pepper.

Pepper.

Yes, a little pepper.

Right. A little pepper.
No pickle.

Right. No pickle.

You got it.
Next.

Roast beef on whole wheat, please,
With lettuce, mayonnaise and a center slice
Of beefsteak tomato.
The lettuce splayed, if you will,
In a Beaux Arts derivative of classical acanthus,
And the roast beef, thinly sliced, folded
In a multi-foil arrangement
That eschews Bragdonian pretensions
Or any idea of divine geometric projection
For that matter, but simply provides
A setting for the tomato
To form a medallion with a dab
Of mayonnaise as a fleuron.
And — as eclectic as this may sound —
If the mayonnaise can also be applied
Along the crust in a Vitruvian scroll
And as a festoon below the medallion,
That would be swell.

You mean like in the Cathedral St. Pierre in Geneva?

Yes, but the swag more like the one below the rosette
At the Royal Palace in Amsterdam.

You got it.
Next.


Paul Violi
Shiny Magazine
Number 13

Haley Heaton reading at the Bowery

Here are 3 poems by Haley (courtesy of http://www.lapetitezine.org/Hayley.Heaton.htm) who along with others will be reading today at the Bowery. I have to admit that I'm a huge fan of the Elephant Hotel!

Three Poems
by Hayley Heaton

The Elephant Hotel

Oh, what shameful yellows I have worn,
on holiday to balmy souths.
I tied his wrists to be his porn,
and hid his will inside my mouths.
I’ve fucked while Warhol watched above
a noisy bed, some wooden flooring
and smirked about my sometimes love
in the shower the next morning.
And all the lies that I've confessed,
between the folds of hotel sheets,
could make an A upon my breast,
a notice there, an indiscreet.
Oh sin, oh sin, oh glad lament,
Come again and repent, repent!



Vargoyle

What are you doing on top of the National Cathedral,
Darth Vader? Are you feeling suicidal again or are you
taking confession? Where are you on the side of envy?
What was your last lust? Do you have a foot fetish?
Do you have a library card?



Girl Reclining (Louise O’ Murphy)

Oh, pink, pink blue mustard cream,
how did you get so lovely
my Popsicle? How I would love
to see the blush of handprint
on your bottom. How I would
love to see a paintbrush peaking
from where it does not belong.

Hayley Heaton is a poet living in New York City. Originally from Salt Lake City, Heaton was educated at the University of Utah and Cambridge University in England. Her chapbook, hubbub, (Ahh Press) was published in 2004.

If you were ever curious about New School Poets

a lot of them (myself NOT included) are reading this Saturday at The Bowery:


New School Poet Grads
Saturday May 19
2:00 pm – 4:00 pm
Bowery Poetry Club
FREE!
Featuring readings by: Adam Smith, Amy Lawless, Amy McDaniel, Angela Veronica Wong, Cate Peebles, Graeme Bezanson, Hayley Heaton, Kiely Sweatt, Liesel Tarquini, Maggie Wells, Meghan Punschke, Michael McDonough, Nick Adamski, Sarah Ruth Jacobs Hosted by Amy Lawless

O Little Root of a Dream

O Little Root of a Dream
by Paul Celan
Translated by Heather McHugh and Nikolai Popov


O little root of a dream
you hold me here
undermined by blood,
no longer visible to anyone,
property of death.

Curve a face
that there may be speech, of earth,
of ardor, of
things with eyes, even
here, where you read me blind,

even
here,
where you
refute me,
to the letter.

I'm reading at Cornelia Street Cafe on May 22nd

Sylvia and Alissa have kindly invited me to read for their graduate reading series!


Graduate Reading Night

at Cornelia Street Café

Please join us on Tuesday, May 22nd to hear:


James Best—New York University
Siobhan Ciminera—The New School
Steven Karl—The New School
Sylvia Lee—Sarah Lawrence College
Matt Reeck—Brooklyn College

6:00 pm, $6 gets you one free drink

Located in Greenwich Village, the Cornelia Street Café, opened its doors in July 1977 and has become known for its diverse range of artistic performances. Nightly scheduled events include poetry and fiction readings, musical performances, and visual art receptions.

The Graduate Poetry Series, one of New York's longest-running, is held on the fourth Tuesday of every month. It was established to give students from NYC's graduate writing programs an opportunity to read their poetry in a safe, intimate and supportive environment.

If you are interested in participating, please submit a cover letter with contact information, name of your school/current semester and 5-7 pages of poetry electronically to corneliastseries@gmail.com .

Cornelia Street Café
29 Cornelia Street
New York NY 10014 (212) 989-9319 www.corneliastreetcafe.com

Get Art; Get Lit

My good friend and esteemed colleague has revamped his website. He's an amazing artist and a special talent when it comes to book arts so take a look for yerself,

http://pepticrobotpress.com/

Two Poems from Sawako Nakayasu

This poet has all these ant poems and for some reason I just can't get enough of them! There's a few more in issue #12 of 6X6 which is a pretty solid issue put out by Ugly Duckling Presse.
http://www.uglyducklingpresse.org/page-6x612.html

Insect Medleys

by Sawako Nakayasu

Progress

One year ago today, a video camera was released upon the public market – a camera that is the result of years and years of development by a pair of French engineers, having been fine-tuned to such a degree that it can capture the kissing of a pair of ants – mandible to mandible, from a great enough distance so as not to disturb them.

All issues of privacy aside, the true test of academic excellence in our children now rests entirely on their ability to measure the heat transfer in an ant kiss – which will be exhibited at this year’s International Junior Insect Olympics, which is something like a science fair for the young minds of the world. Who will go home with the gold medal this year? Which Asian country is showing the greatest promise in its youth? A controversy breaks out when a group of Americans from somewhere with a low literacy, high bravado rate pull up to the event with their own version of the Ant Kiss Project, involving genetically mutated ants, ants as big as your average American SUV. Oh you ain’t leaving our children behind just yet, insist their parents. Just you wait an’ see.


No Collective
for Yu Nakai

Believing themselves to be quite progressive for their species, a group of ants get together and decide to form a collective. They gather the necessary documentation, fill out all the proper information in the correct little boxes, get photos taken in appropriate size and dimension and angle, and step precisely through every single hoop required of them to become an officially recognized collective.

Their application is denied, however, on the grounds that ants are an inherently collective species, and this designation would be redundant and downright unnecessary.

One ant is so upset by this verdict that it begins to cry, thereby forging a breach in the collective emotional unity of the group. This very breach, however, makes the officer falter, reconsider for a brief moment, entertaining the possibility of a radical change of heart, but this very possibility of a change in the officer’s heart makes the ant’s tears dry up, which lands them all back at their original, inherently collective state, and that’s the end of that story.

http://unpleasanteventschedule.com/SawakoNakayasu.htm

Mei-mei and Prageeta the day after

well the reading last night was exceptional, except for the fact that um... no one came! perhaps that's an exageration because I was lucky enough to have my friends, Sandy, Shipra, and Monica attend the reading & two of Prageeta's former students also came, but other than that there was Mei-mei's husband, Richard Tuttle, and their daughter, Martha. There were 3 other people too, but for poets of their caliaber it was truly a sad affair to see soooooo many empty seats... All night i couldn't sleep and had a pit in my stomach... we all know that poetry is pretty much a thankless affair but some nights it seems to be equal thankless and mockery! Kindly enough I've been invited to read my poems for a couple of events later this month and then after that I think i'll have to take a bit of a break from all this... just get back to reading and writing- so here's to hoping it's a long summer filled with friends, rooftop bbq's in brooklyn, and lots of good food/drinks.

The one nice thing though is the way Mei-mei constantly referred to her husband throughout the reading and the way he championed Mei-mei after the reading + watching Kazu and Amedeo (Blonde Redhead) on Tuesday made me want to be in love again or at least believe in love again so here's to daffadils and whatnots!

Mei-Mei & Prageeta Reading Tonight

Release Me from the Paying Passenger

There is nothing to really note in this world


you might say. But since crescent moons

frame brittle grass all over the world,
I won’t stop with this philosophy. I won
the argument yesterday when we were nearby
the park and the day before when you ran me over.

I have run away from you–with accidental
fortune in hands–not all of your bank statements.

But I am not a Calvinist in the true sense–I only
lowered it to ahistorical terms. I believe in principles–

prophetic principles. You say marred and I say martyr.
I drink two liters; you don’t drink anything.

There are pests roaming the floorboards.
There are animals all around us now.

Save the foolhardy measure for your male companions.
They desire this more readily–

more enigma, shall we say, to entertain them–
barren matadors or empathetics.

I need neither kind of grand marnier nor vodka

to wash my throat or collapse my senses to tiny

careless obliterations. The way this ended shut you out,
so drop the lensatic compass and lavish gift, and please, run.

Prageeta Sharma from the Boston Review
http://bostonreview.net/BR24.5/sharma.html


Ideal
by Mei-mei Berssenbrugge


1

I did not know beforehand what would count for me as a new color. Its beauty is an analysis
of things I believe in or experience, but seems to alter events very little. The significance of a bird
flying out of grapes in a store relates to the beauty of the color of the translucency of grapes.
There is a space among some objects on a table that reminded her of a person, the way the bird reminded her,
a sense of the ideal of the space she would be able to see. Beauty can look like this around objects.
A plastic bag on a bush, moving slightly, makes an alcove, a glove or mist, holding the hill.
Time can look like this. The plane of yourself separates from the plane of spaces between objects,
an ordered succession a person apprehends, in order to be reminded.


Mei-mei Berssenbrugge

Courtesy of University of California Press.

Asbery poem exerpt

But how does this work? And yet you see yourself growing up around the other, posited life, afraid for its inertness and afraid for yourself, intimidated and defensive. And you lacerate yourself so as to say, These wounds are me. I cannot let you live our life this way, and at the same time I am slurped into it, falling on top of you and falling with you. At this point it is again time for forgetting, not casuall so as to repeal it delightedly later on, but with a true generous instinct for ending it all.

John Ashbery exerpt from The New Spirit in 3 poems

Finito

This weekend seemed a marathon of parties and readings since graduation is upon us. I went to Amy McDaniel's on Wednesday and met some new people, i.e. non-poets and probably had too much fun. I had to read from my thesis on Thursday- it wasn't perfect and of course, now i wish i had read different poems, but overall it went well enough. Laura Cronk had some nice things to say about one of my poems and i was pleased with her kindness. Then I rushed back to T&W to catch the tale end of Tuten/Napoli Brooks reading and clean up.

I managed to see most of my peers read over the 3 days and felt overall it was a pretty solid showing, which is funny 'cause as a first year I was very very critical- shows what i don't know.

Went to Cafe Loup last night and it was a bit odd for me, since I've only been once before and once to Spain- both NS haunts. Everyone seemed to fall into usual patterns and famillarites and it made me think how absent i am to it all, but i managed to get in a few hellos, hahas, etc before calling it an early evening.

Today I went to my friend, Jared's for a bbq then left that to go to Haley's for her bbq. Both were dandy, but in truth i'm exhausted, tired of drinking, and making the smallest of chatter- yet here i am now- Sunday evening, a bit lonely after watching a sad movie and talking wiht my ex... makes me think of that song "oh what a world we live in."

Jack Gilbert

http://www.amherstbulletin.com/story/id/40357/

http://ronsilliman.blogspot.com/2005/03/passive-verb-of-being-is-very-close-in.html

Out Of These Wounds, The Moon Will Rise

Out Of These Wounds, The Moon Will Rise


Now that the sun has set and the rain has abated,

And every porch light
in the neighborhood is lit,

Maybe we can invent something; I'd like a new

Way of experiencing te world, a way of taking

Into myself the single light shining at the center

Of all things without losing the dense, eccentric

Planets orbiting around it.

What you'd like is a more

Attentive lover, I suppose-. Too bad that slow,

Wet scorch of orange blossoms floating towards

The storm drain is not a vein of stars... we could

Make a wish on one of them; not that we would

Wish for anything but the impossible.


Jay Hopler- Green Squall

Drunken Winter

Drunken Winter

By Joseph Ceravolo



Oak! oak! like like
it then
cold some wild paddle
so sky then;
flea you asy
“geese geese” the boy
June of winter
of again
Oak sky

Sunny days and MFA's

It's a new month and lots of happenings in May. I've been under-caffienated and listless as of late- to say nothing of my constant state of sleepy/sleeplessness...

Well, my good 'ol thesis is due tomorrow and yours truly will be a bit late in turning that in- i'm thinking June... is that reckless?

I have a 2nd interview today so soon i'll have to put on the button-up, the slacks, and v-neck sweater and head down to downtown bk...

Frederic Tuten is reading at T&W on Thursday and Paul Violi on Friday, but alas, I believe I'll be at The New School reading my thesis... so here's to sunny days and MFA's, pre and post graduation hangover and general life letdowns that lie ahead