27 February 2009
10 year status report
Hermit Kingdom (complete. renamed Wonderland. Revised and incorporated into Moving Pictures)
Resident Alien (complete and renamed Alien Measures)
Never Mind the Beasts (complete. partially abandoned. partially incorporated into Wonderland)
Godzenie (99% complete)
Moving Pictures (85% complete)
Alien Memory Machine (I have no idea when the serial will end)
Resident Alien (complete and renamed Alien Measures)
Never Mind the Beasts (complete. partially abandoned. partially incorporated into Wonderland)
Godzenie (99% complete)
Moving Pictures (85% complete)
Alien Memory Machine (I have no idea when the serial will end)
from Moving Pictures
Waterloo (South London)
Every night you do you put
on a new costume I’d think
you’d really like the discipline
I’m trying to work
that out he must
be quite good
decide what level
yr at. Sauna. Completely.
You’re not allowed
any gals don’t get
too close now
we’re working
together it’s one
of those sports. I’m crap. Tantrum.
The sexless life of childhood.
Some of the valves are working harder. Than. They should.
That carefully spoken middle class accent.
Hold
yr horses. Perk up. He leans
nearer toying with his clips. Laboring. What are you
doing now? How much
is it normally? coupled
into memories I need
to go and do something
nerdy. Leaning into
the rancid. Sugar
packets square unstained
table wood. Clean. Protestant.
Choke cherry. I’m moving
away from the conveniences.
Every night you do you put
on a new costume I’d think
you’d really like the discipline
I’m trying to work
that out he must
be quite good
decide what level
yr at. Sauna. Completely.
You’re not allowed
any gals don’t get
too close now
we’re working
together it’s one
of those sports. I’m crap. Tantrum.
The sexless life of childhood.
Some of the valves are working harder. Than. They should.
That carefully spoken middle class accent.
Hold
yr horses. Perk up. He leans
nearer toying with his clips. Laboring. What are you
doing now? How much
is it normally? coupled
into memories I need
to go and do something
nerdy. Leaning into
the rancid. Sugar
packets square unstained
table wood. Clean. Protestant.
Choke cherry. I’m moving
away from the conveniences.
26 February 2009
On Getting Comfortable
I am, and I know this is a cliche, happiest in the NOW!!!
I am afraid of making some money and getting comfortable and turning into a middle class humpty dumpty.
I want to go out with a bang. If sooner sooner rather than later with no mind or teeth!!!
I am afraid of making some money and getting comfortable and turning into a middle class humpty dumpty.
I want to go out with a bang. If sooner sooner rather than later with no mind or teeth!!!
25 February 2009
Naropa (Boulder, CO)
Some interesting mags and readings coming from or energized by Naropa and her students:
Monkey Puzzle
In Stereo Press
Monkey Puzzle
In Stereo Press
24 February 2009
Brian Howe (of Lucifer Poetics) sound project
A performance at Nightlight, in Chapel Hill NC, as part of the 919 Noise showcase. Featuring Brian, Ashley, Wyatt, Wyatt, Ryan, Cameron, and Josh. The video was shot by Justine.
Nightlight Performance
Nightlight Performance
stolen words
23rd Feb (English as a foreign language, intermediate, 15 students, Ealing and West London College)
REPORTED SPEECH
&
DIRECT SPEECH
The reading for today
thieves attempt to
steal diamonds
from Millennium
Dome caught
by 200 police guns
hidden
in bin liners.
Questions include:
In the other story why
did the
criminal use a pen-
knife
to cut his way out of the crate?
Discuss the weak forms.
Check the meanings
in yr
mini
dictionary.
Emphasise Marxist
Feminist
empathy while
working in groups.
The future is always just
around the corner
beginnings end, beggings
begin with brass shoes
we've saved our seats
and kept them
dry, my mouth
mugging
was worth £5, focus
on the phrases, on
the phrasing
what is the context?
When class is
dead I
feel it
in my groin
in my scrotum
in my temples
REPORTED SPEECH
&
DIRECT SPEECH
The reading for today
thieves attempt to
steal diamonds
from Millennium
Dome caught
by 200 police guns
hidden
in bin liners.
Questions include:
In the other story why
did the
criminal use a pen-
knife
to cut his way out of the crate?
Discuss the weak forms.
Check the meanings
in yr
mini
dictionary.
Emphasise Marxist
Feminist
empathy while
working in groups.
The future is always just
around the corner
beginnings end, beggings
begin with brass shoes
we've saved our seats
and kept them
dry, my mouth
mugging
was worth £5, focus
on the phrases, on
the phrasing
what is the context?
When class is
dead I
feel it
in my groin
in my scrotum
in my temples
22 February 2009
Action Books
A nice interview with some discussion of soft and hard surrealism:
interview with Johannes Göransson
Some visceral poetry and essays:
Action Magazine
interview with Johannes Göransson
Some visceral poetry and essays:
Action Magazine
19 February 2009
community, naming, and the future of poetry
Excellent essay here from Alex Davies in response to some Ron Silliman posts about over-production, community, naming/branding (and other pertinent issues facing poets today):
NAMING
NAMING
16 February 2009
the end of the day
captain beefheart Lick my Decals Off Baby
single malt whiskey
cheap quiche
Bergman's the seventh seal to end the evening
single malt whiskey
cheap quiche
Bergman's the seventh seal to end the evening
from Alien Memory Machine (serial poem)
22.
transmission ahead
the lipsmack of my Estruscan face
scrappy connections and pace
half blind in my Napoleonic hat eating skin bits
pastels lick the starched shirt
overseered feminine elbows into you
sentient humanity
signed up for dirt skirt
gotta keep this natural thing
cut the slavonics
sage in the robust word muck
diaristic sherbert dip
inceptive tang in the memory gap
gesundheit wie viele es muss sein
chartreuse child in the intimacy of the cavern
wheeled out the droneship
my city friends
pentecost king in the marching
drum bit and tin bit
midnight blitz of mute affection
worked over the unchanging bed
nausea in the unknown
guarded by the mythic face
death is demanding
I’ve lost the frontman
the stunt double
the greasy L of the last good lube
pontification is asswine
greased up and swelling
mad pigs
stuck in the transmission:
all unattended
selves will be removed
by the police
transmission ahead
the lipsmack of my Estruscan face
scrappy connections and pace
half blind in my Napoleonic hat eating skin bits
pastels lick the starched shirt
overseered feminine elbows into you
sentient humanity
signed up for dirt skirt
gotta keep this natural thing
cut the slavonics
sage in the robust word muck
diaristic sherbert dip
inceptive tang in the memory gap
gesundheit wie viele es muss sein
chartreuse child in the intimacy of the cavern
wheeled out the droneship
my city friends
pentecost king in the marching
drum bit and tin bit
midnight blitz of mute affection
worked over the unchanging bed
nausea in the unknown
guarded by the mythic face
death is demanding
I’ve lost the frontman
the stunt double
the greasy L of the last good lube
pontification is asswine
greased up and swelling
mad pigs
stuck in the transmission:
all unattended
selves will be removed
by the police
15 February 2009
beehive magazine (some good potential here)
As Beehive Magazine ends its premiere week of publication, the tendency is to look forward rather than back. However, reflection is a necessary, and often difficult, process.
During the past week, the question towards the point of Beehive Magazine has crossed the editor's desk many times. What is Thee Beehive's mission? This is a difficult question to answer.
To begin, Beehive has no grand socio-political bend. It is not geared towards the politics. It is not out to change the world. You won't find any marxists here, unless they're harpists as well.
So what is our mission? To start simply it is literature. But it is anti-literature, as well. It is both art and anti-art. It is both building and tearing down. To turn a popular phrase, it is art for anti-art's sake, though the inverse is true, as well.
To situate it within this age of labels, Thee Beehive can be said to follow a primitive post-dada magical surrationalism. To put it simultaneously more plain and more esoteric, Beehive Magazine is a primitive post-dada magical surrationalist publication.
We realize stating these facts is bound to alienate some readers, but it will bring more in as well. Beehive Magazine is not designed to act as the same old litarary revue. It is designed to act as a bellow of fresh air to the increasingly stagnant literary community.
Of course, Thee Beehive cannot do this without its readers and contributors. So please, keep reading, and keep writing.
And, watch out, big things are coming.
Sincerely
Christopher T Schuman
Editor-In-Chief
Bienenstock Thee Zeitschrift
Public relations officer
Beehive magazine
During the past week, the question towards the point of Beehive Magazine has crossed the editor's desk many times. What is Thee Beehive's mission? This is a difficult question to answer.
To begin, Beehive has no grand socio-political bend. It is not geared towards the politics. It is not out to change the world. You won't find any marxists here, unless they're harpists as well.
So what is our mission? To start simply it is literature. But it is anti-literature, as well. It is both art and anti-art. It is both building and tearing down. To turn a popular phrase, it is art for anti-art's sake, though the inverse is true, as well.
To situate it within this age of labels, Thee Beehive can be said to follow a primitive post-dada magical surrationalism. To put it simultaneously more plain and more esoteric, Beehive Magazine is a primitive post-dada magical surrationalist publication.
We realize stating these facts is bound to alienate some readers, but it will bring more in as well. Beehive Magazine is not designed to act as the same old litarary revue. It is designed to act as a bellow of fresh air to the increasingly stagnant literary community.
Of course, Thee Beehive cannot do this without its readers and contributors. So please, keep reading, and keep writing.
And, watch out, big things are coming.
Sincerely
Christopher T Schuman
Editor-In-Chief
Bienenstock Thee Zeitschrift
Public relations officer
Beehive magazine
14 February 2009
barbara guest week
The very passionate poet (and manager of the fabulous West End Lane Bookshop in London) Mr. Graham gave me a free bonus book yesterday: Seeking Air by Barbara Guest.
Jacket's current issue focuses on Barbara Guest.
So next week is Barbara Guest week for me!!!
And a bit of Savage Detectives for the tube.
Jacket's current issue focuses on Barbara Guest.
So next week is Barbara Guest week for me!!!
And a bit of Savage Detectives for the tube.
from June 2004
27 June 2004
moving moving moving
This has been a week of moving prep. Tomorrow is the big moving day. My normal reading/writing schedule is way off track. So, hopefully monday I will have a new used powermac with new used studio crt monitor mac OS X and a new writing spot. I am eagar to get down and dirty again.
Thursday was a blast of Lucipo poets. Good on the spot improvs and unrehearsed play. Mr. Todd did a very remarkable reading of his long poem. He told the audience we were the frogs. It was scary story time. Some lines amazed me.
Lucipo is moving alright (I prefer a kind of mind moving but now and again a walk in the woods is quite good for the nerves as well).
Tony's recent blog post about class issues and the romantic myth of the artist is very interesting. I have a lot of loans but I would rather have loans from attending school than from buying a fancy car etc.
I constantly remind myself I am damn lucky
Sure poetry is work (and play). What's the difference between work and play?
Sure it's not quite a profession. Maybe a professing.
After 14 years of fast food, department store clerking, and a shit load of telemarketing (I did meet my wife at a telemarketing company though) I am very very very lucky to teach and write.
I am so glad I am longer trying to convince people who do not have land to buy burpie seeds to meet my selling quota.
That's not to say teaching/selling is cake. It can be draining. The politics of university life can interrupt writing space (mental space). As a lecturer or adjunct it can be very difficult if the university wants to save money by classifying you as part time and unworthy of health benefits (I finally have health benefits for the first time at the age of 30. But that's a political issue across the board. Many people have much worse situations).
I am not on a royal cushion but I am doing something I love. I have passion. I hope other people might have a passion for working at a department store, climbing the ladder, selling stuff over the phone.
Am I still selling? Is this blog a marketing strategy. Do I want to climb the ladder and one day be like the ceo of poetry clogs/blogs?
But I am low on the pole. I'll never be as good as the great bloggers.
How to win friends and influence people in the world of poetry blogs? HM>>>>>>
One things for sure: I am sick of poetry as stinky cheese. Here. Eat this. The French eat it all the time. It's good for you.
I would rather hear/read poetry suggesting possibilities than poetry all neat and polished.
I like my lid open. Stiches naught or easily torn apart as opposed to seeming naught.
Is poetry a stay against confusion? For me it is. But only for a very brief time.
By tomorrow morning I'll need to question words again.
I will need to be moved.
moving moving moving
This has been a week of moving prep. Tomorrow is the big moving day. My normal reading/writing schedule is way off track. So, hopefully monday I will have a new used powermac with new used studio crt monitor mac OS X and a new writing spot. I am eagar to get down and dirty again.
Thursday was a blast of Lucipo poets. Good on the spot improvs and unrehearsed play. Mr. Todd did a very remarkable reading of his long poem. He told the audience we were the frogs. It was scary story time. Some lines amazed me.
Lucipo is moving alright (I prefer a kind of mind moving but now and again a walk in the woods is quite good for the nerves as well).
Tony's recent blog post about class issues and the romantic myth of the artist is very interesting. I have a lot of loans but I would rather have loans from attending school than from buying a fancy car etc.
I constantly remind myself I am damn lucky
Sure poetry is work (and play). What's the difference between work and play?
Sure it's not quite a profession. Maybe a professing.
After 14 years of fast food, department store clerking, and a shit load of telemarketing (I did meet my wife at a telemarketing company though) I am very very very lucky to teach and write.
I am so glad I am longer trying to convince people who do not have land to buy burpie seeds to meet my selling quota.
That's not to say teaching/selling is cake. It can be draining. The politics of university life can interrupt writing space (mental space). As a lecturer or adjunct it can be very difficult if the university wants to save money by classifying you as part time and unworthy of health benefits (I finally have health benefits for the first time at the age of 30. But that's a political issue across the board. Many people have much worse situations).
I am not on a royal cushion but I am doing something I love. I have passion. I hope other people might have a passion for working at a department store, climbing the ladder, selling stuff over the phone.
Am I still selling? Is this blog a marketing strategy. Do I want to climb the ladder and one day be like the ceo of poetry clogs/blogs?
But I am low on the pole. I'll never be as good as the great bloggers.
How to win friends and influence people in the world of poetry blogs? HM>>>>>>
One things for sure: I am sick of poetry as stinky cheese. Here. Eat this. The French eat it all the time. It's good for you.
I would rather hear/read poetry suggesting possibilities than poetry all neat and polished.
I like my lid open. Stiches naught or easily torn apart as opposed to seeming naught.
Is poetry a stay against confusion? For me it is. But only for a very brief time.
By tomorrow morning I'll need to question words again.
I will need to be moved.
from ALien Memory Machine (serial poem)
29.
Syntax is sadistic and first rate grass hardens. I’m sick of proficient regrets and ach so I’m texting my way into a pre-emptive heaven which indeed is most modern.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What is heralded in the folkloric plomp of our text spume. Read the text but don’t answer the questions. Which image do you like the most?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Indivisible equations mother the sky but I’m searching for a softer seat to engage in Socratic discourse.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It appears thought is a daguerrotype of a pharmaceutical climax. Have you ever created something artistic? Forget the crowds and what’s been taken from you. How do you deal with the new light?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hallucinating laughter and clogged with the bossman, dictating restlessness, I couldn’t stop looking at the fat faced boy racing around a tree with blinking shoes. I couldn’t stop myself from tonal clashes. Please help with the spotlights. I’m sure I’m gonna be somebody but I’ve got a few bits to do. A jolt from the electric fridge. It shits on its own darling. There’s something waiting by which a hue is red, cast-off by a glance and filthy around the edges. We are all distant bushels. Hardened.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Salt broke the decks and a speckled eye is in the corner. Yes this is a painting and the walls are painted white how else could reality arise in immolation?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We were insulated by the molten leather in Ravenscourt park. West London is not protected from the groans. Ah, the groans. Acute, and yet unable to speak.
Syntax is sadistic and first rate grass hardens. I’m sick of proficient regrets and ach so I’m texting my way into a pre-emptive heaven which indeed is most modern.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What is heralded in the folkloric plomp of our text spume. Read the text but don’t answer the questions. Which image do you like the most?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Indivisible equations mother the sky but I’m searching for a softer seat to engage in Socratic discourse.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It appears thought is a daguerrotype of a pharmaceutical climax. Have you ever created something artistic? Forget the crowds and what’s been taken from you. How do you deal with the new light?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hallucinating laughter and clogged with the bossman, dictating restlessness, I couldn’t stop looking at the fat faced boy racing around a tree with blinking shoes. I couldn’t stop myself from tonal clashes. Please help with the spotlights. I’m sure I’m gonna be somebody but I’ve got a few bits to do. A jolt from the electric fridge. It shits on its own darling. There’s something waiting by which a hue is red, cast-off by a glance and filthy around the edges. We are all distant bushels. Hardened.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Salt broke the decks and a speckled eye is in the corner. Yes this is a painting and the walls are painted white how else could reality arise in immolation?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We were insulated by the molten leather in Ravenscourt park. West London is not protected from the groans. Ah, the groans. Acute, and yet unable to speak.
13 February 2009
nice big poetry day
awesome passionate chats with Steve Wiley (poet and co-organizer of Openned reading series) and Graham (manager of West End Lane Books).
Picked up:
1) Seeking Air by Barbara Guest
2) Loop by John Taggart
3) Don't ever get famous essays on New York Writing after the New York School
4) The Green Lake is Awake selected poems by Joseph Geravolo
5) My Vocabulary Did this to me: The collected Poems of Jack Spicer
Picked up:
1) Seeking Air by Barbara Guest
2) Loop by John Taggart
3) Don't ever get famous essays on New York Writing after the New York School
4) The Green Lake is Awake selected poems by Joseph Geravolo
5) My Vocabulary Did this to me: The collected Poems of Jack Spicer
12 February 2009
11 February 2009
historic pics
young hot pics of Tom Pickard and Susan Musgrave and Bill Griffiths and Gillian Clarke and Bob Cobbing and Geraldine Monk and Wendy Mulford and many more reading at the amazing Morden Tower, Colpitts and other exciting historic northern venues (round about the 1970's)
check it out historic poets
check it out historic poets
10 February 2009
ron silliman waxes nostalgic
An interesting sexy interview with Ron Silliman over at the best american poetry blog:
Ron Silliman loses his virginity
Ron Silliman loses his virginity
a breakdown
Wonderland (South Korea)
Rumi and the fire chicken, circle dancing, mosh pits, meat on a stick, baskets, gangnam escorts, window shopping for women, barber poles with a surprise inside, plastic eyes, a serial love poem.
Block 7A (Poland)
Zory gone eliptical. Anielle Vogel. The erotics of small birds. A philosophy of blocks. Tribes of old cronies. Wodka in winter. Matura. A burning. A charing. A using up.
Hotel Diament (Poland)
composition by sentence, a spy novel.
Return to the City (Poland)
Katowice. Christmas 2008. sentence by sentence. getting on top of it. once more up the coal smudged hill once more through the desperate train station. Reconciled exile. reconciled divorce. happiness comes from the frames.
Rumi and the fire chicken, circle dancing, mosh pits, meat on a stick, baskets, gangnam escorts, window shopping for women, barber poles with a surprise inside, plastic eyes, a serial love poem.
Block 7A (Poland)
Zory gone eliptical. Anielle Vogel. The erotics of small birds. A philosophy of blocks. Tribes of old cronies. Wodka in winter. Matura. A burning. A charing. A using up.
Hotel Diament (Poland)
composition by sentence, a spy novel.
Return to the City (Poland)
Katowice. Christmas 2008. sentence by sentence. getting on top of it. once more up the coal smudged hill once more through the desperate train station. Reconciled exile. reconciled divorce. happiness comes from the frames.
don't miss our new garlic cheesy bites
It is very hard to imagine not existing.
To imagine nothingness.
Today is Jan 6th 2008.
Two days of snow shut down London.
Every time I roll up the blinds they roll back down.
I'm looking for new ways to bring in the warmth.
Fog headed and crawling among rocks.
A rewiring is always on the horizon.
I want to work with language.
I'm eager to get back into Wonderland.
I like thinking of all the small bones that make a bird fly
all the small books that make a life.
To imagine nothingness.
Today is Jan 6th 2008.
Two days of snow shut down London.
Every time I roll up the blinds they roll back down.
I'm looking for new ways to bring in the warmth.
Fog headed and crawling among rocks.
A rewiring is always on the horizon.
I want to work with language.
I'm eager to get back into Wonderland.
I like thinking of all the small bones that make a bird fly
all the small books that make a life.
8 February 2009
in progress (from serial poem)
1.
performing childhood is something else
where light is a lonesome hymn
touching commits to memory
rhetorical proof in perpetual motion
love’s unbroken composition
approaching the furthest room
so tonight the gaps are graced
suffering and solace
in the praxis of living
to speak back to stones
there are visions in this mudpit
totem mud and mythical speech
a paradise of blemishes
music drawn like concepts
the world spins loneliness
from one skull to the next
tombstones and doors
the wet blanket
nighttooth faxed to the underworld
wild dogs at train station
there’s no eternity
without mythical speech
crazy oblivion terminates in the nude
bathing in pine needles
skin stripped from the bum
the most inquisitive children
on the sundial of the dead
performing childhood is something else
where light is a lonesome hymn
touching commits to memory
rhetorical proof in perpetual motion
love’s unbroken composition
approaching the furthest room
so tonight the gaps are graced
suffering and solace
in the praxis of living
to speak back to stones
there are visions in this mudpit
totem mud and mythical speech
a paradise of blemishes
music drawn like concepts
the world spins loneliness
from one skull to the next
tombstones and doors
the wet blanket
nighttooth faxed to the underworld
wild dogs at train station
there’s no eternity
without mythical speech
crazy oblivion terminates in the nude
bathing in pine needles
skin stripped from the bum
the most inquisitive children
on the sundial of the dead
7 February 2009
Godzenie
12 more hours of revisions of first and last sections of Godzenie.
Getting really close now . . .
getting close to happy with this manuscript that has picked up bits and bobs from manuscripts in North Carolina.
Think this is my first mature manuscript.
Wonderland needed some rethinking but the last section written last Christmas in Poland REALLY needed work on rhythm and pacing.
A bit more tinkering, but not much.
Getting really close now . . .
getting close to happy with this manuscript that has picked up bits and bobs from manuscripts in North Carolina.
Think this is my first mature manuscript.
Wonderland needed some rethinking but the last section written last Christmas in Poland REALLY needed work on rhythm and pacing.
A bit more tinkering, but not much.
6 February 2009
wonderland
The first section of Godzenie is called Wonderland. I have found a new way in. Revised completely. Four years ago I started working on Wonderland in Korea and now bears very little resemblance to that manuscript. The other sections written in Poland are also radically reworked. However, the Polish sections still bear the seeds (and many poems have not changed since I came to London).
I think I need some stability and calm to write and hear myself write.
I am currently considering going into technical writing. Stable. perhaps sometimes boring. But stable. A counter pose to my other writings or perhaps even a potential influence. I am attracted to the idea of scrubbing down the language and keeping the complexity. Not instrumental (perhaps the main difference between technical writing and poetry) but some shared aesthetics.
There is one of those big software companies in Galway that often looks for an entry level technical writer. Ireland could be a good next move (although not for a while). I am starting to get more comfortable (overall) in London, especially since there is some great energy with the readings and future poetry klatch meetings.
My room is super clean. dusted. vacuumed. The kitchen and toilet are sparkling. That makes me happy. Now I feel ready for a writing day tomorrow. More work on the Wonderland section of Godzenie. It is turning into a love poem to Rumi (who happens to be French). There are goshiwons and communal showers and some homoerotic suggestions. Fire chicken keeps making an appearance. Wonderland is taking me into new directions. Writing from the outside. Dictation. Orpheus. The radio.
I think I need some stability and calm to write and hear myself write.
I am currently considering going into technical writing. Stable. perhaps sometimes boring. But stable. A counter pose to my other writings or perhaps even a potential influence. I am attracted to the idea of scrubbing down the language and keeping the complexity. Not instrumental (perhaps the main difference between technical writing and poetry) but some shared aesthetics.
There is one of those big software companies in Galway that often looks for an entry level technical writer. Ireland could be a good next move (although not for a while). I am starting to get more comfortable (overall) in London, especially since there is some great energy with the readings and future poetry klatch meetings.
My room is super clean. dusted. vacuumed. The kitchen and toilet are sparkling. That makes me happy. Now I feel ready for a writing day tomorrow. More work on the Wonderland section of Godzenie. It is turning into a love poem to Rumi (who happens to be French). There are goshiwons and communal showers and some homoerotic suggestions. Fire chicken keeps making an appearance. Wonderland is taking me into new directions. Writing from the outside. Dictation. Orpheus. The radio.
5 February 2009
2 February 2009
snow in London
snow snow snow in London. Buses cannot handle it. College closed so no classes to teach today. Maybe tomorrow. Nice to have free time to write but mostly bad since I am a temp worker paid by the hour. No holiday or sick pay. Also have midterm break in two weeks which is a whole week of no work or pay. -£100 and counting . . .
thinking I need to find a way into with a job with real benefits. Or just pack up and move to China where the conditions are much better in terms of standard of living for adult/community education teachers.
thinking I need to find a way into with a job with real benefits. Or just pack up and move to China where the conditions are much better in terms of standard of living for adult/community education teachers.
new issue of free verse
issue 15 of Free Verse: A Journal of Contemporary Poetry & Poetics:
Poetry: Peter Riley, Mark Irwin, Maurice Manning, G.C. Waldrep, Julia Hansen, F. Daniel Rzicznek, Vona Groarke and Molly Bendall.
Supplement I: Fascicle of Poems by Franz Wright
Supplement II: Blind Date: An Anthology of Argentinian Poets by Lliana Heer
Interview: Laura Severin with Valerie Gillies
Review: Rebecca Porte on Susan Stewart
Recent & Notable: Notice of recently published books by Peter Riley, Carolyn Guinzio, Yermiyahau Ahron Taub, Maurice Manning, Jack Spicer and George Oppen
Cover Image: Christ Berg
check it out:
Free Verse
Poetry: Peter Riley, Mark Irwin, Maurice Manning, G.C. Waldrep, Julia Hansen, F. Daniel Rzicznek, Vona Groarke and Molly Bendall.
Supplement I: Fascicle of Poems by Franz Wright
Supplement II: Blind Date: An Anthology of Argentinian Poets by Lliana Heer
Interview: Laura Severin with Valerie Gillies
Review: Rebecca Porte on Susan Stewart
Recent & Notable: Notice of recently published books by Peter Riley, Carolyn Guinzio, Yermiyahau Ahron Taub, Maurice Manning, Jack Spicer and George Oppen
Cover Image: Christ Berg
check it out:
Free Verse
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)