smashing Time (in progress)

site specific . . . environment specific . . . time specific . . . music specific . . . and so on . . .

first take no revisions from notebook . . . 6.30PM-6.45PM . . . Tues 29th March . . .



Balloons

*****

I’ve got a little hill with little green men and green tanks
in the hills of Milton Keynes

a bottle of pop
&
a bumble bee

summer ’83

*****
Peter Tooth is delightfully
sane
(Jubilee Line. Wembley to Kings Cross)

*****

the boy scouts of America
yeeeeeeeee
still smiling into gorge
way to dry lake
to blow off bottle rockets
with little red white blue flags

******
wee boy bat
in back-
seat

santa on dash

2 galloons

of coca cola

hershey’s kiss
twinkling in moonlight

unwrap what you got

i’m itchy in eyelids

*****

the lizards are still
waiting
in Vegas

******
man leans over
notebook
on tube
from Wembley to King’s Cross
as I write what woman
across said

******

ah cretins

goodbye

such clarity come

help you
, the horrors ,

*******

my scum is so so
deep
skanky

lovebottom

I’m taking

my hat off

it’s almost a midsummer

night’s

popcorn

popping

on the apricot tree

adios!

ego!

SPLASH!

******

we’re all together

at Wet N’ Wild

but you do not

remember

stay, o, stay

amid the hideous faces

hidden

behind
balloons balloons balloons

BALLOONS

******

now i’ve found

the poem

it’s called Balloons

uhhhhgh

so quickly

hop into magnetic field

balloons contain

lolly’s

and clowned out voices

I can do it, too

this is where

we want to go

to the b-day party

or the hot dog party

the balloons in Elblag

northern Poland

near station

a room of cheeseburgers

squeeze into

how do you feel

what do you think

balloons

******

you’ve heard the poem
you’ll love the glove

this is the passage of the arkvark

*****

thank you

steamy

*****

I’m squeezing my head thru

a hole

in the wall

you’re the wall

or I’m the wall

yr wall or my wall

it’s your head

head+hole

hole+head

we’re all in

THIS

together!

listening to The National

quiet nostalgia . . . a bit of the old alternative sounds . . .

revision from Primitive Pianos

might change previous manuscript title to Gypsy Moth instead of Primitive Pianos. Still thinking of titles.

Poems written in Spanish Fork, Ankara, Istanbul, Trieste, Elblag, London.


Revision in progress from Trieste section:


******************************

in heaven

there is television

I'm forever blowing 

bubbles bubbles

senora senora

I'm hung up on 
love

and love I'm there

in a thin white
towel

what if getting old
means 
no one
ever finds you?

I'm always in the tunnel

not older 
not younger

I'm tired of this 
poem
but want

to give you 
everything

senorita senorita

books for the week

Tube Readings (for week of 28th March)

Memorial Day (T. Berrigan and A. Waldman)

Giant Night (A. Waldman)

Transcendental Studies (K. Waldrop)

The Joe 82 Creation Poems (Rochelle Owens)

New Depths of Deadpan (Michael Gizzi)

New and Selected Padgett (R. Padgett)

The Collected Kenneth Koch (K. Koch)

prague microfest

it seems like a dream now. flying out of Trieste Italy to Prague to read at the Prague Microfest. Louis Armand. Stephen Delbos. Jason Mashak. Others. Ex-pats and poets and artists and Anglo American university.

So anyway. Yes I flew from Trieste to Prague. Stayed not far from the main square. Felt the energy from the poetry community in Prague and had some wild nights and some good readings and film screenings. Not big crowds but certainly a friendly bunch. And it reminded me why poetry matters. Or one of the reasons. Community.

So I had just moved from Anakara and was waiting in Trieste to hear about a uni teaching gig at METU. I waited for months for the paperwork and it never happened. And then it did. And I was torn cause I was tired of the traveling and wanted to reconnect to readings and get some stimulus from poetry community. So I chose to return to London at the last minute instead of Ankara.

And here I am. 35 pages into a new manuscript called Smashing Time! Which is much different than my previous manuscripts. More fluid and speech based. Raveling around in narrative. I have been to two readings in three months. Consumed over 20 books of poetry. And I am awake.

Sometimes I do feel that tug for adventure out in foreign lands again. But I am realising that i can have that right here. I can feel awake in the day to day moments of my existence and I can also visit other lands with London as the hub.

In the last five years of my world travels it is the people that have mattered most. not the food. Not the "exotic" cultures.

I have also wrestled a lot with my mind. I was in a state of emergency most of the time. Never having a settled mind. Lacking comforts. And I think my writing reflected that. Godzenie and Primitive Pianos reflect those mind states.

And Smashing Time is something else. I have a written a few short plays. I am returning to playfulness. An openness. A more expansive mindstate which perhaps paradoxically comes through the personal and day to day living of life. Which surrounds me. My journeys on the tube. My mind in reverse. Memories. And getting at it cleanly.

I have looked at the pics of some of ex-pat poets in Prague on facebook. It all seems like a gas. I like gas. I also like solids.

and I guess that is where i live.

authenticity

so here i sit on a friday afternoon i got a view so that helps and the weather has changed into spring almost summer and i am flooded with all the memories of countries and people and it is getting crowded in my head plus there's the net with its endless streams of words information images and emails to catch up on and how many presses publish poetry now and how many books are of interest not that i am a gatekeeper of course but i want to see interesting things taking shape like they sometimes do in the indie music world i mean what is interesting anyway yes we know it is partly subjective but not completely i mean the advance guard in art is still around fully in the present and there are armies of imitators and how to know the real thing anyway if it is smack dab in the language of the tribes of the now in the now so here i sit

and there is a man in the park outside wandering among the paths and there are voices in other rooms i cannot see

i am feeling some authentic stirring inside and distrust the rhetoric of poetry

my authentic is not your authentic but sometimes the authentic leaks through and we all jump up and down with glee

yes

the authentic exists but maybe it has a limited lifespan

kill poet when dead

human beings are better than poets

BRYGADA KRYZYS Centrala

link from friend Grzegorz Wroblewski . . . legendary Polish punk . .. waiting for a signal from "central"

copulating and happy

Joe Brainard's I Remember (in the post today)

finished on tube:

Great Ball of Fire (Ron Padgett)

Poetry State Forest (Bernadette Mayer)

How To Be Perfect( Ron Padgett)

Next week on tube:

Tulsa Kid (Ron Padgett)

I Remember (Joe Brainard)

today: acid reflux. Polish b-day party in Leicester Square, crowd immersion at British museum

friend Joe . .. just back from living in Portugal . . . bringing his blow up . . .

no fish and chips tonight

Looked at LOOT for place to live with Ewa . . if can keep job for decent amount of time . . . would be nice to have a place . . . a small one . . but a bit bigger than this small bedroom we share . . .

onward!!!

Ewa made some green tea . . . tea is the centre . .

back in the saddle

American surrealism . . .


zachary schomburg

I need to get my hands on some of his books . .. and Cathy Wagner's My New Job and Matthew Roher's books . .. haven't read Matthew Rohrer since 2005 when he came to Greensboro . . .



Just read Maureen Owen's Zombie Notes and loved it . . .



take the tube for over two hours every day for work.



Tube reading for this week:



Tulsa Kid by Ron Padgett

Great Balls of Fire by Ron Padgett

How to Be Perfect by Ron Padgett

Tarantula by Bob Dylan

Poetry State Forest by Bernadette Mayer

some very interesting work in this mag from San Francisco

eleven eleven journal

from smashing time!

from Smashing Time (ms in progress)

S.B.’s Ghost Shit

soap me sock me I got a table at the rainbow room
big ship
approaching the dock
I’ve got you heavy in this London sunshine
Wood Green March 4th 2011
and an Indian at the table is really a hyena
that’s who I am
suppose has some facts around
yep! imaginary income! UGH!
well the crooks are out
spastic garage feedback blues
S.B.’s GHOST SHIT!
and look at these steeples
shaking
in the first degree
the devil won’t let me be


. . . to be cont . . . . . .

Department Poetry Magazine

Got my copy in the post today!!! Super super super good!!!! Ahhhh now this refreshes me big time!! Stuff is happening over here in the U.K.. I mean fresh fresh interesting poetry and essays!! And it's a really handsome handmade nice on the eyes production!

check it and grab yourself a copy quick:


DEPARTMENT POETRY MAGAZINE