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Thursday, October 1, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
CALL TO AXTION: ECONVERGENCE POLITICAL POETRY EVENT
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
SDS ARRESTS, THEN and NOW
Saturday, September 26, 2009
DAVID BUUCK @ EVERGREEN PLUS MORE!
PACE as poetics is a function of poet-activist community extension. It began thousands of years ago. It begins again and again as poets engage in guerrilla street actions, sharing with strangers in public space. These acts are “guerrilla” simply because these encounters have become unconventional methods of poetic exchange. Practitioners operate outside of the larger structures of universities, reading series, and publishing houses that function as museums of poetry. If it is to be seen as resistance today, the enemy is Mediated Life, the alienation assurance company that has flooded the culture with fraudulent policies that promise smiles through spending.
Just as Pierre Joris refers to a nomad poetics as a hit & run war machine, PACE employs these strategies using improvised tools most suited for each situation.
Its architects
are limited to reactionary
responses despite their dominant claims
It is not a group of member-poets to be nominated and/or expelled by committee, but a rhizomatic process that nominates and expels continually, when community extension starts and stops. At once inside and outside. States within a state. An Asger Jorn knot, appearing as “a devil's street map”, experienced with a consistency despite twisted turns.
The poem's potential as a lo-fi economic production is what makes it an attractive form for generative community extension. While McKenzie Wark warns that “art finds itself recruited into the prototyping of fascinating consumables”, it's true that poetry is the least commodifiable of art forms. A certain American talk-poet believes this is so because poetry is like gay marriage... no one knows what it really is. That's fine. The culturally fatigued could use a little sorcery.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Get yr Occultations for Free - This Weekend Only
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
ECONVERGENCE: Spread the WORDS
Monday, September 21, 2009
Received, Eviscerated
Baron's The Best Word for the Job of Mourning complicates any understanding the reader may have of new lyricism: "Hold on to...small seemingly...lines I cultivate disappearing" follows “There’s something I’m supposed to be saying,” calling into question the distinction between the said and the written, the tonality of the upper register and the drumbeat of the colloquial, within the context of eulogy. The Best Word is falling houses and waterlogged instruments, submerged sound and wet score, air filling lungs for a last time in a struggle to empty all but the word: "Here's a clue: Information has become too scarce." With the self-conscious music of lamentation as script-fragment, we are compelled to act out in its double sense, repeatedly, the search for the right word. Countless dead and what, Baron implies, could possibly be a vocabulary of such catastrophic and idiotic loss? Language has failed us, yet we must go on. If we are a "we," we will find the space between us to be vast enough to cause a graven silence. In so few words, Baron gives us the dialectic of inner and outer, personal and sociopolitical, a poetics of disavowal, disavowal of language via language, wrapped up in a faith in the ritual of rehearsal, where by beginning again and again, the lost thing just might return, transfigured, perhaps so much that it is unrecognizable, but returned to us nonetheless. This is a quietly eviscerating, astonishingly unsilenced debut from a poet who deserves our immediate, and careful attention.
Featured at No Tell Motel This Week
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Reviews, poetics
(image from book alter(ed), part 2)
“Part one” is called riverfire. Each phrase dives through linguistic depths touching the real, touching paradox.
“Water Burns. Often a finger is a vessel punctured as it moves through guarded waters.”
[ :]
“As if driving into, there were not guards for the rails. The bone cries, then marrow. As if our shapes exhausted shape.”
This writing arouses a mixed emotion somewhere between a sensual elusiveness and solid ache. Lyrics clash against the “thingness” of shit and vomit. The drive and power of juxtaposition and the slippage between and across, fire the pituitary gland.
Each page in “part two” is supported by a visual image and contains three collage-like stanzas. Here the frottage continues where for example, “—you settled in the slightest tension” rubs against “—I was not paid.”
Without a doubt this is a sensitive and superbly crafted (chap)book.
All poems in Hospitalogy were written in hospitals or hotels. Sickness (sometimes) necessitates hospitals, and sometimes (for the insured), hospital stays. And hospital stays often necessitate (for the insured) a temporary hotel/motel life. My partner and I have, over the past couple years, alternated, at times for long stretches, between the hotel/motel room and the hospital bed.
Both complexes, on the whole, are places of liquidation. Numbers and letters take on the double and triple coding of what is meant to be the simple sign for a referent – a one to one match, as it were. Alphanumeric strings serve as the identities of this body, the body-book, its component parts as well as the shape of its quasi-gestalt. There are patient codes, bar-coded keys, test order numbers, guest logs, room numbers, telephones that require one to press extra digits in order to “dial out.” And names. Modified by clinical ascriptions, often in shorthand. The reduction of the multiple subject to the person, then the person into a number is born of the need for precise and quick reference, certainly, but also of overcapacity--in both landscapes, volume is high and (in most cases) compensation for the workers whose care you are in is very low.
The logic of necessity, however, needs be mined. In no other service micro-economy than the hospital does the becoming subject yield so immediately and so thoroughly to normative discourses: data, but also, paradoxically (and explored here as a way to rethink it, to reimagine its use value for contemporary poetries), confession. For the conversation between doctor and patient is not dialogic, nor from the viewpoint of the patient, is it diagnostic; rather, the patient responding to clinical questions is a kind of confession, its poetry a kind of erotics. I explore the erotics of clinical discourse most directly in the book’s last section, “Guests,” where the roles, personae, and systems of power of the doctor and patient, or nurse and patient, intertwine, mingle, in a sense fuck their way out of their own use-values into a sphere of confessed exchange.
For every poetics of disablement, there is a disablement of poetry. A muting by constriction using the logic of the pharmacy (in its older, literal sense). Where writing begins, poetry often ends, and here the written is explored as assumed catastrophe captured (and thus also occulted) via knowledge-forms (clinical and other language games). What does the murmur and the silence that underlines clinical confession and confinement sound like? I come back to this question throughout the book, but most directly in part one (“Visitors”) and part two (“Depreciable Assets”), where in part two, the politics of the body as well as the politics of the hospital industrial complex are more directly approached, the scope (or in any case the lens) widened. In this latter part, television catastrophe—specifically the unfolding of the racially motivated destruction of lives as response to Hurricane Katrina, alongside the occupation of Iraq—come in and out of focus, for while writing this part of the book, these catastrophes were coming in and out of focus for me in real time, coming through in muted and alternately raw ways via the television’s (often barely vibrating) window pane.
It is through similar (mediating) vehicles that Nonsite Collective (with which I have become engaged), and Rob Halpern’s thick, “cosmetic” lyric (to use C.J. Martin’s term from his “An Open Letter,” ON, No. 2) tries to approach Katrina and other occulted disasters, and so here again this work, as time went on, situated itself as conversation with Nonsite and Halpern’s Disaster Suites. How we see, or rather how we negotiate what we do not—at times are not allowed to—see, differs substantially from new lyricism, I think partly because the contexts out of which the poetry emerges differ substantially. And yet, the poetics overlaps substantially. Why? Halpern’s work, the lyric of both now and “impossibly” a de-militarized future, stand as the de-coded messages set to self-destruct (“noise” and “racket” as two terms employed by Schoenberg’s critics to counter the composer’s claim that his suites counted as “music” come to mind when thinking about the lyrics of both Disaster Suites and the Medical Industrial Complex). Hospitology treats confession with not so dissimilar questions, yet employs poetic forms related (lyric and confession share what, if not Voice ordinarily understood?), but only so. Subject multiple, voice the sublation by which a fractured, indeed “liquidated” individual “scrounges” (to use K. Lorraine Grahm’s term) or eavesdrops for the occulted sounds and silences of that very liquidation (call it counter-intelligence), how, if at all, can we matter? In what sense can the confessional poem of the “submerged being” (Baldwin) do the work of performing sociopolitical surgery, not curative, but exploratory, as an accompaniment to established forms of protest? This is, in part, a question of the reader’s re-entry post-poetic trauma slash anesthetic. Which is to ask a seemingly obvious (or nonsensical, depending on one’s preferred epistemological framework) question of where the poem (body) is located. Surely it isn’t located here, on the page. Then, where? Place and confession, once deeply complicated, become interesting zero-points of departure for discussions about why poetry (embodied) might have anything whatsoever to do with matters of social and economic justice – where here the background assumption is that they do.
Hospitalogy hopes to work through these questions, pinpointing its critique from the self-dissolving standpoint of reimagining confession within the hospital complex. Here quasi-lyric as letter (a letter form that has yet to be recognized as such) is how I begin.
So, Hospitalogy is a book of place, but also non-place, or place of imagining, hence activity. It is time-specific and in conversation, at points critical, of a poetics of patiency, specifically Rob Halpern’s, and so deeply indebted to his poetry and poetics. Hospitalogy is as close to atopic, therefore, as I think any of my poems have come, often in “infinite conversation” (Blanchot) with Halpern’s reimagining lyric cum social relationships, which involves a sustained conversation with Oppen and his work, which is often very much a critique of Whitman’s employment of lyric (e.g., in Drum Taps), and so is therefore in conversation with Whitman’s work itself. My essaying of Halpern’s deeply important poetry and poetics here takes on a somewhat elegiac mode, as opposed to critiquing/questioning counterfactually and from within any value poetry, including lyric, might have for matters of social and economic justice, as I do with a “companion” book of poems, Occultations (forth. 2010).
Despite certain conversational specificities (locales, poetic tropes, etc), there is necessarily detour that goes with the movement from one psychogeography to the other, from one cycle of poems to another, as these are (ironically) ambulatory poems indebted to the modes and methods employed by poets such as Jules Boykoff, Kaia Sand, Kristin Prevallet, and Catherine Taylor. I tried to be captured by these grid lines in the shifting and, as it would turn out during the handwriting of these poems (initially as letters to friends and my partner), the ambiguous use of pronouns and modifiers, tones, metrics, and quasi-lyrics. The line (and its accordant breaks) used me to sharpen and/or flatten this ambiguity, both aurally and visually, I think.
Perhaps the anonymity one enjoys anywhere, but hotels in particular, is the implicit self-sameness of moving through space with having some destination in mind. It fucks up the temporal order, objectifies time, and so we often think much will impress itself on us, imbue our masks with more detail. The paradox of the hospital stay – the sort of derive one can take the time to go on while yet forced into this particular ecosystem (and here Halpern’s poetics of patiency, specifically here the subject giving oneself over to another within the context of the medical industrial complex, is a problematic that sets itself up over and again in these poems), it brings out strangeness and also the overvaluation of perceived solipsism, and/or agency - what Blanchot refers to as the idea of a “unitary being.”
A few of the poems are co-written in an overt sense, i.e., were worked out by myself and another via correspondence, then me shaping that correspondence into a poem. These are indicated as author credits. However, other poems paraphrase, riff, and sometimes quote books that I brought with me during my times away. I’ve included these titles at the end of this book.
DW, 3/25/09, Olympia
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Advancing Feminist Poetics & Activism - Belladonna Series Sept 24-5
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Books Forthcoming
I'm oddly thrilled to announce the imminent publication of two books, each of which represents a constellation of preoccupations: the written as dross, eulogy, or shaped data of poetry (an anarchist poetics of sorts that starts with Whitman's "I am the multitudes" and goes from there); and the medical industrial complex irrupting as and interrupted by body, confession - the doctor-patient discourse as confessional.
{eulogy for scrape}
after linh dinh
missing c voweling to play cf side
board air bag you can bet your $$ you
don’t have or export letters sending
post-haste, and if outsource then aleatory
emoticon, and if air left, bag of prepackaged
economic parlance your macros on, desk you
bashful top then pillow me zoned for backpage pleasure hunt
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Military/Police Spy on Evergreen/Olympia Anti-War Protesters
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Thom Donovan's Make Believe, Now Availabe Through Wheelhouse Press
Thom Donovan's new chapbook, Make Believe, is now available for free download here, via the Wheelhouse website, and via the Wheelhouse Press Good Reads Group Page. Do go to Good Reads and give the work a shout-out, help spread the word. Remember, it's largely word of mouth that gets poetry books into people's hands.
Make Believe, broken into sections, each of which explores, plays with, and critiques specific filmic tropes and conventions, jumps from these explorations as more-than-ekphrastic-springboards into the oft ignored poetic waters of belief, event, and the material conditions of our epistemological assumptions around what is public and what is private, what is use and what is using, what is other and what is othering. With the deeply thoughtful poetics and politics Donovan is known for, these poems both attack and nurse the body-as-proprioceptive-reactive becoming. And as often the case with Donovan's work, the ear is shaken first.
Wheelhouse Press is very pleased to announce the publication of this, the ninth e-chap, in our ongoing series. Cover design by Thom Donovan, David Wolach, and Gianna D'Emilio.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Books Received
Friday, August 28, 2009
Where's Wolach Been? Language & Thinking 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Adorno's Noise - discussion to come
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
New PRESS Anthology - Small Press News
A huge thank you to Susana & Dusie Press. As always, the work excites, the project enormous, & the design work gorgeous - viz. book arts, as usual for Dusie, exploring on its own terms the possibilities & limitations of the electronic artist book.