Thursday, May 28, 2009
little well
little well I look so down in the poetry mirror. there is not much difference i say very little differential. on fields from another: they look likely like one and sum slipping some slippy no big dif between the not yet famous the not yet famous-er in owning this poetry well-ness I tell you my leaf wish gone down the readership onwards and upstarted everpresent poetry poncho I am a good plum and that my friend is another plum
Monday, May 25, 2009
achoo
The Seventy Prepositions
rating: 3 of 5 stars
ok smart but *achoo* so wrought and I had a hard time catching all the drifts. See also *for crying out loud* a. very talented and b. geographically daring nude descending the stair and so c. hearkening across the shelves things inside of things. me d. exhausted.
View all my reviews.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
fie you sleepers
fie in the morning of the middle ages heavy is the head I hold up and drive with outgoing bedraggled a hatchet thru the sinews of the day fie fie the sleeping ones the ones curly cue asleep in a field of not-knowing of happenstance feathers a field of chickens sitting tucked in chinny chinness and shut-ness and down
Monday, May 18, 2009
Galveston
THE FLAGSHIP
It is the placement a place symbol, hurry clap hurry down the sea flagging down the seemly windup wishing hag grey bummer sea. Me ruiny seasoned ship meant to make good get crabs totally dashed out red things stitch me self a nest inside cheap swilling sea. Meant to watch ways around. Are. Time to bide.
THE HAIRS OF THE LORD
Thistles stick-on ropes sewn into sewn into the listless hair of the lord ye fishes switch between knowing things and known things step aside the not-hair sea. skin grows over the eyes of the sea looks blinkingly anti remembers what it was to look out don't trip sit on the sea and bob like
TO WHAT THEY ARE TO
Hairs to what they were to, attachments, nerves flash broken sequences, rebuilding instructions & a boat plops on an orchard & marries the trees they sway their noses touch speaking frankly we can't help it we love loops our hands make shady fronds over holy roofs the boat belly grows and is again dashed the words work into braids lace up the sun fill in the pool break off into sleep fraying the rain the rain the rain out comes
THE PRESIDENT
address the hot pot say you are seemly a representative a rare hamburger your pink airs stay shrimpy the ocean rises it wobbles it arms it makes spicy the feeling we now have a president drawing heads and tails on the chalkboard sea
THE HOUSING BUBBLE
picture a popout box bar crawling left to right coming soon the letter slot opens capital letter I for invisible capital letter to who the people ask making plans to meet up in florida drink juicy drinks the stiff sea is a wedge opening letter slot slightly enough the eels slip in capital E people lose faith the picture of the sea hangs on letter slot incoming florida coughs glottis open things flu in
It is the placement a place symbol, hurry clap hurry down the sea flagging down the seemly windup wishing hag grey bummer sea. Me ruiny seasoned ship meant to make good get crabs totally dashed out red things stitch me self a nest inside cheap swilling sea. Meant to watch ways around. Are. Time to bide.
THE HAIRS OF THE LORD
Thistles stick-on ropes sewn into sewn into the listless hair of the lord ye fishes switch between knowing things and known things step aside the not-hair sea. skin grows over the eyes of the sea looks blinkingly anti remembers what it was to look out don't trip sit on the sea and bob like
TO WHAT THEY ARE TO
Hairs to what they were to, attachments, nerves flash broken sequences, rebuilding instructions & a boat plops on an orchard & marries the trees they sway their noses touch speaking frankly we can't help it we love loops our hands make shady fronds over holy roofs the boat belly grows and is again dashed the words work into braids lace up the sun fill in the pool break off into sleep fraying the rain the rain the rain out comes
THE PRESIDENT
address the hot pot say you are seemly a representative a rare hamburger your pink airs stay shrimpy the ocean rises it wobbles it arms it makes spicy the feeling we now have a president drawing heads and tails on the chalkboard sea
THE HOUSING BUBBLE
picture a popout box bar crawling left to right coming soon the letter slot opens capital letter I for invisible capital letter to who the people ask making plans to meet up in florida drink juicy drinks the stiff sea is a wedge opening letter slot slightly enough the eels slip in capital E people lose faith the picture of the sea hangs on letter slot incoming florida coughs glottis open things flu in
rivers
# Alligator Creek : Bell County
# Arroyo Colorado : Harlingen, Texas 4-10-08
# Arroyo Colorado : Mercedes, Texas 4-10-08
# Bear Creek : Kimble County
# Bull Creek : Austin Texas Feature 7-15-08
# Burnt Boot Creek : near Devine, Texas
# Calf Creek
# Cibolo Creek Park : Boerne, Texas
# Cowhouse Creek : Pottsville, Texas
# Dixon Creek : near Borger, Texas
# Medio Creek - Historical Marker : near Berclair & Goliad 2-16-09
# Onion Creek : Hays County 4-23-08
# Pecan Bayou : Burkett, Texas 4-14-08
# Pederson Creek : McLean, Texas
# Perdido Creek : Fannin, Texas 3-20-08
# Rancho Viejo
# Salado : W.A. Pace Park, Salado Creek Feature
# South Prong Creek : Sabine County
# Woman Hollering Creek Feature
# Arroyo Colorado : Harlingen, Texas 4-10-08
# Arroyo Colorado : Mercedes, Texas 4-10-08
# Bear Creek : Kimble County
# Bull Creek : Austin Texas Feature 7-15-08
# Burnt Boot Creek : near Devine, Texas
# Calf Creek
# Cibolo Creek Park : Boerne, Texas
# Cowhouse Creek : Pottsville, Texas
# Dixon Creek : near Borger, Texas
# Medio Creek - Historical Marker : near Berclair & Goliad 2-16-09
# Onion Creek : Hays County 4-23-08
# Pecan Bayou : Burkett, Texas 4-14-08
# Pederson Creek : McLean, Texas
# Perdido Creek : Fannin, Texas 3-20-08
# Rancho Viejo
# Salado : W.A. Pace Park, Salado Creek Feature
# South Prong Creek : Sabine County
# Woman Hollering Creek Feature
Sunday, May 17, 2009
the physics of languishing language
Good things this weekend at the Motion Graphics Festival in Austin. With all the talk about post-screenal interfaces and ubiquitous computing, I felt transported back to my old Georgia Tech classes and labs. Not a bad feeling, but I couldn't help but think of how far I've strayed from notions of the digital. I mean, folk art, poetry and handmade crafts are a far cry from pondering how types of files should 'feel' when you touch them. Or maybe not...
Thinking about new media again made me ever more resolute about what a book should (and shouldn't) aspire to. I thought about Susan Howe's Souls of the Labadie Tract and it's always-insistence on pages, page-turning, how text is cut and manipulated, how necessarily the elements of the book are bound together. Could this book not be a book? Could all the words exist digitally and retain its essence? I don't think so. The book needs to be held like a book. Touched like a book.
But this isn't really true for a lot of poets today. I could read a great lot of them on one of those digital readers (if I had one). I wouldn't really need to turn the page or touch the margin. Their books don't require it. Maybe because many writers write poems, groups of poems, collections of poems. And a poem can be screenal, be digital.
Anyways. it's of no surprise that the thing at the festival that most reminded me of poetry was one of the more ridiculous performances. Dr. Bleep, a self-proclaimed 'noisologist,' performed last night with his bleeping robots. It was quite impressive actually. The robots have a light-sensitive stripe on their 'faces' react when in contact with a light-source (which is conveniently attached to the little guy's head). You can control the pitch and volume with nobs on the front and sides.
I know the clip sounds kind of obnoxious, but when you get ten or fifteen of these things going and you know what you're doing -- it's brilliant. The term 'mad scientist' comes to mind. The term 'spaceship,' because of 'space' and 'ship.' The room was filled with the sound, completely irrational sound, tipping toward the chaotic but batted down again by its own physical conception, it's own childishness. Seeing what you hear. Touching what you hear. Completely twisted sound attempting extra-humananity, John Cage-ish zen, but evermore entrenched in the everyday ridiculousness of mouth, nose, face. I felt the same feeling of elation as a really good poetry reading. I keep trying to explain to myself -- why? Why this messy? Why this cutesy robo-trope? I'll get back to you if I figure it out.
Thinking about new media again made me ever more resolute about what a book should (and shouldn't) aspire to. I thought about Susan Howe's Souls of the Labadie Tract and it's always-insistence on pages, page-turning, how text is cut and manipulated, how necessarily the elements of the book are bound together. Could this book not be a book? Could all the words exist digitally and retain its essence? I don't think so. The book needs to be held like a book. Touched like a book.
But this isn't really true for a lot of poets today. I could read a great lot of them on one of those digital readers (if I had one). I wouldn't really need to turn the page or touch the margin. Their books don't require it. Maybe because many writers write poems, groups of poems, collections of poems. And a poem can be screenal, be digital.
Anyways. it's of no surprise that the thing at the festival that most reminded me of poetry was one of the more ridiculous performances. Dr. Bleep, a self-proclaimed 'noisologist,' performed last night with his bleeping robots. It was quite impressive actually. The robots have a light-sensitive stripe on their 'faces' react when in contact with a light-source (which is conveniently attached to the little guy's head). You can control the pitch and volume with nobs on the front and sides.
I know the clip sounds kind of obnoxious, but when you get ten or fifteen of these things going and you know what you're doing -- it's brilliant. The term 'mad scientist' comes to mind. The term 'spaceship,' because of 'space' and 'ship.' The room was filled with the sound, completely irrational sound, tipping toward the chaotic but batted down again by its own physical conception, it's own childishness. Seeing what you hear. Touching what you hear. Completely twisted sound attempting extra-humananity, John Cage-ish zen, but evermore entrenched in the everyday ridiculousness of mouth, nose, face. I felt the same feeling of elation as a really good poetry reading. I keep trying to explain to myself -- why? Why this messy? Why this cutesy robo-trope? I'll get back to you if I figure it out.
Bent NYC '08 - Dr. Bleep from Dr. Bleep on Vimeo.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
white cloud mountain fish
isnt this blanket question: the sea:
big top of the sea turns white & turns white
at the bottom of cottonmouth sea
onion sea burnt boot sea
the makeup of fish is absolutely
abstract is as abstract as
it rains on
jelly roses
it days for night
the question of metal sequences drags
along
the negative preview sear
big top of the sea turns white & turns white
at the bottom of cottonmouth sea
onion sea burnt boot sea
the makeup of fish is absolutely
abstract is as abstract as
it rains on
jelly roses
it days for night
the question of metal sequences drags
along
the negative preview sear
in schools
- - - - - - - - tape & erasers
- - - - - - - - hands in schools
I call you no I don’t
southernfacing I call running
along the edges of the state
how long, the long
- - - - - - - - - est number
- - - - - - - - - gives out
- - - - - - - - - - - - touched
- - - - - - - - - - - - , except for occasional light stirring
- - - - - - - - - - - - for years without ever being
- - - - - - - - - - - - the bottom of the surface
- - - - - - - - hands in schools
I call you no I don’t
southernfacing I call running
along the edges of the state
how long, the long
- - - - - - - - - est number
- - - - - - - - - gives out
- - - - - - - - - - - - touched
- - - - - - - - - - - - , except for occasional light stirring
- - - - - - - - - - - - for years without ever being
- - - - - - - - - - - - the bottom of the surface
shoes
in place in
a stone of water –
a week is stone
each step,- - - - one is
- - - - - - - - - a light unit
- - - - - - - - - a minute
cut your own hair your head
is beautiful household outline
shotgun yellow
yellow shoe stars pieces of flowers
yellow birds shoe
alights the wires shoes they
pair of
waterpushed
ones
a stone of water –
a week is stone
each step,- - - - one is
- - - - - - - - - a light unit
- - - - - - - - - a minute
cut your own hair your head
is beautiful household outline
shotgun yellow
yellow shoe stars pieces of flowers
yellow birds shoe
alights the wires shoes they
pair of
waterpushed
ones
square inches
the river is high necessarily high
is long stint square inches river ever
a hyperbole
obviously a blank cart
the surface theoretically available
on the other hand of fish
are the same roundish selves
- - - - - indicates angelshifts &
your basic torpedoes
- - - - - - - - - neon
- - - - - - - - - minnows
to coin a phase
freshwater management
wet matter whether riverwe
consider staying the motion
or onetwothree
edit into
the sea
is long stint square inches river ever
a hyperbole
obviously a blank cart
the surface theoretically available
on the other hand of fish
are the same roundish selves
- - - - - indicates angelshifts &
your basic torpedoes
- - - - - - - - - neon
- - - - - - - - - minnows
to coin a phase
freshwater management
wet matter whether riverwe
consider staying the motion
or onetwothree
edit into
the sea
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Aspen Sante Fe Ballet
Friday night I went to the Aspen Santa Fe Ballet. A very pleasant experience considering my expectations were low and I was up in the cheapseats. They performed pieces by three different choreographers: Twyla Tharp, Jorma Elo, and Moses Pendelton.
I went to the ballet specifically to see the first piece: Sweet Fields, choreographed by Twyla Tharp. It's set to Shaker hymns, which were so gorgeous I would have bought a ticket just to listen to them (unfortunately they were recorded, not live). The movements where modeled after traditional Shaker worship. ** A side note, Shakers haven't really shaken in a long time, they just walk around in a circle swinging their hands up to their chest and down again. ** But Tharp definitely knows this and the translation/interpretation is pretty effective, esp the kicks as they relate to that Shaker arm-swing. The dancers' outfits were also perfect: these charming loosely hanging shirts added the right amount of lightness to some pretty heavy movements/gestures. To me, that's what worship is all about: the heavy and the light.
Ever since I've seen the documentary on Shakers I've been sort of obsessed with their relationship to activity/activities. Shakers were sort of like worker bees: but bees for the glory of God. Since they weren't judgmental or witch hunters or into other crazy isolationist acts (maybe the no-sex things seems crazy, but it makes sense to me), their thing was activity and craftsmanship. I keep wondering about that relationship to activity. How does it bring one closer to God? A question for the cosmos I suppose, but I was secretly wishing the dance would get into this question. Unfortunately it didn't, but the dance was still very lovely and personable (which is an odd word to describe a dance, but apt).
The second dance was choreographed by Jorma Elo. A few weeks ago I saw 'Lost on SLOW', a piece of his, but felt wishywashy about it. I was really shocked how much I enjoyed this one (I can't remember the name). Where Lost to SLOW seemed to be dancing about dancing (like ballet was looking into the mirror and making faces), this piece felt like a balletic romp. A pure system, instead of trying to figure out what to be (I believe the other piece sort of tried to be 'puppeting' dance or some such thing). And so energetic and new. Yay! I'm now a fan and can't wait to see another.
The last piece is hardly worth talking about, but was a real crowdpleaser. In Noir Blanc, choreographed by Moses Pendelton, dancers appeared to be black-lit aliens wearing half-black, half-white suits. Projected on a semi-translucent screen, pictures of planets and other-worldlinesses slowly panned to the beat of quintessentially new age tunes. The dance was mostly just creating optical forms and illusions in the glowing suits. [and the audience says 'ahhhhhhh'] Snore. I guess you have to pay your bills somehow. Jorma certainly isn't for everyone...
I went to the ballet specifically to see the first piece: Sweet Fields, choreographed by Twyla Tharp. It's set to Shaker hymns, which were so gorgeous I would have bought a ticket just to listen to them (unfortunately they were recorded, not live). The movements where modeled after traditional Shaker worship. ** A side note, Shakers haven't really shaken in a long time, they just walk around in a circle swinging their hands up to their chest and down again. ** But Tharp definitely knows this and the translation/interpretation is pretty effective, esp the kicks as they relate to that Shaker arm-swing. The dancers' outfits were also perfect: these charming loosely hanging shirts added the right amount of lightness to some pretty heavy movements/gestures. To me, that's what worship is all about: the heavy and the light.
Ever since I've seen the documentary on Shakers I've been sort of obsessed with their relationship to activity/activities. Shakers were sort of like worker bees: but bees for the glory of God. Since they weren't judgmental or witch hunters or into other crazy isolationist acts (maybe the no-sex things seems crazy, but it makes sense to me), their thing was activity and craftsmanship. I keep wondering about that relationship to activity. How does it bring one closer to God? A question for the cosmos I suppose, but I was secretly wishing the dance would get into this question. Unfortunately it didn't, but the dance was still very lovely and personable (which is an odd word to describe a dance, but apt).
The second dance was choreographed by Jorma Elo. A few weeks ago I saw 'Lost on SLOW', a piece of his, but felt wishywashy about it. I was really shocked how much I enjoyed this one (I can't remember the name). Where Lost to SLOW seemed to be dancing about dancing (like ballet was looking into the mirror and making faces), this piece felt like a balletic romp. A pure system, instead of trying to figure out what to be (I believe the other piece sort of tried to be 'puppeting' dance or some such thing). And so energetic and new. Yay! I'm now a fan and can't wait to see another.
The last piece is hardly worth talking about, but was a real crowdpleaser. In Noir Blanc, choreographed by Moses Pendelton, dancers appeared to be black-lit aliens wearing half-black, half-white suits. Projected on a semi-translucent screen, pictures of planets and other-worldlinesses slowly panned to the beat of quintessentially new age tunes. The dance was mostly just creating optical forms and illusions in the glowing suits. [and the audience says 'ahhhhhhh'] Snore. I guess you have to pay your bills somehow. Jorma certainly isn't for everyone...
Friday, May 8, 2009
texas another
feathers far be they
herons talking talking
diminishing ground
water levels
eunuch
the beat
ground go weary
heretofore
gentle white animations
upon
heretofore oversensitive
herons talking talking
diminishing ground
water levels
eunuch
the beat
ground go weary
heretofore
gentle white animations
upon
heretofore oversensitive
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Pastorelles by John Taggart
hello is a sign for rural engine going ruraler, ruraler between trees mud roads kinds of flowers kinds of. hello johnny sign language make me present in fields of kinds of flowers, present maker exuding, present bolts of fabric and tell me what. johnny maker break lines inevitable ability to break off curry favor quorum favors there are the birds. swooping in the latticework. i guess. i guess. i guess. works.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
swallow
swallow low windup heart thing swallow fly over my coffeeshop little black middlefold heart prop on my back of the boat a turner-over a dark card flipping up you swallow up and over black coffee the moment is only for a moment a swallow passer a slitted pair of shorts a lady heeding her handbag having never seen the swallow get over it this is a building just a building you a swallow only a little bit
Friday, May 1, 2009
chains of day
askwards what
kind of doggie was
it
it
it
was
a we
stopsign
Wyoming
planet ‘Wyoming’
cold to no
gentling guilden
plains
having said on the phone
‘not on the phone’
Herd the doggies calling them
shelves
drive in you
drivel gently
eat the house
drive you doggie gist
you paid for doinglight
wyoming
sheets of day
lying since
just
on golden cloths
tufts
guarding all the objects in the room
tufts
kind of doggie was
it
it
it
was
a we
stopsign
Wyoming
planet ‘Wyoming’
cold to no
gentling guilden
plains
having said on the phone
‘not on the phone’
Herd the doggies calling them
shelves
drive in you
drivel gently
eat the house
drive you doggie gist
you paid for doinglight
wyoming
sheets of day
lying since
just
on golden cloths
tufts
guarding all the objects in the room
tufts
Shana Moulton
The Mountain Where Everything Is Upside Down
by Shana Moulton
I love this. Especially when the stuff on her bookcase follows her around. Makes me feel a little sheepish about my 'mystical' collections of folk art and books I have laying everywhere.
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