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Friday, December 16, 2005

 

Tomorrow is my birthday. So what do my magi (hee hee) bring me?

Jeff Eaton sends in this lovely Xmas Mole, who cleverly fends off predators by disguising himself as a piece of holiday jollity:




And Dave Hatchett sends word of a poetic paean in Pakistan, sadly no longer to grace the propagandistic offerings of the public schools.

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Thursday, December 15, 2005

 

No Poems for You!

We're all out of Abecedarii, my friends. If you didn't get one, well, you gotta move on these things! New chaps shall issue in the new year, but it may take a while -- I'm thinking of actually shopping the poems around to journals instead of just stuffing them all in a chapbook right off the bat . . .

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Happy Promotional Yo-Yo Day!



Received: Issues 2 & 3 of Magazine CyPress. Looking forward to going through these.

Progress on Applies to Oranges? Glad you asked. We're up to 42.

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Wednesday, December 14, 2005

 

Started reading Coltsfoot Insularity. You had me at "Ants in the carpet, oh vom!"

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I dreamt I had beautiful hair and an amazing, new kind of poem. Alas, I woke to find neither was true.

Suffering ongoing jealousy resulting from other people's sea imagery: see here and here.

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Monday, December 12, 2005

 

Purchased: The Book of Jon, by Eleni Sikelianos

Noting the following equation: The Jam's "Beat Surrender" = Instant Good Mood

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Drop me a line

Hey, world. Give me a line. I will write a poem from or for it. It's just that easy!

In the meantime, here's Applies to Oranges XXXIV, as written during Louis Warsh's reading on Sunday. If second generation New York school poets are good for anything, it's inspiration.


Rules are rules. You lose if you mention
nuclear war. Things never end that way.
Instead, in a foreign city, white with tile,
An ad for oranges puts you in mind
Of an island rifled with spiders, of the ship
That took you away. The anchorman shines
The Zenith from the inside out- plaid
Sleeves wiping glass. He's alone
in the studio, but must let the world know:
Coordinates are programmed. The troops
Are on their way. God bless us all.
End transmission. Behind the red screen
of your eyelids, a host of ghostly oranges
Rises up and the horizon lines give way.

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Sunday, December 11, 2005

 

Received: Coltsfoot Insularity, by Jess Mynes and Aaron Tieger

Gonna be a busy poetry week: revising two chapbook manuscripts and preparing a third to go off to a contest-type thingy. Hey -- you never know if you never try.

Still no further along on my "I'll have my own press" idea -- that might be a bit slow in development. Also, the recent purchase of a couch has both put a dent in my pocketbook and, by providing a place in front of the tv where I can comfortably lie at full length, exacerbated my already deadly case of poetic procrastination.

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