Rauan Klassnik
http://rauanklassnik.blogspot.com
author of three collections: Sky Rat (Spork, 2014), The Moon's Jaw (Black Ocean, 2013) and Holy Land (Black Ocean, 2008) ... ----- @klassnik ------
A Seth Abramson Sighting—-
blogging again, woo-hoo!!!
Seth’s blogging again (The Suburan Ecstasies). And this time he’s butting heads with Mr. and Mrs. Lehman…..
That was the last contact of any kind I had with Mr. Lehman or his wife–the last time I spent more than a moment thinking of either him or her. When I wrote my methodology article for the Poets & Writers MFA rankings in 2009, I didn’t (needless to say) mention either of the Lehmans, or single out his employer, as the MFA rankings have absolutely nothing to do with the Lehmans generally or with Mr. Lehman’s employer specifically. So when Mrs. Lehman (Ms. Harwood) decided to pick a fight with me over the rankings I was (though perhaps I should not have been) more than a little surprised–as her blog, the official blog for the Best American Poetry series, normally has absolutely nothing to do with MFA programs, so there was no obvious reason for her to pen a screed about either the rankings or about me
To see it all go here.
I’m just glad to see Seth back in his real blogging shoes. I mean this man was meant to blog. So, love him or hate him, just enjoy. Just stand in the Seth-showers and enjoy !!!
Zuid Afrika – “I’ll fuck the pair of you” (Catullus)
the flag
One of the many things that drives me crazy (and it’s a wonder I’m not completely insane) is when people confuse me for my poetry. Thursday night I read in Houston. It was great. Dark bar. Lots of people. Rain outside. Organizers and audience warm and friendly. Except one person was too friendly. A fellow South African expat who thought that since we’d shared some common experience (so long ago) that we were now naturally and immediately blood brothers. (I also get this sort of thing for being Jewish). And he kept talking in Afrikaans which was cute at first.
“Your poetry made my balls tingle,” he told me, drunk, insistent, strange. But at least in English now. He just wouldn’t go away. Spoke about his mentor/teacher who’d just renounced everything and gone off to Tibet for a year. He’d be following soon. Not soon enough, I thought to myself. How about right now? And then things became more uncomfortable.
“But i didn’t like it when you made yourself a woman. That surprised me. That puzzled me.” And he looked so disappointed. And had also the look of a dangerous and unpredictable drunk who might at any moment start beating me up or even kill me. (I’m not a small person but it was nice at this point to have at my side the tall and solid figure of Gene Morgan).
The Stupid Fucking “Tourist-Castle” Poem
The Tourist-Castle Poet Takes it !! (phase 1 of proposed torture)
I hate, I hate, I hate, I just fucking hate the stupid fucking Tourist-Castle poem.
Yes, I’ve just had it with this retarded, anemic variety of the Tourist poem. Almost all Tourist or Travel poems suck. But this one’s got super-human suction lips!
This poem is where some jackoff tourist (I borrow the word jackoff from Ted Berrigan talking about Irish Jackoffs trying to be radio waves at a St. Patrick’s Day parade), sits at a cafe or a park by a castle. Feels a glow. At peace. The most wonderful beautiful feeling ever. Like someone discovering the magic of sex. But worse! And then just has to write it down. In their notebook. Or, worse, on a napkin. Blah, blah.
These scourge poems invariably are titled something like:
“Lines Written at the Cafe Twimbledon across from the Castle Twimbledon, Twimbledon, Scotland, March 4, 2004” ……..(and if the poem WAS written on a napkin that makes it into the title too!
These poems are inevitable. Drop a novice poet in a foreign country and he’ll find a castle in two fucking seconds and the poem will be written, effortlessly, magically, on the spot (O Scourge!) and foisted on to some adoring public in some shitass review full of beautiful glowing Tourist-Castle poems. I’m just waiting for a review called The Tourist-Castle Review so I can bomb their fucking cars and offices.
Berrigan liked to beat people up. He liked Michaux for this same reason. I invoke you both now gentlemen: your fists and your swords and your delicate medieval torture instruments. And let’s push these fucking tourist poets down into the basements of the castles they so glowingly and sickeningly sang about. And let’s rack them and sack them and quarter them and make them eat thousands and thousands of Tourist-Castle Poems. And let’s suck the bowels from their asses with contraptions built especially for the purpose. Or, for lack of availability or simply for variety, a starving street rat.
The Redneck Trilogy
The Redneck Trilogy
(Danny Dever – Phoenix)
Cowering Literary Peons
This post’s a bit apples and oranges. Or rotten bananas and rotten (or as we say “Vrot”) pineapples. In fact it’s not very organized. And it is a response, in a way, to Blake Butler’s 15 Towering Literary Giants.
But, what’s a Cowering Literary Peon??
—a weasel?
—an overrated supposed Giant?
—a talentless p.o.s.?
—a fucking weasel?
—a fraction and no more than a real Towering Giant who came before?
A mix maybe. Or maybe just one of the above. And again, this is all apples and bananas. Etc. Etc.
What’s Right & What’s Wrong #1: Reb Livingston
(This is the first in an interview series: What’s Right and What’s Wrong with the Small Press World ?)
QUESTION ONE (Rauan Klassnik): What’s right and what’s wrong with the small press world?
ANSWER ONE (Reb Livingston): There’s a lot that’s right. There’s thousands of gatekeepers and thousands of others sneaking in the side. I like that. I like that on an almost daily basis I stumble across a magazine, press or website I never heard of before. Try as I might, I can’t keep up. That’s good. Nobody should be able to keep up. I like that the traditional publishing tower is beginning to topple. It’s time to start over. Tear that shit down. I’m waiting for someone to radically change how literature gets to readers. Or what it means. Or something I can’t even comprehend at this very moment. Yes, it’s changed a lot already this past decade and changing right as I write this, but I’m talking about something few of us can imagine. It’s going to come from an individual or a small group of people. That’s the only prediction I feel comfortable making. It’s not going to come from Amazon or Random House or Conde Nast (snort!) or a university (which these days are run more and more like wannabe corporations, despite some of the fabulous people they employ as teachers and staff).
The 2nd Outlet
Blake, famously, illustrated his poems. Henri Michaux was an accomplished and renowned artist as well as a “master” prose poet. Archie Ammons painted (my friend Brian Clements owns a bunch of originals). Flannery O’Connor too. And she recommended it for writers.
And I recommend “it” too. And by “it” I mean some other form of creativity besides writing. “Real” writing (ha ha). Even blogging (??) can be this 2nd outlet of creativity.
I draw and smear around on paper. And take photos of it. And I find it quite rewarding. And in some way(s) I am sure this enhances and complements my writing.
But, as with anything else (wine, women, werewolves, etc) the 2nd creativity can become too much. An obsession. A distraction. (Blogging !!!!)
I’m not sure how successful I am in keeping the different disciplines in good check but one solution for me is to write and smear at different times of the day. And, in general, to just keep an eye on the situation.
I’m guessing that many of yall have a 2nd creative outlet and wanted to know how you keep it useful without it becoming a harmful distraction ? (that being said some writers may well be better artists or whatnot and, so, the 2nd creative outlet SHOULD take over…..)
The Ipod as Writing Tool (Don’t Worry This is a “Clean” Post)
My Ipod’s become an instrumental (ha ha) part of my writing.
Charles Simic said something like “Chance is the key that gets me out of the prison of myself. Well, then in this way and in others also, my Ipod’s a key.
First, I use it to generate poems. I record bits and pieces and save the files on to my Ipod, organizing them into appropriate playlist. Bits of the news, pieces from magazines. Bits of fiction and pieces of poetry. Things I’ve heard people say. Descriptions of landscape. Whatever. Etc. Then using the Ipod’s shuffle feature I generate 10-12 piece units (the number can and does of course vary). This is a starting point block of text that I then manually edit on the page.
I also use my Ipod for editing pieces that I think are done or close to. I record these pieces and put them on a playlist. Then (in bed or walking around or using the bathroom–damn, this was supposed to be “clean”–etc etc) I listen to them and make the edits in my head.
When I’m stuck manually revising and need a bit of color for example (like Jean Follain said) I’ll use the Ipod’s shuffle to generate me plenty of word/phrase/image options from which to choose. And then I’ll play around with those “colors” and see if I can make something work.
Of course I also use the Ipod to listen to music while writing or revising.
And the Ipod’s also useful when I’m organizing a book or chapbook. I put the poems (pieces) in a playlist and then using the Shuffle I get these strange and sometimes useful sequences that I would have trouble coming up with on my own. And, in the end, I sometimes use some of these orderings the machine creates. At the very least it’s amusing.
I’m wondering who else may be using the Ipod in similar ways. Or differently?
And I’m also interested in knowing what other methods of chance composition you guys (and gals) may be using to lead you out of the prison (or into the labyrinth) of the self.
(Simic I think just used to randomly take books off the shelf and open them to random pages. And sometimes did this with James Tate. Perhaps in the nude, with pastries. Perhaps.
Damn, this was going to be “clean”!!!)
Circumcision
On our way to the Mall today (DC) we passed some Circumcision demonstrators holding up signs like “Circumcision Decreases Sensation” and “Circumcision is Torture.” And, indeed, Circumcision is a touchy subject with many interesting ethical pros and cums. But, honestly, when it comes to circumcision there’s only one legitimate question:
Does Circumcision make you a better or a worse writer? (it must have some effect, right ??)
If it makes you a worse writer then I want the procedure reversed. I want to be uncircumcised. And I want to talk to that cold-hearted bastard of a rabbi who took the knife to me 42 years ago and who therefore was no true patron of the arts.
If it’s better to be circumcised then great. And, thanks Reb (Rabbi). You did a great job.
And keep snipping !!!