Another Something Happening for You City Folk
I know there’s never anything going on in NYC, but tomorrow night it looks like there’s an exception. Certainly it’s something I would attend if I wasn’t four hours away: the release party for Jon Cotner and Andy Fitch’s book, 10 Walks/2 Talks, now published by Ugly Duckling Presse.
At McNally Jackson Booksellers in Soho — 52 Prince St
7pm
Here is the Time Out NY write-up.
This book looks to be fantastic. Definitely a great cover of 2009 (my post on this is forthcoming, late). The concept for the writing is that Jon and Andy walked around Manhattan and talked about stuff. I had the privilege of running one of their talks in Everyday Genius (read it).
They seem like pretty cool guys.
Shane Jones in German
Here’s another one to add to the translations list:
And here’s an interview with Shane in German.
Rule of Threes (Plus One)
Duke Basketball 1991-92, the year they beat the Fab Five.
(In the end-of-an-era spirit of looking back)
1. I go back to Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison’s apocalyptic/environmental art-photography often. The Architect’s Brother pretty much inspired all of the poetry I wrote in my early twenties. In book form, there’s an essay by W.S. Merwin called “Unchopping a Tree.” It begins:
Start with the leaves, the small twigs, and the nests that have been shaken, ripped, or broken off by the fall; these must be gathered and attached once again to their respective places.
No Easy Cure for Novel-Nausea
Zadie Smith has a long essay in The Guardian that is half about David Shields’s forthcoming, Reality Hunger: A Manifesto, and half about her own frustration with novel writing. Go read it. It’s longish, but it is completely worth the time. I am not going to include an excerpt here. Once you’ve read all of it, read the rest of this entry. READ MORE >
From Kim Chinquee’s Facebook feed:
Beginning with the January 2010 issue, noted writer and teacher Kim Chinquee will be editor for fiction and creative nonfiction at elimae. Writers should make their submissions in those fields to Kim beginning on November 30 at kimchinquee (at) gmail (dot) com. Cooper Renner will remain editor for poetry, literary essays and reviews, and interviews. Welcome to Kim!
West Coast Things To Hear Out Loud
Want to hear people read drunk sonnets and other things? Here are some places you can hear them soon on the West Coast:
SATURDAY NOVEMBER 21st: SEATTLE, WA
Daniel Bailey + Evelyn Hampton
7PM @ Pilot Books: 219 Broadway E, Seattle, WASUNDAY NOVEMBER 22nd: PORTLAND, OR
Daniel Bailey + Matthew Simmons + TBA
7PM @ Ampersand Books: 2916 NE Alberta St., Suite B, Portland, ORMONDAY NOVEMBER 23rd: ASHLAND, OR
EMERGENT FORMS: A 21st-CENTURY READING SERIES
Daniel Bailey + Lacey Hunter
7PM @ Bohemia Gallery: 552 ‘A’ St, Ashland, ORWEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 25th: OAKLAND, CA
Daniel Bailey + Chelsea Martin + Bucky Sinister + more
6PM @ Caldecott Office Space: 5251 Broadway, Oakland, CA
In Memoriam Blake Butler (1979-2009)
on the train... receding, receding, receding.... (sniff, sniff)
Yes, sadly, Blake Butler passed away last night. The omnipresent electronic friend-of-everyone expired in an insomnia-induced rage of language and, like the Monty Python parrot in that famous sketch, is now an ex-Blake.
No more, alas, will schoolboy-grinning Blake Butler apocalypse creation in every sentence. No, strike that! In every phrase! No, strike that! In every syllable.
Make room now O Pantheon of young ones ripped from us far too early. Jesus, move over. Joan of Arc, a little to the left. Catullus, get your cock out of JFK’s ass. And give Blake some space. (and Seth, quit gawking).
And, Mr. Chicago pastry-delicacy chef get your ass in gear (so safe on earth) and start on something. Seth was a swan– what will you make of Blake? A peanut butter rabbit? A marshmallow weasel? A treacle beagle? woof-woof!
And just thinking now of Man’s Best-Friend I am bawling. Bawling, bawling, bawling.
What internet void has our great leader Blake Butler left? What cold and massive black hole of rubbish will form around his e-grave?
And, no, Blake Butler is not dead. This is a fake obit.
And I’d like to see more actually. Bring them on.
Greener (and sweeter) pastures now-- bawl, bawl, bawl,.....
Steve Richmond has passed.
Steve Richmond, the subject of Mike Daily’s essay Gagaku Meat which I wrote about here, passed away on the 20th of October. Daily’s Richmond tribute group, Mr Viced Honest, performed for a final time on October 31.
I haven’t seen an obit anywhere. Mike, would you like to write one for us?
Warm Milk Printing Press
Warm Milk Printing Press is live out of the hands of Atlantan Ben Spivey and crew, dropping their first joint in February 2010 via David Peak’s quite excellent Museum of Fucked.
Warm Milk Press is the publisher of handmade chapbooks. We publish 1- 2 books per year. At this time, we do not accept unsolicited manuscripts, but you can submit to our online literary journal here.
Check these fresh heads out, and preorder David’s chapbook. It’s a real faceeater. 7 blurbs on the site agree.
See also David’s recent interview with Keith Nathan Brown at his blog.
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).