Charles Olson at Goddard College

I'm just about to start teaching the summer term, reading the Imaginary Syllabi all the while, and what lands in my mailbox? Another book about pedagogy (well, maybe indirectly about pedagogy) by one of the great American pedagogues: Charles Olson at Goddard College: April 12-14, 1962. This particular transcript of Olson at work was immaculately produced by the great Kyle Schlesinger for Cuneiform Press, so there's no doubt it found the form it had to take: the design is clean and crisp throughout, printed large-format on super heavy and glossy paper with a foreword by Basil King and an introduction by Schlesinger (with very helpful and thoroughly researched notes throughout). Kyle transcribed this version from the tapes at Goddard while an undergraduate at the same institution, and exhumed the transcripts while participating in an Olson/Melville study group with Creeley and others at Buffalo. Like all Cuneiform books, Olson at Goddard must be seen and held in order to fully appreciate the artistry: the text somehow pops off the page even though it's offset (due to the paper perhaps?), so one can literally feel the material presence of language while reading... But the main event here, of course, is Olson's wild and ecstatic teaching style, which somehow feels perfectly composed and calculated and totally wild and out of control. Schlesinger sets the stage with the perfect epigraph—a letter from Olson to Hank Chapin composed a few weeks after the Goddard sessions:

"What the young know is the price today is huge, and already are clear that institutions are dinosaurs and sanctions are pitiful gasps and procedures all gone dead in their mouths and minds. The task wld seem to be to get the new things sorted and straight for all to have some idea of paths or procedures to follow (other than abandonment and suicide). Guerilla and soft."

I had some issues with Kristin Prevallet's course description in Imaginary Syllabi ("You will learn what you already know and will know what you haven't yet thought to learn"), but with Olson, I always trust that if you follow him, really let yourself inhabit moments of great doubt and scepticism while struggling with the shape of his thought, then Prevallet's axiom can be realized as a kind of pure teaching potential...

I'm struck by his generosity as a teacher—how part of the experience of learning is watching Olson, himself, learn what he's saying—literally learning with him. His pedagogy requires bravely embodying uncertainty and making oneself incredibly vulnerable in front of perfect strangers (who, from the outset, are searching for competency and mastery). The book is divided over two days: on April 12th, Olson reads from the Maximus Poems and The Distances, and on the 14th he delivers a lecture on Melville. I'm partial to the first set because it shows him negotiating his poetic (with all its complicated uncertainty), while performing to an audience who admit to knowing "fairly little" about his project. The result is totally charged and messy and revealing. Take the following rambling exchange for example: 

"CO: Oh boy, oh boy...I think I hit here on one of the real problems which is that that thing doesn't have idiomatic language, yet doesn't give that effect of being how well it might be reported and with no, uh—one of the boring things about most writing in America is slang, whether it's local or national or, like, in fact, the compliment in our cultural speech is a form of slang. That is, that deadness of our cultural, of our universal speech is just so dull, it's like dialectical, dialect, uh? I hate it. I would clean every—I myself would wish that all who spoke and wrote spoke always from a place that is new at that moment that they do speak and not hang up on any of the places from which they may have acquired their speech, whether it's putative, purposed, or personal. And I like, and I think really that's why I think (Gael) Turnbull really dug this poem, this thing was—some way or other, I'm getting somewhere a language thing there, which is, well...Who was sitting there? I just—did she just go? She asked me something and I went back to you, and—oh! There she is. Excuse me, for you had a question which I missed.      

UV: You were saying something about the edge of experience and I'm trying to connect that with a geographical...

CO: Yeah!

UV: ...point, that you mentioned.

CO:Yeah! Absolutely. Well, while you were out, I got to the point where I was saying that I believe even—I read another poem on that, "Cashes Shoal," and said that I almost would return to the very place, that somehow or another caused the fermentation. Yeah, let's talk wine, that kind of a thing. Each year you grow those damned grapes and make the wine from the same vine don't you? I mean you really do, so you go back. That's not a bad image. I mean, again, like, let's talk. I mean, again, like, that's what—I mean we had a wonderful conversation this afternoon, we had a wonderful conversation, and in fact I tried to read a poem of Duncan's from Trobar and I held this thing up and this guy Guthrie, "who is a learned man, said Strabo" he comes on strong because I guess he published a book called Trobar, or something, and so immediately, a very lively thing occurred: what does "trobar" mean, like? And we both had no trouble saying "to find" but then I said, "isn't the meaning really to find, on a guitar, the tone?" "No!" he says, "as a matter of fact, so and so..." by Dilys Laing or something it was did a book on the diseases and cures of birds, and, uh, was called a "troubadour" for having done it, because it was a "trovar." In other words it means "to find out something" which I really, just knocks me for a loop..."

Through the transcript, Olson reads, stops, interacts with the audience, restarts, skips around, producing the very performance of language he claims to find suspect ("You feel as though you have an audience and you're supposed to do a concert or something, and I don't think I believe in verse in this respect at all. As a matter of fact, I know I don't."). And yet, he's obviously using the "performance" as a heuristic, really and truly learning with his students... 

Anyone interested in teaching should own this document, even if one harbors little interest in Olson's project (which seems sort of impossible!). While Olson's style totally teeters on the brink of disaster, as a living and breathing energetic, the work is truly emancipatory... 

Imaginary Syllabi

I've been reading Imaginary Syllabi (edited by Jane Sprague for Palm Press) while preparing three syllabi of my own for the forthcoming summer session, and I'm struck (so far) by how a number of contributors seem to intuitively link "learning" with "seeing differently" with recalibrating the habitus with the simple act of drawing attention to what the body is doing while thinking or reading or writing (or thinking of reading or writing or thinking!). Brenda Iijima mentioned in an email that many of my recent posts seem to investigate "body ecology," and I admit to immediately returning to Eleni Stecopolous's reference to Jean Luc Nancy after reading the first few contributions from Imaginary Syllabi: that which enables contemplation of the body renders the body exterior (I just checked the exact citation from Eleni's somatics questionnaire, and I realize now that I got it interestingly twisted. Here's Eleni: "Jean-Luc Nancy writes that the Western quest for embodiment only 'expel[s] the thing we desired…That’s why the body, bodily, never happens, least of all when it’s named and convoked. For us, the body is always sacrificed: eucharist' (Corpus). What enables contemplation for Nancy inherently renders the object exterior to 'me.'”). What happens when the body and the body's habits become central to an embodied teaching practice?

In Dana Teen Lomax's contribution to Imaginary Syllabi, fittingly titled "Disclosure," physical documents disclosing intimate facts about the author (including photocopies of credit card statements and physical examinations) decrease the distance between teacher and student by making the author more human (and embodied and vulnerable).

Dorothea Lasky's "Red Exercise" challenges students to imagine how the very environment they inhabit a(e)ffects how they see. She writes,

"...I had spent the entire summer...thinking about red paired with its unlikely opposite—a pale aquamarine. I was making a lot of jewelry then...and I kept imagining making a necklace of aquamarines with one single bright red bead. The fantasy transcended into other mental images where red might be a singular thing in a sea of paler attributes. I imagined a room where everything was pale blue, except one red bowl. To connect myself physically to this idea, I would wear outfits where I only had one red thing on (one red sock, sparkly red glass earrings, a red hair tie, red fingernails) in the midst of an entire pale yellow ensemble. I became obsessed with red's power to drive everything else it came in contact with."

In a nutshell, Lasky's exercise asks students to study red objects, loved ones interacting with red objects, and feelings associated with red objects in order to write a poem inspired by visual environments. She continues, "Because writing is, at least in part, about capturing human behaviors as completely as one can, it is important to me to train young writers to notice, understand, and represent the world through emergent themes versus simply placing linear constructs upon it and recording the words that represent these constructs. My imagined course would allow students to meditate upon the world seen through various lenses in order to notice universal themes of human experience. It would be important because, I believe, it would move the creative process of writers towards seeking more complex and novel forms of expression."

Imaginary Syllabi also contains four of CA Conrad's Soma(tic) Exercises, which consistently and brilliantly put the body in all kinds of interesting and unfamiliar circumstances (and environments) in order to realign perception of phenomena and their effects. Here's "Aphrodite's Hatan" in full:

"Wash a penny, rinse it, slip it under your tongue and walk out the door. Copper is the metal of Aphrodite, never forget this, never, don't forget it, ever. Drink a little orange juice outside and let some of the juice rest in your mouth with the penny. Oranges are the fruit of Aphrodite, and she is the goddess of Love, but not fidelity. Go somewhere outside, go, get going with your penny and juice. Where do you want to sit? Find it, and sit there. What is the best Love you've ever had in this world? Be quiet while thinking about that Love. If someone comes along and starts talking, quietly shoo them away, you're busy, you're a poet with a penny in your mouth, idle chit chat is not your friend. Be quiet so quiet, let the very sounds of that Love be heard in your bones. After a little while take the penny out of your mouth and place it on the top of your head. Balance it there and sit still a little while, for you are now moving your own forces quietly about in your stillness. Now get your pen and paper and write about POVERTY, write line after line about starvation and deprivation from the voice of one who has been Loved in this world."

I admit to feeling a bit suspicious of (and, frankly, sometimes exhausted by!) some of the rhetoric surrounding emancipatory pedagogical models, though all the talking and thinking makes me want to buy into Kristin Prevallet's "course description" that "You will learn what you already know and will know what you haven't yet thought to learn." However, as an active participant in these conversations and a lifetime learner and a teacher in an MFA writing program and also a teacher of remedial reading and writing at a "school of last resort," I'm not sure Prevallet's statement is all that helpful. How do we learn what we already know? How do we discover (and become interested in!) what we haven't thought to learn? I'm most interested in practical solutions to ameliorating the weird power dynamic between student and teacher, but in a way that does justice to the often vast discrepancy in resources between the two. Lomax and Lasky and Conrad remind us that real thinking begins when the habitual has been usefully disrupted, and there's no better place to start than our relationship to our own bodies and the environments we inhabit.

More thinking on Imaginary Syllabi to follow... 

Glossematics, Thus

Brenda Iijima's writing is remarkable in its ability to incorporate so many different registers of attention and response while somehow maintaining the integrity of a discrete instantiation of thought. I often turn to her work when I'm feeling stuck or frustrated or like the air in my poems has grown stale because she has this amazing ability to incorporate (and balance) these sometimes disparate (though never in the writing) always surprising elements that consistently feel like the perfect gesture (or addition or swerve or continuation). I'm generally super sensitive to transitions, and Brenda's writing constantly reminds me of the value of laying off over-rigid, over-mechanical moves; in other words, her work gives all kinds of permission in the way Leslie Scalapino or Kathy Acker or Dodie Bellamy or CA Conrad give permission...Her writing reminds me that my writing can only ever be my own, and that it tends to find its necessary form when embracing its own idiosyncratic impulses...

This new chapbook, Glossematics, Thus, on new-to-me Little Weasel Chapbooks (really beautifully printed by Karen Randall (I admit to being kind of jealous of the design work, actually! Sort of brilliant...)) moves in all kinds of directions at once, making super fluid leaps from past to present to future anterior in a near seamless flow that perfectly captures how Brenda interfaces with her encircling ring (which is to say bravely and with no hesitation!). This poem will require many careful readings to digest what's going on here, but the following immediately caught my attention:

"The historical process maximizes a hide of consensus, like these tanneries—
odiferous, outskirts—to live nearby the skinning factories
chiffon of the living, working, mouth, tongue
scudding—wet blue, blue blue sky, cascade pools, drenched splashing child
biocide: pentachlorophenol— resource demure, tissue of cells begin to hear
chromium—lungs to breathe out objects
leftover leather turned into glue—feeding on silt, feeding on bones—barbed
wire
when diamond found, eye put out, hard bark, evidence bare foot, climb cliff
face
difficulty of stepping back from atmosphere—elicit
osmosis through skin, woven hair, veins
components of the engine: cylinder head, valve train,
transformers to regulate light, incandescent, starlight, sun at noon
treaties remains etcetera—compression where there were terms—of
agreement where there were—the corn needs the be harvested
largest collection of Impressionists
now we make mounds of paper
laminate causation"

More Notes On Eleni Stecopoulos

Still thinking about Brenda Iijima's statement that "There is a sense that the body has become a listening chamber but is also its own instrumentation. The humming resound of the body as energies precipitate and issue from/and away."

Place this next to the following notes I took from Armies of Compassion and Eleni's somatics questionnaire (don't remember the precise source for much of this, sorry! Took poor notes as I was reading...):

-What enables contemplation renders the body exterior...(Eleni on Jean Luc Nancy?). The body is always sacrificed: Eucharist...

-To be literally "possessed" by words...(I'm thinking here of Brenda's comment: not to possess language, but to be possessed by it...)

-Killing and reviving as a process: "strangled the body so the voice would climax"

-"lay my body in the hole as surrogate for / product ownership" (my body is a hole for product ownership?!)

-Defense against immunity? Tricked into immunity...

-"Boobytrapped by humanism"

-What do we embody when we inhabit our bodies?

Eleni's promised to send selections from her critical project on the poetics of healing for publication here. I've seen some of it, and I'm very, very excited! Keep yr. eyes peeled...

JAMIE TOWNSEND'S MATRYOSHKA

Brenda Iijima and I were emailing back and forth the other day about Jamie Townsend's STRAP/HALO, and she sent me this totally brilliant, totally off-the-cuff reading that I couldn't help but share here:

"The permutations in STRAP/HALO definitely shift between the worldly and unworldly and also the mechanical and visceral. And these seemingly polar states combine and mutate. There’s a drama in the way echoes appear inside of the language. This document becomes a cacophonous chamber of echoes. There is a sense that the body has become a listening chamber but is also its own instrumentation. The humming resound of the body as energies precipitate and issue from/and away. I picked up on his line 'into similar voids' and think that's where a huge part of the ontology falls or filters through. Bodies too, as familiar voids, especially the bodies that will have been already the case but have yet to be—a play on/of the future anterior which has found its way through Tyrone’s work to Rob’s, Thom’s and now Jamie’s—a very particular Derridean temporal positioning.

There's this Marco Polo-like expedition that is happening (which sounds epic). A search for the brother figure and what is collected (instead) is the social detritus along route. I think so much of Siddhartha and other spiritual tales of becoming and overcoming but this work has none of the attendant grandiosity—there’s a sense of discretion, privacy and vulnerability. Jamie parses through various umwelts, undoing worlds of perception—its so subtle.

There's also this incredible friction that I sense. A clashing, 'anterior worlds, conjoined so artfully not/natural must be framed as brazen'. Also a psychosexual dimension (homoerotic) that brings on tension—the words rub up against tensions instigated by the rigors of cultural forms of normative gesture—there's quaking going on all around these enforced terms of the body. And at times the words seem goth, sublime, romantic, remote, hanging on like relics. The residue of religiosity butting up against hot sensuality. 'Graceful as brute redirection'. Principles vs desire/instinct/force/energy. Anyway, some notes I’ve jotted down."

Wow. The body as a listening chamber or "familiar void." Brenda Iijima, ladies and gentlemen! And then over coffee the other day, Rob Halpern said something like, "I think of the poem as an additional sense organ" (or maybe it was "I think of the poem as an extension of a sense organ"?!). Anyway, I was thinking about all of this this evening when my yoga instructor asked us to "empty" our stomachs so our abdominal muscles could massage our organs!

MATRYOSHKA, Jamie Townsend's other new chapbook is less dense than STRAP/HALO, but no less challenging or rewarding. The poems are totally elemental (down to the binary "1" and "0" headings) in that the language seems to register phenomena in the body while processing it ("rendering" it?) on the page (as if the chapbook were a sense organ). Townsend uses tons of nouns in these short bursts, which contribute, I think, to the haptic weight of each page. And Dawn Pendergast's  INCREDIBLE design work (including some super delicate sewing on every page) further adds to the language's material presence. Little Red Leaves co-editor Ash Smith writes of MATRYOSHKA: "The title...denotes famous Russian nesting dolls, and yet the subtle physics and physicality of such poems which attend to "sub-dermal termites scattering" reveal that such momentary nesting is in fact a station in orbit." Indeed.

While this book MUST be held in the hands to fully appreciate its execution as a book object (and you can buy it here for only 8 bucks (if it's still in print!)), the folks at Little Red Leaves have also posted the entire text online for yr. reading pleasure. Take a look here...

Names of the Lion at The Economist

A few weeks back, a writer at The Economist (blogging under the pen-name Samuel Johnson) inexplicably published an article on David Larsen's Names of the Lion, inspiring all kinds of renewed interest in the long-out-of-print chapbook. In the article, the author notes that "The 2009 translation by David Larsen doesn't seem to be available for money and possibly not even for love..." which is totally true, much to the chagrin, apparently, of my indignant email correspondents! I've received any number of emails asking when I plan to reprint it (a few correspondents even pledged to pay for the reissue!), though few seem to understand that printing and binding a book by hand is an entirely different proposition than printing a trade edition! However, in light of the resurgence of interest, I thought to make a PDF available for those genuinely interested in spending some time with the translation. In the not-so-distant future (maybe by the end of the summer?) I hope to make the entire run of Atticus/Finch chapbooks available as ebooks. In the meantime, however, the following PDF will have to do. Click on the arrow in the right-hand corner for full-screen... 

STRAP/HALO

I've been told by a number of friends recently that I would love Jamie Townsend's work, and then suddenly two chapbooks arrived in the mail within a few days of each other: STRAP/HALO on Brenda Iijima's inimitable Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs and MATRYOSHKA, thanks to Dawn Pendergast's Little Red Leaves Textile Series. I don't know much about Townsend's project, but I read both books with great interest and found them difficult and provocative and demanding, which means, of course, that I did, indeed, love them! I arbitrarily decided to dig into STRAP/HALO first, a work that certainly speaks its own language while harboring a heuristic element that trains its readers how to comport. The poems are super dense, and the linebreaks create a sense of vertigo as new units often start at the ends of lines, rotating sense like a helix:

a soft touch you said the minister
came dragging weight bent A shallow com-
pression above it was in the eyes that taketh
to dwell within nature wilts evening each order
gathering harvest together smoke-light leaning
into brown foundation just habits   ditch-weed
before a concerned trip to vespers small engines
palmed burn the relics touch scapula   pectoral
cemetery plot where I buried little else for fear
of fear in future tensing the length of a hand
can unstring my bow spill out law fingering
ark from mouth stall hot breath on the lid
insistent |an exile from your cloth|

I'm most struck (so far) by how the body factors in this work (though this might be a product of reading a ton of Eleni Stecopoulos last week!). There's this technosomatic element to the work that reminds me of those gene-splicing-cyborg-monstrosity-minority-report-style surgery scenes in science fiction films, in which the body is rendered tensile through the very technological interfaces by which it comes to understand itself:

|self-immolation ritual| ingesting at
once a lifetime of placebos trying to
break thru the still find me between
diacritical marks impossible flesh
of videos develop chemical bonds
zones of body-work digitize nerves
cold metal pins awaken to rhythmic
doubling cell production fine-tuned
mitosis where the deepest blue light
filtered thru detachment blooms I
fall to pieces again & resemble burst
intention curl extremities back bound
to the pull of satellites |shells| weight-
less desire grounds fear its partner held
close hatching |crosses| our leavings

The language creates this interesting tension between the organic and the plastic, so that the body figures both warm and aerated, and totally lifeless and ersatz. Take this string of lines from across the chapbook:


*

plate curved to trunk exiting slight the dead flesh
holding live nerve no riddle in wounds chosen


*

to spires   thick braid of optic cable
siphoning scrambled transmission with-
in my unsure being to harden each root-
less message or hand around wrist reaching


*

abandoned to genetics parceled out leit-
motif a splinter gathering dark blood day
made waste made blood enemy in relation
our core broken at points |borne new response|


*

being adjustments | rerouted surges smooth
casing for best performance this active
null-spot sole form of shared architecture


*

revelation brushed from lobe to lobe removes
heads atomizes attention steady now hushed
sincerity attempts at holding to a course
that could fold itself around a pin prick warped
hollow curve to fill or circumnavigate

*

pinning vessels held negation eyes
completely drained refine my
capacity - where all capability
implodes   where to be followed
for unseen generations yields
biocomposites rifts-|-rhizomes

etc.etc.etc.

The term "biocomposites" captures what I'm getting at here: life produced through a mash-up of inorganic material: "|syntaxes - synapses|" - synthetic/sensual.

The final poems in the chapbook shed light on this reading, especially the following prose block:

approaching a lip of blue streamers twinned color guard speckled silver ovals
float searing phosphorescent palindrome fanned spore in pixel band of historic
post metallurgy post vision stylized body projectile ultra chlorine finish hands
like powder nano metallurgy for sense woven viral our collective electric fields
so over remixed creep encoding |thin_distinct_user_| could be more decibels
possible blocked ration of thin snapfrost metal plates shattered octagonal
percussion consider rubber tension a latex armory monolithic summer notes
ground fine no amount of distinction holds erupt at sound | water's film of
blood deciding factor rippling through high density material its material axiom
inlaid LED senesce state kept forking series of perfect angles keyed shapes a
basic animal crystal geometrics in salt-peter stringing lucent |head rushes|--

Camille Roy mentioned in our recent interview the notion of the "uncanny valley." She wrote,

"Language, received from the dead, has an uncanny aspect. This causes the linguistic body to ripple with horror as well as pleasure. There is a wonderful idea relating to the uncanny that comes from robotics: the hypothesis of the uncanny valley. It states that as a robot is made more humanlike in its appearance and motion, the emotional response from a human being to the robot will become increasingly positive and empathic, until a point is reached beyond which the response quickly becomes that of strong revulsion. However, as the appearance and motion continue to become less distinguishable from a human being, the emotional response becomes positive once more and approaches human-to-human empathy levels. The moment of revulsion, where the robot is recognized as non-human, is called the uncanny valley."

There's something of the uncanny in these "basic animal crystal geometrics," these "stylized body projectile(s)."

AUTOIMMUNITY

While reading Armies of Compassion last night, I was reminded that the centerpiece, AUTOIMMUNITY, is available as a PDF thanks to the folks at Deep Oakland. Originally published by Suzanne Stein's crucial minimalist press TAXT, the chapbook sports interesting textual variations that differ from the version in Armies. Comparing the two makes for an instructive read. Some of my favorite lines include:

lay my body in the hole as surrogate for
product ownership satiety the fertile reserve (I'm dissimulating I'm
faking dead     boobytrapped with     humanism

Click on the arrow in the right-hand corner for full screen:




And if you have some time this weekend, check out the other TAXT editions at Deep Oakland here including David Buuck's "Ruts," Brandon Brown's "Camels!," and Suzanne Stein's own "Tout Va Bien."

Eleni Stecopoulos World Tour!

Eleni Stecopoulos is sort of on tour at the moment in support of her brilliant Palm Press full-length Armies of Compassion: she spent time in Seattle and Olympia over Memorial Day weekend (thanks to Will Owen and David Wolach), and now she's off to Philadelphia to read with Wolach for the Con/Crescent Series (next Wednesday, June 8th). And then, at the end of the month, she'll present a seminar at Naropa called "Dreaming in the Fault Zone: Poetry, Healing, Earth." Eleni wrote the following description to advertise the class:

"This course will explore the efficacy of poetry as a healing modality. We’ll experiment with writing as somatic and therapeutic practice, focusing on language as material power, living energy, medicine...part of ecology and sometimes even originating from earth. As sensitive bodies proliferate with ecological imbalance, how might we cultivate sensitivity as a method of receiving earth’s signs, forms, rhythms – collaborate with earth’s own poetics? We’ll work with sources from divinatory and medical systems, myth, geoarchaeology."

I'm deeply jealous of anyone lucky enough to sit in! In the meantime, I've been rereading Armies of Compassion this week next to Eleni's responses to Thom Donovan's somatics questionnaire. I was honored to design the book for Eleni, and while I spent many months thinking about it quite intimately, her responses to Thom (along with Thom's review of Autoimmunity here) offer new entry points:

"The body’s knowledge is real and when we acknowledge it and believe in its reality, we can no longer be duped by the attempts of our intellectual legacy to disembody us. A dual disembodiment: an inert body that’s exchangeable, a standardized entity who is no one—and yet also unique, a singular possession alienable from the whole.

We don’t have qi or prana in the West. We have an immune system, or at best, we have psychoneuroimmunology. If we’re heterodox we speak of energy or maybe subtle body or breath or spirit. We end up using “energy” or “information” and there’s a politics to this. (It can’t be coincidental that “energy” is our trope du jour in this age of blood for oil, from the sense of individual vitality to the appropriation and depletion of others’ resources.) Other cultures have fully developed philosophies that understand the connections of the whole or the way. But in the West we’re always struggling with the split that’s engraved in our worldview, and our dearth of language reflects this.

For me, soma opens up this energy, life force, poetic agency—an agency of no subject and without object. And maybe then this redresses the false universalism and standardization of “the” body. For body to have agency, to be recognized as intelligence, to be identified as “me,” it may have to be called the body, at least heuristically. Just as we have to say somatics. So we can take seriously the mind of the body. Yet maybe it’s through care, through the therapeutic, that we don’t actually need to make this body me, but can remediate the objectification through an ethics of the other. Maybe serving others remakes agency—agency not in service of the subject."

This afternoon, I came across the following lines from Armies: "She beat time in his throat / trying to heal talking." I wonder if Eleni's syntax "beats time" in my throat while I read quietly to myself (doesn't the tongue keep time even when reading silently?)? Can her poetry heal "talking" by drawing attention to how language and the body comport to one another?

Joan Retallack's Scalapino Lecture

Joan Retallack's talk Friday night was characteristically difficult and thorny and inspiring and full of things to think about. I made a special accordian broadside for the event (see the cover above; it folds in three with a special slipcover to boot!), which required inviting folks over to perform some chance operations on the text: thank you to Lionel, Alina, Kate, Jackqueline, Chris, Julia, Jenni, Rob, Taylor, and Katja for helping out with production. While these were crazy difficult to make, we're selling them for only 5 bucks to support Small Press Traffic! They should be up at the SPT website soon, but in the meantime, feel free to send on a check or well-concealed cash to 2556 Frances Street, Oakland, CA, 94601 and I'll get one in the mail.

And here are a few paragraphs from my introduction to Joan:

The Leslie Scalapino Memorial Lecture in Innovative Poetics was designed to celebrate the life and work of one of the most innovative, challenging, and frankly emancipatory writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, but to do so through the life and work of her coevals: those fellow travelers who “punch a hole,” as Leslie would have it, in the calcified shell of the habitus. We—her colleagues, family and friends—believe, as Leslie did, that “activity is the only community,” that, as the French collective Tiqqun puts it, “When, at a certain time and place, two bodies affected by the same form-of-life meet, they experience an objective pact, which precedes any decision. They experience community.” However, for Tiqqun, “There is no community except in singular relations. THE community doesn’t exist. There is only…community that circulates.” If ever two writers shared a form-of-life, the singular fidelity to a particular instantiation of praxis, it is Leslie Scalapino and Joan Retallack. Both challenge us to recognize forms of change in the diurnal, to embrace unpredictability, disorientation, estrangement, and alterity in the very structures that enervate legitimately radical forms-of-life through predictable “conservative gesture.” While Scalapino’s writing is certainly lush (Joan calls this sensuousness her “textual eros”), it is also at times stark and unsettling, and this juxtaposition works to recalibrate mind action, to refocus attention, to “short-circuit complex terrain”—in short, to draw the reader out of the enframement of standing-reserve and into a world where forms fluoresce through complex interaction with “acts of responsible consciousness” (as Joan has it).

In her Memnoir, Retallack writes, “coming out of the movie theater the world the world is bright too bright gnomic present tense tensile everything happening at once the world is full of its own mute history the fatality of reflection the fatality of nature and culture…mute history remaining mute the fatality of of the preposition reaching out to its object even as…it slips away”

After reading Leslie, after reading Joan, I often feel like I’ve left a similar theater, and now the world seems suddenly too bright, ersatz, bogged down in its own machinations, because our attentions are perfectly tuned to the pitch of becoming—everything matters, everything is happening now, in now-time, simultaneously jarring and intoxicating. We are suddenly aware that something is alive beneath the tensile membrane of experience, ready to press through phenomena, always-already sinewy and tenacious. The writing of this community, this singular relation, extends from Leslie to Joan to us their readers: we also make a wager: we risk becoming wholly and fundamentally unmoored by participating in this act of composition; that we can participate in the remediation of a “past that tragically persists in our barbarous proclivities” while giving up a claim to the comforts of the “habitus”: the enfeebled commonplace where we nurse the “radical innocence of our own self-perpetrated destinies.” This community, this singular relation, asks us to decide, to comport, to engage, to interact with “specific and energetic forms of life.” And to do so finally, is an act of communion, in which the white eschatology of vision washes over the hidebound through the terrible, unpredictable, and ecstatic activities it proposes. I, for one, am honored, to count myself a member of this singular community.

Memorial Day Weekend Madness!

If you're in or around the Bay Area this weekend, there are a few crucial events you won't want to miss! On Friday, Small Press Traffic presents the Inaugural Leslie Scalapino Memorial Lecture in Innovative Poetics, featuring poet/critic Joan Retallack. I'm printing a very complicated broadside to commemorate the occasion, and Joan's talk, "Poetry's Alterity," promises to be brilliant. Click the poster below for details:

AND THEN, Saturday night visiting poets CJ Martin and Julia Drescher join John Sakkis for what promises to be another essential Condensery reading. I've just finished printing Chris's first TWO books in one volume (fittingly titled Two Books), and we'll be launching the book at this event. Here's the info:

on Saturday May 28th

Doors at 7:30, reading will begin promptly at 8
Condensery takes place at:
604 56th at Shattuck
in Oakland
The reading is free.
Some wine and snacks will be served.
BYOB as always.
Street parking / porch for bikes.

And then something's happening on Sunday that I can't remember (anyone?), and then on Monday some of us are meeting to discuss Tiqqun's Theory of the Young Girl (email if you're interested!).

The weather promises to be beautiful, Lee Azus and Rob Halpern are back in town (yay!), and Chris and Julia are staying until Monday (I think...). I'm launching two seperate print projects, and I'll hopefully be done grading by then! Bring on the summer!

ARTHUR ECHO

Here are the prefatory notes to CA Conrad and Thom Donovan's collaboration, Arthur Echo, a twelve hour somatic exercise recently released as a chapbook by Scary Topiary Press:

While house sitting for friends in Philadelphia we collaborated on the following (Soma)tic exercise, playing Arthur Russell's CD World of Echo on repeat on all five floors from 9am to 9pm, taking scheduled breaks for food, conversation, and checking in for further fine tuning of the (Soma)tic maneuvers.

BASEMENT: Windows covered, pitch black. On a little table covered with clothespins and pottery a small boom-box plays CD on repeat with bass controls set to maximum. A white candle to light when sitting down, blow out when leaving. The sink beside the table to slowly drip water on one hand while taking notes with the other.

FIRST FLOOR: CD on stereo with balanced equalizer settings. All shades open. A chair sits by the front door. Open mail slot to peer at passing feet on the sidewalk. Every other page of notes should be nouns only, a page of nouns.

SECOND FLOOR: CD on small stereo, volume low. Computer set to show videos of Arthur Russell and his cello. In bathroom the tub is filled with a mixture of water and jasmine flower infusion. Jasmine invokes the Muses. Take notes sitting in a chair by the tub while feet soak in the jasmine infusion.

THIRD FLOOR: CD on large stereo, volume high, treble adjusted to maximum. Books on alchemy sit at the desk by the window. Take notes.

UPPER LOFT: CD on third floor stereo carries up to the loft. At the end of the bed, facing the window which looks over the Philadelphia treetops and skyline. There are tarot cards and binoculars on the bed to better see the world. Take many notes.

_____

The results?

Here's Conrad:

we are selective with love
but I think it's because
there's only so much
does anger have the same amount per
square mile for water-drinking people?
I'm glad we're friends
space can be divided by
popsickle sticks or
pyramids in Mexico where
enemies didn't want to bleed but
bled anyway
sometimes I cannot believe
how delicate tendons
muscles and bones are thrown
crackling into oil
are chickens enemies?

And Donovan:

To a fugue soft 'to-be' languageless though he
was Helen Keller's water another's cats pass
Through experiential filters happy endings for
If the voice of human beings is received by hear
ing the voice of God is received by sight con-

comitant to this act of existing the temple
Will not be destroyed rock salt vs. sea pseudo-
Selves grieve I let my attention wander with
The bow when my eyes cease to focus and
When the ears cease to focus and when the

Mind ceases so that we must see each collation
Of bodies a blind-spot or blank embodying ide-
ology my thoughts will have been here before mis-
takinng static for running water sister-flicker in
Place of substance what instance liberty coracle

The Reliquarium: This Saturday!

It's finally happening! The Reliquarium, that is, and hopefully not the end of the world. Though the Reliquarium does sport an apocalyptic theme this year in light of the Doomsday predictions. According to Harold Camping, it's supposed to be an earthquake, so I called to check on our earthquake insurance and now I'm ready to party.

While the Reliquarium is a fundraiser for SPT, we're also considering it an end of season poetry party, so come out and mingle and have fun and enjoy the end of the semester (if you teach or learn!). Let's see: literary timecapsule? Check. End times dance party? Check. Reenactments from the end of the world? Check. And, the main event: an auction of reliquaries from such luminaries as Charles Bernstein, Rachel Blau DuPlessis, Kathleen Fraser, Bob Gluck, Nathanial Mackey, Harryette Mullen, Eileen Myles, Camille Roy, Tyrone Williams, and many others. 

And it's a pretty quite poetry weekend, so you don't have an excuse. It all goes down this Saturday (May 21st) in the CCA Grad Writing Lounge (195 de haro Street, SF) at 7:30 pm. Come out and support one of your crucial local resources while catching up with long lost friends!

A Reading: Birds

This impeccably produced new chapbook by Beverly Dahlen inaugurates Little Red Leaves "textile series": chapbooks "lovingly sewn using recycled curtains and other textile remnants." I can't get over how beautifully constructed these books are, and because we're rarely treated to new work by Dahlen it feels like a real event. I'm told this chapbook is already sold out, but there's a second edition on the horizon, so keep yr. eyes peeled!

Here's Beverly:

"The greater white-fronted goose in that fair field, geese,
more than a thousand in the flock moaning, a kind of low
hum, singing the blues. The spectacle of the birds, how we
go out to see them now, provide for them, shelters, refuges,
how we've beggared them and set them aside amid the low-
lands of the valley, the trucks roaring night and day over I5,
San Diego to Sacramento, ripping up the countryside.

Sacramento to Redding to the Oregon Border:

above Keeping Still, Mountain
below The Abysmal, Water

the very place, we say, tearing at the air."

There's so much going on over at Little Red Leaves it's often difficult to keep up: Here you'll find information about the "Textile Series," here's the magazine (issue #6 is on the way? all ephemeral publications? and E-BOOKS too!) and here's the blog (which seems to be the main news outlet?).

ESSENTIAL.

Albon on Albion

There are few things in this world more exciting (at least to me!) than a favorite poet releasing a new chapbook on a favorite press. Just received this in the mail: George Albon's "Ryman Room" on Brian Teare's impeccable Albion Books. Teare printed the cover blind on white stock, so it's almost impossible to get the scanner to pick up the nuance. But you can see a couple of good shots here.

I shouldn't have to convince folks paying attention that this is totally essential, but I wanted to leave two little hints as to why:

"I was thinking about the word absolute and I was trying to get at the meaning of it. It had to do with painting also." Robert Ryman

"I will jump from the not-gap I'm on to the not-gap I want. It bends from a little wait, then forms to sudden. The way will be found by finger and wrist, the curds already traced in the window." George Albon

Click the image below for samples:

DON'T SLEEP.

More False Intimacy

In his interview with Erika Staiti, Whitener reimagines the labor of "manifesto" as the positive articulation of what's least known in one's work: the declaration of blind spots or short-sightedness or rigid thinking or a crucial lack of imagination:

"What I most responded to in your question are the words modulate, corporeal, and crises. I would shy away from Manifesto, especially with a capital; I think the work is trying to draw new lines between the manifest and the latent, or the material and the immaterial. Manifesto also implies perhaps a program or a knowledge: perhaps this book is a negative space of a manifesto, sites of passage out of unknowing and unbeing, or rather its form is a search for sites (linguistic, formal, conceptual) where gestures or skins or subjectivities could be hastily thrown up...The piece's response is to modulate, to set up altered linguistic zones and conceptual figures that could possibly bind together a skin (in turns animated by colorlessness, the feminine, etc.) but skin that involutes 'material' and 'immaterial' in unique ways or a skin that might also just be exits..."

I've been trying to understand False Intimacy through a claim in Tiqqun's Introduction to Civil War about "community": "Community never refers to a collection of bodies conceived independently of their world. It refers to the nature of the relations between these bodies and between these bodies and their world. The moment community tries to incarnate itself in an insolatable subject, in a distinct, separate reality, the moment it tries to materialize the separation between what is inside and what is outside, it confronts its own impossibility. This point of impossibility is communion. In communion, the complete self-presence of the community coincides with the dissipation of all community within singular relations, and therefore coincides with its tangible absence."

Maybe the impossibility of communion (or community as the point of impossibility) stems from the subject's troubled relationship with the contemporary (or contemporaneity)? So that the community fades in the articulation of "singular relations" that are themselves afterimages of false intimacy? I'm reminded here of Agamben's claim in "What is the Contemporary": "Contemporariness is, then, a singular relationship with one's own time, which adheres to it and, at the same time, keeps a distance from it...Those who coincide too well with the epoch, those who are perfectly tied to it in every respect, are not contemporaries, precisely because they do not manage to see it; they are not able to firmly hold their gaze on it." And later: "The contemporary is he who firmly holds his gaze on his own time so as to perceive not its light but rather its darkness."

Whitener investigates a time one "cannot manage to see" (the 90s) through the lens of a subjectivity one does not fully "occupy," troubling the notion of a unified community embodying an "insolatable subject" so deeply related to the time of its own mis-understanding:

a hollow shaft of negative space
running straight upwards and
through bending itself into a
pulsing gucci symbol, unslung
up towards hong kong, doubling
back inside itself, sounding,
becoming not large but more
interlaced, the 1990s, America,
visible, nodding, rapid multiplier
effect, reduced into consumable
prey, i can open my mouth and
it will pummel, a figure tracing
an arc from an optic nerve to a
hole, tracing a certain
instantiation of whatever was
given and then again and then
again, like an exit, look, it's fine
if you are more beautiful than i
am, plastic surgery is the new
ruin, it's THE 1990s, narrative
is not enough, and if we just
spin these pronouns around fast
enough, we could create a
given, i mean, a body, for us, a
problematic pirated body, that is
what breaks from within the,
neither furry nor plastic, neither
nodal nor oddly enough, my
beautiful given, the negative
space of a desire, a shaft,
adorned in gucci

let's not start thinking

Tragedy
depends not on the events, but
on the
environment

language that has abstracted
itself from pronouns a
photograph of a specific
historical occurrence whose
description taught us something
about the body and language we
nodded together, spammed, what
WE WERE DESTINED TO
CREATE blankly, a flat plastic
spur, faux, of an unprecedented
space abstracted from pronouns,
spun and nodded

_____


False intimacy with the present begins with our understanding of the contemporary; Whitener illustrates how we might reimagine the present by tracking, isolating and undercutting those moments we feel most confident we belong to it. Rather than occupy an impossible communion peopled by static, rigid bodies overdetermined by their moment, Whitener proposes a community founded on unknowing one's place and time as a mode of belonging.

 

Brian Whitener's False Intimacy

The longer I've lived with Brian Whitener's False Intimacy, recently published by the East Bay's own Trafficker Press, the more I've felt really profoundly moved by it. Since picking up a copy at the Osman, Whitener, Rees event at SPT, the book's occupied a permanent place in my bag, which has offered the opportunity to read and re-read it in some of the most unlikely of places. Brian and I had a great talk about the book during his visit in early April: how those things we imagine experiencing super intimately are the very things from which we are often most abstracted—so that our insistence on (or assurance of) intimacy becomes the very blindspot that helps distance us from our own experience.

Here's Brian from his interview with Erika Staiti (worth the price of admission alone): "This book...emerges out of a kind of obsession I have with 'the 90s'...It's the period where I most feel like a stranger to whatever I am now. But I have been wondering if perhaps this is a structural and not personal condition, that is an effect of a return to US imperialism...In that way 'tragedy' has effects that register as both spatial and temporal, and these gaps or 'insurmountable breaks' give rise to forms of false intimacy, ways of attempting to live the abstractions of the sublime gaps of tragedy-thinking..."

I've read this book a handful of times and realize only now that it works for me as its own kind of false intimacy: everytime I think I've pinned it down (or at least have developed some robust reading strategies!), I find myself rethinking what it means to experience writing "intimately."

Here's a section from the first movement:

daily
popular pedagogy: i can't
explain the x in that word
because it's too involved
with what we were trying to exchange.

life during money

I know
my body is without value, how could 
you inform us of this
valuelessness, how does it.
There is no war. There
is not such a thing as war. What is
war? a rehearsal of conditions
What is war but a transgression,
and what is transgression but
the unexamined influence of
capital on my desire(s). There is
no war, a rehearsal not an
identification because there is
no history, because there is no
history because there is no war,
social, socially, socially my
thinking became invested, which
I could only think in relation to
a future, that is, spatially, 
spatially inverted structures that
have been inverted, but failure
is also failure if only thinking
were enough, that this point
probably means more
less post...but I...
what
one means is that the body is
without value
is a shift in perspective, which is
a
spatial metaphor
change as
seen then
from under
determined future(s)
question mark...

Even now, I'm reading this poem way differently than I have been these past few weeks, and I think this might have something to do with the size of the font. The font is really, really big in the book (like reading a Word document at 200%)—"to push the language...into becoming an image"—which I'm starting to think has contributed to my vastly different readings in terms of speed and attention, but also in terms of what I take with me into the world. Typing these lines now, I'm much more aware of these macro-syntactic structures I couldn't "see" otherwise, whereas before I read in short phrases as they presented themselves. The large font creates a sort of shortsitedness in that the reader can't preview the text to come in an effort to learn how to read it. So one's left reading kind of blindly—that is, reading only what's right in front of you, perhaps in the way we "read" time.

"to what degree you can only
enter so far wanted to create a
new type of experience how did
it get so fragile a kind of body a
kind of abstraction that could
live inside another body a body
that could unveil itself without
argument, without recourse to
language REPRESENT ME in
the past year a shading of a
temporal element the familiar
abstraction..."

I love this notion of a very bodily present-experience of having lived in the past somehow "elsewhere," always elsewhere...certainly in the same body (or at least a version of it) but above it or beside it or literally in it, but a different body in that body. A present experience of a past experience that feels so much less embodied, which might serve to remind us that the present will have proved disembodied in the very same way, even as we live it.

Also, THE RELIQUARIUM

I should also mention that this year's Reliquarium is right around the corner, and it promises to be really, really fun! This season's event takes place on Friday, May 21st, which happens to also be the end of the world (according to the many eschatological billboards popping up around the Bay Area! Many now feature a big gold stamp that reads "The Bible Guarantees It!"). As such, we plan to go out with a bang! Activities include an end-times dance party, reenactments of scenes from the end of the world, and a literary time capsule (which we might be burying in David Buuck's backyard?!). And I promise to personally ensure that whatever beverage we serve will not be the weird-tasting punch we served at Poet's Theater!

But the real attraction is the auction of reliquaries "representing the artistic DNA of the smart and famous." Writers and artists of all stripes have banded together to donate relics that represent their practice in a substantial way, and we'll auction these one-of-a-kind rarities to benefit Small Press Traffic! The relics are starting to arrive at SPT Central as we speak, and it's way interesting to see how folks represent their practice. The list of contributors alone is pretty impressive: Steve Benson, Charles Bernstein, Julian Brolaski, Rachel Blau DuPlessis, Enrique Chagoya, Thom Donovan, Elaine Equi, Coco and Rob Fitterman, Kim Rosenfield, Kathleen Fraser, Bob Gluck, Judith Goldman, Tracy Grinnell, Nina Katchadorian, Kevin Killian, Joanne Kyger, Nathaniel Mackey, Harryette Mullen, Eileen Myles, Sina Queyras, Ariana Reines, Larry Rinder, Camille Roy, Kaia Sand, Fiona Templeton, Edwin Torres, Tyrone Williams, etc. etc.! Pretty for real, no doubt...

And while we'll be accepting bids through SPT's website, it's one of those feel-good, end of season, almost summer, school's out, nothing better to do sort of events that are most fun to experience in person. And if it turns out it really is the end of the world, at least we'll be together! Mark yr. calendars...

THE RELIQUARIUM
Saturday, May 21st, 7:30 pm
CCA Graduate Writing Lounge
195 deHaro Street, San Francisco

The First Annual Leslie Scalapino Memorial Lecture in Innovative Poetics

I am very pleased to announce that the First Annual Leslie Scalapino Memorial Lecture in Innovative Poetics will take place on Friday, May 27th at Timkin Hall, and we at Small Press Traffic are deeply honored to welcome Joan Retallack as its first presenter! The Leslie Scalapino Memorial Lecture in Innovative Poetics is an annual lecture series with a focus on critical analysis of innovative poetry, essays, plays and cross-genre work primarily by women poets. The series invites contemporary writers to present their work in the spirit exemplified by Scalapino’s own critical writing and editorial vision as publisher of O Books.

In anticipation of Joan's visit I've been rereading her rich body of work with relish, starting with Errata 5uite (Edge Books, 1993) and Afterrimages (Wesleyan, 1995) and slowly making my way to newer work like Memnoir (Post Apollo, 2004) and Procedural Elegies / Western Civ Cont'd (Roof, 2010). I'm also diving into her interviews with John Cage (her questions alone make the text an intriguing read: "Do we need an art that is not identical with the things that surround us in everyday life, but can somehow draw our attention to them?") and her essays in The Poethical Wager. I'll post notes here as I slowly piece together an introduction for her talk. In the meantime, here's my favorite poem from How to Do Things With Words (Sun & Moon, 1998), "Here's Looking at You Francis Bacon" (click the arrow in the top-right corner for full screen).



Please help us spread the word about this crucial new lecture series!

The First Annual Leslie Scalapino Memorial Lecture
in Innovative Poetics
Featuring Joan Retallack
Friday, May 27th, 7:30 PM
Timkin Hall at CCA
1111 8th Street
San Francisco, CA 94107
Admission: $8-15 (Members Free)
 
And while we're on the subject, please take a moment to check out the beautiful new website devoted to Leslie's life and work!

RAGTAG / TRY / WITH+STAND

New work by David Brazil, Sara Larsen, and Alana Siegel in (new to me) RAGTAG #3 (published by Monica Peck). Samples below...

And while we're on the subject, Brazil y SLRSN just released a new TRY with tons of great stuff by Ted Rees, Owen Hill, Rodney Koeneke, Catherine Meng, Lynn Burnett, Rosemary Griggs, and many others. A crucial local resource...

And finally, here's Brazil really wonderful piece in the new WITH+STAND (click the arrow in the top-right corner for full-screen)