just ordered...

Philip Jenks, On the Cave You Live In, from Flood Editions...

long weekend gone by

So four days off and it feels like I was here at work yesterday. Long ass weekend moving. Still not all unpacked. No internet in the place yet, and my computer isn't even set up there. So, won't be able to respond to people's comments or emails in a timely fashion till we have DSL set up in the new place.

It's great to finally live IN the city after all these years here in SF. Great to hear fire engines, cars, buses, sirens, and people screaming in crazy-children voices in the middle of the night. 'tis quite sweet. We have this beautiful bay window over-looking our tree-lined city street that is perfect for sitting at and reading while drinking a beer or coffee.

Anyway, news is slow as all has been consumed by big changes in confined areas.

Just orderered Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson as this Steinbeck novel I'm reading right now has reminded me that novels can actually be very very good, and Housekeeping has been highly recommended before.

Also just finished Duncan's Letters. Interesting to see these earlier poems of his, and to see how he's apparently been doing this prose-poetry series since the beginning--though the prose pieces in Letters aren't titled "The Structure of Rime," they're pretty much covering the same bases that "The Structure of Rime" series does later. I sometimes find myself lost in Duncan's poetry but then find myself somewhat grounded when I remember that Duncan is almost always speaking of the power of language and transformation, which generally leads toward love and spiritual fulfillment. Of course, there's PLENTY of Duncan I've yet to read as most of his books are still out of print--and I refuse to read a "selected" volume from a poet who vehemently preached of THE BOOK.

I also don't have Spicer's Collected Books yet either. When first I thought of ordering it I could find it for $45. Now the lowest price I can find is $75. Hopefully Kevin Killian and Petery Gizzi are busy on getting the New Collected out. If anyone knows where I can find Spicer's Collected for a reasonable price, please let me know.

signing out

hmmm...

Thanks

So, not much of a month for blogging. Just wanted to say thanks to all who've bought a copy of SMALL TOWN PZA, the support and all the kind words are much appreciated. I'm hoping it won't take too long before Parker's collected works can be published.

Aside from that, I'm reading Steinbeck's, The Winter of Our Discontent, which I'm thoroughly enjoying; and Duncan's, Letters: Poems 1953-1956. I'm taking my sweet ass time with that one as I seem to do with Duncan. I think I just don't want the book to end, I get so involved. I'm also almost finished with The New American Poetry 1945-1960, which will be the first anthology (I think) I've ever read cover to cover. And I recently recieved my copies of Bay Poetics. Looking forward to making that the second anthology I've read cover to cover. It looks really great.

It's sunny and cool today in Aquatic Park.

submission address changed

Check the sidebar above the small towns before sending submissions.

SMALL TOWN PZA

To honor my friend, Parker Zane Allen, and to help fund the eventual publication of his collected works, I have put together this special issue of small town. It'll be $5 like all issues of small town, and ALL PROCEEDS WILL GO TOWARD THE PUBLICATION OF PARKER ZANE ALLEN'S COLLECTED WORKS. I am one of a few persons given the responsibility and honor to manage the publication fund, and I hope that this can help toward that fund.

This issue required a quick production, and so the cover is a paper cover as I couldn't get the right color in the usual vellum-paper coverstock. Anyway, the cover is red, and there are grey endpapers--the red and grey are there to match Parker's beloved ball club, the Boston Red Sox. It's letterhalf in size, staple-bound, and is 25 wonderful pages long.

Here's the TOC:

TACOS
SANDOLLARS
SPORTS
ACID
YEAH
DRAFT
MIRROR
RICE
TAPEDECK
UNIFORM
BOTTOMFEEDERS
RIDE
HEAP
MATCHBOOKS
STARLIGHTS
PAT
POSIES
RIBS
WEEBLES
SPIN

These are all from Parker's series, Dating Tips With The Gangland Massacre of the Heart. They're gorgeous, sensitive, raw, and full of gravity and inertia. I know this series has been well-received before, and your support in buying this issue will be greatly appreciated by myself, all of Parker's friends, and his family, as well.

The PayPal button is ready to go in the sidebar. If you're not PayPal-friendly, you can send a check for $5 made out to me, to the address there.

Thank you for your time.

And thank you, Parker, for everything you gave us.

ADDENDUM
Just so you know, it was discussed among people close to Parker and decided that his terrible terrible typing and spelling (which progressively got worse, of course) would be perserved, at least for now, for personal reasons. So, when you get your copy of Parker's issue and you see a whole bunch of typos, know that they were left intentionaly.

Parker Zane Allen, 1979-2006

It really hurts to type those words up there, and I wasn't sure that this blog was an appropriate place to make mention of this, but it's what I have and I feel the need to let you all know that we lost a really wonderful person this last Friday evening with the passing of Parker Zane Allen.

Parker was 26 and passed away, at his apartment here in San Francisco, from a two year battle with lung cancer.

I've known parker for 4 years or so, and I'll always remember his Boston accent, wise-cracks, love of baseball and writing, and zest for adventure. He was an amazing writer with a deep sensitivity and a unique sense of music in his boucing and fluid prose. We love you, Parker, and miss you dearly.

Here's a piece from Parker's series, Dating Tips from The Gangland Massacre of The Heart:

NIGHTLIGHT

Warm, Reassuring, Bathroom

A little too much sun, she said, and she puts some aloe on her back.You know when you were young you had daydreams of girls running around your place with their shirt off, but looking at her greasing her crabmeat mottled shoulders, with her tits wagging like happy dogs, you have to wonder if you took everything into consideration.

You fall asleep? You ask.

She turns to you and smiles. Ever since you have known her, you have remarked to yourself that she is pretty, yeah, but there’s something weird about the way she smiles. It’s not not-pretty but something is off. It’s her cheeks. You can see the insides of her cheeks mashing against her teeth when she smiles.

Yeah, she says. Sucks. You say. Yeah she says.You think about it some more and you think that she looks like a fish. A cartoon fish. With Glasses.

You sit down on the bed and help her rub some of the lotion into her skin. You know, you’re a connoisseur of girls and you have an idea what matters to your palette and the difference between skin like a dirt road or chalk was negligible.

It’s the feel, and hers feels like a wet magazine, all slick and tight.

In a bit she shrugs your hands off her shoulders and turns and tells you she has some reading to do. She kisses you with a peck.

You realize she’s going to peel and she will have scales.

Your hands are covered in aloe.

You’re in the shower a little bit later and the water’s on you and the lights are all off except for the nightlight. You have a fantasy about that time you fucked a girl in a tub with all those candles around you. That was years ago.

She really looks like that professor fish in that movie with Don Knotts. What the fuck was the name of that?

The stucco ceiling says something is burning, veined with shadows, but there is no flicker, it is all static, and the water sounds like it’s coming on rails.

The girl with the candles. What ever happened to her? Got back with her ex after you. Moved to Canada. Quebec? She speaks four languages. Maybe she has more now. What the fuck was the name of that movie? You wonder if you will have sex tonight or weather or not she will be comfortable with you touching her. She always kind of caves. She really aims to please. Maybe that’s what’s so boring about her.

Candle girl needed something from you. You never found out what it was, but you felt a purpose in being there. You always felt inferior to her, especially when she started learning Mandarin. Who the fuck knows Mandarin?

You hear a knock on the door and you pull your head out of the water. She asks you if you want some steamed greens and rice. You say ‘kay!’

You know, the Nightlight is shaped like a flower vase, with an imitation of flicker blooming out of it. And like a billion people know Mandarin.

There’s a towel hanging over the curtain that you can dry you hair with.

And it’s The Incredible Mr Limpet. She looks like the incredible Mr Limpet.

Parad e R ain, Michael Koshkin (Big Game Books)

This from Maureen Thorson of Big Game Books:

"Hiya. Big Game Books is very proud to present Michael Koshkin's Parad e R ain, a meditation on the joyfulness of the flesh, with detours on the delights of "my happy bottom" and the headwear favored by danger itself.

Follow this link to "a least virtuous joy." Least virtuous, but hella fun."

This book is Michael's erasure of Paradise Regained, a tribute or homage to Ronald Johnson's Radi os. That looks like a terric looking book to me, and I'm going to order my copy right now and suggest you do the same as they're done in a limited run of 100.

Please spread the word and give a visit to Big Game!

Pastoral Poem

.
eye is in the beauty of the holder bee

the orange grove of a romantic life

housed and small
as we used to be

to touch soft trees and grass
and swing

the bees' knees, we kiss

unkissable scarlet slices of life
bleed on

the center fountain gone milky red

collect the apples off your head

I'll shoot an arrow thru your rosy heart

-----the sun rose up over the rose garden

a piece of your skin on a thorn

-------this is a stone house
-------we live in

the bee hives are how we earn

in your ear I've never called you ugly
to your face I've never told a lie

---eyes are for the rolling
---over orange groves
---for the rest of a life

---eyes are for eyeing
---each eye of
---the other I

soft talk in the back room

we were married in the hallway
by your perfume
tied a string around a finger

let the bees in on the honeymoon
syrupy and orange over
the blossoming
rose garden and orange trees

-------grass gone brown in summer
could use some water from the fountain

the grass should grow green in our mouths
with our children

your Christmas baby rosy hued
I'll call you Mary
for the rest of my days
and plant tomotoes in the backyard
and drink orange juice
rose tea
and honey the right side of the toast

this is more civilized than ever

there are voices in the radiator
and the fruit refuses to rot

-------my love
-------I have lost it!

-------my love
-------I will go

I have run over a porcupine
on the wrong side of the road

and broke the knot around my finger

I have an oranger fever
and three quills in my throat

in ecstasy I roll my eyes
over the rose dawn
and grass groaning for the mower
swinging and swayed beside the stone house

in leaving behind everything
a practice is made

the Jesus baby is pristine

the trees grow without feet
but with large mouths

I have seen your nose
despite your face

and thought the road too short

a marriage in an empty lot
a whole lot more
that its worth

a worthy harvest orange old moon
a grassy night
a barren womb

my shepherdess
for you I write my lost-full words

my losing mind

I plant seeds in your hand
and step back

I cut your hair in summer
for the birds nests

I place honey in jars and manufacture marmolade
and clean out all of the fountains and gutters

-------my children!
-------where are you

is that your voice the radiator makes?

I worry and I worry

your mother has run away
with orange rinds for teeth
and apples for eyes
swinging
from tree to tree

I've done cartwheels after her
as fast as I can

but that just makes my head spin
and the bees thirsty
to cover my face

and so
I must move with careful motion
and calm

slow and thoughtful
as each bend
of grass

I throw strings to the wind
and make mating calls

it's a big forest
and nothing comes of it

the rolling hills in the east to the glade

the stream that feeds the fountains
and the trees
the rows of roses by the lake

my love you have lost your mind
and gone

you have left my poem

full of bees and thorns

and my children
dead in jars

------I calculate the year's end
------the loss from the orchard
------with only two hands
------to manicure and pluck
------and comb the bees' wings

so past the grass and morning dew
the harvest goes undone
under continous daylight

and the voices carry on

carry on
.

...

Ron Silliman says some more stuff about Bay Poetics...

The Spectacle of Meat, Maureen Thorson

One word that easily comes to mind after reading Maureen Thorson's, The Spectacle of Meat, is Carnavalistic. Maybe, also, Cannibalstic. This chapbook, published under her own imprint, Big Game Books, is a fun, strange, funny and sardonic book full of inventive and imaginative imagery. Here's the opening stanza's from the book's first poem, "The Magic Circus":

Welcome to the meatshow.
If Turkish conundrums and dancing octopi
Won't satisfy,

Consider our assortment
of demented happy-meals, the wind-up
boys a-go-go. Be assured:

we aim to edify...

The Spectacle of Meat is full of "eyeliner girls," "beef robots," "lolipop wheels," redheads, chicanery, magic, blood, and, of course, more meat. It's a book of figurative fireworks that leads to an apocolyptic fizzle. It's a hotdamn good time. Dark, mischievous and full of atmosphere. For more on this book you should contact Maureen Thorson through her blog, or the Big Game Books website.

CA Conrad on Detumescence

Detumescence Press releases another pamphlet issue, this one featuring the poet, CA Conrad. Go HERE and read up. It's poetry from the FRANK Poems series. Some other Frank Poems from CA Conrad were in small town8.

TRANSMISSION1

On my lunch break I hit up Kelly Paper and bought the coverstock and endpapers for TRANSMISSION1, passion, by Larry Kearney--and, so, it shan't be too much longer now...

apartment hunting

My girlfriend and I are looking for an apartment in Nob Hill, Hayes Valley, North Beach, or the Lower Haight. If any of ye Bay Area folk know of apartments opening up in these neighborhoods, please let me know--especially Nob Hill, as that's our first choice.

Thanks.

more on Bay Poetics...

Ron Silliman says some stuff about Bay Poetics...

To End Night’s Disparate Glowing Ends

[poem removed for pending publication...]

Benjamin Hollander, The Ishmaelite Scrolls: Part One

While I was thinking about it I just thought I'd mention another rare find to be had for cheap ($3) over at SPD, Benjamin Hollander's, The Ishmaelite Scrolls: Part One published in 1983. I have a copy of this myself and really need to read it again. It's 8.5 by 11 and has a thread-bind. They currently have 13 left in stock.

While you're over there, pick up a copy of Ben's, Rituals of Truce and the Other Israeli. That link'll take you to Amazon because, for some reason, SPD doesn't have a description of that book. All in all, you should own all of Ben's books.

Issues with Detumescence

Detumescence Press has some new issues up. Go HERE for a list of all issues, current and past. The new ones are lilies_Issue_5.pdf and pickles_Issue_6.pdf.

just received...

Ronald Johnson's, radi os, from Flood Editions, which I'm super excited to receive, not only because Flood Editions make some hot damn books, but also because I need to read it before I read Michael Koshkin's homage to Johnson, Parad e R ain, due out sometime soon from Maureen Thorson's Big Game Books. Keep your ears and eyes open for that release.

Bay Poetics, now available

Bay Poetics, edited by Stephanie Young.

This anthology is now available and includes three poems of mine from amber faint. I've gotten the impression that it includes (nearly) everybody in and around the Bay Area, with poetry, "essays, lists, short fiction, walking tour reports, manifestoes and all points in between..." Although, I haven't seen it yet, nor know the full TOC. However, it's got to be jammed-packed, as it weighs in at 432 pages.

You can also order it directly from Faux Press here.

Benjamin Hollander, Vigilance

Finished Benjamin Hollander's Vigilance yesterday. It's a fast read, but I managed to never have it on me when I had some time to read. After finishing it I wondered to myself if the book would have as strong of an aural effect if I hadn't already heard most of the book read by Ben at Brandon Brown's long defunct Zeal reading series, or watched a video of him reading with Sarah Menefee at SF State's Poetry Center. The book is a quick read, like I said, because most sections are single words, or broken words running down the page. I believe it should be able to be read without knowing the phenomal presentation Benjamin Hollander gives when reading simply because of its form of speeding down the page, then slowing to prose blocks, then speeding back up down the page, then slowing down to a few long lines, then the intrusion of photos and sheet music, etc... Or, better yet go here:

The Poetry Center, SFSU

You'll be able to contact them and order this:

"Benjamin Hollander: September 20, 2001. 35 minutes, VHS, $25.00. Poet Benjamin Hollander reads Levinas and the Police, a strikingly imaginative long poem inspired in part by the Jewish Lithuanian philosopher Emmanuel Levinas's writings on ethics and the Other. His reading here incorporates the concluding scenes, and soundtrack music, from Carol Reed's film Odd Man Out. Steve Dickison introduces Hollander and Sarah Menefee, at The Unitarian Center."

Then you'll have a terrific audio/video companion to the book.

All I can say about the book is that it carries with it an immense force, one that sticks to your bones and leaves you with an odd sense of words and the world. The book is in two sections--Onome, and Levinas and the Police. Its main theme is apparent in the opening lines of Levinas and the Police:

Listen, Lt. : we live in a house called The Problem of Being
Me-half-seen-on-you-half-seen-on-me

That link up there will take you to the first few sections of the poem where they were first published.

I've noticed the word "alien" a lot when others have spoken about this book, and I would agree, that that unfamiliar feeling is oddly "alien". The book has also been called "a detective-poem, or poem-noir, a genre unto its own." And that got me to thinking that a stage-presentation of this book could be pretty bizarre, if you had an actual extraterrestrial as the one addressing the Lt.:

Listen, Lt. your men are all the same, le Même
I mean: imagine them
Being as they are
Never the first one on the scene
Yet always to have saved their place in the sun

But maybe that's just silly--imagining a big grey alien in a court room trying to understand this concept of vigilance, and who's watching the watcher watching us. It could work, though, I think, if handled in a serious and minimalist way. The paranoia of the poem I think could translate well to the stage.

Oh, and here's a few of my most favorite lines from the book, and in poetry, in general:

They a pro man they ape Roman they a pro man in a row man
why they run on the ne-on they come like a pro man here comes one

Benjamin Hollander's Vigilance was published by Beyond Baroque. It includes a correspondence with Joshua Schuster, a conversation with John Sakkis, and an essay by Murat Nemet-Nejat. Each piece working well as an afterword to illuminate, perhaps, the poetry of the book--it being steeped in politics and philosophy, and having in of itself an unfamiliar form.