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January 28, 2007

Some Good News, Some Bad News

An article written in 1999 states "more than 90 percent of users receive spam at least once a week, and almost 50 percent get spammed six or more times per week.".  How times have changed.  I checked my email server and found that I've received approximately 7,900 spam emails in the last 20 days.    I could avoid a lot of it by never listing my email address on my websites, but I like that people can click-and-email me.  Besides, I don't have to read more than 1% of the spam I receive, as it gets shuffled off to a Junk folder. 

Jubak has a sobering article called State of the Nation?  Broke.  The first problem is that even a "balanced budget" (which we haven't seen since the Clinton years) isn't really balanced.  All of the military spending for Iraq, now over $350 billion, isn't included in the budget because it's appropriated as "special requests".  That doesn't mean it doesn't drive up the national debt, of course.  The second problem is the recent trick of including Social Security payments in the numbers  —  these are dollars dedicated to the Social Security trust fund and should not be commingled with tax revenues.  With the budget calculation corrected for these two deceptions, the yearly deficit is now half a trillion dollars.  That's about $5,000 per family per year that the U.S. government is spending that it doesn't have.  As Jubak says, "the upcoming crisis is absolutely predictable", because all calculations of Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security outlays to baby-boomers show that by 2030 all (100%) of government revenue will need to be used just to pay the interest on the debt.  The bad news is that well before this happens, the standard of living for all but the wealthy will decline, as the value of the dollar drops and interest rates rise.  The other bad news is that this enormous amount of debt is substantially held by foreign countries and their citizens.  This includes current and future adversaries, such as China and Southeast Asian nations.  Nothing less than the future of our nation (and our children) depends upon doing something to repair the economic damage.  What's the answer?  Raise taxes and/or reduce federal spending.  When's the last time a candidate was elected by promising to raise taxes?  For another look, see Where Your Income Tax Money Really Goes, that demonstrates why almost 50% of the controllable federal budget goes to the military.

Hey, hey.  Ange Mlinko has a fine poem in Poetry.  Alice Oswald, whom I admire, and Albert Goldbarth share the issue.  More on that tomorrow.

Time's lead article is on the 2008 Presidential election, "the most most wide-open race since 1928".  Could somebody please cut off the funds for those creepy milk commercials where somebody famous has that ghoulish White-Out smeared on their upper lip?  William Shatner is obnoxious as ever in 10 Questions (a sample:  Time:  "... Claudia Christian ... accused you of once making advances".  Shatner:  "Well, who am I to tell a lady that she's a liar? ... I'm sure it was memorable for her, though.").  A U.N. panel of noted scientists are about to confirm that human activities are responsible for global warming.  Scooter Libby's new trial defense is that he's a sacrificial lamb to prevent Karl Rove's indictment.  A Dutch pet-shop owner has introduced beer for dogs.  Libya is going to lay off 400,000 government workers as it switches to a market economy.   Presidential aspirants are announcing earlier and earlier to get a jump on the $2 million per week they need to raise to become viable candidates.  Time's summary table of major candidates includes their popularity rating, recognition percentage, number of appearances in People magazine, and Amazon.com ranking of the last book they wrote.  Time is running out for the 300,000 Israelis who live in what most of the world considers Palestinian land.  While J. Crew, American Eagle, and Abercrombie & Fitch surge ahead, sales of The Gap (and Old Navy and Banana Republic) continue to slide.  Rage and catatonia are common among 20,000 inmates who reside in federal supermax prisons, where they are in isolation 23 hours a day and eat alone in a cell whose light cannot be turned off.  Among the many instances of animal homosexuality, sheep exhibit the highest percentages with 8% of all rams having sex exclusively with other rams.  A long article on the rudely hilarious Sarah Silverman who stars in her own sitcom in February (in one episode, she sleeps with God, who is black).  Women are taking to the slopes in increasing numbers.  The new supercharged $90,000 Jaguar XKR is the cat's meow. 

If you have a little more budgeted for a car, you should check out the $8 million Maybach, from the"ultra-luxury division" of Mercedes.  It's 19-feet long, weighs 6,000 pounds and goes almost 220 miles per hour.  Make sure to budget for gas, as well, because it gets 2.5 miles per gallon.  Other news from CNN:  In a reversal of the ratio of 40 years ago, women now account for 57% of all college graduates.  The highest federal mininum wage was in 1968, when it hit $9.27 in 2007 dollars.  Microsoft is threatening credit card companies by getting into the online payment business. "Dog Shit" was listed among the ingredients in a package of British cooked ham, prompting the firm to fire the employee responsible for the labeling prank. 

~~~

Adam Clay has announced the birth of Typo 9 with poetry by Rachel Abramowitz, Jim Goar, Rebecca Loudon, Abraham Smith, Jen Tynes and others.

At the MMM Bash, I picked up the latest issue of Copper Nickel that Jake Adam York left (he's an editor).  There is a lot of good work in the journal, including poems by Gina Franco, Noah Eli Gordon, Matthea Harvey, Joshua Poteat, Mathias Svalina and others.  The collection is eclectic and highly readable.  Some lines from poems I liked:

Mathias Svalina, After Everything:  Before corn was the color of heron's beaks / I was a dormant husband. / My wife shook me to gurgle.

Joshua Poteat, From J. G. Heck's 1851 Pictorial Archive of Nature and Science, Mercury asleep and the pretty stars : I bring to this landscape a spotted liver, and a / house pulled from the sea.  I bring a weathervane, / weatherless with yeast, some dogs kicked in the / brain.

Noah Eli Gordon, from The Year of the Rooster:  What a rooster is /    stubborn alienation /   plundering cornfields /   fertile adornment

Alison Titus, Dead Letter Office: Besides the gaunt mule stumbling the thicket behind the factory. // Besides those outskirts of grief.  Then elsewhere.

Nicholas Reading, Dialogue with an Intruder:  Now that the door is kicked in we have plenty /   to talk about / with you stoned, me weak thinking that Grandmother's //    tea set / has fallen apart and give us plenty to talk about while / you reach

~~~

I'd love to get a Wii and play the newest Zelda, but I've been trying to keep my priorities straight.  The Wii is still devilishly hard to find, except on the Internet.  One sells at eBay every couple of minutes for about $300, so somebody is getting them.

January 27, 2007

The Bash

Well, a glorious time was had by all at the MMM Volume VII Release Launch. Of course, there was wine: a case of 1947 Mouton Rothschild that had slumbered in the Bahr Family Cellars since the Cold War.  The beer was brewed for the occasion by Belgian Trappists.  The chips were composed of native Colorado maize hand-rolled on Mayan stones. James brought a spinach dip with magical properties that bubbled in a chafing dish the size of a wading pool.  Erik brought literjons filled from a secret spring that very afternoon.  There was buffalo tongue and frog legs and lamb's eyes floating in broth.  Malinda fashioned hundreds of mini-quiches from rare Alsatian cheeses. Barb rolled a cart around the gallery to serve flaming individual cherries jubilee to anyone with a hankering.

The official starting time was 7 PM, but the recent snow and an unexpected arrival of an Ambassador from Betelgeuse on the middle lane of I-25 delayed most of the participants. The Reading of the Published commenced at 8 PM, starting with Bahr, who is reputed to have adopted his surname for its alphabetical possibilities. Next came Robert King, who upon reading the initial stanza, burst into flames and re-emerged from the ashes as a larakeet, continuing as if nothing had happened.  Veronica Patterson read while wearing a hat a la Carmen Miranda, straw with a wide rim upon which was balanced fare from the fruit bowl.  Laura Weaver read and read and made us weep with happiness.  Jake Adam York stood up and thought about his poems with such concentration that the entire audience received images and clapped like children.   Kathryn Winograd gave her reading as the pinnacle of a human pyramid.  Barb's husband Tony, the only one who knew how to work the Church Ovens, then grabbed the microphone and threatened to read the complete works of Bukowski if somebody didn't try the hummus, of which there were five types, including "peyote" and "saffron-yam". Jeffrey Lee was in charge of the broadsides, which were roughly the size of queen sheets and the color of mangos. Each poet in the issue, upon entry to the party, was given a giant calligraphic pen to sign at the end of the poem, just above the tag that threatens prosecution for removal.  The Boulder Police came at some point, but left after sampling the brie. Erik began humming the Doxology, and we all filed out, holding the hips of the person in front of us. 

You should have been there.  Really.

The Next Big Event will be the arrival of Stephen Gyllenhaal to read his poetry and show clips of his films.  MMM is co-sponsoring the soirée with the CU-Boulder International Film Series and Community Relations, and it will take place on February 21st.  Please come.  You don't want to miss two in a row.

January 25, 2007

His Lips Move

There's an old joke that I heard first in the 60's:  How can you tell when Nixon is lying?  Hint:  He's not lying in this picture.  There was another joke that got recycled for at least two subsequent presidents:  The head of the Secret Service walks into the Oval Office and informs President Nixon that they have found "Nixon is a crook" written in pee on the White House lawn snow.  "It appears, from a chemical analysis, that it's Henry Kissinger's urine," the Secret Service agent says.  "Oh, goodness," Nixon replies.  "What's worse", continues the agent, "is that it appears to be Pat's handwriting".

This month's Atlantic leads off with "Why Presidents Lie".  There are a variety of motivations and excuses for Presidential lying, from political expediency to national security.  The short answer, however, is "because they can."  Niall Ferguson opines that "The Middle East looks like Europe circa WW I", and that far from the NeoCon dream that democracy brings stability, it maybe that democracy and economic insecurity will bring first civil war, and then regional conflict.  Calendar highlights some key dates in the next two months:  A somewhat mellowed Daniel Ortega became President of Nicaragua again on the10th.  Saddam Hussein may hang this month (clearly, they have long lead-times on each issue).  Dear Leader, Kim Jong Il, turns 65 on Feb 16th.  Presidential dollar coins that finally have God-fearing white males on them, not meddling woman and Injuns, go on sale Feb. 15th.  From The Ashtray of History:  In 1624, Pople Urban VIII issued a worldwide smoking ban because it prompts sneezing, which resembles sexual ecstasy.  In 1646, The General Court of Massachusetts ruled to prohibit tobacco smoking except when on a journey at least 5 miles from any town.  The Rancor Dividend explains that divided governments (i.e., different parties in control of the legislative and executive branches) tend to adopt better fiscal policies, which leads to smaller deficits.  In Closing the God Gap, a pair of Democratic strategists help candidates talk about their faith (yawn).  Studies show that American males who drank heavily while 10th graders in 1990 earn more now than others.  The number of reported gay couples in America grew by 30% between 2000 and 2005.  Social scientists claim that not only do tall people succeed in life disproportionately because of dominance factors, they're also smarter on average.  Good interview with Chief Justice John Roberts, who seems almost impossible to dislike.  The food section details all the ways you can make rice pudding.  (rice pudding?)  The poets this month are Grace Schulman and Elizabeth Spires.

The Spanish have fresh Manchego and aged Manchego and dry Manchego and semi-dry Manchego and everything in between.  They joke that every time a French cheesemaker makes a mistake in a batch, it gets a new name.  The back cover of Cook's Illustrated pictures ten different mistakes, including Roquefort, Morbier, Epoisses, St. Agur, and Crottin de Champcol.  Editor Christopher Campbell starts off the issue, as usual, with enough folksy Vermont stories that it makes you yearn for the understated urbanity of Garrison Keillor.  Notes from Readers includes:  Keep ginger dry to prevent mold.  The bad news is that unsaturated fats (the good kind) break down more quickly into strong, rancid-smelling peroxides and aldehydes than do saturated fats (the bad kind).  Store whole coffee beans or pre-ground coffee in the freezer, out of the light (who's got a light in their freezer?)  Somebody FINALLY asks what the hell "fat-free half-and-half" is.  From Quick Tips:  To find the start of that pesky SaranWrap roll, stroke it with a toothbrush.  Hot cookie pans can be pulled from the oven best with a pair of pliers.  Wipe vegetable oil on your hands to avoid beet stains (but, I like beet stains).  Parmesan-Crusted Chicken Cutlets are best made with a crust combining both grated and shredded cheese.  Good recipe for Olive-Rosemary Bread, but everybody knows I can't bake worth a damn.  Hearty Garlic-Potato soup employs a mixture of russet and red potatoes, plus leek, pressed garlic, butter and heavy cream (of course, you could serve yak urine, if you mixed in enough butter, garlic and heavy cream).  Potato Rösti, just like Kurt's wife used to make when I visited Zurich (think:  the best hash browns you ever ate).  Some handy facts from Bread Baking Demystified: All-purpose flour is as good as bread flour, in most cases.  Salt is essential.  Kneading with a standing mixer is better than hand-kneading.  You can vastly improve home-made tomato sauce in the winter by pre-roasting taste-challenged out-of-season tomatoes and adding a little tomato paste.  Pan-Roasted Asparagus with Red Peppers, Pine Nuts and Goat Cheese.  Yum.  I have no interest whatsoever in The Ultimate Lemon Layer Cake.  Although the $14 Lucini Gran Reserva Balsamico takes top prize, the $3.99 Monari Federzoni Balsamic Vinegar of Modena is close behind.  The Victorinox Fibrox 8-inch Chef's Knife at $22.95 rates equal to the Glestain Indented-Blade 8.2-inch Gyutou at $210.  I want a Microplane rasp grater.

Science Quote of The Day:  "Marsupial lions, kangaroos as tall as trucks and wombats the size of a rhinoceros roamed Australia's outback.  Australian megafauna could take all that nature could throw at them for half-a-million years, without succumbing. . . It was only when people arrived that they vanished."



Hoodathunk?  Jonathan gets no kick from cocaine.  Tony reveals the secret of Pozole Verde.  Excellent news about Suzanne.  Janet's new pic is sassier.  I just have to ask.  After getting the phone call from Dean Young, did Katey go to Iowa?  I liked Ron's vertical onslaught of miscellany.  I never mention Tony Tost any more, but it's not because I don't like Tony Tost.  Zach appears to have a) developed a Poirot-sized mustache, or b) was photographed while eating a giant black prawn.  Good thoughts and/or prayers, depending upon your persuasion, for Jilly's mom. 

You know, I've respectfully disagreed with Seth's prediction that Bush would be impeached.  The Dems don't want to waste 18 months on a distraction that only polarizes the voting public, and is viewed by the majority as a waste of time (as it was for Clinton).  But with GW and Cheney doing their good cop-bad cop routine, and the Administration taking the obvious results of November's mandate as a reason to increase troop strength in Iraq, you really have to wonder if Bush is one or two serious imperial fuckups from the Big I.  I just don't know how trapped in the NeoCon Bizzaro World the Administration is.  Would they do a Cambodia-like incursion into Iran?  Something even more stupid?  They certainly have proved that they're capable of world class hubris.


See you tomorrow.

January 24, 2007

Short But Pithy

There's a 77-square foot apartment for sale in London that's going for $335,000.  And I thought the Bay Area was expensive.

Don't forget:  if you're in the Denver area, come to the MMM Release Party this Friday.  Great food, generous libations, and readings from the issue's poets will be enjoyed by all.

Ten more days until my sweet Junie comes to Colorado.

No poetry journals or magazines in a week.  I did receive a Time, which I'll get to tomorrow.

Thanks to Reb for this discourse on Flarf and The New Sincerity.  Thanks to Deborah for this entry on MFAs.  Trish on "If Rabies Took Human Form".  Mom and Apple Pie, who usually serves up fresh poetry, does a take on Oprah, who, BTW, Die Cloud says is the Anti-Christ.

January 23, 2007

A Quaint Atrraction

OK, I've been lazy.  That didn't keep me from waking up this morning, putting on my power-walking sweats, and going downstairs to find that it was 2.45 AM.  Yes, I went back to bed, after knocking off some more of Pynchon's AtD.

A certain noted poet emailed me to say that the secret submission site for the Publication Submission Response Times was down.  I case you've never visited, it is a compilation of litmag submissions response times calculated from the entries of a trusted pool of poets.  If you submit regularly, email me to become a member of the statistical team.  Actually, I am long overdue to revise the listings for the Print Journal Submissions Information.  Editors have changed, addresses have changed, and I need to review the "difficulty" ratings.

I found out that my old friend Dave, lately of Paulsen Manor, sent the wine.  It was a glorious cabernet sauvignon from a local vineyard.  It was so good, I gave a bottle to Dima. 

Speaking of wine.  Back when we were exporting low-cost 286-based PCs to Russia, I had a good relationship with Kuehne & Nagel, our international freight handler.  I was also going to Spain at least once a year to visit my buddy Alejandro, who was distributing and supporting our software products.  On one visit to Denia, I wandered into a bodega (wine shop) and acquired 25 cases of wonderful Spanish wine.  K & N handled the shrink-wrapping, palletizing and partial-containerizing and shipped the whole bundle by surface (that is, on the ocean) for about 50 cents a bottle.  Then, there was the 7 cents a bottle Federal tax to pay, and the dollar a bottle to get the stash from the Houston port to Boulder.  All in all, a great deal, as I ended up with cases of Viña Ardanza Reserve, a glorious wine, at about $10 a bottle, and dozens of other good to great vintages.  The really good stuff (i.e., Alta Rioja 904, Vega Sicilia, and Pesquera) I took back in my suitcase.  Some of that wine went to friends, including a few to the much beloved and tragically taken poet Ron Jones, who created an entire mythology around Missing Rioja.  I've been back since with Junie, speeding along the coast as a passenger on Air Tarquis, having a multi-course Valenciano dinner with Pepe in Denia, playing blackjack in the Hotel Torrequebrada, and buying another 20-some cases of Spanish wine.  This time, however, I really had no easy way to get the stuff back home.  So, every couple of months, I plead with Alejandro (the current holder of said stash) to drink another case before it turns.  Alejandro always responds that he and Junie and his wife and I should drink it together watching the moon set on the Mediterranean.  Sounds like a plan.  Maybe this year.

No poetry journals or magazines in the past 5 days.  Only Miss Marple movies via Netflix.  They were the recent ones with Geraldine McEwan and just wonderful.  The bulk of the BBC series starred Joan Hickson and were considered more true to the books, which I can believe.  In my 20's I read all 80-someodd Agatha Christies and developed into such an Anglophile that I immediately started reading Ngaio Marsh (actually, a Kiwi, as I recall), P. D. James, Carter Dickson (AKA John Dickson Carr) and a host of other authors.  But, I digress.  Like the BBC Hercule Poirot series with David Suchet, both Marples are perfect period pieces, differing slightly in the era.  The latter Marples have fast-forwarded the action to the 40's, whereas in the original (and in the Joan Hickson versions), the Great War provides the Majors and Colonels who populate the murder-invested households.  In both, there is a quaint attraction:  everybody smokes, the upper classes do what they damned well please, the herbaceous borders are always trimmed.  I am, frankly, at a loss to reconcile my disgust with my views on the New American Empire and my attraction to these productions.

Junie asks me to pass on this important holiday announcement.
More tomorrow.  I'm done being quiet for a while.

January 18, 2007

Cain's Wife

I was sweeping out my garage and the UPS guy showed up and asked me if I was 21.  That means wine.  But, I haven't bought any wine online for a while.  Still, there it was, 6 bottles of California Cabernet Sauvignon.  I never order 6 of anything.  Maybe it's a birthday present.  Nah, nobody likes me that much.  Maybe it's an order screw-up, since I think I've gotten wine from this firm before.  Maybe it's like winning the lottery in a diminutive sense. 

I googled "Cain's Wife" on a whim and found something like 13,000 hits.  It turns out that that (don't you love it when two words juxtapose like that legitimately?)  radical liberal ACLU-sponsored spawn of Satan, Clarence Darrow, also used the Cain's wife argument to cast doubt on the literal interpretation of the Bible.  I mean, if Seth was Adam and Eve's third child, and he arrived 130 years into Mankind's Reign on Earth, and Cain was wed B4 he murdered his brother, and the residents of the Land of Nod had to have been children of Adam who wandered off much later, and ...  Oh, I don't know, it's like trying to create a chronology on CSI: Somewhere.  In any event, that doesn't prevent thousands of Christian conservative sites from Dealing With The Whole Cain's Wife Issue by hypothesizing who left for Nod when, and explaining how the incest prohibitions didn't come into play until Leviticus, and BTW, Adam and Eve's genetic structure was pristine, so this whole brother-sister consummation thing is OK, nobody was going to have a baby with six fingers.  Sometimes religion hits me and I just don't know what to do with it.  I don't mean The Troubles or the War of the Roses or the Hindu-Islamic contentions in India, most of which I figure is variant of the Jets and the Sharks, although they do tend to end up with large number of dead bodies.  But it always seems like a Clash of Cultures, much like the problems that arise when somebody dances to his iPod while holding a subway strap while somebody else is trying to read Proust in her seat.  Or worse, when somebody says they've been dissed in the ghetto, or perhaps on an NFL gridiron.  At what point did we get so fucking touchy?  I totally understand when there is a shortage of resources and your crops just failed and your child is dying and, in general, life isn't about worrying how Lindsay Lohan is going make it in rehab.  It's just that I don't understand in theory, why people kill each other for stupid reasons. The problem is that I'm old enough to know that that's not why people get killed.  It's a conflict among world-views, more precisely a clash of comfort zones, a pressing desire to preserve exactly the screwed-up mythologies that you grew up with, otherwise how could life be worth living? 

I watched the same Prairie Home Companion movie that Ange reviewed recently.  I like PHC in general, and listen to it about as often as The Car Guys, which is once a month maybe.  I like Guy Noir and love when Sue Scott and Tim Russell do vignettes.  Also the Sound Guy, who used to be somebody and is now somebody else.  In the movie were some of my favorite actors, including Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin.  Anyway, the problems with the movie:  Kevin Kline played Kevin Kline in his role as Guy Noir, as if this were a remake of the Pink Panther.  The whole shtick where everybody reminisces too much got old after 5 minutes.  Woody Harrelson and John C. (Mr. Cellophane) Reilly were bad choices as the cowboys.  Lindsay Lohan was a distraction.  Tommy Lee Jones played in character, but was too late to offer up any kind of redemption.  Everybody else was great, including Scott and Russell as backstage do-bees.  Here was the chance for GK to interpret the authenticity of PRC to something understandable by Coastal Folk, and he chose the easy, schmaltzy way out.

I had a very good and earnest mathematician speak to me in squigglies for almost two hours today.  Somewhere in there were thetas and Laplace equations of order N and rotations in polar coordinates and dot products and imaginary numbers and irrational numbers.  All of these led up to a practical need to do something which I will be doing, but I didn't actually have to know the details to do it.  What is that like?  Maybe like proving that you're the same tribe as your benefactors, like being to able to conduct the mass in Latin.

Yeah, it's still cold.  No, we haven't gotten rid of the piles of snow yet.  I might as well live in North Dakota. 

January 17, 2007

Pretty Good Quotes (Apologies to GK)

There can be such a thing as too much poetry, and I try not to write it. — John Ashbery.  (thanks, to Jilly by way of Trish).

If you recognize yourself, relax, I'm not calling you a hoity toity fuckhole. No, no, no -- I'm discussing hoity toity fuckhole behaviors/attitudes I've encountered/observed among a number of folks. — Reb.  (Whew.  Good.  I was worried there for a moment).

Kansas Associate Professor of Spanish Jonathan Mayhew got a five-year contract extension Thursday that bumps up his annual compensation to more than $1.3 million — Señor Swing.

Friday seems very far away. Too far away. The expectation and anticipation are killing me. — CDY. (note the proper noun/verb agreement).

I am a poet, and I often blog about poetry, but I will goddam well blog about pop music, or movies, or crime fiction, or candy canes, or hanging out with my friends, or what my twelve favorite brands of shoe polish are, or revolting bear embryos, or what Mighty Morphing Power Ranger I would be if I were a Mighty Morphing Power Ranger. — Kasey.

We get around in cars so much they say we'll lose our baby toes.— LH or perhaps not, the jury is out.

Reading a journal I admire the past few days, agog at the abrupt and unmotivated emphasis from poem to poem on nothingness, emptiness, the null set, nihil, none, suicide, destruction, and dread. — Jordan.

I'm going to apply to Breadloaf this year. What the hell. I have to experience the madness of Breadloaf at least once. I got in two years ago as a waiter, but I had to decline because of my brother's sudden wedding. I should've gone to Breadloaf instead. My brother is now divorced. — Eduardo.

Celebrate the new year by getting yourself a copy of 2007s Pushcart Prize. I've always felt the poems are consistently better than the ones in that other anthology.— David H.

Years after the show is shut down, Keillor, Streep, and company meet in a diner to discuss a revival and tour of “A Prairie Home Companion.” Suddenly Lola breezes in, modeling a black cell phone and curve-hugging power suit softened by a touch of puffed sleeves, what clothing catalogs call the “Poet’s Blouse.” A new style oxymoron has emerged, one appropriate to a former suicide babe turned financial advisor. “Have you even heard of mutual funds?” — Ange.


January 16, 2007

Bone Island Suite

I'm going to a birthday dinner for me tonight at the Boulder Cork, so this will be shorter than usual. 

I did want to mention that Rebecca Loudon (no, I'm not her publicist) has co-composed a 5-part song cycle, Bone Island Suite, with Roupen Shakarian.  Rebecca has written poetry for the lyrics, and the resulting work is just amazing.  You can read the poetry and listen to the suite by going here.

You all have a nice day.

January 15, 2007

Check Box If Deceased

I'm sure lots of people have thought this, but:  how could the network that brought us The Simpsons, American Idol, Malcolm in the Middle, and Family Guy not be cool enough not to have brought us the despicably fair and balanced Fox News?

Living in Colorado is mostly a matter of gloating at the expense of the people in Florida, New York and California.  We have hot summers, but without the bugs and humidity.  We have beautiful autumns and springs.  We have winters, but it's not uncommon for it to be 60 in December.  So what happened?  This morning, I'm doing my morning treadmill walk and I find that Longmont is currently -4, Fort Collins is -8 and Greeley is -17.  These are towns not 30 minutes away by freeway.  Meanwhile, the mountain resorts are experiencing -15 to -25 degrees at night.  I've actually experienced -20 here for one day in 1991, but Coloradans treated that as a lark, a day to go out and listen to our nose hairs crinkle and freeze.  We've had this stupid snow and cold for almost 4 weeks, and we've got another week until they say it will be done.  This is not Minnesota.  By God's grace and 300 days of sun a year, we're supposed to have all the snow off the road 24 hours after the calamity strikes.  Anyway, don't listen to me.  And, don't move here, we've got enough expatriates as it is.

More work I liked in Verse:

Brian Teare, Dead House Sonnet:  "house of each sentence endlessly hinged, house of each phrase opened elegy / entirely latches, exactly latches, hasps, proliferant, endlessly opened, of doors, / termini effigies, each noun in a house a nova of votives, ..."

Ed Davis, Pygmalion's Paper Anniversary:  "There's that poor dope at the end of the bar again, / mumbling into his fizz gin.  I wonder if he's forgotten / this time.  I told him more than once she was better / off as his showroom centerpiece."

Bruce Covey, Check Box If Deceased:  " & in doing so, construct a corner to the end / From which to construct a tower then & tower later / Gracious rescue a ladder fire fallen dragon an apple pie"

I admit that I'm giving more ink to Verse because I am a contributor.  I just feel more beholden, I suppose. 

January 14, 2007

Gay Bow-Tie

I just noticed Tony R. has a book coming out from pi-lot books. 

I spent the afternoon with Jeffrey Lee, poetry editor and co-director of MMM.  He reminds me to remind you:

  • Volume VII, No. 1 is now out and available for purchase.
  • The Volume VII Release Party will be held in Boulder on January 26th.  Details here.
  • Anne-Marie Cusak, winner of our 2006 book contest for Silkie, will be at the MMM table at the AWP book fair, signing books. 
  • The MMM Poetry Book Contest is open for manuscript submission, details here.
  • MMM submissions can now be made via snailmail or online.

I actually read every page of Ploughshares, including the fiction (some of which was excellent).  The army of Names was impressive, including Frank Bidart, Dan Chiasson, Henri Cole, Peter Cooley, W. S. Di Piero, Landis Everson, Brendan Galvin, Linda Gergerson, Brenda Hillman, Jane Hirshfield, Tony Hoagland, John Hollander, Fanny Howe, Susan Howe, Colette Inez, Jennifer L. Knox, Jeffrey Levine, W.S. Merwin, Linda Pastan, Ed Pavlic, Robert Pinsky, J. Allyn Rosser, Mark Rudman, Tomaz Salamun, Elizabeth Spires, Mark Strands, Charles Wright, and Franz Wright, among others.  Surprisingly (at least to me), I liked Hirshfield's Critique of Pure Reason, and J. Allyn Rosser's China Map, and Fanny Howe's Back Then, and Pinksy's El burro es un animal, and Amy Scattergood's The Secrecy of Animals (but partly, I think,  because of her wonderful name).    Here's a few more that made the cut for me:

Michael Hofmann, Idyll:  "even more elaborate spiders' webs will sheet off the corners; / rust stains and mildew and rot will spread chromatically"
Maurice Kilwein Guevara, Cage:  "See the green-bottle flies over the giant catfish rotting on a rock, / General Armstrong's hoofed men swarming down a hillside with smoke."
Ed Ochester, with the zany Pasta: "and orzo and penne and rigatoni and / of course gay bow-tie farfalle which / makes me think of my favorite restaurant"
Joyce Peseroff, Brownfield Sonnets:  "3.  Whose Woods These Are / I think I know the guy who backpacks up / to Patton's tract, tending his dope.  He plants / between slash piles on paper company land,"
 
This from Maxine Chernoff's He Picked Up His Pen in Her Defense, in the recent Verse:  "She had done a great wrong.  Over a dozen people suffered. // She was said to sweat literature. // Marriage suited her better than nakedness. // His fingers curled around the bone of his hip."

See you tomorrow.


January 13, 2007

A Kind of Tantric Doom

Tony R. comments that noted editor Howard Junker has a blog:  ZYZZYVASPEAKS.  Another frigate in the armada of speaks-blogs.

CDY links us to the Poetry Foundation's list of poetry bestsellers.  Seeing BC's books multiple times is no surprise.  I knew that Mary Oliver was popular, but am amazed to see nine of her books in the top 50, of which four are in the top 10.  Roughly 20% of the poets are dead.

Harper's has some good work this month.  The article Dead End details with unemotional precision all the reasons we should get out of Iraq — and why we shouldn't have embarked on this murderous lark in the first place.  Each of Edward Luttwak's points are obvious to non-NeoCon who has read history.  The only way to combat insurgency is to be more brutal than they.  The Nazis, the Romans and the Ottoman Empire serve as excellent examples of regimes that kept large populations docile by dealing out quick and deadly retaliation to any town that permitted its inhabitants to commit acts of defiance (which includes most of Europe during WWII, contrary to Hollywood's portrayal of various resistance movements).  Liberal democracies are happily populated with citizens who won't tolerate such abuses, so we are stuck with a problem with no solution.  From Findings:  Livestock (sheep, pigs, sheep, cattle) are among the three top environmental threats in terms of pollution, threats to biodiversity, and production of greenhouse gasses;  ocean warming is causing a persistent decline in phytoplankton, which account for half of the photosynthesis on earth;  left-handed people are more adept at multi-tasking.  From Harper's Index:  Percentage of Baghdad's Shiites who believe that the U.S. should reduce its force level "as the security situation improves": zero; chances that an American worker experienced a 50% drop in income:  1 in 14 for 1970, 1 in 6 today; total oil revenues into Nigeria since 1974:  $728 billion;  percentage of Nigerians living on less than one dollar a day:  32% in 1985, 71% today;  amount of World War I live ordnance dug up in Belgium last year:  300 tons;  consecutive years in which the U.N. has cited Norway as the best country to live in:  6.

This from Rebecca's Radish King, Through Dragon's Gate:  The butcher's wife waits / for the flayed pig's head to speak, / washes her face with milk, / her daughter billowing / against the window. / Plucked chickens hang / by their neck, shark fin, squid, / gingerroot knuckles in a box / at the door.

This from my poem in Verse, O the Crippled Government of Love.

This take on Manguso's The Rider.

This from Barbara Hamby's A Birdman to You, Baby, in the recent Verse:  An acrobat in the circus — he was a teenager, a trapeze whiz / zig-zagging across the bigtop in a skin-tight lavalava. / Burt Lancaster, a real star, from The Killers to 1900 to Atlantic City, / yearning for a beautiful broad.  He's sometimes big and dumb, / conned by Ava Gardner, but what man could withstand her hex, / X-rated decolleté, siren song in a black dress, a kind of tantric / doom in the form a mobster's moll, hear like a piece of hollow / wood."

See you tomorrow.

January 12, 2007

Sparrows

I'm still reading Sarah's The Captain Lands in Paradise.  There's an excellent review by Christine Hume at Constant Critic.  A sample:  "Manguso fillets the signature styles of James Tate and Dean Young and disposes of their punch-line tendencies. That is, she begins with a flatly perverse or deceptively simple premise and whisks it off to exquisite extremes, often by way of berserk example and oddball qualification."  I think what is a smidgeon off-putting to me is the "essayishness" of many of the poems.  My reaction parallels my feeling about Jorie Graham's work as it progressed from evocative to expository.  Could be me, of course.  Usually is.

I don't read a lot of formal verse, but I love Julie Carter and A. E. Stallings' work.  Julie has collected her poems in pseudophakia, which Wikipedia tells me is "
is the condition of having an intraocular lens in the eye", and for which, curiously, OED has no entry at all.  The volume includes Sparrow, my favorite sonnet of all time, as well as other poems, some free verse.  Julie's work seems so authentic (and perhaps Midwestern, or perhaps that's redundant) without falling into the trap of gratuitous heart-rending that is so common in New Formalism.  There's a lot of death and resurrection implied in these poems, not something I'm usually that fond of, but somehow it all seem right and normal coming from Julie's pen.  This from Deerfly:  "Deer flourish in this wildwood.  I have stared / while dozens dapple through the Escher trees / in quick battalions.  Yesterday, a pair / stood knee high in the grasses of the lea / between the wood and road.  Winter's dull teeth / had gnawed their hides, and scraped fat from their bones / but not to kill ..."

I received an Atlantic and Harper's today.  I'm still reading the quite excellent Verse volume, and haven't dented the Ploughshares yet.  Not to mention Pynchon's latest.  More tomorrow.

January 11, 2007

Chapter and Verse

You shall be known by the company you keep.  As I read through my contributor's copy of Verse, I'm pleased to be in an issue with Seth Abramson, Beth Anderson, Jenny Boully, Maxine Chernoff, Xue Di, Landis Everson, Ray Di Palma, James Galvin, Barbara Hamby, Bob Hicok, Cathy Hong, Timothy Liu, Peter Markus, Andrew Mister, Ethan Paquin, Steven Schroeder, G.C. Waldrep and many, many other fine poets.  This is a monster issue, almost 300 pages of excellent work, wrapped in a bumblebee cover.  In addition to the poetry, there are over a dozen reviews of work by Ted Berrigan, Shanna Compton, Jennifer L. Knox, Timothy Liu, Gustaf Sobin, and John Yau, among others.  I've just paged through a score of poems.  More tomorrow.

I'm still reading Ms. Manguso's The Captain Lands in Paradise.  Like a lot of recent work that I've read, it is combination of prose poetry, microfiction, and overheard conversation.  I don't yet trust my first reaction that most of the work is subdued and with an artificially imposed flatness of affect.  Now, before all you Manguso fans out there beat up on me, what I'm describing is my education, not a slam on Sarah's work.  Some of the work is most immediately reminiscent of Matthea Harvey, and not surprisingly two pieces were published in American Letters & Commentary, where Ms. Harvey is a poetry editor (in fact, The Rider, which I didn't think was that strong, but was selected for inclusion in BAP 2001, so what do I know).  Some of these poems I have liked immediately.  Some I have struggled to understand what I'm supposed to be feeling.  Or thinking.  With The Babies, I found myself saying to myself more often than not:  What the hell was that about?  With the work in The Captain Lands in Paradise, I find myself occasionally thinking:  OK, but why would I care?   In the case of Ms. Mark, I needed perhaps more homework and a more open attitude.  With Ms. Manguso, perhaps I need to get used to listening more carefully, remembering that this is not Dean Young or Albert Goldbarth.  More when I figure it out.

It's still bloody cold here.  Usually, in January, we get a respite from winter with days in the 50's and blue skies most of the time.  Not recently, though.  Our state is seriously confused with my poet buddy Ally enjoying a high of 50 in Walsenburg 200 miles south of us, and those of us on the Front Range shivering in the 20's.  My son Derek still wants to drive south to Albuquerque to get that drum set, but I'm keeping my eye on the Weather Channel.

I just received the damnedest cool promo gear from Rebecca.  It's a entire box of matches, just like you used to pick up at restaurants, that say Radish King in white on a field of black.   Also a CD of her lyrics set to music and a couple of signed copies of books that Junie took on the plane with her to read and put on her Good Poetry shelf.

Yes, I'm now officially Junie-less, so I'll be blogging more. 

January 09, 2007

Kelli Day

Kelli Agodon, Richard Nixon and I are sharing a birthday today.  Two of us will be celebrating and the other is probably running for local magistrate in whatever circle of hell he resides in.  Kelli notes that it's also Joan Baez's birthday. 

It's still cold as <fill in your most colorful cold metaphor> here.  Friday is slated to be the fourth snow storm in as many weeks, at least according to the Weather Underground.  My son Derek wants to drive down to Albuquerque to transport a big gifted drum kit that his cousin is giving to him, but I'm waiting to find out just how bad we get hammered again.  You can't get to New Mexico without hitting 6,500 feet along the way on I-25, worse if you try to take the back way.

Junie and I are having dinner at a good local Cajun restaurant.  I'll be thinking of you.

Meanwhile, I've received an issue of Ploughshares that I've perused during breaks.  One thing that strikes you immediately is the large percentage of Names.  I don't know if that means that their solicitation percentage is higher than normal or not.  Most of the interesting work is by the Non-Names, frankly.  More on that tomorrow or the next day.

 

January 05, 2007

The Captain Lands

I just received Sarah Manguso's The Captain Lands in Paradise today, and read a few poems.  It's decidedly more plain-spoken than I was expecting, but not by any means banal.  This is one of those books that I'm going to have to read quite a bit before I've lowered myself sufficiently into the bathtub.  The blurbs are useless, as usual, even though Sarah has Friends in High Places and they showed up on the back cover:  Mark Levine, Carl Phillips, and Dean Young.  Two of the three of these gentlemen are minor deities as far as Junie and/or I are concerned.  Actually, I don't fault the blurbers, as one has to take one's prose to a higher plane at some point or all blurbs sound alike.  Wait.  They do sound alike.  CP:  "Hers is a startling, disturbing, and original voice".  DY:  "... The Captain Lands in Paradise has an impact that belies its marvelously deft touch".  Levine has the most interesting take:  "The 'paradise' this collection offers is rife with skepticism, comic trapdoors, and grievings:  a familiar place, but not comfortingly so."  Like most well-received books by talented poets, The Captain Lands in Paradise is constructed from unpublished poems and poems published in some of our best literary journals:  American Letters & Commentary, APR, Chicago Review, The Iowa Review, jubilat, The New Republic, Boston Review, The Spoon River Poetry Review.  As someone who has been peddling a manuscript for almost three years, I have to ask:  "Is this a collection of poems written with a thematic arc in mind, individually published over a couple of years, and then mortared together with new poems for connecting tissue?"  In the current world of first-book contests and high barriers to entry, it certainly seems as if a simple collection of poems, published in all the right places, but devoid of any real collective agenda, is doomed.  I have no idea what the answer is.  Anyway, back to you when I've read a lot more.

And I will have to read a lot more, mainly to Sweet Junie, love of my life, who will be showing up at DIA tomorrow, assuming that we don't get a fourth snowstorm.  We got hit with a mini-blizzard today, enough to shut Denver down.  The airport seems to be keeping up with it, and Saturday/Sunday look to be fair and sunny, so we may finally get rid of this mess.  There were teams of loaders and dumptrucks all over Longmont yesterday scooping up tons of snow that had been plowed into 6-foot trapezoidal solids.  God knows where they're taking it all, since by this time it's loaded with road oil and unmentionables.  It's not like you can dump it all into the local reservoir. 

I just got Rebecca's Radish King today.  Pretty wonderful stuff.  Rumor has it that RK has gotten by the first round of judging for the Pulitzer.

I still have the latest APR to read, but I will probably be cleaning the house.  First, for Junie's arrival, and second for a get-together with local poets on Sunday.  I'm the kind of housekeeper who only notices how badly the place has gone to hell when I envision people coming through the front door.  With two long-hair cats, there's hair on every horizontal surface, including large black clumps on the carpets (mainly thanks to Rimbaud, Emily is a much more fastidious groomer).  There's dust to whack off shelved memorabilia, bathrooms to sanitize, the kitchen cabinets to re-Liquid Gold, wine stains on the carpet to Oxidize, new snow to shovel, banisters to scratch-cover.  Oh, you know.  It makes me tired just to think of it.  I'll probably just recruit my son Derek to assist in the redirection of the River Platte through my own personal Augean stables.

More tomorrow.  Gotta go rid the fridge of science experiments.

January 04, 2007

MMM Release Pah-Tee

If you're in the Denver area, set aside January 26th at 7 PM for the MMM release party.  Food and drink (read wine and lesser beverages) will be provided.  Local area contributors to the issue will be reading (including yours truly, which should be enough reason to come, if the wine didn't hook you).  Here's the announcement as it looks on the MMM site

Many Mountains Moving Inc. presents a Release Party for Many Mountains Moving, Vol. VII—the new print annual with 93 great contributors from all over the country and the world, 288 pages.

Hear some of the contributors from Colorado: Kathryn Winograd, Veronica Patterson, Jake Adam York, Robert King, Jeffrey Ethan Lee, Jeffery Bahr, Barbara Sorensen, Laura Weaver and others. Bring friends!

Music, coffee, tea, wine & food provided.

Location: St. John's Episcopal Church, 1419 Pine St., Boulder.

Contact Barbara Sorensen at 303-823-5149

or woc@indra.com for more information.

I'm finally starting to get mail, and received an APR today.  More on that tomorrow, work calls.

January 01, 2007

An Anti-Absorptive Monday

Back to this month's Poetry.  Zbigniew Herbert offers up this from Portrait of the Fin de Siècle:  "Ravaged by drugs stifled by a mantle of fumes / the supernova smolders burned to a fiery star / of three evenings — of chaos desire and torment / steps onto the trampoline begins all over again", which has elements of post avant disjunction.  Carl Dennis brings up back down to earth with Birthday:  "Now that the time remaining is insubstantial, / I need to review my history while asking / What exactly it suggest I've lived for, / What pleasures or duties, what moods / Of brief elation or extended calm".  Carl isn't that much older than I, what's with this dour assessment?  A couple of modestly innovative pieces by H. L. Hix.  Harry Clifton describing sheepdogs, skylarks, and Irish meteorological exotica. Nice work by Eleanor Wilner, including a concrete poem featuring the moon, my favorite astronomical object.  Good quick hit by Atsuro Riley, The Roses:  "The house with the nick- and snigger-name  Snort and Grunt. / Shunned trailer-house, (pocked) scorn-burnt.  Side-indented, / thorn-bined, boondocked in a hollow."  I had to smile at Nance Van Winkel's Nest:  "We have a rental car, and thank you, no / we won't get out.  We can see the animals / quite well from here."  Plodding unfortunate ode to the recent war dead by Todd Hearon.

More blogwalking as I debug a WinCE-based N-point video alignment program:  Thanks to Eduardo and Diana for noting this list of poetry contests. My goodness, Laurel is going to have another baby (congrats!).  Ginger reposts a comment she left on this blog, and which I mistakenly deleted.  Matthew gives up the secret recipe to Noodle Pudding with a DifferenceSteven can't find much to like about the Broncos.  It just registered that Kristy Bowen (whom Derek met once at the Columbia library) has a new book out from Ghost Road Press.  I had also failed to notice that RJ has a book out Three Candles Press.  MiPOesias's kicking first issue is out.  Henry sets the philosophical groundwork for the School of Cool Quietude.  Does Richard create all the artwork on his site?  If so, he's amazingly prodigious.  I was reading the blog of my buddy Scoplaw (AKA RJ), who linked me to Robert's summary of the absorptive and anti-absorptive poetry, terms apparently invented by Ron (Robert also mentions getting stuck at the Rejkjavic airport, which happened to me once, but I consoled myself by drinking beer and reading at the world's smallest Hard Rock Cafe inside the terminal).

Robert's usual cogent and matter-of-fact discourse got me thinking again about The Babies and other works that have challenged me — in many cases, in fact, challenged me not to write them off as gratuitous gibberish.  One interesting thesis among RA's arguments is that difficult poetry is preferred by many not because it is difficult, but because it is familiar (as well as aesthetically pleasing).  I can't help but think this is a phenomenon similar to the effect that mathematics has on those unfamiliar with it.  There are many texts that Junie, for example, just gets way quicker than I (the work of Carl Phillips come to mind).  Conversely, the last time she saw the page of Laplace equations, her eyes glazed over at the sight of all those squigglies.  But, math and science are a different thing altogether, you might be mumbling under your breath right now.  Are they?  I wonder.  When I see

eiП + 1 = 0

I marvel that Euler could have discovered (and God knows how) an equation that combines the five most important numbers in mathematics (and only those five — talk about concision).  When I read a particularly elegant algorithm, so much of the structure and components are familiar to me that I can appreciate the beauty of both what is being described and the mind behind it.