Because All Is All

Honey, I'm home!

2008-10-19T08:27:00.004-05:00

It has been a year of change so far, and it's not over by a long shot. My hiatus from this effort has been long but temporary, and finally, I am thrilled to report, over.

My most recent publication:

http://swrhc.txstate.edu/cssw/publications/tbr/2008-spring-summer.php

If you're into Texas authors or Southwestern American literature, the publications of the Center for the Study of the Southwest at Texas State University-San Marcos are must-haves.

Married to Questions

2008-01-27T08:51:00.000-06:00

Today's Journal of Note:

Locus Nocus

Poet and Poem of the Issue:

Gary Lain's "A Plague of Cities"

Although I did not find them all so, Lain's was an excellent poetic event. I say event because this is an interplay of image, text, and sound. Colors, movement, and music work together and against each other simultaneously in a space that is not a space about the change of space and the desire to change it back.

What does this mean for poetry? Is it still poetry?

Mark Doty says, "scraps of cell-phone recitations into private ethers."

Yes.

So what does it mean to read a screen, ephemeral diction, TV format, with language already condensed, then add layers of links to more text like fillings and icings? (Click here. Click here. Click here.) Now add images. Animation and sound.

Decorative or meaningful?

In an era where confusion is respected, purposefully induced and highly regarded, sought out even, art has to reflect it, right? We still arrive at truth, yes?

I am engaged.

Back to Being Weird

2008-01-17T06:46:00.000-06:00

Today's Poet of Note:

Alan Lee Birkelbach

Texas Poet Laureate 2005

Book: Alan Birkelbach: New and Selected Works (The Poet Laureate series from TCU Press)

In December of 2006, I was invited by Peggy Zuleika Lynch, founder of Poetry in the Arts, to write and then read a poem about human rights in Austin, TX. She explained that readings such as this would simultaneously be taking place all over the world. Well, I had to say "yes."

Due to my disability with directions, I was a little late, so I missed some of the first readers. Afterwards, a man in boots and a bolo approached me and said he really enjoyed my poetry. I learn that he's a former Texas Poet Laureate, and although I didn't hear him read, I'm even more flattered. He gives me (yes, gives me) his book. After recovering from the amazement at his skill and delight in his wonderfully odd brain, I contacted Alan and a friendship began. He has encouraged and helped me in many ways, and our friendship, as such often do, has led to other invaluable friendships. There are no accidents, ya'll.

Alan's work is delightfully weird and wonderfully refreshing. His work features a quiet yet authoritative voice--calm, filled with an iota of wonder, a pinch of mystery, and yet a bit of "well, of course." Just as poets observe everything, he not only misses nothing, but attaches his attention to things one normally wouldn't. And the stories of his poems are absolutely odd, but we never doubt him.

He will be reading and signing books at 7 PM at the Barnes and Noble at 2201 S Interstate 35 E in Denton, TX, on Friday, Jan. 25 (Robert Burns birthday). You should make a special effort to check him out.

Silence is

2008-01-06T08:44:00.000-06:00

Today's Journal of Note:

Night Train 7.2

http://www.nighttrainmagazine.com/contents.php

Poet and Poem of the Issue:

Blake Butler
"List of 50 (18 of 50): INCOMPLETE CONFESSION"

This poem blew me away. I felt implicated. So will you. Check it out and Butler's blog, too.

Everything leaves an impression, even if you don't know it. You can't unknow what you know. Does the sharing make it better or worse?

I've been thinking a lot lately about the unthinkable--the things we cannot express or don't dare say. The impossibilty of knowing all or even completely expressing what we think we know is a blessing and a curse, isn't it? Doesn't keep us from trying, though, or needing to. We have a need to express, to share, to purge, to confess. To lighten our hearts or put the burden on others. Still, there are some things we just can't bring ourselves to share or even admit to ourselves. And sometimes, even words fail. So how does one express that?

Also of interest: William Carlos Williams' Paterson and Heather McHugh's Broken English

I always wanted to be Audrey Hepburn

2008-01-04T08:17:00.000-06:00

Today's Journal of Note:

failbetter.com

Poet and Poem of the Issue:

"Charade" by Melissa Hotchkiss

I cheated a little. I came across Melissa Hotchkiss at failbetter.com a few weeks ago, but I remembered her this morning. This is one of those poems that sticks with you because it's simply capital-T True. As she asks, "Doesn't everybody want to be somebody?"

Yes.

Sometimes, I would even venture to tag on the word "else" to the end of that question.

I think I may have to move to NY one day. Elsewhere is the word, in my case.

It Always Tastes Better When You're Starving

2007-12-31T12:56:00.000-06:00

Today's Journal of Note:

Mad Hatter's Review

http://www.madhattersreview.com/issue8/index.shtml

Poet and Poems (yes, plural this time) of the Issue:

Christine Hamm
http://chamm.blogspot.com/

"Architect of Appetite"
"What Hansel in His Cage is Forgetting"
"In the Witch's House, What Gretel Remembers"

These poems are original and delightful. Tasty, even. They stand alone, but there are more luscious layers to experience when read together.

My mama always says, "The best way to convince people your cooking's good is to starve them a little first."

She also says, "Just enough is just as good as a feast."

The moral dilemma of her logic and her plump body, rotund and ripe as a plum, eludes her, I think.

Words First

2007-12-30T13:14:00.000-06:00

Today's Journal of Note:
Exquisite Corpse: A Journal of Letters and Life

http://www.corpse.org/issue_14/index.html

Poem and Poet of the Issue:
(tough to choose today)
"The Evolution of Panspermia" by Frank Eannarino

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was made flesh.

God veiled in flesh: knowledge, power, action, creation, order to chaos.

Women bare children.

Christ was (conceived by) the Divine Father made flesh in Mary's unbesmirched womb.

Gabriel gave her word, but she had to agree first.

She said, "I am the Lord's servant.
May it be as you have said."

n. A lover of all things but esp. vernacular

2007-12-29T08:34:00.000-06:00

Today's Journal of Note:

Rio Grand Review
http://www.utep.edu/rgr

Poem and Poet of the Issue:

"Adaptiveness of Behavior"
JeFF Stumpo

He's tackled defining what a poet is. Can anyone say ever? Can a poet define him or herself? I guess she damn well better try. JeFF manages a fair definition, I'd say.

I have met JeFF, although I'm certain he doesn't remember me, a couple of times. Once at a Brazos Gumbo reading, another time at Revolution. He's a stellar poet, as comfortable on the page as he is on the stage. Worthy of your time and consideration. Keep an eye on this one.

Death is not a Democracy

2007-12-28T08:50:00.002-06:00

Today's Journal of Note:

Cross Connect
http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/xconnect/

Poet and poem of the issue:
Gregory Djanikian "Covenant"

I did not know about Bhutto's assassination yesterday when I posted. In reading about her life, I am struck by some facts:

Her father was assassinated also, hung by a military regime in the same town where she was killed.
She will be buried next to him in the place of her birth.
Her brother also died under mysterious circumstances in France.
Her father encouraged her to study influential women including Joan of Arc and Indira Ghandi, both of whom were also assassinated.

I saw two pictures this morning.

In one, taken a little time before her death, she is behind a podium wearing deep, royal blue, a white veil, long strings of red and white flowers around her neck, eyes shining, smiling at her people [looking out towards her people], her arms out, raised, hands palms up to heaven.

In the other, a man wearing black, feet planted wide, rubble and bodies on the ground around him, his arms out, raised, hands limp, palms out in the haze, head back resting on his right shoulder, eyes closed [looking but not seeing], teeth exposed below his mustache in a grimace, a street light in the distance in exactly the same pose, like a cross ready to be put to use, to fulfill its purpose.

I do not know what support means

2007-12-27T06:41:00.000-06:00

Today's Journal of Note:

Raving Dove
http://www.ravingdove.com

Poet and poem of the issue:
Anthony Buccino "Old Man"

It's hard to know where to fall. 9/11 was one of the most horrific tragedies this country has ever experienced on its own soil. The chain of events that have followed have only deepened that tragedy regardless of wrong or right or politics or causes.

The facts: People died. People die.
Whose flag do you wave? Whose gods do you pray to? Who and what do you owe? In this life? With your death?

Skulls and Fruit, But No Still Lifes

2007-12-20T16:30:00.000-06:00

I met with my friend, Larry D. Thomas, the 2008 Texas Poet Laureate, for lunch yesterday. I discovered Larry (well, his poetry, not him) in the coolest bookstore in West Texas, Marfa Book Company. I wanted some poetry written by a West Texan about West Texas to read while camping in Big Bend National Park, but I wanted quality--something worth my money and, more importantly, my attention and my time. I came across Larry's Where Skulls Speak Wind. I carried it in my backpack to the top of the Lost Mine Trail. As I looked out over the canyons and pines and the March wind blew across those pages and the rich imagery of his sparse words, I not only saw the landscape but felt it.

Through a series of events beyond coincidence (more about that later), we met this year. A couple of months ago, he graciously agreed to read some of my poetry, including my creative thesis that I composed between 2001 and 2004. After lamenting not being painters, we had an awesome lunch at Cafe Artiste. I was touched by his kindness, blown away by his honesty, and humbled by his praise. This man knows how to craft words, ya'll, so to say that I value his opinion is an understatement. He deserves the title Laureate and your time, too, at the very least. I had just finished reading his chapbook, The Woodlanders. I am astounded by this man's talent, the way he can stare into the darkest corners of the soul and still want to (and still know that he can) be redeemed.

See what I mean...
With the Light of Apricots
Chapbook published by Lily Press
Available electronically at FutureCycle Poetry