Tuesday, March 03, 2009

This is not cash cab, NO HARD QUESTIONS.*



Go read Rauan Klassnik's PHP-based chapbook, Ringing, illustrated in fancy Crayola, complete with the sound of the page turning when you advance to the next page. I've been completely absorbed in eBook technology for 2 years with my day job. Thrilled to see a stellar free poem and burgeoning technological advances.

*Title of this post was a perturbed response from an incensed undergrad who was asked in an exam, "What archeologist based his experience from Homer's poems?"

Monday, March 02, 2009

Deaf Poet Jam

I stumbled upon this today, in the process of looking up something else. I'm dying to go to an ASL poetry performance. Anyone know where I can find one?

Rauan Klassnik interviews Rebecca Loudon

Neat interview with Dame Rebecca Loudon.

Evil Genius

I received Shane Jones' novel Light Boxes in the mail today, from Publishing Genius Press. After I got the Paypal receipt, I received a Blackberry e-mail directly from the business, with a quick "Thanks, Julie! This will ship tomorrow." And I thought, wow, that's pretty special. And now, mere days later, I decant the book from the envelope and it was wrapped in a piece of green paper with a Thanks, Julie! written on it. Y'know, it doesn't take much to make the American consumer sit up and say, Hey, I didn't get treated like chattel today. Maybe that's a statement about the crappy state of customer service today, maybe it's a statement about what rude, obnoxious assholes we are to each other, but regardless, sometimes businesses do that little bit that makes customer loyalty inevitable. Adam Robinson, today is your day. I'll be reading Shane Jones' novel with a light heart and a smile, at least until someone or something dies or is horribly mutilated. Not that it's likely, judging by the stark, yet serene cover. It's a really classy cover, now that I think on it. Everything about this book, from the recommendation on to Adam Robinson's thank yous, has predisposed me to like it.

I'll keep you posted.

Missed Connections Poegle, SF

To Cocky and Carless

You said hi leaving the locker room,
Dimples, you're beautiful, my beloved
trustfund hippie, a nap sounds really good.
You are the tallest guy at the Endup
and you got me into Slide, I got you
a rum and Coke. The promise and tears,
your reflection, you liked my hair,
you said, you're a real down
to Mars girl. Hold your breath twice:
I want to make a collage for you.
We had butt sex in the boom boom room.
Do you know Cathy Richards?
It IS supposed to be.

Missed Connections Poegle, NYC

Re: Rotten As They Come
I hope you see this, Brian.

We were in East Rutherford Court
thought I was over it, always waiting,
either way, you in your pink/black outfit,
you said you were leaving the west 90's
and you were e=mc square, but I had a crush
on yr doctor, you worked in fashion, used
to be one of the rotten ones
and I liked you for that. You were
reading The Hunger and Instinct Magazine,
and our sweet spontaneous makeout on MacDougal
made all cafeteria hookups wasted. We laughed,
you said I was chunky and delightful.
Could it be destiny?

Sunday, March 01, 2009

Home Bodies



I was reading Joy Williams' review of Brad Gooch's biography of Flannery O'Connor in this morning's NYTBR and followed a link to an editorial blurb mentioning, more or less, the difference between Joy Williams & Flannery O'Connor. They quote Joy Williams as saying,
“Flannery’s illness kept her put, and I’m sure she felt it was a powerful instance of grace bestowed,” Williams said. “Many writers today are wanderers. There is not only an unhousedness in language — how to convey, to say nothing of converge — but an unhousedness of place. For better or worse, I live in Tucson and Key West. Though sometimes, Maine. Currently I’m in big beautiful Wyoming, teaching at the university.”

I read no less than four critiques of MFA culture/poetry's fate in Academia, etc. over the past week alone, and none of them mentioned the nomadic life of a successful academic career.

Certainly not limited to creative writing positions, of course, but I've watched even the rolls of less-than-top-notch universities shift and change, since better or more-famous writers attract better students, and the less famous or talented are swapped out under the direction of one more-or-less static and most-famous chairperson. So much of interesting writing, historically, is tied to a strong sense of place, yet I can't name any contemporary writer whose literary work is immediately and specifically associated with the area in which they live (with the possible exception of NYC). In fact, I would go so far as saying that work that attempted that bond would be considered immature and solipsistic, not to mention the kiss of death, not widely marketable.

What takes the place of authentic attachment to geography in a culture that prides picking up and moving on after any given semester? Is abstraction a buffer against forming a home in a place that will only be taken away? Are we so stuck in the cerebral because it's the only world that moves with us? When writers stop trying to make a living teaching, will our homes return to our words? Was local color writing just a passing (though decades-long) fad and has our world now expanded exponentially, through the internet, into a place that we all can talk about without specifics and truly feel at home no matter where we are? Do we have to make pop-culture references and refer to tabloid news stories to keep a wide audience for our work? What is my record for consecutive questions?

Did you hear Denny's has announced a new special in honor of the Octo-mom? It's 8 eggs, no sausage, and everyone else in the restaurant pays the bill.