I'm Not There

Now they're saying Shelley's politics "verged on the totalitarian." You can't fit a genius into the cookie cutter, but they'll keep trying, I guess. Mozart was a sillypants, but he wrote some mediocre tunes that people still waste their time on and Shakespeare was a sophomoric dreamer. Thus spake the New Yorker: A Magazine for All and None.

Burning man was burned too early by this weisenheimer.

Another stray City Visible review by Rob McClennan, interesting Canadian poet and publisher extraordinaire.

When I finally retire, I'm going to kick it in Yambol, Bulgaria. Don't ask why.

Daniel Borzutzky and Lina ramona Vitkauskas are my favorite poets in Chicago. Notice I didn't say "Chicago poets."

What would Dylan do? I know what he won't do. He probably won't go see that movie, although you know how I feel about Cate.

Readings @ Myopic Books

Chicago is known for Sox and Cubs, gridlock, Vienna Beef, furniture dealer Al Capone, Old Style, and guess what? ...poetry. Check the Myopic Book's blog for the latest news on what's happening next in the Myopic Books Reading Series.

Poems-for-All

It's good to see that Poems-for-All got a little mention from Ron Silliman. The catalog is pretty impressive. These matchbox-sized books are really remarkable. I was glad Richard Hansen published my poem Crossing the Meridian. I got a big manila envelope filled with many little booklets. I first heard of his press because of Hansen's Poets & Writers interview. Despite the size, the production value of each is better than some full-sized books of poetry I've seen lately. Is bookmaking the lost art? In the past few years, Richard Hansen has published these folks. Whoa.

d.a. levy
Ted Joans
Robert Creeley
Roque Dalton
Peter Kropotkin
Charles Bukowski
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Jack Spicer
Bertolt Brecht
Anne Waldman
Arthur Winfield Knight
Kit Knight
Douglas Blazek
William Blake
Jack Hirschman
Delmira Agustini
Peter Orlovsky
Patti Smith
Allen Ginsberg
Dr. Seuss
Henry David Thoreau
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Robert Burns
Tom Waits
Ruben Dario
Pete Seeger
Tuli Kupferberg
Jack Micheline
Ko Un
W. H. Auden
Larry Sawyer
Harold Norse
George Harrison
Steve Dalachinsky
Michael Basinski
William Wantling
Jean Arp
A.D. Winans
Lyn Lifshin
Richard Brautigan
Diane di Prima
Gerald Nicosia
Kenneth Patchen

People are scooping up old LPs at record rates these days. There's no need to fear the latest phase of the retro craze. Sometimes new technology isn't necessarily bettter, it's just more convenient. iPods seem like old news now, but throwing an original pressing of Led Zeppelin IV or any James Brown
on the turntable causes some real excitement because vinyl's fuller sound really does make for better listening. Physical Graffitti is still my favorite Zep. But nothing compares to Quadrophenia for thrills, spills, and chills. The first Bob Marley and Miles Davis I ever heard was on vinyl and I think that added to the experience because I would sit listening to it and just stare at the album cover after reading the liner notes. Who does that with a CD? Anyway, from Chicago to Tennessee, vinyl is selling again. I'm glad I listen to jazz, because hardly anyone buys it and there's more left over for me.

Decembering



(This just in)
From the dark side
of an illustrated moon

a volcano destroys
all sentences
without religion.




*


Another Love Poem



We wear nothing but the air between us.






*



Late Night Movies



A train emerges from your
Mouth. Across the platform of our lives
Your lips are melting igloos. Could our
Conversation be any colder? Spring sparrows
Noticed it, your skirt of complications.
Your stilettos stab the pavement like my heart.
I crossed great waves to find you and dove
Into an ocean of metaphysics to discover
Your home there at the bottom. You lounge inside an
Echo. Your fragrance is eternal: I can’t escape it.
Did I try to escape? That’s exactly what I can’t
Remember. I’m shackled by the freezing
Rain on my window, deliriously silent.
Who am I, who are you? These are questions
We ask the hours. Each of them.




*



Dear Lorca



I love to Friday

through the thunder in the wall.

Ghosts spill

out across the carpet.

In the rain God nails

secret meetings.

Foreign Junes

skin lush jungles.

Humility is a vole.

Notice the chocolate horizon.






*



Poets


Wear the blue sweater of memory.
The days ahead won’t be easy.

Make a world noise:
the future is already here.

Advertising turned us into mosquitoes.

Galaxies in the distance still sculpt
the gism of the void.

It's good to see a review of The City Visible (which includes yours truly) up at Book Slut.

Hallelujah Fruit Bowl

Thank you for your reliability.
I could always count on you to
maintain your even temper, as you
held the few remaining oranges
and a banana or two. You no
doubt heard my random muttering
in the kitchen on bad days, perhaps
a “goddammit” slipped out
once or twice, as I nearly cut my finger
or a pot boiled over. But you sat
there steadfast, performing your
duty so calmly. I salute your
temerity in that somewhat
frenzied nook, neighbor to
the toaster, but ultimately
without peer.