My astrology.com horoscope for today seemed very right on the mark today. Paraphrasing: "neighbors and co-workers are getting under your skin. You choices will not win you any popularity. [ahem, home sick today!] stop picking and leave it alone".
Monday, March 29, 2004
First go here:
http://www.koarecords.com/details_asian.jpg
than go here and please consider signing this petition to boycott Details Magazine:
http://www.petitiononline.com/details4/petition.html
Though I signed it, I feel differently about the William Hung issue which is cited in the petition. I fully support William, not because he is Asian, but because he is courageous and possesses a great integrity that is lacking in many.
http://www.koarecords.com/details_asian.jpg
than go here and please consider signing this petition to boycott Details Magazine:
http://www.petitiononline.com/details4/petition.html
Though I signed it, I feel differently about the William Hung issue which is cited in the petition. I fully support William, not because he is Asian, but because he is courageous and possesses a great integrity that is lacking in many.
Packing for this weekend, and simultaneously packing for my move to New Hampshire next week. Came home early from work and napped. Dreamt of breaking a tooth - something feels funny in the dream and when I push my tongue up against my front tooth, it breaks and crumbles in my mouth and I am spitting out tooth fragments like plaster. I call the dentist but they don't believe it's an emergency and can't fit me in before I'm due to depart for residency. I wake up, and it's all I can do from stopping myself from looking in the mirror to reassure myself it was a dream. It's 5:30 when I wake up.
Later K comes home and I tell him about the tooth dream. He suggests that I'm holding some anxiety about something stopping me from going next week. Hmmm....
Later K comes home and I tell him about the tooth dream. He suggests that I'm holding some anxiety about something stopping me from going next week. Hmmm....
Cruising Craig's List Portland for local leads in the community and came across one interesting posting and one upsetting posting. The interesting posting - Gumball Poetry is looking for a Director to help the group transition into being a full-fledged non-profit. Gumball is an interesting enterprise - the magazine exists as a webzine and in micro-form, encased in gumball "capsules" which are distributed in gumball machines scattered across the US. Friendly people, good poetry, innovative distribution, deserving of much praise.
The annoying posting was not actually for an opportunity in Portland, but for a tele-commuting opportunity for writers with a Texas connection. Having lived in Texas (and LIKED it), I thought, hmmm... interesting. So I punch in the website, come to the main page and there is an absolutely horrendous adapted paraphrase of a racist and sexist quote lifted from a Kubrick movie and directed towards Asian women and the sex trade as their "catchphrase". At first, it doesn't sink in, I click thru the entry screen quickly, and than I go back, thinking, NO, it wouldn't say that, now would it? I could hardly believe it. So I emailed the editor. It is somewhat significant that I responded in a concrete way rather than simply stewing, as I let people I actually know get away with worse, or at least similar, on a semi-regular basis. Perhaps this will mark a shift towards being more vocal about many issues. But than being vocal is often simply a matter of having the right vocabulary and background to enter the discourse.
The annoying posting was not actually for an opportunity in Portland, but for a tele-commuting opportunity for writers with a Texas connection. Having lived in Texas (and LIKED it), I thought, hmmm... interesting. So I punch in the website, come to the main page and there is an absolutely horrendous adapted paraphrase of a racist and sexist quote lifted from a Kubrick movie and directed towards Asian women and the sex trade as their "catchphrase". At first, it doesn't sink in, I click thru the entry screen quickly, and than I go back, thinking, NO, it wouldn't say that, now would it? I could hardly believe it. So I emailed the editor. It is somewhat significant that I responded in a concrete way rather than simply stewing, as I let people I actually know get away with worse, or at least similar, on a semi-regular basis. Perhaps this will mark a shift towards being more vocal about many issues. But than being vocal is often simply a matter of having the right vocabulary and background to enter the discourse.
From : PJ Nights
Sent : Sunday, March 28, 2004 12:44 PM
To : shinyu32@hotmail.com
Subject : MiPo Magazine - New England edition
Hello,
First of all, I apologize for sending several of you
the same email. I hope you don't regard this as spam,
but as a sincere effort to contact a wide variety of
New England poets.
I'm writing to invite you submit unpublished works to
the New England Edition of MiPo Magazine to be
published in September 2004. We are an online journal
in its fourth year of publication. The most recent
edition was guest-edited by David Trinidad and
features poetry by Elaine Equi, David Lehman, Amy
Gerstler, Anselm Berrigan, Ron Padgett, Maureen Seaton
and many more. Here the link to the issue:
http://www.mipoesias.com
Submission guidelines can be found here:
http://www.mipoesias.com/April2004/guidelines.htm
Submissions should be sent to me in the body of the
email.
Thank you for your time.
PJ Nights
senior editor, MiPo
Sent : Sunday, March 28, 2004 12:44 PM
To : shinyu32@hotmail.com
Subject : MiPo Magazine - New England edition
Hello,
First of all, I apologize for sending several of you
the same email. I hope you don't regard this as spam,
but as a sincere effort to contact a wide variety of
New England poets.
I'm writing to invite you submit unpublished works to
the New England Edition of MiPo Magazine to be
published in September 2004. We are an online journal
in its fourth year of publication. The most recent
edition was guest-edited by David Trinidad and
features poetry by Elaine Equi, David Lehman, Amy
Gerstler, Anselm Berrigan, Ron Padgett, Maureen Seaton
and many more. Here the link to the issue:
http://www.mipoesias.com
Submission guidelines can be found here:
http://www.mipoesias.com/April2004/guidelines.htm
Submissions should be sent to me in the body of the
email.
Thank you for your time.
PJ Nights
senior editor, MiPo
Sunday, March 28, 2004
My friend Ferenc has come and gone from Boston. Saw the new photographs/collage pieces that he has been working on for our sports project and was stunned. Laid images out on our coffee table - boy in boxing gear, head in football helmet, roller derby girl, figure in wrestling mask - began to notice the emergence of holes popping out of the images, a ear hole in boxing head gear, the opening in a football helmet, the holes thru which laces are threaded for a wrestling mask, the slightly open mouth of the roller derby girl - another orifice or opening.
New poems to write - on swimming, boxing, roller derby and on the notion of "passing" - making a pass from player to player in a game, but also the notion of passing in society - passing for straight, passing for white, etc. etc.
Put together a budget of what it costs for F to produce 15 photos (our end goal) and was slightly demoralized by the high cost - $5000 for 15 images! Argggh.
New poems to write - on swimming, boxing, roller derby and on the notion of "passing" - making a pass from player to player in a game, but also the notion of passing in society - passing for straight, passing for white, etc. etc.
Put together a budget of what it costs for F to produce 15 photos (our end goal) and was slightly demoralized by the high cost - $5000 for 15 images! Argggh.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
If you are in Chicago for AWP this weekend, or maybe you live in Chicago (hi, Lar!), please go to the opening tomorrow (friday) night of "Entanglement: Postures of Delirium", an exhibition of new photo collage work by Aimee Beaubien at the Carl Hammer Gallery, 740 N. Wells Street. Reception for Aimee from 6-8 p.m.
Barbara's Jane's latest post on her experience at the NoCal Book Awards Ceremony in no way surprises me, but still inspires complete disgust and aversion for ethnocentric ignorance which still seems to be the NORM vs. the exception. Honestly, what is wrong with people?!
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Monday, March 22, 2004
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is one of the few movies, along with Lost in Translation, that I would actually like to own and watch over and over again. Eternal Sunshine differed from Lost in Translation in perhaps that it seemed to deliver more of a message vs. being a simple narrative, though both movies shared certain aspects in common (both love stories). Full of ache and tenderness, a meditation on choice, acceptance, and karma.
Elizabeth McKim reading yesterday at the Flying Dog salon at poet Charles Coe's house. Elizabeth read from her new collection of poems "The Red Thread" just out from Leap Frog Press, a local publisher on the Cape. Leap Frog also put out Charles' "Picnic on the Moon", another great title.
Update on the Taiwan situation - Chen Shui-Bian won th election on Saturday which is being disputed by the opposition party. See article at NYTimes.com..
Friday, March 19, 2004
Just submitted 2 weeks notice!
Dear readers of the pillow book, I am moving to Peterborough, New Hampshire April 7-May 12. Send Asian snacky treats, rice products, poems, mail art, and postcards c/o The MacDowell Colony, 100 High Street, Peterborough, NH 03458. Will decide shortly whether or not to maintain the makura while on retreat or to shut it down permanently or otherwise. In the process of developing multiple exit strategies.
Dear readers of the pillow book, I am moving to Peterborough, New Hampshire April 7-May 12. Send Asian snacky treats, rice products, poems, mail art, and postcards c/o The MacDowell Colony, 100 High Street, Peterborough, NH 03458. Will decide shortly whether or not to maintain the makura while on retreat or to shut it down permanently or otherwise. In the process of developing multiple exit strategies.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
First Annual Kundiman Emerging Asian American Poets Retreat
August 4-8, 2004
University of Virginia, Charlottesville
Mission Statement
Kundiman is a non-profit organization committed to the discovery and cultivation of emerging Asian-American poets. Through instruction and collaborative programs with established Asian-American poets as well as through publications and readings open to the public, Kundiman hopes to advance Asian-American writing. Through poetry, we aim to celebrate and promote a strong and positive Asian-American culture and identity.
Kundiman is a sponsored project of the New York Foundation for the Arts.
First Annual Emerging Asian American Poets’ Retreat
In order to help mentor the next generation of Asian-American poets, Kundiman is sponsoring an annual Poetry Retreat at The University of Virginia. During the Retreat, nationally renowned Asian American poets will conduct workshops and provide one-on-one mentorship sessions with participants. Readings and informal social gatherings will also be scheduled. Through this Retreat, Kundiman hopes to provide a safe and instructive environment that identifies and addresses the unique challenges faced by emerging Asian American poets. This 5-day Retreat will take place from Wednesday to Sunday. Workshops will be conducted from Thursday to Saturday. Workshops will not exceed six students.
Writing Workshop
A nationally renowned Asian American poet will facilitate each writing workshop. Workshops will consist of writing exercises and group discussions. At each workshop, participants will be expected to write and workshop new poems. Participants will have the opportunity to take a workshop with every faculty member. In order to help foster relationships between participants themselves, each participant will be assigned a home group, and will remain in that home group for the duration of the retreat.
Mentoring: Conferring and Connections
Faculty members will schedule one-on-one conferences with participants. Prior to arriving, participants will submit a request indicating their order of preference as to which poet they would like to meet one-on-one. Administrators will try to accommodate each applicant’s request.
Faculty
Marilyn Chin is the author of Dwarf Bamboo (Greenfield Review Press, 1987) and The Phoenix Gone, the Terrace Empty (Milkweed Editions, 1994). Her latest book, Rhapsody in Plain Yellow, was published by Norton in 2002. She has won numerous awards for her poetry, including two grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Stegner Fellowship, the PEN/Josephine Miles Award, four Pushcart Prizes, a Fulbright Fellowship to Taiwan, and residencies at Yaddo, the MacDowell Colony, the Lannan Residency, the Djerassi Foundation, and others. Chin's work is featured in a variety of anthologies, including The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, The Norton Introduction to Poetry, The Oxford Anthology of Modern American Poetry, Unsettling America, The Open Boat, and The Best American Poetry of 1996. Her poetry was also featured in Bill Moyers's PBS series The Language of Life. She codirects the MFA program at San Diego State University.
Rick Barot was born in the Philippines and grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area. He attended Wesleyan University, the Writers' Workshop at the University of Iowa, and Stanford, where he was a Wallace E. Stegner Fellow in Poetry. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous publications, including The Yale Review, The Threepenny Review, New England Review, Grand Street, and Ploughshares. In 2001, he received a poetry fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. He was a Jones Lecturer in Poetry at Stanford University, and now teaches at Washington And Lee University.
Ishle Yi Park is a Korean American woman who has been published in The Best American Poetry of 2003. She has been twice featured on HBO's Def Poetry Jam, and performed her poetry on the NAACP Image Awards. She has a CD entitled "Work is Love,” and an upcoming book called "The Temperature of this Water," which will be released this year. Ishle currently lives in New York.
Scholarship & Fees
Merit scholarships are available. To keep the cost of the retreat low, participants are not charged fees for workshops. Room and Board for the retreat is $300.
Application Process
Send three (3) copies of five to seven (5-7) paginated, stapled pages of poetry, with your name included on each page. Include a cover letter with your name, address, phone number, e-mail address and a brief paragraph describing what you would like to accomplish at the Kundiman Emerging Asian American Poets’ Retreat. Include a SASE postcard if you want an application receipt. Manuscripts will not be returned. No electronic submissions, please.
Mail application to:
Kundiman
245 Eight Avenue #151
New York, NY 10011
Submissions must be postmarked by May 15, 2004
Please e-mail any questions to info@kundiman.org
August 4-8, 2004
University of Virginia, Charlottesville
Mission Statement
Kundiman is a non-profit organization committed to the discovery and cultivation of emerging Asian-American poets. Through instruction and collaborative programs with established Asian-American poets as well as through publications and readings open to the public, Kundiman hopes to advance Asian-American writing. Through poetry, we aim to celebrate and promote a strong and positive Asian-American culture and identity.
Kundiman is a sponsored project of the New York Foundation for the Arts.
First Annual Emerging Asian American Poets’ Retreat
In order to help mentor the next generation of Asian-American poets, Kundiman is sponsoring an annual Poetry Retreat at The University of Virginia. During the Retreat, nationally renowned Asian American poets will conduct workshops and provide one-on-one mentorship sessions with participants. Readings and informal social gatherings will also be scheduled. Through this Retreat, Kundiman hopes to provide a safe and instructive environment that identifies and addresses the unique challenges faced by emerging Asian American poets. This 5-day Retreat will take place from Wednesday to Sunday. Workshops will be conducted from Thursday to Saturday. Workshops will not exceed six students.
Writing Workshop
A nationally renowned Asian American poet will facilitate each writing workshop. Workshops will consist of writing exercises and group discussions. At each workshop, participants will be expected to write and workshop new poems. Participants will have the opportunity to take a workshop with every faculty member. In order to help foster relationships between participants themselves, each participant will be assigned a home group, and will remain in that home group for the duration of the retreat.
Mentoring: Conferring and Connections
Faculty members will schedule one-on-one conferences with participants. Prior to arriving, participants will submit a request indicating their order of preference as to which poet they would like to meet one-on-one. Administrators will try to accommodate each applicant’s request.
Faculty
Marilyn Chin is the author of Dwarf Bamboo (Greenfield Review Press, 1987) and The Phoenix Gone, the Terrace Empty (Milkweed Editions, 1994). Her latest book, Rhapsody in Plain Yellow, was published by Norton in 2002. She has won numerous awards for her poetry, including two grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Stegner Fellowship, the PEN/Josephine Miles Award, four Pushcart Prizes, a Fulbright Fellowship to Taiwan, and residencies at Yaddo, the MacDowell Colony, the Lannan Residency, the Djerassi Foundation, and others. Chin's work is featured in a variety of anthologies, including The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, The Norton Introduction to Poetry, The Oxford Anthology of Modern American Poetry, Unsettling America, The Open Boat, and The Best American Poetry of 1996. Her poetry was also featured in Bill Moyers's PBS series The Language of Life. She codirects the MFA program at San Diego State University.
Rick Barot was born in the Philippines and grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area. He attended Wesleyan University, the Writers' Workshop at the University of Iowa, and Stanford, where he was a Wallace E. Stegner Fellow in Poetry. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous publications, including The Yale Review, The Threepenny Review, New England Review, Grand Street, and Ploughshares. In 2001, he received a poetry fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. He was a Jones Lecturer in Poetry at Stanford University, and now teaches at Washington And Lee University.
Ishle Yi Park is a Korean American woman who has been published in The Best American Poetry of 2003. She has been twice featured on HBO's Def Poetry Jam, and performed her poetry on the NAACP Image Awards. She has a CD entitled "Work is Love,” and an upcoming book called "The Temperature of this Water," which will be released this year. Ishle currently lives in New York.
Scholarship & Fees
Merit scholarships are available. To keep the cost of the retreat low, participants are not charged fees for workshops. Room and Board for the retreat is $300.
Application Process
Send three (3) copies of five to seven (5-7) paginated, stapled pages of poetry, with your name included on each page. Include a cover letter with your name, address, phone number, e-mail address and a brief paragraph describing what you would like to accomplish at the Kundiman Emerging Asian American Poets’ Retreat. Include a SASE postcard if you want an application receipt. Manuscripts will not be returned. No electronic submissions, please.
Mail application to:
Kundiman
245 Eight Avenue #151
New York, NY 10011
Submissions must be postmarked by May 15, 2004
Please e-mail any questions to info@kundiman.org
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Admiring the changes over at Larry's. The site has a lot more white space and is easier to process. That kind of looks like Yuchia in the 100 Cuts postcard. I particularly like the Fiction/drawing project archives. Under the links section, nom de plumes, other guys named Larry Lee!
An interesting note in my in-box from my tax accountant Peter Desmond:
What is the assessed value of Bush's Crawford ranch?
...The assessed value of the structure (3387 sq. feet) is $128,926. The assessed value of the land (1583 acres) is $782,622.
This [letter to the editor] says that sounds a bit low:
The house in Crawford, Tex. that Bush built
3/14/2004
I ENJOYED your Feb. 8 story in the Real Estate section, "Power Houses," about the homes of presidential candidates. I was amazed at the low assessed value of George W. Bush's home in Crawford, Texas -- $128,926. I live within 130 miles of Crawford in central Texas, where comparable houses are usually assessed at approximately $100 a square foot or more. The Bush house would ordinarily be assessed at $338,700, or more.
I don't want your Boston readers to have the impression that housing prices are this low in Texas.
SUE YOUNG STEWART
Bryan, Texas
(Boston Globe). http://www.boston.com/news/globe/editorial_opinion/letters/articles/2004/03/14/the_house_in_crawford_tex_that_bush_built/
original article:
http://realestate.boston.com/news/2004/feb/6_candidatehomes.html
source: http://atrios.blogspot.com/2004_03_14_atrios_archive.html#107931970410317234
What is the assessed value of Bush's Crawford ranch?
...The assessed value of the structure (3387 sq. feet) is $128,926. The assessed value of the land (1583 acres) is $782,622.
This [letter to the editor] says that sounds a bit low:
The house in Crawford, Tex. that Bush built
3/14/2004
I ENJOYED your Feb. 8 story in the Real Estate section, "Power Houses," about the homes of presidential candidates. I was amazed at the low assessed value of George W. Bush's home in Crawford, Texas -- $128,926. I live within 130 miles of Crawford in central Texas, where comparable houses are usually assessed at approximately $100 a square foot or more. The Bush house would ordinarily be assessed at $338,700, or more.
I don't want your Boston readers to have the impression that housing prices are this low in Texas.
SUE YOUNG STEWART
Bryan, Texas
(Boston Globe). http://www.boston.com/news/globe/editorial_opinion/letters/articles/2004/03/14/the_house_in_crawford_tex_that_bush_built/
original article:
http://realestate.boston.com/news/2004/feb/6_candidatehomes.html
source: http://atrios.blogspot.com/2004_03_14_atrios_archive.html#107931970410317234
Rereading last night Ferenc's notes on our sports' poem project. F was recently solicited to contribute work to a "queer" art show in Buffalo and sent along to the curator some slides of images from the sports project along with a couple of "word art" pieces that have been part of my contribution to our overall work. I had to think about what that meant, not being a queer, homosexual male and what that means in the context of presenting a certain body of work that identifies me with a certain identity/gender construction. In the course of contemplating these issues, I think that my attraction to these themes may have more to do with the notion of "othering" than anything else. For myself the experience of being racially othered is akin to my friend's experience of othering.
I have been thinking about "othering" and alienation a lot lately. Very hard to not think about in a place like Boston and a very uncomfortable topic whether in Boston or elsewhere. I think about when is it appropriate (or not) to bring up/call attention to, who is doing the bringing it up (and what does that can mean) and how is it brought up and whether or not there is indeed a place for dialogue. My partner says that anything can be perceived as racially charged, but what matters is the intent behind it. Is or is not ignorance a component of racism? and there is of course willful ignorance..
In recent days, many conversations have stuck in my mind, for instance, explaining to someone the difference between Korea and Taiwan and also not bothering to explain to someone why it is still not funny or okay to use the word "chink" in the context of anything and why it should be banished from language. And than there is the adoption post from last week.
This is my own narcissistic process recently as attached to nothing palpable and it would be silly to read too much self-implication into these thoughts.
It is as if all of my hatred and contempt, the utter absence of compassion, manifests thru the sports poems, as directed towards a culture which creates divisions and dichotomies, power imbalances, a split between mind body and spirit. These poems no longer upset me though they still surprise me at times, to be upset by them would be to deny the reality of these feelings coming to the surface.
I have been thinking about "othering" and alienation a lot lately. Very hard to not think about in a place like Boston and a very uncomfortable topic whether in Boston or elsewhere. I think about when is it appropriate (or not) to bring up/call attention to, who is doing the bringing it up (and what does that can mean) and how is it brought up and whether or not there is indeed a place for dialogue. My partner says that anything can be perceived as racially charged, but what matters is the intent behind it. Is or is not ignorance a component of racism? and there is of course willful ignorance..
In recent days, many conversations have stuck in my mind, for instance, explaining to someone the difference between Korea and Taiwan and also not bothering to explain to someone why it is still not funny or okay to use the word "chink" in the context of anything and why it should be banished from language. And than there is the adoption post from last week.
This is my own narcissistic process recently as attached to nothing palpable and it would be silly to read too much self-implication into these thoughts.
It is as if all of my hatred and contempt, the utter absence of compassion, manifests thru the sports poems, as directed towards a culture which creates divisions and dichotomies, power imbalances, a split between mind body and spirit. These poems no longer upset me though they still surprise me at times, to be upset by them would be to deny the reality of these feelings coming to the surface.
Monday, March 15, 2004
Sunday, March 14, 2004
stars of track and field
the lower half of the body
should do all the work
no jumping nor jostling,
the head held at horizontal
no vertical bob of
blowjobs, breathing
through the nose not
the mouth, no right
way to breathe but a
better way to run with
the team long distance
endurance soloing
the cleanest high
first orgasm
the lower half of the body
should do all the work
no jumping nor jostling,
the head held at horizontal
no vertical bob of
blowjobs, breathing
through the nose not
the mouth, no right
way to breathe but a
better way to run with
the team long distance
endurance soloing
the cleanest high
first orgasm
Friday, March 12, 2004
Definition: Careerist [n] a professional who follows a career; the practice of advancing your career at the expense of your personal integrity
What is a poetry careerist? Is there such a thing? Are those who are critical of other poets' success merely bitter, jaded, and or deluded from their own failings and unmet (and unrealistic) expectations, stunted emotional development, and delusions of grandeur? Who defines integrity? Does it have a static meaning? Who has a right to judge it? What is the difference between being professional vs. being a "careerist"? Why is there a resistance to the professionalization of poetry? Why are divisions created to further stratify a community? Is there such a thing as a poetry community or are there merely poetry friends who make up some semblance of a personal vs. a global community?
What is a poetry careerist? Is there such a thing? Are those who are critical of other poets' success merely bitter, jaded, and or deluded from their own failings and unmet (and unrealistic) expectations, stunted emotional development, and delusions of grandeur? Who defines integrity? Does it have a static meaning? Who has a right to judge it? What is the difference between being professional vs. being a "careerist"? Why is there a resistance to the professionalization of poetry? Why are divisions created to further stratify a community? Is there such a thing as a poetry community or are there merely poetry friends who make up some semblance of a personal vs. a global community?
Thursday, March 11, 2004
Just finished reading Sam Kashner's "When I Was Cool", a record of the young Sam Kashner's time at the Naropa Institute . It was a good read (finished it over 2 days). Kashner was the first Writing and Poetics student at Naropa, pre-accreditation for the college, when William Burroughs, Gregory Corso, and Peter Orlovsky, along with Allen Ginsberg and Anne Waldman formed the core faculty. I’d heard some conflicting reactions to the book – unflattering portraits of Burroughs and Waldman, a trashy “celebrity expose” though undeniably hard to put down, this from a friend in the community.
Kashner arrives from Long Island (having just dropped out of his freshman year at a local college) with lofty illusions about his poetry heroes. He is relegated to Ginsberg’s personal assistant which involves typing (and finishing) his poems, vacuuming for Rinpoche, keeping an eye on Billy Burroughs, and helping Corso complete his manuscript of poems for publication. There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of teaching going on, though Sam certainly receives an education - He is once kidnapped by Corso who’s intent is to liberate Sam from “fear”. Kashner writes of his relationships with each of the Beats, with the most time and tenderness devoted to Ginsberg and Corso. Waldman, described as a poetry rock star is inaccessible and distant from Kashner.
The book is at times painful to read. Kashner portrays himself as a shy, inexperienced Jewish kid from Long Island. At Naropa, he is exposed to sex, drugs, alcohol, and mental illness. As the first WP student, he was it – no community beyond his teachers to engage with or to get feedback from, terribly isolated. On top of this, Kashner couldn’t relate to the whole Buddhist aspect of Naropa and who could really blame him with events like the Merwin incident going down.
In the end, Kashner paints a very honest picture of his experiences at Naropa which exposes his teachers for being imperfect, crazy, and human like the rest of us. Kashner left Boulder shortly after graduating from the program and returned to New York. He writes that after Rinpoche passed way in 1987, he then began to meditate. I see this book as Kashner’s attempt at processing all of the wacked out experiences of those 2 years in Boulder – coming to terms with his prudish innocence and naivete, his desire for approval, his grasping, his fear - understanding how these qualities contributed to his suffering and making some sense of what transcends that strange experience.
I sense that the negative reaction to the book comes from the deconstruction of the myth surrounding some of the people in the book. The Beats have historically told their own stories, and what threatens about this book is that it is told from the perspective of a student who lived thru it all with them and has the courage to engage in the struggle to come to terms with that experience.
Kort and I recently speculated on what Rinpoche could have been trying to impart to his students on that Halloween night in Snow Mass, Colorado at Vajrayana retreat. The Merwin incident was without a doubt disturbing and horrific (some of the comments in Kashner’s book made me seriously ill as an Asian woman) –two innocent poets stripped bare, exposed and vulnerable before a crowd. But was the teaching about baring ourselves? Year after year, the scandal has been covered up, avoided, again and again by the community, instead of openly addressed and discussed.
Kashner arrives from Long Island (having just dropped out of his freshman year at a local college) with lofty illusions about his poetry heroes. He is relegated to Ginsberg’s personal assistant which involves typing (and finishing) his poems, vacuuming for Rinpoche, keeping an eye on Billy Burroughs, and helping Corso complete his manuscript of poems for publication. There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of teaching going on, though Sam certainly receives an education - He is once kidnapped by Corso who’s intent is to liberate Sam from “fear”. Kashner writes of his relationships with each of the Beats, with the most time and tenderness devoted to Ginsberg and Corso. Waldman, described as a poetry rock star is inaccessible and distant from Kashner.
The book is at times painful to read. Kashner portrays himself as a shy, inexperienced Jewish kid from Long Island. At Naropa, he is exposed to sex, drugs, alcohol, and mental illness. As the first WP student, he was it – no community beyond his teachers to engage with or to get feedback from, terribly isolated. On top of this, Kashner couldn’t relate to the whole Buddhist aspect of Naropa and who could really blame him with events like the Merwin incident going down.
In the end, Kashner paints a very honest picture of his experiences at Naropa which exposes his teachers for being imperfect, crazy, and human like the rest of us. Kashner left Boulder shortly after graduating from the program and returned to New York. He writes that after Rinpoche passed way in 1987, he then began to meditate. I see this book as Kashner’s attempt at processing all of the wacked out experiences of those 2 years in Boulder – coming to terms with his prudish innocence and naivete, his desire for approval, his grasping, his fear - understanding how these qualities contributed to his suffering and making some sense of what transcends that strange experience.
I sense that the negative reaction to the book comes from the deconstruction of the myth surrounding some of the people in the book. The Beats have historically told their own stories, and what threatens about this book is that it is told from the perspective of a student who lived thru it all with them and has the courage to engage in the struggle to come to terms with that experience.
Kort and I recently speculated on what Rinpoche could have been trying to impart to his students on that Halloween night in Snow Mass, Colorado at Vajrayana retreat. The Merwin incident was without a doubt disturbing and horrific (some of the comments in Kashner’s book made me seriously ill as an Asian woman) –two innocent poets stripped bare, exposed and vulnerable before a crowd. But was the teaching about baring ourselves? Year after year, the scandal has been covered up, avoided, again and again by the community, instead of openly addressed and discussed.
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
A woman that I occasionally work with just returned from a leave of absence/maternity leave after adopting a baby from China. At an editorial meeting today, she brought photos of her Asian son, named Ryan, and shared a story of her "adorable" 5 year old nephew who has taken an affection to young Ryan. The problem - Ryan speaks both Chinese and English and often mixes the 2 in his 2 year old brain. So when the boys play trains, Ryan sometimes refers to certain objects in Chinese. My co-worker's nephew proceeds to lay down the law with young Ryan and say - look you're in America now and you can't talk that way, understand? You speak one language, that's it! Um.. I would call this forced assimilation and bullying and not in the least adorable and found it somewhat appalling that my white counterparts were chuckling over it.
Lunch today was one of those experiences that make me wish that I had bypassed eating today altogether. Au Bon Pain mozzarella sandwich and tomato soup which tasted like L'Madeleine tomato soup - the tomato soup that I ate for 2 weeks straight when recovering from wisdom tooth surgery which was fully saturated with butter. Too much dampness!
Meeting with Mei last night and swapping stories was amazing, like hanging out with a big sister that could demystify the Taiwanese culture for me. Mei was born in 1958 in a small farming village. Her father was born in 1908 and was in his 50s by the time that she was born, the last of 8 children. Because he was of a completely different generation, he was very strict with the kids and what he felt they should know. Insisted that Mei do her own laundry (by hand in those days!) and learn to cook rice at age 12. To cook rice, you had to first build and balance a fire, which is not an easy thing to do. The rice would get burned at the bottom, semi-cooked in the middle, and soupy with water on the highest level.
I am learning all kinds of fun things about Ching Shui village - to the north, bordered by Ta Chiah River, to the West bordered by the Taiwan Strait, to the South bordered by small villages, to the East bordered by the Sa Fong San Mountains (Shark Mtns). My dad grew up on Ta Chieh Lu - literally "Big Tree" Road - the big tree was just opposite their Japanese style house, though cut down about 10 years ago because of tree rot.
Acacia trees are unique to this region and geography. They have a poetic name, translates something like the Missing You tree.
I am learning all kinds of fun things about Ching Shui village - to the north, bordered by Ta Chiah River, to the West bordered by the Taiwan Strait, to the South bordered by small villages, to the East bordered by the Sa Fong San Mountains (Shark Mtns). My dad grew up on Ta Chieh Lu - literally "Big Tree" Road - the big tree was just opposite their Japanese style house, though cut down about 10 years ago because of tree rot.
Acacia trees are unique to this region and geography. They have a poetic name, translates something like the Missing You tree.
Monday, March 08, 2004
Dreamed of Owen Wilson the other night, star with Ben Stiller of Starsky and Hutch. Owen, who is a Texan for anybody who did not already know, was hanging out at MacDowell working on his next big project, and boy, was he something with the ladeeeez. We saw Starsky and Hutch this weekend - it was cute. I have a new appreciation for Snoop Dogg who has a big part in the movie as Huggie Bear.
Speaking of movies - The Passion of Christ was a little bit much to take in last week fresh off of work, matinee show at the Harvard theater. The cinematographer did a fine job of making Jim Cazaviel as Jesus look painterly. Not being a Christian myself, the movie filled in a lot of gaps in my knowledge of the New Testament. The messages of all the major religions and their religious figures are the same: compassion, compassion, compassion.
Speaking of movies - The Passion of Christ was a little bit much to take in last week fresh off of work, matinee show at the Harvard theater. The cinematographer did a fine job of making Jim Cazaviel as Jesus look painterly. Not being a Christian myself, the movie filled in a lot of gaps in my knowledge of the New Testament. The messages of all the major religions and their religious figures are the same: compassion, compassion, compassion.
My friend Jason is helping raise funds to send the cast/crew of Anger Box to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Check out the save the Men in Kilts initiative. Jason is the studbox with shoulder tattoo and 0% bodyfat.
Here's the press release:
TheatreZone To Take Anger Box to Edinburgh Fringe Festival!
How does a theatre company raise $10,000 to bring cast and crew of their critically acclaimed production of Anger Box to Scotland and perform in the Edinburgh Fringe Festival? Here's an idea -- put some well-known local theatre people as well as men from the cast, friends, and family in kilts and hold their picture ransom on your website.
That's what the Chelsea TheatreWorks has done and it launches high-noon on March 5. We already have over 20 Men In Kilts for ransom, including some pretty prominent local theatre people like actor John Kuntz, Larry Stark of the Theatre Mirror and Jason Sutherland, artistic director of Boston TheatreWorks.
The way it works is on Friday March 5th the cast of Anger Box will begin holding men hostage on our web site. Dressed only in Kilts, they will count on the generosity of friends and strangers to pay the $100 ransom that will save them from our clutches. Every $10 donation will move them closer to the $100 goal that will free their picture from the site. The only hitch, every $20 donation will offset those efforts and serve to perpetuate their captivity.
We are also doing some fund raising performances on May 14 and 15 at Eliot Hall in Jamaica Plain, the West End Theatre in Gloucester over Memorial Day weekend, and some other venues this summer.
Just go to www.theatrezone.org , get out your credit card and save the Men In Kilts! You'll have fun doing it, and have the gratitude of the Men In Kilts as well as the cast and crew of Anger Box as they head over the pond to Edinburgh this August.
TheatreZone was founded in 1995 to produce challenging and provocative theatre works, and to make participation in the arts accessible to the community both as audience and participant through affordable prices, educational programs for youth and adults, opportunities for members to stretch into new creative capacities, and the creation of the Chelsea Theatre Works.
Here's the press release:
TheatreZone To Take Anger Box to Edinburgh Fringe Festival!
How does a theatre company raise $10,000 to bring cast and crew of their critically acclaimed production of Anger Box to Scotland and perform in the Edinburgh Fringe Festival? Here's an idea -- put some well-known local theatre people as well as men from the cast, friends, and family in kilts and hold their picture ransom on your website.
That's what the Chelsea TheatreWorks has done and it launches high-noon on March 5. We already have over 20 Men In Kilts for ransom, including some pretty prominent local theatre people like actor John Kuntz, Larry Stark of the Theatre Mirror and Jason Sutherland, artistic director of Boston TheatreWorks.
The way it works is on Friday March 5th the cast of Anger Box will begin holding men hostage on our web site. Dressed only in Kilts, they will count on the generosity of friends and strangers to pay the $100 ransom that will save them from our clutches. Every $10 donation will move them closer to the $100 goal that will free their picture from the site. The only hitch, every $20 donation will offset those efforts and serve to perpetuate their captivity.
We are also doing some fund raising performances on May 14 and 15 at Eliot Hall in Jamaica Plain, the West End Theatre in Gloucester over Memorial Day weekend, and some other venues this summer.
Just go to www.theatrezone.org , get out your credit card and save the Men In Kilts! You'll have fun doing it, and have the gratitude of the Men In Kilts as well as the cast and crew of Anger Box as they head over the pond to Edinburgh this August.
TheatreZone was founded in 1995 to produce challenging and provocative theatre works, and to make participation in the arts accessible to the community both as audience and participant through affordable prices, educational programs for youth and adults, opportunities for members to stretch into new creative capacities, and the creation of the Chelsea Theatre Works.
A delayed report on the new gallery at the Cambridge Arts Council: The new space for the Arts Council is located at the intersection of Inman and Broadway in Cambridge, just off of Central Square. The CAC commissioned Mike Glier of Western MA for the project "Town Green", a combination of permament wall drawings and a temporary exhibition now in the CAC's new gallery space. The wall drawing themselves evoke images of the Urban landscape - ivy on a wall, dogwalkers, pedestrians, rowers. The more emotionally evocative works for me were the wall of ivy and a piece called "Congregation" - a gathering of birds in the shape of exclamation points which created this dynamic chatter and dialogue with one another thru their forms. The pieces on view in the gallery explore everyday material - garden imagery - images I imagine in the daily landscape of Glier's world out in Williamstown - apples, fiddleheaded ferns, and other natural imagery.
Just released from Bootstrap Productions: Bodhidharma Never Came to Hatboro and Other Poems. Bootstrap is a small press run by Derek Fenner and Ryan Gallagher, 2 grads of the MFA in Writing program at Naropa. I got a look at this book while in New Mexico, Andrew happened to have a copy. The cover features a painting by Derek Fenner. The poems are VERY funny, somewhat Whalenesque. Well worth checking out. Many other brilliant titles forthcoming!
I read yesterday for the Tapestry of Voices curated by Harris Gardner at the Forest Hills Poetry in the Chapel series. The reading took place in a beautiful stained glass church on the grounds of the Forest Hills Cemetery. I read with Joanna Nealon, Timothy Gager and Jeffrey Harrison. Joanna is this very interesting poet who I've heard read at the old Gallery Diablo series and at Borders Bookstore, Harris' other venue. Joanna is bilnd and recites her poetry which is very much concerned with metaphysical issues and the spirit. She had SUCH a presence, both in the delivery of her poetry and her engagement with the audience. Timothy curates the Out of the Blue Dire Readings Series which recently came out with an anthology of their featured poets. It was a treat to hear Jeffrey Harrison's work. Jeffrey lives in Dover and this was my first time hearing his work - he chose to read all elegies - a piece for this teacher Kenneth Koch, and several pieces for his brother.
Harris is also organizing the upcoming national poetry month festival at the Boston Public Library in cooperation with Kaji Aso. The line-up is looking pretty good, though it's not yet posted on the library site - Rosanna Warren, Afaa Weaver, Diana der Hovanessian, and many others are scheduled to read.. Those events will take place over the weekend of April 3-4 at either BPL or a space at Northeastern University (for readings on Sunday).
Harris is also organizing the upcoming national poetry month festival at the Boston Public Library in cooperation with Kaji Aso. The line-up is looking pretty good, though it's not yet posted on the library site - Rosanna Warren, Afaa Weaver, Diana der Hovanessian, and many others are scheduled to read.. Those events will take place over the weekend of April 3-4 at either BPL or a space at Northeastern University (for readings on Sunday).
Today I start work on a big and ambitious project that has been a long time in the works. My friend Mei Hung of the Chinese Cultural Connection who is from Taiwan, is helping translate a book depicting the history of my father's tiny farming village, Ching Shui, which will provide the background and context for many future writings on my family in Taiwan. We meet tonight for our first session together - Mei Hung decided that it would make most sense to do the translation orally - since many of the details in the book are not meant to be translated or have no translation, thus they will probably require A LOT of contextual information.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
MacDowell alum John Dalton will be reading from his book Heaven Lake on March 17 at 7 p.m. at Wordsworth. Highly recommended!
Monday, March 01, 2004
Kort's recent proposal to remedy the where are we going question in a democratic manner: both choose and research 3 places that we would each be willing to live. From that list of 6 narrow it down to 2 and go visit.
Just logged on to www.findyourspot.com and took the where should you live test. My top 3 answers were 1) Corvallis 2)Eugene 3) Albuquerque. Kort's results: 1) Portland 2) Eugene 3) Albuquerque. All excellent options!
Just logged on to www.findyourspot.com and took the where should you live test. My top 3 answers were 1) Corvallis 2)Eugene 3) Albuquerque. Kort's results: 1) Portland 2) Eugene 3) Albuquerque. All excellent options!
JB and Cirrelda Snider Bryan are small press publishers La Alameda Press based in Albuquerque, New Mexico. JB is painter, tea person, gardener, father, graphic designer, activist, letterpress extraordinaire. Cirrelda is ceramic artist, teacher, mother, publicist, and poet.
Here’s one of Cirrelda’s poems from her chapbook Sandoval County: Up Over Our Shoulders:
From Further South
Sunday morning – the call of the sunny
sky got me out to Coronado Monument.
Watching a duck taking a fast ride on a
current
Hearing wind rustle sturdy dead leaves on
cottonwood by this river bank.
Recognizing call of a crane – they’re still here?
Searching & later seeing the low-flying flock
fly past further south.
Drifting over from the campground: mariachis
y cumbias… and from further downstream the
ebb & flow roar of cars passing on the bridge.
Seeing the golden seed pods of 4wing salt bush,
nutty brown branches and trunks fan spread over
grey cold glistening water.
Middle bank even shores – layer of fine red
vertical tamarisk shoots
foot prints among pebbles and round river rocks in the sandy dirt.
The river floor clearly visible 15 feet out
makes me want to take off shoes, roll up sweats & wade.
The luscious weekend.
Time to stretch out in familiar dreams
& yearnings
Live the old dry ramada
winter sun draws out the memories
in the wood in the earth in the air and trees.
Light slanting from further south draws out the familiar
and it could be 1958.
crow’s call
robin’s call
dog’s call
wind picks up
Shadow crisp on walls and ground.
my ears to cold for staying out!
Cirrelda gave me a little handbound collection of her poems and drawings of New Mexico and as I read through these poems tonight and linger over her sketches of the landscape, I am overwhelmed by richness and beauty.
I stayed in a little town called Placitas, just 20 miles or so outside of Albuquerque, in the hills with a stunning view of the Sandia Mountains which were blanketed in snow during my visit. JB and Cirrelda own a gorgeous adobe that was built by Lee Connor, a dancer who settled in Placitas in the 80s. Just down the road is the house that Bob Creeley and Bobbie Louise Hawkins once lived in, and another house which Ed Dorn briefly rented. The woman who once ran the Naropa café is now installed in Creeley’s old home.
The Placitas House is JB’s painting studio. The familiar smell of oil paint and linseed oil. Several large abstract canvases are hung on the walls of the main space, along with letterpressed broadsides, ink paintings reminiscent of Emil Nolde. JB’s paintings remind me of early Jackson Pollock and Brice Marden, loose sweeping, gestural – references to compost and “plant jazz”. Mesmerizing. There is a growing collection of wabi style tea dogu - a cast iron kettle from the 1800s, camping stoves, improvised mizusashi, a large ceramic container for green tea. Placed around the house are hand built tea bowls and chabanas – flower vases for tea. And there are Cirrelda’s hand painted tiles of daily life, small pinch pots, a small glazed tile with the image of a house on their wooden post out front. There are stacked stones everywhere I look both in and outside of the house, in patterns of three. Three for 3 Stones Zen, JB’s sitting group. When I look a little closer, I realize that the shape of the stones emulate the shape of a sitting Buddha. I stay in the “tower” room upstairs, beneath beautiful exposed wooden beams and surrounded by windows on all sides. When I wake up the first morning and rub my eyes awake, I have a perfect view of the sky, like Turrell’s ganzfelds.
I head out for a walk around 11 a.m. and along the way realize what a neurotic urbanite I have become. I pull the front gate closed and lock it behind me, head up the road towards the village and turn back when confronted by an unfriendly pack of dogs pushing up against a neighbor’s fence. The dogs are mid-sized, mixed breed – under different circumstances they might have seemed friendly, but they bark and growl and run about and seem far to capable of bursting through the fence and or jumping it. So I turn back and walk down to the little cemetery at the base of the road, look at the grave markers, simple wooden crosses, plastic flowers. The poverty remind me of visiting my grandparents’ gravesite in Ching Shui on the mountainside. Wild grasses, earth. I head back to the casa and realize that my key does not fit in the lock for the gate and I am in a dilemma. Start to climb the metal fence and cut my hand on a piece of wire and as I’m just about up to the top, I look down and realize, gee, this is a really tall fence and boy, maybe this isn’t such a good idea, I have a reading tonite! I climb down and wait for JB to swing by and pick me up for lunch. He arrives around 12 and we head to Alameda. I feel mildly embarrassed by my own silliness but slap a bandaid on that cut and get over it. When was the last time I had a tetanus shot?
At the Alameda house, I get to see Cirrelda’s outdoor pottery studio (built with her own 2 hands!), her indoor pottery studio, JB’s office area, letterpress shop, book “warehouse”, and CB’s treehouse. Eat lunch, change clothes, get in car and head out in search of a camera battery for my camera which went dead that morning, from the cold or age, I can’t tell. On to Santa Fe, bunny calls along the way at a moment when I have a cell phone signal. JB points out the red hills in the distance where Cirrelda takes her students to dig for clay from which they make objects for class. Arrive in Santa Fe at the CCA arts space, unpack books for the reading. Every single title that La Alameda has ever put out is on the table and they are impressive – Miriam Sagan, John Brandi, Anselm Hollo, Joseph Somoza, Joanne Kyger and many others. Pile back in car to meet Andrew and Arthur at Tomasita’s for dinner. Andrew’s driven in from Boulder for the reading. No sign yet of Lisa Gill and Mark Weber. Eat chicken quesadillas with red and green chile (Xmas style) and head back to the CCA. Meet Michael Pettit, director of the literary arm of Recursos. The crowd starts to trickle into the black box performance space. One couple comes with a box of popcorn which they bought in the lobby. They show films here on regular nights so the popcorn comes from the concession. One of Ellen’s friends from Dallas who now lives in Santa Fe comes up and introduces herself. Nathaniel Tarn is in the audience, along with Dennis Tedlock, both poet, anthropologist, translators. They sit on opposite sides of the room. I sit next to JB and Cirrelda and Andrew in the front row.
I am up first and read for about 20 minutes. The spotlight is blinding and as usual, I am nervous. I occasionally catch glimpses of JB and Andrew smiling through the bright lights. Relieved to be done, I sit down and enjoy the rest of the reading, and it is something unforgettable. Lisa Gill takes the floor and reads from Red as a Lotus accompanied by Mark LeClair on upright bass. The poems are smart, funny, heartbreaking, profound. Lisa is a New Mexico poet. Lived for years down the road from JB and Cirrelda and now makes Moriarty her home. She has just recently put her book Red as Lotus on CD after a bout with near blindness – she encouraged us all to consider making our books available in this format Here are 2 poems which Lisa read the night of our reading:
LVIII.
One of the last things my grandmother and I shared
was coincidental interest in the Braille alphabet. I had been
studying it because I was frustrated with a sighted friend who
I considered unable to see and so I wrote him letters in ink
dot Braille. She began the alphabet at 90, her own sight neither
great nor gone. Maybe her interest sparked after talking with
a neighbor who was blind. I’d witnessed that interaction between
errands, noting only how sociable my gramma had become lately.
Everyone was sweetie or honey and not simply because
names were forgotten but because compassion and tolerance
had lodged in her skeleton. I picture her bones as cathedrals.
When I found her Braille card, we talked and I ran my fingers
over the bumps, realizing I’d both misinterpreted the charts
I’d been studying and forgotten about l literal blindness.
XIX.
When I placed a stone on my tongue, a friend told me
not to be too hard on myself, as if the stone were in my hand
and I was using it to bash my head. But my mouth is not gored,
wind and sand have worn the stone’s edges smooth, so I did not
try to explain, and the rock in my mouth didn’t even whimper.
I have been talking for decades now, and maybe my voice
is nothing in the sea of words, just one more small abrasion
but my friend’s ears must be ringing and what have I said?
If silence is more awkward than speech, it is because finally
we feel the weight that is always on our tongues. So I am
a slow learner and need a reminder to become quiet and
even then, my thoughts run like a deep spring. If I cannot go
into the desert to become a hermit, I will take the desert
into my mouth and begin to practice with friends.
Lisa’s poems break my heart, are poems that speak to me deeply, poems that are not in me, that I wish were in me, and yet they are in me. These words, so close to my own heart and experiences. Lisa easily blew everyone away on Wednesday night.
Andrew followed with readings from Wild Form, Savage Grammar and a few other texts, haibun, essay, meditations on translation and ecology.
What was very apparent over the course of the reading was the overlap in sensibilities between each of us readers, connected through our relationships to JB and Cirrelda, two extraordinary and visionary people. The evening ended and I felt ecstatic, opened, full. Headed back to Placitas and hung out with JB, Cirrelda, and Andrew. Around 11 ish all sorts of strange sounds started going off in A's bedroom - first a persistent beeping which could not be identified, but seemed to be coming from either the desk or under the bed. After the beeping stopped, the clock radio went off about 5 minutes later. Andrew promptly unplugged it.
On the second day, Andrew and I go for a hike with JB and Cirrelda in the mountains surrounding Placitas. There is snow on the ground, animal tracks, sunshine overhead. Andrew and JB hike ahead of Cirrelda and me. We talk about family, children, careers, medicine and healing. Later that afternoon, Andrew and I drive out to the Jemez Pueblo and loop around thru Los Alamos back thru Santa Fe for dinner at the Coyote Café and than back home to Placitas. Over dinner we talk about the poetry communities we live in and I am reminded of how appalling the pettiness of poets and interpersonal politics can be, wonder again if a poetry “community” is possible, or is it more like we have our poetry “friends”. Friendships are based on common core values whereas communities.. may also be based on certain values, but perhaps at a more superficial level.
Last day in town, get up early drive with Andrew to the Institute of American Indian Arts on the outskirts of Santa Fe. I give a talk and meet with students. Sherwin Bitsui, old friend and poetry companero and IAIA alum, has told his friends to come and support my work. I meet Orlando White, a young poet from the Navajo nation. Orlando tells me that Sherwin “basically discovered me in Utah where I was going nowhere”. Said to Orlando this is where you need to go and you need to work with Arthur. Hooray, Sherwin! I felt that the meeting with the students kicked my ass – I don’t know what I could have done differently to really prepare to meet with them. Smart, tremendously talented, shy kids – I felt heartbroken when I left, as if I had failed to engage them in some way. Not known how to break through or to talk about some of their poems.
Met Andrew back outside in the courtyard where he’d been having his own adventures. Apparently a fire pit exploded next to him and rained flaming concrete down on his head. Concrete apparently has a very slow drying time! Get in the car, drive into Santa Fe to meet Nathaniel Tarn for lunch, but Nathaniel Tarn has left a message that he’s been in a car accident and will not be joining us. We eat at the Railyard. We stop at Leo’s bookstore – I pick up some art catalogs – Anselm Kiefer and Harry Callahan. Visit Touching Stone Gallery and Shibui, sigh over beautiful teaware. Back in car drive to Placitas dinner with JB and Cirrelda, a highlight of the trip, spending time with the Bryan family.
Get up at 5 in the morning on Saturday. It is snowing out (again!). JB picks me up and takes me to Albuquerque international. I fly back to Boston a much more raw person. My boots are still caked with the mud of New Mexico. I carry home in my backpack a hand built chabana made by JB that remains to be named. Transfer planes in Chicago - our Boeing 747 looping around over Lake Michigan, looking down on the S. Loop, the Sears Tower, Mies van der Rohe's famous corncob buildings where Josepha's mother dreamed of having an apartment. A city in which I once lived and loved.
Look for some changes, revelations, and other announcements here at the Makura-no-Soshi coming soon.
Here’s one of Cirrelda’s poems from her chapbook Sandoval County: Up Over Our Shoulders:
From Further South
Sunday morning – the call of the sunny
sky got me out to Coronado Monument.
Watching a duck taking a fast ride on a
current
Hearing wind rustle sturdy dead leaves on
cottonwood by this river bank.
Recognizing call of a crane – they’re still here?
Searching & later seeing the low-flying flock
fly past further south.
Drifting over from the campground: mariachis
y cumbias… and from further downstream the
ebb & flow roar of cars passing on the bridge.
Seeing the golden seed pods of 4wing salt bush,
nutty brown branches and trunks fan spread over
grey cold glistening water.
Middle bank even shores – layer of fine red
vertical tamarisk shoots
foot prints among pebbles and round river rocks in the sandy dirt.
The river floor clearly visible 15 feet out
makes me want to take off shoes, roll up sweats & wade.
The luscious weekend.
Time to stretch out in familiar dreams
& yearnings
Live the old dry ramada
winter sun draws out the memories
in the wood in the earth in the air and trees.
Light slanting from further south draws out the familiar
and it could be 1958.
crow’s call
robin’s call
dog’s call
wind picks up
Shadow crisp on walls and ground.
my ears to cold for staying out!
Cirrelda gave me a little handbound collection of her poems and drawings of New Mexico and as I read through these poems tonight and linger over her sketches of the landscape, I am overwhelmed by richness and beauty.
I stayed in a little town called Placitas, just 20 miles or so outside of Albuquerque, in the hills with a stunning view of the Sandia Mountains which were blanketed in snow during my visit. JB and Cirrelda own a gorgeous adobe that was built by Lee Connor, a dancer who settled in Placitas in the 80s. Just down the road is the house that Bob Creeley and Bobbie Louise Hawkins once lived in, and another house which Ed Dorn briefly rented. The woman who once ran the Naropa café is now installed in Creeley’s old home.
The Placitas House is JB’s painting studio. The familiar smell of oil paint and linseed oil. Several large abstract canvases are hung on the walls of the main space, along with letterpressed broadsides, ink paintings reminiscent of Emil Nolde. JB’s paintings remind me of early Jackson Pollock and Brice Marden, loose sweeping, gestural – references to compost and “plant jazz”. Mesmerizing. There is a growing collection of wabi style tea dogu - a cast iron kettle from the 1800s, camping stoves, improvised mizusashi, a large ceramic container for green tea. Placed around the house are hand built tea bowls and chabanas – flower vases for tea. And there are Cirrelda’s hand painted tiles of daily life, small pinch pots, a small glazed tile with the image of a house on their wooden post out front. There are stacked stones everywhere I look both in and outside of the house, in patterns of three. Three for 3 Stones Zen, JB’s sitting group. When I look a little closer, I realize that the shape of the stones emulate the shape of a sitting Buddha. I stay in the “tower” room upstairs, beneath beautiful exposed wooden beams and surrounded by windows on all sides. When I wake up the first morning and rub my eyes awake, I have a perfect view of the sky, like Turrell’s ganzfelds.
I head out for a walk around 11 a.m. and along the way realize what a neurotic urbanite I have become. I pull the front gate closed and lock it behind me, head up the road towards the village and turn back when confronted by an unfriendly pack of dogs pushing up against a neighbor’s fence. The dogs are mid-sized, mixed breed – under different circumstances they might have seemed friendly, but they bark and growl and run about and seem far to capable of bursting through the fence and or jumping it. So I turn back and walk down to the little cemetery at the base of the road, look at the grave markers, simple wooden crosses, plastic flowers. The poverty remind me of visiting my grandparents’ gravesite in Ching Shui on the mountainside. Wild grasses, earth. I head back to the casa and realize that my key does not fit in the lock for the gate and I am in a dilemma. Start to climb the metal fence and cut my hand on a piece of wire and as I’m just about up to the top, I look down and realize, gee, this is a really tall fence and boy, maybe this isn’t such a good idea, I have a reading tonite! I climb down and wait for JB to swing by and pick me up for lunch. He arrives around 12 and we head to Alameda. I feel mildly embarrassed by my own silliness but slap a bandaid on that cut and get over it. When was the last time I had a tetanus shot?
At the Alameda house, I get to see Cirrelda’s outdoor pottery studio (built with her own 2 hands!), her indoor pottery studio, JB’s office area, letterpress shop, book “warehouse”, and CB’s treehouse. Eat lunch, change clothes, get in car and head out in search of a camera battery for my camera which went dead that morning, from the cold or age, I can’t tell. On to Santa Fe, bunny calls along the way at a moment when I have a cell phone signal. JB points out the red hills in the distance where Cirrelda takes her students to dig for clay from which they make objects for class. Arrive in Santa Fe at the CCA arts space, unpack books for the reading. Every single title that La Alameda has ever put out is on the table and they are impressive – Miriam Sagan, John Brandi, Anselm Hollo, Joseph Somoza, Joanne Kyger and many others. Pile back in car to meet Andrew and Arthur at Tomasita’s for dinner. Andrew’s driven in from Boulder for the reading. No sign yet of Lisa Gill and Mark Weber. Eat chicken quesadillas with red and green chile (Xmas style) and head back to the CCA. Meet Michael Pettit, director of the literary arm of Recursos. The crowd starts to trickle into the black box performance space. One couple comes with a box of popcorn which they bought in the lobby. They show films here on regular nights so the popcorn comes from the concession. One of Ellen’s friends from Dallas who now lives in Santa Fe comes up and introduces herself. Nathaniel Tarn is in the audience, along with Dennis Tedlock, both poet, anthropologist, translators. They sit on opposite sides of the room. I sit next to JB and Cirrelda and Andrew in the front row.
I am up first and read for about 20 minutes. The spotlight is blinding and as usual, I am nervous. I occasionally catch glimpses of JB and Andrew smiling through the bright lights. Relieved to be done, I sit down and enjoy the rest of the reading, and it is something unforgettable. Lisa Gill takes the floor and reads from Red as a Lotus accompanied by Mark LeClair on upright bass. The poems are smart, funny, heartbreaking, profound. Lisa is a New Mexico poet. Lived for years down the road from JB and Cirrelda and now makes Moriarty her home. She has just recently put her book Red as Lotus on CD after a bout with near blindness – she encouraged us all to consider making our books available in this format Here are 2 poems which Lisa read the night of our reading:
LVIII.
One of the last things my grandmother and I shared
was coincidental interest in the Braille alphabet. I had been
studying it because I was frustrated with a sighted friend who
I considered unable to see and so I wrote him letters in ink
dot Braille. She began the alphabet at 90, her own sight neither
great nor gone. Maybe her interest sparked after talking with
a neighbor who was blind. I’d witnessed that interaction between
errands, noting only how sociable my gramma had become lately.
Everyone was sweetie or honey and not simply because
names were forgotten but because compassion and tolerance
had lodged in her skeleton. I picture her bones as cathedrals.
When I found her Braille card, we talked and I ran my fingers
over the bumps, realizing I’d both misinterpreted the charts
I’d been studying and forgotten about l literal blindness.
XIX.
When I placed a stone on my tongue, a friend told me
not to be too hard on myself, as if the stone were in my hand
and I was using it to bash my head. But my mouth is not gored,
wind and sand have worn the stone’s edges smooth, so I did not
try to explain, and the rock in my mouth didn’t even whimper.
I have been talking for decades now, and maybe my voice
is nothing in the sea of words, just one more small abrasion
but my friend’s ears must be ringing and what have I said?
If silence is more awkward than speech, it is because finally
we feel the weight that is always on our tongues. So I am
a slow learner and need a reminder to become quiet and
even then, my thoughts run like a deep spring. If I cannot go
into the desert to become a hermit, I will take the desert
into my mouth and begin to practice with friends.
Lisa’s poems break my heart, are poems that speak to me deeply, poems that are not in me, that I wish were in me, and yet they are in me. These words, so close to my own heart and experiences. Lisa easily blew everyone away on Wednesday night.
Andrew followed with readings from Wild Form, Savage Grammar and a few other texts, haibun, essay, meditations on translation and ecology.
What was very apparent over the course of the reading was the overlap in sensibilities between each of us readers, connected through our relationships to JB and Cirrelda, two extraordinary and visionary people. The evening ended and I felt ecstatic, opened, full. Headed back to Placitas and hung out with JB, Cirrelda, and Andrew. Around 11 ish all sorts of strange sounds started going off in A's bedroom - first a persistent beeping which could not be identified, but seemed to be coming from either the desk or under the bed. After the beeping stopped, the clock radio went off about 5 minutes later. Andrew promptly unplugged it.
On the second day, Andrew and I go for a hike with JB and Cirrelda in the mountains surrounding Placitas. There is snow on the ground, animal tracks, sunshine overhead. Andrew and JB hike ahead of Cirrelda and me. We talk about family, children, careers, medicine and healing. Later that afternoon, Andrew and I drive out to the Jemez Pueblo and loop around thru Los Alamos back thru Santa Fe for dinner at the Coyote Café and than back home to Placitas. Over dinner we talk about the poetry communities we live in and I am reminded of how appalling the pettiness of poets and interpersonal politics can be, wonder again if a poetry “community” is possible, or is it more like we have our poetry “friends”. Friendships are based on common core values whereas communities.. may also be based on certain values, but perhaps at a more superficial level.
Last day in town, get up early drive with Andrew to the Institute of American Indian Arts on the outskirts of Santa Fe. I give a talk and meet with students. Sherwin Bitsui, old friend and poetry companero and IAIA alum, has told his friends to come and support my work. I meet Orlando White, a young poet from the Navajo nation. Orlando tells me that Sherwin “basically discovered me in Utah where I was going nowhere”. Said to Orlando this is where you need to go and you need to work with Arthur. Hooray, Sherwin! I felt that the meeting with the students kicked my ass – I don’t know what I could have done differently to really prepare to meet with them. Smart, tremendously talented, shy kids – I felt heartbroken when I left, as if I had failed to engage them in some way. Not known how to break through or to talk about some of their poems.
Met Andrew back outside in the courtyard where he’d been having his own adventures. Apparently a fire pit exploded next to him and rained flaming concrete down on his head. Concrete apparently has a very slow drying time! Get in the car, drive into Santa Fe to meet Nathaniel Tarn for lunch, but Nathaniel Tarn has left a message that he’s been in a car accident and will not be joining us. We eat at the Railyard. We stop at Leo’s bookstore – I pick up some art catalogs – Anselm Kiefer and Harry Callahan. Visit Touching Stone Gallery and Shibui, sigh over beautiful teaware. Back in car drive to Placitas dinner with JB and Cirrelda, a highlight of the trip, spending time with the Bryan family.
Get up at 5 in the morning on Saturday. It is snowing out (again!). JB picks me up and takes me to Albuquerque international. I fly back to Boston a much more raw person. My boots are still caked with the mud of New Mexico. I carry home in my backpack a hand built chabana made by JB that remains to be named. Transfer planes in Chicago - our Boeing 747 looping around over Lake Michigan, looking down on the S. Loop, the Sears Tower, Mies van der Rohe's famous corncob buildings where Josepha's mother dreamed of having an apartment. A city in which I once lived and loved.
Look for some changes, revelations, and other announcements here at the Makura-no-Soshi coming soon.
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