Saturday, December 06, 2003

Jack on snow.

Like any sane person, I do love Whitman. But, inappropriate as I know this may be, that poem just cracks me up. Must be the snow in here.

O Tan-Faced Prairie Boy

O TAN-FACED prarie boy,
Before you came to camp came many a welcome gift,
Praise and presents came and nourishing food, till at last
     among the recruits,
You came, taciturn, with nothing to give - we but look'd
     on each other,
When lo! more than all the gifts of the world you gave me.


Friday, December 05, 2003

I wrote the last poem directly into this blog, which may have been a mistake. You have to let things sit for a bit, at least I do, or you screw up the edit. I'm considering hiring someone full-time.


At 9:30 am the chief executive gives the orders for breakfast: ham and eggs, sourdough bread dry, orange juice large and a side of conversation.

step up and trace
the demands on give

the silent way the lamps
cast their light

or fingers trace
mist on a window

cars are obscured
by outlines in snow

In another wing white men huddle over stacks of printouts, library databases, music purchased by the black block xmas party committee, such things that would have little or no meaning to you, ordinary citizen. The connections are alarming and real.

this dream you had, tell me,
did you imagine your own death

within the dream or
did the wall scale itself?

you must remember, the details
are crucial

At 10:30 am the chief is informed of the day’s lunch program, a box lunch to be enjoyed with the 82nd infantry on loan from the war. But this is no photo op, no make-up will be applied. This is guys hanging out with guys, hugs and apple strudel and make no mistake it will be a man’s meal.

to distract from purpose, to
encounter lions inside dandy-

lions, the real center of evil
is an empty figure with

no foot to print no
shadow to cast

Some interesting thoughts on line breaks in comics, of all things, from Greg Cook (no relation) on James Cook's blog.

I have a number of copies of copper left that I'd like to get into the right hands. If you have good hands, send me your address and I'll mail it along.

Thursday, December 04, 2003

Fine Ed Barrett, fine Bill Corbett. Shoulda seen them go.

I've mentioned on this site before that Ed is one of Boston's least appreciated treasures, for reasons I can't fathom. Buy Rub Out, on Pressed Wafer. Give it to someone who cares.

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

Hey, check out that new Shampoo.

The left eye inverted with the right eye stands
lookout for both

The moment's pause before the next exit produces turn-around

The pour and the half-second glass too full

The bright lights from a cop's right front pocket

The weight placed before a foot cracks

The know, the phone knows it will ring and
finally tells you so

The Grand Template of ideas.

Monday, December 01, 2003

An excellent and lengthy response to the question below from Nick. I also appreciate the "dailiness" of the blog, as much as I appreciate the way one can whip out a chap from a home computer these days. What still thrills me the most about making and maintaining connections out here is communicating with someone over a short period and then actually receiving their words in the mail.

But the immediacy of the internet is fantastic for poetry. I check in on twenty to thirty poets every single day, sometimes twice, and am amazed at the total output of some writers (Nick being a good example.) I'm confined to writing only from home, before or after work, while others can write from work, but I sometimes scribble a note to myself during the day and it ends up here at night. Fun for kids from eight to eighty.

Sunday, November 30, 2003

Jack asked Nick how blogging has changed poetry, or, perhaps, how it will change poetry in the future. The question and the answer both came across a crowded table over drinks, so I hope that Nick might take some time to write further on the subject on his blog.

Had a blast at the reading last night with Nick Piombino, David Perry and myself. Nick, I agree with what you wrote on your blog last night. There was a certain warmth in the room.

If you haven't met Nick or heard him read, he's not unlike his blog, in a sense. Generous, talkative, a guy with interests that burst from him in his poetry and in conversation. My theory is that his personality set the tone for the evening, even though he read last.

A memorable night. Thanks as always to Jimmy and Christina. Christina and I spent the afternoon creating my chapbook from buying the paper to making adjustments and printing it up. It also pays to own a large stapler. She makes it look easy, though I know it isn't. Thank you!

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