by Johannes Goransson on Mar.14, 2012
Quickly I just wanted to alert you to the fact that Montevidayo’s Feng Sun Chen not only has her new Butcher’s Tree out; She also has a wonderful new book called blud out from the amazing Spork Press.
rabbits are capable of tenderness especially when pounded.
love makes you curl up into the earth fetus… your organs melt…
the gas of love assaults you… and the nox origin barely holds its oracular shape, teh soft apple lodges between the armor plate of the gregor body… neither sub nor superhuman suffering, the huge verminous body does not know it has wings.
the wings lie folded and hot
inside the hard lips.
Another book I’m reading right now with great delight is Gina Abelkop’s Darling Beastlettes.
Greta dreamed a bird.
Woke and reached for scissors.
(This is an excerpt from a 19th-century-Wuthering-Heights-type-of-“novel” at the end of the book.)
Also, one more thing: Apostrophe Books and I have decided not to keep my first book, A New Quarantine Will Take My Place in print. You can buy the last few copies at SPD. In a couple of years we’ll put out a new remixed version.
Sometimes there is a beautiful world inside the world of poetry. Sometimes the children
have nosebleed inside my ornithologies and sometimes the cheerleaders are naked inside
interrogations I keep holding to prevent myself from defacing all the posters you’ve
pasted up around my room. They inform an anxious public that there is no place for a
crowded elevator like me in an age of retrospectives and beautiful poetry about
the origins of deficient landscapes.
And what’s interesting about A new quarantine will take my place is that this subliminal agreement is displaced from its traditional centrality in lyrical communication, that of ‘I feel the writer is suggesting this persuasively so I empathise: Job done. End of story: yes I do sympathise with this universal message personally delivered’. Instead, here the reader is forced to treat both the writer and his/her own thoughts with suspicion: subliminal communication, a sensed of shared consciousness of some poetically offered ‘experience’ is not an unequivocally good or honest thing or a goal in itself. Indeed, there is a suggestion that it is potentially dangerous, which of course it is. Political slogans and advertising campaigns aren’t necessarily good and they play to prejudices and instincts. Why should poetry be any different when it is operating with the same tool-kit?