Author Archive

The Flowers of Evil: Gregorry Orr on Wordsworth and Flowery Language

by on Oct.23, 2014

There’s an interesting article by Gregory Orr in the latest issue of Writer’s Chronicle called “Foundational Documents and the Nature of Lyric,” which I think (of course) backs up all the arguments I’ve been deriving from reading Wordsworths’ Preface to Lyrical Ballads as a foundational anti-kitsch manifesto.
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Orr begins with a relevant reading of Plato’s Republic as an anti-poetry foundational document of western culture: re-hashing Plato’s urge to banish poets from the ideal republic because or their irrational artform and his idea that if they tried to sneak back in they should be killed. To counter this foundational anti-poetic text, Orr brings in various Asian texts, finding in them an understanding and appreciation for the emotional nature of art and lyric poetry.

But what I’m interested in is his use of Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads.

I’ve discussed this document several times as an anti-kitsch manifesto (taking a cue from Daniel Tiffany’s writing on kitsch). Wordsworth rejects the “gaudy and inane phraseology” of the graveyard poets (derived, importantly, as a kind of translatese from Latin translations) in favor of a model of the poet as “a man speaking to men.” The flowery language is connected to sensationalism of mass media which also “blunts” the reader’s senses. It’s too much. It’s kitsch.

As I’ve argued in the past, kitsch is really at the heart of any art – any art can be turned “gaudy” if you choose to see it that way because art can always be seen as useless and gaudy, as opposed to the real stuff of work and politics.

I realize there’s a bunch of stuff going on in Wordsworth, but this is an important line of discussion issuing from his work to this day and I think Orr’s article really proves this.

For Orr, Wordsworth provides a welcome antidote to Plato’s anti-poetry stance. Most importantly for Orr:

“Wordsworth rescued Western poetry from its capture by the ruling classes. He returned it to ordinary people, understanding that anyone could and maybe should write poems or songs – that lyric poetry isn’t an elite art form, but is a human birthright. A birthright related to its essential function as a survival mode. All of us need poetry and song… Wordsworth rescued lyric from elitism by saying that the language used in poems isn’t a special, flowery language reserved for special people or a special class of people. Instead, he insisted it was “a selection of the real language spoken by men” (and women). Poetry was just us, speaking a little more intensively or rhythmically than we ordinarily speak, but not in some special language only available to social or economic elite. Wordsworth’s return to speech as the model for poetry was a crucial insight, but we in the West are still struggling to take it in and accept its full, democratic implications.”

There’s a lot to be said about Orr’s reading, and to some extent I obviously agree that Wordsworth’s document is revolutionary. But I want to focus on the way Orr sees “flowery language” as inherently elitist and undemocratic.

Flowery language (gaudy and inane phraseology) can afterall be written by anyone, and I would venture that often young poets are taught by their elders to reject flowery, “Romantic” language (I was when I was a teenager). One might say then that plain-spoken diction has become a kind of elitist Taste that we have to learn.
(continue reading…)

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Flowers of Kitsch: on Pound, New Critics and Conceptualisms

by on Oct.09, 2014

I’ve been working on my critical book Atrocity Kitsch so I haven’t had a chance to blog very much recently, but I thought I would add some ideas about kitsch and poetry that won’t be in the book.

In Silver Planet, Daniel Tiffany writes about that incredibly work of atrocity kitsch, Ezra Pound’s Cantos:

“The integrity of the poem’s experiment could be salvaged only by isolating (and purifying) its formalist agenda, which meant that the appeal and function of kitsch in the Cantos could not even begin to be acknowledged, debated, or tested. The emergence of so called late modernism – a mandarin, hyper-formalist variant of the original movement – suppressed any discussion of the possibility that the diction of the Cantos alternated, in fact, between the “silver”y substance of kitsch and the “hard” phrasing of modernism.” (169)

I take by “late modernism” Tiffany means basically the New Critics and associated poets. These “poet-critics” were invested in “rigor” and “objective correlative” and the scientific-ish approach to reading poetry. They wanted to remove all the ludicrous and ridiculous excess of the 1920s avant-garde as well as the soft Victorianisms of the 19th century.
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And yet when we read their poems, they feel more 19th than 20th century, full of the “corpse language” of Victorian poetry that Pound had sought to rid modern poetry of. Take a poem like John Crowe Ransom’s “Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter” (the very title feels a bit outdated):

The lazy geese, like a snow cloud
Dripping their snow on the green grass,
Tricking and stopping, sleepy and proud,
Who cried in goose, Alas,

For the tireless heart within the little
Lady with rod that made them rise
From their noon apple-dreams and scuttle
Goose-fashion under the skies!

(whole thing here.)

The New Critics thought they were rigorous but they were in fact trafficking in kitsch. But then any art can turn to kitsch, decay into kitsch.

In the most recent issue of Writers’ Chronicle, Gregory Orr writes that Wordsworth saved English poetry from elitism by rejecting “flowery language” in favor of a democratic “men speaking to men.” One of my favorite parts of Tiffany’s book is when he reads Wordsworth’s preface to Lyrical Ballads as anti-kitsch rhetoric – rejecting the ornate, aestheticized language of the graveyard poets for being too flowery, for being kitsch.

Orr still harbors the same idea as Wordsworth: that flowery language depends on money and class. When in fact these days to write ornately and flowery shows a lack of taste! Ie a lack of education. An immoderate love of language. Ransom and his southern gentlemen poet-scholar-friends imagined that their class gave them taste; but their taste decayed into kitsch in record time.

When Tony Hoagland (or anybody else really) tries to identify a “period style” for he contemporary (such as his “skittery poem of the moment”) it’s an attempt to wield anti-kitsch rhetoric; by turning the poetry one doesn’t like into a “period style,” one renders it kitsch. If it’s a period style, it will also be outdated, will become as kitsch as the new critics’ poetry – because it’s not the individual’s heroic accomplishment. It’s imitation rather than art; it’s just part of the period; it doesn’t deserve an individual’s entry in the Canon books. At its worst this means that popularity leads to kitsch (whether that popularity comes from people being smitten with your poetry or from the poetic style being enfored in MFA programs as was the case with quietism).

Marjorie Perloff and the language poets really used this formula well in attacking quietist lyrics as kitsch. And she’s really still attacking that poetry with conceptualism. Conceptualism draws some of its strength from the fact that our industrial-capitalist culture had turned ALL poetry into kitsch. So by proclaiming themselves “uncreative” or not poetry, they are benefitting from this state of affairs.
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But what makes kitsch interesting is that decay is not the end of poetry; poetry is often most beautiful or interesting in a state of decay, a state of contamination. So that in Conceptualism you are now getting very impure projects, very poetic conceptualisms, like Kate Durbin’s poems about the luxury of celebrities (a very different elite class than the New Critics imagined, a very much crasser wealth than their southern gentility (and less racist?)) and Joseph Mosconi’s Fright Catalog which traffics in flowers and decorations:

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Lets end with some Coleridge:

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

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TROYAN/GÖRANSSON: BEWARE OF A HOLY WHORE

by on Jul.26, 2014

Tomorrow (Sunday) at 1 pm, Cassandra Troyan and I (and some dancers) will perform a Fassbinder-inspired piece called Beware of a Holy Whore” at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago.

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“He hit me and it felt like a kiss”: On the Death-Art of Lana Del Ray and Nicholas Winding Refn

by on Jun.25, 2014

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk…
(Keats, “Ode to a Nightingale”)

It seems a lot of people are troubled by Lana Del Ray saying that she wish she were “already dead.” Seems that’s not an “empowering” thing to say. We should all be energetic and as alive as possible. Working for a change in the anthropocene. Something I love about her songs is that she does sound already dead. They all seem written from a haze, from the other side.

It’s in the new one:

But it’s even more in some of the old ones, like “Summertime Sadness” and (duh!) “Born to Die.”

Here’s an interesting article about Del Ray and her detractors from NPR:

What sets her apart from predecessors in provocation like is that she celebrates the bacchanalian excess of peers like while immolating herself in themes of co-dependency that make smart people squirm. Her songs exude the pain her paramours repress through drugs and sport sex, and their implicit subject is addiction.

In other words, unlike so much contemporary poetics for example, this is not poetry that “critiques,” that gives us an ethical position. Unlike Hollywood, pop music etc: it’s not uplifting. Unlike both: it is not “empowering.”

She gets hit by her lover and it feels like a kiss.

This haziness of death is of course the feverish state of art. It is a kiss but it feels like a punch.

It’s an addiction.
(continue reading…)

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“…emerging on the other side with Wet Land”: Marty Cain on Lucas de Lima

by on Jun.24, 2014

[Marty Cain has a very insightful review of Lucas de Limas’s Wet Land up on HTMLGiant. Here’s an excerpt:]

“In her response to Stephen Burt’s recent essay in the Boston Review, the poet Joyelle McSweeney criticizes Burt’s concept of the Nearly Baroque: “forget ‘nearly’ and ‘almost.’ I want to go all the way… All the way and out to the other side, which is this side, but eschatologically inverted.” Wet Land may be a perfect example of what McSweeney seems to be calling for. Rather than hiding behind an aesthetic mask, de Lima fully embraces artifice, deliberately taking ownership of the inherent violence in poetic representation:

MY BULLET CRACKS THE GATOR’S SKULL LIKE AN EGG.
MY BULLET SHATTERS THE GATOR THE WAY A WORD BREAKS OPEN THE LORD.
MY BULLET IS BEAUTIFUL.
IT SHIMMERS IN THE QUARTER-SIZED KILL SPOT ON THE GATOR’S NECK.
MY BULLET MAKES MY FATHER PROUD.
(from “KILL SPOT”)

In this invocative moment reminiscent of Frank Stanford, de Lima suggests that the artistic process is complicit in a circle of violence, death, and rebirth. The gator killed Ana Maria, the book symbolically kills Ana Maria again, and de Lima enters the pulsing door of grief, emerging on the other side with Wet Land, a text that inhabits a different world altogether—exhumed from a swamp, winding along a chaotic figure-eight in a cycle of violence and tenderness. It would be too predictable if de Lima chose to vilify the alligator, but fortunately, he resists the easy route. On the first page of the book, de Lima tells us that the alligator’s blood is “so potent it can destroy HIV,” and that he feels he has an “alliance” with the creature. The alligator becomes evocative of a transcendent presence, embodying both life and death, eros and violence.”

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Gurlesque-ing Bergman: More on “Persona Peep Show”

by on Jun.16, 2014

I want to follow up on James’s great post about Persona Peep Show with a post about the most obvious topic relating to the film: that is “fan-fictions” or “kitsches” Ingmar Bergman’s supposed Masterpiece Persona (a lot of the text is in fact from Bergman’s movie). What Mark Efrik Hammarberg and Sara Tuss Efrik picks up on in their remake of Bergman’s movie as “peepshow” is exactly the scandal of the image that James talks about in his post, the “peep-show-ness” of Bergman’s movie. And like many fan fictions (this is why I’m drawn to this para-genre) it takes this elements and blows it up, pushes it out of balance, find the excess, the ghosts, the pornography in the masterpiece.

Their peepshow fan fiction was first shown as part of the gurlesque-themed 2013 Stockholm Poetry Festival, and it revels exactly in the kind of mask-playing, superficiality and viscerality that has caused so many people to be troubled by the gurlesque.

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Like James, I think Steven Shaviro’s a wonderful reveling in cinematic fascination. Shaviro points out that what troubles people about cinema is often this flatness of the image, which has no interiority but which nevertheless is tend to cause fascination, a strong bodily response (which as he points out is often seen as apolitical but which can be highly political).

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(continue reading…)

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Altgård Interview (pt 6): On Retrogardism

by on Jun.04, 2014

[Another installment in my on-going interview with Clemens Altgård:]

Johannes: In 1995 you and Håkan Sandell co-wrote a two-part manifesto “Om Retrogardism,” drawing in part on the Slovenian arts collective NSK/Laibach. Could you talk about what interested you this work? What was the reaction of the Swedish literary establishment? To what extent are you still interested in this line of thought?

Clemens:
First the idea was that we should write one long text together. It soon proved to be impossible. So I wrote about the Slovenian group Laibach and the NSK. Håkan Sandell wrote things like that true inspiration is impossible without rhythmic fixed forms.

We were both negative to the established but by then outdated modernist school of writing. I had picked up on some postmodern thinking but Sandell was more into a premodern way of writning. As a matter of fact he wanted to reconsider the whole creative process from an almost primitivist point of view. What we both could agree on was the thought that the techniques of oral literature could be used in the writing process in order to strengthen the expression. But in a way you could say that we created different versions of what retrogardism could be in a Nordic context. What interested us both was how the Slovenians managed to use old mannerisms, even the totalitarian language of the enemy and put it all together in brand new and amazing works of art and music. I was very enthusiastic at first. I could see no limits to what we might accomplish.

But our book got a lot of criticism. Many liberal and leftist intellectuals got anxious and seemed to think that we had some kind of hidden fascist agenda. They got it all wrong, to say the least. But that was bad enough. Some literature critics understood the concept and that we presented two different ways of creating in a retrogardist spirit. Some people though got the naive impression that the two essays should be read as one coherent text. If you do that, well then you will get confused. For me all that became a bit of a problem. It was like a big backlash of some kind. For me it took many years, a decade or so, to get over all that and sort things out for myself.

For Sandell it was different. He moved to Norway and still lives in Oslo. Some kind of exile, you could say. In Oslo he started something that gradually grew bigger. Sandells ideas attracted a group of young Norwegian painters that went the classicist road, some of them trained by Odd Nerdrum. That was Sandells new context. He got pupils and followers. Sandell has said that his young Norwegian pupils – he gave them lessons in metrics – opposed him in the sense of becoming more classicist/traditionalist than he had ever been himself. But instead of rejecting them in return, he joined them. In Sandells words: “I took the side of my pupils, against myself! And there followed the second wave of retrogardism, in close community with the painters. The painters came mostly from what has sometimes been called the ‘Nerdrum School’, after the painter Odd Nerdrum.”

Well, I was not into that, not at all. I kept writing poetry but did not publish any new book. Instead I did collaborations, art projects, with my friend the artist Ola Åstrand. And that was something quite different from the “second wave” retrogardism in Norway.

Laibach has continued to develop their aesthetics. They still make ironic manifesto-like statements and they still display a negative attitude towards authority. I went to see the Laibach concert in Malmö 2011 so their work still interest me. I still listen to their music but as a poet I have moved on. The world has changed a lot since we wrote the essays “Om retrogardism” and I have changed a lot too, I think. I’m not really that interested in traditional writing techniques, for instance.

Odd Nerdrum:
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Drew Kalbach’s Spooky Plan

by on Jun.04, 2014

[Here are some comments about Drew Kalbach’s new book from Gobbet (the other books look great too). You may know Drew from his great critical blogging at The Actuary.]

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Drew Kalbach’s Spooky Plan is spooky—an uncanny directive working in and out of time. The speaker operates the paradoxical technology of the lyric like a drone pilot, virtuosic and remote; immobilized, isolated, instrumentalized, and lethal. Meanwhile, the lyric lines toggle between literally ancient modes of address—graffiti transcribed from the walls of Pompeii—and the ultra-purposeful/ultra-random language of SPAM-bots. What is the strange—spooky—texture that knits up in the oscillation between these poles? Spooky action at a distance? The illusion of consciousness and intimacy that makes the universe, and the lyric, and the Internet function, while each is in fact a mass of dazzling, unparaphrasable relays? What wonders is the Sublime sitting on, somewhere over the paywall? Spooky Plan sez, “Drop down and get your worship on.” Bow down. Bow-wow.

–Joyelle McSweeney, author of Percussion Grenade

In his wonderful first book, Spooky Plan, Drew Kalbach manages to write short lyrics that are somehow incredibly punchy even as they pile up the refuse of centuries together with defecations, nocturnal emissions and other bodily fluids/media. “You are coming to blow me but not until later. I learned this while I was alive”: time spasms and drags, while “the baby girls” “grind and booty shake” and “put me under.” The dance of this menacing, hilarious, sexy (in possible an illegal way) group provides if not a narrative then something like a volatile pattern to the otherwise formless excrement of the narrator’s “post-continuity” visions of the body and sexuality. With this book, Kalbach joins a growing group of younger poets – poets like Jennifer Tamayo, Trisha Low, Monica McLure – who are changing American poets with their irreverent lyricism, performativity and media obsessions: “goodbye giggling in the carwreck”!

– Johannes Göransson, author of Haute Surveillance

These are the dreams for the commercials in post-surveillance capitalism. Kalbach’s poems are real guns, real volts, real gifts, and they’re usually about how we live today—even as we’re afraid to admit it. His poems are in community (ethereal and ethernet) while recovering isolation (in sickbeds and video games). His visions defer to an ethos, but it’s a post-integrity kind, where the body’s fallen into corporations and hostile takeovers and hostage situations, and the tremendous cost crushes thoughts into what you’d expect: flickering sadness, blinkered rage, but best—this roving curiosity for finding a better way to be electric and dead and still wanting one more try at the slots. You can’t “glitch it back together,” Kalbach has noted elsewhere. But the attempt is a funny, bracing instrument, and it’s exquisite.

–Evan Bryson

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Clemens Altgård Interview (pt 4): Lukas Moodysson

by on May.30, 2014

[I continue my interview with Clemens Altgård. The previous questions/answers can be found here and here and here.]

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Johannes: The most famous member of the Malmö Gang, especially in the U.S., is Lukas Moodysson, internationally acclaimed film director of such films as Fucking Åmål, Together and Hole in My Heart.But he started out as a teenage-poet and member of the Malmö Gang, as you have already mentioned. Do you want to say anything else about him?

Clemens: When we got to know Lukas Moodysson he was still very young and unexperienced. I think that we taught him one or two things but he was a very fast learner. He already had a style of his own when he became a member of our group. But his style would change over time. As he went to Borum’s school in Copenhagen Lukas started to write in a new manner. Then he quit and began to write more maximalistic again. As a matter of fact I wrote a poem about him that was published in his book “Kött”” (Flesh/Meat). But Lukas had to move on. In fact he became a world famous director! How about that?

Johannes: Which is your favorite of his films?

Clemens: I’ve seen all of them. If I should pick av favorite… I´ll choose Container. It’s very close to his poetry.

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Interview with Clemens Altgård (pt 3): On Groups, New Ideas and Writing Programs

by on May.28, 2014

[I continue my interview with Clemens Altgård. The previous questions/answers can be found here and here.]
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Johannes: In the review of your new book Undead in Aftonbladet, Petter Lindgren remembers the 90s Swedish poetry scene as an era of groups – Malmöligan, the Stockholm Surrealists, Nya Juno. In some ways it seems similar to the very contemporary moment of US poetry. If you agree that the 80s/90s was an era of groups, what do you think caused this group-proliferation? In one regard, this harkens back to the era of the historical avant-garde in Europe in the 1910s and 20s (with Surrealism, Dadaism etc). In the US poetry discourse there seems to be a lot of condemnation of this “balkanization” – people love to point out that they are not part of groups, that they “just write good poetry” – to suggest that they are open to all aesthetics and that the “groups” are close-minded. But I think it’s kind of great that there are many different view points, and it seems to me that they different groups are often in fact more “open-minded” than the folks who pretend to be above it all. What do you think about groups in poetry?

Clemens: As far as I can see groups have been instrumental in the emergence of new styles and ideas, especially in modern times. The historical avant-garde groups that you mention are examples of that. We did of course create our own history. We were young and bold and wanted to make history so in some sense we copied the avant-garde group concept. But we emerged in an increasingly post-modern era and that somehow contributed to a growing eclecticism within the group itself. We wrote a manifesto but it was more like some kind of calculated joke than a text to be taken at face value. Malmo Gang’s manifesto has most of all similarities to the famous Dada manifestos. Besides that we also had some more immediate role models such as the older Lundaskolan group (where the previously mentioned Göran Printz-Påhlson was one of the members) and the Vesuvius group from Stockholm. Admittedly Lundaskolan was highly academic while we stood for a kind of anti-academic stance, but there was still common ground after all. The Vesuvius Group had started in the 70s and was heavily influenced by the beat writers but also anarchism and the social revolutionaries of the Situationist International. In the Malmö Gang we certainly had no explicit political agenda but we liked the anarchist attitude of Vesuvius. By forming a group, we got a ground to stand on. The things you are telling me about the groupings in contemporary American poetry are interesting, I think. This must indicate that new ideas are in circulation. I cannot see anything negative about it. Groups are formed and sooner or later they will dissolve. The ideas and different styles will remain in motion. /still be around/…

Clemens: [adds]… Yes, members of Malmö league had certain common denominators. Still, each of us had distinct individual stylistic characteristics. At this time, there were very few writing classes and none at all at the academic level. None of us had any training of that sort. I got a bachelor of arts degree 1981 but never talked about that. We were supposed to be anti-academic, remember? So I talked about “the university of the streets” instead. That was the image. But when the Danish poet Poul Borum started a writing class for poets, Lukas Moodysson became one of the first students. As Denmark was ahead of Sweden in this respect. That formal education clearly affected Moodyssons writing. He became more minimalistic, you could say. Still he remained a member of our little gang. By the way, Per Linde got an PhD in interaction design at Malmö Högskola some years ago. Thus he became the one and only academic scholar in the Malmö Gang. Currently he runs a project on City Fables so obviously he is still focused on urban perspective.

[Note: The most prominent member of the Vesuvius Group was Bruno K. Öijer, who translated some of his 1970s poetry for Action, Yes a while ago. Pär Bäckström wrote an essay about this group also in AY.]

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Clemens Altgård Interview (pt 2): Tranströmer, Academic Modernism and Printz-Påhlson

by on May.27, 2014

Clemens Altgård 2011 011

Following up on Clemens’ answers to the first question, I asked him: What do you mean by “the old Scandinavian school of bland modernism”? What poets would you say are central to this tradition? What about it did you want to move away from?

Clemens: Well, what we certainly did not like was the kind of modernist poetry that lacks rhythm and is kind of high brow in a very pretentious way. That’s why we also were quite critical towards the poetry of Tomas Tranströmer. It would be wrong to call his poetry bland but a lot of poets that tried to use his aesthetics for sure came up with some really unexciting poetry. We could see and understand Tranströmer’s greatness as a poet but we saw nothing of that in the poetry written by his followers. You must bear in mind that we wanted to capture the urban street life while most Nordic old school modernists were interested in observing nature. There were exceptions of course. Among older poets we liked, for instance Göran Printz-Påhlsson (who has been translated into English by the poet John Mathias). By the way Göran Printz-Påhlsson was an important scholar from the Malmö/Lund-region and as an essayist he had introduced the notion of metapoetical writing to Swedish readers. He also translated John Ashbery into Swedish. As a poet Printz-Påhlsson himself was both learned and witty but had a wide scope when it came to the topics of the text. You could say that he also had a tendency to mix high and low. We were as a matter of fact friends with his son Finn and that’s how we got to know Göran.

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“The Malmö Gang”: An Interview with Clemens Altgård (Part 1)

by on May.22, 2014

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[I met Clemens Altgård at a reading I gave in Malmö with the Iranian-Swedish poet Azita Ghahreman last fall. We got to talking about Malmöligan, the 80s, and a bunch of other stuff. I thought it would be interesting not just to Swedes but perhaps to others as well if I asked him a few questions about these matters. This is the first of a series of questions I’ll ask him. Please feel free to join in and ask your own questions of him. Here are three of his poems (in my translation) from the most recent issue of Action, Yes.]

Johannes: I’ll begin with a broad question. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, you were a part of Malmöligan (“The Malmö Gang”), a group of writers in Malmö (a major industrial city in Skåne, southern Sweden, also my dad’s hometown) which also included Kristian Lundberg, Lukas Moodysson and Håkan Sandell. One of my first encounters with the group was Sandell’s collection Flickor (Girls) and another was Kristallskeppet, your translation of the Danish poet Michael Strunge. In many ways these two books color my impression of Malmöligan – as a decadent/Romantic aesthetic that is also deeply engaged with pop culture (Sandell’s book samples Iggy Pop and Strunge’s includes references to Joy Division and David Bowie) [I wrote a post about the 1980s and Strunge and “visionary kitsch” a while ago]. I also get the impression that an important part of the group dynamic was the emphasis on readings. You have also mentioned an interest in Latin American poetry. And another part – as the name suggests – is the location (Malmö, hardly the most poetic place in the world). What do you see as the guiding aesthetics of the group? Did the group have a guiding aesthetic? How important was the fact that you guys were from Malmö (as opposed to Stockholm, the capital and cultural center)? [Och kanske jag oversatter en Sandell dikt och en Strunge dikt och länkar till dina dikter i ActionYes]

Clemens: I must also mention the other two members, Martti Soutkari and Per Linde. Both Martti and Per were also musicians and played in post-punk bands. Martti was the singer in Blago Bung (that took its name from a poem by the dadaist Hugo Ball) and Per was a drummer in Kabinett Död.

When it comes to the question of guiding aesthetics of the group I’m sure that you would get different answers depending on who you’re asking. But we all met in that strange subcultural melting pot that existed in Malmö/Lund at the time. There was an underground scene that consisted of different elements, for example: punk, postpunk, psychedelia and avantgarde aestethics. In the beginning it was me, Håkan and Per. Then we got to know Kristian and Lukas. We all knew who Martti was but he was not in the group to begin with. He joined the group in -87, if I remember correctly.

At first we were much into the early modernists like Rimbaud and Baudelaire. And the surrealists and dadaists of course. I must also mention the beat literature. We all read those American writers when we were still very young. There was a Latin American community i Malmö consisting of political refugees and soon enough we got to know some of the artists, writers and poets.

We did readings together and there was a great cultural exchange. Then we discovered the baroque qualities in the poetry of our friends from Latin America. This also influenced our own writing, I think.
(continue reading…)

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Poetry Mix

by on May.13, 2014

The last couple of days, this is what I’ve been reading:

Nikki Wallschlaeger: “His body rejected the new lung like my body rejected your dick…”

Mette Moestrup:

Ronaldo Wilson

Sara Tuss Efrik:

Andra Rotaru:

he cannot know and hence he doesn’t answer.
it looks like one of those dangerous games
with animals waiting on both sides
of the barbed wire….

Misko Full_asta imi place

Monica McClure:

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