Thursday, August 27, 2009

Ten Awesome Things

1. I was at a comics panal at Union Pool recently, with three great young untradtional artist, and I had the great pleasure of meeting Lisa Hanawalt. Her comics are great, and she too loves to make lists.

2. Alina's blog. She always adds little abstract art with her posts, which are meditative and striking. Not to mention the poetry....

3. Uncommon nouns for bird groups: very cool for poems.
(thanks Ben!)

4. Ben Pease's kick-ass Paintjob Cutups! (This is one below, called I'm Perfect the Way I Am)

5. This ending of the John Ashbery poem Your Name Here:

Things got real quiet in the oubliette.
I was still reading Jean-Christophe. I'll never finish the darn thing.
Now is the time for you to go out into the light
and congradulate whoever is left in our city. People who survived
the eclipse. But I was totally taken with you, always have been.
Light a candle in my wreath, I'll be yours forever and will kiss you.

6. Christian Hawkey's book Citizen Of

7.  This website devoted to Captain Haddock's (the raging drunk from Tintin) Curses and Exclamations.

8. Octopus Books

9. Cake
10. STEVEN GAMMELL. One of the most amazing artists of our time. You might remember his artwork from those infamous "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark" books. Totally creepy pictures!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Contemplative Red and White Cake

let them eat poetry

News From America 
The body is 90% horror. We only use half our brains
and that half is for legitimizing hostility.
This body is crooked. It drank too much
It comes undone like a cassette.
My niece’s 3rd birthday party raged on.
Twenty pink balloons rubbed the ceiling.
The cake was hallucinatory. It was understood
that I would hover around it all evening.
My mother is dating one of the smartest people in the world.
Who it turns out is icky.
He speaks many languages. They watch trees shake
over the edge of the river.
He wants to French kiss her wherever they go.
She lets him go and he ascends.
I walk beside the ghosts of my dog and cat.
Take myself into the mountains. Burn
under a quarter-full moon.
The octopus in me opened his strange mouth
like James Tate
disappearing in a cloud of ink.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

a poem


I came upon a little cabin
out in the forest. The beds
had all been slept in. It is
the dutiful hunter
who spends a lot of time
sitting in trees
I envy. Not the detective
touching other people’s things.
I think it is my birthday today.
Lay down like a pleisaur fossil
in the bed. All my old lovers
are working overtime.
They’re putting in a pipeline.
They’re going to have pity
run straight into my stomach.
Outside a devilish man sings.
I lean out the window
I sing the little devil in.
I take one of the cigarettes
out of the ashtray
and look it over.
There is a sadness
is smoking a stranger’s cigarette.
Out here in the darkest forest
I must speak to what is here.
It is snowing outside.
The cabin is steaming up.
Everything’s handsome.
The cat’s seersucker fleece.
List what I have found
among the bed sheets—
a woman’s sock. A book of poems.
The yellow moon of a toenail.
Follow me, I say to the smoke
I am the only person in this house.
I’ve created a robot that speaks
only of my mistakes.
He reiterates my old letters to you.
I put him out in the snow.
It is a wild snow. The gymnist
trees bend and straighten, stick
their green asses into the river.
The little cabin shakes in the wind.
I can hear the robot outside saying
embarrassing things
This is now the pageant.
Enter Linis with his dirty blanket.
Enter angels with their bullhorns.
And behold the wide, frozen river
in the 9th circle of Hell, where on it
skates the polymorphic confessors
in their tight snowsuits.
And I can see the blind snowman
with my mother’s hat on his head
and crumbs on his face—
I follow him into the darkness.
There is a great, white tree bent
in the field. The storm risen
into oblivion. I walk
through the vestibule
of a plowed path.
I seek the latitude of the field.
There the tree is bent.
Look on its impotent limbs modestly.
I’m taking notes on what I find:
Someone has been sleeping in my bed,
Someone has broken my little chair.
Someone has bombed my city.
I feel unprofessional, one bear
eating from three bowls,
my head in the oven,
waking up suddenly
in the night to look
willowy at the slim ghost,
remembering a voice.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Poetry Reading for Enlarged Hearts

I'm reading at the I Had It Bad reading series at Happy Ending Lounge, 302 Broome Street, Wednesday, August 19 (tomorrow) 8pm.

The series is based around love, and the "embarrassing mechanisms of the human heart." So I did some heart drawings today.

Here's a poem I might read:


Our Bodies, Ourselves

Fruit is healthy. Running in one place with a drowning look
is healthy.

What we did all those years, swallowing each other
without chewing properly, lounging and weeping into one another
until our bellies hung down past our red knees--

that was something else entirely.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Matthea Harvey & Poetry Comic Insights

Matthea Harvey is really amazing. She has constantly been an advocate for poetry and comics, and even teaches a whole class on it at Sarah Lawrence. Besides her poetry, she has has been working on some amazing projects such as OF LAMB: A collaboration with Amy jean Porter, and this animated poem on Poetry foundation:
Shiver & You Have Weather : Poetry Everywhere : Video : The Poetry Foundation

She recently sent me a package of poetry comic stuff that she has been accumulating. One is from Dr. Chevalier Jackson's Foreign Body Collection; things taken out of bodies, like tiny Cupie dolls and battleships from two-year-old throats. It's really incredible. The images are somewhere between photo and drawing diagram. Safety pins and bent jumbled nails and buttons. I love the semi-detached fascination in the blurbs below the images of things pulled out of people's bodies. i.e. "This battleship was extracted from the esophagus of a two year old female with child's size esophageal speculum and laryngeal forceps." It's the middle ground between science/medicine and poetry/art that I find enthralling and that clearly Harvey does too. There's a grotesqueness but also a humanness in that.

She also sent a sample of Saseo Ono (1905-1954) picture diaries. Strange and immediate, I love the small notes beside each image, such as: "After drinking sake, my first painting of the year. (Tiger means 'drunk") in the afternoon I saw a beautiful woman in Asakusa." His art, with an excellent 30's twinge (an innovative time for cartoonists I feel) has a refreshing mix between east and west traditions. It's incredibly inspiring.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Ten Things To Reconsider

1. Judas

2. The policies of good apples

3. Introversion

4. Lucy's anger

5. Confessional poets

6. Being able to drink wine in parks

7. Bat City Review

8. Psychoanalysis

9. Books on tape

10. Not taking out loans

Sunday, August 2, 2009


I went to an amazing Max Ernst show in Paris. Ernst, the poet, sculpture, graphic artist and pioneer of the Dadaist movement and Surrealism--is so damned incredible. The show was his infamous collage novels, which are inspiring and eternally original. See them here.

This is an irrelevant image.


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