Posts Tagged ‘eileen myles’
Posted on April 6th, 2012 by robert. Filed under Live.
Q: Poets are thought of as very flowy and peaceful and . . . I don’t know, dressed in linen all the time. How would you say this stacks up to your own personal flowy, linen-wearing peacefulness?
Eileen Myles: I think we take the hit for language in any era. To decide to do “this” as a living is to invite barbs that generally pile up around gender and power. The poet is a fag, the poet is a drag, the poet is righteous. But really I think people resent our freedom. Our choice to keep doing something they may have done badly when they were younger and were full of feeling and to keep doing something that supposedly anyone can do – making something out of something as practical and mundane as language is to brand oneself as a lifelong fool rather than merely a fool in her youth. People feel sad about what they disavowed to become who they are now. Poets are human of course and have disavowed plenty, but to stand behind this nonetheless significant or foolish act – it’s a kind of self identifying, self categorizing act (like language itself) that enrages people exactly in the place where they’ve made choices and need to assume you haven’t. This – to be a poet – was the biggest choice in my life, and I suffer fools gladly and have a great life. Look at this. I just wrote a book called snowflake, for god’s sake.
Two weeks from today I am curating what promises to be a fantastic night at the ACA Galleries in NYC, as Satellite Telephone is hosted by Boog City’s d.a. levy lives series / the Welcome to Boog City Festival. All details and performer bios below.
d.a. levy lives — celebrating the renegade press — presents
s a t e l l i t e t e l e p h o n e
Tues., Sept 28, 6 p.m. sharp
529 W.20th St., 5th Flr.
C/E to 23rd St., 1/9 to 18th St.
Venue is bet. 10th and 11th avenues
Todd Colby has published four books of poetry: Ripsnort (1994), Cush (1995), Riot in the Charm Factory: New and Selected Writings (2000), and Tremble & Shine (2004), all published by Soft Skull Press. Todd has performed his poetry on PBS and MTV, and his collaborative books and paintings with artist David Lantow can be seen in the Brooklyn Museum of Art and The Museum of Modern Art special collections libraries. Todd serves on the Board of Directors for The Poetry Project, where he has also taught several poetry workshops, and he posts new work on gleefarm.blogspot.com.
Todd’s poems appeared in Satellite Telephone #3. Here’s one:
MY THOUGHTS OF BEARS
When bears are depicted as playing poker or smoking cigars, it contributes to people feeling like they could be friends with bears, or that hanging out with a bear in nature might be a funny or entertaining way to pass the time and make a new friend. Most of the bears I know are stupid and selfish and yet bears are rarely held accountable for their actions simply because they’re bears. That’s bullshit.
When stupid and selfish bears slap people on the back and surprise them with outward signs of affection, people often get the wrong idea and get too friendly with bears and like, want to hang out with bears, and play sports with bears, and g-chat with bears, and other stuff like that. That’s not fair to all the people that need real friends. I like pictures of bears better where the bears are doing things that they would normally do in the wild.
Dorothea Lasky is the author of two full-length collections of poetry, AWE (Wave Books, 2007) and Black Life (Wave Books, 2010), and numerous chapbooks. Currently, she researches creativity and education at the University of Pennsylvania.
Dorothea’s poems appeared in Satellite Telephone #2. Here’s one:
I HATE YOU
I have thought and thought about it
And I hate you
And what I hate about you most is that
You have no real understanding of the sublime
I hope the white light crushes in on you
And crushes everything about you
And you have to realize it while it is happening
That’s my life—realizing it while it is happening
I am not precious
I am not a girl
But a gold tree that you will have to deal with
Because I will never go away
Or with your sweet hands all around me
I will get swallowed by the sea
Great mouth will finally take me back
While you are crushed by your own infinity
And you will have to realize it
That it was greater than you ever gave it credit for
Greater than you ever gave it credit for
But that is what it was meant to be
Eileen Myles has written thousands of poems since she gave her first reading at CBGB’s in 1974. Her books include The Inferno (2010), The Importance of Being Iceland (2009), Sorry, Tree (2007), Skies, (2001), on my way (2001), Cool for You (a novel, 2000), School of Fish (1997), Maxfield Parrish (1995), Not Me (1991), and Chelsea Girls (stories, 1994). In 1995, with Liz Kotz, she edited The New Fuck You: Adventures in Lesbian Reading for Semiotext(e).
A long poem by Eileen appeared in Satellite Telephone #1. Here’s an excerpt:
I was drinking
my cocoa wondering
am I little bear
or big bear
but this is like sex with everybody
with the raindrops
off the roof
guess why I didn’t
tonight. The drippiness
is so good
thousands of years
ago we came
it’s a baby they
out of the
but a big
the man followed
what no man’s
the small lock
& the drops
on the floor
the whole world
I’m just learning
to use it
Rebekah Rutkoff is an artist, moving image curator and PhD candidate in the English Department at the CUNY Graduate Center. She lives in Brooklyn, NY.
A story by Rebekah appeared in Satellite Telephone #3. Here is an excerpt:
from THE INCUBATORS
Each evening, two buses brought 150 Temenos pilgrims from Loutra (a tiny spa village known for its therapeutic natural springs where most of the foreign guests stayed) 20 km north to a mountaintop spot just outside Lyssaraia. We walked another kilometer on sweet-smelling, winding monopati down to the screening site as the sun shifted and set.
When projection began, the sky was dark but a handful of clouds still alert; later the sky blackened and stars replaced the clouds. Everything decomposed into a series of steps: in the die-down of an image a few frames long (followed immediately by black leader), I counted eight stages before my eyes registered true black. The falling of night, that fact that ushered in the start-up of projection, revealed its own stages under the auspices of the screen. And from the bus window I counted eight layers of receding mountains: they looked like paper cut-outs.
In the transition from white leader to black, the border of the screen disappeared and a flame chased after the receding light; then the screen reconstituted itself, matching the tone and hue of the sky. At times, following a spell of white light, the edge of the screen shook with paroxysms; it undulated, coronated with a neon halo. And the screen was liable to slide as well; its transparent, superimposed twin accompanied my eyes into fully black regions of the sky. But Eniaios is also literally embedded with a black and white dialogue: Markopoulos encoded titles into the film by giving each of the 24 letters of the Greek alphabet a numerical measure, translatable into a corresponding number of frames of leader (alpha is one frame, beta is two, etc.). The title letters alternate in color: the first is white, the second black.
Eniaios offers a kind of primal-scene access, usually denied, to the dynamics between the acrobatics of the screen itself and the image contained within it. The separation between images makes possible glimpses of perceptual overlap and bleeding free from their prescribed presence in the form of cross-dissolves and superimpositions; instead the eyes, screen and sky conspire to create these effects.
Walking to the site on the second evening, I stared at the setting sun for too long, and a constellation of dots with uneven, cartoonish edges flew before my eyes. It looked just like a film I had seen before – Scherzo (1939) by Norman McLaren. I recalled suddenly that I had seen the word scherzo written on the side of a purple and yellow polka-dot box in the window of a closed shop in Megalopolis earlier that day. The box and word had been deposited, but disappeared until the sunspots retrieved them along with McLaren’s tiny film.
Franklin Bruno is a musician and writer based in Queens. He has recorded and toured as chief songwriter for the bands Nothing Painted Blue and (currently) The Human Hearts, and as a solo artist. His most recent release, Local Currency 1991-1998 (Fayettenam) collects four-track/lo-fi recordings from out-of-print vinyl seven-inches and compilations. He is a frequent collaborator with The Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle, both as a multi-instrumentalist on the acclaimed 4AD albums The Sunset Tree and Tallahassee, and in the occasional duo The Extra Lens. He is the author of a book on Elvis Costello’s Armed Forces in Continuum’s 33 1/3 series, and of the poetry chapbook Policy Instrument (Lame House). His poetry has appeared in Satellite Telephone, The Brooklyn Rail, and Abraham Lincoln; his essays and criticism, in The Nation, Oxford American, and The Believer.
Franklin’s poems appeared in Satellite Telephone #1. Here’s one:
DIRECTION OF FIT
It was the year of the motion-
sensitive towel dispenser, the travel
alarm and the table lamp that doubled
as an extension cord, via an outlet
in its base. That’s all I noticed, really,
that whole autumn, what with my season-
ably debilitating nostalgia for
locally-produced commercials. Time-
zones later came the figure-ground
relationship of lozenges of ice
breaking up in the tributaries
and a hesitant budget of months
that stubbornly resisted resolution
into a corrected image of spring.
In any event, there was motion-
sickness, and a tailbone as numb
as if it had been watching the movie
itself. A noticing machine, I guess
I was, a waking mess. Was it wrong
to point out the notion of rivulets
for an audience that might well never
pass judgment on their symmetry,
sublimity? Was it wrong to teach
a word by pointing to those with no occasion
for its use? I keep screwing up my eyes
at the page with the poem inside it,
beneath it, trying to see what you’ll see.
Most will admit, if only to themselves,
that they’re sliding around too much
of the time and experience reason-
ably distinct anxieties from those
revealed for the sake of appearing
Franklin’s songs with Nothing Painted Blue, the Extra Glens / Lens, and the Human Hearts are legendary. Here’s one of my favorite, from the Suggestion Box cassette (Shrimper, 1991):
Posted on September 10th, 2010 by robert. Filed under Poems.
“If the world at center is empty, without meaning, how do we proceed in the activities of our lives and how does the way we view our lives or view ourselves in it alter our perception of poetry and what the poet’s job might be. I think Leslie was open to outlandish proposals in that regard though part of the miracle of her was the lack of distinction between the outlandish and the conventional. I think she attacked the conventional by being quietly outlandish whether she knew it or not. I always wondered what she knew. She definitely thought her thinking belonged in broader social spheres than just the sphere of poetry. See that’s where I admired Leslie’s project infinitely. She really thought newspapers should print her pieces. She believed. I don’t know how everyone isn’t a Buddhist except that everyone doesn’t have such a drive to believe and Buddhism perfectly refuses that desire so it’s this endless cartoon. I mean there’s Leslie again. Buddhism was such a joint of her work. Everything hinged on it if it hinged on anything at all.” — Eileen Myles, on Leslie Scalapino
Posted on August 17th, 2010 by robert. Filed under Books.
Sean and I just opened the long-awaited boxes of WILD ORCHIDS vol. 2 today and are thrilled to announce that as of this afternoon the issue is officially out. Previously unpublished Hannah Weiner interview and manuscript materials are only two of the highlights of this eclectic but highly-focused miscellany of creative criticism about and inspired by Hannah. Contributions by Stan Apps, Charles Bernstein and Hannah Weiner, Jeremiah Bowen, Laynie Browne, CAConrad, Corina Copp, Kaplan Harris, Jennifer Karmin, Chris Kraus, Eileen Myles, Jennifer Russo, Hannah Weiner, Marta Werner, Juliana Spahr, and Joey Yearous-Algozin. Only $9: http://wildorchids.endingthealphabet.org.
Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies / Reyner Banham
Horse Crazy / Gary Indiana
Rimbaud: The Double Life of a Rebel / Edmund White
- Aaron Lowinger
- Andrew Rippeon
- Ariana Reines
- Ashley Lawson
- Bruce Boone
- Cassandra Donnelly
- Chris Sylvester
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- Dorothea Lasky
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- Franklin Bruno
- Grace Tran
- Jim Behrle
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- Rodney Koeneke
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