Just saw this on Johannes Göransson's blog- "The pervasive monoglossic notion of language and poetry: poetry is both "high" (you need a good education to write well) and strangely natural (native, unalieanted, unforeign etc). This misconception defines an anti-sensibility as strangely both raw (pure spontaneity, hurling feces, wild stuff) and un-natural/artificial."

This reminds me of the needless debate between evolution and intelligent design. Ultimately, each person's resolution has nothing to do with right and wrong, facts and fallacies, but with preference. Some people prefer to marvel at constructors, those with visions and plans, while others like simply to "see where this is going." Where the true conflict lies, and what Goransson seems to be alluding to, is when truth is confused with preference and when that new truth births its only possible counterweight, i.e., nature/artifice, order/chaos, high art/low art.

Either way, Goransson is one of the smartest guys operating right now and you should totally read his blog...

I read so hard my feet got numb

So I finally got the chance to read Matthew Rohrer's "They All Seemed Asleep" all the way through in a single sitting, which is how, it seems, adventure poems should be read. The poem's narrative is standard adventure fair...reluctant hero finds himself in a world with real, unavoidable problems that he is ironically suited for. But that's not the point to this book, no, it's the way the story is told.
The verse appears fast and loose, but is actually quite controlled. Hard consonants shoot out from everywhere like spun-out gravel and Rohrer uses punctuation heavily, though more as a trait of his characters and less as method of separating ideas and phrases. It's these things, in fact, that lead to the lilting, conversational rhythm of the poem, a rhythm that simultaneously creates and eases tension. What really got me though, were the moments in the poem where the "other world" breaks open and reveals very plain and very authentic experiences, "the days all started like this/for a month I walked around/ and ended up in the bar/ the idea is not to think/ about your life passing/ and it seems not to..."
Roher's work has grown increasingly narrative over the years and this book, I feel, is the pinnacle of that growth. The poetry isn't lost in the narrative and the narrative doesn't suffer at the expense of the poetry, meaning, the poem doesn't feel at all prosy, and at the same time, you don't get lost in the poem: each part contributes equally to the whole. I really wouldn't mind seeing Rohrer work in this mode a time or two more; it's entertaining, pretty and a little thought-provoking. In short, with the help of Octopus Books, Rohrer has crafted the perfect chapbook.

If you like, but it here.

Is it possible to express lament & beg at the same time?

I bought this last night...you should too. Odds are, if you are reading this, that you are a member of the so-called "poetry community," as such, you should also know that we are entirely self-propagated and self-funded. What this means is, if you don't buy poetry, there will be no poetry. Publishing has become a labor of love. Festivals have become a labor of love. Readings have become a labor of love... Nobody turns a profit on this shit, all they (we) can hope for is sell enough shit to make more shit...

Which reminds me:

This gripe is coin-like. I have been to a shit-ton of readings since moving to Chicago. I have read at a big fat goose egg in that same time. I love listening to others read, but I miss reading. There was a time when I read three, four times a year. I hosted a series of readings. I read in other towns. I even gave a "senior recital" in a large theatre...that I almost filled up. Performance is one of the cogs of poetry, a necessary part of the whole. My poetry feels less whole lately. But I also must admit to the desire of stand of front of people. So its one part for my poems, one part just for me. Well, maybe two parts for me and smaller part for my poems. Plus, it only seems fair that I either put up or shut up. I've bagged on enough readings that others deserve the opportunity to bag on me...

I went to a reading a few months ago where the author spoke of his desire to write under the influence of he who was being translated...allow his voice to be melded to another. Ultimately, his decision was to let it go, to work with this amalgamated voice and within that new hybrid consciousness. The work he read from this exercise was terrifying, but like Sam Raimi and his quest for perfect blood spray, like playing with a fresh gash, or in the way that animal remains are terrifying...you simultaneously want to take pictures and never speak of it ever again. In short, the poems often made you wince with pleasure.
So...I've been considering this idea ever since, of letting another voice or sentience, not take over, but guide my poems. Allow its influence to do just that...be an influencer. Just over a month ago I began writing everyday, a poem everyday, regardless of quality, so that this process may take place. The poems started off rough; poems about badgers (more than I care to admit), poems about dead birds, poems about bums and hookers and spiders. Then, a few weeks ago, the effort began to bear fruit. I started writing poems concerning a foil named Charlie. Here's the issue though; I'm concerned that these poems might be more homages, or even worse, just derivatives of the voice I was working with, and that, though they are really fun to read (even for me, and I never seem to take the critical eye off my poems) do they carry any creative merit? Normally, this wouldn't be a deal at all, but I'm about 20 poems in and starting to consider the idea of a larger manuscript...speaking of terrifying.
I'll tell you what...tonight I will record one and post it here and maybe you can tell me...

Mathias Svalina has a GREAT write-up of the festival here. I'm glad there is beginning to be statements made regarding the import of Stanford's work, and claims staked on it's place in history and within the literary canon. Also, I think it's cute how Svalina is a little torn up over the building wave of Stanford enthusiasts...it reminds me of when your favorite band becomes everybody's favorite band, or perhaps more fitting to the situation, when your parents give birth to more kids after you. Many writers credit Stanford as a major influence, and as more and more people do so, the influence feels less and less extraordinary, and more and more safe, which is the last thing anyone wants to feel about the artists who affect their art.

The one thing I'm most glad about, though, is that Frank Stanford realized the importance of self-created mythology, and that his actual life seems willing to let that mythology dominate what we "know" about him. A few years ago I wrote a paper on bluesman Robert Johnson. The point of which was to emphasize that American mythology isn't set in stone like Greek or Roman mythology, but that it fluctuates: is liquid, but still tangible. American mythology is always open enough in structure to allow, not only the storyteller's place within the text, but also the audiences', thereby, each telling becomes uniquely ours. When I tell somebody the story of Robert Johnson I'm also telling my own story, letting the listener in on the things that are important to me.

I think the same can be said of Frank Stanford...and maybe Mathias Svalina, who is always crafting new mythologies.

NEW GLASSES

INSPIRATION FOR NEW GLASSES

I'm also growing a beard. If I don't wear my glasses, I can't see my beard.

I've read that a reading of "Battlefield" took 16 hrs. and 20 min. It only took me a month. Details of this past weekend Stanford festival are slowly leaking out. The whole thing looks pretty casual, which is fitting, considering the subject matter...lot's of people in plaid and hoodies.

I just saw a commercial for the new AC/DC album. One of my biggest pet peeves are the guys who only acknowledge AC/DC's Bon Scott years. Those were good years, but Scott was missing teeth. Let's be serious, how can you heap that much praise on a guy with no teeth. At least Brian Johnson has all his teeth and he co-wrote "Rock 'n' Roll Ain't Noise Pollution."

The Frank Stanford Literary Festival is this weekend. I can't go. It turns out I'm really bad at the whole working class thing. Example: I've worked the same temp job for a year now...not good enough to be hired on full-time, and too lazy to complain about it. Point is, I've got no money. The good news is though, one of the big reasons I wanted to go to the festival (outside of the BIG one), Abraham Smith is coming to Chicago. That's right, Friday, November 7th, Smith is, sort of, headlining JMW's Poetry & Chicago Convocation at Loyola (12 to 3). There will be others there too: Lisa Fishman, John Keene, Robyn Schiff, Quraysh Ali Lansana and Jennifer Karmin. If poetry isn't your thing, then there will also be a free lunch. So, come and hang out with the poetry bums AND the regular bums AND Abraham Smith.

I'm putting together a writing sample for my MFA apps, so, friends who have read my poems, if you remember any of them at all, or remember them being any good, let me know. I have my favorites, but that doesn't mean much, because I have way more than 10 favorites.

Also, I just figured out this weekend how my camera works...and I've had it for 4 years.

You're invited to a parody!

So, I'm a little late to all of this, but I realized just this morning that I too have been lucky enough to be one of the "randomly" selected 3,000+ poets parodied (though not directly) in the For Godot Anthology. Simple algorithms can do awesome things, or really boring things, as the case is for the poem that wound up above my name.
This is a really interesting project though, and it shines a really bright light on something that I've been noticing in my blog: I get way more daily hits if I mention a few poets names than if I talk about poetry in general. For the most part, writers are ego-maniacal, that's just a fact. Not only do we love ourselves, but we love when others love us too...maybe even more. Shit, I Google my name weekly (I tried google alerts, but you can imagine what bj love does to ones inbox).
This fact is even present in the first book I released on my press. I really wanted to be the editor of a press, and unfortunately, I think that shows in the first book, though the second is going to be focused primarily on the poets inside the cover (wink).
Anyway, this whole thing got me thinking, and I'll probably have more to say about it later, but for now, check out the lineup to the first issue of The Corduroy Mtn. I think you can see me from up there & I love seeing me; SHANE JONES, BROOKLYN COPELAND, PETER BERGHOEF, FORREST ROTH, BLAKE BUTLER, MANDY BILLINGS, ADAM MAYNARD, BRANDON SHIMODA + SOMMER BROWNING, JOSHUA WARE, DREW KALBACH, B.J. LOVE, KEVIN WILSON, & KENDRA MALONE.

This is a new Zach Schomburg poem that I just read. I think I love it. I want to intertwine my toes with its' toes. I want it to be moderately surprised at how agile my toes are, and hairy, but not disgusted.
There is another poem over there too. It's by Jason Bredle. His poems are like being lost on a detoured highway. You have to be careful and attentive, but when you pop back out on the highway, you are glad to know an alternative route. Also, seeing a trampoline full of kids was nice.

I was in MN over the weekend. When I got home Evil Dead 1 & 2 were waiting. They brought along there new friend from Octopus Books, "They All Seemed Asleep." We've only idly chatted, but things are heading in the right direction.

Frank Stanford lives again this weekend. See why that matters here. Matthew Henriksen, thank you...

Mnpls

Salt

Leaves change fast...

Chops!

Backyard

Cheap Gas...

Why wouldn't you want to move there?

Rauan Kassnik is an awesome poet. Proof of that exists here.

He has an interesting lilt to his voice that is most likely due to his being born in (and assumedly to parents from) Johannesburg. I also like the idea of birds on a wheel and the disastrous results.

Rate Teen Wolf/Teen Wolf Too

If I were a robot, this question would be the one that blew my circuit board and made smoke poof out of my ears (assuming I was a listening robot). Teen Wolf, as we all know, is awesome. It's the perfect representation of puberty and learned self-assurance. It's got Micheal J. Fox and Francis from Pee Wee's Big Adventure (though, so does Teen Wolf Too). And most importantly, it features a team sport we can all associate with, basketball.
Teen Wolf Too, though, features exploitation (of a teen wolf and of the original's credibility), a poor man's Michael J. Fox, and boxing?
Now, as much as I love Jason Bateman, he's no Marty McFly, so tell me, please, how does one rate these movies together? Teen Wolf by itself? 5 stars, for sure, but when paired with Too, shit, I don't know. Do I falsify my public preference for both just for the sake of the one? Do I pretend to dislike both due to the bad taste left by only one? Netflix is pressuring me for a rating...What do I do?

In less confusing news: Today I washed dishes, clothes AND a dog. I also had two poems accepted to The Corduroy Mtn. You should send them something too, they got back to me in about a half-hour, which totally make their no simultaneous subs guidline workable. Anyway, thanks for taking my poems, and for making sweet books.

You know what you should do? You should go to small fires and check out FK's new books. It's rare to find things so beautiful and readable. And remember, each book is letterpressed and hand bound by FK himself. Some people just make money, this guy makes books. You should help him make a little of both.

the mechanism of spontaneous broken symmetry

Trip Rd.

We Keep the Copy Machine Back Here

I went to the Wave/Series A reading on Wednesday. Here are my notes:

Suzanne Buffam: Ms. Buffam took herself quite seriously, to point of being off-putting. People who explain why they NEEDED to write every poem they've written really rub me the wrong way. Her poetry wasn't bad. It wasn't good either. It was...okay, if you had to vaguely describe the genre of poetry to your grandparents, her poems would be the product of that description; natural setting, expansive world, point to it all (though the order can often differ).
Shrikanth Reddy: Though a teacher at UofC ("Poetry isn't fun, it's work, and work is serious"), I really liked what he was up to. He read a bit from a book he did with Dan Beachy-Quick that piqued my interests pretty hard. But what really got me was the erasures project he's working on.
Catherine Wagner was about what you'd expect. She sang, she swore and though I'm not really into her poems, she put on a good show (as did her kid).
Chuck Stebelton is a weird cat. I think he's OC (in the disorder way, not the teen drama way). He had to have everything arranged around him just so. I got distracted by this and don't recall he poetry much, which is my fault and most likely due to a disorder as well.
Richard Meier has been a favorite of mine for a couple of years. The sad thing here is that I didn't recognize this fact until I saw his book. I'm that way with lots of writers and books, I won't remember who wrote it, but I could tell you what font they used in the layout and give an extensive critique on the over all design.

Anyway, I bought the Wave anthology, and I'm about half-way through. Svalina's poem lived up the hype. I actually liked John Ashbery's poem (secret disclosure time: I've yet to find anything redeeming in Ashbery's work...we're like oil and water). There have been some clunkers too (the best political poetry to me works in and amongst the attitudes that surround politics and war, but don't necessarily address them directly) but I think I really like this book.

Anyway, going back to Iowa this weekend to get a new driver's license and hoping to continue my 14 year streak of good id pictures. I don't spend time getting ready for weddings or job interviews or performances, but I get all preeny before an id picture. I'm dieting right now.