Found Magazine

At Pegasus last night, Davy and Peter Rothbart read and performed for Found Magazine's There Goes the Neighborhood tour. Pegasus was so full that the bookshelves had to be moved to the other side as they are usually in order to open the reading area to the rest of the store. The whole store was full, and everyone was there to see the Found Magazine event. Incredible. Even more incredible is how good the event was. Davy, who writes for This American Life on NPR, read his favorite "finds" and a short, touching autobiographical memoir. Peter sang songs based on some of his favorite finds that actually got people singing along. In this town, at that bookstore, that's saying something. These gentlemen are true artists.

I laughed with an audience who was exploding with laughter; I shivered with goosebumps with an audience who were nearly crying with sentiment. Not knowing what to expect at all, I was so thoroughly surprised that I went away with a new-found love for Found Magazine, a mag I've always thought was pretty cool.

It's a big tour, so if you live in a city somewhere else in the US, check out their site, and go to this show. You won't be disappointed.
ªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªª
Tonight is Amiri Baraka at UC Berkeley, who is very controversial. I like controversy in poetry.

Sorry 4 Snake is out!!!

I really hope that you will buy a copy of Sorry 4 Snake.
It's only $4.00, and it is really, really, rrrrreally good.
You know who's in it?

Kathryn Regina
David Larsen
Pablo Lopez
Tao Lin
Jenny Drai
Paul Ebenkamp
William Moor

And it was edited by Sara Mumolo and Jack Morgan
You can buy it here. Or at Pegasus and Moe's in Berkeley on Thursday.

Flowerewolf

Do you think this is cool? I think Oekandana is kind of fun. It reminds me a little of Flarf, though. People are having a good time letting machines write their poetry for them.

I always feel like machines are cool, but kind of empty. Some people like style and some people like substance. Some people like both. Sometimes a style can trick you into believing something is substantive.

I like iPhones. I kind of want an iPhone. But I would take the street busker over whatever the iPhone can put into my ears, and I don't think it's nostalgia. If an iPhone could generate a poem that would approximate one written by a human being, I think I would feel empty. Maybe it could trick me for a little while, but when I found out it was just a machine, I would feel foolish and hollow.

I am attached to my computer. I have been attached to computers for much of my life. But this is due to a perpetual state of novelty. Always, the newest and fastest and coolest is what we want. Novelty is fleeting. Thus, I think computers make only mediocre poets.

Poetry in Bloom

as winter creeps.
as autumn falls.
it's healthy to remember
that somewhere
Poetry is in bloom.

Readings Coming Up

Amiri Baraka and Michael Bigley are reading at UC Berkeley this Wednesday as part of the Holloway Series in Poetry. I am a little giddy about seeing Amiri Baraka. He is supposed to be a thrilling reader, and I enjoy his poetry very much. Wholly excited about Wednesday. It's kind of an early reading, so you should come in your costume if there are parties to get to after it, which I am sure there are. I think it will be worth stopping in before Hallowe'en actually starts.

There's also a reading at Pegasus on Tuesday that has something to do with Found Magazine. The Eyeball Hatred Reading Series is always a good time, so even though I have no idea what will happen at the Found Magazine reading, I remain curious and optimistic, and I am planning on going.

Identity Crisis

The life of a poet is not really something people can adopt. I don't know what the poetic life is.

I recently read an email that a famous poet wrote to his class. It was an admonition, basically. It asked people to stop being phonies. I was happy about it. I waste a lot of time thinking about phonies.

I like people who are genuine, even if I don't get along with them, I respect them for being authentic.

It's Halloween, and there are lots of costumes. The Bay Area seems in love with costumes. I am going as a poet. I have been working my entire life on my costume.

A lot of people are wearing a similar costume.

Lovers and Artists

Sluts
by Jack Morgan

All of us are sluts complaining about being sluts
Making the sign of the cross
to bless our bodies
with two fingers that reek
of holy smoke
and engine grease and brackish
pools with dark bottoms
and explosive devices
and discharges
Down your throat where you like
it to be
because coming and going is one and the same
and the same reason you left that roman candle
tied beneath that bed of yours
next to the ligatures
and sutures
and my signature at the bottom
next to the x
on the spotted line so I could
kiss it like the king of kings.
..................................:.........:.....:::..
I wrote that poem in February of this year (2007). I don't know if I like it anymore. The reason I am putting it here now is because around the same time I wrote it, I was breaking up with a paramour of mine. She is a poet who is currently on the east coast enjoying cold weather. In March, I read it at a reading, and later, it was published in the Switchyard Journal. I had hoped that we would remain friends after we stopped seeing each other, but when this poem came out, she thought it was about her, and I somehow became her mortal enemy. I was crushed by this awhile. I am still somewhat upset about it, really.

The thing is, people really want you to write poetry about them, I think. When you write it, people think it is about them. Every poem I read is about me. Every poem I write is about me. Every poem I read and write are about you, too. People love to get upset about poetry. People cry about it, they laugh about it, they shout about it. Isn't that why people love it?

This wasn't the first time, nor was it the last time that a relationship of mine fell victim to poetic effects. It's happened because I am a visual artist, too. If you don't paint a girl's picture, or paint a picture for them, or write a poem about them, or write a poem for them, you are hated as if you had done all of the aforementioned. You're really quite screwed either way.

Dear lovers of all ages and times,

Please do not expect to be a muse. The more you expect it, the less it will be true.
Please do not expect artistic gifts from artists. It isn't fun if you expect it.
Please don't think that a work of art is about you or anyone you know. It probably isn't.
If it is about a person, it is only a small parody of one component of their personality; please see Bakhtin. No art can truly represent a real person.
If you are afraid to have a thinly veiled but very public life, don't date an artist of any kind. Do not fall in love with an artist if you are afraid of anything.

In conclusion, do not fall in love with an artist if you expect anything artistic, have any fear or paranoia of any kind, or do not honestly and whole-heartedly believe that the artist you love is trust-worthy and the most talented person you know.

Sincerely,
an artist

P.S. If you love money or things, i.e., cars, clothing, shoes, jewelry, do not fall in love with an artist.

Positive Things About People I Don't Know

I don't know Derek Clemons, but I like his poems at Kulture Vulture.

I read Paula Cisewski's book, UPON ARRIVAL, and thought it was pretty good. I really like her poem at Coconut, though.
™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™

I have met Patrick F. Durgin, but I don't know him, really. I picked up his book at the Moe's reading earlier this week. I read it today.

From time to time there comes a book of poetry that, as sappy as this may sound, speaks to you as a reader on several levels. I think that I am a hard customer on this count. But Imitation Poems is one of those books for me. I don't like talking about what I think books of poetry mean or are about, but when I read this one, there is a feeling of simultaneous celebration and regret regarding the Sisyphean nature of interpersonal relationships, especially romantic ones, and those between poets. The unrewarded effort of those who are undomesticated, those who continue to push their boulders up hills to tops unseen and somehow unwanted, is revealed in a way that is resentful and happy. Keep pushing that boulder!

All this is accomplished with a well-edited, well-crafted, terse style that I really like.

It is also a very pretty book. It has gold ink and tables on the cover. I like gold ink and tables.

ANOTHER WAY POETRY RUINS YOUR LIFE.

I love you.
I love you, too.
What does this poem mean?
It means this and that.
Oh OK. Does it mean this?
No. Well, I guess it could.
What else does it mean?
It could mean anything.
Who's it about?
It's not really about anyone.
It's not about anyone?
Well, I guess it's just about me.
It's not about Faith Hill?
No; it isn't about Faith Hill.
Who is it about? Just you?
Well, I guess it's about everybody.

I KNEW IT WAS ABOUT FAITH HILL! YOU ARE A FUCKING LIAR!
This is absurd. Why would I write a poem about Faith Hill?
Because you are a fucking LIAR! I HATE YOU!!!

Wedding Bells

I swear I am not getting married.

Also, since Suze Stein loves leather, I am going to post a leather picture for the rest of the week.

Ants, Thinkers, and a Baby Moose.

I spend a lot of my day just thinking. I think that thinking is very important. Today, I have been thinking about Kleist, Melville, literary theory, German translation, the translation of words to images, Edgar Lee Masters, Patrick F. Durgin, Josef Conrad, Shakespeare, Sorry for Snake, and Dropsy. Sometimes I feel guilty about thinking so much.

I worked in construction a long time ago. Playful insults fly around a lot. Even the architects seem constantly to tease one another. Sometimes I worry about what carpenters would say about me now that all I do is sit around and think about things.

The Chicago Poets at Moe's Lat NIght

At Moe's last night, Patrick Durgin, Dolores Dorantes, Jesse Seldes, and Jen Hofer performed for and charmed a pretty big audience for a sultry autumn night. I really like this crew. I guess they are the Kenning Editions crew.

They started off with a Hannah Weiner poem called "Romeo and Juliet" with walkie-talkies. They all read parts of it together, and it somehow managed to be eerie, funny, and sexy at the same time.

Patrick F. Durgin only read one poem from his chapbook, Imitation Poems, but it was a good one.
Dolores Dorantes read with her translator, Jen Hofer. I liked Jen Hofer's translations a lot more than the originals. I speak a little Spanish like everyone else who grew up in Los Angeles, and I've been to Juarez, and Dolores Dorantes just seemed kind of bored with her own work. And it's some pretty deep shit. Hofer read her translations as if they were her own words, as if they were more sacred than the so-called original text. I like Jen Hofer.
Jesse Seldess also gave it his all. I couldn't believe how moving his poetry was. It's a kind of poetry that is difficult to describe, would you forgive me if I said it was jarringly melodic? If I used the word haunting? Anyway it was intense. He did this thing where he held up pages of text that weren't the ones he was reading, and , , , you had to be there, I guess.

Altogether, it was a fantastic freaking reading. People who normally rush in and out of Moe's, abrupt and loud, were stopping, sitting on the stairs to see what was going on. These were not the cliquey poetry peeps one is used to in the Bay. They make me want to catch the next train to Chicago just to see what else is going down over there.

Also, I guess the elevators at Moe's couldn't hold the posters I designed for long. They were drawn upon. I think that's funny. Obscene things.
ªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªººººººººººººººº
I read Jen Hofer's book this morning. It is held together by a rivet and a postcard. It's from Dusie. It was written in Argentina. I like it. It's called Going Going.
ººººªªªªªªªªªºººººªªªªªªº
Tonight there is some kind of poetry reading happening at a co-op called Afro House. I am going to check it out. I hope it's good.

Jack Morgan and Nietzsche are Pals

WARUM ICH SO KLUG BIN
by Jack Morgan

Recent
Brown night
on bridge--

Barges;
Gaslamps;
fugues--

gold fleece,
flocculent
and wet,
singing,
flickers through

trembling.
Rolled soft
ly away.

Satin
shimmers
joyous
barge songs
to cold dawn.

Tonight at Moe's

You should come to this reading.
It will be fun.
It will be good.
It will be worth your hard earned money.
It is free.

Woah, dude, MAPP Was Magnificent.

Not much time to do a proper review or to thank everyone individually, but I have to say that last night was phenomenal. I am proud for the first time in a long time. The artists were great, and L's Caffe is such a cool little place--with Ruthy and Myra running it, it raises the bar when it comes to amiable. The event was fantastic.

A lot of us went to Dirty Thieves after that, a dive with more character than most. The bartenders were nice and friendly, and the clientèle didn't mind when a mass of artists just appeared. A drunk guy called me "a fag" when I told him that my artwork portfolio held art and not a pool cue, but other than that, it was a really cool place to hang out after a poetry reading and art show.

I read my newest chapbook. People said they liked it. That was nice.

All in all, there were only smiles, and we filled the place. It was really cool. And I am proud.
::::......::.::.................:.::::.
New Yipes is tonight. I will be there. You should be there, too.

Tonight is MAPP!

I am reading tonight.
I wish I could tell you all of the wonderful things that have transpired since my jaunt through the pits of purgatory, but I can't. I have lotsa things to do before the reading. Can you believe it? This is going to be great.

Torture

I went to class yesterday. We talked about poetry and torture and Harold Bloom. It happens. I had a bit to say about the torture part.

Then I went to the Red Poppy, where there were the coolest people ever, having some drinks and talking about art and everything else. Some people left, and Meklit and Todd played us a song. I know that I am somewhat jaded. But their song was one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard, and actually got me all misty-eyed. I just read that line, and it sounds sarcastic, but I assure you, it is entirely sincere.

Sometimes you look around and realize that there is no place else you would rather be. Sometimes joy just falls right on you. Sometimes I am happy. But when you are able to really notice it, when you are able to say to yourself, "this is exactly what I have always wanted," that is very special and worth crying over.

Back in Berkeley, I realized that I had only slept around six or seven out of the past seventy-two hours. I went to a house where I was tortured. I ended up not sleeping.

I came home around six A.M., tortured and melancholy. I slept for five hours. It was good.

Then, many of my friends coincidentally wanted to hang out with me. They cheered me up. We talked about poetry and poetry and other stuff, too. A little about the torture, but mostly about poetry and things written down.

I love my friends. I talk about them a lot on this blog. Sometimes this blog is joking. But this is entirely sincere: without my friends, I would be much more sad and get much less sleep than I do.

NIGHT AND ME AND LEATHER TROUSERS AND DROPSY

The nighttime kind of kills me. Last night, I tried to sleep. I was tired. I tried to go to bed at nine. I had to keep turning the light on to write things down. It didn't matter how exhausted I was. I wanted to sleep for 8 hours like normal people. The last time I looked at the clock it
was twelve. I woke up at 4:30. That gave me one half hour more than I usually get.

I don't watch much television, but I really want to.
I don't sleep much, but I really want to.

It isn't cute to never sleep. Nightmares are almost always without value.
Yesterday, Gamboa was surprised by my lack of sleep. I told him I don't mind burning twice as brightly. It's quips like that that make people hate me, I think. It's things like that that reduce local impresarios to sycophantic name-calling like she who called me a masculinist without looking the word up on urban dictionary or something.
Perhaps it is that that keeps me up at night, people who who hate me. It's weird to think that there are people you have never met who hate, who say nasty things about you.

I've seen her in her leather trousers at readings thinking she's better than other people.

I don't think I'm better than she is. I am as worthless as every other poet. Nearly talentless, I continue to write and draw and complain about things I cannot change and think about things I cannot elucidate. But I won't call her names without meeting her. And I will never wear leather trousers.
™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™
Someone I respect asked me why there hasn't been a new Dropsy poem in a while.

The MAPP Event

I hope that many of you can make it to the MAPP event.
If you hate Jack Morgan, you will have plenty of chances to heckle him, and there will be many people much cooler than he is performing and in attendance.
™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™
Darjeeling Limited is a good movie worth seeing. If you like movies, you should see it. It lacks an elephant polo scene, but I still liked it very much.
™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™™
Last night was the last poetry reading Pegasus will have this month because Eyeball Hatred is taking a break. It was a pretty good reading. I was tired and grumpy when I got there, and I felt a little better when I left. But I wished that money were about me so that I could buy a book. I have no money for books anymore.

I have no money for rent anymore either.

Please come to our MAPP reading so that everything will have meaning.

Some Things I Think Are Cool Because it's Cool that They Are Cool.

Liz Hickock has remade San Francisco out of Jello. I love her for making San Francisco out of Jello. I have never met her, but I wish I could.

Adam Clay read last night at Pegasus. His book is called THE WASH. He was a good reader.

After the reading, I noticed there was a small person who was knitting who looked strikingly like Bronwen Tate. I said, "Hey you. Are you Bronwen Tate?" She said, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am." "I like your poetry and blog," said I. "Why thank you very much," said she. I was happy to meet her.

MAPP is this Saturday, 20 October. Our event is at L's Caffe on 24th St. between Bryant and Florida. Jarrod Roland, Paul Ebenkamp, Jack Morgan, and Jenny Drai are all reading, and Casey Spear will be playing music, , , and other people will be doing music, too, and there will also be live art by Valyntina Grenier, and Artwork by her and Jack Morgan will be hung on the walls, and there is another artist, too. It is going to be a great night to be alive. I hope you stay alive until then. I hope I do. If you are alive still, that's just a bonus.


I made Joshua Clover a T-Shirt because he liked the poster I made for him, and he wanted a T-Shirt that said "POETRY FUNDS TERRORISM." It came out really cool. He wore it in New York for his 9/11 reading at which it rained and poured and stormed. Then he said something nice about me on his site. Joshua Clover is pretty cool. He said that I was the East Bay Graphics Guru. That's cool.

Jack Morgan was Once a Sexy Young Poet in Germany

Ten years ago, I didn't know the difference between spoken word and poetry. I knew that slam was different, but I thought that spoken word was kind of a catch all phrase. Now people who are part of one make fun of those in the others. But in nineteen ninety-nine, things were very different. . . for me at least.

I was nineteen, living in Germany. I had gotten a dream job as an art director for an advertising agency. Even then, I seldom slept, so I went to jazz shows. Hannover, Germany is kind of known as a jazz mecca in Europe. I wanted to get more involved in the nightlife of Hannover, so I went out every night. Soon, I D.J.'d a couple nights a week, promoted parties at clubs, and started what I would now call a reading series. My reading series was called "Be Smart: Jazz and Spoken Word with Jack Morgan." Jazz musicians and poets spoke English, so many of them were my first acquaintances and friends. A friend named Mirko got most of the bands and played the double bass, and I got some poets, and I read a lot. It was held in a subterranean nightclub called Golden Planet. For a while, we were happy. We all felt successful and famous. We worked the door and spent time on stage and even bussed tables and served drinks. We stood in the city center handing out flyers to passersby. People in the city knew who we were. It didn't last long, but it was good to be a young poet abroad. I am glad that I knew so little about the way things work.

Busy Bee

Ethan Paquin and Chad Sweeney were incredible yesterday. It was a great night for poetry. Chad read from his book seriously cool chapbook, Mirror to Shatter the Hammer, and Ethan read new things, but he was new to me anyway, so everything would have been new. Everyone I talked to was thoroughly impressed by his poetry and delivery. I can't wait to read some of his work.

We ended up at Ben & Nick's where there were more poets and crumb chasers. A fun night full of singing and dancing and drinking--true revelry. Sometimes we need reminders like these in order to keep going; nights that remind us why poetry is the only thing worth it.
ºººººººªªªªª™™™™™¢∞∞∞∞∞™™™™A lot is going on in the Jack Morgan universe right now. Chad Sweeney was surprised. Makes me want to take an inventory.

Here we are:

1. Sorry 4 Snake is underway. It will be out and available on October 20. It is going to be great.
2. MAPP is taking place all over the Mission, but our event is at L's Caffe on 24th St. It is going to be one of the coolest things I have ever been involved with. It makes em want to use the f-word to describe it. MAPP is going to be fucking out of this world, man.
3. Amiri Baraka is reading at UCB on Halloween, and I need to get that poster out.
4. SHIT! MAPP needs a poster, too.
5. I am also finishing the Patrick F. Durgin poster right now. He and others are reading on the 22nd at Moe's.
6. And I am still working on the Abraham Lincoln cover. That's for spring, but spring is not that far off, really, when it comes to this.

So I really have to go.
I am also finishing my BA this year. That is a bit of work, too. I write, too. And I blog, and I sometimes call my mother to say hello.
So...
bye.

Chad Sweeney at Pegasus

Chad Sweeney is reading tonight at Pegasus.
I read his book, Mirror to Shatter the Hammer, and I liked it very much.
I don't know who Ethan Paquin is, but I hear he's good.
Everyone I know knows who Gloria Frym is. Everyone I know likes Gloria Frym.

I have liked Chad Sweeney's work since I read his work in Bird Dog. Pablo gave me his copy a long time ago to read. I have never seen him read, so I am looking forward to it very much.

Jack Morgan: Bouncing Back Like Nobody's Business

The Irish boys were not disappointing. I had such high hopes for Wednesday's reading, and I was not let down. It would have been such a bummer seeing as how I was quit bummed for most of the day.

Trevor Joyce read like an Irish engine, rough, fast, and clear as an Irish spring.

Fergal Gaynor read Triads and Stepping Poems that were rather delicious to behold.

They had a stunning Finnish fiddler with them, which was fun to write just now and even more fun to hear.

There are many reasons why the Irish were one of the best readings I've been to in a while, but I want to talk about something much cooler.
ºººººººººªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªº0000
MAPP!
The most amazing people are involved in MAPP. I feel it is a privilege just to hang out with them, and to work with them is a blessing.

Sara Mumolo and Jack Morgan are together on one of the best things in the world! Can you believe it? Of course you can. We are teaming up with Diana McCullough and Carlos Castillo at L's Caffe in the Mission, SF, for a night of poetry, music, and art. One of the goals on this is to bridge the gap between East and West bay poetics, so I hope a lot of you east bayers make it out. Starts at 7. More info to come.
^™™™™™™™ªªªººººº™™™™™™ªªºªºªºªºª
So, in other words, after Irish poetry and a night in the Mission, I am back in action and on my way back to the top.
Today the rain is not as sad as it was. I am supposed to see King Lear at an outdoor theater tonight, and I hope the rain quits, but other than that, everything is fantastic. Thanks for all of your emails and text messages.
Everyone knowing I was doldrumming was an unexpected benefit of the internet. Knowing that people give a crap about you is sometimes all you need to spring you out of a rut.
Thanks also to all of those who rejoice in my failures. Sometimes you keep me going more than anything else.

Jack Morgan: Back at the Bottom.

After a day pregnant with misgivings. After feeling stupid about stupid things. After attempting to kill what's stupid with cider and whiskey and other friends. After poetry finally died. After falling asleep at the bookstore. After riding the bus with just one more kindly murderous friend. After walking to the liquor store in the rain for poisoned cupcakes and California steam. After stumbling through the rain again with homeless well-wishers. I got home and gave up.

I am pretending like yesterday was all on purpose. But this day's not looking much better.

ººººººººººººªªªªªªªªººººººººººº
Tonight, Irish poets will be at Berkeley. 8:PM. I hope it's depressing.
ºººººººªªªªºººªªªºªºªºªºªºªªªªªªªªª
The screams between the lines. The moaning swallows.
ººªºªªªªªªªªªªªªººººººººººªªªªªªªªª
Mourning doves.
ªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªºººººººººººº
It occurs to me that I have spent a great deal of my time, too much perhaps, in the rain. My mother used to say that I didn't have the sense to come in out of the rain. I don't think that I have ever owned an umbrella for longer than a couple minutes. I don't like umbrellas, and I don't have the sense to remember them. I am not romantic about the rain, but many romantic things have happened to me in it. My life is a cliché.

But it has rained on me on St. Charles Bridge. London Bridge gets longer in the rain. In the shadows of Gothic churches and cathedrals. I have looked up at it with an open mouth after being ridiculed and abandoned by someone I loved. I have wished to wear the halo round the street light in the rain. I have held people for warmth. I have cried in it, but no one could tell. Someone screamed at me, a confession of adoration in the rain. I have woken up in it, squinting in the darkness. I have squirmed with the long worms of Europe. I have swum in the ocean in the rain, but no one could tell. It's black in the ocean in the rain in the night. I have slipped over cobblestones. I have been shiny on the concrete with runny blood and numb knees. In Warsaw, I huddled with one of my greatest loves beneath the street, soaked with rainwater, knowing. I opened a window on the freeway to feel the drops like pins. An airbag hit my face in the rain and burned my coat off my arms. I've caught my breath in moist tunnels and smiled at strangers. I've prayed for warm bellies and careful whispers. I have stayed on subways all night and slept in train stations to avoid it. I have danced in it. I have laughed at it. And I've walked home.

Irish Poets

Trevor Joyce and Fergal Gaynor will be reading on the tenth. That's only two days away!
I am excited about the Irish poets.
The reading is at 8 PM in the Muade Fife Room (315 Wheeler Hall) at UC Berkeley.

Cathal Ó Searcaigh will be reading on Ocober 11 at the same place at 7:PM.

I hope you can make it. I have been looking forward to this reading.

Bare Knuckles Make These Things

At Art Murmur, I bought a journal at RPS–one of the coolest places in the entire world–called Bare Knuckle Poetry. It was put out by a collective called We Make These Things started in Boston. In addition to having a really groovy name, they have a really boss little journal. Bare Knuckle Poetry features many good crumb bums. I read them all this morning and am happy that I did.

I like Jarrod Annis's and Ryan J. Eilbeck's poems especially.
ªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªººººººººººªªªªªªª
Also, speaking of boss poetry journals, have you heard of this new Sorry 4 Snake journal that is coming out? It's going to be freaking funtastic and friendly. Friends like Tao Lin, David Larsen, and Jenny Drai are going to be in it in addition to other geniuses. I can't wait!

Thinking about thinking about thinking about thinking.

What’s most apocryphalest is that we still don’t think; still despite the state of the world’s ceaselessly slouching toward scepticism. The progression appears voluntarily before the commanding eye, as men find themselves in conferences and congresses, speaking on how things should be and how others must be done. Such speaking spins round mutual settlement––but not thought.

Integrity.

Later, since people I love are losing faith in me.

I am open to all
interpretation.

Art Murmur

A smart chick with a good eye took this picture of me yesterday. It is the best Jack Morgan picture ever because you can't see his hideous countenance. It was taken with my phone.

Last night was Art Murmur in Oakland. I love Art Murmur. I love Oakland. I would like to live there some day. Last night was particularly good, but I only want to talk about our friends at 21 Grand, who had a poetic exhibition.

Joseph Lease was there, in person and on the walls. I like this idea. I would like to see more poetry on walls in galleries. It's not like this is an original idea, but it's fairly rare, and I am always happy when people make an installation using poetry. People enjoy it, and it gives them something to talk about. It's hard to talk about art for some people, I think. It's hard for me sometimes.

Part of going to art walks is talking about the art, no? But sometimes I have to think a long time before I can articulate my opinions on art. In poetry, I can at least talk about what ideas I find cool or what tricks I see or what I think is "too loud" or whatever. It's all pretension, really, but I like talking about art and poetry, and I like it when they are found in close proximity of one another.

Good job, 21 Grand!

Oh Bartleby! Oh humanity!

Holloway: Ted Pearson, Epilogue

He was incredibly nice, but Nathaniel Mackey made me so nervous, I hardly got to talk with him last night. My friend Mia said something like, "they're just like you." I said, "Nathaniel Mackey is better than I am in every way that I can think of. That makes it difficult to speak with him." So I didn't get to say much to him at dinner. There I was at dinner with Nate Mackey, and all I could say was, "I really totally dug your reading at De Young." That's it. I am a lame-o.

You know who's also cool? Ted Pearson. Ted Pearson is so cool he has cool to spare. If you're out of cool, you can ask Ted Pearson for some. His reading was very, very great. I can't believe how good the Holloway is this season. The grad students seem to be stepping up this semester, too. Its speaking at Maude Fife is kind of hard, but they are doing a good job. Sookyoung Lee did a good job.

I'd read some of Ted Pearson's work, so I went to the reading with high hopes, which is always dangerous. But his reading went as well as a reading could. It was a bit long, but that's OK because his poetry rocks and his reading voice is enviable. I liked the reading a lot.

GENIUS!

Some people don't believe me when I tell them that Lyn Hejinian called me a genius. In the third minute of this video is the proof. Well, she says Jack Morgan and genius in the same sentence, and I only heard Jack Morgan is a genius. Close enough for me.

Thank you, local impresarios, for supporting me and believing in me. Thank you.

Holloway: Ted Pearson

Tomorrow night at 6:30, the third floor of Wheeler Hall (rm 315, the Maude Fife) will be filled with lovers of poetry because poetry is for lovers and because Ted Pearson will be reading there with graduate student, Sookyoung Lee.
I like what I've read of Ted Pearson ver,y very much. I am looking forward to this one very, very much. It will be a little while before the next Holloway after this, so you should come to this one if you haven't been this season.
I think that October is going to be the best month of 2007 for poetry.
I really hope to see you at this reading. Very, very much.

Jack Morgan (illustrator) did the poster.

Lawrence Felinghetti (finally)

I have been reading Lawrence Ferlinghetti for twelve years.
I know it's not cool to still like the beats, but they were the poets that made me know it was OK to be what I was. I was a poet. It was scary being a kid who wrote poetry. At thirteen, I knew I was a weirdo, and the beats made me feel like that was cool.

But I never saw Lawrence Ferlinghetti read. I met him a couple of times serendipitously, while I haunted his bookstore in North Beach. In Germany, I dreamed of going back to meet him once more before it was too late. I fantasized about giving him a chapbook, which he would love. I wanted to wear a fez to my readings like he used to. You get the point. I liked him.

Tonight he was at Moe's in Berkeley. He read from his new book, Poetry as Insurgent Art. Some of it is a reprinting of things like What is Poetry?, but I liked it very much. It was great, after so many years, to finally see him read. At eighty-eight, I would say that he was phenomenal. He brings back memories of my grandfather. If your grandparents are still alive, by the way, you should call them; when they're gone, it will be too late.
ªººªªª999ººªªªºººººº888888ººººªªªª
There are many things that bother me about the beat poets nowadays. They deride contemporary poetry as if they are protecting something sacred. The same thing, mind you, that they used to claim needed tearing down. They are the establishment in a lot of ways now. They make fun of poets who are not beat poets. I find this a bit lame.

They also seem so intensely invested in politics. I don't think that poetry or any art form is supposed to be that closely tied to politics.

They bring audiences who pat themselves on their backs for loving poetry, "see I go to readings." The audiences are the worst. They don't want poetry, they want nostalgia. They want what I want, but less. I really like a lot of Lawrence Ferlinghetti's poetry even if it's only for nostalgia, but most of the audience is there only for the love of the beat poets, or the myths surrounding them, rather. They don't go to poetry readings. They aren't into poetry.

I know I should be applauding anyone taking any kind of interest in poetry, but I just get a tiny bit bothered, a little annoyed with the fact that they aren't supporting current poetry. What are they going to do when Lawrence is dead? Are they going to abandon poetry completely? Do they even know about the events in poetry that surround them?

I have to say it was a great reading, though.

Me and My Shadow

And when you're feeling lonely, and you've run out of poetry, and you've run out of liquor, and nobody loves you, consider Sammy.



ªºªªª999ºº09ªºº88ººªªª8ºººººººª99
Back Room Live was on Saturday. It was fun. I got there late, and then I stayed late, but not as late as I should, or too late, I don't know. Valyntina Grenier is a nice person who has a really good thing going on over at McNally's Irish Pub. You should go next time. It's kind of like a speakeasy in the back, like poetry is the casino only cool people are allowed into. I think that this one was the best one yet, next to the one Jack Morgan and Tyler Williams read at, of course, which was by far the best.
I am the best.
990999999999999999ªªªªªªºººººªª
You know how in the movies wise blind people and homeless people volunteer priceless advice to protagonists, and you're like, "that never happens." It happens to me all the time. People are always stopping me in the street to tell me things or to ask me things. They get very upset when I don't humour them, so I do.
A few weeks ago, a guy asked me where the free clinic was; I looked at his little map and told him. He told me I was a scholar and a gentleman.
Today, a guy stopped me and said that, in case no one had told me today, "God bless you for what you are doing. I know it is hard to be a scholar and a gentleman; you not only have to earn the axe, you have to dodge it."
Years ago, a person walked into the break room where I used to teach English in Karlsruhe, and we hit it off, and he said to me that I was a scholar and a gentleman. It became my motto after that.
Sometimes I am neither. But it is good that there are people out there who will remind me that that is the goal and that I sometimes am both.

Thank you, homeless people, drunks, and strangers!