4 rules for poetry readings – guest blog post by Marilyn McCabe

I am reading this afternoon at the Bowery Poetry Club and I will try to keep this in mind. I hope that all goes well; it is the reason I have come to New York City,

Trish Hopkinson

I went to a good poetry reading the other evening. But, boy, I wish I the poet hadn’t kept doing things that undermined his own presentation of his own work. The poet violated almost every rule in my unwritten how-to-do-a-poetry-reading rule book. Which spurred me to write down some of my rules.

Rule 1: Speak slowly. (But not too slowly.) Practice a cadence that allows you to speak clearly but that seems natural. I’m a great admirer of Carolyn Forche’s reading style, and Lucie Brock-Broido, for example. The poet I heard the other night spoke quickly in his intros to the poems, which I guess is okay, but he didn’t change his cadence much when he waded into the poem, and sometimes he was a line into the poem before I realized he’d gone from opening remarks into the poem. And some fine lines were thrown aside in his rush…

View original post 474 more words

Mexico Poetry Encounter

On Wednesday I go to Mexico, for the poetry encounter!

 

This is the website;

 

http://data.cultura.cdmx.gob.mx/diverso2017/

 

I will be sharing a number of video poems, among them:

 

 

1. “Hypnosis at the Bird Factory”

 

 

 

 

2. In Your Face

 

 

3. LFMK (Looking for my Killer), a video poam that corresponds with a collection of prose poams  of the same title :

 

 

 

expected to be published in some form, likely in 2018, by Jamii

4. The Glory Prelude

 

5. Bubbling 

 

 

How I would like for these events to unfold, a basic plan, not a script:

 

 

I would like to project “LFMK (Looking For My Killer) in the Math of Emotion” 
In thinking now, although once there , I may realize that a different sequence is better; how flexible may this be?
I shall conclude with “LFMK (Looking for my Killer) —on Sunday.  
I would like to open with “Hypnosis at the Bird Factory”, on Saturday.  As I like for work  to respond to the moment, how much flexibility and deviation is allowed with this plan? Once I am there, interactions themselves may demand something different from this plan, and how responsive can I be with the environment, etc.  Are not plans made to change?   It is fine with me whatever happens, equipment failure and the like.   Flexibility is a huge part of my work, responsiveness to whatever presents itself, and combining  these events into some form of new-near—coherence, as my website: 
“The Midhudson Taffy Company”  <http://www.midhudsontaffy.com/>
is supposed to exemplify, a pinnacle of interaction and collaboration, in my opinion,  of “limited forking” 
.
An awareness of life happening and a need to participate and engage in events wherever and whatever  they are around  the globe. 
A goal is connection.   
One prop I will need is a fork of any sort, plastic is fine, and this object will be a necessary part of discussing and sharing my poetic sensibilities,  and I would like to talk about the purpose of the website a little bit, in  my poetic performance and it would be helpful to be able to refer to the website. An object is necessary, so perhaps a plastic fork for all participants? (tenedor de plástico) in addition to the fork(s) that those with hands or feet of any sort already have access to.
PINK-HAIR FORKER GRYLE
I will be able to explain.  
Will there be sign language translation, someone to  help include those with such sensory deficits?  Part of the reason that I need to re-define purposes of making, a need to embrace and make meaningful to those whose senses tend to prohibit certain engagements, and often  a better way to address this is via ideas about making itself.  If I must self-define, I prefer to be called a “maker” so that what I make is less-expected… Unfettered creativity that is responsive to the many forms and varieties of existence.  This is really what I do and is at the core of of reasons that I make stuff.  The seat of my beliefs.  Sometimes I make stuff that others find  easier to call poems.  
A poam for me can just be releasing a handful of water, sand, watching how something moves or doesn’t  as interaction with environment demands, responsiveness to situations, awareness, being part of events and not merely  an observer. 
No one and nothing makes alone.
“Bubbling” on Sunday, due to its shorter length, “2:53 minutes”.
I would love for “The Glory Prelude” to be part of my presentation, but at 7:04 minutes, it would need to be part of Saturday as there is more time.  
I fear that my response could be lacking, but I am not one for whom what is planned cannot or should not deviate.  I am a maker, indeed a person, of deviation as you will see very soon now.  I cannot wait to meet all of you.
——–

 

The main poem I will be sharing is my extension of  poem written by another poet,  friend of mine for  a number of years, about 40, Bob Holman,

 

“If You See Something, Say Something,”

If You see something, say someything

Postcard of Bob’s famous poem , to which I added an amazing addition

 

 

a little poem that packs a wallop.

 

My extension of  this poem as published in “The Fiddlehead” (under the pseudonym Thomas Robert Higginson):

 

–in response to: “If you See something, Say something”

                                        –Thomas Robert Higginson

       

“If you See something, Say Something

Banana”

                      

white shadow

crescent moon

Wax (ing)

Wax banana

Wax grapes, apples

in bowls

On my mother’s dining room table

lunch

kitchen sink

I see this also

my father washing dishes

scalding water

his skin

down the drain

plates clean, heavenly,

full of banana water spots

we eat the shadows.

two of which

are my father’s

diseased lungs

yet I float on clouds

into such a clean, pure kingdom

that nothing else matters

just a banana which I eat the moment I arrive.

Buddha

in suds.

 

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

 

I will post plenty of photos and updates as soon as I arrive in Mexico City!

Forecast is for rain the entire time the I am there, and impact from  Hurricane Dora:

 

https://weather.com/storms/hurricane/video/hurricane-dora-forms

https://weather.com/storms/hurricane/video/hurricane-dora-forms

 

Going to be wet and maybe wild while I am gone!

 

and about a week after I return will be performing at the Bowery Poetry Center in Manhattan!

 

Title of BPC Event:

LFMK (Looking for my Killer)

Description:

Looking for My Killer (in the math of emotion)

I will be sharing

—decadent, malicious little vignettes as delectable as string cheese, refreshingly irreverent as you digest it, perhaps also blissfully irrelevant

—pure indulgent naughtiness

—splendid, if only for the wickedness

—ghastly!  bereft of redeeming values; mocks our most esteemed institutions, even life itself

—written by the light of hellfire; dazzling touches base with the base

LFMK  is a collection of  prose poams that may see publication in 2018 at the earliest from Jamii; what a fine bit of service to the community.

Here is a photo of me:

 

 PINK-HAIR FORKER GRYLE

 

Forker Gyrl

(the one and only)

 

 

most delicious beads     I have ever sucked.

 

Somewhat reminiscent of an episode of “Designing Women”:

 

THE WOMEN OF ATLANTA -May 1, 1989
Written by: Linda Bloodworth-Thomason 
Directed by: Harry Thomason

The ladies agree to be involved in a pictorial essay on the women of Atlanta, but are soon suspicious when the photographer requests poses that are purely sexual, including putting a strand of pearls in Julia’s mouth and asking her to “ever-so-slightly suck on them” — a big mistake.

 

SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave

BPC reading

I now have my round-trip tickets for  my flight to LaGuardia for my performance at the Bowery Poetry Club, 9 July 2017, 3:00 pm – 5:00 pm, a week after my reading in Mexico City

 

Title of BPC Event:

LFMK (Looking for my Killer)

Description:

Looking for My Killer (in the math of emotion)

I will be sharing

—decadent, malicious little vignettes as delectable as string cheese, refreshingly irreverent as you digest it, perhaps also blissfully irrelevant

—pure indulgent naughtiness

—splendid, if only for the wickedness

—ghastly!  bereft of redeeming values; mocks our most esteemed institutions, even life itself

—written by the light of hellfire; dazzling touches base with the base

LFMK  is a collection of  prose poams that may see publication in 2018 at the earliest from Jamii; what a fine bit of service to the community. 

 

https://soundcloud.com/forker-gryle/olivia-pig-falling-zone-take-three-1

MY OLIVIA PIG

My very own Olivia Pig, sitting by my printer and an extermal hard drive.

I am eager for this but l am also terrified, and there are many reasons for my fear; I cannot express them.  Whatever happens happens.

 

I have purchased my ticket.  So it is definite now.

I will do my best, and Olivia Pig will help me.

Fb event page for BPC reading: LFMK (Looking for My Killer)

At my BPC (Bowery Poetry Club) reading / performance on 9 July  at 3:30 pm, my LFMK event (Looking for My Killer in the math of emotion) in which I will share;

–decadent, malicious little vignettes as delectable as string cheese, refreshingly irreverent as you digest it, perhaps also blissfully irrelevant

–pure indulgent naughtiness

–splendid, if only for the wickedness

–ghastly! bereft of redeeming values; mocks our most esteemed institutions, even life itself

–written by the light of hellfire; touches base with the base

You can hear one of the prose poems I plan to share, “Olivia Pig Falling Zone” from my LFMK collection of prose poems that could be published in 2018 at the earliest, by Jamii, right here (of course the version to be performed aloud at the BPC will differ from this version, a sneak peek as it were):

location of “Olivia Pig Falling Zone

(https://soundcloud.com/forker-gryle/olivia-pig-falling-zone-take-three-1)

From the author of “New Kiss Horizon” [a dense parcel of Genius] and twelve other books)

$10.00 in advance / $15.00 at the door.

Tickets at: <http://www.brownpapertickets.com/ event/3014365

<https://www.facebook.com/events/1020049661463350/

 

An episode of Olivia Pig from Youtube:

and:

 

My LFMK  (Looking for my Killer) video Music composed and performed by Ansted Moss, all vocals written and performed by Thylias Moss who also made the film, captured all footage and is responsible for the text choreography):

 

 

 

Thylias Moss -BPC

 

Well, here I am, apparently ready for anything!

If You See Something, Say Something

Wow.

I just had my interview with Roberto Eslava Chavéz, and among the things he asked me, which of the books I’d written was my favorite, and I told him the truth, “New Kiss Horizon”, all about Thomas Robert Higgnson and a character named Vashti Astapad Warren

 

Cover of NKH

He asked me how did I feel about collaboration and I told him that no piece belonged exclusively to any one person; that senses are portals allowing access to information that, as feeble as we may be, we translate something into something; does not have to be words, but we receive information and give information back to the world, and we are all changed for the exchange.

I explained that collaboration is the only way, that nothing belongs to any individual; only though sharing –for instance the poem I sent, “If You See Something, Say Something” a collaboration with Thomas Robert Higginson, and all of this made

If You see Something, Say Something-02The Fiddlehead Journal in which "Higginson Matters" was first published

 

 

“If You see Something, Say Something” as published in “The Fiddlehead” (issue 268):

 

–in response to: “If you See something, Say something”

                                        –Thomas Robert Higginson

       

“If you See something, Say Something

Banana”

                      

white shadow

crescent moon

Wax (ing)

Wax banana

Wax grapes, apples

in bowls

On my mother’s dining room table

lunch

kitchen sink

I see this also

my father washing dishes

scalding water

his skin

down the drain

plates clean, heavenly,

full of banana water spots

we eat the shadows.

two of which

are my father’s

diseased lungs

yet I float on clouds

into such a clean, pure kingdom

that nothing else matters

just a banana which I eat the moment I arrive.

Buddha

in suds.

Podcast Transcriptions for Thomas Robert

Since Thomas Robert and I are no longer speaking (I hope this isn’t permanent) and I am not sure whether or not he has my transcriptions of his podcasts, so I thought I would place them here, so at least access is possible.

Given that these transcription are of time spent in Alaska, I thought that my picture should be a bit more wintry, although it is well into June 2017, also indicative of the coldness between Thomas Robert and I right now,  I sure hope that it isn’t lasting;  I’ve known him so very long.  Well, these transcriptions were a gift and I give them again.

 

It was a pleasure to transcribe them, and here is one offering of a transcription of Episode one.

 

Well, it’s my last night in New York

I had a poem I wrote a while ago, “Last Nights”

–last nights are very important to me, because I’ve had a lot of them.

I love last nights because you always have, “well, that happened last night” but when it happens on your last night, then you know that you’re ready

for whatever comes next, the molecules lining up

in preparation for departure.

I can’t believe all of this is not even off the beaten path; it’s

off the highway here in Juneau.

That’s the sound of the waterfall coming down

–just one hole through the ice sheet

through the glacier; glaciers move back

and it turns into a waterfall

The green is the definition of green

which of course is a multihued “green”,

the “moss” popping, the leaves looking primordial

and the fir trees getting dark, dark, dark

and the sun filtering through with gold.

 

Everybody’s a bear.

Counting eagles from the front porch:

 

1. one just flew over, and then slowly

straight into the clouds

across the bay

 

2. two surprised me:  At a diagonal so close

I could hear the wind in the wings

 

3. three sailed so high up in a spiral,

I didn’t know it disappeared…


___________

It was a pleasure to try to transcribe them as they are all poetry, at least to me.  I did not transcribe all of them, but I did my best from close listening at the time, so these are for you Thomas Robert, the best I could do at the time that I transcribed them.

I had more difficulty with episode two and there are two versions; here is one of them:

I saw the bear a half hour after I landed in Juneau.

The crow has welcomed me, and three eagles;

pretty much the clans have given me the omen of omens.:

You really feel who owns the place

–and it sure ain’t me.

 

Gray.

 

Pick a gray that pours into Auke Bay

like a glacier, and what is true

for a cloud in Juneau is to be born rain

in a gray garment handed down from seals,

that gray, that other gray, that gray over there.

 

Mountain continues ocean

Language continues continues

Story continues language

Mother continues child

Child continues memory

Memory continues whale

Whale continues sea

Boat continues life

 

Twitter continues Twitter

 

Waves continue ice

Milk continues poem

Laughter continues dance

Mountain continues ocean

continues contains continues

rain continues continues continues

continues language

__________

(I believe this to be the other version, sorry if they’re identical; every time, I tried to open Microsoft Word, I couldn’t, and these are transcriptions I found in other places and copied them into Apple’s Pages word processor which has never given me a problem):

I saw the bear a half hour after I landed in Juneau.

The crow has welcomed me, and three eagles;

pretty much the clans have given me the omen of omens.

You really feel who owns the place

–and it sure ain’t me.

 

Gray.

 

Pick a gray that pours into Auke Bay

like a glacier, and what is true

for a cloud in Juneau is to be born rain

in a gray garment handed down from seals,

that gray, that other gray, that gray over there.

[some of the prose interlude]:

I’m looking out over Auke Bay in juneau; it’s not “awe”, but “auke” the “ka”

is a diminutive, so it’s little “ah” –just a little “awe” [ah] in the air

along with all the grays that are there.

–a lot of these clouds aren’t clouds;

they’re the moisture

off the mountains;

I know they’re there; I’ve seen them when the sun decides

to set fire to the sky.

A sea lion crossing:

 

In Kotzebue, you’re never too far from the tundra

In Kotzebue, you’re never too far from the sea.

The sun and moon dancing with the Northern Lights

–that’s about it here in Kotzebue.

Over the Arctic Circle, 60 miles from Russia

–unbelievable!– what they call the “Beringia Region”

–where the continents of Asia and North America

connected, where the Wooly Mammoth crossed,

and it still fels like wooly mammoth territory…

I read about how today was the last day of summer

in New York; it’s 70 degrees, but here,

it’s right at freezing, and you gotta bundle up!

 

Mountain continues ocean

Language continues continues continues

Story continues language

Mother continues child

Child continues memory

Memory continues whale

Whale continues sea

Boat continues life

 

Twitter continues Twitter

 

Waves continue ice

Milk continues poem

Laughter continues dance

Mountain continues ocean

continues contains continues

rain continues continues continues

continues language


_________

 

-“and it sure ain’t me” anymore, but it used to be me, Thomas Robert; it used to be me.  

A few more images of winter, not in Alaska, but right in Michigan:

This used to be my own back yard; I like to think of the world as my own back yard.  I am connected to so much, and all of it moves through me, all of it “continues” to use Thomas Robert’s language.  

 

Who can say what will be the lucky entity to continue something?  I will continue being myself; I have little choice in that anyway.  

I am not a bear per se, but I did write something about a bear that I will transcribe as soon as I can.  You see, Thomas Robert said,  at least that’s the way that I transcribed it.  As Thomas Robert said in episode one, “Everybody’s a bear”… 

 

Indeed, long before I knew Thomas Robert at all, I knew that everyone is a bear, and called my father “Teddy” out of that knowledge,

and not that you need confirmtion of your statement from me, Thomas Robert, but you  have it anyway.

Let there be peace for the universe, for the world, and also between us, that “US”-ness you named and used to speak about, that very “US”-ness I will always love,

 

Even that “US”-ness of humanity; I give that back to you, my friend.  Always.

Olivia Pig Falling Zone

Please listen to this recording go “Olivia Pig Falling Zone” to be part of my LFMK collection of Prose-poems”

 

LFMK Olivia Pig Falling Zone 

 

This is where you can hear all about Olivia, the girl I knew who I was 8 years old, living on Linn Drive in Cleveland, Ohio.  

 

Olivia was just thirteen and about to be raped.  Her apartment building was also on fire, burning, burning, burning, and I was the reluctant witness.  

 

There was nothing I could do; no 911 then.  1962.

No cell phone either.  But Olivia jumped from that porch and cracked her head on the concrete.  I had never seen anyone die before.  This was how saints were made.  Dying  

to preserve chastity.  

I was there, just my family neighborhood.  I could never forget this.  Not sure what I learned.  All vocals by me, the writing also. Music composed and performed by Ansted, perhaps still of Strexx; he was at the time of the recording.  But things change, even things supposedly solid and stable.  The stability is, of course, change itself.

This one is for Olivia herself.  

 

“Olivia” by the Whispers: