Sunday, August 24, 2014

Novel Cartoon/Poet & Reader/Hoo Doo Dog/Acceptances in Journals/Two Maria De Los Angeles Paintings/














The Poet and His Reader

"The transaction that we call the experience of poetry always takes place between one being and another. The energy circulates from privacy to privacy. Far flung though they may be in space and time, the poet and his reader are, for the duration of the experience, adjacent souls with permeable boundaries. Language can render the inward experience so persuasively that the space/time axis yields. Poetry has no larger 'public function' — it's limits are set. Poetry readings may be good advertising but they can't alter the monogamous character of the real event. In poetry, as in love, two is company, three is always a crowd."

from Sven Birkerts in his essay "The Poet In An Age Of Distraction"


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When I Was Transformed Into The Hoo Doo Dog
 Before I knew what was happening, David Madgalene had effected this transformation of me into one of his most nefarious characters or, rather into the head I'd once painted of that character, The Hoo Doo Dog!  Read more here!




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Ed Coletti: Recent Journal Acceptances

Steve Jobs' Glasses                                        California Qtrly Review            Wntr  2014


Bologna Station CaffĂ©                                   Curator                                       Aug   2014

these old instrumental sugar blues                Bohemia                                     May   2014
 Much More Than Road Kill                         Lummox                                     Nov.   2014

-Big Bill’s I-Ching of What Sex Is
-Bukowski Makes Me Happy
-Born Yesterday
-When I Fall In Love
-Please Aerate the Poetry                               Zombie Logic Review                            March 2014

Schrodinger’s Cat                                           Ambush Rev.                              March 2014

-Take Care
-Accordion Dirge                                           Heyday Magazine                       March 2014

Dead Career                                                    Penny Ante Review                    March 2014

Quiet Now                                                      Blueline                                     Spring 2014

-When I’m a Small Bird Floating
-I’m Not Telling a Story I’m Writing a
   Poem Damn It                                              The Brooklyn Rail                        Aug  2014

-The Queen’s Interlude
-Monkey Business                                          So It Goes – The Literary Journal
                                                                        of the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial
                                                                        Library Issue 2                              Jan.  2014

S.O.B (Fiction)                                               Noir Nation                                   2014



Anh (Fiction)                                                  Romance Magazine                      2014         

Tetzel Box                                                      East Coast Literary Review          2013         

On Plumbing Following A Divorce               North American Review               2014

The Poet As Survivor Assistance Officer      Journal Of Military Experience -  2013

Freight Train                                                  Lummox                                  Oct or Nov 2013


-Lying on a Chair Swing in August               Edwin E. Smith Q.                  Spring 2014
-New Years Eve                                                          
-Once Upon A Time In China

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2 Paintings by Maria de Los Angeles


Maria De Los Angeles emigrated from Mexico to the United States in 1999. She currently resides in New Haven Connecticut and attends MFA in Painting and Printmaking at Yale University. In 2013 received a BFA in Painting from Pratt Institute. Maria works in a variety of media including oil,acrylic painting, etching, woodcut, drawing and sculpture. Current works reflect her interest in  narratives both Allegorical and time base with the symbolic use of color, form and objects.

Maria's paintings are for sale  MdLAfineart@gmail.com

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Sunday, April 13, 2014

Women Poets April Madness/Jack ("Finnegan") Hirschman Poem/

Hilarity From Powell Books in Portland, Or.


If it's April, it's...

Poetry Madness!
Last April at Powell's, we pitted 64 poets
against one another in a Tina Turner-style
cage match to determine The Best Poet of
All Time. As you'd expect, it wasn't pretty.
Poets from all eras and every corner of the
globe arrived armed with their meaty metaphors
and their monster rhymes, ready to whoop
some poet butt.  But the most dangerous
weapon of all? The dash. Our victor in the epic battle known as
 Poetry Madness was, of course,
Ms. Emily Dickinson.​Since a woman defeated all comers last year,
we decided to up the ante. In conjunction with #readwomen2014, this
year's Poetry Madness will feature only female poets. To keep it fair,
our reigning champion will sit this one out and act instead as
moderator of the event. So, without further ado, your host,
Ms. Emily Dickinson:

Poets play their hunger games—
It's right there in their genes—
But add a little estrogen—
And they'll get downright mean—
That's why I'm here, the best
poet, please call me Emily—
To remind you, though a contest—
Ladies, keep it clean—

The brackets

This year, the poets are organized into four divisions: Dragons, Sharks,
Wolverines, and Vipers. To vote in the first round of matchups, scroll
to the bottom of the page. Good luck, and may the best poet win! 
Note: For a printable bracket, click here. View last year's bracket here.
Questions? Comments? Send emails to poeticjustice@powells.com.




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San Francisco Poet Laureate Emeritus and Poet-In Residence at the SF Public Library Jack Hirschman provides this wonderfully witty poem wherein he employs the style of Finnegan's Wake to right onederfly offalrongs.

THE WANPA SCENT ARCANE

1.

The wanpa scent’s
the smell of all stinksomeness,
the morder of all vowels
to make a bowel of turds
that defeckshate on
all who roccupy
against the stench
of the rot of the rat
at the root of the deathrattle
of Ruinoil Regoon,
the shitasson 
of that carwreckter assassin
Retchard Noxon the door
like Death, who ambitched
to power on the flaming
red body of Hell in Gahuggun
Dickless, the first
of meany witchhaunts,
ant taught that lamebrain
Gonzo how to knife
The People in the buck.



These are the
heads of the swine corpse
against our shoccupy.
They’re who give the cops
who beat you
their clubs.
They’re gunsells all,
from Gangwretch
to Snitchromnay
and in fact so is
Obummer, the sad drip
of the Capuddlist Potty, who,
while you and yours
were singing
“Y’all lang zine”
was signing the Endeeayay
and disappearing your lieberty.
You’re in fatshits America now,
you’re a hebe without Habeas,
a carnal without Corpus.
You can be harrasted
for the crumb of being
part of a tahririst plot.
And he’s depotted
foehundread-thousand
people so that the Statue
hasn’t stopped weeping

downcheeks and allover
Emma’s Lasarussian poem
since the start of the year.
Nothing could be worser
than a hearse of humane verses
all in mourning.





2.

So it’s amnasty to an Ind,
this kartun,
and where’s Moe Zez 
 to shofar it to?
It’s amneotic destuning,
the tear of your ear off,
the tumult of your scorn.
                       Ha!
Shem will strike you
lightning-fast,
you won’t even know what
hate you, you’ll be
fatelly down for the count,
but at the sound of ten
your hand’ll become a hundred
with a manifasttalking
destribuning again.
Uppenadam, moccupiers,
once dead ducks, now
feenixes on fire
transflaming ovarythang
tombey in the womb
of tomarrow
into a whole new bowl game
where the thrallest
to feel is when
throwing out the fierst bull
at the start of god,
for we’ve taken refuse at lost
and gone to the fear end
of Occupy
(Kiyippee Kiyay!),
we who’ve tam-tummed
and zim-zummed
and now are scribabbling
everywhere to spring
the checkmates of the world
from the jail
the whimper sentenced
to life without parole.

                         - Jack Hirschman

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Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Cool Poem From My Son/Sondheim On Music vs. Poetry/Calder's Environment/Ed's Pelican/Writing(humor)

Cool poem from my son, notable NYC poet, John Coletti in the 3-17-13 edition of Everyday Genius.



Dukes Up
by John Coletti

The Easter egg hunt
inherently cruel
religiously obscene
“I see one.” “Let me get one.”
tears. like that.
an epiphenomenelogical account from like organisms
teasing @ the homegrown
in a banged-up locker
that convince me, at the end of darknessses
that I want to enjoy being family-kept-spilling
I never understate
& demonstrate daily
the capital shock then “wooed
& won by wireless”
weeds I thought more beautiful tilted
like a panix’ serpent
calming
core doubts. it’s been a little rough.
pancakes at midnight
pancakes at day
Medieval reenactors
dragging
that one aria
from Turandot
around your eye. forever closed
the tingling of clean, crystal lights
then I laid back down. don’t rot: sayeth Beaker
the tendered non-capital evening so eschewed
now, I have a third wave: Starting fresh!


John Coletti is the author of Deep Code (City Lights, forthcoming 2014), Skasers, a half-book with Anselm Berrigan (Flowers & Cream 2012), Mum Halo (Rust Buckle Books 2010), Same Enemy Rainbow (fewer & further 2008), and Physical Kind (Yo-Yo-Labs 2005).  He has served as editor of The Poetry Project Newsletter and co-edits Open 24 Hours Press. Other projects include a collaborative print with artist Kiki Smith, a chapbook collaboration with Shana Moulton, and a libretto for Excelsior, an opera composed by Caleb Burhans commissioned by Chicago’s Fifth House Ensemble, which premiered in 2013.

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What Stephen Sondheim Has to Say About Music vs Poetry

Music straightjackets a poem and prevents it from breathing on its own, whereas it liberates a lyric.  Poetry doesn't need music; lyrics do."

" 'Poetry seems to me to exist in terms of its conciseness - how much can be packed in,' he told Bernard Levin in 1980.  'Lyric writing has to exist in time...Therefore it must be crystal clear as it goes on.' "

"I firmly believe that lyrics have to breathe and give the audience's ear a chance to understand what's going on.  Particularly in the theater, where you not only have the music, but you've got costume, story, acting, orchestra.  There's a lot to take in.  The whole idea of poetry is denseness, is concision, is abutment of images, and that sort of thing.  You can't do that when you've got music going, and expect the audience to take it in."

"Poetry is something that you can go back and read multiple times to extract its meaning.  But with lyrics, you hear them once, and they have to stick." 

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 Alexander Calder Piece


Submitted by Deetje Boler who enjoyed my poem "How The Gulf Felt" (see below) from my book Germs, Viruses, and Catechisms (historicowarpoligious poems) published by Civil Defense Publications (SF Dec. 2013)




How The Gulf Felt to Me and a Pelican



                       

I felt this same wretched way
the day the grove behind our house
fell and continued to fall to chainsaws,
the same way I felt when George W. Bush
responded to 9/11 by invading hapless Iraq,
the same way I’d felt when my father died,
the same way I’d felt when that wildwood
behind our house where the scrub oaks
as old as our nation fell beneath chainsaws.
The birds I’d come to venerate,
the juncos, woodpeckers, finches
with no home here to return to
simply disappeared along with
the oak trees to become
markets, restaurants, realtors,
coffee shops and a yoga studio.

And oil well may prove to be
the very worst substance ever
put to use by the not-so-human
infant machine we refer to as
a “brain” this engine that may conceive
one great poem or painting
for every million barrels of
gloppy goo fouling the very subject
such slime predicates to slow
tortured death not to mention
each and every act of corruption,
all the wars fought for
this hideous bloody slop,
all of this here and now
summarized in the agony
of one more dazed helpless
pelican.



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