1. Discuss.
2. No.
3. The sentence is a dark alley. You know what happens in dark alleys.
4. Something’s not right.
5. Discuss.
6. No.
7. What kind of person gets to the corridor then stops? On the verge of research, a question, an interview. Takes notes on the architecture, the crenallate of red roofs stretching over the East End, the cross-hatched window of Kamaldeep Bhui’s door. Then goes home.
8. The recent honor killing in Turkey. Discuss.
9. No.
10. The university department. The conflation of the shadow blogs with the comment stream. Uncles. Cousins. The sex attackers in childhood, adulthood, and beyond. The killers on the verge of killing. All my life I have looked into the eyes of serial killers and have developed a sixth sense when it comes to not being murdered. You fucking cunt. Your eyebrows are really ugly; did anyone ever tell you that?Discuss.
11. No.
12. I love you.
13. Discuss
14. No
15. Questions of non-violence bring me to the moment when, face to face with a cobra, two cobras, I look them in the eyes. I don’t know what this does other than reduce my nausea. Eileen Myles, would you take over my gig? I will re-send you the money when I get it, though I need it. I think I need this money, sometimes. No, it is better if Eileen Myles takes over from here, and maybe someone else. Elena Georgiou. Someone fierce and gentle, and someone gentle and fierce. Someone with a partner, because I think you need someone at home if you’re going to do this. If you’re going to take this up. I have a dog. I have a cat. I have a son. I have amazing neighbors and friends. I have you.
15. I have you.
16. “Shame may be fatal.” Discuss
14. No.
15. Towards an aesthetics of non-violence. Towards Elizabeth Lonzano’s work on ritual and community in Colombia. Towards an essay composed in the notebook, where it drifts, a composite of scraps. MEAT BLANKET. Discuss.
16. Towards a different kind of sex altogether.
17. The question of sex is linked to the question of territory. Discuss.
18. Yes.
19. In a war-time, predatory effects are amplified. Discuss.
20. Yes.
21. Mira Bai’s bhajans recalibrate the garden at the end of winter. In class, we read ZONG! I direct my students to Fred’s posts on reparation and trance. When Sina writes about the river and Woolf and her mum and the north, a vertical thread unfurls. Sometimes I listen to Sotere’s audio: at home, I read Craig’s book, delighted by the rain and the jungle and the aunties, in my first scan. Thom’s thinking about the sentence affects me, deeply, in the space before writing begins.
22. ”Mom, can we have a snack? Abby wants a cocoa. Can we go to The Coffee Tree?”
23. “Not yet.”
24. ”How will you put the shit back into the mother’s body?” — Cynthia Sailers, on aggression, community and the group mind.
25. Discuss!!!
26. ”Mom! We’re hungry!!!”
27. ”I’m almost done.”

Harvey Milk Plaza, San Francisco, 6/28/09 (photo: C. Dungy)
The street sweepers have passed, and the crowd control fences have been carried away. Pride, for some, is over and done. But for many, the persistent resistance that Pride weekend celebrates still thrives. Thank goodness. In honor of Pride and, moreover, in honor of the spirit of resistance and persistence of the Stonewall rebellion and the movements it spawned, (and also in a sort of answer to a question Catherine Halley posed some time ago), I’m going to share a few poems by a small sample of writers from the West Coast LBGT community.
Can poetry help this man woo the woman of his dreams (and support at-risk youth in the process)?

Yesterday a student came into my office with a guitar, and he sang me a song. He did so because he had realized the music could convey more than his words could. He wanted a boost behind the piece he’d written for our meeting. I listened to his song (with pleasure: he plays guitar well and has a pleasant voice), but afterwards we talked about how he could bring some of the power he sought from music into his own writing. To help him understand this better, I read him a few poems. I told him to pay attention to what he understood from the poems’ sounds.
For many of us, the fact that poets can orchestrate their poems is not news. Plenty of us know that sound can be used, in poetry, to manipulate emotional responses. Still, it was awfully fun to witness my student’s initiation into the joys of poetic sound. Therefore, because I believe there are always people for whom these joys will be news, I’m dedicating today’s post to a few of the poems I love to hear.
Feliz Cinco de Mayo
First let me start with a brief description of this day. Being of Mexican heritage, I’ve had to explain it on a regular basis. So, I thought I’d just give a quick rambling, if only to say: This day is not just about margaritas and tortilla chips (although I find nothing wrong with either of those things and hope to partake in both shortly).
The first thing that I find myself reminding people of is this: Cinco de Mayo is NOT Mexico’s Independence Day (which is actually September 16th or midnight of the 15th depending one what you’re reading). Instead, it is in celebration of the day, May 5th, 1862, when 4,000 members of the Mexican Militia defeated 8,000 members of the French army in the town of Puebla. (Napoleon wanted to take over and install Maximilian as ruler of Mexico).
I didn’t have one of those blissed out pregnancies that some women do, but I did love my pre-natal yoga class. Besides the fact that it was good exercise and good relaxation, I got to go be pregnant with a bunch of other pregnant ladies. The first part of the class was spent saying how we felt, so the teacher could gear the class to what ailed us. One time everybody started saying what they refused to give up. The woman with tattoos wasn’t giving up sushi. The carpenter wasn’t giving up manicures. I refused to give up soft cheese. Camembert every day was my motto. (I also drank coffee and a glass of wine a day, and Maisie came out fine, of course.) Then we did the poses and vinyasas modified to accommodate our large bellies and got lots of energy and the kinks in our necks dekinked.
The only drawback of the class for me was that during the final relaxation, the teacher would read a poem. She’d let us commune with our fetuses, our third eyes and our narcissistic tendencies to our heart’s content for five minutes, and then, out with the poem, after which we were supposed to zone out again. Everyone else loved this part, but it drove me nuts. Prior to the poem I’d be going, “oh, no, here it comes.” Then she’d read Rumi. And my brain would start up. “Is that a good poem?” “Is that a good translation?” “What about the syntax?” “I wonder if you just switched those two words if it would work better.” We were supposed to meditate on what the poem said, and so of course I’d get onto my little mental soap-box and start railing against people who think of poems as mini-philosophy lectures. It was even worse if she picked a poem I liked. One time she read something by Wendell Berry which seemed perfectly made, a poem of great clarity. I was pleased by it. And when I hear a poem I like, I want to sit up, square my shoulders and get to work, not lie there melting into the ground.
I never relaxed until I got out of the room of warm soothing colors, away from the gentle supportive voice of the yoga teacher, the mystical truths of the poet, down into the street and the everyday world of bitchy, blissful prose.
Commenting on my post on Paradise Lost below, Bill Knott wrote
“…I used to listen via a walkperson to a tape of the
first couple books of PL as read by the British actor Anthony
Quayle,
but irritatingly he didn’t read the linebreaks which
made me usually snatch the earphones out in exasp.”
Yes, why are actors so often lousy readers of poetry?
I, too, have returned from AWP, exhausted by the experience. I fear that I have little to report of interest beyond the social gossip that such an occasion usually affords—but in the interest of generating some comments about audio-works of the avant-garde, I am going to include the links to the works on my playlist for the panel entitled “Listen to This”—a panel originally advertised to include Kenneth Goldsmith, the proprietor of UbuWeb, but that instead has included me, serving as his avatar. I believe that my selections evoke the spirit of his website, and I encourage you to check them out….
—————–

Last Friday I had the privilege of sitting as one of the guest judges at the final round of the All Girl Poetry Slam. Sponsored by Girlstory, a multi-cultural, multi-generational women’s writing collective (and an organization created out a residency at another important arts organization, Community Word Project), this venue is all about fostering girl power, and the December 14 event determined the poetry slam team on its way to the Brave New Voices Poetry Slam this summer in Washington D.C.

Approximately a month ago, around the end of September, I flew to Bergen, Norway, in order to perform at the Audiatur Festival—a multilingual extravaganza for the avant-garde, at which many celebrated performers of both phonically-based poetry and constraint-based poetry attended, including the likes of Tomomi Adachi (from Japan), Caroline Bergvall (from Britain), Leevi Lehto (from Finland), and Jacques Roubaud (from France).
Organizers of the event have now made available, online, many of the audiovisual recordings from the event….
Thom Donovan
Bhanu Kapil
Fred Moten
Craig Santos Perez
Sina Queyras
Sotère Torregian
Cathy Halley
Michael Marcinkowski
Travis Nichols
Fred Sasaki
Don Share
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