Cami Park

Posts Tagged ‘Birds’

No Tell Books: God Damsel, by Reb Livingston

In Opinion, Poetry, Religion on September 3, 2010 at 6:48 pm

You withstood distance, you cannot withstand bareness.
Reb Livingston, from THE DEATH OF WOE-DODO

God Damsel, by Reb Livingston

God Damsel is a religion constructed, deconstructed, and then reconstructed by Reb Livingston in 121 Prophecies, Litanies, Spells, Hymns, Proverbs, Laments, Chronicles, and other poetics.  At Poetry Instigator last October, Reb described God Damsel as a collection of “translations of translations of religious texts,” defining her translation process as “whatever my mind churned out,” and her mind churns out some amazing and inventive butter– Reb Livingston does things to language that probably should not be discussed in polite conversation:

Lament for Forfeited Details

revealed . . .
. . . of slumscored . . . Gigolo . . . . . . . . mauled his
seebitty snout . . . yanked her buttery seabangs . . .
abdicate this fucktruce!

This is a collection in which structure matters; the book is constructed in such a way that the mythology develops and matures as figures such as Damsel, Woe-Dodo, Fishyman, Czarina, Apron, Gigolo,  Shepherd and GOURD are introduced, allowing the language, the humor, the pure lyricism and imagination of the individual works to carry the reader, as collectively they add up to  a complete, resonant mythology.

I am enthralled by and in awe of this work– God Damsel is innovative and utterly fearless in its treatment of language, yet completely accessible, and funny as hell. A superb accomplishment.

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No Tell Books: Cadaver Dogs, by Rebecca Loudon

In Photography, Poetry, Sex on September 2, 2010 at 7:28 am

This instruction is holy.
Rebecca Loudon, from ROMANCE #1 IN G MINOR

Cadaver Dogs, by Rebecca Loudon

Cadaver Dogs is the rib  Adam never forgot.
Cadaver Dogs is your outside voice, inside. Having sex.
Cadaver Dogs will not self-medicate.
Cadaver Dogs is a chalk outline on asphalt. Children are nearby.
Cadaver Dogs is not a right, it’s a necessity.
Cadaver Dogs is the wheel that came off the trolley and landed in your soup. Small trolley, big soup.
Cadaver Dogs is female.
Cadaver Dogs is not blameless.
Cadaver Dogs tells secrets
is relentless
knows you like your skin
Cadaver Dogs is an anatomist’s waking dream.
Cadaver Dogs wants you.
Cadaver Dogs won’t tell anyone, will tell everyone, requires hydration, could compromise well-being.
Cadaver Dogs is sacred.
Cadaver Dogs cannot be ignored.

No Tell Books: Personationskin, by Karl Parker

In Confessional, Opinion, Poetry on September 1, 2010 at 11:00 am

My accomplice is an animal, that’s why I often have an animal’s head.
Karl Parker, from DESERT PLACE

Personationskin, by Karl Parker

Not everyone has the ability to bring us into their heads, but Karl Parker does, and it is a trippy, animalistic place. At 130 pages, Personationskin is a substantial book of poetry, and the poems within are successively, often simultaneously, apocalyptic, tender, naturistic, fantastical.

For instance, the fantastical and tender A Hospital-Bird describes the effect on hospital patients of the visit of  A large bird wearing a hospital gown as the sick ones grew less tired, less borne down upon.  This poem ends with a humorous, suitably understated discovery, which I wouldn’t spoil for the world.

Fog At Morning is at once apocalyptic and somewhat naturistic as it juxtaposes zombies and fog, again, humorously, yet tenderly, sadly:

Zombies appear in the mist.
They take you to the mall, where they make you try on clothes.

These are just two examples, but these poems are often skillfully hitting on multiple cylinders.

Read the rest of this entry »

A moment

In Confessional, How to, Poetry on August 27, 2010 at 12:53 pm

I have 3 pieces in the new Artifice (#2), coming out in October.

Never piss off a poet, unless you want them to give you free books. Reb Livingston lets us know in no uncertain terms that reviewing poetry books is good, and then seriously backs that shit up. I am so on board, and will be reviewing Laurel Snyder‘s The Myth of the Simple Machines for Galatea Resurrects. Besides Galatea, there are quite a few places that solicit reviews of poetry books, even aside from posting on your own blog or website. I’ve listed a few below, but there are many more:

Boxcar Poetry Review first run books only, no chapbooks
Rain Taxi
The American Poetry Journal
Rattle
The Quarterly Conversation
Broken Pencil as of 8/5, seeking reviews of small press poetry book titles
Valparaiso Poetry Review

This seems like as good a time as any to announce my plan to review a poetry book a day in September. I have bunch of books stacked up, waiting to be talked about, and had planned to do this for National Poetry Month in April, but then life went crazy. Things have settled down now, and I can. I only have about half a month’s worth of books, though, so I’ll do it until I run out, unless anybody has something they’d like me to review to fill out the month, in which case I can do that. They’ll probably all be good, don’t worry. Some better than others, though.

The Answer to the Puzzle
Laurel Snyder

The answer to the puzzle
is the mauled bird on the sidewalk,
and the feathers.

The answer to the puzzle
is that things keep getting less lovely,
but more interesting.

When the girl falls
through the air from the top
of a very tall building,

she sees everything
rush past her in great detail
but with little promise.

Onlookers see, “Some girl
cutting through the air
like a knife cuts through water.”

They gasp and say, “How terrible.
That poor girl. It’s just awful.”
And it really is. A moment.

Beehive is sick of all your poetry bullshit

In Photography, Poetry, Science on March 8, 2010 at 7:54 pm

Beehive Magazine has sent out a new call for submissions, and it goes a little something like this:

We need stuff to publish on the website and we are sick of all your poetry bullshit.

Here are the new guidelines:

If you think your piece of writing is profound or beautiful or zen or ironically unimportant or whatever, we don’t want it.

What Beehive is seeking is the stupidest irrelevant bullshit you have ever written/drawn/taken a picture of (whatevs). This means your dumb drawings during class, the syntaxy drippings of your blacked-out mind, space aliens, blood splatter, stuff you obviously didn’t write, pictures of your children (or other people’s children), pornography, scanned objects, failed craigslist ads, essays with all your teacher’s corrections scribbled on top, a list of all your bathroom contents, blueprints, schematics, graphs, charts, crayon drawings.

Really just anything you don’t care about.

The deadline is right now.

Sounds good. I like a lot of the stuff they have already, by folks like Alexandra Lukens, Michelle Puckett, Alexandra Ran, Kyle Hemmings, and especially Theresa Stefeniak of which I further post a sample:

Disfortunate
Theresa Stefaniak

tell me about your osmosis

about getting gobbled up by weather

I want to breathe wet

a slight chance of rain showers

in the end, bacon won the prize

katana swords make men (into) dinner

he’s going to bring cool catness back

baby loves digable planets

what about the assemblage of gingerbread?

Shakespeare takes a brand new job

if nothing foes wrong against horse thieves

or the dignified quality of an opera box

the Adult Services of a California blonde

indulge & unwind- New York Style

Follow, follow, follow

In Art, Film, Music on February 25, 2010 at 1:21 am

Vodpod videos no longer available.
Destino, a Salvador Dali/Walt Disney production.

Get out of the bullet

In Philosophy, Photography, Prose on February 24, 2010 at 8:46 am

The Dove
Djuna Barnes

THE DOVE: There are enough people preventing things, aren’t there?
VERA: Yes — that’s why you frighten me.
THE DOVE: Because I let everything go on, as far as it can go?
VERA: Yes, because you disturb nothing.
THE DOVE: I see.
VERA: You never meddle —
THE DOVE: No, I never meddle.
VERA: You don’t even observe as other people do, you don’t watch. Why, if I were to come up to you, wringing my hands saying, “Amelia has shot herself,” I don’t believe you would stand up.
THE DOVE: No, I don’t suppose I would, but I would do something for all that.
VERA: What?
THE DOVE: I should want to be very sure you wrung your hands as much as possible, and that Amelia had gotten all there was to get out of the bullet before she died.

Heart like a hot potato

In Drama, Film, Music on February 15, 2010 at 7:39 pm

Vodpod videos no longer available.Ramona Falls, I Say Fever

Preference of corners

In Art, Film, Prose on February 7, 2010 at 12:26 pm

I don’t believe a good poet is very often deliberately obscure. A poet writes in a way necessary to him or her; the reader may then find the poem difficult.Lydia Davis

Animation by Donna K. of a single sentence from The Cows by Lydia Davis, produced by Electric Literature.

Bird Girl

In Art, Drama, Fashion on February 1, 2010 at 9:28 am

Colette Calascione