my "beings punctual" reworked
Deep thanks, amigo.
today / the postman / tomorrow the world
There are certain physical characteristics you saw in your parents as they aged that you knew you would inherit. The hair colour you shared with your mother, how it would fade. The pattern of the thinning of your father's hair, & the extent of it—good to know that when he died in his nineties he still had plenty of it. The skin blemishes, the way lines formed on their faces. Your father's shoulder slump that you also share.
But it is a poem I feel I have most grown into, unshaped by genetic inheritance. One I came across more than forty-five years ago, that moved me then, that spoke to the inner me in a way I had never experienced. I do not know if it was some sort of premonition or whether it became some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy but it is the poem that I have most inhabited, that has most inhabited me, over all the inter-vening years. & even though I have read much that I have liked / loved since then, even though I have written much in which I expose or privately see parts of me I would have preferred remained hidden, it still remains for me the poem.
I am a man with no ambitions
And few friends, wholly incapable
Of making a living, growing no
Younger, fugitive from some just doom.
Lonely, ill-clothed, what does it matter?
At midnight I make myself a jug
Of hot white wine and cardamon seeds.
In a torn grey robe and old beret,
I sit in the cold writing poems,
Drawing nudes on the crooked margins,
Copulating with sixteen year old
Nymphomaniacs of my imagination.
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It is as if I am walking underwater, or, rather, not walking, since the tide I am pushing against is not strong enough to drive me back but too strong to allow me to progress. My lungs ache, my head beats, my heart does nothing—the other two appurtenances have subsumed its activities. I am swathed in water. They are lining up terracotta poems in channels on both sides of me.
"The formality is not dry or overworked, the occasionality never sentimental or gratuit. In this way, the two aspects harmonize one another: they exist, not only together, but with an extraordinary complementarity. It is perhaps for this reason that Young’s poetry seems almost more comfortable with itself — with its status as well as with what it has to say — than much of the poetry of the New Americans which constitutes its vital, and readily declared, lineage.
"The same type of intriguing reconciliation between form and occasion also occurs in the tone of this poetic. There has always been, for me, a strangely almost cosmopolitan flair to Mark Young’s poems — the sophisticated frime of a repressed flâneur — which sits intriguingly next to the down-to-earth pragmatism. To watch him one moment lunch with O’Hara, converse with Magritte, then dream with Bosch, is to experience the breadth, not so much of influences, but of interests and of an intelligence. Also, and just as for O’Hara, Berrigan or Rexroth, there is something sly, and darkly astute, to Young’s plays at insouciance. Every clever click of the lexical fingers or flick of the grammatical wrist carries beneath it an undertone: an analytic, and often political, force."
"These poems, read together in this excellently selected book, speak and sing to and of and with each other. Their humor and humanity, frankness and wealth of example and reference work together to create an appetite of readerly curiosity to want to keep reading and thinking, laughing, and connecting, and with this a desire to get to know the poet more, to come back to particular poems more and more."
MarketThe obvious response is what market? I've previously outlined some of my thoughts on this in response to Eileen Tabios' questionnaire about book-buying habits. But one thing I noted in the fuller responses she published was the high percentage of books bought that were selected or collected volumes especially by authors with a longtime reputation. New books by newish authors didn't show up much. Additionally, I am limited to direct selling via Lulu. My non-U.S. resident status & lack of a U.S. bank account mean that places like Amazon or Barnes & Noble are out; I refuse to go through SPD because their markup means that the books would be —to me, at least— overpriced, especially those that use color; & if I set the selling price at what I thought reasonable, I'd lose money on everything I sold through them. Plus, 50 copies of, say, seven books per round, paid for up front because that's the way print on demand publishing works, even for the publisher, would be a total impost I couldn't afford. & booksellers? These days they work on sale or return, consignment stock in other words.
EconomicsIf I followed the—what seems—normal route of many small presses, that is, publish a book & that's the end of the story—should the author want copies, s/he has to buy them—then I wouldn't have any problems. There'd be no expenditure. But, even though I don't pay royalties, I do give the author a number of copies, the number varying on the basic cost of the book, they get proof copies to check, they can buy any additional copies they want at a significant discount, the cover artist gets copies, I pay for the ISBN. So, adding all that up, I have to sell quite a few copies to recoup my costs. So far, I think I've broken even on roughly 15% of the titles I've sold & they have all been relatively low-cost productions where the author(s) have done their own p.r. & now, the exchange rates being what they are at present, the $AUS is currently worth less than cUS80 so that a $10 book converts to $12.50 in local currency plus I get slugged an additional credit card charge because the transaction was in a foreign currency.
GeographySo the distances are, Galatea. I would love to keep copies & sell directly as an additional avenue. But whatever market there is is primarily in the U.S.A. & supplying it by this methodology would mean a couple of trips across the Pacific for a book, & the postage is horrific. As well as that, if I was paid by check for a book, it now costs me $15 per check for the foreign exchange conversion, even if the check is for less than that. Forget about it.
E-X-C-H-A-N-G-E-V-A-L-U-E-S: The Final XIV Interviews + One
Tom Beckett (curator)
$19.95 + p&h
The Evolution of Mirrors
$12.50 + p&h
When You Bit...
$12.50 + p&h
$13.50 + p&h
$13.50 + p&h
Tales From The Hinterland
Cover design by Mary Ellen Derwis & Joe Balaz
$10.00 + p&h
Marilyn R. Rosenberg
56 pages, full color, 9" wide x 7" high, coil bound
$19.95 + p&h
"The Federal Health Minister says Australia's midwifery services need to be updated because the nation is on the cusp of a small baby boom."
"Ramingining is a small, remote community in Central Arnhem Land located some 400 kms east of Darwin and nearly 30 kms from the Arafura Sea. The tract of land upon which Ramingining township is built, is owned by the Djadawitjibi people of the Djinang group.
Their principal creative being is Garrtjambal, the Red Kangaroo. Travelling from the south-east in the Roper River region across the mainland and over to Milingimbi, Garrtjambal links all the land-owning groups in the region.
The name Bula'bula was selected in 1989 by local artists for their co-operative as it refers to the message embodied in the song-cycle of Garrtjambal's journey from Roper River to the Ramingining region. More literally, Bula'bula translates as the tongue, or voice of the kangaroo."
Scientists will conduct the world's greatest ever particle physics experiment, a historic "Big Bang" experiment, on Wednesday 10 September, hoping to revolutionize our understanding of the universe, according to media reports.
In the 6.4 billion euro (9.2 billion U.S. dollars) CERN experiment to be conducted inside an 27-km tunnel deep beneath the French-Swiss border, scientists hope to detect evidence of extra dimensions, invisible "dark matter" and an elusive particle called the "Higgs boson."
"Higgs boson," named after Scottish physicist Peter Higgs who in 1964 pointed to such a particle as the force that gave mass to matter and made the universe possible.
Scientists plan to smash particle beams together at close to the speed of light inside CERN's tightly-sealed Large Hadron Collider to create multiple mini-versions of the primeval Big Bang, which occurred about 13.7 billion years ago and led to formation of stars, planets — and eventually to life on earth.
CERN scientists insist that while the collider is capable of creating black holes, they would be miniscule and incapable of growing.
"Each collision of a pair of protons in the LHC will release an amount of energy comparable to that of two colliding mosquitoes, so any black hole produced would be much smaller than those known to astrophysicists."
"You may have heard of Sarah Palin and her lack of experience with virtually anything having to do with national politics (except her talent in winning pork projects) and foreign relations. But she also doesn’t believe in evolution, which means that, in principle, [things like the Large Hadron Collider] cannot fit into her world view unless she actually thinks God designed the roseola virus into us rather than this being the product of a process of natural selection.
We don’t need a vice president or, should Senator McCain be elected and die in office, a president who disavows science. She insists Creationism be taught alongside evolution and opposes many forms of research based on her Biblical interpretations. The impact of a Palin presidency — or her influence within the administration as vice president — on U.S. research and development policy would be disastrous."
"The winner will be announced at the end of year Creative Writing soiree hosted by the Department of English (early-mid November 2008)."
& have gone outside to have a cigarette, & hear the Gumang, who have recently taken to sharing the lagoon at the bottom of the street with the pelicans, calling out in the night."One of the many species of birdlife on the swamp, the Gumang, or Magpie Goose (anseranus semipalmata), is a black & white native goose which, being a significant food source in times gone by, is an important part of some ceremony."
How I wish that "going up the road" meant something more than just going up the road.
That I could say "I'm going uptown" or "going downtown" & there would be something there that loosely corresponded to the appellations.
I wouldn't even mind if it was the Appalachians that they loosely corresponded to.
I'm going up the road to go to the bank. How I wish.....
I might look into the 2nd hand bookstore, where half the shelves are filled with Mills & Boon romantic novels, a quarter with war stories, a quarter with cowboy stories, just on the offchance that there might be a miscatalogued mystery story there I haven't read. How I wish.....
Or I might look into the 1st hand bookstore where the shelves are filled with books on sport & self-help & biographies. Where the detective stories are ones I don't want to read, or, if I do I've read them already, have got them from Amazon because if I didn't there's a good chance that they'd never get here because this is a franchised brand of bookshop which sort of equates to you'll never get a gourmet meal at McDonalds. There is never any poetry. Ballard is something you tie your boat up to. Ron Silliman? Don't be silly, man. How I wish.......
How I wish that there was something up the road that I could go to. Even just something up the road.
"Anyone listening to the convention will have heard the story of his intrepid conduct as an aviator and his great bravery when he was captive of the North Vietnamese. We and others have published several challenges to this story saying in fact that the narrative of McCain facing down his torturers is a lot of nonsense.
Actually McCain was saved by Vietnamese civilians and well cared for after his quite serious accident, descending after bombing civilians from his airplane.
There are allegations by people who shared his captivity that he received extremely favorable treatment and even allegations that he confided information to his captors which enabled them to respond more skillfully to American attacks."
"The main thing about McCain is that this reputation for being a maverick that he's built up is completely bogus. We've pointed this out many times on our website that he would rise up in the Senate and make a magnificent speech opposing earmarks (you go to Washington you want some money for your town or your state and you do some deal and you get the money - Miss Palin did that from Alaska, everybody does it.) Then McCain would give this fervent denunciation of villainy and outrage of an earmark and the special interest and then he'd go and the he'd sit down and vote for them. So it's all a complete bunch of nonsense.
Every now and again you see a black face popping up in this convention giving somehow the impression that there's some kind of diversity. Actually in the whole of that convention which is about 2500 delegates, there are precisely 36 black people; that's 1.5 percent.
The Democratic convention was genuinely diverse. You actually had about 25 percent African Americans. You had about 12 percent Hispanics. Everybody's admitting that this Republican convention is the whitest, oldest convention in Republican memory. But if you look at networks - particularly when they mention Obama, boom!, you see a black face. I must have looked at the same black guy about 150 times. The whole thing is a very very decorous theater. Nothing to do with political reality."
me the fifteen
of fame allotted
me by the
Made lunch. Chicken
korma, with coriander &
as he went, occasionally
adding a bit more spice
to suit his palate. Ate &
enjoyed it, finished off
with an informal cup
of tea, all the time brooding
on traditional Western
philosophy, its hierarchal
dualistic separation, binary
opposites, one privileged
over the other. How different
the meal had triggered the
train—from that of Eastern
cooking whose theory
& practice are relational:
practice informed by theory,
theory altered through
practice. The history of the
present served up en japonais.
It was the
name philosophers were
in the room.
he didn't under-
stand a word
A drunk man's words are often the disturbing thoughts of a sober man.
Who is going to cook dinner tonight, wash plates, change the baby's nappies?
The dialectical law of negation of the negation calls us to re-visit the historical context within which the Western myth of human rights is conceived.
Agendas enter the local context. Hollywood celebrities enter into pre-nuptial agreements. The ideal version of democracy is a fluid entity which we constantly construct, deconstruct , reconstruct.
A touch of the modern & it would not be at all acceptable.
Little plot, not much
action. Forty seven
epiphytes, grown up
in vitro, soliloquize
in turn on how to
seek revenge for the
death of a host they
never knew. A chorus
onstage with them,
eight little girls in
costume, four dressed
as birds, the rest as
butterflies, chanting the
sutras interwoven with
items from the latest
CNN news—a ban
on the use of soya
grown in deforested
areas of the Amazon, the
privatisation about to
rescue the airport from
bankruptcy, how rainforest
mahogany is currently
being imported into the
U.S. in clear violation of
Rain has always been
used in Indian cinema to
portray rejuvenation. The
butterflies seemed to fly
higher than the birds.