Saturday, November 21, 2015

"He arrived attired in well-worn high-top sneakers, jeans whose major characteristic was that they looked comfortable, and a sports coat whose better days had been years before. He carried what must have been the world's largest jock bag, crammed with newly-purchased bottles of wine that did not quite fit into the zippered closing. He sat down behind a long table with the other writers and managed to behave conventionally for about half the discussion. Then, apparently able to stay put no longer, he leapt up, walked around to the front of the table to be closer to the audience, and paced back and forth, gesturing and talking. The other three writers (none exactly shrinking violets) tried to interrupt but finally lapsed into what might have been either respectful or overwhelmed silence. It was one of the most extraordinary performances I have ever seen."
Thursday, November 19, 2015

By the blue
Purple yellow red water
On the green
Purple yellow red grass,
As we pass
Through arrangements of shadows
Towards the verticals of trees

By the blue
Purple yellow red water
On the green
Orange violet mass
Of the grass

In our perfect park
Made of flecks of light
And dark

And parasols

People strolling through the trees
Of a small suburban park
On an island in the river
On an ordinary Sunday....

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Islands in the Stream

"So they were childish and childlike. Forgive them. They wrote a dozen of the finest songs of the twentieth century. The Bee Gees were children of the world."


"This airtight upbringing informed their insularity, their prickly, defensive behavior, and many of their deeply strange early recordings: songs like 'Holiday' (no. 11, ’67) and 'I Started a Joke' (no. 6, ’68) suggest they were beamed down from another planet, aliens who had been given tiny scraps of information about what pop music was all about and were bravely trying to piece it together."

Everyone assumes that I would naturally sing Steely Dan songs at karaoke, but the few songs available to my (incredibly limited) vocal range basically consist of "I Started a Joke," Barry/Barbara's "Guilty,"  & "Fanny."  (Also James Blunt's "You're Beautiful," about which the less said the better)

Reading Chris Nealon's Heteronomy -- the first contemporary poetry to click with me since Parkway -- & here's his new chapbook The Virtuous Ones, free, a gift, & it seems that he loved Pete too:

Peter Culley I thought you should know —

The day after you died I took Parkway with me into the woods

     Or, well ... it was Rock Creek Park 

I fell asleep contentedly beneath a tree, around the halfway point —

I wasn’t dreaming quite — my sleep was not that deep — 

But in the quiet I could hear you approach

I heard you telling me that you’d liked reading backwards, as a child

I felt you were describing, in case I wanted to try it, how you’d
     learned to write those lines like brushed-up nap on a trampled
          carpet, fresh again —

     You know I’ll never have your mad skills

But I’m taking you with me into the woods

Monday, November 16, 2015

Barry Gibb, "Heartbreaker" (Demo for Dionne Warwick)

Relevant to the next exhibition's pictures.

"Not one of them explained how an artist can be said to intrude on her own invention." (George Bowering, probably misremembered, on Ethel Wilson)

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