My review of John Olson’s novel In Advance of the Broken Justy (Quale Press, 2016) is in Talisman: A Journal of Contemporary Poetry and Poetics 45 (2017). The issue also has new work by Olson–here’s a brief excerpt: “Sometimes the future arrives yesterday and yesterday hatches out of a tired eyelid. The clouds pulse with lightning and rain glistens on the prairie grass. A residual emotion stumbles through my blood searching for resolution. I pull on a sweater and assemble a piece of water. Whatever you happen to see swaying and rotating is my interior. It does that whenever the wind is from the north.”
779. Poetic Boundaries and Crises in the Present
A special session
Presiding: Melissa Parrish, Rutgers Univ., New Brunswick
Speakers: Keith D. Leonard, American Univ.; Michael Leong, Univ. at Albany, State Univ. of New York; Philip John Metres III, John Carroll Univ.; Sonya Posmentier, New York Univ.; Margaret Ronda, Univ. of California, Davis; Evie Shockley, Rutgers Univ., New Brunswick
Focusing on the intersection of cultural studies and poetic theory, panelists ask how the convergence of cultural crises in the present reflects conflict and change in American poetry’s forms, themes, and place in critical conversation.
Ecopoetics Today: A Reading and Discussion with Evelyn Reilly and James Sherry (November 29th, 7:00pm)•November 28, 2016 • Leave a Comment
The University at Albany, SUNY will be hosting poets Evelyn Reilly and James Sherry tomorrow evening in conjunction with the University Art Museum’s exhibition “Future Perfect: Picturing the Anthropocene,” curated by Danny Goodwin, Janet Riker, and Corinna Ripps Schaming.
If you’re in the area, I hope you can make it.
Ecopoetics Today: A Reading and Discussion with Evelyn Reilly and James Sherry
Moderator, Michael Leong, Assistant Professor, Department of English
Tuesday, November 29, 7:00pm
University Art Museum
Evelyn Reilly has written three books that attempt to manifest a poetics of the Anthropocene: Styrofoam (2009) and Apocalypso (2012), both published by Roof Books, and Self, portions of which have appeared in Pallaksch and are soon to appear in Big Energy Poets of the Anthropocene, edited by Heidi Lynn Staples and Amy King. Her poetry has been published in many journals and anthologies, including The Arcadia Project: Postmodernism and the Pastoral; The & NOW Awards 2: The Best Innovative Writing; In|Filtration: A Hudson Valley Salt Line; and will be included in the forthcoming Earth Bound: Compass Points for an Ecopoetics, edited by Jonathan Skinner.
James Sherry is the author of 12 books of poetry and prose. He has been writing about language and environment since the late 1980s, publishing Our Nuclear Heritage (1991) and Oops! Environmental Poetics (2014) in an effort to link humanity and nature as a single complex entity. His latest book, Entangled Bank (2016), is a series of poems emerging from Darwinian language and structures. Sherry is the publisher of Roof Books and started the Segue Foundation in 1977 in New York City.
Below is a short excerpt from Reilly’s deliciously dystopian Apocalypso:
from “Dreamquest Malware”
Time stamp: ZMT 80002
Report from build site: 3 (one of the originals)
The signal is so sticky with procedure dreck
we grow desperate
for dislocation lubricant
Yet today we completed
2 fulfillment interstices
and 6 perfusion upsinks
after which it took hours to adjust
the nose cone of rampant grief
We have now pried countless tender chordate features
from the slab encasement
105 translation blockages
79 embedded snares
And here is a poem from Sherry’s Entangled Bank (2016), just out from Chax:
Mote Removal: Clean Speak
Tidy the noise.
Unclog the glottis.
She speaks louder
Than an extra blanket.
What are we writing for
If not gelato?
It’s over there
With the broom she used
To sweep the jelly up.
I cannot believe I’ve been engaged
In such extraordinary logic.
What then is the ensuing tragedy
When evidence for naturalism sustains
But a bust of Progress on Pegasus
Or sad boys hanging out in redwoods?
Silence passes between us.
I cannot; will not; no no no!
Resistance is futile, fungible
And trains us to consume.
You make me feel like a natural
Appendix at the back of the memorandum
To museum employees
Against levity in the office,
Inspiring aphorism and animated hadiths,
Lived and livid examples of hominid creativity.
There are people willing to speak out for those Americans
Who suffer from the effects of Good Riddance Day
And the Civic Health Index.
It’s a perfect standard,
But what are the facts?
They don’t stop the reflux of sorrow.
And my signature, trenchant with suppose,
Conveys millions of Turks to clean their buckets
Into the cannibalistic debacle of Syria.
Where must we collapse to change?
Can we think of ourselves differently?
Intensely special in the singular,
Drama creeps into his whimper
Of compliance. How far,
She asked, can I get from myself
Before I am we.
I think of the endless
Survivor luncheons fondly.
To support the interests of those who cannot speak
For themselves, the future is now.
Organ vendor families like Laden and Emaar
Start as discreet poseur neophytes.
Speaking in intelligible words
Instead of tongues builds a following.
How Baba suffered for a devotee’s sake.
“Neither could she speak or call,”
While daring to ululate for her rights,
Li’l ole’ me showing proper gratitude on the home front,
A human rights competency.
Singing and joking abruptly all stopped
The air in both directions.
I believe these extreme and gruesome crimes
Against the self, however much they abuse my interest,
Although I cannot utter it in polite company,
Their testament hits me on the head.
They clean up entire streets
With great white tunes for little revolts of the spirit,
Whether you’re dealing with
(how you deal with (dealing with (dealt with))) inclusion
Or scouring the litterbox for phrases.
It’s our duty to remember and commemorate these events.
She extracted a clean, white, cambric handkerchief
And began to weep. “The gravel
On my driveway is always choked with grass.”
My review-essay “Testing Form: Novels by Alejandro Zambra and Matías Celedón,” which analyzes Zambra’s Multiple Choice (Penguin Books, 2016) and Celedón’s The Subsidiary (Melville House, 2016), is up at Hyperallergic Weekend.
“Thinking of writing a poem is not a poem,” says Maurizio Ferraris in Documentality: Why It Is Necessary to Leave Traces, tr. Richard Davies (Fordham UP, 2015).
On the other hand, Darren Wershler-Henry’s conceptualist classic The Tapeworm Foundry (2000) is a prose poem that consists of a relentless stream of robust and fecund thinking about various poetic, literary, and artistic projects. Here’s an excerpt from the beginning:
compose a love poem called charged particles in which each line consists of a single word ending in the suffix ion andor stick a stamp on your forehead and then pull a mailbag over your eyes before you begin to recite andor work on a poem attempting to emulate gansers syndrome wherein a person responds to emotionally difficult questions with evasive answers andor address the united nations with your intentions andor write an encyclopedic novel about a whale but maintain throughout that the whale is a fish not a mammal andor write a series of haiku about barrett watten and bruce andrews and lyn hejinian but sign it using the pseudonym lang po
The Tapeworm Foundry is a brilliant book that, indeed, presages my 2012 Cutting Time with a Knife: “write a prose poem for each element on the periodic table and then assemble more complex texts by combining them in a manner analogous to the molecular structure of your favourite compounds.” I could have used that quote as an epigraph.
Wershler-Henry also presages Christian Bök’s The Xenotext Project, surely one of the most rigorously interdisciplinary poetry projects in recent memory: “scrawl graffiti all over someone elses liberal utopia andor encode it in a helix of dna.”
“Poetry for the Apocalypse,” my review of Bök’s The Xenotext: Book 1 (Coach House, 2015) has just appeared today in the digital edition of the July/August issue of American Scientist. This is how it begins:
Affectionately nicknamed “Conan the Bacterium,” Deinococcus radiodurans, a so-called polyextremophile, has an uncanny ability to rapidly repair damage to its genome. As a result, it can resist the most hostile conditions, from drought to radiation to acid baths to a Martian atmosphere. And if Canadian conceptual poet Christian Bök has his way, it will compose verse that will outlive our Sun.
Bök has earned a reputation for conducting extremely difficult poetic experiments and executing them with technical wizardry. In his award-winning 2001 bestseller Eunoia, for example, he uses only a single vowel in each chapter, a constraint that produces a form known as a univocalic. The first section is composed of words that include no vowels other than a, the second includes no vowels other than e, and so on. To build an appropriate lexicon for this demanding work, Bök read through Webster’s Third International Unabridged Dictionary five times and spent six years writing. His latest poetic challenge takes him into trickier and more technically specialized territory. Taking on the very perishability of text, Bök has devised a novel solution: In composing his verse, he is employing the medium of life itself.
My review of Dorothy J. Wang’s Thinking Its Presence: Form, Race, and Subjectivity in Contemporary Asian American Poetry is in the latest issue of Contemporary Literature.
This is from the beginning:
There is a curious scene in Scott Derrickson’s 2008 remake of the sci-fi classic The Day the Earth Stood Still in which issues of race, foreignness, linguistic difference, and the extraterrestrial entangle. The newly arrived alien Klaatu (played by Keanu Reeves) visits a McDonald’s restaurant in human guise to meet alien sleeper agent Mr. Wu (played by James Hong).The conversation begins in Mandarin as the aliens discuss humans’ destructive and stubborn nature; they decide that their mission to save the planet by exterminating humanity should proceed. “Any attempt to intercede would be futile,” says Wu, who has been living on Earth for seventy years; “they won’t change.” The dialogue shifts into English as Wu announces—against Klaatu’s protestation—that he prefers to remain on Earth and die, as he has come to love humanity despite its shortcomings. The racial and linguistic coding of the scene is unmistakable: for Wu and Klaatu, who are phenotypically legible as Asian and Eurasian, Chinese is the uncompromising and bellicose language of alterity, while English, as a discursive medium for reflective, even poetic, sensitivity, humanizes them. “Human life is difficult. But as this life is coming to an end, I consider myself lucky to have lived it,” says Wu in his final lines of the scene.
Derrickson’s film underscores the fact that Asianness in America, whether manifested racially or linguistically, has been, and still is, associated with the threatening, radically distant, or duplicitous, a point that recurs throughout Dorothy J. Wang’s important book Thinking Its Presence: Form, Race, and Subjectivity in Contemporary Asian American Poetry…
An excerpt from my manuscript-in-progress “Disorientations” just appeared in Jim Goar’s excellent e-journal past simple.
“Disorientations” collages together—and so “disorients”—two postmodern Orientalist texts: Kent Johnson’s Doubled Flowering: From the Notebooks of Araki Yasusada, a yellowface simulation of hibakusha literature, and Roland Barthes’s Empire of Signs, a semiotic treatise based on an invented system Barthes calls “Japan.”