Showing posts with label Agnes Fox Press. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Agnes Fox Press. Show all posts

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Ongoing notes: the ottawa small press book fair, (part one,



[Jeannie Hoag and Brian Mihok, Sunnyoutside] The nineteenth anniversary edition of the ottawa small press book fair has come andgone, and a couple of reports have already been posted, including those by Amanda Earl, Pearl Pirie and Jessica Bebenek. Might we see you at the spring event? Give me another month or three, and I’ll most likely book it for May (possibly, depending on venue availability). There are a few other book fairs coming up, including Expozine in Montreal, Toronto's Meet the Presses, and another in Toronto (keep an eye on the small press book fair blog for information).

Buffalo NY: From Buffalo, came the Sunnyoutside table, hosted by two of their editors – Brian Mihok and Jeannie Hoag. Hoag had a small chapbook that she read from at the pre-fair event, her New Age of Ferociousness (Agnes Fox Press, 2010). 
















New York

There is much left to do.
People from New York
have increased chances of success.
I am not from New York.
I would consider this day
abnormally cold. How cold
it is today. How difficult
it is to leave home and
succeed.

The poems here are quirky, surreal, oddly funny and even confusing at times, and have the most wonderful titles, from “Touchless Car Wash” and “For So Long There Has Been a Monster” to “The Last Travel Plaza in Ohio” and “I Never Loved You, Connecticut.” Using straightforward lines, Hoag manages a series of accumulative twists and turns that are impossible to anticipate, and absolutely delightful to watch unfold. There are moments reminiscent of another Agnes Fox author, Hailey Higdon, for her own straightforward lines working quirky surrealism, and I could easily see Canadian poets such as Stuart Ross and Gary Barwin immediately connecting with some of these pieces. Given that this chapbook is a couple of years old, as is the collaborative work she did with Kyle McCord, Informal Invitation To A Traveler: Letters Between J.R. and Miss Kim (Gold Wake Press, 2011), I am very hoping that Hoag is working on something new.

Natalie Portman Is Smarter Than I

She has a mole on her left cheek
I have a mole on my left cheek
They are called beauty marks
and we both have them
She is in movies. I saw
Mel Gibson getting into a car
across from the Post Office
She doesn’t love my cat
the way I love my cat and
she doesn’t know my middle name
I don’t know hers but I could easily find it
Natalie Portman speaks five languages
That’s not me
I don’t know how she feels about Starbucks
but when I’m out of town
sometimes I patronize Starbucks.

Toronto ON: When Toronto writer Jessica Bebenek was here, she read from the pseudononymous duo she collaborated on with her partner, the writer Mark Jordan Manner. On Manner’s part was the prose-work “Novella: A Short Story by Kaz Adam Mason,” and Bebenek’s, the poetry chapbook “Until The Morning, by Novella Ebony Danger,” both self-published in 2013 under the “No One Gives A Fuck About Publishing” banner. The structure comes from the author of the poetry chapbook a character in the work of fiction. Paired together, the two halves of the fiction work quite well, and one of the best parts of the reading had to come from a haiku composed on their cat, from “Augustus Haikus”:

Bombs

dissonant meow
signaling your sphincter’s quake
bombs drop in the sand


Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Ongoing notes: late February, 2013



You probably already know that we were in Boca Raton, Florida recently [see my report on such here], but here’s another photograph from such. Our final morning on the beach, in the midst of a spitting rain, and high waves from the wind. Someone suggested that this might be a perfect cover for a Victorian-era novel. Wuthering Heights in South Florida?

Our pals William Hawkins and Greg “Ritalin” Frankson are receiving the first ever VERSeOttawa Hall of Honour Awards at a ceremony as part of the third annual VERSeFest, March 17, 2013. Congratulations to you both!

Oh Canadians, why do you send me so few chapbooks?

Atlanta; Philadelphia; Northampton; Jerusalem; Madison; New York: The only problem with a collective, is that you can’t tell where they’re situated. Perhaps this is their selling point. From the Agnes Fox Collective comes the short chapbook Luminous Terrene (January, 2013) by Matthew Gagnon. I’m taken already with any work that begins with a quote by French writer Emmanuel Hocquard. This ten page poem is composed as a generative abstract: generous, open, subtle and remarkable. This poem withholds more than it contains, and surprises as much as it reveals. I am intrigued by this work, and wonder if this is a single piece, or part of something larger.

            A gyre of minerals is visible from the outcrop, but can we really say we’d rally behind the visible?

            I won’t be extracted from a custom or assembled into the fold of a wave.

            A flock of fish is breathing on dry land. There’s nothing modern about the way we cook fish.

            An aggregate of water over a film of water. Do we tread the water’s timetable, survey the riptide’s antimony?

            Read the night as if the night is read, and in stoking the night, order it: punctuated.

            Fastened to the umbrage of what’s missing, my memory’s adrift in a receding tidemark.

Milwaukee MI: From plumberries press I received a couple of chapbooks, including Connor Strathman’s Some Were Awake (2011), chelsea tadeyeske and edwin r. perry’s suddenly you’re naked and wandering through pasturage, on the farthest point of the peninsula, they say, the form has failed. you’ve left so many of your things, left for more favorable destinations. (2011), cynthia spencer’s In what sequence will my parts exit (2011) and chelsea tadeyeske’s HEELDRAGGER (2012), as well as the fifth issue of Humble Humdrum Cotton Frock (summer 2012).

THE ONE ABOUT PUBLIC SPEAKING

A moron walks into a bar. He clinks a butterknife against a glass to get the room’s attention. He carries a butterknife always, in a special handmade holster. Night is the most mysterious time of day, he says. It’s 11:30 a.m. Like I said, he’s a moron. Stupid women are at least attractive; this guy’s only funny on accident. You would not exchange the word “love” for “power” in the adage “It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all,” but the moron would. Somebody told him that “verb” means “word” and he interpreted this too broadly. Luckily, the moron lacks all capacity for embarrassment. You have to learn shame, along with algebra and how to hug. The moron loosens his tie. He’s on his way to a funeral. (kathleen rooney and elisa gabbert, Humble Humdrum Cotton Frock)

There is something about the simple yet attractive design and production that appeals, and some of the work as well, despite being highly uneven. Even in the collaborative poem by kathleen rooney and elisa gabbert, there are some striking lines and images, in a piece that otherwise could use some editing, and time. There is something reminiscent here of Carleton University’s In/Words [see my recent article on them here], of a group of young writers producing and encouraging and publishing, a number of which just aren’t there yet, but are awfully close. Not there yet, but worth watching, to see for when they do.

The smell of the street
is now dusted in static

Salt lips and naked leaf
buoying in the sprung wind

court of lightning window
            you lick your teeth

shows the image
of towels hung

on the ledges
Give me a heart of cloth

and a limit of tin
to protect it from the rain (Connor Strathman, Some Were Awake)


Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Ongoing notes: late July, 2011

Can you believe it? I've already started going through manuscripts as part of my ongoing editing services, and it's working beautifully. Already have space for more.

We're possibly off to the Glengarry Highland Games this weekend; might I see any of you there? I'll probably be in the beer tent, when not visiting the Clan Building; but really, McNair should witness the actual “games” themselves, don't you think?

Denver CO: It seemed as though it took forever, but I finally received a copy of Philadelphia poet Hailey Higdon's [see her 12 or 20 questions here] chapbook, HOW TO GROW ALMOST EVERYTHING (Agnes Fox Press, 2011), an 11 x 8 ½ size work (produced in a numbered edition of one hundred) that includes the lovely letterpressed piece I originally read of hers, “I wrestle home the papers” [see my note on such here]. 

I like the flow of Higdon's thoughtful, longer lines, and the meditative qualities. Is this a meditative tract or an instruction booklet, writing: “I invest in water in overpasses over water // in pools puddles pollen in pool puddles // and I don't believe that rapport has anything to do with friendship // more with the zoology, and the character struggles of animals on this planet.” (“I WAS BORN YELLOW”). 

Her use of repetition, as well, is quite compelling, and it makes me wonder how these pieces might sound out loud, the rhythm of her lines echoing a deceptive lull before another critical, twisted pull, another thoughtful punch.
No pressure. Stop taking yourself so seriously. Let me make the plans.

Put good thoughts on paper, put good ideas on paper.
Put good thoughts on paper, put good ideas on paper.

Brides wrap the park. I say, get them moved. (from “OH HAILEY POOR HAILEY”)
The poem titles by themselves are pretty entertaining as well, including such as “I WAS BORN YELLOW,” “IF YOU MISS KUDZU YOU MUST BE REALLY FAR FROM HOME,” “DIDN'T LET NOBODY TAKE YOU TO THE CLEANERS DID YOU, HAILEY?” and “AND WHERE IS THE MAN WHO DIRECTS THE SUNLIGHT MACHINE?,” that ends with:
What is important to the sheep when the sheep is solitary?
What the fuck is important to the sheep when the sheep is solitary?

AND I

Remember the time the Asian lady was trapped in her own dry cleaning business?

AND

Remember the time the Asian lady was trapped in her own dry cleaning business?


She knocked on the glass to me. CALLING ME. ME.

And I know today is somebody's birthday.

Somebody's baby was born.

I just can't remember if the baby was important.

Philadelphia PA: Published as part of Brian Teare's Albion Books Third Series is Jonathan Skinner's poetry chapbook Warblers (2010), a small cadence of poems for different types of birds. Considered an eco-poet, merging poetry and ecology, Skinner edits ecopoetics, found here.
Canada
Wilsonia canadensis

to trip it sift through seeds like this
gray coast in thicket
don't believe it when you see
somebody's yellow-breasted
necklace, edges of spectacles
the architecture's soft
drupes lifted, how truly
have you seen something
inquisitive zancos a
shack on stilts called
Kootenay's perspex on Paris
staccato, even, irregular
cresting curlicue lips
the neobaroco sea is livid
I'm intrigued by what Skinner is doing in this collection, and even further intrigued by the note at the back of the collection, writing a wonderful acknowledgment of how the collection was conceived and constructed, citing influences per poem, and/or borrowed/altered texts, writing:
Most Warblers emerge from the following limiting factors:

1) ACQUAINTANCE: add the bird to your “life list” before writing; 2) VOICE: listen to the bird's song, translating its rhythm and pitches; 3) PLUMAGE: note the bird's color and pattern; 4) BEHAVIOUR: attend to habitat and details of foraging, breeding, nesting and migration; 5) RANGE: name a far away place, since warblers link humans across hemispheres; 6) LANGUAGES: include words from poets writing in the North as well as the South—warblers feed on both sides of the border; 7) NONSENSE: acknowledge that warblers are restless, hard to see, and give you a crick in the neck.

Warbler diets: BLACK-THROATED GREEN: Michael Kelleher/Soleida Rios; CANADA: Lisa Robertson/José Lezama Lima; HOODED: Robert Kocik/Dolores Dorantes; NORTHERN PARULA: Benjamin Friedlander/Gonzalo Rojas; MAGNOLIA: Lisa Jarnot/Tamara Karmenszain; MYRTLE: Peter Gizzi/Antonio Jose Ponte; PALM: Jennifer Moxley/Petro Marques de Armas; PINE: Tom Raworth/Nicole Brossard.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

12 or 20 (second series) questions: with Hailey Higdon

Hailey Higdon is the author of the chapbook How To Grow Almost Everything (Agnes Fox, 2011) and the book-blog The Palinode Project. She runs What To Us (press) and is publishing several chapbooks by emergent female poets in a series called THE DIMES. Some of her recent poems appear in cannot exist. Her home is currently some middle earth between Nashville and Philly.

1 - How did your first chapbook change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
I made my first chapbook by myself. The process endowed me with a nice sense of power. But what is it Peter Parker’s uncle says? With power comes great responsibility? I say, sometimes power comes with a great addiction to control, which is a hard thing to be rid of sometimes. I guess that’s why it’s difficult for me to speak to that work now. The book was part one of the Palinode Project, the latter part of which appeared only on the web. The entire set of poems was an education. By the end of it, I was taking risks that I never would have considered before. Deciding not to put part two into a book allowed me to relinquish some of that control.

The poems I am writing now are very different than those earlier ones, though I feel a little too inside the process to say how. I suppose in the early poems I was setting the stage for a poem to happen when I set down to write. Now, I feel like I’m just an old plump berry on a tree. My favorite mockingbird will come along and kick me, noodle with me, peck at me, and eventually I’ll pop and everything inside will spill out.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I have been writing poetry more naturally than fiction since I was quite young, however I studied both in college. In the early 2000’s I was living in Madison, Wisconsin and trying to write a novel after dropping out of grad school. I worked at hat shop, lived in a coop, and tried my damndest to write a linear novel. Only, it didn’t interest me. Straightforward narrative has always felt pretty boring for me to write. Eventually, I moved to Philly and started to break down the novel into patchwork—to try to see it geodesically, instead of on a linear plane, but it was hard, mostly because the text began as sequential. All this time I was writing poems, probably with more success than the fiction, though I didn’t considered it my medium. It took a while for me to stop drawing lines between poetry and fiction as if they were land blocks. Once I began to do that, I began to consider myself more a poet. Also, my poems include a lot of fictions, which helps.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
Lately I’m a more piecemeal writer. I find time to write often only in times of transit or transition. These scribbles often carry over in complete sections to a bundle document of words and jibberish that all feel related. Most of these notes stay exactly as they were written. Still, I sit down and read them to myself over and over again, editing out the parts that don’t belong, saving them for another poem, and adding more words or sounds. Lots of the transitions in my poems are initially sonic. The language begins as a part of one community, but is not restricted there. Words or phrases travel to other poems, also things mutate, get killed off or born. It’s very biological. Though I am always taking notes, it takes me a while to feel like I have enough material to gather into a poem. Of course, this is not a static answer, this is just the way I write right now.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
Right now, I write mostly discrete poems that eventually end up bonding with other poems so I can see some sort of shape around them. The boundaries can be nebulous though. Sometimes one shape can blend into, combine with or overshadow another. For better or worse, it’s like a lot of big banks.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
They are very important for me. I love and fear them. I fear them with love, probably. And yeah, they definitely help me edit and really hear what I’ve made. Currently, I’m trying to overcome my self-censorship with reading though. It’s slight, but I can feel it and it bothers me.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
Well, I’m not that deep in the theoretical aspects of writing or poetry mostly because I prefer to deal in real materials. If the question is modified to say, “what concerns are behind your writing” I can point clearly to my chief concern—WOMEN.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
I think the writer’s role is no different than the role of any other person, to live purposefully and not be a chicken-shit.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I haven’t had many people edit my poetry. Friends maybe, which is hard, and often I have to wait until their back is turned to accept the changes. I’m stubborn, very stubborn. I imagine if someone else were editing my poems they’d be a lot shorter (the poems, not the person). Also, I am incredibly sensitive, and my feelings get hurt when someone so much as walks too quickly past me.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
A couple of things come to mind.

“Don’t drink cheap beer” is one of them. My dad told me this when he dropped me off at college. Of course, I drank A LOT of cheap beer. But now that I’m too old to just shake off a hangover, I really appreciate that advice.

On a more artistic level, I heard someone once define art as, “something that is more than the sum of its parts.” This has been one of the most informative guidelines I’ve had as a poet.

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I do a million other things besides writing. I wish I were a diligent writer who prioritized poetry, but the truth is, a lot of other things take precedence sometimes. So my writing time is never planned anymore. I write when a feel a certain feeling that prevents me from doing anything else. Often this is during times when my mind is truly not occupied by other things—on the train or the bus, while walking, waiting in line, trying to get to sleep at night, or doing the dishes. I usually hoard away snippets of text in my mental storage space until I can get my hands on some paper.

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
Usually when this happens it’s because I haven’t been alone in a while. I put on the Hall & Oates song “One on One” and stay home and try to write a short story. This is always a failure. But I am really good at writing opening paragraphs. I usually come running back to poetry.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
All my favorite flowers—peonies, lilies of the valley, hyacinth, honeysuckle. Also some foods, pork chops, pot roast, mac and cheese with garlic salt on it, like my grandmother used to make.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Oh yes, very much so. The truth is, I am a troublesome reader. I read very slow, start too many books at once and give up on many of them about a third of the way through. So lots of other things seep in. I love to watch modern dance. I just filled out a survey at a dance performance and had to rate myself as a “dance fanatic” because I’d been to so many performances in the past year.

In the fall I’m going back to school full time to get my masters in Speech Language Pathology. Studying neurolinguistics, aphasia and observing speech therapy treatments has really really changed everything about the way I think of language and syntax. Plant and animal biology has definitely informed my use of language too. There is a lot of talk about the close parallel between grammar and DNA sequences because both are discrete combination systems. I am currently reading a Steven Pinker book that goes there. Also, I am heavily influenced by my environment and location. I think every love poem I’ve written in the past five years has been addressed to Philadelphia. You can gather language everywhere in this city. I am nosey and often transcribe conversations I hear on the bus onto scraps of paper that end up crumbled in the bottom of my purse. Usually when I find them again, I can’t read them, so I have to gather the information I can and rewrite them. This really gets me going.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I love what other writers do. A lot of people come to mind, but probably the most important influences for me have been Joanne Kyger, Juliana Spahr, and Alice Notley.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I am embarrassed to admit this, but I’ve never been to the Pacific Northwest. Never been to San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, anywhere near there. It’s domestic to say it, but I would really like to see that part of the U.S.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
I wish I were a brilliant scientist doing innovative research on the brain. Funny, I have a very good friend who IS a brilliant scientist doing innovative research on the brain. I’m not certain, but I imagine she’d probably pick “poet” as her alternative occupation. Perhaps we should freaky friday this shit.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I was much better at it than anything else. Also, I never could feel truly creative in any other medium, and trust me, I tried a lot of them-- years of dance, piano, theater, ceramics, etc. The only other art form I feel creative in is gardening.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Eh, let’s see, some of my recent favorites are Lesley Yalen’s The Beginning In and Rachel Glazer’s Pee On Water. I am really into some of the stuff that’s coming out of the Northampton crowd these days.

I just saw The King’s Speech and enjoyed it. I watched Altman’s 3 Women again not that long ago and sickly love it.

19 - What are you currently working on?
For the past year or so I’ve been collaborating with a painter named Nicole Donnelly. We travel through Philadelphia, and I take notes and she sketches, then we separate and make poems and paintings. We have a free poetry hotline you can call to hear the poems, though I definitely need to make some new recordings. We call the whole thing The God-damn Placefulness.

Lately, I’ve been preparing to move to Nashville for a couple of years and all the details of the move are taking over. I am going to spend some time in the country writing before going back to school though. I’m not sure what I’ll write yet, but I have some feelings toward things. Maybe I’ll write a children’s book or start a YA novel. Or maybe, some poems.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Thursday, June 09, 2011

Ongoing notes: early June, 2011

House-sitting in Old Ottawa South again, this week. See, here I am, writing away at the Starbucks (I know, I know...).


Keep your eye on: the literary component of WESTFEST, as I read fiction alongside Jon Paul Fiorentino, Gabriela Goliger and others on June 11; a reading I'm doing at mother tongue books with Pearl Pirie and Monty Reid on June 16; the Toronto Small Press Fair I'll have a table at on June 19th; the ottawa small press book fair, June 25, with pre-reading the night before at the Carleton Tavern. Where will you be for all of this? At all those places, I'd hope. I'm even doing a reading in Perth on August 12 with Christine McNair, if you can wait that long.

Vancouver BC: Presented as a talk on a series of readings is Vancouver writer Michael Turner's pamphlet Three Readings: Camera, Tape and Sound (Kathy Acker, Steve McCaffery/bpNichol, and Kevin Davies, as introduced by George Bowering) (Wednesday, January 12, 2011) as part of Western Front's “Past is Prologue” series, “an ongoing research project considering the Western Front Media Archive.”
The literary reading is a relatively recent phenomenon. Implying a written text, it is closer to Gutenberg than the pre-contact conveyance of Salish myths and legends or the Homeric tradition of poetic oration. Words spoken from a page, as opposed to those that come remembered.

As a reader and a writer I have participated in hundreds of literary readings. Sometimes I look forward to them; other times they fill me with dread. In preparing my visit to the Western Front Media archive, I chose to focus on the collection's literary program, curious to see if the documentation of readings at a centre known for interdisciplinarity differs from those at a literary festival or a writers' club.

What follows are three instances where a reading and its documentation combine to form a third event. The first focuses on the camera; the second on the videotape; the third on the relationship between what is seen and what is heard.
The fact itself that such is happening is astounding enough, as so many artist-run centres seem to be unaware of what exactly they're sitting on, given such staff turnover over the years. In Ottawa alone, I've witnessed both Saw Gallery/Video and Gallery 101 participating in such purges of their archives, as the first sold off, among other items, three first edition copies of Michael Ondaatje's Governor-General's Award-winning The Collected Works of Billy the Kid (1970) for fifty cents each (a book that, at the time, went for roughly $700 on Abe.com). Gallery 101, on the other hand, simply handed items out or left them on the curb to be collected, for their lack of space.

We now have decades worth of artist-run centres and literary readings in Canada; one can only admire Turner and Western Front, infamous for various literary readings over the years, including a large Talonbooks poetry launch in 1980, enormously for attempting to not only keep the records, but critically explore those same archives. In the first section, “Camera,” Turner explores a reading by Kathy Acker on February 2, 1977 from what would become The Adult Life of Toulouse Lautrec by Henri Toulouse Lautrec (1978). The second, “Tape,” writes of The Four Horsemen reading on November 21, 1977, and the third, “Sound,” explores a benefit reading for MacLeod's Books on October 22, 1983, focusing specifically on the segment by Kevin Davies.
The relationship between McCaffery and Nichol's performance and the deficiencies of the tape is uncanny, with the initial buckle acting as both muse and omen, or a transformational device that sets the stage for what is to come. Prefacing their performance is a story Nichol told at the conclusion of his Martyrology reading. When asked why his poem contained so many references to God, Nichol replied: “I decided a long time ago that anything that came into the poem I would leave in the poem. So I suppose that's in the way of explanation, not an apology.” What came into the documentation of McCaffery and Nichol's poem was just that.
One can only hope that this project continues, and possibly makes its way into some further printed documents, whether as an online archive of texts, and/or even a book-length study of the literary activity at The Western Front. If we don't understand just what it is we've done, what's the point of doing any more?
While a literature exists on the documentation of performance art (the performance document as object and the anxieties that result), I have found nothing on literary readings and their relationship to the (video) camera. One explanation could be the predictability of the format: the author, attached to the podium, reading from a text as if it were a script, one the audience might well be familiar with. A format such as this has little need of a camera operator; one merely presses “record.”
England: I recently received a small assortment of chapbooks by smallminded books, produced and curated by Stride editor/publisher Rupert Loydell, barely large enough to notice.
Nightclub

The Abyss: an apology for god's nightclub.
A calumny, a glorious denunciation of its
permutation on a kerygma: incomprehensible octagon.

In retrospect, it was always dark as anthracite,
propelled to decipher its reversion to
permutations.

So a penultimate home –
penultimate glorious calumny –
now The Anthracite nightclub. (Mike Ferguson)
Putting large poems in tiny spaces, I now own the splay and splendour of Peter Finch's The Insufficiency of Christian Teaching On the Subject of Common Emotional Problems (2011), the odd and sharp containments of Mike Ferguson's Found In Dissonance (2011), the wordplay of Richard Kostelanetz's Doublefulcra 2 (2011) and the wonderment of John Levy's Imagine A Whale (2011).
My
thoughts, she replied, are
like looking at a moving
whale with a magnifying
glass. (John Levy)
I can't find any real internet reference to these small items, although a review of one of Levy's previous in the same series exists here. These small, odd chapbooks remind in part of the Poems-For-All series out of California, tiny booklets small enough to leave in the most unlikely places, created as much for the sake of discovering new poetry audiences as astounding longtime readers. Just how long has he been making these, and how are they distributed?

Philadelphia PA: Recently in the mail, I received the most lovely letterpress object, Agnes Fox Press' sold out and numbered edition of fifty (I have number 19), Philadelphia poet Hailey Higdon's I WRESTLE HOME THE PAPERS (May, 2010). Produced as a five-page accordion strip, her meditation begins:

I wrestle home the papers.
I do.
Your divorced tendencies make you.
They make you.

He says: like baking cookies
you already put in the sugar
you can't get it out now
you have to throw away the whole batch

This is such a lovely piece, and I'm tempted to quote the entirety of such, being that it's short enough, but I won't, allowing it some future space to breathe on its own; considering they went out of print so quickly, might Agnes Fox Press produce another run? I'm caught by the thoughtfulll sadness of this small piece, encountering tweaks of loss, absence, blame, through the suggestion of divorce papers, and the possibility that eventually the feelings of loss will be gone, and the possibilities that this might, in fact, be entirely worse. Higdon, a pre-kindergarten teacher and poet living in Philly, is also the author of the poetry blog Palinode Project, as well as the Agnes Fox Press chapbook How To Grow Almost Everything (February, 2011), which I haven't yet seen. I am intrigued by what else she is capable of.

is it because I stopped meditating?
is that why I feel so asleep all the time?

why do
I have the urge to press my face against babies?

be near their heads and smell them?

this is a shape
I draw it with my fingers