Saturday, August 24, 2013

Open Letter: A Canadian Journal of Writing and Theory: “Surrealism in Canada”



Importantly, for the mandate of Open Letter, we present here several articles and interviews, which break new ground in the area of critical and historical writing on Surrealism. Some of the articles explore the positioning of Surrealism within the larger context of modern literary history, exploring influences from other movements (Romanticism, Symbolism), and Surrealism’s influence on other tendencies (Oulipo, Magic Realism, Situationism). A need to class Surrealist expression is a persistent current in many of these articles and interviews, often attempting to place it inside a timeline, usually within, or in opposition to André Breton’s orbit of influence. Invaluable original research is presented here, including an exhaustive examination of the origins of Breton’s famous work Arcanum 17. (Beatriz Hausner, “What can be”)


I’m not entirely sure when Frank Davey’s Open Letter: A Canadian Journal of Writing and Theory comes to an end [see the profile I wrote on the journal for Open Book: Ontario here], but it can’t be that long, now. The loss will be substantial. Until then, the most recent issue, “Fifteenth Series, Number 3, Summer 2013” is “Surrealism in Canada,” guest co-edited by Gregory Betts and Beatriz Hausner, both of whom have approached the idea of surrealism from different vantage points, including interviews, essays, poems and other materials to give an overview of some of the activity that has occurred within the boundaries of Canada over the past century. Part of the appeal of this particular issue as a whole is in the way it attempts to engage with a variety of threads of what could fall under the umbrella of “Canadian Surrealism,” from contributions on and of fiction, poetry, theatre and the visual arts by Ray Ellenwood, Peter Dubé, Lillian Necakov, Gregg Simpson, Ludwig Zeller, Karl Jirgens and Claude Gauvreau.

The Ensemble of Sleep

What night demands on Monday
sour hand half minutes
when we enter this paradise
love and arms resemble
the ear that I told you yesterday
there is not much to your street
I let my coat enter your hands
with this, amiable
all is tempered by human time
we assemble sleep
my love with fur stars
the sky above us like a drop
I reclose your many hands
and also the tents that tremble love
watch us longingly
in the ensemble of sleep. (Lillian Necakov, “Translating dead French guys”)

The collection also includes Toronto poet and critic Stephen Cain’s lengthy essay, “André Breton in Canada,” exploring the possible connections produced through and by Breton’s brief stay in Quebec in 1944, where he infamously “was inspired to write his last novel, Arcane 17, in the three months he stayed.” As Cain writes, early on in the essay:

But why did Breton come to Gaspé in the first place? There appear to be several contradictory reports but, perhaps understandably, Quebecois literary and artistic criticism has been more precise about Breton’s trip to Canada than international critics and biographers.

For some time, considerations of surrealism in Canada have been limited to relatively unrelated considerations and self-contained pockets, from Betts’ work on poet W.W.E. Ross, the Montreal Surrealists, Brion Gysin, Ludwig Zeller and the predominantly Toronto poets Stuart Ross collected (including Necakov) in his anthology Surreal Estate: 13 Canadianpoets under the influence (Toronto ON: The Mercury Press, 2007). Both editors include introductions to the collection, with Hausner’s “What can be” providing more of an introductory overview to the contents of the issue, and Betts’ “The Nonnational Boundaries of Surrealism in Canada” providing an intriguing overview of how surrealism has impacted upon and through the boundaries of Canada. As he writes, “I approach this issue and this topic not as an attempt to resurrect or invent boundaries by nationalizing the Surrealist movement, but to provide a venue for Surrealist expression and to recognize the wealth of activity that happened in and most often against these borders.” He writes:

It was not until the expats and exiles began seeping into French Canada while avoiding the war over there that the essentially and metaphysically disruptive implications of Surrealism revealed itself here. Borduas, Pellan, Renaud, Leduc, les frères Gauvreau, Sullivan, and all of the other stalwarts of the first active generation of Surrealists in Canada knew very quickly that they had tapped into a powder keg. Unlike in Toronto, the weird abstractions and nonrepresentational experiments in art (including literature, theatre, painting, dance, and music) were recognized as a disruption of reason, which was recognized by revolutionary artist and reactionary critics alike as an affront to God and country. It took a more Catholic context to make that link (and also one far more aware of the Paris scene). In the beginning was the word; the logos, the divine word. But the Greek term ‘logos’ does not just translate as the English ‘word’: it marks the reason and the divine ratio that keeps the universe in balance. If nothing else, Surrealists have always been unreasonable. Thus Borduas decreed in the founding manifesto of the Montreal Automatists, “To hell with holy water and the French-Canadian tuque!” (30). If rationalism and nationalism were the problem behind burning Europe, prudish Canada, and fascist Quebec, then the Surrealists would turn to irrationalism and nonnationalism as antidote.

Friday, August 23, 2013

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Stacy Szymaszek

Stacy Szymaszek was born in Milwaukee in the summer of 1969 and grew up there. She studied at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, graduating in 1991 with a BA in Literature. She is the author of the books Emptied of All Ships (2005) and Hyperglossia (2009), both published by Litmus Press, as well as numerous chapbooks, including Pasolini Poems (Cy Press, 2005), Orizaba: A Voyage with Hart Crane (Faux Press, 2008), Stacy S.: Autoportraits (OMG, 2008), from Hart Island (Albion Books, 2009) and austerity measures (Fewer and Further, 2012). From 1999 to 2005, she worked at Woodland Pattern Book Center in Milwaukee. In 2005, she moved to New York City, where she is the Director of the Poetry Project at St. Mark's Church.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Kate Greenstreet asked me a similar question in 2006, just 1 year after Emptied of All Ships was published (http://www.kickingwind.com/5406.html) and those comments still hold up for me, yet 7 years later my feeling about the event is much stronger. Publishing that book was a cornerstone in the building of my public life as a poet, becoming a public figure. I would also add that the support of Litmus Press (who also published my second book) and Tracy Grinnell as a close reader of my work has relieved me of a lot of worry. It has been a life changing to have this level of trust with a publisher.

My recent work has dispensed with persona. The longer I live in NYC, the more autobiographical it gets. One idea I have about this is that I had always wanted to live here but I was convinced that I didn’t have what it took, so in my mind this was a city of especially savvy people, a city of heroes—so being here I’ve become heroic, or the persona is now the hero named Stacy. The book I just completed is called Journal of Ugly Sites & Other Journals and takes up the idea of poetic journalism in different forms. The centerpiece is “Journal of Ugly Sites” which is a year-long journal I kept which documents, among other things, the life, illness and death of a Beagle that my partner and I rescued.

The main difference is that while I still try to let my work be ear-driven, this newest manuscript is less concerned with words as objects, a less painterly approach, less spare.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I first came to writing in 6th or 7th grade when my religion teacher asked us to keep a journal. I guess the idea was to write about what we were learning in the bible, our feelings about God, but it became my first experience of the page as a (supposedly private) place where I could articulate my rebellion. My writing didn’t take the form of poetry till I was 18, and it felt like finding out that I had the key to this one door. It was poetry because it was poetry. I was very interested in psychology and obsessed with self-transformation. I started college as a psych. major when this particular writing class swept me away (complete with crush on an older classmate) and the thrill and challenge of how to make a life as a poet. Re: why not fiction – psychic experience seemed best modeled through language fragments. My understanding of sentences at the time was that they were too linear to get at what I wanted.

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?
I don’t have a lot of down time between manuscripts. One thing leads to the next fairly quickly and instinctively. I generally don’t do a lot of editing. I need to get it “right” before I move on so I’ll sit with a challenge till I figure it out.

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?
Everything I’ve written so far has been conceived of as a book.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I enjoy giving readings and find them useful for figuring out what’s working and what’s not. Reading from “Journal of Ugly Sites” has been especially gratifying because I’ve felt the audience with me in way I haven’t before. It’s parts of my life through an ugly lens; death/loss, things going wrong with my body, situations at home, at work, in the world – it feels risky to put it out there, but it’s also comedic and I like to deliver it kind of like a monolog. I want to dare you to relate to me. When the audience recognizes this, it’s an adrenaline rush. I don’t even get those when I work out at the gym.

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?

Is death a theoretical concern?! My work is about my mortality. I’ve been thinking about my autobiographical investment, which originated in self-portraiture. I’ve been reading the second volume of Susan Sontag’s journals—she avoided writing autobiographically because she wasn’t convinced that her tastes were exemplary, (really?). For me, that’s a hook, knowing that I’m ordinary, but finding that interesting, or finding a way to present myself that’s compelling. Sontag wrote that only a fraction of her was available to be turned into art. I feel like most of me is available, but then, what really is the value of autobiography? I want to answer that in my next work using text and images.

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 feel weary just reading this question. What just came to my mind is what Pasolini said in his last interview, the day before he was murdered, “Everyone knows I pay for my experiences in person.” I don’t like generating controversy for controversy’s sake but I do like poets taking risks in work and life that impact personal comfort. I think our intelligence and facility with language is very powerful and threatening to power structures that are so reliant on mass mind control. Poets restore meaning to words (I think Oppen said that?). I think my role is to bear that in mind, and to work my hardest to keep an important venue going so we have a public forum to be heard.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I’ve only worked with Tracy Grinnell in this context and it has been insightful.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
“Walk into your power.”

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?
Even when I’m writing something that looks like prose I think it’s poetry so I don’t conceive of it as moving between genres.

11 - 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’m not at peace with the fact that I’m not more disciplined. I would like to be, but even with the journal I was making entries on the fly. I had always been someone who wrote at my computer, never by hand, but when I started writing Hart Island, and again “Journal of Ugly Sites,” I started using notebooks because I simply couldn’t retain the amount of material I would generate walking around, up and down 2nd Ave mostly. So I guess some bastardization of the walking meditation has been part of my process/routine. Being the Director of The Poetry Project demands as much as it affords—so one way I keep myself writing is to make the job part of the poetry.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I tend to work on 2 pieces at the same time, which require different things of me. I like to have a journal piece going because I don’t really stall out on those. I just have to look, listen, make the time to get it down. I’m a list maker, so if I get stuck I break it down to lists of any kind. Right now I have a “list of people I need to see.”

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Yeast and dead alewives. And a truly horrible smell that I think emanated from a tannery.

14 - 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?
Definitely visual art, especially photography, and film. I have the beginnings of a manuscript in waiting that includes some readings of Pasolini’s films, especially the films where his mother Susanna appears.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I’ve named several in my answers already. I think what is important to me shifts according to what I’m working on. For instance, for the Pasolini work I’m reading some of the people he liked, like Norman O. Brown. I’m trying to think of things I read that that fall outside of my work. I think I read Georges Simenon that way, just because.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I have a fantasy about writing a biography, and that I’ll receive a grant to do so.

17 - 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 tremble to think what I would be doing now had I not been a writer. As I mentioned earlier, I thought I wanted to be a psychologist but really there wasn’t much of a chance for me to “become” anything, I was so on the fringe, and I don’t mean that in a cool way, I mean that I came out of adolescence/young adulthood feeling like I was the living dead. Writing gave me a way to be in the world.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
See above answer.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Last great book, Aaron Kunin’s Grace Period. Last great film, John Cassavetes’s Opening Night.

20 - What are you currently working on?
I’m working on relaxing.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Thursday, August 22, 2013

the ottawa small press fair, 19th anniversary / autumn 2013 edition: october 12, 2013

span-o (the small press action network - ottawa) presents:

    the ottawa
    small press
    book fair

autumn 2013 edition
will be happening Saturday, October 12
in room 203 of the Jack Purcell Community Centre
(on Elgin, at 320 Jack Purcell Lane).

contact rob at rob_mclennan@hotmail.com to sign up for a table, etc.

"once upon a time, way way back in October 1994, rob mclennan &; James Spyker invented a two-day event called the ottawa small press book fair, and held the first one at the National Archives of Canada..." Spyker moved to Toronto soon after our original event, but the fair continues, thanks in part to the help of generous volunteers, various writers and publishers, and the public for coming out to participate with alla their love and their dollars.

General info:
the ottawa small press book fair
noon to 5pm (opens at 11:00 for exhibitors)

admission free to the public.

$20 for exhibitors, full tables
$10 for half-tables
(payable to rob mclennan, c/o 402 McLeod St #3, Ottawa ON K2P 1A6;

send by October 1 if you would like to appear in the exhibitor catalogue.

note: for the sake of increased demand, we are now offering half tables. for catalog, exhibitors should send name of press, address, email, web address, contact person, type of publications, list of publications (with price), if submissions are being considered & any other pertinent info, including upcoming ottawa-area events (if any).

& don't forget the pre-fair reading usually held the night before, info tba! also,

BE AWARE: given that the spring 2013 was the first to reach capacity (forcing me to say no to at least half a dozen exhibitors), the fair can't (unfortunately) fit everyone who wishes to participate. the fair is roughly first-come, first-served, but preference will be given to small publishers over self-published authors (being a "small press fair," after all).

the fair usually contains exhibitors with poetry books, novels,cookbooks, posters, t-shirts, graphic novels, comic books, magazines, scraps of paper, gum-ball machines with poems, 2x4s with text, etc, including (at previous events) Bywords, Dusty Owl, Chaudiere Books, above/ground press, Room 302 Books, The Puritan, The Ottawa Arts Review, Buschek Books, The Grunge Papers, Broken Jaw Press, BookThug, Proper Tales Press, Phafours Press, and others. happens twice a year, founded in 1994 by rob mclennan & James Spyker. now run by rob mclennan thru span-o. questions, rob_mclennan@hotmail.com

free things can be mailed for fair distribution to the same address. we are unable to sell things for folk who can't make it, sorry. also, always looking for volunteers to poster, move tables, that sort of thing. let me know if anyone able to do anything. thanks. for more information, bother rob mclennan.if you're able/willing to distribute posters/fliers for the fair, send me an email.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

David Dowker & Christine Stewart, Virtualis: Topologies of the Unreal




the book of your coterie

I desire the robbery of my invention.

Your porcelain eternity splits the pleasure of my raze
and the golden sides from my propinquity.5

For example, I cannot wed the yellow deficiency in bloom.

For example, I devise the mimic – for fruitless took
my promising boy (oh odious despite gate)

for example,
and acceleration – the surface is fleshed out

for example,
a ripe detour (west) toward a citizen kiss

for example,
blossoms of aluminum

for example,
the line – etc., bean dark skull and succor



_____________
5 Nips quick – a bug link.

Toronto poet and publisher David Dowker and Edmonton poet and critic Christine Stewart’s collaborative poetry book, Virtualis:Topologies of the Unreal (Toronto ON: BookThug, 2013), constructed in three sections and a reading list, is a book of responses that become just as much a three-way conversation. Previous to this, Dowker is the author of the trade collection Machine Language (BookThug, 2010), as well as the editor/publisher of the late great Alterran Poetry Assemblage; Stewart is the author of a number of small chapbooks (through above/ground press, Nomados and others), and has now worked on a couple of poetic collaborations, including an early collaboration with Lisa Robertson and Catriona Strang produced as The Barscheit Horse (Hamilton, ON: Berkeley Horse, 1993). In their collaborative blend of ideas and language, the poems in Virtualis: Topologies of the Unreal work through the abstract, deliberately ungrounded, embracing sound, and allowing the theories to spark, but the words themselves to propel. “It went out, and like a woman it was happy.” they write, in the second section, “Grid Meridian.” An exploration of melancholia is easy enough to negotiate, but I suspect you might have to have some knowledge of theory to appreciate the full measure, and the back of the collection includes a list of titles under “Some Readings” that include works by Giorgio Agamben, Charles Baudelaire, Walter Benjamin, Jeremy Bentham, Christine Buci-Glucksmann, Robert Burton, Roberto Calasso, Paul Celan, Gilles Deleuze, Jacques Lacan and others. As the back cover writes, “Virtualis: Topologies of the Unreal is a poetic investigation of melancholia and the baroque. As a collaborative reading of writers such as Walter Benjamin, Christine Buci-Glucksmann, Giorgio Agamben, Gilles Deleuze, Charles Baudelaire and Arthur Rimbaud, David Dowker and Christine Stewart have created a series of linguistic interjections that run from the allegorical barricades of the baroque to the topological confound of the modern, incorporating (for example) Medusa and the Sphinx, aestivating snails and the alchemy of bees.” Their Virtualis: Topologies of the Unreal exists as a conversation and a continuous thread, as the faded phrase within each poem becomes the title of the subsequent piece, extending the poems nearly as a kind of call-and-response that require deep and repeated readings.

clymical epoch

This is not a séance.14 Escape is not an object.

The habit of synaptics matters yet still one fumes and stares
and wonders just what kind of trees are these.

We are gathering interior circumference.

Flecked bits, motes lit (dendritic).

Their truth is folded into bitter distance.

They face that solemn green arousal with oblique strategies15
of psychic detachment.

_____________
14 “This is a science.”
15 For example: “Honour thy error as a hidden intention.” Brian Eno and Peter
Schmidt, Oblique Strategies



Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Google Earth, March 25, 2012:



Google Earth, March 25, 2012: Christine found this image of me from Google Earth, sitting at my usual table at the corner pub, where I often spend afternoons writing longhand. I remember seeing the car go by. My notebook from the day recorded it, simply writing “google earth,” to acknowledge it had passed.

I was working on reviews, and various short stories. I had my usual pint.

From my notebook: “The widescreen is set to world soccer. No one in the pub is watching it, discussing instead the new brew pub further north. It’s been open a month, and has a two hour plus wait for tables. One patron says, this is how it should be, and he sips his Guinness gently. Almost reverently.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Paul Klinger, Rubble Paper, Paper Rubble



Rubble Paper, Paper Rubble was composed by visiting historical markers throughout southeast Texas and making graphite rubbings from the embossed text. At its heart, the project uses poetry to make and unmake local histories. The book also contains color plates featuring a series of alligator prints I made while in the field, and another is featured on the cover. These are prints made directly from the animal’s body, a kind of swamp treatment of gyotaku printing.

The rubbings are visual poems and landscapes that explore the musicality of the outside archive. While tracing the map of state historical markers to chart an itinerary, I started building strands of meaning in the markers I sought out. Transportation itself factored into the structure of the book. It’s a “roadside” book that captures voices only as they are passing through and attempts, out of that eavesdropping, to create a grammar of place. (“Artist Statement”)
As Texan Paul Klinger describes in the “Artist Statement” that opens his new book, his absolutely striking Rubble Paper, Paper Rubble (Austin TX: further other book works, 2013) is an incredible study of the physicality of words. Through some two hundred pages of concrete/visual poetry created through graphite rubbings, Klinger reworks the subject matter of local histories, and exposes the bare bones of the words themselves. The poems might reference specific dates, places, groups and even individuals, but are turned abstract from their meaning, and entirely concrete and situated in their execution. What are we to take from a particular page that reads: “THINLY / THE FATE / OF OTHER / NATIVE / AVOIDED / WHEN / A SPUR. / RAISED / ITS PRE- / HURRIEDLY / TO / SPIRIT / HUNTSV [.]” The author of (as he writes) “several chapbooks as a member of the Dusie Poetry Kollectiv,” he is also co-author, along with his wife, the poet and publisher Dawn Pendergast, of the chapbook Epithalamium, an ode to the unlikely marriage of Paul Klinger and Dawn Pendergast (little red leaves, 2012) [see my review of such here].


Produced as a series of overlapping texts, the book is constructed in nine chapters—Worshipful, Lumber, Hurricane, Seagoing, Conflicts, Shotgun, Pastoral, Her Ago and Cemetery—as well as “Alligator Suite,” situated between chapters five and six. Through what words Klinger selects, one could describe Rubble Paper, Paper Rubble as a variation of an “erasure” text, in that he erases simply by not choosing, and uses only the words presented to him on various historical markers. Given that part of the aesthetic of the work is a series of selected and reformed texts as graphite rubbings, it becomes difficult to replicate through type, here. As he includes in the fifth chapter:
and each chief

     made his “X”

  in its appropriate

             place
There are resonances throughout the collection with the work of the late London,Ontario artist Greg Curnoe. Throughout his career, Curnoe embraced the local, and went so far as to produce a work on the archaeological and historical facts of the plot of his land sat on, as Deeds/Abstracts:The History of a London Lot (London ON: Brick Books, 1995), as well as a book work made up of block texts, his Blue Book no. 8 (Toronto ON: Art Metropole, 1998). It’s as though Klinger has, in his own way, blended two threads from each of these titles (that he most likely has never heard of) into his collection, reworking history as language itself. This is a book that requires to be seen.