David Koehn's first
full-length manuscript, Twine, available from Bauhan Publishing, won the 2013
May Sarton Poetry Prize. In 2017 David released Compendium (Omnidawn
Publishing), a collection of Donald Justice's notes on prosody. David's second
full-length collection, Scatterplot, was released by Omnidawn Publishing in the
spring of 2020. David's writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Basalt, Hotel
Amerika, Kenyon Review, New England Review, Rhino, Volt, Carolina Quarterly,
Diagram, McSweeney's, The Greensboro Review, North American Review, The Rumpus,
Prairie Schooner, Gargoyle, Michigan Quarterly Review, and other places.
1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your
life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel
different?
When Twine, my first book won the May Sarton
Prize from Bauhan Publishing (May Sarton New Hampshire Poetry Prize) --
literally nothing around me changed. Kids were still the kids, the job
was still the job, the work was still the work. No one came knocking begging me
to publish in their magazines. No accolades beyond a sticker on the book.
I found in publishing the first book a kind of
peace in knowing that the work before and during the making of the book --
apart from the grunt work of revising for publication -- was the same as
before: pointless, fruitless, a waste of time, a nothingness, and therefore a
joy. I was relieved by the win because I could stop being another poet chasing
their first book publication. I could stop trying to be a poet trying to win a
book prize.
It was gratifying to know how little the outcome
mattered. And that, therefore, all that mattered was the joy in doing the work.
And reading the work of others. My lifelong collaborator, Rebecca Resinskl,
once said, she was "highly suspect of laurels" -- and the closer I
come to the worlds of the anointed the more deeply I love her expression.
In Scatterplot I explored the limitations of
what I was taught the poem could accomplish. Given forms, nonce forms, forms
from Western Tradition, Forms from the Eastern tradition, short line free
verse, syllabic poems, metric verse -- and while, as William Logan declared to
me once that I have a deviant imagination, I found that what I’d been taught,
the constraints of the lessons I’d learned, limited the kinds of aesthetic
experiences I could deliver.
So, somewhat systematically, I decided to break all
the rules I’d given myself for writing poems. As I wrote, and felt my
head bumping up against something, I would embrace and convert that sense of
boundary or transgression into the work of that piece -- meaning I attempted to
write successful poems breaking all the rules I believed I could not break. The
tailored clothing of Twine did not fit the adventures I wanted to take
in my work in Scatterplot. Plus, the suicides in the midst of our
friends and family broke something in me -- like I couldn’t afford to worry
about poetry, I could only afford to see and say.
The number of voices in my head and the number of
voices in my work did not match. I think about Harryette Mullen and Lenny
Bruce. I think about Dag Hammarskjold and I think about Li Bai. I think about
C.D. Wright and I think about Larry Levis. I once told C.D. I work on poems for
years, sometimes decades, before I think they are ready. She thought that “a
little much.”
I listen to Velvet Underground and Bad Brains and
Miley Cyrus on the same playlist. The struggle to navigate my love for the
elliptical in the same breath as narrative competed with my desire to write
imagistic short line free verse which correspondingly vexed my deeply rooted
desire for given meters and forms. Every poem to me is a sonnet and if not not
a sonnet than a double sonnet and if not a double sonnet -- a triple sonnet --
etc…
I continue to believe poets write poems to the
generalized shape of where they imagine the poems will appear in print. I want
to write away from the idea of a page or computer screen or phone screen as the
frame for the poem. And so over the last few years, for Scatterplot, I
have been writing these otherworldly walking and talking long poems based
largely on walks I take with my son Bay.
Into nature per Muir, “for going out, I found, was
really going in.” Letting things stray, encouraging chance (a la Cage) in their
construction, making all voices and movements allowable (a la Antin), and so
these recent poems have journeyed to new places, usually without me. And at
other times I found myself looking at a place over and over again -- hiking the
same 3-mile loop every day for a month. How could I lean into what Arthur Sze
asked: “Is it possible to write a long poem where every line is a poem?”
My most recent work, therefore, is a reflection of
writing in a space free of all the rules I once gave myself. Of walking and
talking and sensing. I experiment with new constraints that flew in face of my
old assumptions. I could break the bowl in different ways. While in my first
book I rolled through forms and meters and imitative free verse rhythms, in my
latest work I absorbed all such and have found new ways to make it anew. Scatterplot
contains, what I think is, the best work of my life.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed
to, say, fiction or nonfiction?
Music. I noticed the way things sung made me feel.
Prose did not and could not make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Prose didn’t catch the reaches of my consciousness. What made me alive with
attention? Poetry. Rock-n-roll. Punk Rock. Jim Morrison. David Bowie. Bob
Dylan. The Replacements. The Sex Pistols. Robert Johnson. And by way of Bob
Dylan, Dylan Thomas. And by way of Bowie's Cracked Actor, Shakespeare. So
somewhere in the drift between Dylan Thomas and Shakespeare's Sonnets, between
Richard Hell and the Voidoids and Millay's sonnets (a gift from Mother) -- via
these people in high school I stumbled into the art.
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 am always writing -- listening for words or a
phrase that catch my ear. If I hear something I like, I'll jot it down. I
collect these scraps of sound over a long period of time. But I am bursty. When
the right conjunction of time and energy and focus collide I enter a manic
phase and generate a tremendous amount of stuff in a very short time. I slide
into this phase unapologetically and freely and embrace it.
I know the spike will end -- I will enter a dormant
phase where I'll wish I was producing but am not -- likely just collecting.
Collecting snippets and phrases again waiting for the slide downhill. I ski
freely and wildly downhill -- knowing I might get hurt or fall but I will enjoy
the ride. I also know every hill has a base, and I'll slide back into the lift
line and ride the lift back up to the top. I'll shiver but I'll be reflecting
on the last run and looking out over the mountain for my next line...
Scatterplot looks across lines
and plots of land. Collects unstructured elements and characteristics and maps
them into patterns. In Scatterplot -- the pattern in the scatter reveals
the plot. Changes or “delta” in the angles of perception and sensation in Scatterplot
drug the work with unforgivable allowances.
The meandering “delta” poems serve as the map
graphs of book’s explorations. I started the "delta" poems as a
result of taking long afternoon walks along the local riverways of the
Califinia delta with my youngest son, Bay. At the time, he was 8 years
old, currently 10, and who knows what age when this sentence will be read by
you the reader.
During our walks, he would surface observations
about his day, the plant life we walked through, the animals around us, and
other imaginings. His observations would slide into and out of my own
consciousness which sometimes would build on what he was seeing and sometimes
were riffs that spliced into my own thoughts. The work contains his expressed
imaginative world as part of their through-line...
In particular, I found these poems exploring the
failing relationship I have with his mother -- and our family life. From there
I started writing "conventionally" -- read: "the way I was
trained to write" -- but these ways of writing did not give me access to
the depth of imagery, language, and textures of consciousness I found emerging.
So because "autobiography" and "confessional" and
"memoir" hold a place of ill-repute in my mind, I felt these poems
pushing me beyond my comfort level.
In these free-verse poems, I break all my own rules
of shape, form, and content. I have no idea if readers have any interest in the
micro details of day-to-day failings and mistakes and misperceptions and
character flaws -- but I do. I fatigue of my own rebel nature that wants
to pit the belief of my rightness against the world. So I found myself writing
into a kind of capitulation and ownership of the disaster -- an acceptance of
my responsibility for the destruction of the world -- acknowledging my feelings
of helplessness and lostness and somehow in all that detrital material stinking
up the substrate -- I hope.
In ecosystems, decay is a sloppy, stinking thing
--- but the source of what’s next. I look for the glittering phytoplankton
shimmering under the moon in the sulfurous wretch of a diseased slough at ebb
tide. Sometimes I find it -- sometimes I don’t. I struggled but ended up
iterating my way into writing in a style of largely "long line free
verse" interspersed with other non-linear verse types -- an erasure
or two -- and a poem I suggest you cut up into confetti.
These approaches let the poems have space and time
and duration and moved them beyond the bumper sticker compression of imagery I
had used in prior work. In this process, to quote Cage, I "let the outside
in" in ways I had never allowed or permitted or even considered. So as my
faculties woke up to where these poems have taken me, these poems push
themselves onto the page and keep leaping forward from where they
started...delta after delta.
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?
I started just writing poems. And publishing them.
Not many at first. Then many. Then too many. And I had no concept of assembling
them into a full-length book. I had won a chapbook contest but that was largely
a reflection of having published some poems from my MFA Thesis, stapling them
into a collection, and submitting the ream to a few random places. Organized
more by the force of the MFA energies in my thesis than authorly
concerns.
A few years back, I attended the Napa Valley
Writers Conference where I had the good fortune to work with Arthur Sze
(Sze remains an influence on me). I also had the good fortune to meet and chat
with Forrest Gander who -- in short -- suggested I stop publishing poems. He
suggested I focus exclusively on assembling a book. So the first book was a
retrospective process based on a prompt from Forrest.
The second book started out as a retrospective
process and as I shaped the content became more project-like. Rusty Morrison,
the managing editor at Omnidawn, noticed the delta poems creating
propulsive energy -- and I didn’t seem to be done writing them -- even though
she had accepted the manuscript with only a handful of them in the
original. Much to her delight (or perhaps dismay) the delta poems
displaced other work and became the score for the work in Scatterplot.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your
creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I love reading! I love doing/giving readings! But
they take time, and effort, and logistics, and like I said the paparazzi is not
beating down my door. So, in general, I read with a few friends now and then
here and there. The last few have been with Omnidawn folks at AWP, and Omnidawn
folks at Poets House in NYC, and with Bob Hass at City Lights and with Bob at
Studio One. I'm always game and I enjoy them. Do they figure into my process?
Not really...
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?
What is the line Justice quotes from Cage? I always
read it when I am reading from Compendium by Donald Justice, "Our poetry
now is the realization that we possess nothing. Anything, therefore, is a
delight."
For me the questions are all related to
accountability and reframing of assumptions. What we see is never just what we
see. Our tastes, our preferences, are programmatic holograms. The variety and
plurality of the world are like the quantum layer. And our perception of its
connectedness and relatedness reflect the smoothness of the physics of time and
space. In my small way I wrestle with artifice.
In Scatterplot, by way of example, I faced
the challenge of resisting memoir -- essentially moving from despising the use
of memoir-like detail in my work to embracing such details and deepening the
way such detail might braid into a poem. My ex-lovers, and my friends, and my
life partner, they show up here -- so I have to embrace that and they have to
know they appear in the work. The music playing in a room, the tv show on tv,
the painting in a wall, what I see out a window during a revision, children's
toys -- the writing moment makes its way into the work -- when perhaps at first
my surround has nothing to do with the Axolotl the poem seems concerned with.
I faced the challenge of working in an entirely
counter-culture mindset -- the length of these poems, for the most part, do not
abide the bite-size needs of Instagram and Twitter (both of which I use and
love).
I asked, what does it mean to write a poem to the
end of what I think the poem wants of me -- and then push it further? And then
what happens when I've reached the end of the second push beyond the frame I
allowed it? And then do enact that again and again and again?
Julie Carr introduced me to this idea of revising the
first draft forward -- not back -- not ending the hike at the first milestone
but pushing to the 2nd or 4th or 9th or? But when I took the governor off I
found myself lost, without a guide and turned to Levis and Whitman and Guest
for guidance.
Keep in mind for Scatterplot I revised the
majority of the Delta poems after publication -- reducing their length on
average by about ½ . This exposes the other challenge -- of who in their right
mind would publish such work? These rangy and unwieldy unsettled lyrics
certainly confounded many editors. “I don't get it.” and “Remember less is more
-- can you cut this to 1/3rd the length” and “Much to admire here but in
the end WTF?” And so on… And I kind of agreed. I found them unlikeable,
unloveable, unreadable, and unpublishable. I have some evidence after writing
30 or so and publishing all 30 that the last "unpublishable" proved
false.
I faced the challenge of modifying my thinking of
what kind of words and images would be acceptable in a poem. So I found myself
reading O’Hara. The images in my world are scenes from the TV, from the
backyard, out the window of a car at 80 miles an hour, from the window of a
skyscraper, a plane. The imagery of my world is cluttered storage spaces and
houses built in subdivisions and invasive plant species and migratory
birds.
The images of my world are bad haircuts and
algorithms and great blue herons. The images of my world are the stream
of memes I receive on social media, the texts I receive while driving, and
always some playlist on Spotify playing a rack of music I love. So how do I
make room for these images and the words that name them? And so Ashberry,
Ashberry, Ashberry...
So I faced the challenge of including so many
referents in a world powered by the Web and by Google. In the age of Google the
idea all referents live in the poem in of itself seems misguided. So I leaned
into music, and art, and film.
Here is a list of all the songs in Scatterplot:
Here is the Spotify playlist of all the songs in Scatterplot:
Here is a list of all the media and films in Scatterplot:
Here is a list of all the books noted in Scatterplot:
I faced the challenge of having to accept that I
have given all of my imaginative force to Scatterplot -- untethered and
without much rudder I record my float trips in the currents of mind and place
-- of relationships and culpability of fatherhood and friendship and all in the
background of a natural world touched wholly by man -- nature not untouched but
rather manhandled.
In only a few snippets of time does the veiled
world, nature in itself, peek through. And that is my experience of it -- so I
faced the challenge of having to acknowledge I am not good enough, I am not up
to the task. I do not write with enough skill. My observations are not precise
enough. My language and my syntax lack the elegance to make visible the
contours of the experience I wish the reader might come in contact with. I do
not possess the skill or range of heart or consciousness of dexterity of
composition to meet the work and carry it as far as I wanted to. I tried and I
failed.
I tried and failed again. I can say I am here -- it
is me -- I am exposed on the shoals like a big husk of mussels at low tide
ready to be pried open. A many-meat Prometheus -- lol. The failings
abundant and the shortcomings so visible -- to lack the skill to make all this
work matter is heartbreaking. But would I have it any other way?
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 writers as writers who don't live face
challenges poets who live first and write last don't. The lens of the faculty
poets can only be so wide -- because their lenses all start from the same
promontory. It's a good promontory. Just not the only lookout that might work
as an observation point. I'm always heartened when I see artists doing
serious and excellent work who work day to day as nurses, doctors, boat
captains, branches, ad salesman, programmers, insurance salesman -- or
otherwise. I ran the Grammarly word choice uniqueness algorithm over the last
issue of Poetry...the data was kind of shocking.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an
outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I love the experience of collaborating with others.
I have never had a strictly editorial relationship though. When I've worked --
even with editors -- it has always been an aesthetic as well as textual
interaction.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard
(not necessarily given to you directly)?
Take the cotton out of your ears and put it on your
mouth.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between
genres (poetry to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?
I get discouraged from writing critical essays
easily. With the "art" -- when writing a poem I am experiencing a
kind of process fulfillment -- I am experiencing pleasure -- and I would do the
work of making a poem whether a poem comes out of it or not. Whether a poem
gets made is not really the force behind the effort. If a poem gets made and
never gets published -- the joy of making happens nonetheless. McA Miller, an
early professor of mine, likened it to Onanism.
Critical writing is an intellectual effort -- in
particular I deeply enjoy closely reading poems for their intricacies and
textures and sounds and syntax and diction and rhythms and themes and all the
stuff that Cole Swenson calls "literary noise" designed to keep our
imaginations open and engaged. And yes, this kind of close reading I will do
and enjoy and get great pleasure from when I am reading any poem. My
participants in the Omnidawn Prosody and Revision workshop over the last decade
can attest that the luxuriating I do in the deeper chambers of the critical
works/reviews I've published on Seamus Heaney or Arthur Sze or Harryette Mullen
or Gillian Conoley or Galway Kinnell or Donald Justice is the same luxuriating
I do every time I read work. But the labor of translating all the fiddling and
tunings and pluckings and sensings and finger tappings and tastings and
imaginings and supposing into linear prose feels expensive and labor-intensive
and -- this kind of close reading -- folks don't really publish much of
anymore. So over time I have shied away from it.
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?
See prior notes?
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you
turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I was once stalled for eight years. That pause made
me accept patience and pause as part of my process.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
In an iron skillet, filets of perch frying in
butter
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?
Tucker Nichols :: @tuckernichols --
Long time fan of Tucker. The cover of Scatterplot
is a painting of Tucker's. A Bay Area icon really. What does it mean to see
something simply in all its complexity -- neither leaving out the layers of its
being and yet surfacing the thing as its essential self? Tucker does this for
me in his work. Tucker read Scatterplot and rendered a handful (almost a
dozen) of paintings in response. I hope to acquire more of these or show them
all at the readings for others to acquire.
Jim Christensen :: @youroldpaljim --
Lifelong fan. When I was a kid Jim made me brass
thumb rub -- it hung on a necklace around my neck for years -- somewhere
along the line the end of a relationship ended up with the necklace leaving
with it. The underpart of the brass was curved like a small pill bottle so it
nested in my pointer finger perfectly. The surface of it was flat across from
one side of the perimeter to the other with a slight impression that nested my
thumb -- the fit was perfect and I would reduce my worry about anything in the
world by rubbing my thumb on the surface of that copper. I miss it.
Truong Tran :: gnourtnart.com
Working in pieces of pieces of pieces with a
calling to the public and social and political context of the Bay area -- I
fell in love with the patterns within the patterns of Truong’s work. Overtly
social without being didactic. Visually stimulating patterns within patterns
where the accumulation of the small amounts to a larger overall composition.
Nathaniel Russell :: @nathanielrussell
The social components of Nathaniel's work are
worldwide and Web-wide. “Resist Fear Assist Love” -- Google it and the search
will reveal what you need you to know about his social practice. I feel kindred
to Russell because he draws a bird, a flower, a hand, a body, and can’t help
but render himself into the feel of the image. He's like a musician who when
you hear them play a single strum of a guitar you know exactly who that player
of the guitar is. Somehow they have tuned the guitar, and the pressure of their
playing, the choice of the lick, the firmness of the fingering --one strum and
you know. He’s a musician too. Hope he plays at one of my readings someday.
Scott Brennan :: @scottbrennan6
A poet and visual artist. Saved my life a few times
along the way. Designed the now faded tattoo on my back -- faded now. In
a few days in New Orleans back in 1991 we both got tattoos and remain close
friends to this day. My ideal reader. The one I hope to delight, disappoint and
sometimes confuse. For many years he did graphical work and switched to
photography where he focuses on the urban landscape -- of Miami in particular.
The way he sees the world reflects how rare we see things as they are. Not in
motion, No people. How do things compose your view when seeing stillness and
subtle presence?
Jon Fischer :: @feather2pixels
Handmade vinyl albums that play sound and music and
he uses the rotation of the albums to render drawings. Directly connecting the
patterns and sound so coming off the handmade vinyl records to the canvas or
paper. This direct link between music playing off a record to an image visual
on a surface appeals to me and feels like a metaphor for the way my
consciousness aspired to operate when writing much of Scatterplot.
Irman Arcibal :: @indetirmanit
Irman developed a long series of “Eavesdrawings”
where he would situate himself in an X/Y grid-like area. On his parent's porch.
On a college campus. At a park. And he would listen to the voices he heard. He
would write down the words he heard in the X/Y space where he heard the
voice/words coming from. Locating himself at the center of the page -- he would
write words from behind, in front, left, right etc… filling the drawing the
word he heard by eavesdropping. Irman uses many chance operations and arbitrary
processes in his work. This scattered input that adds up to a shape and
experiences that delights the viewer delights me.
Hunter Franks :: @studiohunterfranks
I like Hunter’s social practice focused on engaging
with people and place where his but is seated. There is a non-event and
non-sensationalism to the form of surprise in his work. The everyday in itself
appears rendered in value as is. The as-is world holds hope.
John Riegert :: https://johnriegert.tumblr.com/
John was a friend. John committed suicide. John was
as creative of a human as ever lived.
https://www.post-gazette.com/news/obituaries/2018/11/27/JOHN-RIEGERT-obituary-pittsburgh-artist-documentary-the-john-show/stories/201811270139.
Drew a picture a day for years and years. My favorite is his odd, overly
simple, comic rendering of a translation of Catullus’ Odi et Amo.
Daleast :: @daleast
The shift of perspective to the scale of
Daleast’s building high murals -- feels grand and impossible. He uses
streamed banners of ribbons of line to paint large forms -- often animals like
Rams, Cheetahs, Ravens, Deer and so forth. There is no firm line or edge to the
shape drawn in the mural -- rather a kind of a gestural set of strands that
constitute the contour. Social in charter and jaw-dropping in scale and detail.
Anna Secor :: @ChaosmosDichotomizers
Anna is a geographer. Anna J Secor, Durham
University, Geography Department, Faculty Member. Studies Modern Turkey,
Geography, and Gender. “...dichotomizers are discursive-material apparatuses
for the production of Western epistemology and ontology. These fine machines
perform a Bohrian cut that produces dichotomous paths for the categorization of
otherwise ambiguous phenomena. We guarantee that these dichotomizers will
provide the clarity, order, efficiency, and brutality that are so important for
modern life.” One of the Anna’s my oldest daughter is named after. A woman in
my youth who invited me in -- I declined -- a regret. Takes pictures of
herself dreaming.
A personality throughout Scatterplot. My
ideal reader. A godlike creature whom I can’t stand displeasing -- a catalyst
for all things -- the skink in the flint. Produces concrete poetry artifacts
under the Cuckoo Grey imprint. Collaborator. Met in high school, together for
only a day or two in the past 30+ years.
&
Ashwini Bhat ::
Ash and I met through a mutual friend and I found
in her work the presence of the senses. Much of her work is sculptural -- and
the gestures, to me, represent a kind of connection to sound and sensation in
addition to being visually 3-dimensional objects to look at and admire. They
emerge -- and some of the sensation I experience during the creation process
feels visible in her forms. Her work questions the division between a final
artifact and the gestures of its manifestation. I like that question. Alot.
15 - What other writers or writings are important
for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Too many to name, and I name and have named them in
my critical writings and publications, and by inviting them to be guests over
the years in my workshops, so for the purpose of this interview I'll keep the
list limited to one: Rusty Morrison.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet
done?
So many things. I'm a list maker and I have lists
of various types that include dozens of things I'd like to do that I haven't
done yet.
To fit our working thesis in this interview lets
stick with, publish a collection of my critical prose and various essays.
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've never been a writer. It's the one job I've
never had. I've been a teacher, a house painter, a short-order cook, a data
analyst at the EPA, a librarian, technical writer, a bartender, a construction
worker, a stock boy, a tour guide, a product manager, a newspaper delivery boy,
a deckhand, a tilt-a-whirl ride operator, a tech exec, an angel investor, but
never a writer.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing
something else?
My parents gave me the wise advice to get a job and
support myself. And I've done that in one form or another since I was 18. The
dream was to live as a writer but I've ended up living a life that allowed me
to write. Can I call this living a writerly life? Yes, I have not lived a life
as a writer, I've lived a writerly life.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What
was the last great film?
I've been reading a lot of fiction. Apparently, I
missed the memo that Haruki Murakami is a great writer so I've been binge-ing
his books. And I just finished re-reading Love in the Time of Cholera by Marquez.
20 - What are you currently working on?
A few collaborative erasures with Rebecca Resinski
of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sign of the Four appear in Scatterplot. We
erased every page of The Sign of the Four (1890) by Arthur Conan Doyle, leaving
only four words per page, choosing one word at a time, and alternating the
choice between the two of us. In each move we had the flexibility to
choose any word anywhere on the page, so the way a finished page reads does not
necessarily reflect the order in which it was originally erased. Some of these
erasure poems have appeared previously in publications here and there. A
chapbook of these collaborative erasure poems, intervals of, will
be produced as part of the Errorism series from Ragged Lion Press. Next we'll
likely look for a place to publish the erasure in its entirety.
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