Showing posts with label Clint Burnham. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clint Burnham. Show all posts

Friday, March 14, 2025

our reading brings all the poets to the yard : Vancouver, part two

[see part one here] What a stunning event in Vancouver! Christine and I read recently via Poetry in Canada at Simon Fraser University, thanks to the machinations of Stephen Collis and Isabella Wang. After my prior post, in which I was attempting to list my other Vancouver events over the past few years, Diane Tucker reminded me that I went through Vancouver in 2010 (I know I was once or twice a year from 1997 to 2006, but anything beyond that I hadn't the notes for), which would have been a Talonbooks event, most likely the one at Anza Club where I read with bill bissett and Adeena Karasick, touring around a bit with the two of them (including in Edmonton, and I think Calgary). That was a good trip. The same venue they had John Newlove read in 1999 for the chapbook I produced of his (I was fortunate enough to be in town for such), being his first time back in Vancouver reading in fourteen years (that was quite an event, on multiple levels).


[above: rob and Geoffrey Nilson; left: rob and Mckenzie Strath] I've been enjoying the evolution of Christine reading from Toxemia, maybe a half dozen times or more by now, each reading more vibrant than the prior (the book really has to be read and/or heard to be believed; did you see the essay I wrote on it?). Collis referred to us as a poetry "power couple," which is hilarious and strange, and also asked anyone in the room published through above/ground press to raise their hand (at least half the crowd, which was startling, in a certain way). The event held a standing-room only crowd, packed with some of the best of what Vancouver poetry has to offer, including Scott Inniss, Rob Manery, Meghan Kemp-Gee, Christina Shah, Fred Wah and Pauline Butling, Daphne Marlatt, Catriona Strang, Dorothy Trujillo Lusk, Fiona Lam, Elee Kraljii Gardiner, Geoffrey Nilson, Michael Turner, Diane Tucker, Heather Haley, Peter and Meredith Quartermain, Jen Currin, Jami Macarty, Brook Houglum, Aiden Chase, Phinder Dulai, Mckenzie Strath, Rahat Kurd and plenty of others (with a handful of regrets, including Anne Stone, who it would have been lovely to see (has it really been twenty years? and twenty-six since we toured Canada together?), and Thor Polukoshko, who I will have to meet at some future visit. An incredibly warm and supportive crowd. And we even sold books! It was also exciting to meet a handful of poets I hadn't yet met in person, including at least half a dozen above/ground press authors.


[above: Christine + Christina Shah and her amazing coat of many colours; left: Scott Inniss and myself, closing out the evening; an awesome reminiscent of Kevin Stebner]
And for drinks, also, landing at a pub I know for certain I'd been to before, being the first place (after which reading I do not recall) I met Lisa Robertson. When was that? We got to hang with Manery, Collis, Lusk (a descendant of the Lusk who named Luskville, Quebec, I'll have you know; the location Monty Reid wrote of in The Luskville Reductions), Wang, Shah: absolutely grand. Isabella thought I was imaginary and magical! And I've honestly thought her completely the same, if we're being honest. Did you know a second full-length collection is out soonish? I have shirts I still wear older than this kid; how is her work so damned good?


The following morning allowed a quiet few minutes at Sylvia's Bar downstairs with the books I picked up from The Paper Hound--Patrick Lane's Winter and Kevin Killian's posthumous Selected Amazon Reviews--before breakfast with Vancouver poet (and above/ground press author) Renée Sarojini Saklikar, who wasn't able to make the reading. Oh, she is delightful. And we got to hear some good stories about her growing up the daughter of a United Church minister, including in parts of Quebec, just north of Montreal.


After breakfast, Christine retired to our room, and I headed downtown to catch a conversation with Robert Yerachmiel Sniderman and Nastaran Saremy to accompany a show there by Sniderman, and meet up with American poet Deborah Poe (another above/ground press author, although I think we're due for another chapbook soon), who was in town for same. Can you believe it has been twelve years since I've seen her, back when we first met in Ottawa? Sniderman's show, including video footage, and conversation were extremely interesting, as he spoke of walking in terms of solidarity (very different from the Vancouver Walking of Meredith Quartermain's flaneur, or the British tradition of 'walking,' as articulated through such as Mark Goodwin's Steps); as the British tradition evolved into an acknowledgement of owned, preserved space, Sniderman's project comes out of attempting to counteract erasure, acknowledging solidarity with workers, the revolution and the tensions of unmapping. His is an anti-colonialist project to restore knowledge to what had been deliberately revoked. The core gesture of the project is of the settler refugee, he said, listening to the shared land. [I am possibly mangling some of the intentions around this project, so I recommend you look up his work and see for yourself]

[Deborah Poe and myself, at Audain Gallery, Simon Fraser University] Deborah Poe had to get back home, and wasn't sticking around, which was a bit disappointing. So from there, I wandered a bit; there had been a plan to meet up briefly with Clint Burnham (another above/ground press author, you know), but that got pushed until later, so I wandered, and headed over to MacLeod's Books, a perpetual favourite and a Vancouver institution (but couldn't find anything there I might have needed). For years across the late 1990s and into the 00s I visited there, picking up numerous titles to add to my reading list, although I think my requirements have shifted over to what The Paper Hound currently offers.

Hey, there are the mountains! I remember those mountains. Those! Over there!

After heading back to the hotel (finally), I met up with Vancouver poet Ivan Drury and his young lad (they wandered over by bike after the lad woke from his nap), as we walked along the beach at English Bay for a bit (the view was spectacular--I'm not used to seeing so many boats, let alone the big transport ships--but there was a chill in the air), but then decided to get back into Sylvia's Pub for a drink and a bite, which the young lad quickly warmed to. He had much to say, you know. And colour. And doesn't Ivan have the kind of smile that would light up any room? He had some interesting thoughts on work poetry that I'm hoping he expands on (he's currently working on a piece for periodicities on same, which I'm very looking forward to seeing). He even gave me some chapbooks! I always appreciate that.

Christine eventually met us downstairs as we were soon to head over to Rob Manery's house (another above/ground press author; he's reading in Ottawa this weekend!) to have dinner with Rob, his partner Robyn Laba (her day-job and her artistic practice both sound fascinating, honestly) and their teenage lad, with a brief drop-in by Burnham, which was good. Why didn't I take any pictures of that? I was probably talking too much. I always want to ask Burnham about the late, lamented 1990s newsprint publication boo magazine he was involved in (there never seemed the right moment, the rare times we've been in a room together over the past twenty years), as I was quite fond of the few issues I saw. Whatever happened to that? What was that all about? I have many questions.


And then the next morning, as our direct plane cancelled, so had to head home through Toronto instead (and landing home at least three hours later than originally planned), which got us home just in time to catch our young ladies for bedtime.



Saturday, November 16, 2024

Ongoing notes, mid-November 2024: Margo LaPierre, Geoffrey Young + Clint Burnham,

You are coming out to the 30TH ANNIVERSARY of the ottawa small press book fair today, yes? And you heard that Christine and I are reading in Kingston tomorrow night, and Calgary next week? Check the link here for various reading details and updates.

Toronto/Ottawa ON: Oh, it is good to see a new chapbook by Ottawa poet Margo LaPierre, In Violet (Toronto ON: Anstruther Press, 2024), following a small handful of publications, including chapbooks, both solo and collaborative, and a full-length poetry collection (the author biography on her website does mention both a collection of short stories and a novel in-progress). An assemblage of ten poems, In Violet gives the impression of a catch-all, as the author explores elements of structure and visual form, attempting to stretch out the possibilities of what poems might do, seek or look like. Working through trauma and its aftermath, writing memory, recollection, placement, rage and symphony, her lyric narratives extend out as a series of points that accumulate, moment to moment, that allow for a visual field of space across the page. “Hysteresis is the name / for a system of stress,” she writes, to open the poem “Hysteresis,” “in an organism          or an object / when effects of / the stressor / lag [.]”

Surf Lessons

It was a sprouted need, this plant with teeth,
true Venus. Fuck the rage that eats us.

This is a healing spell: bream green,
and foam dries in lipped petals

delicate as the conversations
with the ones we’ve hurt.

Great Barrington MA: Another chapbook by legendary poet, artist, curator and former publisher (The Figures) Geoffrey Young [see my interview with him here] is always a delight, so I’m pleased to see a copy of his LOOK WHO’S TALKING (Great Barrington MA: ALL SALES FINAL, 2024), a title that features art by Mel Bochner. Young has long favoured variations on the sonnet as his preferred lyric structure, offering a straightforwardness comparable to Canadian poet Ken Norris [see my latest review of his work here], if I may, for that straight line capable of bending or twisting when required. The straightforward manner provides, as well, a deceptiveness, almost a sheen, hiding deeper elements underneath in twists and twangs, a New England parlance of lyric with Berkeley underlay. “Is a pleasure to be indulged in,” he writes, to close the poem “LONG’S DRUGSTORE,” “When the nothingness of normality grabs you.” He writes of memory, offering reference layered upon reference, playing expectation against itself and you, the reader. “The pope when he blesses the poor. / I’d rather be a sea-bird anyway,” he writes, to close “WHAT GOES INTO THE SHREDDER IS YOUR BUSINESS,” “Squawking meaningless gibberish / Because we both know // That everything depends upon landing / On the beach for a nice long walk.”

DO THE THING

These days
the momentous minutiae
of life and events
distract me from all

the stuff I must get done.
so if I don’t do the thing
I think needs doing
at the exact moment

I think of it
or very shortly thereafter,
within ten seconds, say,
I might as well

forget it
because I already have.

Vancouver BC/Cobourg ON: I’m amused and intrigued by this reprint that Stuart Ross produced earlier this year through his Proper Tales Press, Vancouver poet Clint Burnham’s TED BERRIGAN AND STUART ROSS (2024), a title originally “printed in a manuscript edition of 10 / August 9, 1993.” I would be curious to have seen a new write-up by the author as to what the story was surrounding this small manuscript that opens with glowing letters from Ontario Arts Council/Conseil des arts de l’Ontario and Thomas Fisher Rare Books Collection, Robarts Library, University of Toronto, offering glowing critiques on the project, on the merits of “the works of the eminent Canadian writer Stuart Ross.”

As the letter purportedly from the Ontario Arts Council writes: “In accordance with your wishes, we have also evaluated the important role that Mr. Ross has played as a small press publisher and self-publisher. It is now our conclusion that the major arts funding groups of the world have been wrong to focus almost exclusively on mainstream and for-profit publishers: henceforth, the Ontario Arts Council will focus exclusively on small press publishing and self-publishing; the five trillion dollar grant annually allocated to Mc[C]lelland and Stewart will also forthwith be turned over to Mr. Ross.” If only that had been so.

HOW TED BERRIGAN WOULD’VE
WRITTEN THIS POEM

First all, you’d have to include whether
he wrote it
in Chicago
or NYC

Maybe he just got some grand and
went to a cheque-cashing agency
so he’d have the money
to carry around

Sartre liked to do that, too

carry money around, I mean

and then there’d be the
obligatory reference

to a friend
he likes, in the

poem, a writer, perhaps

and, Hey! it’s that simple

This is a delightfully odd little collection (I say little because the collection includes five short poems and these two letters), as the best collections are, I must say. What was the original prompt for these pieces? Were these pieces in homage, attempting to echo the work of Ted Berrigan (1934-1983) and Stuart Ross by a then thirty-one year old Toronto-based Burnham? Writing a reference to the “Canadian / Forces / Base / Cold / Lake” in his poem “THE RED WAGGON,” as Burnham writes: “and at least / one famous / Canadian writer / used to teach / junior high / there at / Athabasca / j.h., / where I went / and outside it / I heard some / one / say goldbricking / bake in [.]”

Wednesday, April 03, 2024

new from above/ground press : Smith + Hall, eleftherion, Wren, Ebbitt, Deutch, Flemmer, Smith, carisse, Ballard, Burnham + The Peter F Yacht Club/VERSeFest Special,

; The Green Rose, in collaboration, Steven Ross Smith + Phil Hall $6 ; The Peter F Yacht Club #33/2024 VERSeFest Special, lovingly hand-crafted, folded, stapled, edited and carried around in bags of envelopes by rob mclennan $6 ; abject sutures, melissa eleftherion $5 ; From Desire Without Expectation, Jacob Wren $5 ; HYSTERICAL PREGNANCY, Katie Ebbitt $5 ; new york ironweed, Amanda Deutch $5 ; Alternate histories, Kyle Flemmer $5 ; Some Failed Eternity, Pete Smith $5 ; In The Margins. . . . . .of french translations found and remixed by russell carisse, russell carisse $5 ; BUSY SECRET, Micah Ballard $5 ; The Old Man: new stories, Clint Burnham $5 ;

keep an eye on the above/ground press blog for author interviews, new writing, reviews, upcoming readings and tons of other material;
see the previous batch of backlist from January-February 2024 here;
and don't forget that Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal] is still in the midst of a tenth anniversary sale!

published in Ottawa by above/ground press
February-March 2024
a/g subscribers receive a complimentary copy of each
and there's still time to subscribe for 2024! (easily backdated,


To order, send cheques (add $1 for postage; in US, add $2; outside North America, add $5) to: rob mclennan, 2423 Alta Vista Drive, Ottawa ON K1H 7M9. E-transfer or PayPal at at rob_mclennan (at) hotmail.com or the PayPal button (above). Scroll down here to see various backlist titles, or click on any of the extensive list of names on the sidebar (many, many things are still in print).

Review copies of any title (while supplies last) also available, upon request.

Forthcoming chapbooks by ryan fitzpatrick, Mckenzie Strath, Kacper Bartczak (trans. by Mark Tardi), John Levy, alex benedict, Helen Hajnoczky, Ryan Skrabalak, Hope Anderson, MAC Farrant, Julia Polyck-O'Neill, Sacha Archer, Dale Tracy, Saba Pakdel, Peter Myers, Terri Witek and David Phillips (among others, most likely); what else might 2024 bring?


Friday, February 23, 2024

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Clint Burnham

Clint Burnham has lived in Vancouver since 1995.

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?

My first chapbooks were published by Lillian Necakov’s Surrealist Poets Gardening Assoc and Daniel Jones’ Streetcar editions – Lillian published The And that Cain Forgot and Jones did The Toronto Small Press Scene – both in 1990, the first was minimalist fiction, which I’ve continued to do up to my recent White Lie book from Anvil (2021) & the book of mine you just did (The Old Man: New Stories2024) and the second a critical account of local publishing. So there is a certain thru line – I continue to write fiction/poetry, mostly published with small(ish) presses like Coach House (back 20 years ago), Arsenal, Anvil, Book*hug; and I write criticism, mostly published by Canadian or international presses (in anthologies from McGill-Queen’s University Press, but also Routledge, Bloomsbury, Palgrave).

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

Again, poetry/fiction AND criticism – at the same time, in the late 80s. For me, some of the poets that came out of TISH and the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E and from my generation, the KSW, emulated that “impossible” non-relation (as we say in Lacan-speak) between criticism and creativity, a scholar and a poet (but not a scholar-poet). A scholar-poet, in my reckoning, means either just a bougie lyric poet employed by the uni, OR the poems full of obvious or encoded versions of, say, one’s research on TS Eliot or Donne or The Iliad (or, just as bad, theory code words like “grammatology” or “affect”). But my origin story is that when I was in high school in Regina, Sask., in the late 1970s, I came across a bill bissett poem in an anthology, (“th wundrfulness uv th mountees our secret police”?), I started writing lower-case, phonetic poems, submitted a wack of them to a Sask. arts board manuscript service, can’t remember the response. My high school teacher at the time, Ruth Robillard, was amazing, also had me reading Camus & Ondaatje. John Newlove came to read – he was writer in residence at the Regina public library (78? 79?). I moved to Victoria in 1980, at military college for a year before getting the boot, then fell in with writers in the city and around the university, including Gail Harris, Clint Hutzulak, and the poet Stephen Scobie who also taught. Then Toronto, to go to grad school, in the late 1980s, when again, fell into the small press community there, which led to a few chapbooks already mentioned. After that it’s book books, in Toronto and then Vancouver.

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 start in the Notes app, usually. (I’m very ADHD so keep getting distracted, copy down things, forget to finish this question., come back to it months later):

Certainly for The Old Man: New Stories, the project of mine you just published (thanks rob!), but also The Goldberg Variations, my poetry collection due out this spring (2024) from New Star, that was the origin. Cutting & pasting from other texts to friends & vice versa (when some of the stories in Old Man first occurred/were written, I’d send them to friends by WhatsApp or Signal etc. For The Goldberg I took what were written in bold heading font for the Notes app, and then dropped them all into a Word file and kept the line breaks from the app (so, in media studies lingo, the “affordances,” what’s SOP), then started moving them around, first into sonnet like things of 7+7 12+2 or 8+6 blocks, which became strings for the first three poems (“No to a harm rinse,” “Wedding hi viz,” and “Passion waged” – this was being put together in Berlin in the summer of 2022 so “Wedding” refers to that neighborhood), then strings of 7x2line couplets (“History b’y” – or Newfie for History boy). “5.2 cop crows” was then just single lines separated, and the next two poems “Back-out drink” and “Looks aren’t” were written as one line per page, compressed for reasons of political economy. “No to Nato,” the next poem (title taken from Wedding graffiti) then had two 7 line columns: you can read across or down. This was roughly half-way thru the manuscript so then I started fucking shit up. “B.A.” (named for a character in the great social democratic 80s tv show The A-Team) was structured like that vile contribution of  Vancouverism, the podium and tower condo – so thin lines interspersed with fatter ones, indented (with a few that ran over the end, which I always like, so you get:

forced feeding scene, orderly flicking cigarette ash onto food
in funnel in hose in
nostril serves me right just took the damned documentary
film course

which takes a memory of revulsion watching Frederick Wiseman’s Titicut Follies in a film course in the 1980s, and exceeds the page just as the visual described in the poem exceeded both the patient’s and my own bodies.

The poems that follow, “QUELNSEN” (historic centre of the Kòmoks people) strings up the various sonnet forms (7+7 12+2 or 8+6 blocks etc), “More likely a stroller” and “Cherry” are one-offs, “Coq. (pron. coke)” (as in Coquitlam or kwikwetlam) and “Frownlines get Marx-y” are working with the double columns (which, again, had much moving text around). Followed by “Naum Gabo!” both a gnarly Russian futurist whose cardboard structure I saw (still preserved, 100 years later, isn’t that crazy) and a song by Vancouver art-punks U-J3RKS, more futzing around with Vancouver condo-types, and finally “stéyəs LOSER” (the former an island in the Salish Sea, in the W̱SÁNEĆ language, the latter a 90s grunge ref., natch), where it all falls apart/comes together, take your pick.

NB re working from Notes app, that’s embedded in “5.2 cop crows”:

why if Nate
Mackey writes his poems in
his iPhone notes app is that
cool? and who remembers
Ho Tak Kai? but if I do it
just looks like thud? I mean this?

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?

I was asked about this but, continuing what I said above, don’t be too knowing. Or when you are too knowing, make that its own thing, so you’re not too knowing about being knowing. You never know what you’re doing in a work. Or when you think you do, you become one of those bloviators, telling you what their work means.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

This is a tough one, because I don’t like directly political writing or art, but I do think writing and art has a politics. For me, when it shows up in the work, it may be content, or it may be form. The use of quick commentaries or observations via my phone to the collection you published, that process, seems to me to be the politics of The Old Man. I find if I “intend” or “try” to write a political text, it fails. It has to nominate me, not the other way around. Or: the unconscious.

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

I love being edited. It’s very carnal.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard given to others?

I rarely send to places I don’t have a relationship with.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I really like Simon King’s TikTok on Northern Alberta. Lydia Davis’ Strangers. Jonathan Glazer’s film Zone of Interest. Just finishing Emily Wilson’s translation of The Iliad.

20 - What are you currently working on?

A continuation of/sequel to White Lie, more super short stories. Now published by you!

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Tuesday, September 13, 2022

SOME : fifth issue,

 

place can over there  and I’ll drop the tree upon it
while over there fetch bbq sauce packets in glovebox

offset on white crescent of bucket’s innard part
between plastic lip and hump of mushroom silhouetted
to take spinning half cut up hwy to sell the PG

creep who refused to leave the mountain who after
an agreement in good faith reneged hence

the loaner red semi driven w scant warning
over his tents, baskets, dog, kitchen things,

against bucket innard eyelid shape
extends flickering shadow of a ribbon of piss (Hamish Ballantyne, “from Hansom”)

I like what Vancouver poet Rob Manery has been doing with his print journal SOME [see my review of the second issue here] and the fifth issue, dated Summer 2022, recently landed on my doorstep, featuring work by Hamish Ballantyne, Clint Burnham, Jeff Derksen, Lary Timewell and an excerpt of a collaborative work-in-progress between Elee Kraljii Gardiner and Chris Turnbull. There is something really valuable about any journal or publisher able to publish work by writers who don’t seem to publish that often in journals, if at all (Lary Timewell, for example), as well as being open to work that might be seen as too long or too experimental for even journals interested in that kind of work. Hamish Ballantyne [see my review of his latest here] is working a larger project through a sequence of fragments, each small section simultaneously offering another and a further perspective. “practice breeds a / constellation of attendant / practices each indivisible / from the instants of their expression,” he writes, further in the excerpt included here, “Later we / if we can find each other in town / decide what they all meant […].”

The intricate and precise layering of Gardiner and Turnbull’s collaborative “MESH” is stunning, offering folds of text wrapped across each other. They’ve a further collaboration in the October issue of Touch the Donkey I look forward to exploring as part of our interview. And as far as Timewell is concerned, it is well beyond the time when someone should be publishing a book by this poet; I know there’s an enormous amount of uncollected work he’s been sitting on, and he certainly deserves far better attention than he’s seen so far. His “Eight Poems” in this issue offer echoes and roots of his 1970s and 80s Vancouver KSW language-origins, but with an engagement in the interpersonal that runs across the foundation of his entire work.

reminiscent of natural animal pleasures

it’s not escapades in cascades
it’s not business as usual
it’s not an unlivable wager

it’s not captivated or decorated
it’s not spurts of pleasant to recall

it’s not learning to be a good loser
it’s not you never loved anyone but yourself

it’s neither happiness not lacking in happiness
it’s not at hand it’s not out of reach

it’s not the blue funk of a sports slump
it’s not favour me won’t you with just one more smile

it’s not picking the lock in your daydreams
it’s more like thinking sweet things of others even as you slowly die

it’s more like it’s nothing like that at all
it’s more like as probably many of you will already know

it’s more like i suppose you have all heard the incriminating rumours of
it’s more (isn’t it?) like your so-called life

There is an approach to accumulated language and political writing that both Burnham and Derksen engage with that sits in a similar realm to other current and former Kootenay School of Writing practitioners; their work reminds of a similar flavour to that of Winnipeg-based poet Colin Smith, for example [see my review of his latest here]. For those aware of any of his numerous collections, Derksen’s four poems here offer elements of both the familiar and the unfamiliar, including a prose piece, “On a Generation that Squandered its Future” (I can’t remember the last time I saw a Jeff Derksen poem set in prose” that begins: “I was working in a gas station, a greenhouse, in delivery, in gardening, / in editing, in teaching, in administration. The weather has a new name and it / is no longer Elizabeth.” The shift in patter, patterns, is curious, while still retaining the accumulative effect of the long thread, writing language across issues of labour and capitalism. Burnham’s piece is an extended poem with a curious title, “letter from Mount Pleasant to Manhattan (on Kevin Davies’s The Golden Age of Paraphernalia, Edge Books, 2008),” suggesting an enormous amount going on through this particular poem, accumulating some fifty to sixty stanzas of piled phrases collaged together to form something far larger, and far more complex. “before her if I have to spell,” he writes, early on in the poem, “it out for you thereby taking // the pamphlet from the / Western Front listing two / dozen Chinese restaurants / nearby now, twenty-odd / years later, I wonder / what the German / sisters are doing now are / they still perpetual / students or did they finish // their degrees and training, / work for a while in the Harz / mountain village their / family originated from […].” There are a lot of directions to grasp this poem, less threads than individual points, and it makes me curious to see this particular Kevin Davies title to get a better sense of how Derksen might be responding to that particular work. Further on, writing: “[…] who // remembers Lorem ipsum, / clip art, clip joints, I’ll / give you a clip on / the ear the / sound of small bits of / gravel and grit under / tires turning (but not rolling, if / you catch my drift) […].” Alternately, the first section of Derksen’s “Anonymous Fanon Poems,” reads:

That which is choking
you is also choking me

but its tight mesh
the police
the army

the state

is not from you

nor others
under a blight

and I will lose it last
following first after

you lose it

I don’t know who carries copies (ie: stores, etcetera), but the colophon writes that correspondence can be direct to: somepoetrymagazine@gmail.com and that “Subscriptions are $24 for two issues. Single issues are $12. E-transfers are welcome.” Also: note that the reading/launch listed here is in Vancouver, British Columbia.