report : some lately,

It seems we've had so much going on lately, that I've barely been able to think outside of work, toddler, toddler, work, occasional sleep and whatever else happens around here. Pulling some photos off the camera for the sake of download, I've been realizing there's been plenty of activity unrecorded, from visits to travel to book events to simply running and jumping and living; for shame! Brecken Hancock visits regularly with her infant boy, Winter! Amy Dennis and family were here for nearly a week from the UK! We went to Burlington and met Christine's friend Christine's new baby, Elizabeth. Here, for the sake of (some) posterity, a little of what we've been up to lately:

In March, we celebrated my forty-fifth birthday with a publication and a party! (of course) Rose sat with anyone who had ordered french fries (also, of course).

Here she is with Cameron Anstee, enjoying cake.

Later in March, there was our fifth annual VERSeFest poetry festival, including a number of Chaudiere Books authors such as Roland Prevost [pictured] and Amanda Earl.

We headed to our annual Boca Raton [see various reports here], where I took some pictures for a future issue of Touch the Donkey (I think the entire photo-series will be far more appreciated come winter). And did you see there's currently a pre-summer sale for the journal?

Winnipeg poet K.I. Press was in town a while back, and she launched her new Turnstone Press poetry collection in our living room!

Marilyn Irwin was good enough to sit the Chaudiere Books table recently at Prose in the Park.

I've even been able to get the rare late-afternoon out for some writing (if you can believe it).

We launched some books by William Hawkins and N.W. Lea the other night as part of our big Chaudiere Books spring poetry launch [see my report on such here].

Did I mention we went to The Big Apple, en route to Toronto? After years and years, the apple itself is finally open again.

And yes, we've finally been able to allow the young lady to run around, including many local parks, and the jungle of our backyard.

There's probably a bunch of other stuff, but who can keep track? Especially without photos.

Lesley Yalen, The Hearts of Vikings

Dad says a Paterson man lost his mind

On the George Washington Bridge

Another urge to span a gap

Another ride along this terminal moraine.

Now I keep an eye on the break-down lane

For people who may need my help specifically

But the edge of the world is speeding (“Causeway”)

Northampton, Massachusetts Lesley Yalen’s first trade collection of poetry is The Hearts of Vikings (Boston MA: Natural History Press, 2015). The author of a small handful of poetry chapbooks, including This Elizabeth (Minus House Press, 2007) and the beginning in (minutes BOOKS, 2011), there have been more than a few of us clamouring for a first collection to appear. Composed in four sections—“Causeway,” “The Beginning In,” “The Hearts of Vikings” and “Kaddish”—there is something of the collected-chapbooks feel to The Hearts of Vikings, which may or may not even be true (a chicken-or-egg idea: did the book structure pre-date the excision into chapbook manuscripts, or the other way around?), but something that my prior knowledge of her work is distracting me towards. Still, such books can make for entirely cohesive collections, such as, for example, Toronto poet Kevin Connolly’s long-ago first, Asphalt Cigar (Toronto ON: Coach House Press, 1995).

The squares are cut out, so that the

men stand in them firmly.

When you die. When I feel no quivering leaf

or breath. When finally deprived.

And the construction and the process of the proof.

And afraid. And Beethoven composed his

music for his God. When forced to be born

all alone again. All normal and alone. When

without a thought of authorship you slip all

egress from the heavily bolted earth, when

explosions are tearing holes in iron and

balancing on a peg is no option. When tea

is served on a patternless dress, various ladies

introduced to me by name. At the

borderland of grammar. And I can’t seem

to catch their names over the hearing.

Much of what I’ve seen of her work so far (and this book is no exception) seems to favour the sequence, whether constructing a small unit out of untitled fragments, or out of titled poems, both of which manage to accumulate into something larger, abstract and singular. Her poems might be built with a larger framework in mind, but she manages to leave incredible, open spaces between her lines and stanzas, allowing her poems a near-excess of breath, and therefore, life. Yalen’s The Hearts of Vikings writes out a series of shifts, revisions, abstracts and the texture of dreams, set as much in the tangible as in the intangible, slipping even in the grip of her incredible lines. One might say that the entire collection articulates an attempt towards writing out the slippages of identity, from the “Kaddish” that ends the book to the poem “The New World,” that opens the collection: “The passage was a middle whose end was me // let me revise [.]” Does writing out the whom and the what cement, or even reduce, identity, or simply highlight the impossibilities of writing? Who are you, really?

People had texture, dimension, and mass

If you hurled a person at another, it hurt

If you removed a person from a scene, gone.

A person could be embellished, disassembled,

Or held, but it couldn’t slip through fingers

Or be in two places now,

In your lungs or written down,

Sung or eternal or repeated.

Every thing had an inside and a skin,

A face and a tail,

An origin, a due date, an appearance, and dreams.

A box divided all space

Into two areas, no matter where you put it

It insisted on making this distinction.

A person took its place among things. (“The Beginning In”)

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Valerie Witte

Valerie Witte is the author of a game of correspondence (Black Radish Book, 2015) and the chapbook, The history of mining (ge collective, 2013). Her writing has appeared in various journals, including Diagram, Dusie, Barrow Street, VOLT, Interim, and Alice Blue. In 2014 she began a collaboration with Chicago-based artist Jennifer Yorke. Their artist books based on her manuscript Flood Diary have been displayed in the exhibition, “Quotidiean/Elements of the Everyday: Water,” held jointly at the CelerySpace gallery in Berkeley, CA, and La Porte Peinte in Noyers, France. A native St. Louisan, she now lives and works as an editor in the San Francisco Bay Area. Follow her musings and her work at @shellthief (Twitter) and valeriewitte.com.

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?
I am still figuring that out! My first book, a game of correspondence, was just published, and I think the main change is that when I tell people about it, they get very excited. So that is fun. It is (roughly) about the ghosts of relationships that still haunt us. My newest (unpublished) book I think is much less about relationships than my previous work was, probably because I am in a happy one finally. :) It is more about the body (the minor deformities that we all experience, and mine in particular), the evolution of human skin, and the history of silk. In this way, it is both internal and external, but not as relational as my other work.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I came to fiction first! I grew up writing stories, or at least filling notebooks with partial stories. I majored in Fiction Writing in college. But my fiction wasn't very good. After college, I began reading my brother's poetry books--he had two boxes of them and they were at my parents' house, where I was now living. I fell in love with Sharon Olds, Robert Hass, Charles Simic, and others. I don't count them among my inspirations, since I write very differently from them now, but that is how I came to poetry.

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?
It's pretty slow. The book I just finished took over two years, and it's only 50 pages. It was particularly slow. Sometimes it takes me about a year to finish a manuscript. I do lots of drafts and rewriting and tweaking. The form can change five or six times during the process. I've been able to start the last two manuscripts at residencies, which has been a very positive experience.

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 am always working on a project--usually a whole book. I collect text from various outside sources as well as my own journals and writing. And I compile them with some kind of theme in mind, or one emerges over the course of the note-gathering. But I can't just write a one-off poem. I have no idea how to do that anymore!

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I both enjoy doing readings and am terrified of doing readings. I am always looking for ways to make them different. Sometimes I bring audio recordings that accompany my performance. Sometimes I ask friends or members of the audience to participate by reading different sections or "voices" in the poems. I am still usually super nervous, and I really want to get a lot better at putting on an engaging performance that resonates with the audience.

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?
How to use poetry to understand deeply human things like deformity, aging, physical and emotional pain, relationships. I am very interested in the environment and exploring issues related to climate change. I am currently thinking a lot about story and mystery--what do you do when things go missing or mysteries go unanswered...and why are we so fixated on resolving such mysteries.

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?
Of course she has one! I think it can be whatever the writer wants it to be, to an extent. I think the role of artists in general can involve many things--to entertain, enrich, and enlighten. I don't think the writer has to feel she must change the world or be directly political. But I do believe in contributing to the community and that sharing one's work with others is a key element of being an artist. I feel some obligation to help "get the work out," so I volunteer in a small press, and I helped form a collective that exchanges mail art and engages in collaborative projects and happenings.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I have rarely worked with an outside editor--thus far. My chapbook I edited myself; and my book book was lightly edited--they were very kind to me! I work professionally as an editor, so I feel that I have a deep understanding of the process and would work well with editors in general. I definitely believe strongly in the editing process.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
I was an intern at a performing arts center in college. My manager was a musician, and he kept a binder of his rejection letters. I thought this was odd, but he said those are what make you work harder. So in general I don't feel upset when I get rejected. It's just part of the artistic process--and it does make you work harder.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (solo to collaboration)? What do you see as the appeal?
I love collaborations. I have been working with a visual artist, Jennifer Yorke, for about a year. She created artist books based on my Flood Diary manuscript that have been exhibited in Berkeley and France, and we are now working on videos based on a new manuscript I wrote called Silkyard. She is amazing to work with, so I feel very lucky. Neither of us knows the first thing about video, but we are eager to learn, and as she says, not afraid to fail! The appeal to me is both the process and joy of working with another artist, and creating something unique and new, different from a book.

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 afraid I don't have much of one these days. I am trying to write on the train to and from work now. Otherwise, I just slip it it when I have time. It's a challenge.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
Still trying to figure that out! Probably music mainly and poetry books that I love. I also try to get out in nature as much as possible. I get most of my ideas on my morning walks--it's one of the few times in my day where I am disconnected from the world, so it's a very valuable time to me.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Hmm...trees and grass?

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?
I just read a long article about thermonuclear reactors. And I've written about cryogenics and researched the development of the Apollo Spacesuit. Yes, science seems to find its way into my work quite a bit. I love music, it's really my passion, but it doesn't find its way into my work directly very often. I listened to Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" a lot when I was writing one of my manuscripts--I think exactly one poem in the manuscript references the album.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
For poetry: Barbara Guest, Laura Walker, Rusty Morrison, Robert Creeley, Emily Dickinson, Bhanu Kapil. But I mainly read a ton of articles, essays, and news in places like Slate and The Atlantic. I obsessively read TV and film reviews.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Anything that combines writing with other art forms--I love to sing and I play drums (not well yet), so bringing those into a performance is a goal/fantasy; the video Jennifer and I working on; maybe an art installation based around my work. 

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 think it could be really amazing to be a massage therapist. It seems like it would be wonderful to combine something physical, using your body, with helping someone else feel better and heal.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I don't know, I don't remember a time when I wasn't writing. When I was very little, I wanted to be an art teacher. But other kids' skills quickly surpassed mine. So I think that is partly why I am a writer--because it is something I have worked a lot at and am somewhat able to do. :) But also I just feel compelled to do it and it's the thing I do that always brings meaning to my life, for which I am very grateful.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Book: Citizen, by Claudia Rankine; film: This was a while ago but I loved Stories We Tell, directed by Sarah Polley.

20 - What are you currently working on?
Not sure yet. :) I am thinking a lot about the missing Malaysian plane from 2014. I am obsessed/intrigued that something so big and all those people can simply vanish. I am interested in exploring mystery--the human need to understand tragedy--including the morbid curiosity around it. Like the cultural obsession around the podcast Serial. I am also thinking about something related to hemispheres. Where any of this will go is yet undetermined...

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Profile of Ben Ladouceur, at Open Book: Ontario,

My profile of Toronto poet Ben Ladouceur, author of Otter (Coach House Books, 2015), is now online at Open Book: Ontario.

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

[Hugh Barclay, with his Thee Hellbox Press] Another listing of titles picked up at our most recent fair! See part one here and part two here, obviously. How much is too much? (We might need to build more shelves)

Ottawa ON: It’s nice to see a new small press offering from Toronto poet (and longtime editor of the Surrealist Poets Gardening Association) Lillian Nećakov, her chapbook The Lake Contains an Emergency Room (Ottawa ON: Apt. 9 Press, 2015).

The Lake Contains an Emergency Room

There are pacifists and mongrels sitting here

there is no window to look out of

you hold a small puddle of blood up against your cheek

outside, I imagine the clouds are blue

we have been waiting hours

it has been 16 years

we wait our turn

you can no longer hold a pencil

the doctor looks like a rooster

night is finished

there is no smell to pain

the needlework is shoddy

the door remembers us.

There is an odd humour and compelling candor to the surrealism of Lillian Nećakov, one that seems very human in nature, exploring the surrealism of such tangible subjects as gardening, the nature of origins, making soup, or a stroll through the park.

Step Away

Let’s return to an empty chair

or we could weed the garden

something to silence the haunting

a thing to teach us to carve bone

un-mouth the meanness

un-speak the dark promises

murmuring over our lakes

let’s return tonight

to our child’s skin

selfish, shirtless

bruised

let’s rage against the tongue

stich together

all our dead relatives

and linger

regretless

on the wind.

Ottawa ON: After an extended period working on a variety of other projects [see my recent Jacket2 piece on him here], jwcurry has been publishing again recently, with some recent oddbits including the collaborative (and hand printed) tchts (jwcurry and Rachel Zavitz) produced as CURVD H&Z 474 (31 oct 2014).

shadow planet

smithereens

at impact

The small collaboration between curry and Zavitz is one of but a long line of collaboration he’s been doing with multiple writers over the years. There is something about this short sequence of three-line stanzas that have the tautness of (English-language) haiku combined with an incredible precision that presents the illusion of a single (as opposed to double) hand present in every line. To order a copy, or inquire about other publications, write him c/o his new address: #302-28 Ladouceur Avenue, Ottawa ON K1Y 2T1

Another recent publication is the gestetnered INDUSTRIAL SABOTAGE #64, as jwcurry writes in the colophon, “the ‘selfstarterkid’ issue,’ the first to appear (after a long hiatus: #63, Messagio Amor Some More, was issued 13 april 2008),” featuring writing by a host of regular and irregular contributors to curry’s wealth of publications: Michael e. Casteels, M.R. Appell, P. Cob_, Lenore Cochrane, Jon Cone, Judith Copithorne, Marilyn Irwin, Lance LaRocque, Billy Little, bpNichol, Jim Smith, Hugh Thomas and Rachel Zavitz. One thing I’ve always admired about curry is his patience, fully aware that he has said that for his letterpress printing, he has to like a poem to produce it not once, but up to one or two hundred times (which makes one wonder how many published pieces would actually survive the same criteria, even from their own authors).

Apple

apple,

so to say, never again

uneaten

someone gave me a bump on the head (Hugh Thomas)

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Melissa Bull

Melissa Bull is a Montreal-based writer, editor and translator. Her writing has been featured in such publications as Event, Prism, Lemon Hound, The Montreal Review of Books and subTerrain. She edits Maisonneuve magazine's "Writing from Quebec" column. Her translation of Nelly Arcan's Burqa of Skin was published in 2014 and her first collection of poetry, Rue, was released in April of 2015.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
I guess it remains to be seen. I’ve been writing and publishing for a long time, but my first book just came out in April. Some of the poems in Rue are several years old, and I’m excited to think about all the shiny new projects I want to focus on next.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I didn’t, really -- I like to do all kinds of writing, poetry and fiction and non-fiction. The trick is more identifying what genre to work a particular project in. But I when I started to write, when I was around five or six years old, poetry was my way in. It felt like a departure from the way we use language every day. There was something conscious and purposeful about it that I liked.

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’m not a copious note-taker -- I’d rather use that writing time for writing writing. Poems usually take me a lot of rewrites. And then I forget about them and find them and rewrite them again. But I’m a fan of deadlines. I’ve worked as a professional writer and editor for a number of years and I like to just get out of my own way and get stuff done.

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’ll get a line in my head that won’t go away and I’ll just write it down and see what the next lines are. Rue is very much a collection of poems written about my life over the course of almost a decade. My next poetry collection began as a book, as more of a realized project that I have to work towards. It’s also, thankfully, not at all about me.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I like readings. I like them as a way of getting various branches of writing communities together, or of discovering new-to-me authors. When I’m giving a reading I try to keep it pretty brief so that no one gets bored or uncomfortable and we can get to the hanging out part faster.

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?
It depends on the project. Class and bodies almost always come into play. My next poetry collection has a more theoretical concern, but it too is about bodies and class.

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?
In some ways it’s no different from any person’s role I guess. To notice specifics. To be present. The books I’ve loved have shown me new ways of thinking. Not just new ways of thinking about a thing, but they’ve structurally shifted the way I think, the way I see. Which is exciting and cool. I love it when that happens.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I want to be edited. And I make sure I find a few key brains, in addition to my editors, to revise my work, always. I’m grateful to have friends who will take the time to think about my work and offer up some comments to help make it stronger.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
I’m a late bloomer so for a while everyone was just telling me to publish -- and they were right! You should be publishing, when you’re a writer.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to translation)? What do you see as the appeal?
When I was a teenager I learned the now-out-of-date and problematic term “woman of letters” in a literature class and it gave me a happy feeling, a kind of kick of “yes!”  -- I felt that’s what I wanted to be -- a cross-genre writer. (All the letters, all alphabet, give it to me.)

Re: translation, I get super excited about good work and I am so happy to have a skill that helps me share good work from one community with another, particularly as Canada’s franco and anglo communities can be pretty ignorant of one another’s arts.

But I’m just a big, happy, excited fan of language and the many things it can do. I feel provoked and engaged and useful when I write or edit or translate.

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 have day jobs, so I usually write at night, and on weekends. What I do is I work at an office all day, then come home, have dinner, hang with my partner, then have a coffee and kickstart my brain and make myself work for several hours. It seems work-a-holic-y, I know, but the truth is I think having constraints really helps me be more efficient with my time, and it keeps me from dithering too much. So it works for me.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I’m paranoid that I’ll wake up without another idea one day, so I stash lots of beginnings or ideas for stories around, so I can flip around from project to project if something stops working. I usually have a few things on the go so I just push one thing as far as I can then work on the next one until I can’t figure out where to go with that anymore, and so on.

Just being involved in a lot of projects and committing to deadlines takes care of most inspiration issues. I’m way less woo-woo about the mystery of it all and more trusting that things will come and will right themselves if I just sit down and work it out.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
My partner’s cooking. I come home from work every evening to him cooking us dinner. He also bakes bread every week, which fills our whole apartment with amazing smells. (I’m a very lucky person.)

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?
Man, if I could do all the arts I would. My writing is definitely a response to other arts -- it’s just that I can’t respond to those arts with those arts. Otherwise, I don’t know. My writing just about the stuff I think about, obsess over, can’t avoid.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I’m interested in writing that’s authentic, sharp, surprising, smart. I read journalism and non-fiction and poetry and fiction… I like to make sure I’m out of my comfort zone and keeping myself thinking and engaged. But I always feel badly, too -- there’s so much more I could be reading. The FOMO of literature.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
So many things! Learn to sail. (Though maybe I should learn to drive first.) Translate a bunch of novels. See more of Europe. Learn Danish. Improve my Spanish. Visit Mexico. Learn silversmithing and make my own jewellery. Be rippling with muscles.

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 have day jobs that allow me to lead an alternate life to that of a writer every day. I’ve worked a lot as an editor for various publications, and right now I’m a manager for an IT company. It’s important for me, for the way I learn about my limits and my capabilities, to participate in that “outside” world. I like it.

When I was in my early 20s I thought about becoming a minister for a while. I remember thinking that if I did that I couldn’t be as free in my writing, though, like I wouldn’t be able to say or publish dirty, judgy, sexy things. So I guess that worked out.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
When I was a teenager and getting ready to apply for colleges, I debated between studying music -- I played the flute -- and studying literature. Ultimately, for me, writing and literature seemed limitless -- you can write about anything. And I never auditioned for music school -- just went right for the books.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Naja Marie Aidt’s Baboon is my favourite book lately.

I just saw that movie While We're Young in the theatre, and I mostly liked it. I watched Boyhood on a plane recently; it was good. Mostly I’ve been streaming some fun Scandinavian crime shows, though. My favourite is Annika Bengtzon. A crime-solving, tough-broad reporter with great hair! The best.

20 - What are you currently working on?
A collection of poetry, a collection of essays, I’m translating two plays right now. I’d like to wrap up my collection of short stories soon… and get back to my novel. I’m finishing up my MFA soon and my thesis will be a novel translation. I’m looking forward to getting into that, too.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

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

My first report on our small press fair lives here, in case you missed it. Here are a couple more items I managed to pick up over the weekend. Are you jealous yet?

Kingston ON: It took a while for me to pick up a copy, but I finally collected Phil Hall’s limited-edition letterpress sequence, X (Thee Hellbox Press, 2013), a meditative breath-take constructed out of fragments, pauses and a steady, staggered cadence, much as any regular or irregular reader would come to expect from Hall. There is always such delight that comes from reading a new poem by Hall, watching his lines and language bounce and gyrate across patterns and the page, reveling in unusual sounds, shocks and digressions, even has he explores a particular series of dark moments from without and within. As he writes on the first page: “arcs   letters   curls of let / wait wit   wait   a song // grows a nail   from a moo— [.]”

  Few poems worth knowing

worth suspect   knowing suspect    /     few suspect

  seeing double    hearing less out of one ear

to have had to be 60 to say in a poem the abuser’s name

  is this success or failure   both   neither

my tongue’s baloney-smell    articulating adios

Hall’s poem is beautifully designed and printed by Hugh Barclay in a numbered edition of 106 copies, with artwork throughout by Michèle LaRose and signed by all three (mine is #87). This is the 47^th book produced by Barclays’ Thee Hellbox Press.

LaFarge WI: It was good to see Montreal’s Billy Mavreas [pictured] make his first ever appearance at our Ottawa fair, especially with publications such as his HOOCH POP TYPOS (Xexoxial editions, 2013), published as “xerolage 57,” a collection of concrete poems/visual images. As Mavreas writes at the back of the small collection:

Hooch Pop Typos collects individual works spanning approx. 3 years that seek to mimic the aesthetic of degenerated photocopies using the tools of Adobe Photoshop.

[…]

With exception of 3 pieces, these works saw their beginning as images found via random internet image searches. An image, representing the search ‘document’, for example, would be downloaded, colour removed, high contrast black and white implemented and then filter, copy, paste, crop, repeat until finished. The 3 remaining pieces saw their start on the photocopy machines’ glass and then were brought in for alteration.

[…]

This publication, whose title is an anagram of the three words: Photo, Copy & Shop, is a welcome real world manifestation of these digital impulses.

Part of what I’ve always found curious about Mavreas’ work is the fact that he appears to have come into concrete and visual poetry via his work as a visual artist, as opposed to from a more traditional text-based writing practice. Working very much in the “dirty concrete” realm of concrete/visual poetry, his bio informs that: “His foray into concrete poetry and asemic writing started early via a love for mysterious symbols, rocknroll lettering and SF&F. Xerox manipulations and mail-art sealed the deal in the late 1980s as he entered and participated in the network as EHEL. His art practice is based on accumulation and accretion, consisting of various personal collections, made and found, that resonate with him on an aesthetic and spiritual level.” As part of an interview forthcoming at Touch the Donkey, he writes:

Many artists I’ve seen who explore visual poetry and comics tend to stay closer to the realm of abstract or experimental comics. In my case my comics have been experimental and I still make abstract comic work but I’ve been tending towards more direct narrative, straight up comic work so to speak, which is a great challenge, whereas my poetry tends way more towards abstraction, conceptual writing and visual poetics. My poetry that isn’t visual is usually rock lyrics, bumper stickers, band names and other stuff that remains more or less private, unpublished or juvenile.