Sunday, October 28, 2012

One more Halloween poem

I hope you all get a trick or treat this Halloween, but if you don't get either, here's a poem for your pillowcase.

how to get out.

if you are lucky, your closest living relative will have provided
a safety device: such as a bell, a whistle, or, for the modern day
dead, a cell phone. though reception may be difficult to attain
at six feet under. expect the darkness in which your shadow
abandons you and possesses itself. the odor of excretion:
sweat and urine. the putrid stench of decomposition. of flesh-flies’
adoration. don’t worry, it’s not shit or skunk or road kill: just you.
don’t panic…the increase of psychological distress. will shorten
the breath. you’ve no clue. how much is left. how many last gasps.
torment don’t squirm…you will only hurt yourself
don’t fear. your death.  your body has already
suffered            the process:  instead pretend it’s a possibility
for another life.  when you’re finished shrieking. take. a few.
minutes to become acquainted with your casket. first check:
for a signaling device.  should you find one, thank Count
Karnice-Karnicki. should you not, curse your closest living relative.
grope on: there should be a book or a cross, love letters or prayers
your teddy. you may take a moment to hug teddy___okay stop.
put him aside, he’s no good as a shovel.  waste no time for the ground
to settle. over you. for the rain to make dirt clods pebbles. for petals
to brown and sink. angle the remains so that your legs may be
useful. push the lid. and dig. with the cross or book edge or desperate
empty hands. and head up. just head up. without. hesitation. scrape
till you bleed. you think. asphyxiation. the alternative: dirt up nose.
rocks down ears. why fear suffocation? in panic one scrapes for solution
yet. it’s elementary. dig up. dig up. dig up. until there are six feet under.

Halloween poems

In the spirit of Halloween I'm posting two poems that I wrote in the first workshop I ever took many many years ago. Back in those early days I wrote a lot of murder mystery poetry at my colleagues' requests and to our professor's (Sandy Mcpherson's) concern.

Black Diamonds

under an asphalt night
             with shadows of snow fists
                           permitted a short-lived pallor
          before high beams loosen their corporeal grip

a driver:

Come on…                  oh!
Speed up
slow for the curves

Don’t force red out                               the rear lights

       enough of it seeps back there

I’m Fine.
Everyone’s Fine.

But wait!                      A carpool lane?
And we are two!
I almost forgot you
  a              forceful             forgot
a                  forget              -me            -not
 were there

I’ve been down
black diamonds

off a cliff
not on rocks
the snow’s been too thick
the snow                    fall            thicker before              night’s done
the snow                              a sheet            several                                    feet   
the snow                                                                                                           stifle all
silent stample                                        nestle                     with permanence

after                 there                 be                    tracing              tracks
            tonight              ’ll                     no                    skiers’
to                     whether            ’d                     down                diamonds or
            tell                    they                  led                    the                    off

                                                to worry
                                                about   You’re already
                                                                  set I’ve put
                                                                your gear on
                                                          you, skis and all
                                                              Only we must
                                                                 get there we
                                                              must get there
Red lights
Not brakes                   Blue lights too
Flashing                        Though I’m not speeding                       —Pull Over—

Slower             slower              drive slower
Hello officer                  play cool
You were driving in the carpool lane
But I know, I know I
can because we are two
But where is the second passenger?
You can’t see him?

He                    can’t                 see                   him
Clear as night certain as day come right this way
I’ll prove it if you promise not to write me up
If you promise to not
                                    not to stop
                                                            me tonight
                                                            we must be
                                                            on my way

The Authority:

Pushing, pushing, he’s pushing.
How bold.  He just must not see
My lights, yet still he’s rushing
Even though he can’t pass me.

But wait, he’s moved to the fast lane.
No signal, he can’t tell I’m a cop.
Swerving, can’t stay inside the lines,
Further to the left and he’ll drop

Not over rocks,
Not through slush,
But upon snow over snow over snow.
The metal will rip apart like strips of torn paper,
His body lost in tow.

If he flew as fast as black diamonds
I could pull him on over right now.
I first want a reason for the ticket
But wait, he’s in the fast lane, that’s how.

But we are two, he’s shaking at the joints.
He’s confused, but he’s not drunk.
He just wants to be on his way so he points.
But why is the passenger in the trunk?

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Antidote to Lion Venom Reading

RA Villanueva
Dan Lau
April Naoko Heck
Cathy Che
Susan Calvilllo
Hossannah Asuncion
Wednesday, July 25th at 7pm
58 West 10th Street

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Belated April 30x30

This post is coming two months too late, I realize, but I thought I should address it at some point: once again I failed to accomplish my poetry month 30x30 goal.  Maybe for 30 years I'll just create increasingly outrageous poetry month goals and never accomplish one of them, I think I could at least handle that!  I also would like to think that I did not completely pass April by without literary commitment.  I got a little stuck on some other reading, which is what made it somewhat difficult to keep up with reading a new book everyday.  If I try this again I'll have to keep in mind that anthologies and novels can get in the way of the quantitative goal.  Qualitatively, I've been quite pleased with my reading.  I picked up a few anthologies (so I read well over 30 poets...just not 30 books): Twentieth Century Latin American Poetry (Stephen Tapscott ed.) and Postmodern American Poetry (Paul Hoover ed.)  I also fell into a fantasy/magical realism novel kick as I tend to do when closing in on the summer: Hard Boiled Wonderland/The End of the World (Haruki Murakami), Pedro Paramo (Juan Rulfo), and A Game of Thrones (George R. R. Martin).

The anthologies have inspired me to pick up other poetry books that, based on the excerpts I've seen so far, I would recommend: Imaginary Elegies by Jack Spicer, Meditations in an Emergency by Frank O'Hara, Bean Spasms by Ted Berrigan/Ron Padgett/Joe Brainard, as well as poetry by Russel Edson, Paul Violi, and Bob Perelman.  I'm also going to indulge in the guilty pleasure of finishing the Game of Thrones series.

As a last note: Lollapaganza was a total success and an awesome festival, lots of poets and ridiculousness.  While there I picked up the latest copy of Abraham Lincoln (issue 7).  Buy your copy here!

Monday, May 7, 2012

Cipactli Reading

Cipactli is having their reading and reception!

Where: SFSU's Poetry Center HUM 512
When: May 10 at 4-6pm
Who: Cipactli is a Latina/Latino Studies Journal of Art & Literature

My two poems "Three Instances of Waking" and "Dinner Date" are published in this edition.  Copies of the edition will be available at the reading!

You can expect performances by me, Jose Cadena, and many many more!

Also, I may bake goodies for the event. So if you despise my poetry, at least come for the food!

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Graduate Showcase 4/26/2012

Come see a presentation on my Dual Duel poems at the 2012 Graduate Research and Creative Works Showcase!

Location: San Francisco State University
Gym 100
1600 Holloway Avenue
San Francisco, California 94132

Time: 3 to 5:15pm

The Graduate Research and Creative Works Showcase is an annual exhibition of the diverse work of SF State’s innovated and talented graduate students. Each year SFSU hosts more than 150 graduate exhibitors whose presentations typically come in the form of a poster display that depict the purpose, methods, and results of their research or creative projects.

The showcase will be open to the public for viewing between the hours of 3 pm and 5:15 pm. Beverages and snacks will be available during the Showcase viewing.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Velro Reading on 4/25/12

Come to the Velvet Revolution Reading Series April 25, 2012!
I will be reading with Jose Hector Cadena. Here are the details:

The Art Gallery - Terrace Level
Cesar Chavez Student Center
1650 Holloway Ave

Time: 5-7pm
Cost: FREE! + Free snacks/drinks
*8 Open mic slots

Also if you come, I'm bringing these hand-crafted booklets of my poetry to hand out.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

6-9 Crystallography, Axion Esti, Marianne Moore, and The Cake

I apologize for the whirlwind of a post, but it is quite difficult to keep up reading a book a day AND responding to each on top of all the translating and workshop work I've been doing at SFSU lately. It is thus far been worth it! Here's why:

Crystallography is probably the most inspiring book I've read so far this month in terms of form and approach to a topic as a driving force of a project or full-length book. I don't mean at all to put down any of the other items I've read as they've each brought new perspective to my thinking about writing. For example, I am still in awe of the imagery and language that Arthur Sze created and feel emotionally wrenched by the Amelia Earhart and fire circus poems. I respect those works and hope to study them further so that I can make an attempt to develop such scenes and evocative detail. But I feel more connection to Crystallography by Christian Bok for a few reasons: the book approaches a topic in full-length, dealing with language, the formation of crystals, and lucid writing from start to finish. I similarly have been writing with a single focus or moving all of my poetry toward a single cause or project lately. Second, the book is somewhat procedural, addressing crystallography through poetic interpretation of crystal formation. And alongside more lyrical and homophonic word-play there are also more visual poems defining the structures of gems by spelling out and displaying in an interlocking manner the elements of each stone. The book dives into the states of glass, geodes, amethysts, rubies, and more. If you are a collector of gemstones as I did in much of my youth, or if you enjoy thinking about literature scientifically or mathematically I recommend Crystallography for your collection. Of all the books that I've read this month, this is the one that while I was on the bus also sparked conversation. A young man interrupted my reading to ask about it. Mini-success! I convinced him to go check it out as well.

Axion Esti was written by Nobel Prize winner Odysseus Elytis, a Greek poet. Axion Esti which means "Worthy it is" ties itself to the traditions of the Bible and creation, discussing the worth of the earth in relation to man. Its first section titled "Genesis" begins in a state of chaos, and while it reflects much of the religious text, it certainly moves in a different direction which is more evident in later sections of the work when it is clearer that there is political commentary dealing with the military and struggles in Greece. The poem deals much with the idea of creation, the naming of things and how the naming allows for the thing to exist and assume an identity. In the lines: "Your commandment," he said, "is this world/ and it is written in your entrails..." "he said: Look! And my eyes sowed the seed/ racing faster than rain even/ over a thousand virgin acres" we see the power of what has been written, how man has command over the world around him by his ability to create order to the chaos, and by giving things a name so that they fit into a pattern and order. The first section submits to the question of "worth" as mentioned in the title as the character walks in awe of the world and experiences it anew in a naive bliss. It isn't until the later sections of the poem that the character deals with the terrors of the world, the man-made chaos that tears mankind and the earth apart. The sections describe soldiers and their struggle. The final section of the book combines the two perspectives, shows acceptance of the two types of "chaos" the more natural and the man-made chaos, though it doesn't define it in the way that I have just done here. The acceptance is interesting, but I have to admit the most interesting section in my opinion is the first because there is much freedom even for the reader to approach the reader with a green and virgin perspective.

At last I was able to read The Complete Poems of Marianne Moore (published in 1967) though it is a misleading title because I don't believe it is actually all of her poems. Still, I very much enjoyed it. I'm embarrassed to admit I haven't actually ever studied Marianne Moore before. I had read her poem "The Fish" several times, which if you've never read, you ought to google it immediately and enjoy. Much of her writing is a glorified encyclopedia of animalia paraphernalia. She displays such a vast knowledge of mythical, exotic & common, and sea creatures. Her descriptions of creatures cultivates settings that seem so true to real nature yet I'm sure I've never imagined before, and her detailed settings bring creatures to life in fresh ways as well. I'm thinking most of the opening stanza in her poem "The Steeple-Jack":

Durer would have seen a reason for living
in a town like this, with eight stranded whales
to look at; with the sweet sear air coming into your house
on a fine day, from water etched
with waves as formal as the scales
on a fish.

Another thing that I noticed about some of the poetry was the use of blades in relation to the animals, which may just be an obsession that I have: to keep an eye out for the natural world and creatures as weapons or defensive devices. But in "The Plumet Basilisk" we have the lines:

"...the innocent, rare, gold-
defending dragon that as you look begins to be a
nervous naked sword on little feet, with threefold
separate flame above the hilt, inhabiting

fire eating into air..."

And in "His Shield":

"...Become dinosaur-
skulled, quilled or salamander-wooled, more ironshod
and javelin-dressed than a hedgehog battalion of steel, but be

I suppose I shouldn't limit this reflection to weaponry and defensive techniques, as Marianne Moore has many unique ways of approaching, describing, and re-imagining creatures. This happens to just be one that I really enjoyed. Last I would like to mention that she has an impressive command of language and of the line. Her rhymes are eloquent and surprising, her form is extremely thoughtful and aids the content well highlighting where items need recognition and carrying music between the words.

The last book I'll mention for now is The Cake by Rhea Galanaki. Galanaki is a female Greek writer responding in literature just after the times of the military junta in Greece. During that time there was strict censorship of literature, newspapers, and democratic thought in general. Censorship there is a bit different from what we know of censorship here. When we think of censorship here in our present day or even looking back into the 70s which is when this sort of writing was occurring, we think of a black strip covering an inappropriate image on the screen or a tone blocking out profanity. Censorship to us means that we are eliminating something from a text. But censorship at that time meant that all works attempting to be published would be screened and if they were found inappropriate or in conflict with the government and its ideals it would not be allowed to be published. There was one musical artist even that had been put in jail because he sang of his lover's lips as "red". For more on this period and its influence on writing please refer to "The Rehearsal of Misunderstanding" by Karen Van Dyck. Now, because there was such a struggle with freedom of expression writers began writing elusively. The Cake was written after this time, but quite possibly the style carried on as she approaches in this piece to turn masculine and feminine tradition upside down and confuse them and fuse them. She does so with the strange interactions with a cake, using it as a symbol of birth-giving and plunging it through matrimonial commitment, drowning it in blood, and entrapping it in societal norms and expectations. I cannot describe a direct narrative because this writing does as Van Dyck explains, it rehearses in misunderstanding, it turns in and over on itself. This is the fun of the writing and the point into the controversy, confinement, contradiction, and confusion in the topic and work. Along with that it is also a tale of the hunt, where the hunter and hunted reverse roles and become trapped in themselves and each other.

In short, I recommend reading all of these.

Sunday, April 8, 2012


New Goose by Lorine Niedecker
Return to a Place Lit By a Glass of Milk by Charles Simic
Currently reading Crystallography by Christian Bok

...but I've been in and out of the hospital a lot for personal family reasons so I may have to make up reading a few books later.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Day 3: The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart

Gabrielle Calvocoressi's book contains three long poems: The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart, From the Adult Drive-In, and Circus Fire, 1944. The Earhart poem is split into sections, each from the voice of a different character commenting on the last time they saw Amelia Earhart, including a mechanic, miner, stepson, husband, and Susan James, a high-school teacher. The combination of the voices tells a personal tale of Earhart's life and disappearance, depicting her as both an absence and a symbol of hope. The poems consider the absence of a person when she is still there, and the presence of a person when she is gone. Several of the poems focus on children and their concept of absence closely tied with escape. In the seventh section of the poem "Joel Sullivan, miner" the miner speaks of his daughter:

She won't believe that woman's dead.
She says, I think it's romantic

to disappear.
I bite my tongue

My favorite section is the narration by the high-school teacher who wants her students to see Amelia Earhart fly, to see her wave at them. You do not need to be a regular fan of historical poetry to enjoy this piece.

Day 2: West Wind Review

The 2012 edition of West Wind Review is now available here and is the second item on my list for national poetry month. A list of the poets included is available on the website. This one is difficult for me to review because there are so many writers with so many unique voices and ideas. I suppose I’ll just start by saying that several pieces threw me into embarrassing fits of giggles, from Adam J Maynard’s “Getting out of My Body” which begins

A little Frankenstein
Working at the snack bar…

to Andrew Terhune’s “John Belushi” in which there are pockets full of delicious surprises. Some recurring themes that I noticed were the use of animals and anal attention, though not necessarily at the same time. There are lots of horses, beef, and bears, oh my! Especially talking horses and bears (no talking beef if my memory serves me). There are also special appearances by Kim Jong Il, Mussolini, Jeff Bridges, Kevin Bacon, Morgan Freeman, Jane Goodall, and my favorite Barbara Streisand.

I couldn’t help but snatch up words and phrases from the magazine, so I’ll end with this found poem.

Feather Direction

for an umbrella sitting in
for a garbage bin

lots and lots of tape
enough to make a person
-sized box of glazed donuts

Suggestive cake
lipsticked cicadas
beloved peanuts
knife a zoo

Salesmen are drumsticks
when it comes to cat attacks
does 13 pages = 13 lives?

the taste of the larynx
holograms coming into
consciousness realizing

they are more
like vampires than humans
33 vertebrae on a string
flirting with artic Giants

tell everyone everyone’s
mad, Tchaichovsky
made Spaghetti too
Date: $ Robots.

dead-enders making love
like a real prayer
fingered by mustard, a good
wife, alcoholism, and so on

Monday, April 2, 2012

National Poetry Month

Every month has been poetry month for me, especially during this last year and a half, but I still feel that poetry month calls for a little extra attention. The past two years I have attempted the write a "Poem-a-day" goal, and I think much of my poetry and pride has suffered from these attempts. While this sort of motivation is effective for other writers, I think that I would like to be less concerned with quantity and focus on the quality of poetry. So this year instead of writing 30 horrible poems, I am setting the goal of reading a book of poetry every day. Should they inspire my own writing, it's all for the better! But truly I want to have a less self-centered poetry goal and really enjoy, respect, and share the poetry that has already been written and given to us writers and readers. I will try to write a mini review or response to each of the books. If anyone would like to join, I welcome comments. And if anyone has recommendations, I still don't have all 30 books picked out. Happy reading and writing everyone.

Day 1
"The Redshifting Web" by Arthur Sze

"The Redshifting Web" is a collection of Arthur Sze's poetry from 1970-1998. The poems connect past and present, the universal and specific, and carry both elegant and horrifying images. Much of the poetry presents ideas, objects, and brief narratives stacked on top of one another, so that the reader feels the effect of being stretched over many times, places, and emotions; at the same time Sze organizes the items in such a way that one can't help but draw connections between them, feel both pain and relief, fascination and disgust. A poem may start with apricot blossoms then dive into asphyxiation. It will have you consider the Sombrero Galaxy then take you to meditate on floating pins. Sze asks the "big" questions such as, "Who is measuring the pull of the moon in a teacup?" or the now googleable and at times applicable-to-dinner questions "True or false...the fins of a blowfish are always edible." When I first opened this collection, I had been anxiously flying across the country from SF to NY. But before my plane even took off (we were on the runway long enough for me to read the new poems at the beginning of the book) I felt calmed. I was a little disturbed that I could be calmed since Sze points to some of the frightening truths of our society, yet at the same time, he brings balance to those situations by redeeming confidence after each storm such as in BEFORE COMPLETION:

A woman puts a baby in a plastic bag
and places it in a dumpster; someone
parking a car hears it cry and rescues it.

Lastly, I can't help but mention all of the natural imagery that Sze strings throughout. I cannot more accurately describe the persimmons, pear trees, or ginkgo than he does so I'll just leave you with two lines from THE STRING DIAMOND:

honeydew seeds
germinating in darkness.

Saturday, January 28, 2012


I will write haiku under two circumstances:
(1) in a race
(2) with free pen, paper, and wine

Sunday, January 22, 2012

on painkillers

Here is one seventh of a poem that I'm referring to as 7x7 at the moment:

On Painkillers

your iced groin is the hooting partiality, truly, pointy, baa…

thawed owls airlift iceberg cablegrams; it—tin shin notion

that is—weighs zebra and clover on your tootsy; yep, quest

time, search the unrewarding hospital, cowboy! prank cocain

into the belief of addiction; absorb graft chambers; why err?

to read “only hope sustains” from pages of cacti, while seen is

Micrathene whitneyi in sleep-talk: “pain: indication of need”