Boog City presents
d.a. levy lives: celebrating the renegade press
Katalanche Press (Cambridge, Mass.)
Thurs. Oct. 6, 6 p.m., free
ACA Galleries
529 W.20th St., 5th Flr.
NYC
Event will be hosted by Katalanche Press editors
Michael Carr and Dorothea Lasky
Featuring readings from
Will Esposito
Chris Jackson
Mark Lamoureux
Lori Lubeski
Christopher Rizzo
&
Michael Carr w/poems by Samuel Greenberg
With music by
Limp Richard
There will be wine, cheese, and fruit, too.
Curated and with an introduction by Boog City editor David Kirschenbaum
Sep 30, 2005
Sep 27, 2005
Sep 26, 2005
HYMN TO ATHENA
In the public park on 30th Avenue stands grey-
eyed Athena in effigy,
age brings sorrows numberless as stars
& so going, a man pays them no heed, like stars,
but to navigate.
A beggar among the joints that proffer
sullen pizza--Odysseus--you & I
both strangers among Greeks for a time,
tribulations rung around that pearl,
Ithaka, such a city as there never was;
these thoughts, a scar a man gives
himself to be known by.
Grey-eyed Athena, will you descend your pillar
& walk with me awhile?:
I've poured no wine to bodiless gods,
their wildeyed prophets &
their martyring abstractions.
I also am a man of twists & turns, master
of the winged word & the subtleties
of theft. We lose the art of speech.
We lose the anchor of the song.
& my men gone & my hollow black ship
dashed to bits. We walk as the dead
do, nameless, among men
who know no proper customs: such are we
who sing your songs, derived, to repicas.
Such is this life on the other side of the mirror:
signless, no body to cast an image, a thousand
reflections as made by a shattered glass.
Your face stares from the coffeecups, the lights
of the city hide the numberless stars,
as they do sorrows. On the screen writhes
our queen Kalypso & no grey-eyed
goddess, no son or country
to call us home.
In the public park on 30th Avenue stands grey-
eyed Athena in effigy,
age brings sorrows numberless as stars
& so going, a man pays them no heed, like stars,
but to navigate.
A beggar among the joints that proffer
sullen pizza--Odysseus--you & I
both strangers among Greeks for a time,
tribulations rung around that pearl,
Ithaka, such a city as there never was;
these thoughts, a scar a man gives
himself to be known by.
Grey-eyed Athena, will you descend your pillar
& walk with me awhile?:
I've poured no wine to bodiless gods,
their wildeyed prophets &
their martyring abstractions.
I also am a man of twists & turns, master
of the winged word & the subtleties
of theft. We lose the art of speech.
We lose the anchor of the song.
& my men gone & my hollow black ship
dashed to bits. We walk as the dead
do, nameless, among men
who know no proper customs: such are we
who sing your songs, derived, to repicas.
Such is this life on the other side of the mirror:
signless, no body to cast an image, a thousand
reflections as made by a shattered glass.
Your face stares from the coffeecups, the lights
of the city hide the numberless stars,
as they do sorrows. On the screen writhes
our queen Kalypso & no grey-eyed
goddess, no son or country
to call us home.
Sep 25, 2005
Eventually, one learns to accept one's uncorrected personality traits. Like being helpless before memes, for instance.
By way of phil by way of Reb:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My 23rd post was only two sentences, so I guess that makes the second the closest to.
Blackbird: "Yeah, I know how it is..."
By way of phil by way of Reb:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My 23rd post was only two sentences, so I guess that makes the second the closest to.
Blackbird: "Yeah, I know how it is..."
Sep 21, 2005
Sep 16, 2005
IMAGINARY OWNERSHIP
Is an invisible horse, blandly seething among
disintegrating vestibules. The chromium cross
reigns oblique over unelevated bakeries among
the fictions of a doppleganger; hindsight
a cake of nostalgias, glazed & threaded among
crystal boxes sheltering a ceramic nymph in a green shift,
a compass needle upright in foam among
careless abstractions--the ruthless imperative
broadcasting damp rhetoric: to eat glass bread among
plastic castles & a clockwork giraffe with a glyph
on its neck. High-impact organ research among
authorial shivers, an arbitrary pestilence, a
santicfied narrative: "Pretty pink Aurora gets a chilblain among
ponies in summer." A steel bud among dank revisions.
Navy beans & beetles spilling out the cup of the bodhran among
witching hours, labeled griefs. A cave of
discourse for gibbering knaves, golems among
zombies: horizontal vs. vertical stripes
on the trunks of the beholder. Mythic laughter among
bebarnacled barrels. The spill of the hold into
the frozen sea. The Master is a haughty buccaneer among
scribes. Hash-mark. Totem. Your anathema.
Is an invisible horse, blandly seething among
disintegrating vestibules. The chromium cross
reigns oblique over unelevated bakeries among
the fictions of a doppleganger; hindsight
a cake of nostalgias, glazed & threaded among
crystal boxes sheltering a ceramic nymph in a green shift,
a compass needle upright in foam among
careless abstractions--the ruthless imperative
broadcasting damp rhetoric: to eat glass bread among
plastic castles & a clockwork giraffe with a glyph
on its neck. High-impact organ research among
authorial shivers, an arbitrary pestilence, a
santicfied narrative: "Pretty pink Aurora gets a chilblain among
ponies in summer." A steel bud among dank revisions.
Navy beans & beetles spilling out the cup of the bodhran among
witching hours, labeled griefs. A cave of
discourse for gibbering knaves, golems among
zombies: horizontal vs. vertical stripes
on the trunks of the beholder. Mythic laughter among
bebarnacled barrels. The spill of the hold into
the frozen sea. The Master is a haughty buccaneer among
scribes. Hash-mark. Totem. Your anathema.
"If you grew up in a family that practices a religion, and while you were still a kid if you lived in a community of diverse sects, you may recall some degree of ease hanging with your own 'pastor,' 'minister,' 'rabbi,' 'roshi,' and also how different you felt (e.g., reserved) when in the presence of their counterparts from other faiths. That sense of creedal difference begins to explain the origins of disrespect among poets and, more particularly, between schools and generations. If you grew up faithless, perhaps you have less to lose (because you are less likely to conflate sectarianism with output) and find it noncontroversial crossing thresholds."
Amen. Sign me up for the church of Kimball. (I myself was raised atheist BTW...)
Amen. Sign me up for the church of Kimball. (I myself was raised atheist BTW...)
Sep 14, 2005
I was a finalist in The Chatelaine's Summer Pleasure Poetry contest. Check out Eileen's blog where she prints the winning poem and the finalists AND details the selection process (for all of you (koff) Foetry (koff) types out there.)
This furthers my notion that my ideal audience is a bunch of drunks in a cave...
Given the importance it played in the composition of Astrometry Orgnanon, I might have won if only they were drinking Kindzmarauli. Given that my taste in wine is Kindzmarauli and Malbec, the judges are probably happy that the wine went to someone with most likely less perverse taste...
This furthers my notion that my ideal audience is a bunch of drunks in a cave...
Given the importance it played in the composition of Astrometry Orgnanon, I might have won if only they were drinking Kindzmarauli. Given that my taste in wine is Kindzmarauli and Malbec, the judges are probably happy that the wine went to someone with most likely less perverse taste...
Sep 13, 2005
CABAL
Say this is irrefutable, a sack
of bones sings when prodded
with sticks:
the arid limbs of this grove,
which throw portentous shadows
on visages, the bowl
wherein the sea & the air &
the blood are contained. The stars
dip & swerve: this is justice.
The fragrant herbs come
up from the warm ground, the ground
drinks the thick
potions. Bury them
with scarves & gourds. The ghosts
of the unwanted swirl, a torrent
around this clay hill. We repel
them with a racket. Still,
we fall, as many as one
each day.
Say this is irrefutable, a sack
of bones sings when prodded
with sticks:
the arid limbs of this grove,
which throw portentous shadows
on visages, the bowl
wherein the sea & the air &
the blood are contained. The stars
dip & swerve: this is justice.
The fragrant herbs come
up from the warm ground, the ground
drinks the thick
potions. Bury them
with scarves & gourds. The ghosts
of the unwanted swirl, a torrent
around this clay hill. We repel
them with a racket. Still,
we fall, as many as one
each day.
Sep 12, 2005
Sep 10, 2005
Sep 9, 2005
I got a print of Rachel's by the Israeli artist Yosl Bergner framed at a framing shop in Astoria run by an old Arab man. The journey of art. A work is the ultimate ambasador, objecting to nothing, giving freely of its essence unconditionally. It's people who need to learn to live like objects. Art doesn't exist for us, rather we exist for it.
Sep 7, 2005
Sep 6, 2005
Almost finished unpacking the apartment, after which point I can begin living like a human again. In spite of my previous post, not finidng much to blog about. I see no point in calling an official hiatus, but I'm just not feeling any blog mojo lately. Feeling cynical about the digital ether in general these days. Perhaps it is best to talk to humans and write poems, two things I have not been doing very extensively since the move.
Sep 3, 2005
Sep 2, 2005
Via Jordan's Equanimity, from the Poet Laurate of Louisiana:
To Whom It May Concern:
Those of us who did leave the City before the hurricane are scattered and waiting to return to begin again. Reports of looting, shooting and fires are distressing; but we hold on to faith that order will be quickly restored. What is most important is that those housed at the LA. Superdome not be forced to remain in what is clearly an untenable situation. Medical attention and supplies, food, clothing and transportation out of the City must be provided them. Repairs of levees and pumps must begin now.
Many Americans know New Orleans primarily as a tourist destination, a playground of tourists and wealthy businessmen. The fact is that this is one of the greatest cities this country has known. It is unique in the history of the nation and through such industries as oil & gas, shipping and transportation and the growth and spread of jazz and the music culture that has grown out of it, has provided the backbone for much of what the rest of the world knows and thinks of as "American." Years ago we were dubbed "the City that Care Forgot," " Big Easy," "Silver City" not only because we knew how to enjoy life, because we were and are an open-handed and open-hearted people. New Orleanians the world over intend nothing less than the salvation of our City. Report that.
I, my Mother and my companion left New Orleans on Sunday afternoon, traveled through Mississippi and Arkansas, and landed eventually in Shreveport, LA. at the Isle of Capri Casino Hotel. My brother remained in the City and still has land-line telephone service and water. Presently, I am able to make but not receive calls on my cell phone. We are safe and anxious to return to our City.
New Orleanians are a people of unimaginable strength and resilience and New Orleans will be rebuilt as a great city. I am returning to begin again as soon as possible. Report that. Tell that to the world again and again.
Brenda Marie Osbey
To Whom It May Concern:
Those of us who did leave the City before the hurricane are scattered and waiting to return to begin again. Reports of looting, shooting and fires are distressing; but we hold on to faith that order will be quickly restored. What is most important is that those housed at the LA. Superdome not be forced to remain in what is clearly an untenable situation. Medical attention and supplies, food, clothing and transportation out of the City must be provided them. Repairs of levees and pumps must begin now.
Many Americans know New Orleans primarily as a tourist destination, a playground of tourists and wealthy businessmen. The fact is that this is one of the greatest cities this country has known. It is unique in the history of the nation and through such industries as oil & gas, shipping and transportation and the growth and spread of jazz and the music culture that has grown out of it, has provided the backbone for much of what the rest of the world knows and thinks of as "American." Years ago we were dubbed "the City that Care Forgot," " Big Easy," "Silver City" not only because we knew how to enjoy life, because we were and are an open-handed and open-hearted people. New Orleanians the world over intend nothing less than the salvation of our City. Report that.
I, my Mother and my companion left New Orleans on Sunday afternoon, traveled through Mississippi and Arkansas, and landed eventually in Shreveport, LA. at the Isle of Capri Casino Hotel. My brother remained in the City and still has land-line telephone service and water. Presently, I am able to make but not receive calls on my cell phone. We are safe and anxious to return to our City.
New Orleanians are a people of unimaginable strength and resilience and New Orleans will be rebuilt as a great city. I am returning to begin again as soon as possible. Report that. Tell that to the world again and again.
Brenda Marie Osbey
"From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas --
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean,
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth.
Friends they sought and homes; and many, despairing, heartbroken,
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside.
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards.
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered,
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things."
From Longfellow's "Evangeline," which describes in part the expulsion of the Acadians from Canada and their journey to Louisiana. Now it seems they are displaced once again. The Acadians who didn't go to Louisiana came to lose their limbs and history in the mill towns of Massachusetts. Those were my ancestors. I've never been to New Orleans and environs to see where the rest of us went. Now I wish I did. Perhaps these folks can return to Acadia. I wonder if the Provincial government has said anything about this?
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean,
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth.
Friends they sought and homes; and many, despairing, heartbroken,
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside.
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards.
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered,
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things."
From Longfellow's "Evangeline," which describes in part the expulsion of the Acadians from Canada and their journey to Louisiana. Now it seems they are displaced once again. The Acadians who didn't go to Louisiana came to lose their limbs and history in the mill towns of Massachusetts. Those were my ancestors. I've never been to New Orleans and environs to see where the rest of us went. Now I wish I did. Perhaps these folks can return to Acadia. I wonder if the Provincial government has said anything about this?
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