Avant

Dryden's Coach (Restoration Snap)

“And so much for Mr. Dryden; whose burial was the same as his life, variety and not of a piece: the quality and mob, farce and heroics: the sublime and ridiculous mixed in a piece; great Cleopatra in a hackney coach.”

—George Farquhar

Dept. of Monday: The Saunter

“A man commonly saunters a little in turning his hand from one sort of employment to another.”

Finance from the Oracle at Delphi

Economy is Yahweh.

Mosses to a New Manse (Peter Culley in Portland TONIGHT)

Poet Peter Culley’s in Portland tonight, appearing in conversation with local “Eco-Baroque” artists Bruce Conkle and Marne Lucas. The event is hosted by the back room; if you haven’t been to one of their unique shindigs before, this is a good one to explore, with a special “pay for whatever you eat and drink” rate.

the back room hosts a conversation with
PETER CULLEY, BRUCE CONKLE & MARNE LUCAS
*TONIGHT* JULY 21, 7 PM
Mandarin House, 120 SW Ankeny, 2nd floor (the atrium space across from the Skidmore Fountain, home to “famous hand-strung noodles” and excellent food and cocktails)

Seating is limited; email thebackroompdx_at_gmail_dot_com to reserve a seat.

12 or 20 kevins

“But good and bad are terms I pretty much grew out of once I moved to San Francisco, the birthplace of the provisional and the contingent.” “I think it was 1991 when I realized that the writer has no role in the larger culture. Succeeding developments have only hardened this condition, but it is still something of a surprise, rather like the man who can’t remember he has now only one hand.” “I lack discipline and yet, I don’t believe in it much.”

Status Update

Sort of like this.

Summery Metempsycosis

“And therefore though this soule could not move when it was a Melon, yet it may remember, and now tell mee, at what lascivious banquet it was serv’d.”

Doubled Whisper

“It will be seen eventually that this whole memoir, with its talk of Communes and revolutions, will be about integrity: that is, political, philosophical, social, poetic and spiritual integrity, for they are all intertwined, and all will have to incorporate a vivid sense of what our own death will mean to our ideals—how rich a story it makes.”

—Douglas Oliver, Whisper ‘Louise’

Word of the Day

“prepone.”

Ron links to news about the world shedding 6.4 languages every hour, but we’ve got “prepone.” Almost.

Poets in Contest

What poetry needs is its own game show. A show staged like a cage match, where two prominent poets face off with their best material. It should open with a Baroque quartet, be hosted by a suave & brainy “cool professor” type with good hair, and include a slinky Vanna White who draws alphabet blocks from a velvet bag to see who goes first. The poets should sit in puffy chairs, wear vivid colors and glasses on neck chains, and look indifferent to the air time. Wait …

Distinguishing the Boroughs

Kevin Killian on Charles Bernstein, Frank O’Hara & Brion Gysin.

"Dark Brandon" on YouTube

If you haven’t spent time inside the structured intensities of Brandon Downing’s incomparable film collages, do yourself a favor this Fourth and see how much America has to be thankful for. Start with “The Ship (I)” and cruise into the sun from there.

Tangent Intro for Cynthia Sailers, Portland, 6/27/09

Some poets are sitars, others are symphonies. The sitar poets push lines out into time at varying speeds, shaping attention into pattern through flying scales and overtone clouds. The symphonic poets tend to build their effects through counterpoint and harmony, arranging diverse notes and ideas into chords. Tonight let’s recruit Cynthia Sailers for the symphony. The home tone in Cynthia’s poetry might be the rub between individuals and the groups they belong to. Her writing sounds the fraught process of what she calls “self fashioning modern languages to a private life,” working to tune the collective’s demands to the music of inner desire. The dominant note would be aggression—the group’s favorite tool—and the subdominant a saving hedonism that turns pleasure and perversion into improvised means of resistance, the tyranny of mundanity “… held under the teeth of a nourished abandon.” Please pick up a drink, put down the groupthink, and abandon yourself to the sounds of Cynthia Sailers.