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ELDERLY 6: COSMIC CHILL

elderlymag:

Elderly is from Brooklyn, NY

Curated by Nicholas DeBoer & Jamie Townsend

free, creative commons, post anywhere, print out, use for bedding, etc.

featuring

ANNA VITALE
DANIEL OWEN
THOM DONOVAN
BRENDA IIJIMA
BRETT PRICE
KEVIN KILLIAN
CHRISTINE SHAN SHAN HOU

09-23 - 7:50 - 15 notes / elderlymag

UDP at the 2014 Brooklyn Book Festival 

09-22 - 14:32 - 3 notes


Photos from our lighght reading series on Sunday, September 21, 2014, at The Floating Library.

09-22 - 14:17 - 2 notes

Peter Kruty, Linda Trimbath, Carl Schlachte, and Ruby Kapka around our new Heidelberg Windmill.  After Peter’s training, we can put this strange and awesome machine to use.

09-19 - 15:28 - 13 notes

Diana Arterian reading last night at Berl’s Poetry Shop in Brooklyn. 

09-19 - 15:21 - 11 notes

LIGHGHT READING WITH LYRIC HUNTER

"Nantes," from Lyric Hunter’s Swallower (UDP, 2014), followed by a questionnaire with Lyric who will be reading at Lighght Reading on Sunday, September 21st, 4PM at The Floating Library in New York, NY.

/

Nantes            
for Allison Taylor

Napoleon’s face

brown bean
brown room
a likeness 

ask me to

(white seaside
town
green leaves) 

velvet hair
music of Prud’hon
our laughter
was spilling 

allow me to
tell you 

black night drive
I was in Wisconsin too 

black room
night & morning too

a terrific noon

a single field
the campagne 

a day or two

a church on a far hill

(conjugated sweaters
new swears
Swiss chocolate)

sea room
dog nausea
clear heart
on the sea 

horses in the air
dangling trees
dripping tress 

anti-Nazi
anti-party 

Nantes at night
our bagarre 

our own city
our own red-headed girl 

welcome welcome
we do so love
how you pronounce!

/

What is poetry?

Poetry is an independent city state. Poetry is when the words make themselves, and it is the most exciting when it willfully ignores discipline(s). The most striking thing to me about poetry, or perhaps the thing about the poetry I most like to read, is that it is both fiction and nonfiction simultaneously.

What poets/writers/artists do you keep coming back to?

Sylvia Plath and John Keats are, I feel, my literary parents, and I frequently go home . At the same time, philosophy and critical theory can feel like poetry, and my favorites are Cixous, Barthes, and Kristeva.

What do you think when you see the word lighght?

A hiccup. A cough. A glitch. The flickering of fluorescent.

Which new writers and/or small presses are you excited about?

Jody Pou’s poems make my heart be faster. And I’m a big fan of Contrat Maint, directed by poet Pascale Poyet and artist Goria, who make little folded pamphlets with extracts or short poetic texts by poets, artists, and translators. 

/

Lyric Hunter was born in New York City in 1990. She graduated from the Cooper Union School of Art in 2012, and her first chapbook, Swallower, was published earlier this year by Ugly Duckling Presse.

09-17 - 11:59 - 5 notes

LIGHGHT READING WITH DIANA HAMILTON

An excerpt from Diana Hamilton’s forthcoming chapbook, Universe, followed by a questionnaire with Diana, who will be reading at Lighght Reading: Sunday, September 21st, 4pm at The Floating Library in New York, NY.

\

from Universe

* * *

If you stop me

from cutting

your hair,

there is a sense

in which

you are interfering.

*

But, since you are entitled

to determine

whether I cut your hair

or not, you do not

wrong me.

*

I make your trip to the store a waste.

*

I buy the last quart of milk

before you

get there.

*

\

What is poetry?

The easiest way to know if something is a poem is to find out if anyone has called it one. This is not sufficient, but it helps.

“I wrote a poem,” someone says, hoping that someone else responds, “Yes.” or even, “Yes, but the tension of this image is lost by [etc.]”

Or, someone says, “This thing that did not think it was a poem turns out to be one,” and someone on the internet says, “No, it’s not, you’re wrong” and then some angry men post links that prove their or others’ points, and no one quite agrees, but it’s clearly possible that poetry happened. Just then, someone notes that the voice of someone underrepresented may have been appropriated, literally or figuratively, by the thing-that-did-not-know-it-was-a-poem but which, now that it is, shows us that poetry is just another shitty tool of oppression.

Or someone else says “If this is a poem, I don’t want to be a poet,” to which some asshole responds, “That’s a relief!” And their friend says, “I’m not writing poems any more; I’m just thinking about all the cultural detritus of my childhood in the hopes of recapturing a time before I found out my life would be just as stupid as my parents’, even if I call myself a poet and someone agrees.”

Or someone writes an a essay about a group of writers, acknowledging only the existence of the young straight male white poets in the group, even though there are many others, and then criticizes said group for 1. Its homogeneity and for 2. Failing to have written anything that counts as a poem, allowing someone else to Bravely suggest that the very resistance to seeming like a poem proves that it is one, and that, furthermore, the aggressive performance of the straight-white-male voice is, In Fact, the most effective critique of straight white masculinity (because, again, it is very important that both sides of this argument ignore the non-white, non-male, or non-straight poets).

People like to define poetry by only one of its many functions at a time: poetry is whatever resists translation; or poetry is lyric address, an essentially monologic form; or the lyric’s address to some other suggests that poetry has always been dialogic, that it calls at the very least to the self-turned-second-person, or to God; or poetry always involves a greater degree of connotation over denotation, or some less specific lack of utility, enabling us to recognize poetry in prose; poetry is a naming function; it’s a truth process; it’s one output of the movement of Spirit. 

Someone said that poetry was a little hedgehog that you nuzzle against your heart. Put that little hedgehog in its place, if it makes you feel better.

What poets/writers/artists do you keep coming back to?

Two months ago I woke up with a need to reread all of Jane Austen’s books. Persuasion is the best, because it is closest to a remarriage plot, which is my favorite thing to have happened to movies.

I also find reading Lydia Davis’ The Cows really reassuring.

What do you think when you see the word lighght?

Saroyan

Which new writers and/or small presses are you excited about?

In reverse-chronological order of recent excitement, although none of these writers are “new”:

  1. Kim Rosenfield, whose writing has always made me want to keep being a writer.
  2. The magazine Le Bathyscaphe out of Montreal.
  3. Shiv Kotecha, who has been emailing me new work that is so good that now my own writing keeps imitating it. I recently saw him read with
  4. Andrew Durbin, and while they both were terrific, I already told you that about Shiv, so this sentence is about Andrew.
  5. I finally read Ana Božičević’s Rise in the Fall, and I didn’t want to get off the train because I wasn’t done yet.
  6. I’m going to stop with this order because it is stressing me out, but here’s a bunch of other writers whose work I’ve encountered in the last year really happily: Joey Yearous-Algozin, Steven Zultanski, Bridget Talone, Sophia Le Fraga, Holly Melgard, Marie Buck, Chris Sylvester, Josef Kaplan, Danny Snelson, Aaron Winslow, Lawrence Giffin, Trisha Low, Robert Fitterman, Anne Boyer, Kristen Gallagher, Chris Alexander
  7. I am also excited about myself, Diana Hamilton.

\

Diana Hamilton wrote Okay, Okay (Truck Books), a book of poetry about women crying at work, Universe, a long poem about examples in moral philosophy, forthcoming from UDP, Shit Advice Columnist, a novella about a woman who gives advice about defecation, and some other things. 

09-15 - 16:43 - 4 notes

Moving presses around at the studio on Saturday

09-15 - 13:00 - 2 notes

actionbookspress:

"the marionettes of nossa aparecida, the flight of a tear, the ripping of the firmament, the caution of angels, the curvature of eggs, this is the annunciation a shell’s limits gives way to: yolk ebbing from marbled swans whose whiteness drains.

o aryan glamour in my fist, not yet a woman, no longer a gull. my wing, your palm; your breast, my beak. your sockets i smother until they spume and give me fingers.”

[Click] to pre-order Lucas de Lima’s “chapbook of eco-vengeance against white civilization” from Birds of Lace

09-10 - 11:28 - 5 notes