Naughty Monkey (3.5 Inch Heels) (Size 8.5)

Here at team Lovelace, on vacay in sunny Washington DC, only the receipt of a newly framed, extravagant Kenny Goldsmith piece to report.  This is a promo poster for No 111, itself one of Kenny's rarest books (there is one copy for sale online right now for $230).  I've heard that some of the lead-up material to the book, published in chapbooks, actually wasn't included in the final text, but even though I haven't actually located this passage in the book itself, I'm almost certain it is there, at least in some way, shape, or form.  Like most things I own, I have been waiting for a good reason to take a closer look at the item in question, & in this instance, an appropriate framing job is reason enough.  

Hence, this glorious text:

Eat more shit more.  Shit more eat more.  Meat more shit

more.  Shit more meat more.  Heat more shit more.  Shit more

heat more.  Heat more burn more shit more.  Burn more shit

more heat more.  Shit more heat more burn more.  Learn 

more shit more.  Shit more learn more.  Earn more shit more.

Shit more earn more.  Learn more earn more shit more.

Earn more shit more learn more.  Shit more earn more learn 

more.  Earn more burn more shit more.  Burn more shit 

more earn more.  Shit more earn more burn more.  More shit

to earn more shit to burn.  More shit to learn more shit to

earn.  More shit to earn more shit to burn more.  More shit to

learn more shit to earn more.  More shit to earn more shit to

burn more shit to learn.  More shit to learn more shit to earn

more shit to burn.  More shit to earn more shit to burn more

shit to learn more.  More shit to learn more shit to earn more

shit to burn more.  more shit to learn more shit to yearn for.

More shit to learn more shit to earn more shit to yearn for.

More shit to learn more shit to earn more shit to yearn more 

shit to burn.  More shit to learn more shit to earn more shit

to yearn more shit to burn more.  More shit to earn more shit

to bore.  More shit to earn more shit to bore more shit to

burn.  More shit more bore.  More shit more bore more

abhor.  More abhor more shit more bore.  Abhor bore.  More

abhor bore.  More abhor shitty bore.  meet more shitty bore.

More meet shitty bore more abhor.  More abhor more meet

shitty bore.  Shitty meet.  Shitty meet shitty bore.  Bore meet.

Shitty bore meet.  Shitty boar meat.  Meat more shitty board.

Eat more shitty boar.  Eat more shit boar.  Eat boar shit boar.

Shit boar eat boar.  Shit more eat more.  Eat more shit more.

The newsprint is delightfully faded in places, the black becoming gray, the red pink; in the bottom right hand corner, Kenny has signed the poster.  He said that, in promotion of the book, he plastered these up all over town.  The book is also, interestingly, blurbed by Marjorie Perloff, a blurb which was hotly pursued near the beginning of Goldsmith's Soliloquy, to humorous effect.  The text trundles & bounces along delivering to you whatever it desires, though the constraint continually maintains a strong familiarity, a beautifully grounded counterpoint.  Overall, a delightful piece, that I can't wait to hang on my wall.

Grenier (Rob) & Digicams Make Wii Sneeze

In truth, everything makes me sneeze. But, Ron Silliman was kind enough, yesterday, to link to this very blog's last entry--of course, that Hejinian title is that good. He was also kind enough to point out that the book in question--A Thought Is The Bride of What Thinking--is not in fact Lyn's first. I was going by the biblio listed in the front of her A Border Comedy, but if you are wise enough to tickle your way over to Lyn's EPC Page, you'll find that her well-titled a gRReat adventure was self-published in '72, four years before the inaugural issue from Tuumba. Of course, this detail is hardly all that important given that my overall goal was never Lyn's first book, but rather the first from Tuumba, lured in by the pleasures of collecting the series & now so close to the end. Still many thanks to Ron both for the link & the correction.

The Hejinian addition fresh on my mind, however, leads me to several interesting items from Robert Grenier: first, the book-as-poster Cambridge M'ass, also issued from Tuumba, which I recently got framed, along with what seems to be his first major collection in Dusk Road Games, Poems 1960-1966, from Pym-Randall Press in 1967, another recent arrival. Finally, I also present a neat piece of ephemera from the Tuumba series that I've had for a while which features 2 Grenier poems along w/ one from Hejinian, simply titled, in pencil on the front cover, Unnumbered in The Tuumba Series.

[[['*']]]

Cambridge M'ass is a huge, 41x49 object, much bigger than anything that the word 'poster' might indicate. The work resembles the minimalist pieces Grenier seems most known for, akin (for example) to the stuff that comprises the majority of Series (This, 1978), & what I can only assume the maximally-elusive Sentences resembles--I've never seen a copy of this one.

You can see Grenier begin to play with the standards of the book format in Dusk Road Games, however slightly in comparison to the explosion that is Cambridge. For one, the front cover image is exactly duplicated on the back, only in reverse. Then, the flap copy reads:

Robert Grenier was born in Minne-

apolis in 1941. He has studied at

Harvard and the State University of

Iowa. Currently he and his wife, the

Emily of the poems, are reconciled,

living in England on an Amy Lowell

Travelling Fellowship and expecting

a first child. Some influences on his

work are Robert Creeley, William

Carlos Williams, Pound, Wyatt,

Campion, Robert Bly and, most

recently, John Ashbery. He has

learned also from translating Georg

Trakl and from reading under

Robert Lowell.

typo included. Finally, necessarily unique to the signed, limited copies of this book, of which there were 50 (of a total edition of 1000 featuring 350 HC & 650 in wrappers) is the plain print of his signature, seen below.


All together, these are an interesting lead-in to what Grenier would do with the Tuumba poster, which features text in white blocks floating in the black background--sometimes the blocks have the traditional Grenier TITLE in all caps (though sometimes the title comes after the work, or within the work), other sections float alone, never quite matching up with this or that specific preceding chunk, opening up the directions in which the 'book' can be read.

[[['*']]]

Some examples:

ANNA

somebody's name

I dunno

ask it

say it


LATE NIGHT TRUCKING OF THE EARTH TO BE SOLD

it must have been the letters that I wrote her


NEW SPAIN

breeze the

look outs


MOON

calls to moon how more desirable & unfortunate


THREE STORIES

see a building everybody home


ACH

we are by the new gravel

Finally, some snapshots of the 2-leaf Grenier/Hejinian hors series mini-issue, an item I've heard nothing about in any forum before or after I acquired it. Perhaps someone in the know can shed some light about this item.

[[['*']]]

The two Grenier pieces read

ANYONE

up
for a second
walk around
the cemetery



*


HALLOWEEN

time
for a change

while the Hejinian reads

THAT SEA


those ripples multiplies
those tides goes out
that sea stop
*
don't talk on the telephone in the tub gloomy

it's sound a little out of it

the thing is, I do want to share that, you

I don't know how to know ---
who's to learn

you have to take the cat out; you let the door in

I don't do feel like helping but I can

amazing the responsibility now

a little dreamy

*
le coffee le hat
the beach
the perfect day except for Monday's next

Barack Obama Tests Positive (+) for Crack/Cocaine (Urban Drug)

The backlog here at team Lovelace is like, seriously backlogged. Always intimidated by size, I plan to truck one mile marker at a time. It has been a time of guests & travels--acquisitions seem to have slowed--though in reality, there's as much as ever, too much. I recently visited the New Left Forum here in NYC, amateur that I am, peeking Tariq Ali dropping science on those Pakistans. In Buffalo, NY, there was a book fair: I returned with Books, Photographs & Knowledge. Oh yeah, the files from the reading at St Marks a while ago. & several visitations to St Marx Books...




Um, why not check this out instead? Today's arrivals! On the left, is a totally fucking pristine copy of Bruce Andrews' Jeopardy, a sturdy chap out in '80 from Awede (?) in an edition of 375. The text is a hotness of single-word alphabetical & modular arrangement, such as his recent, huge vernacular pieces available from ubu editions, though the text here isn't totally sequential. It comprises what seems to be one single sentence, one word per line, & out fell a 22-caliber bullet. Good book!

The real prize above, & I cannot underestimate the extent of the word prize, is Lyn Hejinian's first book, A Thought Is The Bride Of What Thinking, the first volume in the classic Tuumba series, released in '76. A week ago I only lacked, of the series of 50 total books & numerous extravagant pieces of ephemera, numbers one & two, which include this title & Susan Howe's The Western Borders. I had thought I was about to purchase the Howe, but somehow came up with the extensively-more-elusive Hejinian title. Whoops. Along with all my hot hot Tuumba ephemera, this title finds a cozy home in an antique glass protective case, waiting patiently for the Howe title. In 17 years of high volume business, the seller I acquired these books from has had this title a total of once. As in, this once.

The first 11 Tuumba titles aren't as plagued by the size situations of the covers as the core (almost exclusively Langpo) rest of the series that almost always have bumped corners & other iffy shit like that. As such, this one has held up quite well for 30 years. I don't know where you've been, but you're here now. Phew.

Late Enough 2B Drunk Enuff

Hello, again.

I'm pleased to forward the announcement that on Friday, March 7th, at 10 PM, Lil' Norton will host a knockout evening of poetry at St. Mark's Poetry Project.

Poets:

Anne Tardos
Seth Landman
Kareem Estefan
Patrick Lovelace
Laura Elrick
Kevin Thurston
Eddie Hopely
Diana Hamilton

See you there!

How Many of You Believe 9/11 Was an Inside Job?

Hello! I recently visited St Mark's Bookshop, with the thought of picking up a thing or two, but of course found several tasty items. Steven Zultanski is featured amongst bona-fide dinosaurs of mostly renowned stature in the newest issue of Shiny. In what is perhaps the highest-profile Lil'Norton appearance to date (feel free to correct me on this, anyone) Steve shines among favorites such as Steve Benson, Lyn Hejinian, Lisa Jarnot, Clark Coolidge, Michael Gizzi & Stephen Rodefer.

from Peaces


Bentley
Rolls
BMW
all over you

*

Touch the magic eye
book cover. Hold
it up to your face.

*

Skip class
and go
to the open mic.

*

Riven
coos
women
love Riven
play
Riven

Riven

*

Peace or Battle
PC or Mac

*

American Radicalism,
etc.

*

State Repression,
etc.

*

Movies
I've seen half of

Dune

The poem continues, getting even better in the second half, featuring mentions of both Patch Adams AND Waterworld. The Coolidge work seems to fall right in line with the recently published Counting on Planet Zero from Fewer & Further Press, tho the 4 poems in this issue of Shiny are dated like so much of his other work--a simultaneous minor/major feature to Coolidge's work foregrounding the improvisational qualities. These works feature a style similar to the two On the Nameways volumes (of which there are thousands of unpublished poems) with several key differences, namely one of style which usually finds a tab-sized gap in the middle of each of many lines, which complicates the idea of how many units of language we are encountering, or how they fit together, which is all an interesting counterpart to the relative accessibility of the newer work. There are fewer pronouns than ever, along with some nice 1 (or 2) liners & puns: "come back you/gas eater", "oh hell/a lumbertruck", "a room with a screw" & "franks and brains". It's always interesting to see where Coolidge goes, so seeing these 'new' works, almost 2 years old themselves, is a nice treat for those still following Clark closely, which frankly should be more readers, but what's new.

The Rodefer piece is sadly one that has been available on his website for a while, Lang Gaz Verlangen, though it is nice to see the work, as expected, in print. The rest of the issue is undoubtedly as rich as the portions I've already read, so far just a glance at the favorites. Friedman continues to deliver what is probably the best magazine at the moment.

Another excerpt, then followed by a list, to end this before it gets way too long. When I saw a new edition of Apollinaire's Les Onze Mille Verges I was definitely going to get it, but who knew what insane joys awaited inside? Glancing at this, the first uncensored version in English, for the first time, I randomly opened to p.32:

--Go on, shit! cried Mony.
Soon a small fragment of crap appeared, pointed and insignificant, which showed its head and immediately returned to its cavern. After that it reappeared, followed slowly and majestically by the rest of the sausage which constituted one of the fines turds a large intestine ever produced.
The shit slid unctuous and uninterrupted, ran out unruffled as a ship's cable. It dangled gracefully between the pretty buttocks which were spreading wider and wider. Soon it was swinging more markedly. The arse dilated still more, shook itself a bit and the shit fell, all hot and reeking, into Mony's hands which were held out to receive it. Then he cried: 'Stay like that!' and, leaning over, he licked her arsehole thoroughly while rolling he turd in his hands. Next he squeezed it voluptuously and smeared it all over his body. Culculine was undressing, following the example of Alexine who was stark naked and showing Mony the fat, transparent arse of a blonde. 'Shit on me!' he cried to Alexine, stretching himself out on the floor. She squatted above him, but not wholly, so he could enjoy the spectacle presented by her backside. Her first efforts resulted in forcing out a small quantity of spunk Mony had put there; then came the shit, yellow and soft, which fell in several instalments and, while she was laughing and wriggling, the shit was falling here and there all over the body of Mony, whose belly was soon adorned with several of these odoriferous slugs.

So the book entirely earns it's "For Adult Readers Only" tagline, at first glance: one-handed reading indeed. Later, a mute gets a cigarette extinguished on her nipple. The impression that I get is that, while Apollinaire is totally joking, there is joy in it, something beyond the condescension of simply writing a pornobook for dough. A must-read.

Other acquisitions include the following items:

The Sienese Shredder #2 (no need for this to be $35, btw: $25 was already plenty)
Postmodernism, or The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism, by Fredric Jameson, published by Duke
Swoon Noir, from Bruce Andrews, published by Chax, 2007
glad stone children from Edmund Berrigan, from farfalla press, 2008 (a signed copy)
An Air Force, by Laura Moriarty, a cute chap from hooke press, 2007
A Test of Poetry, Louis Zukofsky, Wesleyan (not really sure why I didn't already have this)

Oh Shit, Robbe-Grillet is dead

August 1922, February 2008

Just the other week I saw Last Year at Marienbad for the first time--& while it was great to internalize the fact that the man behind the scenario for this 1961 film, along with many extremely dynamite novels & critical works of the previous six decades, was in fact still among the living in this our 2008--that joy is no longer available. So, at this moment, Le voyeur begs to be reingestited--Les gommes pleads consumption--La jalousie wants you to buy it in American translation in a duo pack w/ Dans le labyrinthe, published by Grove Press.

Everything really, given his remarkable age, has, ultracomplex already, taken on a new complexity. Not necessarily one of renewed profundity or complication, but rather, one of serious loss, whereas previously we were treated with unimaginable & comprehensive, renewable presence.

Fuck You, New Post

No, not you, loyal reader, but the person you were standing next to at, like, 4.15 this afternoon. Today, after catching a few Chelsea gallery spots with Dirk Rowntree & Rob Fitterman, Dirk & I visited Printed Matter. Of course, I've had no difficulties spending hundreds of buxx there in the past, but my energies were almost always drawn toward the great old stock type shit they have--such as early Kathy Acker pamphlets when she was going by The Black Tarantula, or various Something Else Press sundries. It's great to visit such a store with someone like Dirk, as thorough, informed, & aware as anyone, ever. The journal Dot Dot Dot had come up in discussion earlier, & we were lucky enough to be able to dig out numbers 8, 12, & 13, which I succeeded in purchasing. Other finds include Robert Ashley's Perfect Lives, a nice large HC feel-good acquisition, since I recently saw him w/ Kenny Goldsmith @ Poetry Project but left w/ no swag--my mind was on giant otters, as they say. Perhaps the best blurb ever accompanies this one: "What about the Bible? And the Koran? It doesn't matter: We have Perfect Lives," from John Cage. Another pickup was the well-known UDP release of Aram Saroyan's Complete Minimal Poems, a book that's been out for a while & speaks for itself. Add to this rich feast I See/You Mean, a novel by Lucy R Lippard, an affordable, purple thing described thus: "I See/You Mean is an experimental novel about mirrors, maps, relationships, about the ocean, elusive success & possible happiness. Through a collage of verbal photgraphs, overhead dialogue, sexual encounters, found material & self-identification devices (astrology, the I Ching, palmistry, Tarot), it charts from past to future the changing currents between two women & two men--a writer, a model/stockbroker/maybe dictator, a photographer, & an actor." Written in 1970.

Following this comes two titles from Lawrence Weiner: NYC MANHOLE COVERS PUBLIC ART FUND IN COLLABORATION WITH CON EDISON & ROMAN STONE, a small beautiful chaplet that deserves it's own separate post, so I won't even get into it here sortof thing, followed by an entry from the Between Artists series released by A.R.T. Press, this one a convo between Weiner & Liam Gillick. The treasure of the experience is a signed copy of the large exceptional The Collections of Barbara Bloom, from ICP*/STEIDL.



This is where seduction begins. It's fucked up how cool this book is, just flipping through it for the first time. There is included a centerfold, though even better (bigger) than the Playboy variety--4 pages instead of 3, yet when it's folded in other works are (re)aligned & appreciable. This is the one to get, if you get any, from the Printed Matter store this February. At $65, it is still a steal. Reading on the PM website I see that there is an exhibition of her work currently--I actually didn't notice this, as the store was rather packed, but I'm excited enough about the prospect of specialized Bloomstuff that I'll probably go back.

So then I go to pay for all this & I see a gleaming set of drumsticks with Considering utility - JMF018 www.jarrodfowler.com impressed upon them, within the glass case at the checkout, which of course I have to buy. It's the same when I see a rare or soon-to-be-rare book by a friend that I already have a copy or two of, that I just have to get, knowing full well I'm keeping someone, perhaps uninitiated, from the potential discovery. That struck this time, & now the sticks are mine.

This was all before Rob's reading, which was among several at the Mathew Marks Gallery. Rob's first work was of a very plodding pace, one word spoken at a time with several seconds, usually two or three, in between. This set us up for his upbeat poet/rock ballad configurations, which he sung to riotous laughter & on more than one occasion, intermediate applause--you know if you get claps during, you're doing well, or at least people are having fun. The event, unfortunately swagless, was quite well-attended, pointing to the benefit of hosting an evening in such a place, tho the sound was quite shit. Afterwards, Rob & Kim bought me a steak, & asked about my life: ways into my heart. Coco was in attendance as well, representing fully. At one point, during the reading, Kim asked me very neutrally if I wore mascara.


*wicked version