Tuesday, October 31, 2006


Ya you. You know who you are: go fuck yourself.

-- Sir Hound

The irony of feminism

The sharpest irony of the everyday feminism
turned out to be a unicorn after all
Angry and Queer
Because Ampersand was the author of Male Privilege
this situation is dripping with irony.
Feminism will never be a profitable…
Other scholars have written about and criticized more extensively
Pumping Irony: The Construction of Masculinity in a Post-Feminist...
In the following paper I argue that in a post-feminist era, advertisers strategically employ irony...
Her extensive writings, both on postmodernity and feminism, provide lucid and succinct analyses of the most slippery of topics -- parody, irony...
After arousing the ire of the feminist blogosphere
Well, I guess feminism failed.
Irony, Nostalgia, and the Postmodern
But it was postmodernism that brought the conjunction of irony and nostalgia quite
See also Barbara Creed, "From Here to Modernity: Feminism and ...
Nowheresville, USA: Where feeling a little bit lost means you're ...
No, I think the grand irony of feminism is that it is at least as damaging to the female sex as is the chauvanistic patriarchy against which it was…
Why don't anti-feminist commentators appreciate irony
Pinko Feminist Hellcat: Tom DeLay tries out irony
You'll have to leave Washington to find an audience who gets your irony
Pinko Feminist Hellcat: My irony meter is going off
And another irony alert
Letter to a Young Girl by Dr Alice ...
Surfing the Waves of Feminism
Cyberfeminism is associated with the so-called third wave feminism, characterized by irony
Redneck Feminist: A Free Market Feminist Blog: The *Right* Victims
Every one, it seems, has been swallowed by the excesses of feminism

Smith Street, Brooklyn

Monday, October 30, 2006

CA's project

CA & The Hound celebrate at a Diner...
Isn't this a great idea... Of course the difference between prose writers and poetry writers is that FICTION writers would charge for this whereas poets, as usual, give it away.

Good God! The resemblence is uncanny!
John Lennon's Face?
"Keith Andrews (pictured) of Wavertree, Liverpool (England) was one of the first people to notice a strange simulacrum of John Lennon's face on a stone gatepost in Newcastle Road - the road where John Lennon was born in 1940. The gatepost was being stripped of its 40-year-layer of paint when the image of the trademark NHS specs and the face were uncovered. John Lennon's birthplace is less than 50 yards from the post. Mr. Andrews, 61, was a childhood friend of the murdered Beatle, and often visited John's home at Number 9 Newcastle Road."

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Awesome woman of the week

This is a tough call for a new category of posting, but the inaugural award goes to Suzan-Lori Parks, playwright, muse, muse-lover, agitator, and individual. She does the work for the work, not for the reviews. She does the work that engages her, not what she thinks will be produced, or published. And sometimes that pays off. Witness Top Dog Underdog. No, I have yet to read her novel Getting Mother's Body, and yes, she is apparently writing a screenplay based on a Toni Morrison novel. Here's a writer who does the work that needs doing, and wow, she very often gets it right. The New Yorker takes a good long look...
“All writing is atonement. I am always writing to make up for things I've done.”

Alice Munro

Friday, October 27, 2006

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Poetry is a heartbreaker.

-- Sign on the back of a mouse.

Found and randomized


Poll aide rejecting mounting Policy

War sorry

Us for official disapprove Slogan in election

Republicans Iraq they House those signals eats and defines

two-thirds has voters as violence of switch

dilemma "stupid" in mull Bush's policies

Bush, talk

Bush arrogance of war shift Iraq Bush in change military flip-flop

Iraq finds Iraq Iraq of concern' said top tactics War disapproved in Iraq Iraq

What commanders mulls Iraq surveyed Iraq of in in possible Bush's Bush's Montana adjustments stupidity?

Stupidity about policy

White crow Iraq

Muddled 'serious tactics

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Quote of the week

Let’s cut right to the chase. With words that made my blood run cold. “We’re not going to beat you or even threaten you. We’re going to kill you by raping you.” Those words haunt the painful memory of Athanasie Mukarwego. They are the words spoken by the men who raped and humiliated this Rwandan mother in front of her children. They are words that continue to cry out in all of us.
Her Excellency the Right Honourable Michaƫlle Jean Keynote Address for the International Conference "Violence Against Women: Diversifying Social Responses"

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Sook-Yin Lee & Short Bus

Okay, so who doesn't have a crush on Sook-Yin Lee? And isn't she the coolest thing about CBC?? And have you seen Short Bus?

Saturday, October 21, 2006

CA Conrad

Philly is CA. Here's another interview and you must go to the end to see the most excellent photo of CA and Jen Benka.

new Marcia Hafif at Becker, Philadelphia

Larry Becker Contemporary Art
Marcia Hafif: “New Paintings: TGGT.” Thru Nov. 18. 43 N. Second St. 215.925.5389

After years of investigating single colour panels, abstract minimalist painter Marcia Hafif has moved to incorporate two colors per canvas. This isn't necessarily news to the art world, or to minimalist painting, or to the color field, but it is for fans of Hafif, who has really, sort of stubbornly stuck to her meditative brush strokes. Until now. The paintings up at Larry Becker Contemporary Art in Philadelphia, small and demure, are of slightly different sizes and each (aside from TGGT: 12 which features a red-gold, violet combination) investigate two single colors. Similar in texture to the Glaze paintings, the application is consistent, unremarkable, simply stroke after stroke after stroke, straight up and down. There is something absolutely soothing about the couplings, the colors not quite complimenting, but not jarring either. There is a sense of possibility, as if two disparate elements can coexist entirely independent of each other and still compliment, still move forward in that still way that minimalist painting always suggests to me.

Philadelphia is not Chelsea. The Larry Becker Gallery wasn't open when I went by on Wednesday to have a look, but they came and opened the door and let me wander, happy to discuss the work. In fact this human contact is a surprising element in Philadelphia gallery going...I can't count the number of visits or the number of galleries I have visited in New York over the past six years and I don't recall anyone ever so much as looking up at me, let alone say anything to me when I walked in...

The discussions are good, one feels welcome, but I realize that I became very invested in my invisibility too: slipping in and out one can move through Chelsea at breakneck speed, saving up one's energy and attention for the show that stops you in your tracks. In Philadelphia it seems I will have to look closer at the individual pieces themselves for engagement. The scale is vastly different and will require, I think, a new way of looking.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Check out joni Mitchell

May 1, 1967...

Listening in on Canada

I love BBC for classical (though I'll listen to Jurgen Goethe talk about just about anything over on CBC Radio 2) but CBC's Radio 3 has it all going on at the moment. There's just a lot of fabulous new musical energy north of the border. Great weekly podcasts...sign up here.
Also, and this is random, but there's Sexsmith, Sigur Ros, and lots of great ambient stuff here including Broken Social Scene, which I am still hopelessly in love with... I hope that link works. Scroll the genres, there are lots of great playlists but the house set is really great too...and AU4 a new band out of Vancouver. All good. The amount of fantastic music out there just blows me away. Maybe I've been in poetry world too long, or too deeply?

And now I'm off on this playlist...and checking out this new site.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

reading the newspaper: beaulieu

To create the paintings above poet and artist derek beaulieu read the Thursday July 18, 2002 edition of The Calgary Herald, and continued, over the next two years, to read the same day's newspaper... That alone is a feat, that alone is a complete reversal of the deeply ingrained instructiveness of our culture, how we are supposed to ingest materials at particular speeds. A little like cracking open the opium vial, rather than allowing the slow drip... However, like conceptual poet Kenny Goldsmith, or fellow Canadian poet, Christian Bok, beaulieu did not stop there. After exhaustively reading every page of the July 18, 2002 Calgary Herald, beaulieu "reconstructed each of the 124 pages as a full-scale painting."

There was nothing particularly eventful about July 18, 2002, other than the fact that papers were produced and consumed, largely unconsciously. beaulieu says:
I wanted to explore the way that information is presented to us, and the way that we are informed by its packaging. The newspaper is taken for granted as an “artless” media, a utilitarian media devoid of non-informative spaces. This is clearly not the case.
So, we see a colour coordinated layout of the system of transmitting information. The solid black of what must be an ad, speaks volumes I think. The newsier items usually regulated to the bottom inner corner. Having spent my early teenage years working in a newspaper I get a certain satisfaction out of this show. There is a lot of discussion about placement and percentages per page, there is a lot of play in terms of headlines and cut-lines. The editor of the small paper I worked on from age 15 to 17 would often sit around and embed coded messages denouncing a particularly despicable politician...but I digress. There is much more than placement here. And like an editor/publisher, beaulieu examined the layout of the paper and recreated his own system:
I created a representative system based not on the specific content of each article, but rather on the over-arching subject matters of those articles: international, national, provincial and local news, entertainment, sports, business, health and ever-present advertising. These differing subjects interact in a grid structure resembling Piet Mondrian’s highly modernist geometric paintings.
Of late I have been a aspiring to a hum in my own work, a wall of words that might replicate the glaze paintings of Marcia Hafif, or a room full of Agnes Martin. Pure colour, or pure form, seems the only acceptable response to the virulent misuse of words, the way that politicians disabuse them, clinging to various meanings at their convenience. As if in the ultimate transubstantiative moment whatever Bush says at a given moment is truth because he said it, no matter what the meaning might be...

What beaulieu achieves here makes me see that this is possible, this finding meaning in alternate ways. As beaulieu notes:
Reading the newspaper in a typical fashion – reading the actual content of each article, following fractures across pages and eliding the advertisements – prompted Marshall McLuhan to observe that reading a newspaper was an experience of Cubism in the everyday world.
Yes. And more than ever we need to take words to task. We need to think about what are the white hots, how we are shading what ideas we are ingesting. Consider the following:
I assigned each category a different hue, and then each article within each category a varying shade of that hue: 30 international news reds, 9 national news yellows, 11 provincial news browns, 12 local news pinks, 28 entertainment blues, 32 sports greens, 19 business purples, 10 health oranges.
What an amazing system we are all unconsciously subscribed to.

What do we want poetry to do? A friend asked me this recently over a cup of coffee in Soho as I lamented the lack of direction and passion. What indeed. Do we want our poetry to make people feel good about their inaction? Do we want porchverse, as Lisa Robertson so piercingly mocks it in The Weather. Or do we want to make visible the architectures we are all ingesting?

Again, beaulieu:<br>kquote>There are 151 different news articles in 8 separate categories in that single day’s Calgary Herald. And over 125 different ads – and 36 full pages of flyers – all represented through 4 shades of grey.

In Counterblast, McLuhan stated that “the newspaper […] structures ordinary unawareness in patterns which correspond to the most sophisticated maneuvers of mathematical physics and modern painting,” and the newspaper has continued to be an inspiration to artists who seek to interpret and “make strange” the quotidian information contained in each issue. For a year Nancy Chunn rubberstamped and collaged on top of every front page of The New York Times creating Front Pages. Kenneth Goldsmith’s DAY transcribes every single word in a single copy of The New York Times into a single monolithic volume.

As I laboured through the series of paintings, the vocabulary of The Calgary Herald was systematically replaced with colours. Naphtha Red, Turner’s Yellow, Alizarin Crimson, Cerulean Blue, Phthalocyanine Green, Dioxanine Purple, Perinone Orange.
br>Like any constraint-based project despite the restrictions I placed on language the form itself asserted a moment of chromatic editorializing: what had been lengthy reports on the Klein** government’s drought relief effort were now simply fields of Burnt Sienna and Raw Umber.What I want is precisely this: to see what I am daily ingesting in an entirely new way. And to have that done in innovative, thoughtful ways. To be as fully conscious of my surroundings as I can be, and to be astonished, yes, and of course, to come back to words. Or, at least to poetry. For more on derek beaulieu see my posts on his href="http://lemonhound.blogspot.com/2006/04/no-press-calgary.html">Winnipeg Suite here, some thoughts on concrete poetry here, and my mini-review of Shift & Switch here, and finally, beaulieu's essay on concrete poetry can be found on ubu here, and this just in, a <a href="http://epc.buffalo.edu/authors/beaulieu/">page of his own on the Buffalo Poetics site.

**Conservative Premier of the province of Alberta

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Why I'm not discussing feminism

Wondering what happens when men speak is a lifetime occupation. All over the globe women with their heads between their knees, wondering. This is an occupation. This wondering. How do men weep? Is it like thinking? When men think is there a little pause before speaking? Why have they not changed the world, men? How many years of thinking and still there are problems. Maybe it's time to give them up? After all, men are only one half of the population. Troublesome as they may be. This is why I'm not discussing feminism. This is what it leads to.

Happily words continue to come from other places. There will be no discussing of feminism here. Anyone who wants to discuss feminism should go and read about feminism. Reading about feminism is a way into feminism. Imagining being a woman is another way into feminism. Imagining then, is feminism. Thinking is also feminism. So, there will be no arguing about feminism. After all, what is feminism? Feminism is doing. Feminism is seeing. Feminism is women being and doing. Talking about being and doing is a way to keep women from doing. Really, women need to be doing and not thinking of ways to explain to men what it is to be a woman. Men need to explain to men what it is like to be a man, or to be a woman, or to be a stone, and they must try to do this without hurling, or spearing, or other means of combat.

Who is invested in having women not doing? Suddenly everywhere people are thinking. Wow, that is what doing is. And now there is a lot of doing. And suddenly there is a lot of trying to arrange the doing into schools of doing and hierarchies of doing which is a way to assert bigger doings over small doings. But meanwhile women too are doing and they are not always good at doing in order. Therefore unruly. Therefore in need of reining in. Therefore in a big corral.

Still, if everyone is doing then men therefore are women if they are thinking and women are men if they are doing and everyone is feminist if they are seeing. So if looking then feminist. If looking is seeing. If you look and what you look at looks back, not you looking back, then feminist. Naturally things are more complicated than they seem, and naturally, quite naturally, it is time for tea.

marcia hafif, susan howe, minimalism, monochrome, meditative work

Green Lake Deep, by Marcia Hafif
Looking for more information on Marcia Hafif (who has a show up at Larry Becker in Philadelphia at the moment), I came across this interview with Susan Howe in which she recounts their early shared space and Howe's transition to poetry...
In 1965 I was living with the sculptor David von Schlegell, and in 1972 he became the Director of the Sculpture Department at the Yale School of Art; the job required we live in the immediate New Haven area. We found a house in Guilford, a town several miles north/east beside Long Island Sound. For a couple of years I was able to keep a space in Manhattan by renting a portion of the painter Marcia Hafif’s loft on Crosby Street and I came into the city two days a week. At the time Marcia was drawing vertical pencil marks, as a kind of meditative exercise into standard black drawing books. She started at the upper left corner and worked systematically down the paper. Then she began to use words instead of lines, but words semantically unrelated to each other. She tried not to make sentences or phrases, used no punctuation, left no margin, line breaks were contingent on reaching the right hand edge of the page. You saw a wall of penciled words. Meanwhile I was arranging sentences and photographs on my side of the sheet rock walls we had put up as partitions. We didn’t discuss our work so we don’t know if it was shared influence or some mystery of affinity—certainly we were both intrigued by the idea current among minimilists and conceptualists that painting was no longer valid. I was also working in sketchbooks but I filled them with word lists, usually nouns typed then cut out and pasted in. The words were arranged as vertical lists. Names of birds, boats, flowers, combined with ruled lines and photographs from old instruction manuals charts, and maps. Increasingly, words I chose did relate to each other. Increasingly, line breaks mattered. The sketchbooks were a matrix, names and nouns were less tied to the way they looked on the page space than to the sounds I heard in my head when I put them there. (I still use exactly the same 5”x 6” drawing books when I begin working on poems.) I liked to leave a lot of margin. Gradually I filled the first pages of these books with quotations taken from reading, so they came to have the feel of commonplace volumes rather than art objects. I began going to a poetry workshop at the St Marks Poetry Project because it was near Crosby St., and because it was funded by the NEA it didn’t cost anything. Ted Greenwald, the workshop leader, had an open-minded way of reading our work: he encouraged us to think about poetry that embraced experiment. One day he came to the studio to see what I was doing there. I had been laboriously attaching a series poem (though at the time I didn’t think of it in this way) to the wall. I started to explain its logic and he asked why I didn’t put this particular group into a book. I thought about it and decided he was right.
Very intriguing...and so this action, this meditative drawing (which makes me think of Eva Hesse, Agnes Martin, Gertrude Stein, Virginia Woolf), leads two women in two very different directions...or does it? The line between conceptual/visual art and poetry just keeps shrinking, or perhaps more like the embattled string theory idea, it just keeps twitching...

In any case, the work of Marcia Hafif glows. Her glaze paintings, which I posted on last year, really do seem like reconceived classical paintings of glowing 17th century Dutch interiors. Except we don't see the figures hovering around the candle, we see instead pure color, the glow and texture of it. The act of glazing itself requires layering of slightly different tinted colors, and one assumes veneers of some kind as well. I have this image of Hafif engaging in the same meditative actions as the earlier lines, then words, each of them layered from corner to corner as she strokes across, down... She says she wants the paintings to seem to be a kind of skin which is why she doesn't frame them but rather allows the edges to be visible.

The edge, or the seam, doing something in this case....as in the case of Susan Howe, but I am still bouncing off the surface of Susan Howe. When I have something to say, I look forward to posting... Meanwhile in Philly we can see Hafif take on two colours simultaneously.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Zhang Huan vs. the Scotch Tape Folks & After Language Poetry

Chinese photographer and performance artist Zhang Huan has a stunning show up in Chelsea. His work interacts with people, history, geography, exploring the threshold of pain, human and metaphorically it seems, the effect of humans on the planet. The iconoclastic image "Raising the Trout Pond 1 Inch" which has a string of migrant farm workers standing in a pond, speaks to to both the cataclysmic and hopeful aspects of our future on this planet for example. Here we see a shot from the series "My Boston" in which the photographer attempts to "enter into" the text in various ways, and below are we gagging on our past? Our history? Can we wash ourselves clean from it or are we awash in it now? Very intriguing work. Powerful, clean images. The image of the artist lying on a slightly orientalized bed of ice for example: dogs tied all around, going nowhere, a useless sled...
Huan's work embodies a kind of perpetual astonishment, lithe, hard, like the images of himself and others naked, faced with the realities of their environment as they are in the series "Hard to acclimatize," in which naked bodies hang like oolichan in a smoke house, or in the performance 12 Square Meters, which he forces himself to sit in the most squalid toilet in "the village" (not the east village!), covered in a honey-like substance which the flies that buzz around him immediately stick to...
No padding. Like artist Marina Abramovic Huan really does show us the edges, the places where we can see the framework, the more guttural structures that create our world. This is much more interesting to me than other work--such as Jessica Stockholder for instance--which seems to be attempting to explore a similar thing. Or perhaps I'm misreading her focus on the ragged edges of her sculptures, the scotch tape, the line between paint and object. This gesture, which I've seen repeatedly in Chelsea over the past few years from sculptural work to photography (people tearing out images and taping them together etc) seems comical in comparison. What have you to expose, I want to ask? What edges are there between the trip from Staples to the Studio? Perhaps that isn't a fair comparison, but at least I have figured out what it is about the current scotch tape movement that bothers me so much...

And does this relate back to poetry?? I am thinking of Jena Osman's brief essay "After Language Poetry," which you can read here. She distinguishes between the Aristotelian and Brechtian models and says that the latter is what she strives for in her work. Not that aha moment, that simplistic aha moment that we get to in so much poetry, that "I have wasted my life" or "life sucks but at least I have my porch and I am thankful for it" but rather that "Holy shit, is that what I'm unconsciously doing in my life? My God, maybe I should DO something!"

Or, maybe the writing is doing something?

Or, maybe words have more energy than we believe?

Or, maybe poetry shouldn't be about making the poet feel solid at the center of the world?

Or, maybe the genius of the artist is her ability to be in a state of unknowing?

Or, maybe the work that interests me is not so much the work that is busy attempting to cement itself into this or that school, but rather out on a limb, quaking with its own newness.

Who are we to believe that we can imagine how literature will behave?

Silly, silly, those who believe they can shape future generations.

Let the future decide what to make of us now: the job of the present is to be in it.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Why you're a painter and you're a poet

Actually, the show I refer to below is called Gurgles, Sucks, Echoes by Roni Horn with a text by Lynne Tillman, which I'll get to in a minute. But first, a timely overlap in that it brings together a curiosity about textual art, Roni Horn, narrative, story-telling, and poetry.
I saw the Kay Rosen show at Yvon Lambert last week in Chelsea. The word plays below are representative works.

Not surprisingly, the following is a favorite:
If one is confused about the line between conceptual art and poetry, this exhibit, and the many other textually based works exhibited in Chelsea and elsewhere this year alone, may further confuse. And maybe that's a good thing. These "paintings" in fact do more than a lot of poetry I encounter to make vivid the ludic linguistic play evident in the sounds we utter hourly with so little attention... The sculptural play is actually very layered, though it packs the kind of concrete punch of a slick ad, or a logo. Tho, there is something sweet about the colour play and the perfection of the font, so clean, so precise and so punny. While I hesitate to want to cede that visual artists may be more attune to a word's verbal and visual lexicon, I must, when confronted, bow to a master. Particularly one who takes words back into the community, as Rosen does, literally reconfiguring them in public spaces. This, it seems to me, is something that poetry so often fails to do.

Then there is Roni Horn. I posted on her Wonderwater: Alice Offshore back in June, and in August, here where you can see a drawing by Anne Carson and another by Louise Bourgeois (Earlier posts on Bourgeois here and here). And below, you see the title image from Gurgles, the effect of these paintings is like that of the multi-coloured crayon covered over with black and then scratched away. they are lower case, the letters squeeze together often awkwardly.
Roni Horn has the best titles, which are in fact the paintings themselves: Bending Moments, Being Purple, Sometimes Dead, The Limit of the Twilight is 49 Miles, Perceptible Includes the Library, An Old Woman who has passed her life on a small Scottish cliff island is uncomfortable on the mainland because she can no longer see the edge...

I wonder if Frank O'Hara would still think the same way about painting vs. poetry as he did when he wrote "Why I am not a painter...". I also wonder why this isn't concrete poetry? Take the recent Shift & Switch anthology out of Canada which has a large and varied selection of visual and concrete poetry by people such as Rob Read, Gustave Morin, Matthew Hollet, which seems more like visual art than the visual art above. This is a thumbnail comparison of course, and I'm simply wondering here, not making an argument...but maybe what I'm uneasy about or weary of is the articulateness of the above pieces. These are not so much the "inarticulate marks" that bealieau refers to (Sianne Ngai's poetics of disgust...) in his concrete manifesto, as they are the articulate pun...

neither beaulieu's work (which I posted about here and offer up a piece by here) nor much of the work in Shift & Switch, gives us this surface satisfaction. So what is it that Rosen or Horn or any of the many visual artists who incorporate text into their work hope to achieve?

And on a completely different note...I've lost all my old links and am unable to post them on this bloody beta blogger template...if anyone knows drop a line.

Lynne Tillman's American Genius, A Comedy

I have a stack of Tillman books by my ugly old orange chair...starting with Madame Realism, a work in response to Kiki Smith, and also a piece that goes with a Roni Horn exhibit gurgle, suck... I'm thinking, how is it I've gone for so long without having a sense of how brilliant Tillman is? Just ordered this new one, American Genius, A Comedy, reviewed in Slate this week by Jessica Winter.

trout fishing in canada, the secret to liberal politics...

Skinnydipping for the left...Check out Bob Rae

you are my peanut...i am your brittle

ah, pepe le pew! thanks for the link michael.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Hey Phil-o-folks!

I'm reading tonight:

Friday, October 13
7:30 PM
Nexus Gallery
137 N 2nd Street (between Arch and Race)
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

If you're around love to see you.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

October belladonna

Margaret Christakos read from Sooner, as well as her amazing chapbook from belladonna.
Rachel Levitsky.
Corinne and...
It was a small crowd and fabulous readings. Chapbooks available as usual.

Monday, October 09, 2006


If a woman writes a poem and no man reads it, is it still a poem?

My fingers are sore from counting today. Mind too.

Better not strain myself. Go back to reading and admiring which

after all is what we women do.

On the reading block:

Lyn Tillman, This Is Not It (wow)
Rachel Blau Duplessis, The Pink Guitar
Susan Howe, My Emily Dickinson
Meese Semierotics
Laura Sims, Practice, Restraint
Happily, Lyn Hejinian
The American Tree, ed. Ron Silliman
The Making of Americans, Gertrude Stein, intro by William Gass

Discovered the book, War and Peace ed. Judith Goldman and Leslie Scalpino, thinking about Sontag's assumption in Regarding the Pain of Others that we can't get outside of war. What does this have to do with Polanski's Chinatown? Something about what we can't think outside of, even those who spend much of their lives thinking, still inside it.

Still about women's bodies. Faye Dunaway. Did she ever finish a movie alive? The older I get the more feminist I become....

Unequality not on the agenda

The Harper government in Canada has decided that women are equal enough... Hm. I just seem so clued out. But maybe that's partly due to the fact that there are so few women capable of oh, I don't know, thinking like the big boys? Gee, maybe we are equal enough. And as Ron Silliman seems to be suggesting, perhaps we women should stop being so defensive about it. After all, why do we need more voices than we can count on our two hands? Or is that just one hand? (Do we need two??)

Oh, and by the way. How do I sign up for pussipo? I wouldn't mind hearing more from those dozen little voices. Angry or no....

Thursday, October 05, 2006

More gender anxiety

And people really think that feminism is no longer relevant? It's frontline work I'm telling you, absolutely frontline.

The Village Voice looks at Robertson's The Men

From this week's Village Voice:
Rather than condemnation, Robertson's ongoing response to boys, men, and their imposed strictures is an unruliness, a refusal to obey, a positing of fluid sexuality, a participation in alternative communities, and a delight in overlooked shared spaces. In this way, her poetry performs a witty and mischievous dialogue while conveying a subtle recognition that fear and even pathos oftentimes motivate the need for order: "Amazed head of a man I feed/you violets and fall upwards bleating." In The Men, as in much of her work, Robertson makes intellect seductive; only her poetry could turn swooning into a critical gesture.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Coach House in New York

Coach House Books celebrates 40 years at Poets House

Coach House Books 40th Anniversary at Poets House featuring Margaret Christakos, a.rawlings, Jon Paul Fiorentino and Sina Queyras Wednesday, October 11, 7:00 p.m. Poets House, 72 Spring Street, 2nd Floor

For review copies or media requests, contact Evan Munday at 800 367 6360 or evan@chbooks.com.

Supported by the Consulate General of Canada in New York.