At The Beginning with AHB, the Langpo Experience

here’s the true story. in 1972, Barrett Watten came to Franconia College, in Franconia New Hampshire. this tiny ‘experimental’ hippie college sat on a mountainside just north of Franconia Notch, site of the geologic outcropping of stone called the Old Man in the Mountains (rest in pieces). legendary poet Robert Grenier (pre-legend) taught at this college, using strange writings by such writers as Charles Olson, Gertrude Stein, Louis Zukofsky to bedazzle and confuse youthful students of the so called poetic art. Barrett came to visit Robert, ostensibly, as my investigations determined, to develop the 3rd issue of This. a buzz flickered thru the tiny school’s keen community of poets, all ten of them. Anselm Hollo, at another time, visited our school, tho I caught only a glimpse of him, as he smoked his thin cigar. Larry Eigner had visited, even to sit with us round a cafeteria table and talk poetry. I knew thru all these machinations and others (such as Robert posting his index card poems on a hallway wall) that something was ‘up’. Barrett sat in on one of our classes, literally. in the corner, coolly, not saying anything. he did not betray his mission. sources indicated, however, that there was more going on than two fellow experimental poets meeting in the deep places of New Hampshire, much more. secret meetings between these two powerhouse post-modernist influences were in the books. their plans to change the face of literature was in process. there was no way I could access these meetings, for my cover was as a common semi-serious student as much concerned with Quicksilver Messenger Service (they would never, alas, top their “Happy Trails” album) as I was with poems of one word—e.g. lighght–perhaps even more so. luckily I was able to, let us say, get wind of a few facts. having written a publishable poem of a certain experimental sort, I’d worked my way into a position of trust amongst the inner sanctum. This 3 would even have a place for me! and I was trusted enough to have dinner with visiting important poet John Ashbery at Grenier’s post-modern headquarters, and being introduced (three times) to poet-hero Robert Creeley at a post reading party. people, I was there at the beginning!!! the furtive joys of a nEw WritiNG were being sown. the bloody revolt against mainstream poetry, the sanctity of certification thru viable academic dialogue, the scads of really dope books written by feverish undergrads with awesome degrees on their minds were bringing avant garde (or is that avant grade?) back into the present where we can see it: all 'this' had yet to happen at this point in time. but the world was turning. yes, and it was my good fortune not to get reviewed or noticed or published or whatever till years and years later I decided, what the fuck, I’ll just use this internet shit to get my work before a public that, like, well, may or may not care that much, but anyway, you know, here it is and all…