good rumination on annotation and googling by Mark Scoggin. I feel like a fat slob at times when I resort to Google for explications. and yet. sharp considerations.

this painterly photo by Jordan Davis makes me wonder: do people much print out their digitals? I have essentially printed zero, upwards of none. a picture like this one readily could be made to whatever appropriate size and framed, etc. being not just subject but a treatment of an area focal area. paintlerly,as I said. Stephen Vincent has been doing some lovely works as well. as much as I like the cryptic titlelessness of Jordan's photos, I like as well Stephen's written placements. I like too the blurry blitz photos of functioning poets in the wild, such as Stephanie Young and Alli Warren offer. I also like beer, but now I'm turning a corner.

up to 39th installment of Antic View, as Jeff Harrison and I, ignorant that there is a subject, write all around it.

Geof's Huth careful, dispassionate description of a car crash. it was not immediately clear how serious the accident was as I read, or if anyone was injured (no, happily). that is, it wasn't a dramatic telling. to write thus calls for a certain sternness. dispassionate is not the same as passionless, or at least, the implication is not lack of passion, but that passion does not interfere with the description of events. which is perhaps just the opposite of what Rilke would favour, not to place him in opposition. Rilke in fact advocates an openness to what is around one, and a clarity of understanding, which doesn't seem foreign to Geof's own directive. Geof's art certainly isn't dispassionate. his description of the car crash reminded me of William Tecumseh Sherman's account of a fire on a river boat. in his memoir's Sherman writes of a boiler mishap (I think) on a riverboat he and his family were on. it was in fact an emergency, but his account is cool and collected. which makes sense, as he had to make millions of reports, often of terrible events, in the course of his military career. so there, I've likened Geof Huth to William Sherman. I'm thinking Rilke's description of similar events would be true and clear, but on a, let us say, weirder plane.

nice little bit about Robert Grenier via Ron Silliman. good picture of Grenier. he was a pretty serious basketball player when he taught at Franconia and if my fuzzy memory is correct, I believe he played for Harvard's b-ball team back in the day. it all kinda fits. a commenter mentions having had RG as a professor at Franconia in the mid 70s. literally, how many can say that? I had Grenier as poetry professor in the early 70s. Franconia was so, so small. I don't even know how many years Grenier taught there. I was there for his 1st year. a certain sense of challenge as regards poetry and the writing and reading thereof was instilled in me by Grenier. for which I am grateful.

Malcolm Davidson takes matters in hand and provides the rules.

I've only just scanned this Zukofsky site, and have yet to unpack Z to make use of it, but this is like Butterick's Guide to Maximus. sites like this reinforce my amazement at what the internet can offer. I know that last sentence is dullsville, but, I mean, this Zukofsky tool is so handy.

a controversy arose concerning Geof Huth's piece on David Baptiste Chirot. I've hardly caught up on blog world, as the work of unshambling the new abode takes precedence, so I needn'tweigh in. and I won't, except to point to this reply by David, posted as a comment at Mark Young's Blog. in this controversy, at least, there aint no dickheads. but why I'm pointing centres on David's style, if that's the right word. I'm guessing he didn't spellcheck. I'm not sure, for it's not a matter of exxtrra letterss, or letetrs out of ordre, but mostly spaces in the wrong places. which is no simulation of David's use of frottage in his art--is it?--but still, it suggests a similar natural rawness. and to read these disturbances produces a new field, superimposed upon the one in which the expected meanings occur. where, that is, David is 'saying' something. which makes me think of how flarf produces a similar superimposition of fields. for instance, this piece by Gary Sullivan resonates within its bad English. there is no bad English, really. superimposition, or collided trajectories, or simultaneity. we read what Gary writes, but also the original voices. there resides the likewise with David's reply. I find this odd, low profile controversy concerning David and Geof fascinating.

modernist sculpture 

stoners 

the story so far 

giant cat 

sanctuary 

just a general note that Gary Sullivan has been posting some good shit on his blog. I think the term flarf had ought to die off toute de suite as it now tempts readers to think of the work in terms of trickery or program, just as LANGUAGE too suffers that critical mind set of collective category. it's not like you or I could write 'Gary Sullivan poems' just by using his procedures. or let me put it this way: try it yourself. the rule of thumb, then: read the poem not the prodedure.

I was glad I was able to stop unpacking and focus on this poem by Tony Towle Tom King at The Duplications. a lovely elegiac piece. I don't think lines or phrases can be quoted usefully, as I think readers would miss how lovely the words are outside the context of the whole. the poem do sound 17th century-ish, without a false note.

spent the last few days moving. very big deal for me, for several reasons, with issues underlying and exciting moving on. of course the usual delays and best laid plans. much was moved in on friday, tho it was supposed to be all. when I got up on friday, I locked the cat in the bathroom, elsewise he'd disappear into the woodwork in that fun way cats have of freakin' out. did I mench best laid plans? I went in to comfort poor Mowgli, who was totally buggin' with the weirdness, and he managed to escape into nether regions. luckily, by friday evening he was willing to be coaxed from hiding. both the dog and cat have abandonment issues. the dog had 2 owners before he came to me. the cat was left to us by his mother, no shit. 3 years ago we heard a cat crying outside. we checked and there was a mother cat and a little kitten. when we came to the door, the kitten ran towards us and the mother ran away. probably a teen pregnancy thing. for a while the cat lived under the porch but after running a security check on us, decided to join us inside. now he's an indoor cat who is much contented with the sitch. with racoons and coyote about, it's just as well. there's a feral cat around that looks just like Mowgli, presumably his sibling. apparently Mowgli was not deemed feral enough, tho tell that to a piece of string being jiggled or a crumpled ball of paper. so well like anyway. neurotic cat yowled all friday night (what was left of it) till I finally got up and lay down on the livingroom floor with the passively neurotic dog, which brought the cat over, and the 3 of us dozed for a while. who needs sleep when you're tired? much was left to do saturday, but we were exhausted and sore so the start was slow. not till 2am sunday morning were we fully moved out. hunger and general wired-upitude got me up after 4 hours sleep. the garage is completely filled, who knows where what is, but we are home.