saw Batman the Dark Knight. it exceeded expectations. it is based more in a human reality than these comic book movies usually manage. Heath ledger was certainly riveting. of course, that is how it works, the crazy, intense one is the centre of attention. as has been noted, Satan is far more interesting in Paradise Lost than Adam or Eve. that given, Ledger still made every moment crackle. Cesar Romero played the role campy, pretty much as Bob Kane envisioned the character. Jack Nicholson was Jack, creepy yet fun. Ledger’s Joker was disturbing. late in the movie he deliver unto Batman an examination of Batman’s moral dilemma that was splendidly biting and well-aimed. Joker himself is hors de combat of that problem. he’s a terrorist without the moral clause. the sense of the city being terrorized, in the current political sense, was strong and compelling. Aaron Eckart as the white knight DA was good. he’s startlingly goodlooking in a brisk public servant way, and entered the role of Two-Face smoothly, I thought. no need to go entirely Willem DaFoe. Michael Caine as Alfred was good, cockney Alfred, and Morgan Freeman as Lucius Fox, worked well as well. do not go cheap on the little roles in these things. Batman as Dark Knight is wearisome. he’s got issues just like the criminals, but is far less evolved. Christian Bale as Wayne has life to him, but no Batman has succeeded in being more than a costume. which is the point, I suppose, of the character. the movie was well-contained, did not allude outside itself to other entries in the franchise, and its themes held thru out. I haven’t seen the latest James Bond movies, but I think they tried to just start over, treat them more like separate movies. there was that obvious sense in Iron Man that this began the series. it worked nonetheless, but one fears the attenuation that likely will occur. one need only look at the Pirates flicks following Black Pearl, and the 2nd Matrix was so awful that I could not watch the 3rd, tho that is supposed to be better and resolve the 3.

Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, check. 1st one is still the best. this one has the same self-conscious manipulation as The Last Crusade, the urgency to touch all the franchise keynotes and let the plot take care of its own. the result is even more muddled than Last Crusade. I even found it visually cluttered. it looked remarkably cheesy, which is surprising given that as a film technician Spielberg aint no slouch. the movie starts with some malarkey about Russians invading Area 51 to steal, oh, you know, the Crystal Skull, or some hint to its whereabouts. the movie simply accepted that certain forces must push the plot, and dealt something to suffice. Indy is accompanied by a Brit who, it turns out, is a double agent. and a triple agent, except no one likely believed that reconciliation. but Indy gets away, and survives a nuclear bomb test by hiding in a refrigerator. I believe everything I see. there’s a brief 50s blackball theme, then Indy meets Shia LaBoeuf, who arrives looking like Brando in The Wild Ones. decent rapport exists between Ford and LaBoeuf, albeit a contrived tension, plotwise. on a vague hint, they fly to Peru, in search of that crystal skull. the Russians remain in the story, poor man’s Nazi. I did not mench Cate Blanchett being the nutsoid in charge of the Russians. she’s Stalin’s head of psychic research, or some such. which sounds more like a Hitler thing but anyway.she’s a dully campy dominatrix. is she a good actress??? her Galadriel was probably not her fault, the director forced her to look like such a bemused drag. I cannot remember what else I have seen of her. the plot was muddled beyond repair. the crystal skull attracted metal, but only when convenient to the plot. the action set pieces were lacklustre and did not seem to worry about plausibility. one accepts that Mythbusters might bust certain imaginative elements in a movie, but not that Jamie and Adam would not even bother to probe the possibilities. that is how it seemed with this movie. the movie was enjoyable enough, since I like Ford, and Spielberg’s failures are still largely competent. the crystal skull belongs, we learn, to ETs, so we end up with Richard Dreyfus’ friends with a somewhat more malign aspect. I do not know the budget of this flick but it looked cheapo. I wonder about Lucas, who has twiddled away his most interesting projects for the sake of merchandise and 2nd rate productions. I imagine that the plan was to slip River Phoenix into the Indy franchise, back in that day, and death kinda precluded that. LaBoeuf might be the next chance to move on, because Ford’s not good for many more punch outs. the movie ended smarmily, so maybe we should just tuck the baby in and say goodnight.

traffic to this space tripled because of searches on Emma Bee Bernstein, indicating the interest in her. Beth and I did our share, just wanting to know a little more. I did not intend to write a poem to her (see link below), but it was immediately identified as such by someone on the Wryting-L list. intent is a difficult thing in poetry. I (hope to) let feeling find the words, rather than, say, replicate the feeling in a structured response. if there is a School of Quietude, its sin is boosting emotional moments into crass simulacra. some things are too large in feeling, and too essential, death certainly, that we cannot play them like that. when Olson tells Blackburn that he did not know it was a subject, he lets boundaries find themselves. when I write ‘E’ in my poem, I really meant the letter, mostly. that was a safe distance, you might safe, tho I did invoke her name. i like the poem, because I see language passing thru me, mostly, rather than me at the steering wheel, sorry if metaphors are mixed.

quickly but respectfully reported

I guess that I appreciate Ron Silliman's death watch. my interest in the obits page has yet to reach the lurid point, but I do take note. and it is so stark to see a name, Emma Bee Bernstein, that I readily compute as 'someone', not that I have met Bernstein or Bee, tho I could have dined with them after their presentation at Tim Peterson's series, along with the rest of the audience. the picture on Ron's blog is a casual snap, a frame in the life movie. I know no more about her death, and do not even need details. I think of Charles Bernstein as an edifice, as a focal point for poetic divergences and such, I mean, oo, Bernstein = this or that. neither this nor that, however, hardly comprises the person who has lost his Emma. I have spoken as many words to Charles Bernstein as I have to Princess Diana yet the picture of her with the doleful end date caught me, and not just because I can insert Erin for Emma to bring it home. death don't have no mercy, certes. clasp hands, dear ones.

I guess you could check out the 139th installment of Antic View. Antic View has links to a lot of Jeff Harrison's work. Please peer upon it with your best eye. It is unique and delightful work, idiosyncratic yet inclusive. that Socratic Republic of Plato is a word-twisting place, suspicious of intent. we have this political economy of vocabulary (lumpy mouthful), in which the dedication of employment of words is respected. whereas the life of words, as living history of the joining space between people, is paved with too much intent. too many poets suck out loud, to put it bluntly. they suck the meme of intent, the sort of intent that can make Sarah Palin the map of Republican expanse. I think Jeff Harrison is a poet who arrives in a better light, less willful and more respectful. I believe strongly that his nation is aligned with the best vibrations. I will declare my own intentions towards a similar assonance. I read Antic View coldly, because I know that it is not titillating anyone, and that it adverts upon me, and well as on Jeff. I take our dilemma as poets seriously, and feel that Antic View charges the reader as well as ourselves. what do you need, dear Reader, to be incited???

I note Jeff Harrison's review of Walden Book (scroll down the page) at Galatea Resurrects. buy a copy and support Carl Annarummo's press and good work.

2 new installments to Antic View. Jeff Harrison admits to writing only about one poem a month, and I do not seem to be doing much more than that lately. yet we both feel productive. hm.

a couple of interesting social networking options. I've tried a few:

• Myspace, simply too ugly even to start with


• Twitter, could be useful but it did not stick with me. do we really need too much???


• Facebook, overwhelmed by structure, and people counting coup, but it seems useful, tho it also seems like a lot of work. come on, be my Facebook Friend!!!!!

I like these 2, however:

1. Goodreads, advert the books you are reading, write reviews. I like reading what other people are saying, and it is fun to write my own wisdomisms.


2. Wakoopa, reviews and usage data of computer applications. Wakoopa can tally what applications you use, how much, plus you can learn about what others are using. really useful!

{revised, 12/9/08}

saw 2 movies. 1st Khartoum, which I saw on Hulu. a spectacular historical drama from the 60s, and really, it was a spectacle, with grand vistas and all that. 19th century British interests in Khartoum are besieged by Islamic forces following a visionary called The Mahdi. the story begins with the British sending an army to quell the nascent uprising. the army goes Custer-like into a trap and all 10,000 are wiped out. the Mahdists are now well-supplied with guns. back in England there is this backroom talk with Gladstone and such, how to save face, rather than save Khartoum. all these proper English accents sound like Monty Python, deciding how to cut bait without looking like it. the machinations are appalling and confusing, but the gist is that Charles Gordon is chosen to go save face for the British Empire. Charlton Heston pays Gordon. I think the point is that Gordon, a Christian fanatic, will stay at Khartoum to the death, that being how Gordon rolls, meanwhile Britain can get the rest of its interests out of the area. something like that, I need another shot at the movie to get this clear. the point is that Heston is onstage now. he has his pompous, hammy mannerisms, but he is fun to watch. and those mannerisms are not as exaggerated as they could be, Cecil B. deMille isn't directing. Gordon is a little like Obi Wan in Bridge on the River Kwai. he is not quite over the edge like Obi Wan, that is, the point of his duty is clearer, but he is still buggy. his 2nd in command is Stewart, who is there to keep an eye on Gordon. he attempts to run a blockade on the Nile with British citizens at Khartoum while Gordon awaits the Mahdi. shades of Dien Bien Phu. the Mahdi is played by Laurence Olivier, merely exotic to my mind, Iago minus 7. the show always has to be Heston, I think. not in the sense of chewing scenery, tho he is good for that, it's just that he is so commanding in his stiff, somewhat noble, somewhat silly way. even when up against the like of Yul Brynner, who is one hell of a screen presence himself, Heston just keeps you looking at his ridiculous grandeur. Gordon and the Mahdi meet near the end for a parley. they realize that their fanaticism is similar. in the course of conversation, the Mahdi shows Gordon the heads of some of the blockade runners, and the hand of Stewart. ah, all is lost. so Gordon goes back to Khartoum, the Mahdists attack and c'est ça. the battle scenes were done with a certain grace. since no one in the fighting were important characters there was never that exult of action and heroism, just this thronging of energy. I was surprised how well done the movie was. and not dated. I almost watched Casino Royale, the 60s version. which, surprisingly, was directed by John Huston, and starred most of Hollywood's 60s elite, all to no avail, from the few minutes that I saw. it was too dated for me. it was a Bond spoof but the comedic timing was dreadful, color was garish, and Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass playing Burt Bachrach was congestive, not to my taste. there was a legitimate Shakespearian quality to Gordon, not that Heston was really up to that stature. knowing that Heston went from Hollywood icon to IRA loony (then Alzheimer's???) adds a dollop of substance to his expansiveness. I do not think I know who is a good actor anymore. the laden consciousness of 'great' actors really tires me. Heston's earnest hamminess works in this movie, I guess because the director kept the screen wide and commanding, so that the tussle of actorly ego could not overwhelm scenes. the historical story certainly carries a freshness.

also saw Get Smart. this surprised me by having good pacing without the antic imperative of many comedies (I am thinking of Steve Martin's Pink Panther). the actors had good rapport, tho 99 was played generically. could 99 have been played strongly? she was strictly support team in the tv series, sense to be placed against Max's nonsense. Steve Carel played the role earnestly, that is, played Smart as an earnest fellow, less pompous than the tv character. the plot was stupid but flowed well enough. regularly sown throwaway jokes served to keep the standard plot from weighing heavy.

I guess it is Christmas season. I cannot wait to see a Very Brady Christmas again, or that one with Mr Magoo, beloved by millions. I am right now listening to a Christmas jazz favourite, mellow guitar trio, oop, time for the bass solo. anyway, Thanksgiving was nice. we went to friends. getting last minute goods to bring on Wednesday, we were surprised that Whole Foods was quite quiet. wondering if this is an economic indicator. it is if subjective reports count. the after dinner music was John Fahey's Blind Joe Death. it was recorded 45 years ago! woot. yesterday we had errands to run. did not seem busy as we were oot and aboot. we were inspired to visit the mall, just to look around. the lots were filling in the outlying areas but not yet stuffed. I wanted to traipse thru the mall itself. a very long line waiting for cashiers at Sears. someone was stationed at the Sears entrance into the mall, with flyers for eyeglass bargains. saw that elsewhere: effort, that is, to sell. lots of sales, one place adverting 65% off. just down the road a Linen 'n Things closed, a Tweeter is in process, and Circuit City is gettin' ready. we did not really go into many stores. I wanted to see Apple both to see the new stuff there and to judge how this do-no-wrong is holding out. certes, it was crowded. 2 people at the door with leaflets about the 1-day black friday sale. the prices of which were not fancy at all. oh, in the window were large representations of Santa and Herbie (or is it Hermie?) from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. do they pay for that? anyway, lots of people. Beth and I ogled the iPod Touch. the phone aspect of the iPhone is of least interest to me, and combined with all the other features, the battery hardly keeps a charge. so give me a dedicated phone and a Touch. seriously, give them to me. an Apple employee answered our questions efficiently and sans commish. it is a good business model there, with lots of expertise floating around, no central cash register, and plenty to play with. innovation will get a company thru these times. companies with 'n in their names will fail. the only other store we looked into was Coach. several people milled around, and lots of sales people. it is a stalwart brand that will hang in there, I imagine. so that was all there was for Black Friday. short line to be scared by Santa, but maybe people were not bringing the kids on this mission of savings. I should mench seeing Stephen Colbert's Christmas Special. it was awful. I still like Colbert, and continue to be amazed at how well he plays the character and the irony above it. the marketed part of him, the synedoche of his image standing for a slew of disparate things, all tires me. his special was really cheesy. he was satirizing those homey specials of yore, Perry Como or Andy Williams wearing sweaters and pretending to have a family celebration. Colbert did nothing different, except that he undermined any sliver of sincerity. he had numerous singing guests who were all uncomfortable. the worst was Toby Keith. who was not so bad as a guest, but his song, with him wielding a gun to defend Christmas, simply did not work. it was an embarrassing effort, as was the show itself. wheel off the tricycle time, it would appear.

Lanny Quarles has made available a book in pdf form: Nosering Cellphone. I commend your attention to it. I have also updated his blog url in my links. I also add another Quarles blog. earthshaking!

I have it on excellent authority, my own, that in this post by Ron Silliman he is channeling me or otherwise influenced by my patented frame of peregrinacious wandering. seriously, tho he follows threads, this post is much more ramble table than I expect from him. good job! and he manages to mention the Beau Brummels!!! the source of all knowledge, Wikipedia, informs me that the original Beau Brummel was the 1st to introduce the suit and tie for men, and he recommended polishing one's shoes with champagne. I am doing that right now.

interview/documentary with/re mIEKAL aND.

reading Brothers Karamazov and a book on the sacred by Mircea Eliade. which is neither here nor there except, what, to provide a reading background? well. the nature of that has changed with the internet, because I read quite a lot online, and in the online way, from here to here to here. book reading is a specific pleasure, but so is listening to stuff, like podcasts and their variety. anyway, I was thinking that I made zero mench of the election that just passed thru the United States with the speed of slow variance. a bit of that is discouragement, a bit numbness, a bit an unwillingness right now to be part of the machinery that has been running for so long. Obama won, I hear. I thought to get to the polls early but dawdled and it was after 5:00 when Erin (his 1st) and I went to the polls, Beth voted earlier. I expected a long wait but there was essentially none. zowee! I can remember a lengthy line for the last election, and we went mid morning, but my frail father was allowed to cut in, and I was allowed to balance out his vote directly. my father's grandfather voted for Lincoln, and that set the tone thru the lineage, up till my baby booming divergence (my mother, rest her soul, was more liberal) tho my father did vote Democrats once or twice, including Kennedy. whatev, I am not trying to bubble on that mound. the race was a race, ultra long and crap like that, then Sarah, and I had nothing but growling contempt. her, even her, is something historical, and it is sad that it WAS her. Beth, much more politically astute than me--I am so hamfisted in comparison--lived long in Alaska, and is familiar with Sarah. Palin brought nothing worthwhile to the table. think how cruel that is, with the practiced patterning-in at work. this bespoken entity, Sarah, claimed by the desperate Think Attacks who fostered this battle, steps into the fray unqualified and untrained. how did they stick her in front of Katie Couric or that other guy, without a few hints how to fake it. that's just ridiculous. snap at her for the preposterous wardrobe fix up but reckon: we do not fuss whether the Joe Bidens and other momentum drags wear the blue or the grey. but the women package is a key snag for our consideration. hair up, hair down, etc. how are we to get thru this??? I have no original observations to offer. I am fast past the historical wonder of this election, this missive broadcasts from Shit Creek. Obama is not as creepy as a Clinton but it looks like a Facebook lock down with his crew. I mean the business as usual stuff will go on, tho Obama is bright, eloquent, and worthy of respect. is poetry possible after election night holograms? blague.

this & that...

I frequently see a man down the street from us. I suppose he is in his 60s, I am not a good judge. looks healthy enough. he looks like he is waiting for a bus, but the stop is across the street, and he never gets on or off one that I have seen. he lives a few yards away from where he stands, in what I am guessing is a group home. just stands there and watches, for considerable stretches. I have taken him to be simply interested in the passing flow, but there is that in his face, and this is completely inference, a sense of worry. I think of my father, who would, at times, have no idea where he was. nothing in his surroundings was familiar, tho he recognized me, and Beth, if not to the degree of knowing exactly the relationship. this past summer I was at the library at closing time. there was a man there about whom the librarians were concerned. the man did not know where he lived. he sat in a chair while the police were called. he looked at me with the same look my father used to have, surrounded by an unfamiliar world. this condition does not cease to amaze me, that panging sense of loss. we rely on certain foundations that are not, we discover, so secure as we believe. Buddha gives a clue, not to put a shine on this.

* * * * *

I was thinking about what I read when I was young, in terms of my later (age 16) becoming a writer. I was not a voracious reader in that autodidact sense that comes up in bios. I read, but I also watched the 3 Stooges. I know that I read Robert Benchley early on, and was mystified by James Thurber's cartoons. both those writers were in my parents' collection. Winnie-the-Pooh might have been read to me but I doubt that I read it myself until I was an adult. I was fond of Landmark Books, which were history and biography books for elementary school readers. I read every sports bio available at the school library, including bios of such unknowns as Red Schoendiest. which brings to mind the time a cereal box offered a small figurine of an American president in every box. when I fished out the prize I was thoroughly disappointed. it was James Polk. I was hoping for a real president like George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, or Benjamin Franklin. anyway, I was fond of the adventures of Danny Dunn (Danny Dunn and the Anti-Gravity Paint, which detailed his adventures in a sort of space bathyscath that was painted with this miracle paint, anti-gravitying its way into endless space), and the Happy Hollisters. we had 2 HH books, and I assumed until I consulted Wikipedia today, that those 2 were the extent of their adventures. in sooth, there are some 20 HH books. The Hollisters were essentially proto-Brady Bunch, tho with no implication of anything so decadent as remarriage. just as the 3 sets of Bradys paired off in neat incestuous units, so too the 4 older Hollisters. the littlest, Sue, is right out. I really enjoyed the 2 stories that I read. one was set at some oceanside resort, one was in the desert. turns out that the same mill that made the Hollisters made the Hardy Boys and such like. at Barnes & Noble yesterday, the juvenile selection was pretty oppressive. lots of franchises like Hannah Montana, just reams of bleary looking product. I never hooked into that stuff when I was young. I read a few Hardy Boys, but no Tom Swift, none of Edgar Rice Burroughs various series. dunno why. I have since read some Tom Swift Jr adventures. they are hilarious. son of erstwhile genius Tom Swift Sr from a generation before. Jr is much smarter and more capable than his dad. he just flies around in his rocketship with his pals, solving crimes, comes home for a delicious meal cooked by his mom, during which he explains to dad his latest discovers and victories. fully loaded, that is.

* * * * *

I started reading Brothers Karamazov. not sure why but I have only read one Russian novel, War and Peace. which is great. it's the milieu and the Napoleonic history that I like. I read 200 pages of Anna Karenina and could not get interested. the inferred gloom of Dostoevsky put me off from him. well, I have gotten thru several Thomas Mann novels so I guess I have the right stuff. at least he has some humour. I have to applaud B&N for producing less expensive editions of public domain authors.

watched Independence Day again. I think about all I want from movies is expansive ridiculousness. I mean, surely no one involved with the movie thought to talk to their physics teacher. and that's okay. there are some grand visual moments, some snappy humour, and the dopey stuff does not get in the way, so all systems go. I cannot haul in the name of the president here, Bill something. the perfect prez, just a family guy but nay, a hero, too. I am sure Bill Clinton always carried a similar picture in his brain, of what the people want, tho that aint what Bill is. it is a movie of familiar faces, that is, actors you know, can even name, but also actors who fulfill their compartment. the Sec of Def, Mr Stones in the Passway, for instance, imbibes the classic space of not being heroic enough in times of stardom. Jeff Goldblum does his roughly likable stuttering hero. Randy Quaid, well, he went overboard with the bulging eyeballs. I mean, he had to wear an aviator's helmet, just so that we could be really, really clear that he was a kook. I forget the name of the 1st lady, who always has that indomitable wan smile, too bad she had to leave this mortal coil. Will Smith's girlfriend, I forget her name, was much more 1st ladyish, than the fainting featherweight. Will Smith is Will Smith, and on a smaller scale, Harry Connick is Harry Connick. I for one could tire of them, in large doses, but it was just the right amount in this movie. not so with Data, however. his overplaying of the eccentric scientist was a chore, score one for the alien that moidered him. and so on. Judd Hirsch gets his faith back, tra la. the movie ends as homage to Star Wars. humanity nearly wiped out but the locust aliens defeated, so all's right with the world. I think I have seen 2 other movies by Roland Emmerich, Stargate and The Day After. Stargate's pretty good, even the tv show is, tho the show is scaled way down. Al Gore, who invented the environmental movement, would love the thorough disaster in Day After. some drippy plot points get in the way of the spectacle, and once again it's a happy ending with the world about ruined. bigger is best, says Emmerich.

Erin decided that we needed, our triumvirate, to do something for Halloween. he carved a pumpkin, and, dare I say, his finger (which I frequently did when I used to carve wood). Beth got some brie to bake, and also, scandalously, a morceau of some honest to god truffle infused cheese, tres cher mais delicieux. truffles are amazing, period. Beth and I had a bottle of Guigal Cotes du Rhone BLANC at the ready. thought to read something appropriate to the night but there's nothing on the shelf currently of that ilk or flav. so I offered to go to the library, looking for one of Edward Rowe Snow's books. okay, you don't know who he is. he wrote 100 or more books about New England legends and history, ghosts, pirates, and such like. he'd appear periodically on local tv, and I recall seeing one of his presentations, perhaps with the Cub Scouts, which included at least a couple of scared the bejesus "true" ghost stories. so that was my quest. I biked up to the library. the town centre was unusually clogged with traffic, and of course troops of costumed children with their parental units were all about. sirens were sounding, and when I reached the library, I saw smoke. a block from the library, a former school, now a collection of condominiums, was burning. the smoke was thick enough to irritate the eye. I went to the library entrance, only to discover a sign saying CLOSED DUE TO AIR QUALITY. as I was heading back home, sigh, 2 groups of teens convened. one fellow, coming from the fire, said, I'm going to be on television, yo. that yo demanded irony, but I am afraid the speaker thereof did not get the memo. the gist of that was the local newscast on which the kid believed he would appear. it really was a substantial fire, tho I did not attempt to get closer. tv news copters, I like to call them choppers, flew overhead. with smoke thick in the air, and throngs of excited children in costumes roaming all over (I think there might have been a gathering at the library), it was a pretty surreal scene. a beautiful fading autumn day, cloudless and still bright. I cycled home and bethought me plan B. I ended up reading an account on a sea serpent sighting in Provincetown (at the end of Cape Cod), from a 19th century book on the town. the witness, one George Washington Ready, somehow has a Professor attached to his name. I got the impression that he was more like the town rummy. there's a full front drawing of Professor Ready, aghast. one must presume from the pov that the sea serpent drew the picture. no, there is no picture of the serpent, just stunned Professor R. by his account, this creature was seen offshore, it made its way ashore, crawled to a pond and disappeared into it. in its progress it scorched the ground and sliced trees through. as it sunk into the pond the water receded. it left a 20' wide hole that was later plumbed to 250 fathoms without striking bottom. confirming what I believed, a fathom is 6'. do the arithmetic: sounds like Lovecraft material. another glance at the picture of the professor and you will realize that he had good reason for the look of disquiet on his face. a note at the end indicates that Mr. Ready resides at the head of Pearl Street, where he is willing to discuss the sighting further. perhaps a drop of the pure would make the telling go even better. we cycled to the fire saturday afternoon. it is this castle-like brick edifice, 4 stories high and more than a century old. the roof was burned thru. the place was cordoned off. workers and police were about, as well as the curious. Beth remarked how sad to a passerby, an older woman. this woman lived in a condo there. she said a worker soldering a copper gutter saw a spark get away. tho he responded quickly the fire was quicker. it was a breezy day. she seemed calm but she had yet to see the damage. she said she and her husband had given their place in town to their son, and could stay there. there's a sign near the building, with an old picture of it, to indicate the town;s history. someone, probably before the fire, had painted an X over it.

I just wanted to make notice of these publications by Lanny (with whom I have no) Quarles. he, like Alan Sondheim, among others, seem to be online constantly, producing and posting an enormous and varied amount of work. Lanny writes dense thickets of words, philosophical, grotesque, and weirdly musical. in addition he produces visual and sound works. I have seen much of this work, as it has flown by on the Wryting-l list, and on his blog (the address of which I have incorrectly to the right: I shall rectify this). oh, and also in the occasional comment box. I commend this work to the curious, if any such exist.

I just read all the John Ashbery links that Ron Silliman recently collected. it has been several years since I last read much Ashbery. we'd gone down to visit Beth's aunt and mother on the Jersey shore. I brought Flow Chart with me. that, some writings by Lenin, and sitting thru the better portion of a James Bond movie marathon resulted in a series of poems, to wit: The Lenin Poems. which has little to do with my initial instigation here, thoughts on Ashbery. I think it might be said that Robert Grenier championed Ashbery in class. we wrassled with the texts something fierce. the main book that we read was Tennis Court Oath, a monumental book, tho at the time the disjunction and the coolness of the author voice really distressed me. Three Poems had just come out. I responded to that better, because it turns out that I always liked the possibility of prose tho I did not realize it then (a Richard Grossinger reading broke the realization home). Grenier invited several of us Franconian poet types to dinner with Ashbery when JA came to read. Ashbery arrived from NYC by bus. Franconia was definitely The Sticks. I wonder what he was paid. Franconia had a modest event when I was there, the headliners of which were David Bromberg and the Holy Modal Rounders. Bromberg, whose claim to fame was session work with Dylan, got $750 plus room and board. the very awesome Holy Modal Rounders, a 6 piece electric band at the time (they began as an acoustic duo), got $150. Grenier was active in getting poets to the distant realm of New Hampshire. Ashbery is probably shy but he was warm enough socially. I remember we went on a road trip looking for an antique store where years ago Ashbery had seen some interesting piece that he hoped to find again. now that seemed weird. I believe we located the store but the piece was no longer available. during dinner Ashbery asked if there were any poems we would like him to read. I said "Le Livre est Sur la Table", I hope that's the title, from Some Trees. he dismissed that poem as inconsequential, and did not later read it. I liked it for being jokey, or at least what I perceived as so. astrological talk arose and JA and I connected for both being Leos, as likewise Grenier. JA noted that Leos and Cancers get along, and that O'Hara was a Cancer. of course now we know that O'Hara was born 3 months prior to the June 26 birth date he has been assigned. anyhoo, I was honoured to be included in this select group. the reading itself was a let down. it was a large room, or small auditorium. the audience was sparse, and spread thru out the room. so it was a terrible venue for Ashbery. and he read without much inflection, as I recall. I know that he read "The Skaters" and a portion of A Nest of Ninnies, which I have to admit has influenced my writing enormously. I felt sorry for him, stuck with such a weak crowd. his poetry has a blur to it, like the stuff that shows up as New Yorker column filler. there are so many of these pieces that fear, it seems, declamation. picaresque moods and moments. I am amazed at his popularity, his work does not seem user friendly but I guess they give satisfying pictures without that dowdy weight of the poet's impinging biography.