“Here I am and there is my body dancing on glass” “They will love me for that which destroys me.” “When depression visits I shall hang myself to the sound of my lover's breathing” “It is myself I have never met, whose face is pasted on the underside of my mind” “There's not a drug on earth can make life meaningful” “Embrace beautiful lies - the chronic insanity of the sane” “No one survives life.”
SARAH KANE (1971-1999)
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"who secretly host doppelgangers & strangers in the mirror stowaway stars parallel universes parallel nights rivers lives..." - henrik aeshna Amour & autres hallucinogènes - LOVE & OTHER HALLUCINOGENS Photography: HENRIK AESHNA, Paris, 2012 « Oh, I’m burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? I’m sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills. Open the window again wide: fasten it open! Quick, why don’t you move?’ ‘Because I won’t give you your death of cold,’ I answered. ‘You won’t give me a chance of life, you mean,’ she said, sullenly. ‘However, I’m not helpless yet; I’ll open it myself.’' Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights “But I am the gangster poet of this age. And I have enough fucking ammunition to wipe out as much opposition as will ever come up against me. And every fucking bullet will hit the mark, because I am a good shot. – Eddie Woods (in the telephone prose-poem “Bloody Mary”) PUSSY Soft blue in the morning. Winter still, but we’re sleeping late these days. “Lick me a little,” she says. I go for it hungrily. I love sucking pussy. Especially her pussy: dark-ringed flower, vibrant pulsating reaching out, the petals swamped with dew. Of course it’s you. It was always you. I’ll be there nevermore, my love. CHINATOWN GOLDEN SHOWERS Making that move was quietly difficult. The distance between bed & bathroom, when you have just fucked on opium & cocaine, is miles across. But piss doesn’t stretch very far, and wet mattresses are a drag to dream on. Perhaps it was a morning like this one, after a light rain, restless birds twittering over Chinatown, that two lazy lovers discovered for the first time: golden showers can really turn you on. * EDDIE WOODS was born to Italian-American parents in New York City on May 8th 1940. At age 20, facing the draft and not wanting to get his fingernails dirty, he joined the US Air Force for a 4-year stint, spent mostly in Germany. He subsequently lived and traveled in divers parts of Europe, North Africa and both the near & farther East, additionally crisscrossing much of the United States twice. After residing for two decades in Amsterdam (where he edited an international features magazine, ran a small English-language literary press, and was a contributing editor for the London-based underground newspaper International Times), he moved to England, passing six years in a remote corner of the Devonshire countryside until returning to Holland in the autumn of 2004. A poet & prose writer since his mid-teens, Eddie has variously worked as a short-order cook, computer programmer, encyclopedia salesman, restaurant manager, journalist (Bangkok Post, ABC Radio News, New York Times, Tehran Journal, etc.), and radio DJ. His work has appeared in numerous online and print periodicals. Having previously published three volumes of verse (30 Poems, Sale or Return, and an erotic fairy tale in 63 rhymed quatrains entitled The Faerie Princess), in October 2004 Eddie released his first spoken-word poetry CD, Dangerous Precipice. His book Tsunami of Love: A Poems Cycle (September 2005) is the inspired offspring of a deep romantic turmoil that could only be transcended on the wings of passionate song. The CD version, Eddie reciting the entire Tsunami of Love collection (with a special introduction added), came out in August 2007. While in January 2012, Barncott Press in London published a Kindle edition of Tsunami of Love. In December 2011, Sloow Tapes (Stekene, Belgium) released Eddie’s The Faerie Princess & Other Poems on audio cassette. Tennessee Williams in Bangkok, Eddie’s memoir of his adventures in Thailand and Singapore in the early 1970s, was published by Inkblot Publications (Providence, Rhode Island) in September 2013. Tennessee Williams in Bangkok is also available in a Kindle edition Then in February 2014, Barncott Press published another Eddie Woods book, his collection of short fiction entitled Smugglers Train & Other Stories. Later the same month a cinematic adaptation of Eddie’s poem “Mary” was released online, the Yarre Stooker film Mary. Several more books (poetry, prose, photography) are in the offing. In 2003, Eddie’s substantial archive was acquired by Stanford University in Palo Alto, California. An archive that will be added to in due course. Eddie Woods is also no stranger to the performance circuit, in the Netherlands and elsewhere (e.g. New York, San Francisco, London, Munich, Düsseldorf, Bangkok, etc.). In the past he appeared at several One World Poetry festivals and other Soyo Productions events, in 1992 at the North Sea Jazz Festival (poetry & jazz), followed by the Crossing Border festival, along with dozens of smaller readings all over Amsterdam. And from 1995 through till 1998, he organized much-heralded monthly poetry evenings at Café Co Meyer in Amsterdam’s Jordaan quarter. Since 2005 he has again been performing at selected venues, such as the legendary artists colony of Ruigoord for their annual poetry festival. For further information on Eddie Woods, see his Wikipedia page And read, too, Eddie’s 2009 interview with Sacha de Boer As well as his 2012 interview with Michael Limnios Two subsequent interviews are with bart plantenga (2013) and John Wisniewski (2014). "Gabor, the Hungarian prophet and madman. The mad Hungarian. The silly foreigner. A repulsive asshole. A gentleman. A seductive animal. The rude foreigner. A reckless dude. This guy is brutally honest, one might kill him sooner or later, probably sooner. He writes like shit. His accent drives me nuts. He has a smooth voice unless he is with someone else. A poet kind with a vivid vocabulary for no use." mirage leaning away from the lectern she watches still he can’t see what is before her her mother buried the navel cord next to the only tree in the courtyard to keep her daughter at bay on her weather and sun beaten skin the wind takes a break in the empty mile wide space in the raw air blameless fog-clouds enshroud her skyscraper solitude in the cave deep silence his may-fly long life disperses in the mist if she could she would scatter sand to the eyes of the thousand tongued wind she stays alive as long as she laughs amidst the crowd Full of Shunyata There’s no place to go You are there Natural abiding Unlimited freedom Absolute joyful Samodie Relative and Absolute Mind Are One Do not search for Nirvana You are sitting in it BOB BRANAMAN ONCE I drove across Texas for weeks. If I was to define Texas by a single image I’d say: an old man with a cowboy hat. Old cowboys are the saddest and most touching figures. (poem & photograph by WIM WENDERS) Music from her breast, vibrating Soundseared into burnished velvet. Silent hips deceiving fools. Rivulets of trickling ecstacy From the alabaster pools of Jazz Where music cools hot souls. Eyes more articulately silent Than Medusa's thousand tongues. A bridge of eyes, consenting smiles reveal her presence singing Of cool remembrance, happy balls Wrapped in swinging Jazz Her music... Jazz. Poem: "jazz chick" by BOB KAUFMAN Rue Gît-le-Coeur, Paris. Visite-happening-shooting (photo-vidéo) de la légendaire librairie indépendante parisienne Un Regard Moderne ( https://www.facebook.com/UnRegardModerne/ ) pour célébrer les 60 ans du mythique BEAT HOTEL, épicentre de la Beat Generation à Paris... Votre présence est un évènement ! Les lectures auront lieu à l'intérieur de la librairie (n° 10), et aussi devant le Beat Hotel (n° 9). lecture de poèmes (bilingue) avec: - STEVE DALACHINSKY (NYC): jazz poem + évocation de william burroughs -HENRIK AESHNA (Paris): "Mydriase", poème-bombe-conversation en hommage à CLAUDE PELIEU - HAIKUT-UPS (modalité poétique expérimentale inventée par Aeshna, en mélangeant haiku & cut-up), KOKAIN, en copulant Burroughs, Patti Smith, Anita Berber, Sebastian Droste, et Sainte Thérèse de Lisieux lecture de textes Beat (bilingue): - EMMANUEL BARROUYER (Paris): mashup/cut-up créé par Henrik Aeshna avec des extraits en français de Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso, William Burroughs, Brion Gysin, Harold Norse, Sinclair Beiles, avec une épigraphe-évocation sur le peyote de Henri Michaux, et une intervention d'Arthur Rimbaud (Illuminations) + - JAMIKA AJALON (US) - MALIK CRUMPLER (US) Venez nombreux le 3 NOVEMBRE - entre 15h et 16h - Librairie UN REGARD MODERNE 10 Rue GÎT-LE-COEUR, PARIS 75006 Métro: SAINT-MICHEL "Going to pay homage to a whore Put Bukowski’s face on Mount Rushmore" GOING TO MAKE POETRY AN INSTITUTION
Going to run for political office On a pledge to make poetry an institution Going to rattle the white mans power cage Show them the meaning of real rage The preacher man doubts evolution The con man doesn’t believe in revolution The priest has run out of absolution No more autographs no more forced laughs No more hanging around the zoo swapping Stories with gurus Going to smoke me some dope With my good friend the Pope Going to make love nice and slow Read me some Edgar Allen Poe Lose myself in the Jimmy Fallon show Going to make a cameo appearance On the late night show Play me some John Lee Hooker blues Going to penetrate a prerogative Bugger the cosmos Evolve evolution into a revolution Put anarchy on the stock market Nuke technology, outlaw e-mail Declare Da Da the official English language Going to hang religion from a tree Make John Brown the new National Anthem Turn outlaws into in-laws Landlords into donors Going to pay homage to a whore Put Bukowski’s face on Mount Rushmore Going to name a bus after Rosa Park Put a little nookie in every fortune cookie Expose Saint Nick as a chick with A twelve-inch dick Going to invite Trump’s old lady To ride through the streets of Chinatown In a see-through nightgown Going to sing a ballad with Lorca And a band of gypsies Stop off at the manager Have a long talk with the Lone Ranger Going to put an end to hemorrhoids Outlaw humanoids Going to offer a truce Bring back Lenny Bruce Make politicians ride the caboose Going to go back to school Erase the golden rule Going to feed a vulture Starve off mass culture Going to turn evolution into a revolution Make poetry an institution A.D. WINANS About the author: Allan Davis Winans (born January 12, 1936 in San Francisco, California), known as A. D. Winans, is an American poet, essayist, short story writer and publisher. Born in San Francisco, California, he returned home from Panama in 1958, after serving three years in the military. In 1962, he graduated from San Francisco State College. He made his home away from home in North Beach where he became friends with Beat poets like Bob Kaufman and Jack Micheline. He was the founder of Second Coming Press, a small press based in San Francisco that published books, poetry broadsides, a magazine, and anthologies. He edited Second Coming Magazine for seventeen years from 1972 to 1989. Winans became friends with Charles Bukowski, whose work he published. He also published Bukowski's then-girlfriend, Linda King. Other writers he published included Jack Micheline, Bob Kaufman, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Allen Ginsberg, Philip Levine, Josephine Miles, David Meltzer, Charles Plymell. etc. In 2002, he published his memoir, Holy Grail: Charles Bukowski & The Second Coming Revolution. A.D. Winans has had poetry, book reviews, and short stories published in over 2,000 magazines and anthologies. He has written 63 books of poetry, and two books of prose. A song poem of his was performed at Alice Tully Hall, New York City. In 2006, he was awarded a PEN National Josephine Miles Award for excellence in literature. In 2009 PEN Oakland presented him with a Lifetime Achievement Award. In 2015 he was a recipient of a Kathy Acker Award in poetry and publishing. His latest book, "San Francisco Poems" published by Little Red Tree Publishing, CT, includes an extended biography with many photographs, plus 99 poems, old and new. In 2016 he appeared in a documentary movie on the life of poet Bob Kaufman. The movie was premiered in April 2016 at the San Francisco International Movie Festival. THIRD BODY PARTS - cut-up I can see him leaving in a minute – luckily the past I remember – tense up in the dream – for sometime he touched his forehead – come under forever raised – they could walk with their heads high – Originally my land was red – the only thing left standing – who is stretched out sky I AM HERE Anyone no one to resemble I am without secrets – I sacrifice marvelous yet tragic not signs of life wealth a man memory Chile – what I saw is false sense of history – goes on in my head – the round mirror I never thought of going – of a son or daughter – I am understood by him – I could have heard my voice and a paternal language – of a common noun into my legend I did kick loud – Granny – come in Granny – human the caption –she smiles – I drank it in smack German don`t find out – and not mystery mysterious – It said put wings that’s what sadness there and delay time – his body remains his forehead his eyes my father – nay horizon and stockings for little legs – original structure – frequency they fall on me my phrase is gone rivers of distance of my body – sitting in the sun – a fine film of amber – a distant pleasure our very eyes – open sesame – that land – way sesame – soil down – there are birds that dive down – there are birds that go up and opposite of chance are reflected – I understood it – get down so great is our joy at de ask me if I like – we shall use today – I climbed mountains – we are sitting on beginning push back of our - mothers source – to the point I resemble angels eyes – recognize this music our transport motor nerves which will strike no ground – suddenly the earth is immense – continues to move if need be eternally and lawlessness About the author: Fork Burke is a poet currently living and writing in Switzerland - She received her BA in Creative Writing from The New School, New York, NY. Her poems have appeared in Hoezo Lepels?, PRAXILLA, Lyre Lyre, Unshod Quills, Caucasus ArtMag and Three Rooms Press publication Maintenant, as well as Le désir Live Radio Show for Art Basel 2012 – Basel Kunstmuseum Radio 2012 – 2012 Lyrics for BLOOD by Nick Porsche. Contributing poet at The First Brussels International Underground Poetry Festival – Her book Licking Glass is a book of poems, poetic essays and other images. Licking Glass is also included in the permanent collection of Poets House Library, NY, NY. Recordings include Fork Remixed – Which was among the winners of the Australian International Song Competition. Her latest Spoken Word recording is Durch die Blumen. Photo: Neal Cassady & Charles Plymell, 1963 SONG FOR NEAL CASSADY, BY CHARLES PLYMELL –For John Cassady Oh really really Neal his first love was the automobile Drove a ‘34 Ford with suicide doors and stick shift on the floor Draggin’ down main to Colfax Avenue Jumpin’ in the back seat boulevard kicked back watching asses in the rearview cruising past the high school Clock on the dash reading 10:18 past the neon diner last stop for Benzedrine and onward to another scene Chicks would rob a joint just to buy him food One hand on the wheel the other in her mood The blue-eyed kid and the wild-eyed bobby soxer California surfers Tarot card sharks and word shooters Found Ann-Marie in Frisco like a hurricane cock didn’t need the Sexual Freedom League Driving with white pills and pot but was really addicted to the wheel Came back to Old San Francisco Flower children all over the streets Carried star struck Ann-Marie in his arms the Denver Kid he never returns Traded her Chevrolet coupé for an old Pontiac Up the hills, down the curves gear it down, pump the brakes Old mother Ginsberg’s back seat drivin’ turning toward the Avalon Driving down Van Ness jumping parking meters One hand on the gearshift the other copping a feel One hand up her dress the other on the wheel Stole a car in Denver just to hear it peel just like drivin’ in the races Stole a car in Denver just to hear it squeal He moved so fast he had one foot in Cincinnati the other in Kalamazoo Women knew just what to do and all wanted him to be true Parked in front of Gough Street in a 50’s red and white Plymouth Fury Just back from seeing Kerouac, in a hurry patrol car in the mirror the old white and blacks Drove past someone with some little white pills heading into town He jumped in the driver’s seat and spun that Fury around. The roads were paved with powder all the way to Mexico and train tracks shined in the moon Did hard time for two reefers and came out smokin’ some boo First Road Warrior never knew what he did wrong CHARLES PLYMELL - from SOME MOTHER'S SON LEADBELLY BLUES LEADBELLY BLUES GET IN MY BONES I'm sick of old folks' tears and baby's groans. I'm choke full of this lion-eating Rome. I'm going where the eagle is going. Zero, America, I'm going home. I'll be where I hold my lover at night. My head's a hammer and my toes are stones. She's got a bed the color of a rose. Rain on the roof in the morning light. Leadbelly blues get in my bones. Rain on the roof in the morning light. MARISOL, 1930-2016. You chain-smoked your way into the deepest dark or perhaps you didn't. Perhaps it crashed down to forgetting from one day to the next; not what the obit cited, but between the lines: The pneumonia of forgetting. Not all of life that much of what remained for you. What was remaining that would remember you? All those days remaining, forgetting little or as much. The loneliness and longing converging on you in a quietude, lost in your forgetting, your wanderlust, your wanderings, your daydreams anticipating night. Those dreams, sleepless and forgetting, wading your way into a driftwood tide a morning's summer light, towards everyone and everything that you remember. Those many rooms and many voices. GERARD MALANGA About the Author Gerard Malanga was born in the Bronx in 1943. His previous books of poetry are No Respect: New & Selected Poems 1964-2000 (Black Sparrow Press, 2001), and Archives Malanga (Waverly Press, 2011), a 4-volume set of fanzines comprising new poems and non-fiction. An accomplished photographer as well, his first monograph, Resistance to Memory , appeared in 1998 with an introductory essay by Ben Maddow, and a poem by Thurston Moore, followed by Screen Tests Portraits Nudes 1964-1996 (2000), Someone’s Life (2009), Souls (2010), Ghostly Berms (2012) and Photobooths (2013). Long Day's Journey into the Past, Gunnar B. Kvaran Speaks with Gerard Malanga, was published by the Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art & Skira in Oslo (2008), and Gerard Malanga, a biography by Lars Movin was published in Copenhagen (2011). He is presently at work on his memoirs, In Remembrance of Things Past. Gerard Malanga lives with his cats, Sasha, Zazie, Xena and Mishkin in upstate New York. His website is gerardmalanga.net more: GERARD MALANGA & PATRICK MODIANO IN PARIS BUFFETED BY DARKENED RAINS & WHIRLING SHADOWS Well the clock says it's time to close now I know I have to go now ... Well, your fingers weave quick minarets Speak in secret alphabets... - excerpts from The Doors, "Soul Kitchen" “a good bad poet is more of an artist than a bad 'good' poet.” PAUL POTTS, Soho-Fitzrovia street poet (1911-1990) “After dinner or lunch or whatever it was -- with my crazy 12-hour night I was no longer sure what was what -- I said, "Look, baby, I'm sorry, but don't you realize that this job is driving me crazy? Look, let's give it up. Let's just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let's go to the zoo. Let's look at animals. Let's drive down and look at the ocean. It's only 45 minutes. Let's play games in the arcades. Let's go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let's have friends. Let's laugh. This kind of life like everybody else's kind of life: it's killing us.” Charles Bukowski, Post Office singing in your sleep and they fall from the sky and wash up on the shore "Blakean Bum/Time is Honey", "Blackswan" & "Kamikaze" by © Henrik Aeshna
BLAKEAN BUM / TIME IS HONEY "don't spend time beating on a wall hoping to transform it into a door", coco chanel said - i kick off the week sipping life's sweet & sour (dew & debris) as if tasting a bottle of champagne for breakfast calmly enjoying my honeymoon w/ madness BLACKSWAN i’ve got two stripes of vertigo in place of the eyebrows smile carved by knife & nytroglycerin tongue i’ve got you in my sky necklace as a Morning-Starlike pendant KAMIKAZE first time we made love i heard a nova in the sky with honeysuckle stars swandiving into my fishbowl * EN FRANCAIS: CLOCHARD DE BLAKE / TIME IS HONEY « ne gaspilles pas ton temps à frapper un mur en espérant le transformer en une porte », disait coco chanel - je débute la semaine en goûtant le doux & l'amer de la vie (rosée & débris) comme si c'était une bouteille de champagne au p’tit déj' en profitant calmement de ma lune de miel avec la folie CYGNE NOIR j’ai deux rayures de vertige à la place des sourcils le sourire taillé au couteau & une langue de nitroglycérine tu es dans mon collier de ciel comme un pendentif de l’étoile du matin KAMIKAZE la première fois que nous avons fait l’amour j’ai entendu une nova dans le ciel & des étoiles de chèvrefeuille se précipiter dans mon aquarium "I am watching them churn the last milk they'll ever get from me. They are waiting for me to die; They want to make buttons out of my bones." - Gregory Corso, excerpt from "The Mad Yak" CAT RUNS COUNTRYSIDE Come down in hard drops/ unfamiliar suburb /jeans hot and sticky and cigarette smoke stranger turnaround and pull the bastard humming mid-70s Dylan tracks on baby stuck fantasy/ Macbeth is showing tonight at theatre fools in disguise/ we hit the loud city running orange light operation Henry Miller in pocket stand with onions fried and wandering lot in big city/ never trust you out of sight again/ black-leather jacket youth on strong and hide smell of falling-apart Charley Lamb/ off the red bus winding its way through never left home/ cat runs countryside upstairs with long-haired hippy in overheated bookstore in the reeds without any oxygen/ bright-eyed bleeding bleak skies and rain-torn police street straight into burger stand/ just a teenager lost in beatnik station and night arrest for daring to breathe - GARY CUMMISKEY, from Truncated biopsy, cut-ups * Gary Cummiskey is a South African poet and publisher living in Johannesburg. He is the editor of Dye Hard Press, which he started in 1994. He is the author of several poetry chapbooks, including Romancing the Dead (Tearoom Books, Durban 2009), Sky Dreaming (Graffiti Kolkata, India 2011) and I Remain Indoors (Tearoom Books, Stockholm 2013). In 2009, he published Who was Sinclair Beiles?, a collection of writings about the South African Beat poet, co-edited with Eva Kowalska. An expanded and revised edition of the book was published in 2014. Also in 2009, Cummiskey compiled Beauty Comes Grovelling Forward, a selection of South African poetry and prose published on the US literary website Big Bridge. His debut collection of short fiction, Off-ramp, was published in 2013 and was short-listed for the Nadine Gordimer Short Story Award in 2014. His work has been translated into French, Greek and Bangla. He was editor of the South African literary journal New Coin from 2013 to 2016. THE MUSE IS ON THE LOOSE The Muse is on the loose and wastes herself away on some cretin. A severe goer through everyday scandals. It is well worth risking a damnation or two. Almost anything stumbles upon its quest. Try to imagine the absence of your voice. La Grande Messe Des Mots resumes next to nothing. It is only a gradual misconceiving that alerts the beginning and the end of the days. The widths of the most important poet of your neighborhood eradicate the rest of the absolutions. (2009) * Yannis Livadas is a contemporary Greek poet, born in 1969. Livadas' aesthetic position, both in his poems and his essays, constitutes the idea of experimentalism based on «organic antimetathesis» - the scaling indeterminacy of meaning, of syntactic comparisons and structural contradistinction. He is also an editor; essayist, translator, of more than fifty books of American poetry and prose; an independent scholar with specialization on modernism, beat literature, postmodernism and haiku. He is also a columnist and freelancer contributor to various literary magazines, both in Greece and other countries. His poems and essays have been translated in eight languages. He lives in Paris, France. PATRICK MODIANO It was this and that and the other. It was another of those dog day August afternoons in Paris. The streets emptied and those last-known addresses with their outstretched ghosts. It was those empty Metro stops in the midnight hour. Those clanging auto shoppes. Young girls skipping rope. Who was the first to die? Who was the last if such a last would come undone, but for an instant. So many names go up in smoke. So many sidewalks reflect the smoke. So many times we’ve settled at the Flore exchanging anecdotes until it’s time for turning corners, heading home, buffeted by darkened rains, by whirling shadows GERARD MALANGA, from Whisper Sweet Nothings & Other Poems (Bottle of Smoke Press, 2017) About the Author Gerard Malanga was born in the Bronx in 1943. His previous books of poetry are No Respect: New & Selected Poems 1964-2000 (Black Sparrow Press, 2001), and Archives Malanga (Waverly Press, 2011), a 4-volume set of fanzines comprising new poems and non-fiction. An accomplished photographer as well, his first monograph, Resistance to Memory , appeared in 1998 with an introductory essay by Ben Maddow, and a poem by Thurston Moore, followed by Screen Tests Portraits Nudes 1964-1996 (2000), Someone’s Life (2009), Souls (2010), Ghostly Berms (2012) and Photobooths (2013). Long Day's Journey into the Past, Gunnar B. Kvaran Speaks with Gerard Malanga, was published by the Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art & Skira in Oslo (2008), and Gerard Malanga, a biography by Lars Movin was published in Copenhagen (2011). He is presently at work on his memoirs, In Remembrance of Things Past. Gerard Malanga lives with his cats, Sasha, Zazie, Xena and Mishkin in upstate New York. His website is gerardmalanga.net Poet/collagist STEVE DALACHINSKY was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of little wars. His book The Final Nite (Ugly Duckling Presse) won the PEN Oakland National Book Award. His most recent books are Fools Gold (2014 feral press), a superintendent's eyes (revised and expanded 2013/14 - unbearable/autonomedia) and flying home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press 2015). His latest cds are The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart 2014) and ec(H)o-system with the French art-rock group, the Snobs (Bambalam 2015). He has received both the Kafka and Acker Awards and is a 2014 recipient of a Chevalier D’ le Ordre des Artes et Lettres. His poem “Particle Fever” was nominated for a 2015 Pushcart Prize. Forthcoming from Overpass Press “The Invisible Ray” with artwork by Shalom Neuman. |
Author"PARIS est un vertige Archives
May 2018
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