kate greenstreet
kate at kickingwind dot com
about
some poems online
scheduled readings
case sensitive: get it here
October 2005
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
||||||||||||||||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
||||||||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|||||||||||||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
||||||||||
 |
 |
 |
|
||||||||||||||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|||||||||||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|||||||||||||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
||||||||||||||
 |
 |
 |
|
||||||||||||||||
 |
|
||||||||||||||||||
 |
|
||||||||||||||||||
eod current
eod archives
first-book & other interviews: here
blogs:
537neon
ada limon
almost i rushed from home...
a. lobster
adam clay
amy king's blog
anachronizms
andrea baker
a peek of reach
a poet's eyes
a sad day for sad birds
asthma chronicles
a tonalist notes
avoiding the muse
awfully serious
aye, wobot!
bachelardette
bemsha swing
big window
black and white
the blind chatelaine's poker poetics
bloggedy blog blog
blonde on blonde
boarding parties
bob marcacci
books, inq.
both both
brandon brown
brazier & inkstone
the burning chair
caconrad
cahiers de corey
can of corn
caterina.net
catherine daly's blog
charles bernstein's weblog
chaxblog
chicago postmodern poetry
chicana poetics
chicks dig poetry
clay matthews
conchology
croissant factory
cosmopoetica/cpb
coursing public thought
critical fiction
cruelest month
culture industry
da-crouton
dagzine
dbqp: visualizing poetics
the delay
desert city
the dishwasher's tears
DIY poetics
DIY publishing
do gummi bears dream...
dumbfoundry
elsewhere
epistle whipped
equanimity
esther press
e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-e-s
the exquisite corpse
eyeball hatred
fait accompli
fewer & further
flowers that gloze
frank sherlock
fringe matters
geneva convention
ghostbrain
hammer loop
harlequin knights
heatstrings
here comes everybody
heuriskein
hg poetics
home-schooled by a cackling jackal
hounds of no
hum and ash
humanophone
hyacinth losers
i am yer grammer
i'll show you mine
immoweth
imprimatur
the ingredient
in place of chairs
iron caisson
ironstone whirlygig
isola di rifiuti
ivy is here
jacob's ladder
jane dark's sugarhigh!
jeannine blogs
jewishyirishy
jim behrle
kaya oakes
kinemapoetics
largehearted boy
lemon hound
lisablog
lime tree
litbyfire
little red's recovery room
lit up like the blood of a centerfold
litwindowpane
looktouchblog
lorcaloca
lorna dee cervantes
the lovely arc
lutheran surrealism
mappemunde
maximum go...
micawberesque
michelle detorie
million poems
minimalist concrete poetry
minor american
modern americans
morescotch
mr. tong bliss' journal
muisti kirja
my maserati
narcissusworks
the neglectorino project
never mind the beasts
nice guy syndrome
nikuko
noah eli gordon
nomadics
notes from a fellow traveler
nothing to say and saying it
now then
odalisqued
open reader
overlap
paul hoover's blog
the pangrammaticon
pantaloons: tykes on poetry
peek thru the pines
philly sound
plight of the troubadour
poetaensanfrancisco
poetry hut
poesy galore
poets' corner
postcards from the imagination
postmodern collage poetry
pseudopodium
pshares blog
pudgy pigeon enterprises
pugnacious pinoy
qbdp: the mailartworks
radish king
reader of depressing books
red slowly
reli[e]able signs
riverfall
rob mclennan's blog
rocket kids
rue hazard
said like reeds or things
saintelizabethstreet
samizdat blog
sam of the ten thousand things
say something wonderful
secret mint
serif of nottingham
shanna compton's blog
shikow
silliman's blog
slicker chumway's
snapper's effing junk(boat)heap
so and so series
spooks by me
stamped & metered flying fish
starnosedmole
steve's house of love
the steinach operation
swoonrocket
texfiles in bahrain
they shoot poets don't they?
third factory/notes/lipstick of noise
this is all your fault
this morning in poetry
tom raworth's notes
transsubmutation
twenty thousand thousand
ululations
understory
union square poetry series
the unquiet grave
venepoetics
virgin formica
voices in utter dark
voix off
the well-nourished moon
we've been talked down
whimsy speaks
whirligig
wild horses of fire
wood s lot
the word cage
the world a letter
yes, starlings! yes!
you are here
ysleta poeta
zach barocas
<[[[[[[-[[[[0{:}0]]]]-]]]]]]>
.oar.
journals/small press/reviews:
1913
6 X 6
action yes
alice blue
apocryphaltext
barrow street
belladonna books
big game
bird dog
blazevox
black lodge press
black ocean press
boog city
bookforum
bookslut
braincase press
the brooklyn rail
calamari press
the canary
cannibal
carve
chax press
circumference
coconut
coldfront magazine
conduit
the constant critic
cue
the cultural society
cutbank
cy gist press
cy press
diagram
the duplications
dusie
effing press
eoagh
fascicle
faux press e chapbooks
fewer & further press
frame
free verse
frequency
galatea resurrects
gong press
gutcult
half empty/half full
hot whiskey press
jacket
h_ngm_n
the happy booker
the hat
hooke press
horse less press
house press
how2/barbara guest memory bank
jacket
katalanche press
kitchen press
konundrum engine
kulture vulture
la petite zine
lit
melancholia's tremulous dreadlocks
milk
mipoesias
new pages
no
no tell motel
octopus
octopusbooks
onedit
outside voices
the page
parakeet
pettycoat relaxer
poetry 365
the poker
portable press at yo-yo labs
practice: new writing + art
rain taxi
realpoetik
rhino
rhubarb is susan
rose metal press
rust buckle
saint elizabeth street
shampoo
skanky possum
sleepingfish
sona books
spell
the tiny
tool a magazine
three candles
transmission press
typo
ugly duckling presse
unpleasant event schedule
vert
wintered press
wire sandwich
womb
word for/word
xantippe
zafusy
audio/radio/video:
AudibleWord.Org
Factory School audio archives
Kelly Writers House webcasts
Laurable
LINEbreak
miPOradio
my vocabulary
Naropa archives
PENNsound
UbuWeb
30 OCT 05
I've received a record amount of good mail in recent weeks, including some beautiful books I haven't had the chance to read. I blame Jess Mynes' In(ex)teriors Ex(in)teriors (Anchorite Press 2005). I read the first half of it a few times before starting the second, can't say why. Kept wanting to start over, hear it all again before moving on. I read the second half, then resumed from front to back. It's that kind of book. Without quoting pages, I don't feel I can do justice to the rhythm he gets going--but to give you an idea:
"I miss the people the most." Can't it any more? Forgotten of me. Why can't I? Ergo ego. Ecconomics really. Squeezed out. Continue what I am repeating toward a purpose. Cold facts keep me in place. Walk from the beach for fries. No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service. Beach closed local news interview, grandfather at front awning leaning on cane, "It's hurt business a little, yeah." Too many onion rings per order reprimand. Seasonal removing of outdoor entrance. I know, no longer.
There is one other beauty I've been spending time with--
"burning like a ship, crashing like a pulpit"
"The heat in a wave of wind."
"In an underwater castle, I've spent the whole day as a ghost."
Sister by Gabriella Torres, the debut volume from Lame House Press. Tragic, eddy, spiral, billow, surge, ripple, twist, reap the wild whirwind.
"When he put the pistol in my hand I didn't"
Some uses of poetry. To crack, to create a crack of light (a space sometimes called "prayer"). To join. And (doesn't Keats say somewhere?) to help. To be a companion.
Asked what she believed in, answered: compost. Every year the soil is richer & blacker, holds more water. This is the first year the soybeans did really well. Butterbeans, called "Envy."
Things look a little sad out there right now. Though we still have herbs, some sweet & hot peppers, more green tomatoes. Zinnias opening like pinecones.
I have no time to garden--only real gardeners do. But every spring I forget, feel the need to cover seeds with dirt, watch and water and wait for them to sprout. Isn't that how we all got here?
C.D. Wright, Deepstep: "Morning glories. What's your favorite."
Heavenly blue.
22 OCT 05
Learning to make graphs & charts in Excel for work.
Excellent chart! This tells us everything we need to know.
At her new (second) blog, Laura Carter has been posting some beautiful work from the New Collected Poems of George Oppen (I'm not a desert-island-ten-books type but--definitely, this book). Back before I acquired the New Collected, I came upon a photo online (here) of a signed & folded typescript of Oppen's poem "Alpine." And although he made subsequent revisions, this is my favorite version:
Alpine
We were hiding
Somewhere in the Alps
In a barn among animals. We knew
Our daughter should not know
We were there. It was cold
Was the point of the dream
And the snow was falling
Which must be an old dream of families
Dispersing into adulthood
And the will cowers
In the given
The outlaw winds
That move within barns
A public
Music
As tho one had lost
The one who is sleeping
And his enviable songs
Does that one die
First as one dies
And the distinction of what one does
And what is done to him blurrs
Bodies dream selves
For themselves
From the substance
Of the cold
Yet we move
Are moving
Are we not
Does one hear the heavy moving
Of the past in barns
18 OCT 05
"Interaction with others is dramatic and provides tension."
(Gillian Roberts, You Can Write A Mystery)
16 OCT 05
[quilt square]
Bedside. One side:
He's waiting for her in the blind spot. More & more, he's wearing his story in his face--it wasn't always like that. Lots of people are talented. I knew them all. They liked the right music. Now they want me to "believe" in Jesus... How do they do it? My face hurts.
I can't live my life for everybody else. What about art? I'm not a girl--I'm old. It's taken so much. Now my face really hurts. What will I do? What am I gonna do, right this minute? Man, now everything's starting to hurt. A lot of people have talent, but it's not enough.
We were all young, at one time. Nobody knew how it would be. Nobody had any idea. I was thinking of--what was her name? From San Clemente. She had pain and they "took a look" and it was all through her body. They gave her 2 months and she died in 2 months. That was it. She had kids. Something is definitely moving in there. It's like having a cat in there. "Don't have a kitten." [laughs] That's an expression.
I keep thinking about Jackie. The idea that God will make it up to her. He's gonna be a busy guy, making it up to everybody. I keep thinking of things I have to do. I'm just wasting the whole day here. I might be able to rest for a minute, I've gotten so tired.
Just people…and clothes… My mother… I just see her, you know? Things she wanted. I feel like I absorbed so much from her. As a child, I really absorbed from her--and from my father too--the idea that sex was something a person should avoid at all costs. Because it hurt them so much. Where the fuck do I think I'm going? I've been eating funny. Even if I wasn't sick, my stomach might feel weird. I'm not sure what that proves--it's just a thought.
Somebody's yelling out there. I have to try, don't I? Something must be real. I keep hearing that song "Bye Bye Blackbird." The body knows it's gonna die. You told me that. Bye-bye blackbird, thirteen ways.
I might feel better tomorrow. I wonder if it would be possible for me to go to sleep. If I could sleep I'd feel better when I woke up. I'd like to rest for a minute. I think I might just close my eyes. I keep thinking, "Jesus, you're wasting the whole day." But I'd like to close my eyes.
. . . . . . . .
