Imminent Seattle, Washington Readings

THUR, July 24th:

Lauren Ireland/Lisa Ciccarello/Jeff Alessandrelli/Tyler Brewington/Kelly Schirmann @ Vermillion Art Gallery and Bar, 7:00-8:30

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/events/314845015341615/?ref_dashboard_filter=upcoming&source=1

SUN, July 27th:

Rob Schlegel/Amber Nelson/Jeff Alessandrelli/Don Mee Choi @ The Pine Box, 7:00-8:30

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/events/720265504687800/?source=1

Last Thursday my kind of review of A Poet’s Glossary by Ed Hirsch went live at TheFanzine. Sample sentence in it: “But I guess what I’m also trying to say is that reading through Hirsch’s book forced me to consider the (probable) truth that I’m not that great a poet, nor are a lot of the great (contemporary) poets I love. Sample sentence that didn’t make the cut: “The etymology of the word blurb is disgusting, covered with lice and mini-mart cheese.”

 

The latest release that my little chapbook press, Dikembe Press, put out was Ships of Theseus by Christian Hawkey; peep one of the poems from Ships… at Poem-A-Day today:

http://www.dikembepress.com/ships-of-theseus.html

One of my favorite Beckett short stories:

 Well, thought Belacqua, it’s a quick death, God help us all.

   It is not.

Francis Bacon   Study for Portrait V (After the Life Mask of William Blake)1956 

Francis Bacon  
Study for Portrait V (After the Life Mask of William Blake)
1956 

"Skying/the clouds were/ dark//evil postmen scavenging/between vistas and continents." Along with some other next level poets, I have four poems in the new issue of Fruita Pulp. Tanks.

MONDAY

“Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.”
― Wallace Stevens 

TUESDAY

James Wright - As I Step Over A Puddle At The End Of Winter, I Think Of An Ancient Chinese Governor

And how can I, born in evil days

And fresh from failure, ask a kindness of Fate?

                              — Written A.D. 819

Po Chu-i, balding old politician,

What’s the use?

I think of you,

Uneasily entering the gorges of the Yang-Tze,

When you were being towed up the rapids

Toward some political job or other

In the city of Chungshou.

You made it, I guess,

By dark.

But it is 1960, it is almost spring again,

And the tall rocks of Minneapolis

Build me my own black twilight

Of bamboo ropes and waters.

Where is Yuan Chen, the friend you loved?

Where is the sea, that once solved the whole loneliness

Of the Midwest? Where is Minneapolis? I can see nothing

But the great terrible oak tree darkening with winter.

Did you find the city of isolated men beyond mountains?

Or have you been holding the end of a frayed rope

For a thousand years?