Sunday, December 2, 2007
We had boxed wine and cold food and canned beer but people came for poetry. There is a palpable attentiveness around here, and as was commented later people are well-dressed and mild-mannered, they do not drink all the wine and they leave some crackers and cheese on the plate. The dress shop upstairs, named something about eccentrics, played canned and terrifying Christmas music all night and it leaked through the floors.
Ken Irby gave a lovely introduction for Cyrus, and though I had written a very honest introduction for Scott, about how he was the first poet in Texas to write of the moon, and how he was born in the year of the Chupacabra, and how he was the love child of H.D. and H.D., and also how he finally escaped his youth-life of petty crime to find a life of more major crime of art, standing at the podium my notes were suddenly abstract marks (unreadable!) and I spoke instead of dove's defeathered breasts (said to resemble hearts) and Austin and love.
Cyrus and Scott were gentle and intense, the work of each fortuitously corresponded with the other's: there is Cyrus who is gentle and intense of the head, and there is Scott who is gentle and intense of the body. Both have written poems about Emus. Scott read his quick poems, and what is one of my favorites -- the poem from Moss Ranch. Scott said the word "Jackshit" (as in, "I don't know Jackshit about emus") and later told me the first word he ever wrote was "Hogrot." Cyrus read from his new book from Burning Deck, Brief Under Water, which I hope you will buy, and he read some new work for those who love epics.
Dennis Etzel wrote something about our Thursday night in Kansas: here. I've taken some pictures & made a flickr set: here.
Please join us for our holiday reading -- legends Kenneth Irby and K. Silem Mohammad will read on Friday, December 14 at 7 p.m., also at 6 Gallery.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Cyrus Console lives in Lawrence, Kansas. His first book, Brief under Water, is forthcoming from Burning Deck, January 2008.
Elvis was in a better place.
The style of the dog was naturally beautiful
The habit of travelers in service of God
The cowgirls’ under the stars, the students’
Caught as catch could, rushed, anonymous
Ever wakeful, bright, obedient
Lightweight, manually retractable
They spent weeks in this attitude.
For a time they were like floating. Drunk
Persons staggered through the gloaming
No home to them despite the many ways
They sought shelter there as if it were
Perhaps I will go. I am tired
Of what sets us apart from animals
How everyone can clearly see a music
Of her own invention in the shelter
Of Petrushki station, slowly sipping
Aftershave all afternoon.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Ken Rumble and Jim McCrary both gave delightful, entertaining readings, and the crowd was also very satisfying. Check out what Dennis Etzel has to say about it.
Next up is Austin's Scott Pierce with a local poet, t.b.a., on thursday, November 29. Also Megan Kaminski and I will be reading in at the University of Kansas, Lawrence, Thursday, November 8, 2007, 7 p.m., Nunemaker Center.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
716 1/2 Massachusetts St.
Lawrence, KS 66044
Donations alway accepted! No poetry lovers will be turned away for lack of donations!
email Anne Boyer at anneboyer at gmail dot com
or Robert J. Baumann at baumann dot baumann at gmail dot com
or email us both at actualkansas at gmail dot com.
Ken Rumble is the author of Key Bridge (Carolina Wren Press, March 2007.) His poems have appeared in Cutbank, the tiny, Octopus, Typo, Coconut, Parakeet, the Carolina Quarterly, and others. He lives in Greensboro, North Carolina.
from St. Apples
The war is always there. The war is ongoing. The war is always there. There are people in the war and some of the people are women and some of the people are men and some of the people are girls and some of the people are boys and you and I are not some of the people. The little boys in the war. The amount of people changes but the war is always there. Some people argue that there aren’t enough people. Some people argue that there should be more people. The war is about an argument but the arguments about the amount of people did not start a new war. The new old war. There are lots of little wars or one big war. The war is always there. People here want to keep there there. The size of the war can change and the number of people can change. People here don’t want to go there. The size of the war is always there. People argue about a change in the mood of the people and the war is always there. You and I argue and the war is over there. The old new war. The war is always there and girls are in the war. Some of the girls are little and some of the girls are big and the big and little girls are in the war. The big and little war. Some people in the war are not part of the war. The war is always there and always in the parts of the war and in the place where the parts are even if some people don’t want to take part in the war. You and I do not have parts in the war because the war is always there. The little girls in the war. The war is always there but the war is for us in part. We take no part in the war but we are part of the war though the war is always there. Our part in the war and the parts the people that are there have in the war are different parts. If our parts were in the war. The war is always there and we do not go to it.
& check out these reviews:
Adam Sobsey, Independent Weekly:
A poem by Jim McCrary:
Being led astray – Ekbalam, Yucatan
Precise is a way of moving
and in a place like this
So one should very well
What one misses while considering
what one finds overwhelming.
Certainly one hears where to look.
To contemplate the advantage
of movement over an obstacle.
one who has gone to the top.
How could that be? And why?
What were they thinking?
Would we have done something different.
Then again perhaps there is somethingin the word pyramid.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
or an actual
Kansas -- the central, earthy, prosaic core of us?
Or is the seen always winged, an eidolon only to us -- &
the uncertain capture
of great, golden unembroidered
All is Oz.
The dusty cottonwoods, by the creek,
rustle and Emerald City.
And the mystic, immemorial ciy
is rooted in earth.
All is Oz & inextricable,
bound up in the unquenchable flames of double suns.