6/22/13 TORONTO (Soma)tic Poetry Workshop

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p.s. I'm reading with Stuart Ross on June 21st, details at THIS LINK

#85: Unknown Duration Of Fear

--for Dawn Lundy Martin

No matter how many human beings are born to overflow the land, we are still careful to touch. We are careful with the touching. On an 8-hour flight I took notes about a man pressed against my arm. There are so many men and I know almost none of them, even this one whose forearm heat mixed with my forearm heat. When he slept, quietly snoring, dreaming, jumping slightly in his seat, looking to recognize me from the dream? From the airport? Who is this? Who? Why who?

People he loved knew him in the past, and would know him again in the future. In the present he slouched against me and none of his loved ones were there to see him breathing the smaller breaths of a body taking down to rest. No matter how many human beings are born to push plants and animals off the planet, we only permit touching strangers in a few locations: crowded subways, buses, airplanes. You do not touch a stranger at the checkout counter, unless it’s an accident, and then you apologize, sorry, say sorry. You cannot touch a stranger at the restaurant. You are not going to hold the stranger’s hand while they cut meat because you will be called insane and asked to leave. If you refuse to leave, if you refuse to stop holding their hand, the police will be called. But if you know them, a little, you can shake their hand Hello and all is well. If you are friends you get a hug. If you are lovers you can taste and smell one another and this is a marvelous thing the world awaits.

When he woke a little startled I waved my turquoise glitter fingernails. Glitter twinkling in lamplight, his eyes caught by glitter, smiling and nodding. What a nice smile a stranger can have. My notebook was small to conceal my notes for the poem, notes on the experience of pressing against a man for 8-hours and to never see him again. Will he remember the glitter? How could he possibly forget? There is no way to prevent the cost of living a day as the loss of that day, closer all the time to no more days. Death pisses me off and I want strangers to know this about me. I will make a sign HONK IF DEATH PISSES YOU OFF and they will honk even though we don’t know one another. There’s just not enough time to know us all. My goal is to relax with you, stranger, to not fear grabbing your hand at the doorway and introducing myself with a poem.

DUSIE issue #14

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ISSUE #14 MANY THANKS 

TO FELIZ LUCIA MOLINA

 

I HOPE I'M LOUD WHEN I'M DEAD

PUBLISHED IN THE TORONTO QUARTERLY 

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"I Loved Earth Years Ago" on PEN AMERICA

MANY THANKS TO 

MAGGIE NELSON 

CLICK HERE TO READ

#84: PAINTED PIGEON PROJECT

for Candice Lin 

Find a photograph of a bird far from where you live. I received a photo of a beautiful, truly extraordinary pigeon who lives near the Rialto Bridge in Venice. She has turquoise, chartreuse, and other shades of green and blue, painted with food coloring by artists. Print the photo and flutter it above your head, hold it to trees, rocks, ledges, imagining, imagining, imagining!! I painted my hand colors of the Venetian beauty, cooing when hand snuggled inside a pocket. I took notes while eating seeds offered from my pigeon hand. Pigeon hand is not a condition any more than art is a condition.

Save hair from your brush and roll it into a nice soft ball, then wash it. Insert a few seeds of flax, pumpkin, and caraway, something delicious. Pour more seeds on the ground, hair tucked in the center. Wait and watch. Soon enough a bird will carry it off to cushion their nest. Try to be patient and watch for them, to see them. Write down EXACTLY what they looked like, where they flew off to, and keep that writing on you at all times. Take it out of your pocket and read it. Read it before going off to sleep at night. DREAM of the nest by thinking about these small, feathered creatures sleeping on your hair, and touch your hair while falling off to sleep, you and the birds, sleeping and dreaming together. WAKE and write as fast as you can without thinking about dreams or peeing or eating, WAKE and write, wake and WRITE!! The notes become the poem.

FREE download of the chapbook 

Translucent Salamander 

(Troll Thread, 2013). 

 Click HERE

sample the first poem HERE

new (Soma)tic in BathHouse Journal

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to read. 

 MANY THANKS TO 

Jonah Mixon-Webster

#83: I LOVED EARTH YEARS AGO

“I drew a map on you so I wouldn’t get lost.”

--Doireann O’Malley

Dear Eileen, every night lately I dream about Mark, my boyfriend who renamed himself Earth back when he became an environmental and AIDS activist.  I no longer call his death in Tennessee a murder I call it an execution, executed for being queer!!  It happened over a dozen years ago and few believed my story and the police told our mutual friends he killed himself.  An execution not fit for police investigation, just another faggot punished for breaking God’s laws in this good Christian nation.  I will never apologize for my anger!!  Delinquent Films is making a documentary about my new book and they questioned me about Earth.  They also didn't believe me so they interviewed the sheriff who told them Earth was a suicide.  THEN they talked with the coroner and HE corroborated every detail I’ve been saying for years.  Earth was hogtied, gagged, tortured, covered in gasoline and burned to death.  The coroner used the word homicide and said it’s not possible this was a suicide.

I’m grateful homicide was said out loud, and that a film about my POEMS is the reason this investigation is FINALLY going to happen!!  What does it take to get a faggot’s execution investigated?  POEMS!!  The weight of poems has arrived!!  I loved him so much, my gentle, sexy man, steward of flowers and worms.  I’m going to be on a panel at the Ecopoetics conference in Berkeley with some of my favorite poets.  I’m creating a (Soma)tic poetry exercise where I visit the places Earth and I loved.  We had a garden plot in Philadelphia, but we also planted zinnias, marijuana, cucumber, kale, cowpeas, rosemary, lemon balm and string beans along riverbanks and in overgrown, abandoned lots.  The weight of poems is upon me, so I’m selling them for a little ruthless surrender.  A decade is long enough to dream of revenge for a dead lover.  For seven days I’ll go to our favorite places for the poems.  I’ll also go on the internet to see what every ingredient I put into my body looked like when it was still growing.  See fields of sesame plants while chewing their seeds, YES!!

He named himself Earth when planet extinction was clearest.  He wanted to spend time in Tennessee and I warned him about country people.  I was born and raised in rural Pennsylvania where everyone is proud of living in the country.  I noticed at a young age that these PROUD COUNTRY people LOVE to poison, burn, shoot and decapitate the natural world.  Their pride is mostly invested in SUBDUING nature, always ready to prove who’s Boss!  It is difficult to tell them who they really are, like convincing my stupid father to STOP pouring ammonia and broken glass down the chipmunk holes.  It is difficult to convince them of the harmless lives of tiny creatures who only need a few acorns and berries.  I miss Earth.  I loved him.  I’m tired of being such a sad faggot but c’est la vie.  His brutal execution is a mirror of every decision to pollute air, water, soil, lungs, hearts, communities of people, birds, fish, bears, stop, stop, STOP, STOP!!  Are you hopeful we can stop in time?  Let me write some poetry and try to calm down.  Love you Eileen, and thanks for listening.

photo of Earth by THE AMAZING Zoe Strauss

John Pluecker's marvelous (Soma)tic!!

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THANK YOU JOHN!!

#82: M.I.A. ESCALATOR

for Jen Benka & Carol Mirakove 

I rode several of my favorite escalators in Philadelphia, taking notes up and down the vantages. At the top and bottom of the ride I would show photographs of myself to strangers and ask, “EXCUSE ME, have you seen this person?” Sometimes there was confusion, “ISN’T THAT YOU?” I would reply, “No, many people think I look like HER, but have you seen HER?” I feel very fortunate to have been born BEFORE the ultrasound machine. My generation was the last generation to have a male and female name waiting at the other end of the birth canal. My generation is the last to have our mothers touch their bellies talking to us as male and female. Pink or blue?

photo by Andrew Durbin

Both pink and blue, “Have you seen this person?” I enjoyed my conversations with strangers and made at least one new friend, a handsome man who knew I was the person in the photograph. That person, I am that person and agreed. The ultrasound machine gives the parents the ability to talk to the unborn by their gender, taking the intersexed nine-month conversation away from the child. The opportunities limit us in our new world. Encourage parents to not know, encourage parents to allow anticipation on either end. Escalators are a nice ride, slowly rising and falling, writing while riding, notes for the poem, meeting new people at either end, “Excuse me, EXCUSE ME….” My escalator notes became a poem.

#81: MOLDAVITE AUSCHWITZ PEBBLE WITH BATTLE ROYALE

a collaborative (Soma)tic by CAConrad & Erica Kaufman 

click photo to enlarge

Moldavite is a meteorite gemstone used to expand consciousness. We soaked two pebbles Erica brought back from the grounds of Auschwitz with moldavite oil to accelerate our purpose with these pebbles. Erica then had a dream of a sacred hamsa symbol tattooed on her left arm, a pomegranate in the palm of the hamsa flanked by two white doves. She found the perfect tattoo artist and got the tattoo.

After seeing the tattoo in person CA had a dream that when Erica pressed the pomegranate part of the tattoo it gave her tremendous psychic abilities.  In the dream she explained that she wanted to keep it quiet, but word got out and she received hundreds of letters a day from people asking her to contact dead relatives.  One letter was from a circus asking Erica to travel with them as part of the show.  A man asked her to speak to Hitler’s ghost.  Stacy, Kathleen and I said NO, afraid that Hitler wouldn’t leave her body after being allowed inside for the channeling.

We saw the film BATTLE ROYALE together at the IFC in NY.  We each brought a line from the film:

“There’s one cookie left.”

“Binoculars are the best weapon.”

click photo to enlarge

For 7 consecutive days we each had bags containing labradorite (to release psychic interpretive grids), moss agate (to bring us closer to the natural cycles of our planet), clear quartz, and our moldavite-soaked Auschwitz pebbles.  At the end of the day we would hold the stones in our left hands.  We would press the pomegranate in the middle of the hamsa tattoo (CA drew a replica on his left arm).  We meditated quietly for a few minutes while pressing the pomegranate tattoo.  Then we would take more notes.

On the eighth day we woke, drank jasmine tea and burned sage to clear the air.  We then programed the clear quartz with the lines from BATTLE ROYALE.  We said the lines into our crystals throughout the day then placed the crystals under our pillows before going to sleep.  Next morning we placed the crystals on our foreheads for sixteen minutes then begin writing without stop for 36 minutes.

Summer 2013 I'm teaching at Naropa University's Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics

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#80: for The Wagner Free Institute of Science

(commissioned by The Wagner: The opening will unveil a new exhibit about the history of lighting and electricity at the Wagner and will feature special guest and PEW Fellow, Poet CAConrad. CA will read from his latest book of poems and lead guests through a writing exercise featuring the Wagner.)

Fear of the dark motivated prehistoric human beings to discover and invent ways of holding onto light through the night. We take light bulbs and electricity for granted, but for centuries we have found many means to harness different materials to make light: wood, animal fat, wax, gas, electricity, etc. Take time to make notes about the various ways you have made light so far in your lifetime: electric ceiling lights, flashlights, oil lamps, campfires, candles, etc. All your notes will be used later to construct the poem.

Take time to write about fear of the dark. For instance prehistoric humans, why were they afraid of the dark? Do you believe those fears have transferred through the centuries to us? Are horror movies for instance a form of revisiting those fears? Have you ever been afraid of the dark? Have you ever been at home during a blackout due to weather? Take notes about these things.

Along with our desperation to see throughout the night comes our very human motivation for discovering our origins. Seeing our way through the dark comes in many forms. One of the great treasures of Philadelphia is The Wagner Free Institute of Science. This 19th century museum retains the study and work toward discovering the intricate paths life on Earth has taken. It’s one of the most exciting places to visit, to become absorbed with the ideas of how and why our many kinds of bodies evolved the way we did.

In 1865 when the museum first opened, skylights let natural light into the building to illuminate the specimen cases. Take notes about the structure of the museum room with this in mind. Look closely at how the building has been designed to gather light. Since 1865 the building has gone through many different phases of installing light fixtures from gas to electric, all to allow us the best possible view of the specimen cases.

Take notes about how the specimens themselves needed light when they were alive to grow and thrive. Take notes about light feeding plants, feeding bodies, bodies consuming plants and other bodies, all with the fierce need of light to survive. Think too of the life in the deepest parts of the oceans, where most life on Earth lives. These creatures often create their own light. In fact one of the world’s leading oceanographers, Dr. Sylvia Earle, says, “Bioluminescence is the most common form of communication on Earth.” If part of your body could glow in the dark, which part and how would it help you? Take notes.

Later at home look at your hands in different kinds of light, use a ceiling lamp, use candlelight, and use a flashlight. Let your hands be the last specimen you study after an afternoon at the Wagner. What do your hands tell you about our evolving use of light? How many generations of humans have come before you? How many of them had flashlights and electric ceiling lights? Carry your notes with you for the next couple of weeks to build and shape the poem hiding in your notes.

#79: JUDI BARI AND EVERYONE ON A LIMB

“the property in / subject.”

--M. NourBese Phillip

 a collaborative (Soma)tic by CAConrad and David Wolach

You need 7 consecutive days for this exercise. Watch the documentary The Forest For The Trees on the first day before doing anything else. Let the details of this documentary sink in while taking notes. The FBI was found guilty of blowing up activist Judi Bari’s car while she was driving it. Bernadine Mellis is an amazing filmmaker bringing home the horrific story of how unsafe we all truly are as citizens of the United States. Bari says, “This case is about the rights of all political activists to engage in dissent without having to fear the government's secret police.” Take notes about Judi Bari and the FBI and all the false ways we think we are free.

Find a piece of Judi Bari’s writing online and print it out (a different piece of writing each day). Find a tree near the former Occupy Movement location of your city. Place your left palm against the tree, pressing the full weight of your body into the tree while holding Judy Bari’s writing in your right hand to read it out loud. Ask a passerby to read it with you. Take notes. THINK about the activism of Judi Bari to save trees. THINK how the hubris of our human species is set on the belief that a tree only has intelligent thoughts AFTER we cut her down, grind her up, and make paper to put our own thoughts on her. Be with the tree, sit beside her and READ Judi Bari’s words out loud to her. Take notes.

Set a recorder near your head before going to sleep. When you wake listen carefully to the recording for the onset of sleep. Take notes about these sounds. Ask yourself whether this body has ever felt used as an object—as the property for others. What sounds does it make when it labors, when it makes other things and destroys other things? What sounds, if any, is it making now, on the recording? Think about this as you listen carefully to the first few minutes of your recording, listening for the onset of your sleep. Take notes.

Take the notes from your visit with the tree along with the notes from listening to your sleep, and type them into one document. These are the notes for one poem. Go back out to the tree to start taking notes for the next poem. Do this for 7 consecutive days and nights.

FOR NOVEMBER, 2012 TOUR: BOSTON, KANSAS, LOS ANGELES, SEATTLE, OLYMPIA, PLEASE CLICK HERE

#78: RESTORATION FIBER SONG

for the survivors 

Go back to where you grew up. Don’t let anyone know you’re coming if there’s anyone to let know. I went back, and the most important thing is to not write a single line of memoir, no autobiographical writing whatsoever. RESISTANCE is in the making, true resistance of the self. Immerse yourself with all the ways you felt about the world when living back there. Take notes without taking down memories, especially if you were suicidal. Where were you when you first researched the least painful way to go, the way that leaves no mess behind? Where were you when you finally realized it was impossible to not leave a mess behind? Go there and write about anything but this place, and write about what it’s like to write about anything but this place.

There is a taste from your childhood. Find it, the taste you know well, a kind of candy or cake from a store out there. Take it to the river. You were loneliest by the river once many years ago. Go be there again. Be alone with your delicious childhood treat and smell it for a very long time. Write and keep writing without acknowledging the cake. Now REFUSE to eat it, and throw it in the river!! Write about something you love drowning as you watch it rush away with the current. This feels horrible because it is. Happiness is the place you went to after leaving when you were old enough and brave enough to leave. Go home, to the home where you made yourself happiest, and leave this broken spirit behind, unsated, untasted, and completely unwritten.

Broken Toujours & Everyday Genius

New (Soma)tics 
up at 

Broken Toujours

AND at
Everyday Genius

MANY THANKS TO 

THE EDITORS