April 27, 2009

Antonio Porta [Leo Paolazzi] (Italy) 1935-1989

Antonio Porta [Leo Paolazzi] (Italy) 

Antonio Porta (Leo Paolazzi) was born in Vicenza in 1935, lived most of his life in Milan, and died on a business trip to Rome in 1989.

       In the early 60s he was one of the youngest members of the editorial staff of Il Verri and, with Corrado Costa and Adriano Spatola, also co-edited the poetry magazine Malebolge from 1964-1966.

     In 1961 his poetry was included in the revolutionary Italian anthology, I Novissimi. He participated in the various manifestations of "Gruppo 63," as a linear and visual poet, and was one of the founding editors of Quindici in 1967. For many years he worked as an editor in the publishing industry, with such houses as Bompiani, Sonzogno and Feltrinelli, and was also the literary critic for the daily Il Corriere della Sera and a regular contributor to the weekly book review Tuttolibri.

     In 1979 he edited the well-known anthology Poesia degli anni settanta, and, from its inception, was on the editorial board of the influential cultural tabloid Alfabeta.

     Among his publications as a poet are: La palpebra rovesciata (1960), Aprire (1963), Cara (1969), Metropolis (1971), Week-end (1974), Quanto ho da dirvi (1977), Passi passagi (1980), Melusina (1987) and Il giardiniere contro il becchino (1988).

      As a novelist his published work includes Partita (1967), Il re del magazzino (1978) and Se fosse tutto un tradimento (1981), while as a playwright he published La presa di potere di Ivan lo sciocco (1975) and La stangata persiana (1985).


La palpebra rovesciata (Milan: Azimuth, 1960); Zero: Poesie visive (Milan, 1963); Aprire (Milan: All'Insegna del Pesce d'Oro, 1964); I rapporti (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1967); Cara (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1969); Metropolis (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1971); Week-end (Rome: Cooperativa Scrittori, 1974); Quanto ho da dirvi (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1977); Passi passaggi (Milan: Mondadori, 1980); Melusina: Una ballata e un diario (Milan: Crocetti, 1987); Il giardiniere contro il becchino (Milan: Mondadori, 1988). 


As If It Were a Rhythm, trans. by Paul Vangelisti (San Francisco: Red Hill, 1978); Passenger, trans. by Pasquale Verdicchio (Montreal: Guernica, 1986); Invasions and Other Poems, trans. by Paul Vangelisti and others (San Francisco: Red Hill, 1986); Melusine, trans. by Pasquale Verdicchio (Montreal: Guernica, 1992); Metropolis, trans. by Pasquale Verdicchio (Los Angeles: Green Integer, 1999); Kisses, Dreams and Other Infidelities, trans. by Anthony Molino (Las Cruces, New Mexico: Xenos Books, 2004).


April 26, 2009

Martin Nakell

Martin Nakell [USA]

Martin Nakell was born, the son of a CP (Certified Public Accountant), in Alpena, Michigan—a small town on the shores of Lake Huron. His family moved to Southern California when he was 15, and he received his Bachelor of Arts degree in 1971 from the California State University, Northridge, near Los Angeles. He received his M.A. in Creative Writing in 1974 from California State University in San Francisco and his Doctor of Arts from the State University of New York at Albany in 1983. Upon graduating from Albany, Nakell became a Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Chapman University in Orange, California, where he continues today.

Nakell begin writing in the 1960s, publishing in numerous journals, but was dissatisfied with his own writing until much later. His first book, The Myth of Creation, was published by Parentheses Writing Series in 1993. In 1997 Sun and Moon Press published his short fiction, The Library of Thomas Rivka, and in 2001 Green Integer/EL-E-PHANT books published his long novel, Two Fields That Face and Mirror Each Other, to literary acclaim. Other works of fiction include Settlement (2008), Monk (2009), and The Lord of Silence (2016).

Nakell’s work is philosophically-based and ruminative in its structures. Often, his poems flow in prose-poetry forms, and commonly, his poems function in a series of sequential writings that consider abstract issues such as “sequence,” “dialogue” and other such concerns.

In Los Angeles, where he lives, Nakell is also known for organizing poetry events and for the publications, particularly that of Leland Hickman, of his Jahbone Press. He has received fellowships from the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, the Blue Mountain Center, and from Writers and Books in Rochester, New York. He has also received grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, Chapman University, and the University of California.


The Myth of Creation (San Diego: Parentheses Writing Series, 1993); Form (New York: Spuyten Duyvil Press, 2004); Goings (Margin-to-Margin Press, 2000); Tautological Eye (New York: Spuyten Duyvil Press, 2011); The Desert Poems of Southern California (New York: Spuyten Duyvil Press, 2014); IS (Litfest Press, 2015); Unnamed: The Emotions (Jaded Ibis Press, 2016)


two very decent gentlemen
in a sun chessboard
object born of a mind
first one sighs
the other sighs
a chessboard in a sun struggles
each has a thought which he struggles with
and of course wins, conquers
or that they are on the same side, team,
work together for the sake of

in the same sun molecules
on a salt body of water
salt as
some ubiquitous.

notion or idea holds them together
or something much stronger in a good life
imagined by a greek in a strong no a good chess

but these two are italians
no, actually puerto ricans, shopkeepers
with good shops so there’s no going home

the chessboard of course has long since resolved its
fingers curl over the absence of oars and water, water in
each country

some ubiquitous
but these two russian gentlemen
had never known such sunlight quite like this though
you’d think molecules
and never imagined such pleasures
as portable as

the molecular structure of the act of change is a

sunlight falling through the translucent chessboard
leaving the hands of the gentlemen placed upon the
dissolving notion,
historically, of the city-state, of the country-state
of the state

except that one yawns, a deficit of oxygen
and the dictatorship of boredom
and the return of a thought not to be conquered:


I tried to imagine her thoughts. I imagined her
thoughts. I crossed
that imperial boundary among the bombardments,
of a real world. I came home with my bounty: the
absence of an ideal self.
ever present but not omniscient: the water.
omniscient but absent: an adam and an eve, or certain
figures and a motif, recurrent throughout musics

The park was like a garden in an old country. We played chess there
each afternoon meeting each other. When the war came we persisted,
although, of course, then we had to stay inside. My companion was a
brilliant interior carpenter who had built himself an excellent library, and
so we played chez toi. I love it when I know even one phrase from another
language, as though language were something ubiquitous, falling
from a sky like rainwater into my old mouth. He is more intelligent than I,
who am only a shopkeeper. Though I read through some of his books, now
that I’m alone, and I beat him often at chess not because I’m more bold,
and actually I don’t know why. Since we left Lebanon, a Paris of the Middle
East older than Paris if you want to know

to have been a seaman
to have sat at the oars of the longboat
to have seen the waters evaporate
to have continued, at your oar
to have looked around
to have had the idea to call some thing by its name
to have known that you were one of the symbols

(from The Myth of Creation, 1993)

Questions from the Gates

in that one is return
two is familiarity

Where were you today?

At the gates.

Did you go in?



Yes, some.

What were they talking about
at the gates today?

The weather. And waiting.

Where were their hands?

In their pockets.

Where were their eyes?

In their hands.

What did you see?

Cumulus clouds, though the sky
was temptingly pale, transparent blue
in the open spaces between

What else did you see?

I saw the gates, those iron
vertical bars open
and close.

Did they stay open for long?

I don’t think
they were open at all.

But you said you went in?

I thought I went in; there were
times I thought I was on
the other side, and someone
kept calling me to come out.


Someone with eyes
like my own: startled, that is,
brown eyes.

Were they in his hands
in his pockets?

No. He kept looking at me.
He kept saying to me,
come bout before those gates

Why didn’t you stay?

I don’t know. Perhaps I’m a coward.

What was happening inside
the gates?

Many things. A man…


…legs, he was digging for something
inside his legs.

Did you go in far?

Yes, I went in
very far.

Did you see me there?

You were there!

Yes, with my eyes
in my hands, holding them up
so they could see.

Were you actually inside the gates?

Yes. Some.

Did you put your eyes
back in your pockets
like the rest of them?

No. I put them back
where eyes come from.


Because I had to come back here
to see you, to talk to you
about things.

Would you go back?

You mean inside those gates, where we both have been?

Yes. Back, inside.

What gates?

(from Form, 2004)

Sequence of Forms Six

is idea
plus essence or

So rich in that part of that city.
Idleness to approximate sensual
sloth’s seaside argument.

Two sparrows in a pepper tree,
Hawk-eyed, hung light-footed, hungriness,
indulge in the dearth of indifference.

Aesthetic’s muscular labor
The voice of that vendor: Potatoes!

Or that most days after work they come home,
then walk by the uneven shore
so that much later they might sleep well
under open windows.
Or if not, she would say,
Bring me down into sleep with you,
and he would say,
abandon to other shapes, insolid also.

That corruption causes individual consequence.
The exercise even of small power.
It’s not an aphrodisiac,
but arises from a mark of ordinary fear, causes a sense of safety.

Cause and effect, cause and effect, cause, and effect.
Light-footed the sparrows’ fine claws find grooves in the bark

Or the shape of an aesthetic labor taking shape

(from Form, 2004)


Reprinted from The Myth of Creation (San Diego: Parentheses Writing Series, 1993). Copyright ©1993 by Martin Nakell. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Questions from the Gates,” and “Sequence of Forms Six”
Reprinted from Form (New York: Spuytin Dyvil Press, 2004). Copyright ©2004 by Martin Nakell. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Robert Crosson

Robert Crosson [USA]

Born in Canonsburg, Pennsylvania in 1929, Robert Crosson remained in the East until his family moved to Pomona, California in 1944. He attended the University of California, Los Angeles, and received his B.A. in English in 1951, briefly joining the Communist Party during his college years. After college he began working as an actor in television and film, in 1954 landing a small role in White Christmas. The following year he appeared as the character Danny Marlowe in I Cover the Underworld. But Crosson grew increasingly dissatisfied with the Hollywood scene, which, combined with his brief political activities, dimmed his prospects for further Hollywood employment. In 1959 he traveled to Europe, working his way through various countries as a piano player, a black-marketer, and pimp.

In 1960 he returned to the United States, enrolling in Library Science at the graduate level at the University of California, Los Angeles. Eventually he dropped out, taking night jobs and attempting by day to write his first novel. Jobs as a painter and carpenter, another movie role (in Mike’s Murder in 1984), and a 1989 Poetry Fellowship from the California Arts Council, allowed him to survive during these lean years; however, as he grew older Crosson grew increasingly dependent on “the kindness of strangers” and friends, particularly Los Angeles poet Paul Vangelisti, who–when Crosson was evicted from the Laurel Canyon house where he was caretaker–took him in. Crosson lived with Vangelisti from 1993 until his death in 2001.

From the early 1980s to his death, he had several books of poetry published. He 1981, his first book, Geographies, was published by Vangelisti’s and John McBride’s Red Hill Press. They also published his poetry (along with the works of two other poets) in Abandoned Latitudes in 1983. Calliope was published the following year by the Los Angeles publisher Illuminati. In 1994 the Italian publisher Michele Lombardelli published Crosson’s The Blue Soprano; and Guy Bennett’s Seeing Eye Books published In the Aethers of the Amazon: Poems 1984-1997 in 1998; But most of Crosson’s writing remained unpublished at the time of his death–the result of a heart attack brought on, doubtlessly, by years of heavy smoking and drinking. Luigi Ballerini’s Agincourt press published The Day Sam Goldwyn Stepped off the Train, a selected poetry, in 2004.

During the last years of his life, Crosson was beloved by Los Angeles innovative writers for his eccentric behavior–he was gay and often described in some detail his sexual encounters and experiences to both his gay and straight friends–his unusual sense of humor, and his poetry, which came to be recognized as some of the most original writing of his peers.


Geographies (San Francisco: Red Hill Press, 1981); Wet Check in Abandoned Latitudes: New Writing by 3 Los Angeles Poets–John Thomas, Robert Crosson and Paul Vangelisti (San Francisco and Los Angeles: Invisible City, no. 3, 1983); Calliope (Los Angeles: Illuminati Press, 1988); The Blue Soprano (Castelvetro Piacentino, Italy: Michele Lombardelli editore, 1994); In the Aethers of the Amazon: Poems 1984-1997 (Los Angeles: Seeing Eye Books, 1997); The Day Sam Goldwyn Stepped off the Train (New York: Agincourt, 2004)


The christian name makes impossible
any face-front exchange of plain talk.
The remedy (as I’ve sd before) runs
amok the chittering squirrels on roof-
tops & owls (tail-balanced) hung from
trees. Adjectives kill, or stultify
and, in any case, belabor the room
we so carefully establish. Privacy
hs everything to do with it–topical–
and them day-old sausages brought (un-
wanted) to the door we eat anyway,
threshold and lintel.

You tell me we have five years to
change the language. I wonder what
you mean. Me? Us? Why? And what’s
to change? Maybe you didn’t say
‘change the language’ but we hd 5
years. My overalls will be washed
fifteen times by then, some shredded
for lawn chairs; the rest abused &
at least one pair given my dentist
as collateral...Poetic endowments
(? To be sure) get me in fistfights
at parking lots.

(from Wet Check, 1983)

The Hartford

–can’t remember his name: a distinguished
writer; friend of a Friend who’d once played
tennis with his daughter–his house, a splendid
quarters off Doheny... I was invited guest.
His wife, my younger, went out for a swim.
We share drinks.

“Trouble at The Foundation,” he informed me,
was “Too many ‘pansies’–; glanced at the
manuscript it had taken four years to write–
read the fist page. “Well,” he said, “at
least you’re literate.”
They had a dog–

Just down the street from Stravinsky

(who’d already left.

(from The Blue Soprano, 1994)

Coffee Table

–meant read the right magazines.
Made prominent.
Didn’t matter if you had one.
That was protocol.

Somebodys-wife who wrote for The New York Review–
Special reservations held party,
before bed.


He sat atop me.

I was thinking of the organist
in Allentown.

(from The Blue Soprano, 1994)


Boomie wrote me letters–
he kept copies

He had a sister and a brother-in-law.
His step-sister was a film star whom
I never met. She was mistress of Howard Hughes.
Nights, she would sometime visit the family.

His father (deceased) had once played the violin.

Very camp-gossipy letters
I have lost them.

Boomie was a director.
He knew Elsa: we once spent weekend at the
Laughton peacock-Farm in Palos Verdes.

Elsa (intimitably) maintained that spices should
be put with the pasta, not the suace.
She like watching car-races on TV.

(from The Blue Soprano, 1994)


The lover I never dreamed of wouldn’t speak
When I was at the ocean too.
Seaweed and salt and wind
Blew every list away.

Words that would make me laugh now
Snorted bulls and boardwalks
Me. Me. Coins with the head of Ceasar.
Flapping seagulls.

Under a log, left worms and white.
White–until I’m blue in the face
The mirror lit.

Candles. Or stars
Cut to the bone.

Toenails and chairs and elevators.
Faces in back seats. Wet skin.
A corked bottle. Salt
And seaweed.

The bare word he said
Needed dead men.

A green car.
Gone to the moon.
All thumbs and fingers.

(from The Day Sam Goldwyn Stepped off the Train, 2004)

The Red Onion

A charley-horse was not an erection, but a cramp
in the leg. Men whistled walking by the house. I
didn’t much notice it needed painting.

It was a red house, barn red. One side of it was boarded up, I never went in there. I
imagined it ghostly. I sometimes thought the men were whistling at me. But it was not the
case. The house was wooden, a very old house. I lived with my aunt, who rented the
upstairs. Nights, I tried to imagine what it would look like, but I could not do much with
it. The yard was a mud shambles: nothing could grown there. I could not imagine it a new
house, nor did I want to. It was not in the right place.

The reason it was called The Red Onion was not what I thought. I though it was
called that because it was red–though a red onion is not red, it is purple. I did not like
the men whistling when they walked by. I pretended I didn’t live there.

(from The Day Sam Goldwyn Stepped off the Train, 2004)

The Man in the Moon

In this bright-red-paper wading boots,
His well-worn thumbs–:
‘You must be drunker than I thought!’
And dove into the lake.

The way the water shows the hills.
A milky rim–an edge
To this naked guy:

A husky fellow, read–
No sound of splashing; nor

A still-like–

Rock-reflection of
What’s plummeted.

(from The Day Sam Goldwyn Stepped off the Train, 2004)


Evil resounds like water.

Water is a way to think.
Thoughts drink well at noon.

Four is tonic and more fertile.
Five is sometimes marriage–
Sacred to Aphrodite.

Stark failures of the drowned.
Misery like success is infantile–
Feminine, wanting both yes and no.

Seven is the mind–virgin, musical–
Associated with the birth of heroes.
Eight seeks eros, ultimate friendship.

Water reads like skin–
Numbers sound like dance running.

What comes next, a question in the mind.
Half dozen of the other–
The first perfect number.

Moons incarnate.

Hand in a pale of rum so far from June
it makes one want to dance–
June, an alibi

For myopia & romance.

(from The Day Sam Goldwyn Stepped off the Train, 2004)

The Collar

I feel like I’m wearing a watch:
The hand to the cuff–the Ballpark–
Colorful folk stealing each others’ cars
And suits of clothes they live in (after
Retrieval) or bets on the races:
A world of bookies and fast laughs.

The sacred, sacred.

How to nail your hand to a board and drive
Timber to Emergency: how to lose a finger
And (again) pick up the guitar or piano.
How to walk crossroads against the light
And make it fine kettle of fish, having
Lost the sportspage or pooltable left
the backdoor open, or the wife
At her embroidery.

A round-trip to Aussie-land where babies
Are borne to pouches and eat Kiwi–
Aborigines prowling in the bush
This side marbled architecture they
Haven’t shoes to fit: the fix of a smile.

A child hugging his mother’s skirts.
Where sea is that and stone is a place
Of choirs.

(previously unpublished)


“The Hartford,” “Coffee Table,” and “Brecht”
Reprinted from The Blue Soprano (Castelvetro Piacentino: Michele Lombardelli editore, 1994). Copyright ©1994 by Robert Crosson. Reprinted by permission of Michele Lombardelli editore..

“Lemon,” “The Red Onion,” “The Man in the Moon,” and “Pythagoras”
Reprinted from The Day Sam Goldwyn Stepped off the Train (New York: Agincourt, 2004). Copyright ®2004 Estate of Robert Crosson. Reprinted by permission of Paul Vangelisti.

“The Collar”Previously unpublished. Copyright ©2004 Estate of Robert Crosson. Reprinted by permission of Paul Vangelisti

April 14, 2009

Jan G. Elburg

Jan G. Elburg [Netherlands]

Born in Wemeldinge on November 30, 1919, Jan Elburg, for much of his life, was a lecturer on spatial planning at the Rietveld Academy in Amsterdam. His earliest poetry was rather traditional in form and content. But after World War II, as an editor of the avant-garde literary magazine Het Woord (The Word), Elburg helped prepare the way—along with fellow poets Gerard Diels, Bert Schierbeek, and Koos Schuur—for the postwar experimentalist movement in the Low Countries. In the 1950s, he continued his association with the literary underground as an editor of Podium and a contributor to such periodicals as Reflex, Braak (Fallow), and Blurb, while beginning to exhibit in own visual art.

The poet was associated with the Dutch Fiftiers group throughout much of career.

Elburg conceives his poetry from a Marxist standpoint, in keeping with his belief that art has a social task to perform: “With poetry I want to lay some lines of contact from person to person. And renew myself and others; learn to see more and feel more….make something clear, give some warnings, set some examples.” His poetic technique is essentially one of montage—the juxtaposition of previous jottings and fragments. “I mount my poems,” he explains, “more than modeling them.”


Serenade voor Lena (Amsterdam: W. L. Salm, 1941); De distelbloem (Amsterdam: 1944); Laag tibet (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 1952); De vlag van de werkelijkheid (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 1956); Hebben en zijn (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 1956); De gedachte mijn echo (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 1964); Streep door de rekening (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 1965); De quark en de grootsmurf (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 1971); Gedichten, 1950-1975 (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 1975); De kijkers van Potter (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 1981); Haaks op de uitvlucht (Amsterdam: Meulenhoff, 1988)


selected poems in The PIP Anthology of World Poetry of the 20th Century, Volume 6: Living Space--Poems of the Dutch Fiftiers (Los Angeles: Green Integer, 2005).

Arnaldo Antunes

Arnaldo Antunes [Brazil]

Born in São Paulo in 1960, Arnaldo Antunes attended the University of São Paulo, but did not complete his degree. He edited several poetry magazines: Almanak 80 (1980), Kataloki (1981), and Atlas (1988). Among his published books are Ou E, a bookd of visual poems (1983), Psia (1986), Tudos (1990) and As Cosias (1992). Almost all of his books have gone through several editions.

Also a musician and visual artist, Antunes participated in several exhibitions of visual poetry both in Brazil and abroad during the period from 1983 to 1994. He put together the rock group Titãs with which he released several albums between 1982 and 1992. In 1993, Nome (in video, book form, and CD) was released. This work is a multimedia project including poetry, music and computer animation in partnership with Celia Catunda, Kiko Mistrorigo and Zaba Moreau. It was exhibited at shows and festivals worldwide and received honors at the First Annual New York Video Festival. As a musician, Antunes has released a number of recordings in recent years. In 1999 he wrote a sound track for the dance company O Corpo. And in 2000, Antunes published a book about pop music and poetry titled Quenta Escritos (São Paulo: Iluminuras).


Ou E (1983); Psia (São Paulo: Iluminuras, 1986); Tudos (São Paulo: Iluminuras, 1990); As Coisas (São Paulo: Iluminuras, 1992); Nome (with Celia Catunda, Kiko Mistrorigo, and Zaba Moreau) (São Paulo: BMG Ariola Discos, 1993); ONLY 2 ou mais corpos no mesmo espaço (São Paulo: Editorial Perspectiva, 1997).


Nome [no translator listed] (São Paulo: Arnaldo Antunes and Zaba Moreau, 1993); selected poems in The PIP Anthology of 20th Century Poetry; Nothing the Sun Could Not Explain--20 Contemporary Brazilian Poets. ed. by Regis Bonvicino, Michael Palmer and Nelson Ascher; revised by Douglas Messerli.

April 2, 2009

Robert Gluck

Robert Glück [USA]

Robert Glück was born in Cleveland, Ohio in 1947. His family moved to the West Valley of Los Angeles when he was eleven. In Los Angeles he attended the University of California, Los Angeles, and later, The University of Edinburgh, the College of Art in Edinburgh, and the University of California, Berkeley, where he received his BA in 1969.

For a while he lived on a commune in the Sierras before moving to New York, where he attended Ted Berrigan’s writing workshops. He moved to San Francisco and earned an MA degree from San Francisco State University.

Glück worked as a housepainter in the Feminist House Painting Collective, as a carpenter, and then as the Co-Director of Small Press Traffic Literary Center. He led workshops at the Center which were a sort of laboratory for New Narrative writing. Glück has written: “We were
thinking about autobiography; by autobiography we meant daydreams, nightdreams, the act of writing, the relationship to the reader, the meeting of flesh and culture, the self as collaborator, the self as disintegration, the gaps, the inconsistencies and distortions, the enjambments of power, family, history, and language.

Glück was involved in anti-nuclear and anti-interventionist politics, and was arrested many times in non-violent protests. He was an Associate Editor at Lapis Press and Director of The Poetry Center at San Francisco State, where he continues to teach.

He is the author of nine books of poetry and fiction. His most recent work, Denny Smith, a collection of stories, was published by Clear Cut Press in 2004. Glück’s two novels are Jack the Modernist and Margery Kempe. Another book of stories was titled Elements of a Coffee Service.
Among his works of poetry are Reader (which also includes short prose) and La Fontaine, rewritings of that author with Bruce Boone. Glück’s work has been highly anthologized in books such as New Directions Anthology, City Lights Anthologies, Best New Gay Fiction (of 1988 and 1996), Best American Erotic (1996 and 2005), and The Faber Book of Gay Short Fiction.
His critical writings have appeared widely, including a long essay on the work of Kathy Acker in Lust for Life. Along with Camille Roy, Mary Berger, and Gail Scott, he edits Narrativity, a website on narrative theory (www.sfsu.edu/~poetry/narrativity/issueone.html). An anthology based on the website, Biting the Error: Writers on Narrative, was published by Coach
House Press in 2005.

Glück observes of his work included in this volume: “This long poem is composed of all my misreadings. It is a kind of autobiography organized by my unconscious, because each misreading is a small dream, a dream that occurs on the page.”


Andy (Los Angeles and San Francisco: Panjandrum Press, 1973); Marsha Poems (San Francisco: Hoddypoll Press, 1973); Metaphysics (San Francisco: Hoddypoll Press, 1978); Family Poems [poems and short prose] (San Francisco: Black Star Series, 1979); La Fontaine [with Bruce Boone] (San Francisco: Black Star Series, 1982); Reader [poems and short prose] (Santa Monica, California: Lapis Press, 1989)

Winner of the PIP Gertrude Stein Awards for Innovative Poetry in English

from I, Boombox

Shakespeare’s glittering
In the sun. Blow
Buddy from mantrap
W/mustache fluffed
The ecstatic inferior,
The design of the
85% room.
Secretive and
Passionate, he really
Hopped that wasn’t
True. Multi-radical
From macho to micro,
Verbal knit love
Pitched between
Tenderness and volume,
Fucking a young
Muscle buffoon.
My penis stands
For something.
Bearded headache.
A miniature surveyor
The long scratch
Between stations.
The devastation of
The dollar for
Unblemished fun,
The penis cinemateque.
Parenteral nutrition
Marginal appetite.
Or giving Prozac
Room an exotic
Accent to reproach
Another part of
The divan. Love
Reptiles with pics.
Star in the mildew
Along the Peruvian
Coast in Lake
Archaic. Expensively
Good, I prefer acting
OUT. I felt a
Little bite out
Of it. Trick
The market, early
Modern nudes that
People are undulating
About or striking
Rigid poems.
That laptop laugh.
Jimmy the Window
Smoothes his lanoline
Soaked hair and nipples
Kissing, mourning,
Hiking, the rumbling
Of Heckert’s
Shows Prostrates
Gathered in front
Of a church
In the seventies
They ate hurriedly
From the pack
At bitter campfire
To miss the
Executing draft.
NBA Bars 4
After a Brawl
Of innovating forms.
Text dreams as text
Away from motive.
That suddenly
Adopted the wind.
In its boredom
Light presents itself.
Major watercolor fodder,
Alternative definitive
Blond, Sol Lewitt
Sodomized me, the
Vast mark
Of his face
Hangs here—sudden
Light underneath
A cornice. Myself
As dilemma, sometimes
For centuries a lost
Bottom boy. The
Website of Zard
Omran, my brother,
Or the notion of
His freedomed collapse
His own gray
Domestic animals.

Reprinted from Shampoo, No. 24 (2005). Copryight ©2005 by Robert Glück.

Christopher Davis

Christopher Davis [USA]

Born in Whittier, California, Christopher Davis attended Humboldt State University in northern California from 1979–1981. He received a B.A .in English from Syracuse University in 1983, and an M.F.A. from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, where he was a Teaching-Writing Fellow, in 1985. Since 1989, he has taught creative writing and contemporary poetry in the English Department at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte.

His book, The Tyrant of the Past and the Slave of the Future, won the 1988 Associated Writing Programs award, and was published by Texas Tech University Press. His second book, The Patriot, was published in the University of Georgia Press Contemporary Poetry Series in 1998. A History of the Only War, his third collection, was published in 2005 by Four Way Books. His poems have appeared in numerous periodicals such as American Poetry Review, Denver Quarterly, Massachusetts Review,Volt, and in many anthologies, including Word of Mouth: An Anthology of Gay American Poetry, The Best American Poetry 1990 and Red, White and Blues: Poets on the Promise of America.

Stylistically Davis’s poetry is more “modernist” in spirit than “post-modernist.”The early influences of the modernists and of anthologies such as Another Republic: 17 European and South American Writers have remained vital to him. A love of “New York School” poetry, what his work echoes from it is, primarily, its tonal richness. He attempts to respond to the issues in poetics articulated by critics (Perloff, Altieri,etc.) and critical theorists with a visceral, dramatic, emotionally-complex poetry: stung, in his conscience, by the attack on “narcissism” suggested by ideas of a “poetics of indeterminacy,” for example, he is more interested in portraying the “embodiment” of his reaction than in simply following the prescribed guidelines
for “new writing.”


The Tyrant of the Past and the Slave of the Future (Lubbock, Texas: Texas Tech University Press, 1989); Independence News (Charlotte, North Carolina: Sandstone Press, 1993); The Patriot (Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 1998); A History of the Only War (New York: Four Way Books, 2005)

Winner of the PIP Gertrude Stein Awards for Innovative Poetry in English

For My Pen Is

a pink glass office tower erection dominating
our brand new south downtown. Designed
by Chinese architects to intensify evening,

its sun-burned, glaring panes refract twilight,
hot air blossoming, dyeing dull gray sidewalks
bloody, rosy, color of a bad taste in the mouth.

A possum, ripped apart, reminds me of a men’s
room, brown liver served upon a bed of noodles,
death’s stench not unlike ammonia, piss, cologne.


I clomped into an antique dealer’s fragile shop.
I rattle curio cabinets. the little guy had, he
said, “something gorgeous,” slid his drawer

open, revealed two elephant tools, flawless
ivory, tea-brown, heavy, rock-hard, smooth
cold exclamations in warm, ticklish palms.

“Poachers got those down by Durban,” he gloated.
“‘Man murders proud pachyderms for beauty,’”
I sob. But I desired to squat on what he sold.


At Freedom Park, in weeds, I play my self, kneeling
on yellow terrycloth, bowing over a legal pad, ex-
pressing effort, at least, through my scowl, un

like that orange ape behind scratched plastic,
its face, fat, flat, shadowed by black labia;
tiny eyes, all pupil, jitterbugged, focused

on nothing, couldn’t follow this red pen, glittering,
waving, up, down, there, here, squirrels crackling
songs out of golden fallen forest fallow. Groan!

Reprinted from Denver Quarterly, XV, no. 2 (2005). Copyright ©2005 by Christopher Davis.