Monday, December 04, 2006

kari edwards died of heart failure on Saturday. kari was 52. kari and I read together once and I liked the work, which was at once both rough & immediate, with terrific attention to detail plus an ear to language as social. There was one trick to writing about kari – kari didn’t like you to use pronouns except to refer to yourself, because pronouns in English invariably register gender and kari’s position as a gender activist (kari’s term) was that there was no way to go about this that wasn’t wrong. Others tended to use the feminine, but when I wrote a piece that avoided pronouns altogether with regards to edwards, kari noticed & wrote to thank me.
kari always struck me as a classic instance of the person who may have great difficulty fitting into many another social context, but for whom the world of poetry offered great possibility. A kin in this regard to such divergent personalities as John Wieners, Jack Spicer, Hannah Weiner, Dan Davidson, Larry Eigner. One of the great things about the post-avant (and the most crucial way in which it differs from the old avant, let alone the
Labels: Passings
When kari lived in Philadelphia many years ago I met her at the Painted Bride Arts Center as a man. I'm embarrassed that I no longer remember the name she had as a man. But that's fine of course since kari preferred kari.
But Gil Ott was especially important for her to meet, and when he was in the hospital at Penn, kari was coming to town to read at Frank Sherlock's La Tazza series, and kari asked me if I'd take her to see Gil. It's sad to report that Gil died several days before kari arrived, and she talked a little bit about meeting him when she took the microphone, how important he was to her.
THAT READING AT LA TAZZA was another mind blowing experience! WOW! She had to deal with a heckler when she read the poem where she takes Rumsfeld's words and rearranges them. The man said something like, "HE GIVES YOU THE FREEDOM TO SAY WHAT YOU WANT!" She had been in the middle of reading "I'm not regulated" and said, "But I'm not regulated." The man had no idea what she was saying, NOR did he realize it was Rumsfeld's VERY OWN words she was reading. It was a blast! She was so smooth with the abuse that he had no idea what to do with her, and just walked out the door to our chuckles.
Missed, kari you are very much missed,
CAConrad
some PhillySound goodbyes
Impossible news. I loved hearing her in-your-face energy and incisive resistance at La Tazza (and yes--blown away by her fuck-you verbal twist-and-throw to the heckler), and I loved reading with her and Brenda at Robins Books. When she signed _Iduna_ for me, she crossed out the title and wrote NO GENDER. The work is powerful, inventive, and "on"--it swarms all over language, and lovingly, defiantly takes it on. Takes it down, I almost wrote. I am so sorry, so sad for what we all have lost in losing kari.
Rachel
except on the internet
& through the poems/prose
felt funny posting somehow
on my blog
am compelled
to mark
kari's
passing
by signing
here:
Something specfic l happens when a blogger dies. I used to wonder about this a lot. Seeing the last post at kari's blog signed as "kari" even if written by someone else is intellectually and emotionally intense...
I sign here, with my name, too.
And saddened by the news of kari edwards death while I was away - more on that soon. I was in the middle of thinking through a blog post in answer to a friend's sudden question out of the azure: "What do you think happens to you after you die?" when I returned from Amherst to the news on Eileen's blog. Meanwhile, go to Ron Silliman for more news and words, rendered as usual in his impeccable Silliman way; I'm too sick to feel or read or write anything but to get this brittle cocoon off my head. My thoughts are with kari and those of you shocked and stunned and saddened by kari's sudden passing of heart failure at age 52, my age. I was so gladdened to see kari's triumph (finally!) and was looking forward to be able to attend a reading and experience kari at the height of poetic power, to experience a rare coming into BEing as poet in conjunction with reader/listener. It just never worked out in the recent past; and now, past. And the final hanging blog, intensely empty but somehow so comforting a trace, a name and naming and the vibrancy of the act of language as leap of faith. RIP
posted by Lorna Dee Cervantes at 2:33 PM 0 comments
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