Saturday, December 08, 2007

 


Stockhausen is fifth from the left, back row, just to the left of W.C. Fields


Karlheinz Stockhausen

1928 - 2007

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Friday, December 07, 2007

 

Several contributors to the comments stream Tuesday noted the distinction between narrative and plot, and they are of course entirely correct on that point. Plot is narrative at its most vulgar, just as the novel constructed entirely around a single character is but a step in the direction of dramatic monolog, that (mostly) dead end of the Victorian era.

Narrative in the purest sense is the unfolding of meaning over time. It moves in the direction of plot to the degree that it becomes figurative, something that can occur in very small increments. This is why (and how, for that matter) a painting can be called narrative simply because it presents a scene. In works of mine that deploy the new sentence, such as Ketjak, Tjanting and many of the sections of The Alphabet, many if not all of the individual sentences can themselves be understood as narratives, often on two & sometimes three levels. First there is an unfolding of meaning in the sentence itself –

A sequence of objects which to him appears to be a caravan of fellaheen, a circus, begins a slow migration to the right vanishing point on the horizon line.

– then there is a frame set up by what comes before and what comes after otherwise “discontinuous” sentences –

The implications of power within the ability to draw a single, vertical straight line. Look at that room filled with fleshy babies. We ate them.

– then, in certain works, individual sentences evolve & elaborate as they reoccur during the course of the work –

A sequence of objects, silhouettes, which to him appears to be a caravan of fellaheen, a circus, dromedaries pulling wagons bearing tiger cages, fringed surreys, tamed ostriches in toy hats, begins a slow migration to the right vanishing point, signified by a palm tree on the horizon.

Bob Perelman was, I think, the first person to observe that in Ketjak sentences themselves function as characters. Indeed, even juxtapositions have a life of their own – the distance between the variation of “The implications of power” that occurs in the final paragraph of Ketjak in The Age of Huts (compleat), which now reads “The power implicit…,” and “We ate them” is four pages, the first on 97, the latter on 101. In Ketjak2: Caravan of Affect, one section of The Alphabet, that distance will double when the book comes out from Alabama next fall.

All of this is narrative, tho relatively little of it could be associated with plot at the level of the signified, the referential illusion that is realist fiction’s proto-cinematic trope – and which gives way directly to the origin of cinema, so that today a book is judged realist more by how “cinematic” its writing seeks to be than ever was the case in the days of Dreiser and Norris.

Cinema, of course, can be every bit as sophisticated in its use of such devices – the films of Abigail Child are every bit “as narrative” in this sense as any work of fiction & far more so than your formula chaser, be it James Bond or Jason Bourne. Films like Rear Window or Blow-Up are all about the construction of narratives, and a film like Vertigo kicks it up a notch from there.

Peter Davis makes the point (without using these exact words) that certain poems can today function as a mode of flash fiction. His case in point, Bill Stafford’s “Traveling Through Dark,” tho, sort of the high point of American kitsch, functions not so much as an efficient narrative as it uses plot to set up the arch-silliness of “I thought hard for us all – my only swerving –,” a perfect instance of feigned & posed seriousness & just possibly the single most pompous line ever written. Pomposity figured as caring is in fact a good example of what I meant by the pathological aspects of the School of Q. In “Ezra Pound’s Proposition,” part of his National Book Award Winning Time and Materials, Robert Hass offers a far more complicated project, joining the history of literature & the problem of Ezra Pound’s attempt at a politics of poetry with an account of the flow of capital from corporate banks to world-scale construction companies to corrupt local elites, generating dams that displace rural populations into the cities where 14-year-old girls become prostitutes for want of any alternatives, but ultimately his choice of the word ”throb” in its next-to-last line and “her cheekbones and her lovely skin” in the final one reveals him to be proposing only a more up-to-the-moment version of the very same pose as Stafford’s. The poem as moral homily in this sense is a total cringer. For all its complexity, it’s still a comic book sermon, preaching to the choir. Yes, poems can function that way, but what would it say about us as human beings if we wanted them to do so?

Even a poem like Aram Saroyan’s

has a beginning, middle and end. Engaging the history of typography, it has a social context and makes a point. One might even see in Saroyan’s humor here the same flash of personality one intuits from “I thought hard for us all” (except which poet would you rather spend time talking to at a party?). Strictly as a narrative poem, on the same terms as Stafford or Hass, Saroyan’s is a far more efficient use of language if that is a goal.

My argument would be that these shared levels are only a few of the many pleasures of the Saroyan poem – the play of the letter n as it appears to the mind both before and aft the root m triggers a level not even present in the two sermons. Saroyan’s work is the most complex of the three, and once you realize that, the awkwardness of the others becomes their overwhelming feature.

So, yes, perhaps I should have used the term plot to indicate vulgar narrative on Tuesday. Contemporary poetry is not less narrative today, just less apt to confuse these levels, far more apt to ask the question: narrative to what end?

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Wednesday, December 05, 2007

 

Photo by Ben Friedlander

A reading
of
Rob Fitterman’s
Metropolis

§

kari edwards’ ashes
returned to the sea

§

Rae Armantrout,
talking with
Francis Raven

§

Some recent Drafts
by Rachel Blau DuPlessis:

Draft 83: Listings

Draft 85: Hard Copy

Draft 88: X-Posting

Draft 89: Interrogation

(Three Drafts
translated into French
by Chris Tysh
& J-P Auxemery
here)

Torques:
Drafts 58-76

§

A critical collaboration
in the mode of a wiki

on Robert Pinsky’s
praise of difficult poetry

§

In the American Tree,
the radio show,
(includes broadcasts with
Ted Berrigan,
Alan Bernheimer,
Stephen Rodefer,
more)

§

A story by
Roberto Bolaño

And
a poem

§

Charles Bernstein
shooting blanks

§

Waiting for Godot
in
New Orleans

§

Talking with
Alice Notley

§

Jill Magi
destroys
her book

§

The secret poetry of
John Phillip Santos,
halfway betwixt
Laura (Riding) Jackson
&
Naomi Shihab Nye

§

Joyelle McSweeney
interviews
Carlos M. Luis
& Derek White

§

The plight of newspaper
book reviews
ignores the detail that
newspaper book reviews
mostly are crap

§

Conjunctions’
audio vault
is a great little resource
tho not in MP3s, alas

§

Almmiel Alcalay
on the limits
of translation

§

Mario Hibert
talking with
Kent Johnson

Plus Bill Friend
on Johnson”s
Epigramititis

§

A report on one of my readings,
or really the talk after a reading,
tho “invisible flan”
doesn’t say which one
(it’s
Southern Oregon)

§

In Boston tonight,
a benefit
for Melissa Green,

featuring
Fanny Howe, William Corbett,
Jennifer Moxley,
Frank Bidart, Derek Walcott,
Robert Pinsky, Rosanna Warren
& more

§

Talking with
Kimiko Hahn

§

Joe Ceravolo,
two readings

§

The politics
of the
Nobel Prize
,
an African perspective

§

Talking with
J.C. Todd

§

Attila Jozsef’s poems
will return to the web
January 1,
the day © expires

§

An unsigned review
of John Ashbery
that talks mostly about
Robert Lowell

§

C.D. Wright’s
use of
lists

§

Does
creative nonfiction
exist?

§

French ticklers

§

Getting divorced,
Angela Ball
is a
happy poet

§

Mary Ann Samyn
talking with
Kelly Moffett

§

Remembering
Jawdat Haidar,
a Lebanese poet
who wrote in English

§

19th Century
sound poetry

§

The roots of Saussure
& modern linguistics

§

Is Kindle
the iPod
of books?

e-books
start to catch on

§

Damn the book!

§

A tale of
two bookshops

§

Powell’s
faces challenges

§

Rare book fest
in
Hong Kong

§

Against
speed reading

§

What is reading
anyway?

§

Googlization
& its enemies

§

Spectacle & aporia
in Ted Kooser
& John Ashbery

§

Holly Green
is the Wirral’s
Young Poet Laureate

§

James Emanuel,
a formalist
for the simple people

§

Tom Paulin
on
Ted Hughes’
letters

§

Talking with
Stephen King

§

Kinds of Canadian
conservatives:
George Johnston
&
Peter Richardson

§

Taylor Mali,
rapping
in
Providence

§

Talking with
James Longenbach

§

Everybody
knows
Gertrude Stein

§

Hauling the fathers
through the trees

§

Stein
not as a playwright
but as a subject
for theater

§

Talking with
Janet Malcolm

§

Unauthorized
Stegner novel
published

§

Can Beowulf
survive guilt?

§

Elizabeth Hardwick
has died

§

Abebe Payne
takes first
at
Writers Awards Dinner

§

Iranian-American
fiction

§

The Russian
Booker Prize

§

How to reach
4,000,000
possible readers

in one day

§

John Berger’s
little book of hope

§

100 years
of
Mills & Boon

§

Talking with
John Adams

§

Cecil Payne,
master of the baritone sax,
has died

§

The future of
post-classical
music

§

Is there a there there
in
I’m Not There?

§

Nobody’s getting
CDs for Christmas

§

Underground art

§

Time capsules
from
Andy Warhol

§

Mug shots
of the truly criminal

§

Banksy et al
find a use
for
Israel’s
”security wall”

 

Plus
Banksy in New York

§

Is Paris crumbling?

§

Peter Schjeldahl
on what’s great
about Chicago

§

Where is
great art”?

§

In Julian Bell’s
new art history,
the avant-garde
came to an end
15 March 1989

§

But Richard Serra
is back!

§

Mark Wallinger
wins
the Turner Prize
for
State Britain

Why Wallinger won

§

Damien Hirst:
the other white meat

§

The heroism
of modern life

§

Why vandalize art?

§

The Radiohead model
works
in
Seattle

§

Rethinking
performance space

§

At stake in Hollywood:
the value of entertainment
&
the role of writing

§

The new Russian
culture wars

§

Culture, art
& the decline of
France

§

The inverse Orientalism
of Edward Said

§

The gospel
according to
Terry Eagleton

§

Amen!

§

Why dance criticism
sucks

§

Merce Cunningham now

§

The fate
of the essay

§

Movies better than the books
from which they were begot

§

Anthropologists return
to a world
of ethics

Or do they?

§

Schumpeter’s century

§

Special thanks
to
Reconfigurations,
a nifty journal
in the form
of a blog

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Tuesday, December 04, 2007

 

When I last reviewed a film here (Michael Clayton), somebody identified only as Vance wrote in the comments stream,:

Are you ever struck, Ron, by the difference between your movie reviews and your writing on poetry? From my perspective, they might as well be written by different people. The movies you watch are mostly the same ones I read about in the Times, and the kinds of things you focus on (plot, stars) are not so far from that genre either. The same can't be said for the poetry reviews!

I used to be struck by this too when Michael Bérubé was still blogging. Without knowing in advance, you'd never guess the comments on music and on books came from the same mind. (Similar prose facility, I suppose, but radically different notions of what's worth talking about, what counts as evidence or a reference point, what the goal might be.)

The answer is Yes. And also No. It’s really a cogent point & one I’ve thought about a good deal since he first made it, but drafting my note on Lust, Caution brought it back front & center. So maybe I ought to venture a response.

There are really two kinds of points being made here about me – Michael Bérubé has to fend for himself, which he does perfectly well – one about my discussion of “stars,” the other about my discussion of “plot” in cinema. They’re really different points.

Cinema, like theater & much music, is a collaborative art form. It’s entirely possible to be uninterested in every other element of an event, but to be entranced by how well (or even how badly) a performer does his or her thing. Like John Latta writing about how Kit Robinson or Tom Mandel works in The Grand Piano without necessarily – at least in the same note – presiding over a presentation of the whole project. Most poetry – tho not all – is a profoundly individual endeavor. Emily Dickinson being the iconic instance thereof. Tho in fact I have written about books noting only what is written blurbwise on the jacket – that got a bunch of angry responses – or talking about the editing of an issue of a magazine, rather than the work therein.

I agree with Pierre Bayard that literature – he goes further & says culture – is a “system” before it is individual books, individual poets, individual poems. Which is what I mean when I say that there is no such thing as a poet, there are only kinds of poets. It’s not about what you write – it’s about location, location, location. What you write is what gets you into (or out of) a particular location. I know it’s not how it feels when you or I write a poem, but that is the overarching social dynamic that takes place. One of the reasons I keep putting in links about English-language poetry stories from such diverse places as Nigeria & Pakistan is because I want to understand now what the world of my poetry is going to look like just a few decades hence, when such poetries are as much a presence in the then-equivalent of Jacket as Australian verse is now.

Cinema is a system also, and occasionally I will touch on that. But it is also a formal language – more than one, in fact – and the role of narrative there is inescapable. Cinema is not separate from narrative, except under explicit and exceptional conditions. In fact, I respond totally to the work of Nathaniel Dorsky, Abigail Child, Michael Snow, Stan Brakhage, Warren Sonbert, Henry Hills & others who work under those exceptional conditions. But, like Warren Sonbert, I can bathe in the light of an Alfred Hitchcock for hours.

As I’ve argued before – and no doubt will be forced to again – poetry’s role as a carrier of narrative declined markedly with the rise of the novel. An alternative had come along that handled narrative far more efficiently. The form of the novel was explicitly designed to do so. And the history of the novel is that it too has struggled once cinema arrived because the novel's social necessity was then taken over by the flickering screen. To what degree today are novels (& especially short stories) simply plot ideas for screenplays? Quite a bit more than we might be willing to admit. This is why the “traditional” novel has declined markedly, to be replaced instead by its own School of Quietude (Bellow, Cheever, Updike, Roth) on the one hand, and a series of genre alternatives, each of which is driven by the needs of its specific genre. In addition to the usual genre alternatives, sci-fi, romance¹, porn, such fields as “experimental” and even “Oprah” (aka “book club “) fiction all thrive – it is only the “serious, traditional” novel that is in its death throes.

This is why poetry today that still tries to conceive itself as straightforward narrative looks as awkward as somebody in a football uniform performing classic ballet (on ice). The social necessity has not been there for over 150 years, meaning that it is arguing – whatever else it may be about – for a certain world, one every bit as pathological as the Little House on the Prairie lifestyle some born-again Christians emulate, ignorant of its historical parameters and limitations. It’s not the only aspect of the School of Quietude that needs to be looked at in a psychiatric framework, but it is one of the most obvious.

But what is true for poetry is not necessarily true to the same degree for fiction, even less so for cinema and television. To write about them on equivalent terms would in fact falsify their social as well as formal dynamics. The rise of reality TV, for example, needs to be viewed as a formal divergence between narrative and fictive (tho, in fact, it is far more fictive than it likes to let on). Which is why looking at Project Runway can actually tell you things about Robert Pinsky. Or Charles Bernstein. But you won’t see them if you don’t actually look at what they’re doing.

So, yes, it does make sense that I would focus on different aspects with regards to cinema and television than with poetry. But it is because I take each of them equally seriously.

 

¹ Read Pam Rosenthal if you want the best in romance literature. And read her “Molly Weatherfield” novels to see what a theory-savvy second-wave feminist can do with S/M porn.

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Monday, December 03, 2007

 

Quite by accident, I happened to see the final season of The Sopranos on the same week as Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution, the follow-up film, if you listen to critics, to Brokeback Mountain. This means that I happened to see Tony Leung playing a character with more than a few parallels to James Gandolfini’s Tony Soprano. Leung, one of the finest actors alive, plays the role of a Chinese comprador, collaborating with the occupying Japanese administration, with lethal understatement. The narrative of the film entails what happens when Leung’s character, Mr. Yee, gets involved with a friend of his wife, Mrs. Mak, who is not what she seems.

That is one way you could tell and see this story. Here’s another. A gaggle of students in Hong Kong in 1938 gang together to raise funds for the war against Japan by putting on a patriotic play. One young girl who is coaxed into joining the production ends up with the lead role because she is far more intense as an actress than any of the rest. When the students decide to carry their resistance to Japan to the next level by becoming an underground cell, this same student is again coaxed into participating, only to discover once again that her sense of commitment and engagement far exceeds that of the others. She is so good at what she does that she frightens the rest. But they pin their hopes on her as the mechanism to bring them close to their target, an official who is secretly helping Japan, and in so doing persuade her to do things about which she does not feel good. She succeeds at what she’s asked, but the rest of the group are such amateurs that the plot goes awry, the target escapes (tho a second collaborator is indeed killed, collectively, with different students taking turns stabbing him), and the group scatters to escape. Three years later, Japan has won the war with China but is now engaged in a larger, more difficult battle against the United States. This same female student is contacted by members of her old cell, still actively a part of the resistance, and asked to help again set up this same target, who now has become the head of the secret police for the regime the Japanese have installed. Again she is asked to do things that profoundly impact her sense of self, but succeeds in putting him into position where the cell can attack. At this moment, she makes a decision that calls into question everything she has done up to that moment. This has profound consequences.

Here is a third perspective. Nothing the young woman does impacts the outcome of this narrative at all. The secret police have been tracking this ragtag group of conspirators all along and simply sweep in and pick them up. Indeed, they have been watching the official as well. They take documents from his inner office and let him know that he too has been an object of surveillance. He knows that it doesn’t matter. “All our days are numbered now that America has entered the war.” As indeed, in real life, they would have been.

Eileen Chang, the Taiwanese novelist who penned the story from which James Schamus (Ice Storm; Crouching Dragon, Hidden Tiger; The Hulk; Tortilla Soup) adapted the screenplay, was herself roughly the same age as Wei Tang, the young directing student who plays Mrs. Mak, when, during World War II, she married an already married official of the collaborative regime, following him to the port city of Wenzhou after the defeat of the Japanese & collapse of the puppet regime. He, however, abandoned her for another woman and fled to Japan. If Chang’s biography echoes aspects of the student who impersonates Mrs. Mak, it’s no accident. Indeed, like the student, one of Chang’s parents abandoned her by moving to England. When, after Mr. Yee has disappeared for a few days, leaving the conspirators to wonder where their target has gone, it is the former student who thinks out loud, “Maybe he has another woman.” In that line, one finds the author speaking directly to the audience, or to herself.

This may explain, I think, why – maybe even how – Ang Lee has made a film of this sort thoroughly from the woman’s point of view. In spite of having one of the two or three most famous Chinese actors in the world in the key role of Mr. Yee, this is a tale of how a young girl is transformed, from student to revolutionary to something altogether different, which doesn’t really have a name and which cannot be saved.

You will notice that I’ve gotten over 750 words into this note without once using the word sex. In spite of all the reviews, obsessed with the idea that an Oscar-winning director would immediately follow up with a film rated NC-17, this is not a movie about sex. This is a film about how people react to sex. Sex changes everything. It transforms every character in this narrative, regardless of how distant from it they are. For example, the too-handsome-for-words young director of the theater troupe (played by Rochester-born Taiwanese rock star Lee-Hom Wang), with whom the young women of the group are all hopelessly in love, goes from being a hot-headed dynamic young artist – how the student thinks of him at first – to being a bumbling, lethally stupid amateur spy whose one lame advance on the one-time student, towards the end of the second plot to get Mr. Yee, she brushes aside with “Why didn’t you do that three years ago?” Three years ago, she still might have been the young woman thrilled to be kissed by this romantic lost puppy. But not now.

Some of the really dumb reviews have noticed that the sex scenes in this film aren’t especially erotic, even though a couple of them are fairly gymnastic. But they’re not about eros, not in the slightest. If anything, they’re ideological, almost in the Althusserian sense.

The student is supposed to seduce Mr. Yee and her cover story presupposes her to be married. To maintain her cover, she shouldn’t be a virgin if and when Mr. Yee makes his move. The group as a whole has already decided, before they even ask her, that she has to have sexual experience, but the only member of the organization who is not a virgin, and therefore theoretically able to teach her, is the rich kid who’s financing all their Baader-Meinnhof / Symbionese Liberation Army fantasies, and that only in brothels. He’s pathetic and she’s irritated, but she goes along with this only to walk out into a roomful of stares from her comrades – if they already sensed her level of intensity transcended their own, she’s now crossed an invisible border. She’s the one adult in the organization.

This is still true three years later when she confronts the director and his superior in the resistance, Old Wu, explaining in painful detail (and at the top of her lungs) exactly what goes on in her head when having sex with this literal sadist. By now, she has crossed over into a place where she has no real counterparts or peers. She can’t be open with Mr. Yee – he would kill her as surely as Tony Soprano ordered the hit on Chris’ fiancé Adrianna, and for the same reasons – yet nobody “on her side” has even a clue what it feels like to do what she does. Her one other friend in the household, Mrs. Yee (played by Joan Chen), is in denial of everything, from her husband’s infidelities to the coming consequences of the Second World War. She just sits in the compound, playing mah jong, or goes shopping. When Mr. Yee rapes Mrs. Mak, it’s exhausting and painful to watch. (It also ensures that none of the later sex scenes can be perceived as driven by desire.) My wife swears that when, at the scene’s end, Mr. Yee throws Mrs. Mak’s coat at her half-naked form, rolled up into a fetal position on the bed, she’s half-smiling because she knows she’s got him. Who here is the hunter & who is the bait?

If this film has a direct antecedent, it’s not Brokeback Mountain or films like Last Tango in Paris or Realm of the Senses, but Ang Lee’s own The Ice Storm, still his best feature, in how it strips each character of every pretense until we get down to drives & contradictions. What are we supposed to think of a woman who uses sex for anything but love? What is she herself supposed to think? Or Mr. Yee, for that matter? When he takes Mrs. Mak to a Japanese geisha house, she says to him “You want me to be your whore.” “No,” he replies, “I’m the whore here.” These are lines, of course, that apply every bit as much to actors & directors, and a more Brechtian director would have shown a boom mike or cameraman reflected in a window to underscore the point. Lee is centuries beyond the nonsense that equates fucking with love or commitment, and yet he’s fascinated with the undeniable psychic power it wields on everyone who enters into its orbit. And, on some level, that’s all of us.

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Sunday, December 02, 2007

 

Poetry & depression:
Ken Rumble,
talking to CA Conrad

§

Nate Mackey
in
The Nation

§

John Ashbery
at the Folger Library

A great review
of Ashbery
by Ange Mlinko

Troy Jollimore’s
befuddled & quiet(ist) review

§

A similar review of
The Collected Poems
of
Philip Whalen

§

Thom Donovan
on
Hannah Weiner

§

Sixty-second lecture:
Charles Bernstein
on
what makes a poem a poem?”

§

Talking with
Gary Snyder

§

The poetics of attention
in the work of
Gabe Gudding

§

Afaa Michael Weaver
wins
Ibbetson Street Press
Lifetime Achievement Award

§

20 Turkish poets
translated into English

Essays on
contemporary
Turkish poetry

§

A poem-by-poem
review of the first
105 pages
of the Best American Poetry
2004

§

Feds cancel request
to find out
what you’re reading

Talking with
Amazon’s lawyer

§

The life and work of
Lee Min-yung

§

Stupidest book review
of 2007
not about poetry

By comparison,
an intelligent report
of a student reading

in
Piittsburg, Kansas

§

Chinh Huu
has died

§

Andy Gricevich’s
favorite tidbits
from
The Grand Piano, 4

§

John Latta
reads The Grand Piano:

on class
in the work of
Kit Robinson

on Tom Mandel
& the explosion of
Robert Duncan

§

Bangladeshi author
forced into hiding

§

Cyril Wong,
a gay poet
in
Singapore

§

Jamie McKendrick’s
Crocodiles & Obelisks

§

Jack Foley reviews
Bernstein’s Zukofsky

§

On
Joseph Conrad

§

Is editing
evil?

§

The Washington Post
gift guide
to 2007 books
lists only
Zbignew Herbert
& Bob Hass
for poetry

§

Muting Pynchon

§

Remembering
Ingrid Jonker

§

Don Domanski
on winning
the Governor General’s
Award for Poetry

§

Search the MLA schedule
for interesting panels

§

Juan Gelman
wins
Spain’s
Cervantes Prize

§

Lessing unable
to travel
to
Stockholm

§

Court voids
free-lance digital rights settlement

§

Christmas with cowboys
& their poems

§

Poetry helps man survive
46 years in a cave

§

Landis Everson obit
in the
Los Angeles Times

§

The mind
of
Mirza Ghalib

§

Talking with
Le Hinton

§

Poems on demand

§

Writers
and/or
editors

§

Ten years of
Shreveport’s
Electronic Poetry Network

§

Sander Zulauf
loves
New Jersey

§

Umberto Eco
on beauty
as a cultural
norm

§

Book tours
are passé

§

What to do
instead of book tours:
Tupperware parties!

§

Talking with
B.H.Fairchild

§

Mixed results
for booksellers
on Black Friday weekend

§

Britney Spears
at
Barnes & Noble

§

Robert Pinsky
on film
as a template for poetry

in the work of
A. Van Jordan

§

Translating Judas

§

Vendler’s Yeats

§

An anthology of Irish poems
all about
Japan

§

Phil Levine
at 80

§

The limits of clear language

§

The poet as chef:
Prartho Sereno

§

Another British review
of Ted Hughes’
correspondence

§

The rhetoric beat

§

Is there any hope
for cultural reporting
in American
newspapers?

§

Talking with
David Henry Hwang

§

Vietnam War poetry
goes rococo

§

Completing the vision
of Jeremy Blake

§

Kenny G
meets
John Zorn

§

Steve Reich
in the heartland

§

For Einstein,
life’s still a Beach

§

The work
of
John Work,
ethnomusicologist

§

I’m Not There:
the soundtrack album

Plus
Bob Dylan, painter

§

Sylvia Plath,
in drawing, song &
conference panel

(in
London, December 3)

§

Carey Young:
Body Techniques

§

Graffiti
of the
philanthropic class

§

What is the origin
of art
?

§

Art con

§

The global intelligence paradigm:
a CIA
theory of knowledge

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For that special
old book smell

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Somebody
clicked a link
on this blog
every 33 seconds
in the month of
November –

Thank you!

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