November 2008
VOL XVI, Issue 11, Number 187
Editor: Klaus J. Gerken
Production Editor: Heather Ferguson
European Editor: Mois Benarroch
Contributing Editors: Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald Le Winter
Previous Associate Editors: Igal Koshevoy; Evan Light; Pedro Sena
ISSN 1480-6401
INTRODUCTION
Sandy Shreve
Lament
CONTENTS
Heller Levinson
with alacrity
smelling alacrity
the road to apocalypse road
smelling Oprah
smelling Hillary
with adjutancy ...
Christopher Barnes
The Play
To Let
Training
Trophy Wife (act 1)
Twisty Face
1. The Family Beaunier
Jeffrey S. Correa
Red and White
Play On
G David Schwartz
Ronna Rogers
Girls Playing Tennis
Only The Soul That Loves Is Happy
Hello, Baby, How Are You
I Shall Not Hold My Breath
Daniel Gallik
The Stories In Later Marriages
Old Gets To Her
Children Meet A Mean Gate
Linn Said To Linda, There's A Fungus Among Us
When They Give Tips To Bartenders,
All Men Start To Understand God
Roger N. Taber
Four kennings
DEATH TRAP
CHAMELEON
THE SAVAGE
PAR FOR THE COURSE
POST SCRIPTUM
John Olson
Review of Smelling Mary, poetry by James Heller Levinson.
Sandy Shreve
Lament
~~~~~~
Beyond a borderline of grass, and past
lilies of the valley huddled underneath the fallen
needles of the spruce and hemlock,
someone cut the brambles down.
Just yesterday, this space was air designed
for chaos, archways thick with leaves and warblers,
an untamed strip of land along a public path.
Perhaps some passerby complained
of wayward branches, thorns attacking ankles, or
an eyesore ... saw weeds and wildness where
more properly a city lawn should front the trees.
The ground is stiff and stubbled now
and without song
starlings poke their beaks at broken branches.
The unrestrained has met the blade.
Today, November rain.
*
Reprinted with permission from Suddenly, So Much, by
Sandy Shreve (Exile Editions, 2005).
Heller Levinson
The poems below are from Heller Levinson's newly published Smelling Mary (Howling
Dog Press). Smelling Mary can be purchased by contacting either
michael@howlingdogpress.com or www.hellerlevinson.com.
*
with
~~~~
alacrity, accrual ... augmentation
judgmental impositionals barely crawling
the oscinella pan roasting
transubstantiation aplomb
the miracle is
malodorous
smelling alacrity
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
curvature optical longings hemispheric
pastings petulant covets
the road to alacrity road replete with
innovation & caramel
culled intervals cyclone thrush
bushwhacking solidarity omnisciences long overdue
smell Monk trigger incendiaries
no wrong notes
fireside remarkability exercises taunt the lameworthy
egalitarianism is the skunk of baseball compounding recursion with stallion lunge in the heartland of a homeopathic diptheria
provisions
campfires
the road to apocalypse road
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ash winch columns of absentee drift
clouds unbellying
drums a battered bricolage spasticized
bilious macadam mordant engine sputter
shofars muffled glued intestinally from shovelfuls of outcry at extremity
no vessel no lesions for passage
food a ruminant a memory clause
cantankerous outing
hoverings before an unrelenting swallow
before a monster chancrous tongue slicking the earth clean
foot locomotive organ obsolesced
direction insignificant when destinations triturated
chiaroscuro sullied, ... bleached
anthracite chrome gulley sonata
(rind rift rake grackling hardscrabble & lime
the road to no road
a sprawling sepulcher avenue
*
ferret frost loam leak
verminous heyday
pestilential rickets
canisters of brigandage imperiled by
pallid matter indicates end is transition to end
glaucescent retinals skid on foreshortening
the remaining trade is wind
soughing
bedevilments of absolute
of parliaments palliating ghost pulleys
staked to a chalking concavity dialogue upchucks the
concept deboned, enfeebled
piles of correlative glare enunciate
bleak is a literary word
*
truncheon tone
displace arrival
with bituminous pith
pitched to the rub of insoluble crossroads crossroads masticating geothermal rapidity brachycerous launch
in this no-scape
this derrick drizzle of mechanical ephemera
an abducted tuba tells of carp, mackerel ... perch, once flippy with circulation & torque, now slogging sideways through the drainage of world nightmare
smelling Oprah
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ozymandias, ... bounty
purloined fire flotationals
buoyed braise knowledge
& cantaloupe
capsize lugubrious motion portmanteau
Languedoc & grape
the tetherings surmise prior to slice
lubricity hi ho the dairy-o
this spotlight canisters the calm breeding of faces
lost rites uploading
clean sheets
transparency transpicuity transport compost
calliope
celerity moisture
smelling Hillary
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
broth
the tissue fibers radioactive loopy with
stockings crater offal
do you have a foot planted on each coast your feminine
drip polishing the Midwest
can you count the umbrellas in your hair
do posses spray from your lavatorials
plugged with alternating vipers
which breeze do you prefer
do poems enter you while boating
if I were a harbinger could
I calculate your ruptures
with
~~~~
adjutancy, ...
testudinal dismissals
flesh layering rich strips of interval
dispatch those ceremonies that surrender us
boast fugitives parking without meter
discovery = savour
caravels crabbed with complacency luff ambrosial broths
amphitheaters empty of monarchy
light analyzed as supine
Christopher Barnes
The Play
~~~~~~~~
On stage they were bulrushes
Hair-splitting illusionists,
A twitter realised,
Swivelling owl-light eyes
Trimming faces with bonnets.
Insinuated into abrupt hum-notes
But the fill-the-bill incident
Was that fever of lust on us.
Rose bed and velvet plaints.
The balcony tiresomes threw wrinkled necks,
Sat up.
To Let
~~~~~~
No word of a creepy-crawly
Under the banistered moon,
Cake smithereens on a washbasin's skirt,
All I read
Are personal columns blindfolding windows.
This address is thinking back
To flesh-warm life
Transiently rendering in strong relief
Dogwatch dawns
When overshadows of restless eras
Budge into each other.
Training
~~~~~~~~
Far-fling stalks
Can be knacked,
An arm's length mirror
On a fill-in
No tenser than a punch bag.
Step into an impression,
A tour de force -
Hands rag-flounce
The belt knot.
Fix the eye -
Foot arch outwardly. Crump.
A flush of sweat
On his tight face.
Trophy Wife (act 1)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monotonously it was footlights
And a swipe-carded audience.
Your supertwist eyes trawled
The by-inches cavern-shrinking house,
A conversation level hiss by the vee-jay...
We kissed, main squeezes. First line.
Fronting slip-streamed paint
We were line killers
Downcrafting a thrillstage.
This was our life - how we spun out,
For better,
For worse.
Twisty Face
~~~~~~~~~~~
Index ligament
Compresses
Thumb tendon
Lengthening,
The palm veers
To bludgeon
A rival's titter.
1. The Family Beaunier
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cock-a-doodle-do the pale sun.
One and one and one
the arrondissement's Lost Tribe exotics queue.
Square one's a cameo of Boulevard Raspail.
Let us go...
Not a cock-a-hoop day, no Degas.
A shuffle of misput evacuees
shooed-off, mooching to law courts.
They crumple papers
flickering grit under leather soles
- I misremember the echo of feet.
Square one's a cameo of Boulevard Raspail.
Let us go...
I am not yet born.
We're leftovers
in the rough-sketch outlines of a circle.
Mama's a voice
tu-whit-tu-whoo tu-whit-tu-whoo,
spiked heels stabbing.
She shudders,
looks to a vim-on-mould horizon,
refocuses,
counting soldierly security checks.
Square one's a cameo of Boulevard Raspail.
Let us go...
To Paris from the east
dark rumbles of clouds.
A choked gust lingers.
Jeffrey S. Correa
Red and White
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
there are
footprints
on her
face her
sallow skin...
a rush
the force
the cries
he hears:
"Viva la Rep£blica!"
"Viva Espa¤a!"
images coalesce:
fleshy lorries slack
wired wrists at backs
he shuts his eyes
he shuts his eyes
still
they persist:
blessed guns
secular guns
slowly
they rise
should be shouts
only susurruses:
viva la rep£blica
viva espa¤a
Play On
~~~~~~~
a crescendo
(the crescendo?)
as I stare
static sucked
Saturn's glare
the blood
his fingers digging
into the back of his
headless son
Sophia is calm
she contemplates
I can't regulate the music
G David Schwartz
Ronna Rogers
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ronna Rogers, Ronna Rogers
Is hard to say your name
Ten times real fast
And have it stay the same
So I want to change your name
I'm sure that that would work
Doesn't this sound pretty
Ms Ronna Schwartz
Girls Playing Tennis
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Girls playing tennis
May become a menace
When they go a bopping
With that massive chest
Only The Soul That Loves Is Happy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Only the soul that loves is happy
So said _Johann Goethe_
And I believe he may know
He usual told the truth
Hello, Baby, How Are You
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hello baby, how are you
Tell me anything, but tell me true
Where did you go last night
And why do you not think it right
I Shall Not Hold My Breath
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I shall not hold my breath
Until the owes come home
They may be a long time
Out in the roam
May be looking for food and or drink
Or may just be tumbling
Up and down the sink
I shall not hold my breath
While singing a little tune
Nor will I hold my breath
While staring at the moon
You know it would take a time
A time a bit too long
To hold all my breath
While singing any song
Daniel Gallik
The Stories In Later Marriages
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jill's husband pontificated, old
man, God, has dealt me many blows.
But summer is coming, is coming,
and I must move. Go to the shore.
Watch as life rolls over the sand.
All these words as Jill read her
morning paper. Mark never did.
Just talked. Jill was reading
a story about a father and his two
sons being saved at Cape Cod when
their boat overturned. Mark kept
talking, in my later yrs. I want
to see nature. I want to touch it,
lie with it, even have sex with it.
I truly believe the shore is a place
to do that. I hope you don't mind.
Jill never lifted her head. She
was reading another tale - two men
who decided to help their neighbor
lady with her house. Fix it. And
change the furniture around. The
lady thanked them by raping them.
Sticking her pistol up their anuses.
The men later were found to be gay.
The lady was arrested but proved
to be innocent. Reasonable doubt.
Mark finally said, love is what
I am after. In nature. The sand
scuffing my skin. The salt water
cleansing my soul. God being manly.
Old Gets To Her
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, the ills, said grandma
As she took off her clothes
For bed, I feel like I am
Sick, and getting sicker.
I feel like I can no longer
Talk. That no one can hear
Me anyway. That my voice
Is silent as night. I want
To meet you. Now, please.
Just then the wind came up.
The day got dark. Booms
Were being heard way off.
Grandma smiled. I am so
Sorry that you took me
The wrong way. I was only
Kidding. I am fine. I
Will be ready when you make
Me ready. I am sorry for
My humor. Now, let me go
To (regular) sleep. Let
Me kiss you while I rest.
I am fine. Just a little
Sick of breathing so funny.
And feeling very funny.
Children Meet A Mean Gate
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lives of doors, she said,
again and again, as her hubby
came in from work, went out
to get the kids, came in to
get his lawnmower key, then,
finally sat down to have sup.
All the doors in our lives,
she said during supper as
the kids listened to her. It
was mystical, she always had
their attention. Husband
later that evening said before
the kids went to bed, I feel
I have many lives, many doors.
The kids never listened to him.
Mom said, nothing is better
than doors. Or death. Kids
got up the next day, and shot
their dad. And then, the mom.
And then, went to school
and gave their weapon up to
their friends along with
their memories, their house,
and the rest of their lives.
Linn Said To Linda, There's A Fungus Among Us
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Can you get the green stuff off my roof?
Linn had real problems. She hated green
stuff. Or yeast infections. And peptic
ulcers. Or feminine hygiene. Her teeth
decaying. Or when she bought "homemade"
bread how it grew mold the second day she
had it in her fridge. Linn was talking
to the guy that came over to clean her
multi-gabled roof in Buckeye. Of course,
he got stupid and said, sure, honey, I
can lick it off for you. If you don't
mind. Linn told Harold, the Hurting Home?
guy, why don't you come in for lunch at
the appropriate time. Like now? Harold
got the message, replied, I am a master
of my craft, will do the job, and be outta
here in an hr. Umpteenth marriage came
into her head at the same moment she was
considering a wet clitoris. These duals
happened often for this lady. Like, new
house and high mortgage. Or good food
and a large middle-aged belly. Or sex
and more sex every other ten minutes for
men in their libido stage. Harold was
green with desire, didn't charge her for
his service, got rid of Linn's green
gunk on the roof, and came back that eve
to snuggle under Linn's green comfort.
When They Give Tips To Bartenders,
All Men Start To Understand God
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Churches say lots about Jesus
But also say a lot about money,
You know, like expenses, new
Additions, & giving to the poor,
Jimmy was talking, and tired
Of living his life in America
Which is just south of eternity.
Jimmy said a lot of things, lots
To no one in particular. Drank
Too. A lot. One day someone
Heard him. He was over at Joe's
Having Millers on tap. Mark
Said, I agree. Jimbo turned and
Said, who you? Marko said, just
Some guy who listens. I work
Over at Dick's and really listen
To moms and dads, and the kind
Of equipment they want to make
Jocko kids better kids. So,
That's me. Who you? Jimmy goes,
I am a talker. No job. Drink
A lot. Once was God. Definitely
Will be God again in the future.
Mark laughs, I know. Buds make
ME believe. Once met a black
Guy who said he was Mohammed.
Shot at and missed me with his
Glock. Since then, I believe.
Roger N. Taber
Four kennings
DEATH TRAP
~~~~~~~~~~
I lie in a pit staring up at the sky,
wondering if cloud faces passing by
can see my lips move (no sound)
might even let someone know where
to find me, so scared, frightened,
unable to move, every limb refusing
to answer frantic screams for help
from a mind whose live connections
all but severed by its distress
Clinging on to a failing willpower,
I feel my frail grasp slipping in this,
what must surely be my coffin?
Yet, it's not my past I see unfolding
before my eyes, only blank sheets
of paper_slowly coming to life, words
I can't quite make out but vaguely
recognize shapes comprising a prose
and poetry ascribed to nature
All my eyes cannot see, my heart
begins to acknowledge as the words
(now bombarding all my senses)
demand entry at the doors of a mind
shut by fear and excuses, forcing
it ajar, piling in like old friends arriving
at a reunion, faces in the clouds
taking on human form, Earth Mother
resolved to be kind but firm
Prisoner, empowered to go free again
from a death trap called depression
CHAMELEON
~~~~~~~~~
I am not always where I should be
and sometimes you will find me
wearing the face of human cruelty,
lashing out at anyone who dares
stand in my way, stamping on them
as if they were but vermin, ready
to excuse, even glorify the choices
I make, supposedly for other than
my own poor sake
I do not always assume the part I am
expected to play on the world stage
or in such corners of the human heart
that are open to anyone to view who
cares to curry favour with me, though
usually only to be rewarded, in turn,
with such gestures of rank or position
that serve best who watch and listen
or be brought down again
I am not always the villain of the piece,
sometimes deserve applause, bowing
with due modesty, accepting credit due
for brave acts beyond the call of duty
(includes acknowledging my sexuality)
or services to humanity as nature meant
me to provide, rejecting a darker side
that still (I must confess) lurks just below
an awe-inspiring surface
I walk tall, head high, will not be denied
the spoils of - pride
THE SAVAGE
~~~~~~~~~~
I watch you, though from shadows
and you know I am there yet choose
to ignore me, hoping I will go away
but it's my choice to stay, observe
the way you walk, talk, seeing how
you react to what others do or say,
assessing your hurt by scratch marks
of the queerest designs you pass off
as laughter lines
I follow you about wherever you go
and you would be rid of my company
yet dare not face me with all the facts
I have gleaned over years of grooming
you for my own ends. Any resistance
is futile, though I grow apprehensive
when you mix with others who would
usurp my place, take you for their own,
share love's crown
Years pass, and now we walk together
and you dare not say `no' to passing
into the shadows with me for have I not
watched over you as I would a child?
Where can the light of the world take us
but among regrets and betrayal, along
tracks made by paper tigers who belong
here, where only leafy skies have shed
tears for centuries
I hold the hand writing history's page
and am called Rage
PAR FOR THE COURSE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I go where wild things go
yet few think to find me there,
but among butterflies
and birds of the air or in places
that host the fairest flowers,
lambs in spring, buttermilk skies,
even among turning leaves,
never dreaming I keep company
with nature's hardiest
I rest in a mother's womb,
comfort as harm strikes home
side-step recriminations,
explain about love, sex and death
to children who need to know
nor reject those inflicting pain
any more than their victims made
to suffer and endure, par
for the course
Where angels fear humanity
seduced from sacred to profane by
its own greed and vanity,
there, too, I'll never fear to tread
once called upon for aid
for mine is not to question need
but answer its call,
even though it come late, judged
deserving or not
Always on hand, my services for free,
I am called Mercy
John Olson
Smelling Mary, poetry by James Heller Levinson. Howling Dog Press, 2008. 205
pages. $19.95.
Beginning most notably with Mallarme at the close of the 19th century, there
has been a fierce emphasis on the materiality of language in western poetry.
The subject matter melts into the medium itself, the language. The true
subject of the poem is the propeller that drives it: its torque, cough,
rumble and grease. Its amplitude is in its interplay, its syntax and words.
The words are everything. Multiplicities of sound and sense, microorganisms,
mad particles, a whole galaxy of sonorous energies creating and abolishing
their order in a semiotic field of hectic transformation. The mind of the
reader is, of course, central to this. Language is nothing without
participation.
Heller Levinson's Smelling Mary offers itself as an extreme example of
linguistic concretion. Each concrete assemblage is a multiplicity, a
pattern, a becoming, an actuality. The parts are essential. And it is the
smallest parts, prepositions in particular, that bear the heaviest loads.
Everything pivots on the preposition 'with.' 'With' is a hinge. It is the
device upon which everything is laid out, swings, depends, vacillates.
What we are talking about is something like the Contiguity Disorder Roman
Jacobson describes as a form of agrammatism, or "word heap," in which "word
order becomes chaotic; the ties of grammatical coordination and
subordination, whether concord or government, are dissolved." The hierarchy
of linguistic units is abolished and reduced to a single level. Words are
stripped of contextual encrustations. Metonymic bursts explode totalizing
structures into sumptuous volatility. Energies unbind. Particles collide.
This leads to what Jacobson terms a "telegraphic style" in which words
constellate higgledy-piggledy in a feverous blast of semiotic elation. But
this analogy is only partly true in relation to Smelling Mary. The word
'disorder' suggests a malfunctioning, a pathology, and that is clearly not
the case here. There is evident a lusty and radical proposal. There is
integrity. There is intent. While rapture and delirium are certainly not
foreign to Heller Levinson's poetry, there is an underlying objective that
has been scrupulously worked out and advanced within the pages of this book.
Heller Levinson describes his strategy in what he refers to as a "Hinge
Theory," and includes an essay titled "Hinge Theory Diagnostic: Whereby
Operations of Hinge Are Inspected In 'With Insinuation.'" "With," he
emphasizes, "is the pivot (in this case the prepositional pivot) whose
function is to spring (to unleash, to unmoor) the particle (in this case,
'insinuation') into a climate of free fall and unpredictability." "While
journeying through the Hinge Apparatus," he continues, "we begin dropping
the baggage of conventional definition and connotation, continually being
re-oriented with linguistic process, while orienteering through the
processional relationships. Thus, ensuing is a series of new understandings,
objectives, subjectives and complexities for the word(s) and the
relationships they engender."
The end result of Heller Levinson's philosophy of word assemblage, is a
sense of rawness not unlike the paintings and sculptures of Jean Dubuffet.
Dubuffet's primary thrust was to present images that gloried in their
eccentricity, their distortions and craziness, their flagrant derangement,
their wonderful hilarity. "There is no art without intoxication," declared
Dubuffet, "but I mean a mad intoxication! Let reason teeter! Delirium! The
highest degree of delirium! Plunged in burning dementia! Art is the most
enrapturing orgy within man's reach. Art must make you laugh a little and
make you a little afraid. Anything as long as it doesn't bore."
Heller Levinson's poetry evinces this same hectic quality, this urgency to
make things catastrophically raw, stripped of mediation. Remove any and all
inhibiting forces. Pertinent as breath, tart in its own logic.
Here, for example, is "with"
adjutancy
testudinal dismissals
flesh layering rich strips of interval
dispatch those ceremonies that surrender us
boast fugitives parking without meter
discovery = savour
caravels crabbed with complacency luff ambrosial broths
amphitheaters empty of monarchy
light analyzed as supine
I find the last line particularly fascinating. The image of light lying
supine is quantum, huge in evocation. We see light as a physical body, a
tangible entity, lying with physical force in what could be dust and stone
(the previous line implies a Greek or Roman ruin). 'Supine' suggests both
horizontality and vertebrae. A spine. The verb 'analyzed' takes us further
into evocations of spectral display, colors and waves mirrored in scrupulous
pools of luminous information.
Equally fascinating is the telegraphic style alluded to earlier, the
bareness of the overall structure, the compact aggregate of the line
"caravels crabbed with complacency luff ambrosial broths," with its jumbled
imagery of ornate ships and humor encumbered with conflicting descriptors,
('crabbed,' 'ambrosial,' 'complacency'), and the strange conjectural pairing
of "testudinal dismissals" with its reference to turtles (what is it to be
dismissed by a turtle?). "Luff," a nautical term meaning to sail closer into
the wind. This, it would appear, is what the poet is doing: sailing closer
into the forces of language, the vagaries of words.
With the equational line "discover = savour" Heller Levinson reveals another
quality pertinent to his writing which is its sensuality. The coupling of
intellectual knowledge, the act of discovery tantamount to a delight in
tasting something, to 'savour' (it's interesting that Heller Levinson
preserves the French spelling), clearly suggests an engagement with the
world that is as libidinal as it is spry, primal as a "philological claw."
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is
prohibited.
YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993 - 2008 by
Klaus J. Gerken.
The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's
World-Wide Web site http://www.synapse.net/~kgerken. No other
version shall be deemed "authorized" unless downloaded from there.
Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.
COMMENTS & SUBMISSIONS
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