SEPTEMBER 24th, a saturday, AVOL’S BOOKS, 7 pm
Whit Griffin (all the way from Memphis), Rebecca Steffy Couch, and Jordan Dunn (two localites) will shape the canola (shake the cannoli?) (whatever that means). Please attend, they are each amazing, and collectively / adjacently no one knows yet, it will be so good. If you’ve met any of these people you already know what I’m talking about. Biographical notes and some poems immediately proceed this note:
Rebecca Steffy Couch is a writer, reader, teacher, and a developing researcher-critic in English literary studies at UW-Madison. She grew up just outside the small town of Manheim in Lancaster County, PA. Ordinarily handy with plants, Rebecca has been challenged by a new and not-thriving hibiscus at home. If anyone has any tips on this or other things, please speak with her after the reading.
Whit Griffin studied at Bennington College and Brooklyn College, respectively, and was an intern for the Jargon Society. He is the author of Pentateuch: The First Five Books (Skysill Press, 2010). Chaplets include Fugitive Cant (Country Valley, 2010) and Cathedral Ring (Longhouse, 2011). With Andrew Hughes he co-founded the journals Tight and BPM. He currently resides in western Tennessee.
Jordan Dunn lives in Madison, WI, where he manages an artisan dairy, and takes daily adventures with his toddler son, Owen. He supports bicycles, bourbon, and fine English shotguns.
Twelve to Three
Some wine for the ghost, Chinese landscape monograph, little person, that counts, it counts more, traveling from valley to valley, concerned with weather, cirrus crisp morning, the mind like a jewel, unpolished, or the mind like void, a jeweled void, woodpecker striking the barn roof, cricket autumn, the thing thing thing he taught her, how to determine surface, origin, the probability of being evaluated, dragged to the river bank, let loose to cannibal logic in the thrust grove, morning, fog dense in redwood boughs, drinking wine, eucalyptus favors, I go, return, forget words, now relax and enjoy you on you, another parody wish list, foreclosed closet, bumper wheat crop, reevaluation of the thing itself, itself, itself, the thing, what, margin of error, translation recipe, dash off, sweet one, hidden energy will push you to the limit of purpose, song, sing, along you go.
Paralyzed by fears at night that
don’t even register during day. Defending
the border of a hostile imagination.
Where are the wondrous animals that
will unlock the misery we’re living in?
Attend to various pleasures, populate
the vibrations. Learn to sing with your
mouth closed. Golden chime. A fishing
tabernacle floored in stumps and knuckle
bones. A tenuous connection with
the outside world, trying to arrange
a binding. The crystal has grown
dark. The dove, country pigeon, bobs
and scurries with its mate. It
rains, it snows, where’s the tomato?
How fast can you row away from a
former friend you once shared Xmas
dinner with? Panic down by the water.
Cleanse the wristwatches, the wandering
uterus of Beirut. There’ve been no
good statues since the invention of trousers.
Of leaving, of arriving. I don’t drink
but have been known to sniff dough. As
the baker manages his yeasts, no un-
believer was allowed to eat oranges in
Moorish Spain. How many had to be stricken
before a plant’s poisonous nature was common
knowledge? To live, to die, healed.
the eerie back tense
a noun in motion
from an idea
for summer being done
all things stand in thickets
if they looked behind them
a hemisphere o’er shoulder
in no proper place
is past back
must be dorsal
geo-cache this news world
it is eerie time around second
fight Roger Clegg