by dint of-Shaped Reading

In what promises to change the shape of your life*: a reading with illustrious poets from far-flung places: MATVEI YANKELEVICH and CORINA COPP join us from NYC and CATHERINE WAGNER from Oxford, OH.

It’s all this Sunday night (3/4) at Anna’s house from 7:30, and then fo…r those who don’t have shit to do on Monday, it’s on to Mickey’s (i hope). Seriously, this is going to be a beautiful thing.

That’s Anna V’s, 1335 Willy St., apt.1, 7:30 p.m.

Ok, Bios:

CATHERINE WAGNER’s collections of poems include the forthcoming Nervous Device (City Lights 2012), and My New Job (2009), Macular Hole (2004), and Miss America (2001), from Fence. She is associate professor of English at Miami University in Ohio. Her PennSound page is here: [http://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/Wagner.php].

MATVEI YANKELEVICH‘s books and chapbooks include Boris by the Sea (Octopus Books), The Present Work (Palm Press), and Writing in the Margin (Loudmouth Collective). His translations from Russian have cropped up in Calque, Circumference, Harpers, New American Writing, Poetry, and the New Yorker, and have been included in OBERIU: An Anthology of Russian Absurdism (Northwestern) and Night Wraps the Sky: Writings by and about Mayakovsky (FSG). His translations of Daniil Kharms were collected in Today I Wrote Nothing: The Selected Writings of Daniil Kharms (Ardis/Overlook) and received praise from the TLS, the Guardian, the New York Times, and elsewhere. He teaches at Hunter College, Columbia University School of the Arts (Writing Division), and the Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts at Bard College. At Ugly Duckling Presse, he designs and/or edits many and various books, is the editor of the Eastern European Poets Series, and a co-editor of 6×6. He lives in Brooklyn.

CORINA COPP is a poet and playwright living in Brooklyn, New York. She is most recently the author of Pro Magenta / Be Met (Ugly Duckling Presse 2011) and Marauder (forthcoming, Minutes Books). Poetry and criticism includes writing on Yvonne Rainer, Jean Day, and Hannah Weiner, and can be found in CLOCK, Boston Review, BOMB, Cambridge Literary Review, Cannot Exist, Supermachine, Wild Orchids, The Brooklyn Rail, and other journals; and will be anthologized in Out of Everywhere: Linguistically Innovative Poetry by Women in North America and the UK (second edition). Her plays include: Tell No One (Small Press Traffic/Invisible Dog 2011), WALTZ (E. 13th Street Theater 2010) and A Week of Kindness (Incubator Arts 2007). Copp is a curator with the Segue Foundation and a recent editor of The Poetry Project Newsletter (2009-2011). She is currently working on The Whole Tragedy of the Inability to Love: A Performance Trilogy.

*note: life change is contingent upon your presence and may be limited to the duration of the event’s occurrence.

POEMS

from Tell That to the Marines

I like the way

In all the triangular

Shatters a whale

Leap, whales

A wench by the way

Was a word for a

Child and tart

For endearment

How do you see

Stripes in Agnes

Martin, resolutely

White line, metal-

lined, I mean I’d be

Strong and trans-

Parent at first all

Overkill color of

Ships of splendor

Sonia Delaunay is

A vote, this is a

Dye, swim anyone

Fast past décor

A handle on it

Reflecting softens

Sword of state

Length of hard leg

A remark in jest,

Feather plummets

Rending vocation

Sooth plinth, whipped

Dessert, augur, Sybil

Andrews, auribus

Stripes aircraft parts in

Bristol welds a bow

<<How long have

These trees?>> I ask

The little girl on the

Beach I promise

Projection in form

[…]

Corina Copp

THE UGLY NECK,

or MAKING BANK

Robins and cardinals blurt between furrows of storm.
A way energy has of being. It can caress itself.
I know you’re in pain.
You’re in pain.
If you’re in no condition to consent,
it’s rape.
If you’re incapable of intoxication or
unconsciousness
I still shouldn’t rape you, system.

Catherine Wagner

from Some Worlds for Dr. Vogt
Sometimes electricity itself makes noise,
buzzing without will or instinct. This world
also fades. The impulse, original, electric,
goes elsewhere or to a remove from a body
tired of itself. Nor can it be said to act at all
if a light goes out when the circuit is broken.
It buzzed in lightning bugs and the clouds
moved on. The clouds where the sun set
on that day were full of rosewater,
geranium-pink and then slowly turned
grey, soft and blended with the pallor
of the atmosphere. You noted that the air
was most still that afternoon and evening.
There were barbeques firing up
for summer, their cinders burned long.
The leaves were still but the ants bustled.
No rustle in the trees while the water
flowed and the sky moved around slowly
in circles. You lift a hand and watch it stay
in place and what is that burn mark from,
from the other day, and what is it like
to be still while you still are in this world?
You can push air around a while longer.
You can dress yourself and cast a shadow.
“Onward Communists,” the banner flaps
in the film, and the soldiers sing, “Onward!”
Matvei Yankelevich
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