Poetry Bear

Now That’s Satisfaction

2012-01-05T06:58:00.000-08:00

Simple enjoyment. Why is it so difficult? I am sitting with a book, the whole stretching out before me. No job, the kids with the nanny. This should be the greatest of pleasures for me. But it’s not. I’m distracted. The people in this coffee shop talk among themselves. The music is not bad, but not really good either. Just loud enough to hear but not be truly distracting. Yet I cannot concentrate. It is even difficult to muster the attention to jot these meager notes. I cannot resist the urge to check my email. So I do, and feel bad. No new messages, but another break in my concentration. Maybe Facebook? No, I must stay focused.

The satisfaction I used to get from sitting around and reading a book all day seems harder to attain now that I’m an “adult.” It’s not that I don’t enjoy books as much—I do, I swear—it’s that I find it that much harder to get to a place of calm and quiet that is necessary to really lose myself in a book.

Of course, there is the kind of book that is just so great, it forces me into this place. Two recent example: An Episode in the Life of Landscape Painter, by César Aira, and a collection of poems tentatively titled You’re Going to Miss Me When You’re Bored, by moi. My book engrossed me, obviously, because it is mine, but also because I was on a flight and when I landed I would promptly head to an art space to give a reading, then do two more readings over the next two days. I needed to figure out what to read, and in so doing, wound up rereading the most recent draft of my book and making several changes. But that is a different type of reading. A pleasure, but also work. I digress.

What I want is for reading and writing to be like listening to a song, for it to be a different language I want to be drawn in, get maximum reward for minimum work. All I want to do is listen.

You Know You’re Right

2012-01-04T13:29:00.000-08:00

There is this feeling I have, a desire or dream—though I would not call it a goal because I am doing next to nothing to pursue it—to just simply be. Perhaps that’s not it exactly. What I mean is to find a way to exist in life, a position or arrangement, in which I don’t have to worry about much. To feel some sense of security, yes, but also to be able to focus, to not be distracted by worry and doubt, to not lose so much thought and energy to trying to figure out what to do next, to have enough in my life that I can go from one thing to the next with comfort and certainty.

It is an impossibility, a mirage, but one that I, beyond all reasonable explanation, foolishly believe in. You may think that this would require, first and foremost, independent wealth. For how can one exist in this way and be dependent on having to make a living? It’s a fair question, one for which I do not have an answer except to say that I believe it to be so. It is my hope (though a futile one I am certain).

But there is some part of me that feels that if I could just get good enough at what I do for a living, if I could just get smart enough about finding work, and once having found it, be able to hang onto it, my dream could become reality. In this manner, however, I am not what you would call ambitious.

Or perhaps it is not about a career. Perhaps it is more about simplifying my life materially. I could spend less, certainly, though every time I have tried it seems more like I spend more. These problems are not easily solved.

You could argue that writing is one way to achieve some version of the existence I seek. Many have said it before, and it is true, but for the problem of being a writer. When you are a writer you inevitably worry about publication, success, a career. Once this has happened, whenever you sit down to write you will wonder, “what do I do with this that I am creating? Where can I send it? Who will like it and why? How can I make it part of my next book? If I can, is it worth the effort?”

These are valid questions, ones that any writer must ask his or herself. And yet it is antithetical to the spirit of writing. The purity of the urge to put pen to paper and get something just so simply for the sake of it, the satisfaction.

(composed 12/28/11)

Although of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself

2010-09-08T06:12:00.001-07:00

"For us, it's gonna be that at, at a certain point, that we're either gonna have to put away childish things and discipline ourself about how much time do I spend being passively entertained? And how much time do I spend doing stuff that actually isn't all that much fun minute by minute, but that builds certain muscles in me as a grown-up and a human being?"

David Foster Wallace, 1996

Ten Years Later

2010-07-09T08:46:00.000-07:00

I first started taking writing seriously—poetry particularly—about 10 years ago. I was 25 and wanted more than anything to be famous. Poetry was how I would achieve that goal. Possibly academia also. But mainly poetry. Because fame, to my mind, equaled greatness (though I knew many famous contemporary poets weren't that good, and some out right bad). If I was a famous poet I would by default be a great poet. And not your run-of-the-mill-great. I'm talking Rilke great.

I remember turning 26 and thinking, by this age Keats was dead. Springsteen had recorded Born to Run. I, on the other hand, hadn't even been published. I was failing.

Years passed. I moved to NYC. I turned 30. Got married and started a career as an advertising/marketing copywriter. It was around this time the poems that would make up my first book started coming together. The feeling I had then was best expressed by the Beastie Boys off of Check Your Head: "I got nothing to lose because I don't give a fuck."

It was also around this time that I went to my first AWP conference. At that point I still clung to a pretty idealistic view of poetry. All the latest trends sucked. Poetry that wasn't trying to be great in the traditional sense sucked. Basically, if you didn't have aspirations to be Milton or Keats or even some insane figure like Lowell or Berryman, you weren't going to be anybody.

But at AWP in 2006 my mind was blown by all the amazing things poets my age were doing. They were just writing, embracing the scene for what it was. Making the scene what it was. That's when idealized that to have any chance at being a real artist you had to risk losing your soul in the current trends. You had to risk selling out and being irrelevant. You had to finally say fuck it and do what you were going to do, be who you were going to be.

And fame, well, I was beginning to see that fame was dying. No one was famous any more, not even musicians. Or if they were they were totally irrelevant. The best artists seemed to be regular, approachable people quietly pursuing their lives and art. The stakes were suddenly so low and exciting. It felt like freedom. That's when poetry became for me less a goal to pursue for gain (I still had naive notions that a book or two would equal a tenure-track job somewhere). That was when poetry became a way of living and thinking and experiencing the world. And still is, despite the comparatively limited amounts of energy I now have to put toward writing and reading it.

I'm in my mid thirties. I have two children. I own a home and a minivan. I'm woefully out of touch with most of what's going in music, poetry and art in general. I read more magazines or books about political campaigns or the financial crisis than I do collections of poetry or critical theory. I used to think I would always be a poet, but I don't know any more. So many things I used to think are no longer true. I can't imagine much beyond today. I have to accept that there may come a point (besides mental incapacitation or death) where I simply stop.

Be Awesome and Do Dope Shit

2010-07-02T07:23:00.000-07:00

In the interview I'm constantly having with myself in my head, one question I often ask is: What's my aesthetic? What the hell is it that my poetry does, that I try to do with it, that makes it interesting, different; or is it just the same-old-same-old?

The conclusion I've come to lately is that my aesthetic is: Be awesome and do dope shit. Arrogant? Yes. Pretentious? Maybe. Retarded? Definitely.

Some thoughts: Be awesome and do dope shit (BAADDS) is perhaps most closely related to the anit-lyric tradition of Spicer and co. By which I mean I am not interested in the mainstream lyric (though I do consider myself a lyric poet, or, short of that, am lyrical/draw on the lyric tradition).

I draw on the ridiculous but awesome shit me and my friends say to each other in person, email, over the phone, text, Facebook, Twitter, etc; conversations and emails from the office. To this end my poems can feel elliptical or associative. I want to surprise, but at the same time not necessarily be nonsensical. I want to make a different kind of sense. I want to entertain, be clever, imbue my work with novelty, but at the same time make something beautiful and that (hopefully) lasts. A kind of reverse idiocy (like Iggy Pop maybe).

(That last point is difficult because I have no control over that, so it may ultimately be just wishful thinking on my part. I touched on this, kind of, in an artist's statement I wrote for some poems I had in the Tusculum Review)

(I'm tempted to say that I want my poetry to sound cool, though that often invokes jazz and the beats, and that's not what I want).

In many respects, BAADDS is influenced as much, if not more, by pop music--specifically "indie" and "alternative" rock (god I love scare quotes)--and culture than it is by western literature. (THE BAADDS might make a cool name for a band.) The lyrics of Modest Mouse, The Pixies, Wolf Parade and many others have had enormous influence on me. Then of course there is the internet and social media, but really, who isn't influenced by that these days?

Others, off the top of my head, who might unwittingly be joining me in the BAADDS aesthetic: Sampson Starkweather, Paige Taggart, Dan Hoy.

Some of BAADDS' cousins might be: Elisa Gabbert, Chris Tonelli, Dan Boehl, Dan Magers
.

Long Time...

2010-07-02T06:44:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I blogged. There are multiple reasons for that, but none that would be interesting enough to go into here, though I feel as I write that sentence that I will indeed go into some of those reasons.

Here we go: For one, I've never been that good at blogging, in my opinion. I always used my blog to promote my book and writing in general. I never felt like I had much "to say," or more accurately I felt that I had to be "clever" or have some rigorous argument to work out. But in the end, it was all fear of sounding like a schmuck.

What I realize now is that I just want to communicate, even with only myself, to journal really (regardless of my inevitable schmuckery).

A lot of things have been building to inspire me to give blogging a real shot. Elisa Gabbert's blog, The French Exit, for one, but also the work she does on the Wordstream blog; and just this morning this handsome piece by Dan Boehl.

Also, the realization that I simply don't write enough.

In recent months, though, I've had to do some "professional" blogging at work, which has been fun, but what's more I got a much better sense of "how" to write a blog.

I'm rambling. The point, I'm back (as if anyone noticed I was gone), and am going to try to post much more, because having a job and two 1 year old kids leaves me no time to be involved in the poetry world, and I miss that very much. I need some sort of contact, people.

I Have No Aesthetic

2009-11-20T07:05:00.000-08:00

My aesthetic is fun. I like saying things, though I often have nothing to say. No words.

I like Capitalism, the language of marketing. A friend the other day over some really great bibimbap bulgogi in Little Korea (or is it Korea Town?) told me that if I'm reclaiming the language of marketing and capitalism my work may be political.

Last night my 10 month old daughter told me "no" for the first time. I asked her to give me some of her Puffs. She shook her head "no" and ate the Puff I had asked for. My daughter is a genius.

Sam Starkweather...

2009-11-19T12:22:00.000-08:00

Names A Million in Prizes one of the best poetry books of 2009 on the No Tells blog. See who else is on his list.

The Bear Be Blowing Up

2009-11-06T07:22:00.000-08:00

I'm interviewed about small presses and strippers at HTML Giant, and A Million in Prizes gets a sweet review at Barrelhouse.

Yeah, life is good.

Be Awesome

2009-10-29T07:54:00.000-07:00

And do dope shit.

I'm the Featured Artist

2009-10-26T18:22:00.000-07:00

Over at the Tusculum Review

Rockin' Two New Poems

2009-09-29T07:41:00.000-07:00

Over at Sixth Finch

Last Night

2009-09-18T06:08:00.000-07:00

I dreamt I had a detachable penis.

September 9, 2009

2009-09-09T09:32:00.001-07:00

Life is better when you don't care.

Three Readings in Four Days

2009-09-09T06:53:00.000-07:00

Thursday, September 10th at 7PM for the 7th Season Kickoff of d.a. levy lives: celebrating the renegade press

ACA Galleries
529 W. 20th St., 5th Floor
NYC

Readings from Mary Walker Graham, Justin Marks, Kate Schapira, Kim Gek Lin Short, Sampson Starkweather, and Chris Tonelli

Music from Erik Schoster of He Can Jog

Please note that there's been a time change. The reading is now at 7PM, not 6.

Saturday, Tao Lin & Justin Marks:
2 PM on Saturday, September 12th at the Grand Central Branch of the New York Public Library: 135 East 46th Street, in the community/program room, which is on the upper level. Elevator available. Phone: (212) 621-0670. blog:http://grandcentralpoets.blogspot.com

Sunday:
7:45pm at Unnameable Books in Brooklyn, 600 Vanderbilt Ave(between Dean St & St Marks Ave)

I Got Some Poems in Sink Review

2009-08-29T09:04:00.001-07:00

Along with some other fine folks. Check 'em out.

HIT WAVE is reviewed in the new issue of NOÖ

2009-08-17T08:53:00.001-07:00

Every moment you're alive, you're sort of not alive, because there is a more alive way you could be living

Friday August 14, 2009

2009-08-14T11:31:00.000-07:00

It still sometimes amazes me that anyone would interpret anything I say in any other way than I inted it to be interpreted.

*

I'm going to see District 9 this afternoon. I hope it's as good as I'm expecting it to be.

August 11, 2009 - 10:15pm

2009-08-12T19:12:00.000-07:00

I want to be famous.

I have accepted that I will never be famous.

August 11, 2009

2009-08-12T08:19:00.000-07:00

There is only so much reading and writing I can do before I fall asleep or run out of things to say.

*
I sometimes think that Silliman's insistance on hsi terms School of Quietude and Post-Avant is really not much more than marketing. It's what he has to sell. In fact, I kind of feel that way about all aesthetic theory, at times. I mean, I relize it's importance, and enjoy and benefit from it, but it's not like there is any truth to be arrived at. But it does draw attention to what one hopes is worthy work and helps it sell

*
If I had to assign an aesthetic label to myself it would be Post-Romantic. Basically, I'm a lyric poet concerned with things like the self. Which I guess might make me more of a modernist, but really, wasn't Mondernism in many ways just Romanticism adapted to the 20th century? Or so it seems to me.

The Kids

2009-07-06T12:09:00.000-07:00

The twins are now 5 months old, and since they were about 4 months I can't stop thinking about death. Or I should say, death feels much more real to me. Palpable. The fact that I am going to die. Also the fact that my wife and I are actually going to get old together. Like, I can actually imagine it as a real thing and not some abstraction.

Maybe it has something to do with the sudden very real feeling (to me) about the type of person I have become: a parent. It's absolutely something from which there is no turning back, no matter how terrified I may get.

How do other people do this? I don't mean to sound like some depressed teen, but how do you walk around knowing full well that you will one day no longer exist. That people you love will suffer and feel immense sadness about your absence. And then they will move on.

Every time I drive a car or cross the street I think: if I die now, my kids will have no father. My wife will have to raise them alone. I won't see them grow up. (I won't even go into what it's like to imagine something hapening to one or both of my kids.)

I understand more than ever the urge to run, to try and escape it all. It's too big, too impossible to imagine, but also way too real. But I don't understand how anyone does actually run. It's all right there, no matter where you go or how much you drink or the drugs you do.

Your sins will find you. It's like a Bruce Springsteen song. The couple beat down by life, but still somehow carrying on, their dead hopes and dreams surrounding them. The River. Racing in the Streets. Atlantic City. The Promisedland.

CUE Has Gone Online

2009-06-30T14:28:00.000-07:00

Founded in 2004 as a print journal of prose poetry based in Tucson, Arizona, CUE is now exclusively an online journal of poetry and poetics, and we've just launched our first issue at www.cuejournal.com

The debut issue, guest-edited by Mark Horosky, includes new work by Elizabeth Willis, Richard Siken, Matt Hart, Sarah Manguso, Tony Mancus, Dorothea Lasky, Tim Peterson, Reb Livingston, Chaz McCallahan, Mathias Svalina & Julia Cohen, and Jason Labbe.

CUE will be open to all types of poetry (prose and otherwise) but will skew toward work that emphasizes sound, word play, and the more material aspects of language.

For those of you with blogs, I hope you'll help us spread the word. For those of you with journals of your own, I hope you'll consider linking us to your website, favors we'll reciprocate in kind.

In the coming weeks and months I'll be tinkering with the site a bit, adding a links section of our own, posting reviews and interviews as they become available.

Expect new issues to go up every 3–4 months.

Best,
Morgan Lucas Schuldt
Editor, CUE

Reading Tuesday June 30 with Farrah Field, Ada Limon and Justin Marks

2009-06-26T07:36:00.000-07:00

I'll be reading for the launch of the newest issue of Effing Magazine this coming Tuesday with Farrah Field and Ada Limon. Hope you can join us.

Tues., June 30, 6:00 p.m. sharp, free
ACA Galleries
529 W. 20th St., 5th Flr.
NYC

Music from Katie May

There will be wine, cheese, and crackers, too.

Curated and with an introduction by Boog City editor David Kirschenbaum

------

**Effing Press
http://www.effingpress.com/

Effing Press was founded by Scott Pierce in 2002 in Austin, Texas. To date, Effing has published over 30 books and eight issues of the effing magazine, all designed, printed, and bound in-house by volunteers. Effing also provides design and letterpress printing services.

*Performer Bios*

**Farrah Field
http://adultish.blogspot.com/

Farrah Field’s poems have appeared in Chelsea, Harp & Altar, Harpur Palate, Margie, Massachusetts Review, Mississippi Review, Pool, and Typo. She was born in Cheyenne, Wyoming and raised in Nebraska, Colorado, Louisiana, Arkansas, Sicily, and Belgium. She lives in Brooklyn.

**Ada Limón
http://adalimon.blogspot.com/

Ada Limon's first book, lucky wreck, was the winner of the Autumn House Poetry Prize and her second, This Big Fake World, was the winner of the Pearl Poetry Prize. Her third book of poems, Sharks in the Rivers, will be published by Milkweed Editions next year.

**Justin Marks
http://justinanselmarks.blogspot.com/

Justin Marks' first book is A Million in Prizes (New Issues Press). He is also the author of several chapbooks, the most recent being Voir Dire (Rope-a-Dope Press). New work can be found in the Raleigh Quarterly and Tusculum Review. He is the founder and editor of Kitchen Press Chapbooks and lives in New York City with his wife and their infant son and daughter.

**Katie May
http://www.myspace.com/katiemaysingforyou

Katie May has had jobs serving fries, making marimbas, and telling at banks.

----

Directions:
C/E to 23rd St., 1/9 to 18th St.
Venue is bet. 10th and 11th avenues

VIDEOS!

2009-06-24T11:19:00.000-07:00

from the Deep Moat reading I did with Julia Cohen and Heather Green

I Gots Some New Poems

2009-06-23T09:12:00.000-07:00

in the latest issue of Harp & Altar

Jackie Clark Reviews

2009-06-15T07:01:00.000-07:00

A Million in Prizes and Voir Dire on Coldfront

I can't even tell any more

2009-06-11T08:11:00.001-07:00

Mathias Svalina has a pretty interesting post about black metal, particularly Striborg. Mathias says that Striborg "attempts the grimmest, rawest black metal, bringing his music close to the anti-music skronk of no wave & the avant noise of someone like merzbow." The thing is, I listened to/watched some of the clips Mathias posted, and I thought they were kind of great. I mean, I know that the music--strictly speaking--is quite bad. Definitely cheesey. But, god, it was so cool. It felt like some creepy video/performance art piece. And that somebody is actually, sincerely living the life of "a freaky loner...in a shack in the rural wilds of Tasmania" just blows my mind.

It's the kind of thing that completely blurs the line between "good" and "bad" art, sincerity and irony. I mean, we can't take this music seriously, but Striborg and his "true" metal fans do! At the same time, though, there was a part of me that totally took Striborg seriously, at least the music I heard.

I'm this way about a lot of stuff...appreciate in both and ironic/aestheticized and sincere way all at once. Guns-n-Roses, for me, is a prime example. I LOVE them. Really. But I also don't. I mean, I know how cheesey they are/were. But still...

Maybe it's just my 13 year old self lingering in me somewhere, but I just can't help it. I love metal. Mastodon, to me, is great. They totally embrace an 80s metal aesthetic with their album art and lyrics for sure, and with the music too. I think to myself, they can't be choosing that art sincerely. They HAVE to be making a very self-aware, calculated nod to that aesthetic. And to some degree, I think they are. But I also think they do truly love it, so hey, why not run with it.

I don't know. Is there a name for this thing I feel, this meld of sincerity with self awareness and irony? My guess is that it's the concept that I'm most attracted to. But I must reiterate: I LOVE METAL.

I feel like I suffer this same confusion with poetry, but that's a different story...

Saturday June 13th, 7pm at the Pierre Menard Gallery in Cambridge, MA

2009-06-08T07:37:00.000-07:00

I'll be reading in The Deep Moat with Julia Cohen & Heather Green

The New Thing: The object lessons of recent American poetry, by Stephen Burt

2009-05-27T13:23:00.000-07:00

is now available online -

I'm interviewed

2009-05-12T10:48:00.001-07:00

on Poetic Asides

Black Ocean's Open Reading Period

2009-05-04T08:55:00.001-07:00

It's that time again--please spread the news far and wide. We will be considering unpublished poetry manuscripts post-marked between May 1st and June 30th.

"As publishing writers we do not believe in reading fees and will consider all submissions based on the merit of their work and quality of writing. That said, please take the time and consideration to familiarize yourself with our titles before sending us a manuscript. More than simply supporting the press through your purchase, you will be extending us the same respect we have for the submissions we receive."

You can download a PDF of these guidelines at: http://www.blackocean.org/submit/

- Entries must be postmarked between May 1, 2009 and June 30, 2009.

- A self-addressed stamped postcard is necessary if you’d like notification of receipt of your manuscript.

- Poetry manuscripts should be 48 to 100 pages, single-spaced and printed on one side of an 8-1/2" x 11" or A4 page only.

- We are not accepting unsolicited prose manuscripts at this time.

- Please include an acknowledgments page listing previous publications.

- Also, please include a cover letter with a brief biographical note.

- Contain pages in a plain manila folder or bind manuscript with a secure clip. Please do not bind manuscript in a notebook.

- Handwritten manuscripts are not accepted.

- Manuscripts will not be returned, so please do not send your only copy.

- Manuscript revisions are not permitted during the open reading.

- Only one manuscript submission per genre please.

Send submissions to:
Carrie Olivia Adams, Poetry Editor
Black Ocean
1332 N Wolcott #3
Chicago, IL 60622

Find our aesthetic at
www.blackocean.org

A Million in Prizes

2009-04-10T13:34:00.000-07:00

is now in stock and available at SPD and Amazon!!!!!!

A Celebration of the Chapbook

2009-04-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

at CUNY, Thursday April 23rd, 2009 - Saturday April 25th, 2009

Participating Publishers
Achiote Press
Belladonna*
Booklyn
Book Thug
Cuneiform Press
Dancing Girl Press
Diagram/New Michigan Press
Flying Guillotine Press
Interlude Editions
Noemi Press
North Beach Yacht Club
Octopus Books
Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs
Rain Taxi
Sarabande Books
Slapering Hol
Small Fires Press
TinFish Press
Toadlily Press
Ubu Editions
Ugly Duckling Presse
X-ing Press
and others

It is a rare e-book that does not make me want to live off the grid, that does not make me fear and loathe the very coinage itself: "e-book,"

2009-04-06T10:59:00.000-07:00

says Christian Peet. Ringing is not one of those e-books

I'll be Reading in the Agriculture Reader Reading, Dear Reader

2009-03-26T08:22:00.000-07:00

Help us celebrate the release of Agriculture Reader's 3rd Issue!
Thursday, April 2nd, 7:30. @ Stain Bar (in Williamsburg)

With readings from Sharon Mesmer, Justin Marks, Mark Doten, and (the indomitable) Mike McDonough.
Admission is free. PLUS: Recession special deep discounts on the new issue.

Stain Bar is 1 block off the Grand Avenue stop on the L train, at 766 Grand Avenue.

For a sneak preview of Issue 3, see our fancy new website: http://theagreader.com/

Sixth Finch

2009-03-26T08:15:00.001-07:00

I'd never heard of this new mag, but it is chock full of awesomeness. Check it out!

Includes poetry by:
Scott Abels
Ana Božičević
Francesca Chabrier
Eric Kocher
Clay Matthews
Matthew Rorher
Michael Schiavo
Sampson Starkweather
Paige Taggart
Chris Tonelli
Kristen Tracy
Christian Ward
Mark Yakich

Plus a whole slew of great art work.

Voir Dire is now available on Rope-a-Dope Press

2009-03-05T13:05:00.000-08:00

My new chapbook! Letterpress printed in an edition of 96, with illustrations by Robert daVies. $8 includes shipping.

A Million in Prizes

2009-03-03T10:54:00.000-08:00

IS NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER

A Million in Prizes
Justin Marks

Winner of the 2008 New Issues Poetry Prize
Carl Phillips, Judge

“‘I wake, my not-yet-self / projecting back on the life I rise into.’ That’s but one example of the kind of logic (and syntax) that informs the poems of A Million in Prizes, a logic that often resists initial sense, only to reward with a clarity and maturity of insight that make these poems more powerful—more persuasive—with each reading. It’s as if Justin Marks had made a sort of Möbius Strip out of sense and an uneasiness with it, where it becomes difficult to know exactly where one begins and the other ends.

Another Möbius Strip here: the one that’s made from a seeming detachment and a fierce compassion for life in all of its ephemeral ordinariness, what can suddenly resonate where least expected. Salinger, O’Hara, Baudelaire all come to mind, but finally the voice and sensibility here, like the poems themselves, are utterly Justin Marks' own. A Million in Prizes seduces in the best way: subtly, with a poignant wit, and a sly charm.”

––Carl Phillips, from the Judge’s Citation

“With A Million in Prizes, Justin Marks dares to amplify his interior voice, broadcasting from ‘inside the megaphone’ the rumblings of a discontented, anxious self who discovers just enough pleasure in his daily routines, domestic scenes, and misfiring memories to admit ‘how glad I am for the orbit I inhabit.’ His poems are by turns philosophical, nostalgic, and subtly humorous, as he insistently disassembles the barriers between himself and his readers in a generous act of intimacy.”

––Shanna Compton

“Here is a rarely expressed self-awareness that accedes as little to words as it does to the pain of the condition itself.”

––Fanny Howe

Poetry Cubs!

2009-03-02T12:46:00.000-08:00

Henry Garson Marks, born 12:51am, February 1, 2009

Louisa Karen Marks, born 12:53am, February 1, 2009

Update: My Book

2009-02-27T09:24:00.001-08:00

New Issues Press has made a web page for my book. You can see the cover design, read not 1, but 2 poems and even see my author photo and bio.

Ringing, by Rauan Klassnik

2009-02-27T09:16:00.001-08:00

I'm very pleased to announce Kitchen Press' first ever venture into online publishing, Ringing, by Rauan Klassnik.

Click this post for a downloadable pdf of Ringing, as well as a flash version illustrated Rauan himself. There is also a section for comments. We encourage you to not only comment and discuss the poems and collection as a whole, but the site itself--everything from thoughts on the experience of reading the chap in the format it's in to more technical concerns about the functionality of the site, problems viewing it, navigability, etc.

From the book:

Like ships leaning together licking each other’s shoulders, we fall down and dig at the earth. Fervently. Like jackals. Fire’s leaping from hill to hill, and my nerves are swaying like seaweed. I have learned to die. And not to. My veins are filled with milk 11.

All Best,

KP

Dan Hoy reviews Jon Leon's HIT WAVE

2009-01-26T07:40:00.000-08:00

in Octopus 11

The History of a Lake Never Drowns, by Julia Cohen

2009-01-23T10:44:00.000-08:00

Now available from Dancing Girl Press for the affordable price of $7.00. BUY IT NOW!

Poetry Cubs - 3 Weeks to go!

2009-01-16T08:55:00.000-08:00

photo by Erin Patrice O'Brien

Sent Forth to Die in a Happy City, Keith Newton

2009-01-14T10:07:00.001-08:00

Read an excerpt from Keith Newton's new chapbook from Cannibal Books.

It rules.

Now GO BUY IT.

NEW ISSUE OF SALTGRASS

2009-01-13T14:57:00.000-08:00

Featuring these fine poets & writers:

Eric Baus, CAConrad, Jessica deCourcy Hinds, Johannes Goransson, Kate Greenstreet, Brenda Iijima, Kristi Maxwell, Sawako Nakayasu, Keith Newton, Joshua Poteat, Joy Rhoades, Ken Rumble, Matt Sumell, Chris Tonelli, and Mike Young.

Order it. Read it. You can thank me later.

R A I N T A X I o n l i n e Winter 2008/2009

2009-01-09T11:50:00.001-08:00

Chapbook Corner Round-up 2008

The Portable Boog Reader 3 Online PDF Now Available

2009-01-08T07:10:00.000-08:00

Featuring poems by:

Ammiel Alcalay * Betsy Andrews * Ari Banias * Jennifer Bartlett * Martine Bellen * Edmund Berrigan * Kate Broad * Julian Brolaski * Donna Brook * Sommer Browning * Matthew Burgess * David Cameron * Mike Coffey * Jen Coleman * John Coletti * Matt Cozart * Elaine Equi * Jessica Fiorini * Jennifer Firestone * Ed Friedman * Ethan Fugate * Rigoberto González * Nada Gordon * Stephanie Gray * Shafer Hall * Diana Hamilton * Hayley Heaton * Cathy Park Hong * Vanessa Hope * Dan Hoy * Lauren Ireland * Adeena Karasick * Basil King * Martha King * Noelle Kocot-Tomblin * Dorothea Lasky * Jeff Laughlin *Amy Lawless * Walter K. Lew * Tan Lin * Tao Lin * Filip Marinovich * Justin Marks * Chris Martin * Tracey McTague * Stephen Paul Miller * Feliz L. Molina *Ryan Murphy * Elinor Nauen * Uche Nduka * Urayoán Noel * Akilah Oliver *Geoffrey Olsen * Jean-Paul Pecqueur * Greg Purcell * Elizabeth Reddin *Jerome Sala * Tom Savage * David Sewell * David Shapiro * Kimberly Ann Southwick * Eleni Stecopoulos * Christina Strong * Mathias Svalina *Jeremy James Thompson * Susie Timmons * Rodrigo Toscano * Nicole Wallace *Damian Weber * Max Winter * Sara Wintz * Erica Wright

WINNERs!!!

2009-01-07T14:49:00.000-08:00

I couldn't settle on just one caption, so i chose 2.

1. O, c'mon Dad, we don't HAVE to like poetry
ron klassnik

2. "Worst game of hide and seek ever."
"If you don't take us to Disneyworld next year, I'm gonna start wetting the bed."
nicole steinberg

congrats to the winners. thanks to everyone for entering. you all came up with some funny shit!

Me and the twins 9 years from now

2008-12-19T13:19:00.000-08:00

Let's make it interesting. Whoever comes up with the best caption gets a free Kitchen Press Chapbook of their choice. Submit captions in the comment box of this post.

Childbirth Class

2008-12-17T08:32:00.000-08:00

Absent,

2008-12-06T07:27:00.000-08:00

or should i say Awesome, magazine is seeking submissions for its next issue

Chinese Democracy

2008-12-05T13:27:00.000-08:00

star wars and guns-n-roses made be the two pop-culturally defining phenomenon for males of my generation. and chinese democracy is basically like the star wars prequals: cool in theory, disappointing in reality. just as it was awesome to see a bunch of light saber fights, it's great to hear axl's voice on new songs. just about every song has something to like, some killer guitar groove or hook or melody of one sort or another, but i can't say there is a single song that is great, or (dare i say) even that good.

in the end, the vlaue of chinese democracy--like the star wars prequals--is more about the myths surrounding it than the actual document itself (and both made great and totally marred by their creators). still, i keep listening to it.

Still Expectant

2008-12-03T14:28:00.000-08:00

i've finally resorted to reading blogs by and about expectant fathers. it kind of helps ease anxieties, or at least distract me from them. one blog talked about how having kids can make you realize your own mortality. it's point was that your kids essentially are your replacements for when you're gone.

i loved that idea. of course, i don't want my kids to be like me, to simply replace me when i'm gone. nor do i necessarily think of them as extending my gene pool or really in any being a gesture toward my immortality. it's difficult to think of them as human beings at all at this point. i can feel them move in my wife's belly, sure, and their movements are much more than spasms, kicks and punches. they are full on human things. slow movements. like adjusting an elbow or something. deliberate movement. in fact, we're pretty sure one of them had the hiccups the other night, the boy.

but i think that my point is: i've resisted reading any advice stuff because i feel that none of it applies to me. reading them now has confirmed that feeling and i find it somehow comforting.

i don't seem to worry about the things other expecting fathers worry about, like not being able to have time for golf (or whatever) any more. i'm not even worried about not having time to write. but reading these books and blogs, i realize that there is no real model out there i want to follow, that instead my wife and i will be mroe the kind of parents that will be makingit up as we go along. that's a model i like. i think i can handle that.

Expectant

2008-12-03T14:26:00.001-08:00

it's strange being an expecting parent, even more so i think when you're expecting twins. at first it was nothing but excitement, especially during the first trimester. every week i excitedly went to the mayo clinic web site to see how the twins where the twins were in their development--week 5: hearts begin to beat, Week 8: fingers and toes form, Week 9: movement begins, and so on. It felt like the literature of creating itself, and i found it completely astonishing, both for what it was saying and how it was said ("The cavities and passages needed to circulate spinal fluid in your baby's brain have formed, but your baby's skull is still transparent...The arm bud that sprouted last week now resembles a tiny paddle. Your baby's face takes on more definition this week, as a mouth perforation, tiny nostrils and ear indentations become visible...Your baby will develop webbed fingers and toes this week. Wrists, elbows and ankles are clearly visible, and your baby's eyelids are beginning to form. The ears, upper lip and tip of the nose also become recognizable...The bones of your baby's skeleton begin to form")

the second trimester as been far more difficult. i have a real hard time with anticipation. if these babies are arriving, i want them here now. i hate not getting my way.

there are the changes my wife is experiencing that make all this more real yet not because we have to wait so long. during the preganancy we have been emotionally closer and more in tune than any point in our marriage, which is great. but there is also a bit of a distance. all this stuff is happening to her body. she is getting bigger, and can feel the babies inside her. sure, i can put my hand on her stomach feel them move, but she has, essentially, an access to them that i don't have. for as much as we are experiencing this together, we are also having vastly different experience, and because my role in many ways is more observational, i have a nagging (and ultimately unavoidable) sense of being somewhat cut off, of loneliness.

and then there's the increased possibility of premature birth and time in the NICU. i do not like one bit the possibility of my children being in anybody's care other than their parents'.

aside from all the joy and excitement, there is an immense amount of loneliness and terror. at home at night for the last month or more i have been able to do little more than cook dinner and watch tv. it's nice "quality time," but there also things i should be doing, chapbooks to make, poems and reviews to write--all of which is being done in only the most minimal way.

Surreptitious Subway Photos, Set the 1st

2008-11-26T11:22:00.000-08:00

Poetry Ruckus

2008-11-17T11:08:00.000-08:00

Justin Marks, Sampson Starkweather and Chris Tonelli will read to celebrate the publication of Samspon Starkweather's Rope-a-Dope chapbook, City of Moths:

The Four-Faced Liar, 6:30pm, Thursday November 20
165 West 4th Street
(Between 6th and 7th Avenues)
New York, NY 10014
Phone: (212) 366 0608

Justin Marks' first full length collection, A Million in Prizes, is forthcoming from New Issues Press in spring 2009. His chapbooks include Voir Dire (Rope-a-Dope Press, forthcoming) and [Summer insular] (Horse Less Press, 2007). He is the founder and Editor of Kitchen Press Chapbooks and lives in New York City.

Sampson Starkweather is the author of City of Moths, forthcoming from Rope-A-Dope Press, and The Photograph from horse less press. He lives in the woods.

Chris Tonelli is the author of three chapbooks: For People Who Like Gravity and Other People (Rope-A-Dope Press, forthcoming), A Mule-Shaped Cloud (w/ Sarah Bartlett, horse less press, 2008), and WIDE TREE: Short Poems (Kitchen Press, 2006). He teaches at North Carolina State University in Raleigh, NC.

Founded in the spring of 2007 by painter Robert daVies and poet Mary Walker Graham, Rope-a-Dope Press fosters collaborations between artists, writers, and their communities through the publication of handmade, letterpress printed chapbooks, broadsides, and artists' books.

You Know You Want Some

2008-11-07T11:47:00.001-08:00

That Obama, He's One Smart Cookie

2008-11-06T11:44:00.000-08:00

Hates Having Her Picture Taken

2008-11-04T21:56:00.001-08:00

Decisive Change

2008-11-04T21:29:00.001-08:00

not to get too sentimental, but i'm ecstatic that my children will be born during an obama presidency. it's such an amazingly different world than the one we have known thus far.

An Interview with Me about Small Press Publishing

2008-11-03T09:46:00.000-08:00

over on the Landscape Press blog. My thanks to Danielle for the opportunity.

Corporate Sunset

2008-10-30T15:20:00.000-07:00

Poetry Cubs

2008-10-25T12:49:00.001-07:00

A boy

And a girl

Mixed Signals

2008-10-22T06:12:00.000-07:00

Broken Home

2008-10-22T06:11:00.000-07:00

I'm in it! I'm in it! I'm in it!

2008-10-06T06:54:00.001-07:00

Yeaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

My New Favorite Band

2008-09-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

Jaguar Love. I especially love the drumming.

Steal All You Can Hold

2008-09-19T06:47:00.000-07:00

And join us at the So and So Series this Saturday, 9/20

Rope-a-Dopeness

2008-09-17T10:30:00.000-07:00

Rope-a-Dope press is going to publish Voir Dire, a short chapbook I wrote two summers ago.

If you haven't checked out other Rope-a-Dope books, you should. They are stunningly beautiful. I'm honored for the opportunity to have my work published by them.

The Forever Video, by Jon Leon

2008-09-11T17:23:00.000-07:00

EARSHOT! Reading this Friday

2008-09-09T08:30:00.000-07:00

Join us for the season's kickoff event at The Lucky Cat, located in sunny (sometimes) Williamsburg, Brooklyn!

*Friday, September 12 @ 8 PM*
Hosted by Nicole Steinberg

Featuring:
Rauan Klassnik (Holy Land)
Justin Marks ([Summer insular], You Being You by Proxy)
Eugene Hwang (The New School)
Jess Sauer (Columbia University)
Anna Carey (Brooklyn College)

Admission is a mere $5 plus one free drink (beer, wine or well drinks)!

The Lucky Cat is located at 245 Grand Street in Brooklyn, between Driggs and Roebling. Visit their website for directions: http://www.theluckycat.com.

Now available: Hit Wave, by Jon Leon

2008-09-03T09:30:00.001-07:00

One of the greatest drugs ever manufactured is cocaine. I love the way it feels. End of story. When riding around in my Audi on the way to Vail Colorado I like to keep a vial of cocaine on the passenger seat next to my compact discs. One of the worst most mesmerizing bummers is when the coke is gone. That is when you're fucked and the world ends. At a time like that do not call anyone on the phone from a Super 8 Motel. Bring the joy into America. Love the market that is second only to diamonds.

Order now.

Entering Poetry Contests?

2008-08-28T06:55:00.000-07:00

Be sure to read Stacey Lynn Brown's Cautionary Tale about one very shady press.

Alexander Dickow Writes Killer Reviews

2008-08-25T06:53:00.000-07:00

of Ana Božičević's Document and my own [Summer insular]

Monday, Giraffe

2008-08-18T14:20:00.001-07:00

i just looked in the mirror and realized i have a stupidly long neck.

also, it's 5:30pm and i am just starting to really wake up. yet i have been at work all day.

Marriage

2008-08-06T14:29:00.000-07:00

When we first met
my wife said she thought
I was a genius.
She no longer
says that.

Naïve Melody, cont'd v

2008-08-01T07:42:00.001-07:00

sometimes i dream about an old girlfriend. i'm with her, in bed, it has been a long time since i called but she seems not to mind. i'm married, or have been--i can never remember. i'm worried that i'm cheating, or have cheated, on my wife, or is it my girlfriend.

i say i'll call her--my girlfriend--but then it's months later and i have forgotten again and everything is right.

A Muffled World

2008-07-23T08:32:00.000-07:00

I sometimes wear headphones with no music on. I like that kind of muffled reality. Helps me think.

Naïve Melody, cont'd iv

2008-07-20T07:46:00.000-07:00

If I could be an observer of all I do, everything would be fine. Even death. I would like to see me die, to see death coming. Follow it through. Be the camera.

Spicer

2008-07-01T07:00:00.001-07:00

in Poetry.

Adam Golaski

2008-06-30T08:05:00.001-07:00

This guys writes some pretty dope stories, and you can get them in his new collection, Worse Than Myself.

Slow Poetry?

2008-06-26T07:03:00.001-07:00

Certainly, our special kind of irrelevance has a value of sorts—in its necessary obscurity, cultural definitions and expressions of value, and so on.

Naïve Melody, cont'd iii

2008-06-23T18:26:00.000-07:00

*

To the child who asks for syrup on her pancakes when there is none I say: Pretend.

To the child who asks for syrup on her pancakes when there is none I say: Imaginary.

It's nothing, she says.

*

O these people and their cute little...children.

*

Belief and disillusion--just like that.

Why did you let me get so close, little bird

2008-06-23T10:47:00.001-07:00

You should be more afraid

In the Case of General Setting, the Lock Is Never

2008-06-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

      I

      Is so beautiful out
I take a cab because my shoes is
hurting    O I miss you

        Love you

Now at Penn waiting for a train
to the airport A vagabond
  A tinker hawking my wares wherever
the wind blows

  Can you please add Thin Blue Line to the Netflix queue

I got to the airport early         So stupid
so now I know how long it takes to get here I guess

Minneapolis is 1 hour earlier It’s 1:15 Battery dying   No one is here

II

I’m at ikea need anything Wanna move here
What about Jasper
I like that name Can you buy toothbrushes This place is far

I feel like I’m on drugs       Acrobats        Penguins
Small town silliness Who’s that teacher we had who did that thing some people liked
and some people didn’t

I think she’s here The file’s corrupted I could meet you by 5:15

7:45

I’m at the bar

With a nice looking macaroni salad

Maybe we could have a picnic

When will your massage be over

III

4 eggs are still being watched

Children laughing is a crazy ringtone

I’m hungry Tired           I think the heat makes me slow

I have lots of mosquito bites

Can you bring cash

Naïve Melody, cont'd ii

2008-06-19T13:26:00.000-07:00

In a church for a funeral and despite my sadness for the loss of my loved one during the Mass I felt comfort and hope. A Presence. What Anne Carson claims Emily Brontë called Thou. Or not. It doesn't matter. That kind of thing shouldn't really happen more than once.

In the days of yore i was a parakeet and my mouth was a river

2008-06-16T07:37:00.000-07:00

The oldest form of conjuring, sleight-of-hand is at once archaic and modern, a ruinic art rooted in ancient texts that still thrives today as magicians in the highest echelons endeavor to fool one another with new methods.

Advice from the Experts

2008-06-11T07:44:00.000-07:00

Rather than focusing on loss, set specific goals. Write out an action plan. Use a road map to reach your destination.

Naïve Melody, cont'd

2008-06-10T09:45:00.000-07:00

*

When my grandfather was 3 he nearly drowned in a pond in the woods or maybe it was an orchard where he was trying to catch frogs. He fell in, thrashed around some, sank. A brilliant light, he said. A brilliant white light surrounded him and he felt an immense comfort that he remembers vividly to this day. He is 92. A man of science. He breathed in. The light was about to go out, like a shut-off TV he said. The synapses shut down. A stranger happened to pass and hear my grandfather thrashing in the water. A hand reaching down and pulling him out of the water. Back to life.

Get Ur Knives Out

2008-05-19T10:31:00.000-07:00

a few months ago i wrote a post on this blog announcing that i was done sending to contests. at that point i was, and since that moment have only been sending to small independent presses in the hopes having my book published by one of the many little presses whose work i respect and admire.

my manuscript, however, was still at the contests i had sent it to before deciding against future submissions to them. turns out i won one, and i have accepted the prize. so whatever barbs you wanna throw my way, i guess i deserve it to some extent. i would say that i'm not too much of a hypocrite and that this is just an ironic turn of events, for whatever that's worth.

Naïve Melody

2008-05-05T06:05:00.000-07:00

*

The past and future exist in each moment. There is no such thing as time. It’s just a construct we have to help us deal with reality. I was like that then, I am like this now is more acceptable to say to people than I am large. I contain multitudes.

*

There is nothing to get through. Whatever is there always will be, in various forms. There is only being in—Merrily, life is but a dream.

*

Jobs are incidental, shells that surround the days. I dream about work at night. In the morning I feel like crying. The rest of the time, I'm fine.

*

My uncle once said to me, Memoirs are just memories. What do we do with the things we forget? I’ve never been able to parse out if this is an evocative phrase or nonsense, something akin to a double negative.

*

Do the things we forget somehow live on without us, independently? Perhaps they are what we mean when we say ghosts. Guilt. There are things we should remember, we know we should. We forget them.

*

Perhaps this is purgatory. What a fate for an event or person's existence to become things that someone else is dimly aware they have forgotten.

*

My uncle is a combat veteran and (from what I can gather) has seen more people killed than he can remember. He knows this. But that does not change the lives and deaths he once knew and has forgotten.

*

Everything is contained in this world and within it there are levels of reality and our souls eternally move through various levels depending on the body we inhabit in a life time. I like that idea.

*

My first memory is being taken for a ride on my father’s motorcycle, a Triumph. I was two, maybe three. We rode around our sizeable rural yard. It was raining. He had no front fender so the rain and mud sprayed up on our faces. He sat me in front of him and held me with his legs. He had a bracket that he mounted on the gas tank for me to hold onto. When we came back in the house he helped me take my wet shoes of and my mother removed my dirty clothes. Neither remembers any of this.

Update

2008-05-02T06:32:00.000-07:00

bronchial sick, a change of weather thing. cough, sore throat, lung infection. very tired.

actually started a new poem last night. writing them out by hand now so there's a lot of scratching out. a slow process. the skeleton so far is looking good. no idea if the poem will be.

Bear Eats Pizza, Wins Meat Raffle (Minneapolis #7)

2008-04-23T07:18:00.000-07:00

Skyline (Minneapolis #6)

2008-04-23T07:14:00.001-07:00

Ruth Adams & the World's Most Dangerous Polka Band (Minneapolis #5)

2008-04-23T07:10:00.000-07:00

John Ashbery Was Here (Minneapolis #4)

2008-04-23T07:04:00.000-07:00

Going to the Prom (Minneapolis #3)

2008-04-23T07:03:00.000-07:00

Rock-n-Roll All Nite (Minneapolis #2)

2008-04-23T07:02:00.000-07:00

We Were Ghosts (Minneapolis #1)

2008-04-23T06:59:00.000-07:00