The Strings of Walnetto ArrangementsThe Strings of Walnetto Arrangements by Ben Estes

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Punky is right I say it is right so it must be Right Night at the poetry house–crickets chipping in a not-quite-stein voice for all the rabbits and cymbals popping out the dampness. I low the low in the voice of refrain, “in the blank of blank” HEY! i have you hear so say something, say so&so it goes on going in the blankety blank, over hill and dale, hey Ben Estes, you-you, there-there is a single hole in the face of this.

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Barn Burned, ThenBarn Burned, Then by Michelle Taransky

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I continue in awe of the way Taransky can break a line. The poems are as worked as work can be, but broken thank goodness, broken like champs. Can’t imagine the lines any differently. But I don’t really think the crux of this stuff is its brokenness. It’s about hearing the said saying. I like that. I don’t know why it took me so long to read this!

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Born TwoBorn Two by Allison Cobb

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A romp(er) in the sense that everything is worn, frayed, last legs etc. That the language is newish and known, a sound fulcrum, & um (sic) becoming. No being the master in these poems, no meaning no to those who wish to ‘ah’ at the end of the poem/section/book. Unless it’s “ah! i just stepped on that honey.” That’s this book. Honey and glue and milky inconsistencies feeding both ends of the fire back to its original burning, ornery burning, loosie-goosie fires that “flap flap”. Yay!

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NO, I WILL BE IN THE WOODSNO, I WILL BE IN THE WOODS by Michelle Taransky

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It was raining raining raining when I got the mail and opened it and read this book (thank goodness) instead of doing nothing. And what a beautiful book of poems printed on opaque vellum and what a treat to read the way the lines are broken open circuit lines, lines light years ahead of me like adjunct positions in the sense that they are hoovering, are smart and completely not- almost sad to be dealing w/ the space they occupy, sad with its own work, opening a dialogue with these knowns that pitch slowly forward into some new position, so by the end of the chapbook, the end is actually therein, achieved. How does she do that? Poems achieve so little, so slowly, almost nothing. But this did, as cold and known as it continued to be, get there. New ground (thank goodness, thank goodness) how refreshing.

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Eerie jections

09.12.2011 Poems

The horse is more or less off course you could say always cut the horse and keep the crystals pissing which is to say take some names down some blinds, have tea in the evening or just [holy moley, I] as ever I pitched for a couch outgoing in disposal broken as in my fridge is, as [...]

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writing is a speed buckle up worm.

09.08.2011 Rants

I think about whether real relation has a place in writing. Whether it is work to say these things like we’ve been saying them all along. Like all we were thinking were these things that needn’t be said and are and are also so so beautiful and arranged and un worked and whether it is [...]

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copy paste

09.02.2011 Assorted Lectures
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A ten-week temporary workspace for the exploration of generative practices in contemporary experimental writing.  The goal of the space is two-fold: 1. To read, discuss and debate contemporary approaches to experimental writing. 2. To produce new work in innovative ways that engage with contemporary strategies of appropriation, erasure, recycling, remixing, framing, stealing, copying, pasting, recovery, documentation, [...]

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Brest Poems (August 11th – August 22nd)

08.30.2011 Ephemera
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Postcard Project August 6th-10th

08.17.2011 Ephemera
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It was not a good week for poetry this week. I fell off the wagon for a couple of days.

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August 2011 Postcard Poetry August 1st – 5th

08.04.2011 Craft Circle
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This is a simple concept. Send a handwritten poem out every day to a list of people and get one in return. I’m checking myself before I wreck myself.

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