bad bad bad yes lyrics

Holy moly. Check out how bad these Yes lyrics are—

Justice to the left of you
Justice to the right
Speak when you are spoken to
Don’t pretend you’re right
This life’s not for living
It’s for fighting and for wars
No matter what the truth is
Hold on to what is yours

Jigsaw puzzle traitors
Set to spill the beans
Constitution screw up
Shattering the dreams
Blood flows in the desert
Dark citadels burning too
Watch! Look over your shoulder
This one is strictly for you

Talk the simple smile
Such platonic eye
How they drown in incomplete capacity
Strangest of them all
When the feeling calls
How we drown in stylistic audacity
Charge the common ground
Round and round and round
We living in gravity

Yes, “Hold On,” 90125 (1983)

internet search for ron silliman

Myspace is interesting. Google is interesting.
I like Facebook. Yahoo and Mapquest are OK.
eBay is all right. Girls are interesting. Paris Hilton
is interesting. Lil Wayne and Linkin Park
are interesting. I like flowers. Jenna Jameson
is OK. Cars, dogs, flowers, and game cheats are OK.
But what about Jenna Jameson? What about
T-pain? What of Britney Spears? What about
Carmen Electra? What of Michelle Manhart?
What happened to Michelle Manhart, OK?
What’s going on, OK? Where are the girls,
OK? Who has new PS2 game cheats, OK?

I almost prefer Ron Silliman. I almost would
rather conduct an internet search for Ron Silliman.

my dream car

another first book: odelius!

Word around the watercooler is that Kristy Odelius’s book has been accepted by Shearsman. However, the word came from a HIGHLY UNDEPENDABLE source, so I’m still waiting for confirmation by the would-be author herself.

[Later that day] The source confirms: the book’s title is Strange Trades and yes, it will be published by Shearsman Books UK.

[Ed. note] If you’re in St. Louis next March 6, you can hear Kristy read in my series.

three lists

Things That Aren’t, Per Se, Funny
Sky. Tree. Soil. Earth. Love. Water. Eagle. Sunset. River. Tears. Sighs. Grief. Heartbreak. A garden. A brick wall. Masonry, the trade. Masonry, the word. A monastery. Windows. Hedges. Atheism. Laughter. Tinkling of silverware and coffee cups. Merriment. Baskets of fresh-picked strawberries. One’s niece. The sports section of the newspaper. Lust. An automobile. The human hand. A quiet but pervasive sense of regret. Shame. Tedium. Success. Retirement. Surgery. Money. Appetite. Hypnotism. Religion. Promises. Sudden and consuming anger.

Things That Are Sort of Funny
Fingernails. Bananas. Eyeballs. Questions. Forks. Skirts. Slingshots. Spittle. A fist. A medicine ball. Bugs. Every kind of ball. Anything made of rubber. Collections of things that are not in the same class or category. A single drop of water balanced on the end of a spoon. Some of the words that rhyme with “spoon.” Things that give birth to things that are exactly like themselves or entirely different from themselves. Sex. Eyeglasses. Fancy hairdos. The word “haircut.” Hats. Rivulets of spume. Agnosticism. Barnacles.

Things That Are Funny
Anything that can be described as “floppy.” Anything related to poop, or that has poop on it, or that can be said to smell of poop. Almost all single-syllable words that have “oo” or “u” in the middle of them (esp. goob, dude, boob, lewd). The human nose. Pop Tarts. Tarts in general; things that rhyme with “tart.” Kidney pies. The ball peen hammer. Eggs. Toes. Ice sculpture. Hemorrhoids. Monkeys that, through advances in science, have been made incredibly small. Names that sound like words (“Hamburglar”). Songs about food. Any combination of the above (floppy toes, a ball peen hammer that smells of poop, and so forth).

observable readings, 2007-08, now online

Look at all these cool poets who are coming to read in St. Louis. . .

Tony Trigilio, Allison Funk, Daniel Borzutzky, Peter Davis, Richard Newman, Troy Jollimore, Jane O. Wayne, Gabriel Fried, Jane Ellen Ibur, Francisco Aragon, Adrian Matejka, Dana Goodyear, Dan Chiasson, Andrew Zawacki, Kristy Odelius, Simone Muench, Kate Colby, Cate Marvin, Katie Ford, Kate Greenstreet, Kate Peterson, Kate Pringle, Kate Schapira, Katy Lederer, Ken Rumble, Matt Freeman, and Larry Sawyer

Readings held at Schlafly Bottleworks on the first Thursday of each month (with some exceptions) at 8 PM, and FREE

The total info is here: http://observable.org/readings/

first books: shaw & beasley

Two very deserving poets have first books coming out soon: Kent Shaw, whose book will appear on University of Tampa Press early next year, and Sandra Beasley, whose book will be published by Western Michigan University’s New Issues Press.

Hooray for new voices!

life in duck

…is easy. An article in the New York Times travel section advises,

Take a quiet stroll along Duck’s unspoiled beaches, and along the way, listen for the little hiss the waves make as they roll over tiny shells that collect near the water’s edge. Afterward, head over to Duck’s Cottage Coffee & Bookshop (1240 Duck Road, 252-261-5510) for the morning paper. Newcomers are likely to be charmed by the adorably named Mucky Duck ($3.75), a blend of espresso, caramel, chocolate and hazelnut, but locals know the Coconut Crunch ($1.50) is the best cup in town. The real draw, though, is the impressive selection of books offered in the tiny space—Ian McEwan’s latest novel sits snug next to local folklore tales. There is Internet access, but most folks just head out to the front porch to shoot the breeze.

Sounds about right. Except I’m reading Brothers Karamazov this week. And here’s the actual place we’re staying:

hey look!

Lina dedicated a poem to me!

three seaside analogies

1
The water approaches us in waves—
the same way an enemy army would,
but without weapons. Well, no,
the water does have weapons
of a sort: it has machine guns.

2
The sun beats down on us
the same way an abusive father would,
with red fists of frustration.
Grrr, you failure-child! it yells,
and everyone runs from the madman.

3
The sand lies underfoot the way
a man lies to his wife about where he’s been.
The sand is very hot. The man is, too,
with shame. The sand is not hot with shame,
though, but with sunshine. Whatever.

new poems on “seconds”

“The Aardvark” and “Life Is a Dirty Secret”

new at meaningless.com

“Bethany”

beach poems

::

Times when I find myself
at odds with gravity, I spread

peanut butter on rice wafers
and watch them float. This

and a nice root beer
are just the ticket for those

weightless days, gentle breeze.

::

Sand forms its own little holes
into which foam rushes.

I watched as a ghost crab ran
down into one only to be topped

off with copious head.
The foam settled and I heard

ideas ticking around the big clock.

::

Wherever the sun is, there also
is a road; and where a road is

there must be a motorcycle.
As for the motorcycle,

we have painted it red.
We bought the paint

at a surf shop in Coinjack.
We reached the speed at which

life itself is a mirage.

::

The key to enjoying oneself
out on the deck is to deny

that the Adirondack chair exists.
This is not an Adirondack chair.

This is Chris Glomski.
This is half of Larry Sawyer.

This will become Lina ramona
Vitkauskas. This is Tony Robinson.

This chair is half of Peter Davis.
It is one part Sandra Beasley.

It has become Jordan Davis.
This chair is not Devin Johnston.

The chair cannot be Ron Padgett.
Ron Silliman is not the chair.

This is Jessa Crispin.
This chair is Frank Sherlock,

and he is writing a poem.
This is Stephanie Young

arguing with Amy King. This is
two chairs even as it is

two ways of looking at Shanna Compton.
It is half of Didi Menendez.

Is the Adirondack chair
David Lehman? No; it is

Gabriel Gudding combing his hair.
It is a constructed to look like

Daniel Nester but it is actually
Kevin Thurston eating a kiwi.

This is Geoffrey Gatza.
By napping in this chair

in the blinding sunlight I have
become both Adam Fieled

and Reb Livingston.

disembodied poetics

seven