so i am a dealer now

angela and i have decided to start a book distribution, tabling local events with books we feel are great and selling them at prices that make capitalism look stupid. go to the new blog that i will be using for event postings and inventory as well as reviews and stuff.

sticks&stones
books

the sky position - tom blood

"Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality."
james joyce


I received this book by Tom Blood, former portland poetic comrade of mine, about a year ago, for the purpose of doing a review. Okay, I realize that a year seems like a long time, especially considering the size of the book, coming in at 80 pages in quarter-book size. So I must apologize to Marriage Records, and ask that they take a moment to hear my case.

I first heard Tom Blood read in portland at a reading that I hosted called the subterranean beat revival. it was a basement bar reading, clouded with smoke and the poets were mostly ex slam gone beat poets, performing with the backing of live jazz. it was not an any way predictable, but after it's honeymoon, it was just another reading, with just some more poets. then Tom Blood came in.

he took the stage in an awkward manner, spoke in stuttered phrasing, moved in a robotic fashion, stepping around the stage as if in some sort of line dance induced haze and spouted the most provocative and surreal poetry that i have ever heard. he was captivating, from all points. performance, voice, and he was reading what i can only describe as true poetry. no pandering. no cliche. just simple, fucked up truth. i was amazed, and still am to this day. i asked Tom for a book, and he gave me a short stack of papers clipped together with an industrial paper clip. the cover had two green velvet dots on it. no words. i asked him what the title was and he looked at me sincerely and said..."two dots". okay.

the book was passed from friend to friend for months and every person exclaimed the founding of a portland genius. then tom seemingly disappeared. i never heard much from him. then, about two years later i find that tom blood has a new book, the sky position, published by marriage records. there is a call for reviews so i contact marriage, with much excitement, in hopes of reviewing this book. they send me a copy of the book with it's cdr companion, and this is where a journey began. here it is in short:

i began reading dylan thomas when i was roughly 12 years old. the film dead poets society was my introduction and the darkness of do not go gentle into that good night grabbed my chubby ass like priest during lent. beyond that poem, though, thomas left me lost, clamoring for understanding in a sea of thick metaphor. of course i would quote him and pretend i knew what poetry was, but truly i only knew the words. then, 15 years later, i am reading through a collected thomas edition, and it clicks. i stand up and grab angela exclaiming, "I GET IT, I GET DYLAN THOMAS!" here is a lifetime worth of work, why then it would take me any less than 16 years to get it. james joyce said of finnegan's wake, "it took me twelve years to write it, it should take you twelve years to read it." exactly jimmy. so now here i am holding tom blood's new book. an expert on dylan thomas, wink wink, i should understand any poetry at first read.

no.

again, no no no.

this book has plagued me for a year now, looming over my bookshelf as a constant reminder of my poetic inadequacies. it is my raven, repeating "you're a moron" in lieu of "nevermore". i had tried to listen to the cd, in my home, alone, no distractions, and still nothing. a lot of people would have written it off and moved on, but i am not a lot of people, no, i am a compulsive asshole who will not be bullied by any literature. bring it on "the cantos of ezra pound", you wordy prick, i am ready for you!

so today i decide to break from my studio and take a walk to the cafe. cafes make me think of portland so i go to grab a poetry book, because poetry also makes me think of portland, and there it is, louder than ever "YOU'RE A MORON, YOU'RE A MORON!" tom blood's sky position is challenging me. so i grab it and decide too to take the cd in my walkman. i step out and press play and begin the best walk i have taken in years.

this is true poetry, and i get it. my "short passage through the mechanical universe" is in motion. blood, a traveller, frequent pedestrian, is really just taking notes as he moves through the day. it makes sense now. i swear, it made me feel that i have been walking with my eyes closed for a very long time when i heard him reading these words. i used to see like this daily. it used to be my life, to observe, and beyond observe, test the waters of daily life. take note of the telephone poles and their obesity. so i reread the book in a very short time when i got to the cafe. the poems are powerful in that they assume no authority, the assume no power over life. it is simply tom's way of saying, "i am watching, and fucking closely, and i am telling everyone, world!"

i would recommend to any lover of poetry and/or challenges, to order a copy today. order two and gift one to somebody in need of a reminder that the world exists outside of text messages and myspace. tom blood has put together a grand mystery and i have unriddled his tongue. you can order a copy here.

"poetry about poetry is conterfeit poetry" - ferlinghetti

so i just picked up ferlinghetti's latest book, poetry as insurgent art 2007 New Directions clothbound, at left bank books. the price was low, 12.95 for a first pressing hardback poetry book, and the size is in line with ferlinghetti's pocket poets collection he publishes under city lights. i am not sure what i was expecting, as i am never sure what to expect with ferlinghetti's work. he has made it all. poems, plays, journals, paintings, drawings, novels, and i have consumed most with the fervor of a fat kid at an eating contest. this book turned out to be in the same realm, only a little different. let me explain.

it comes in at just under 100 pages, and written in ferlinghetti's signature short line/long breath fashion. consumable. however this seems to be a re-iteration of the definition of poetry, not so much a poem. i say that tenderly as i respect ferlinghetti for his life long pursuit in writing this still unfinished book, but all respect has a level of questioning involved. is this a reminder to the slam filled, safe poetry that has come to light as of late in the mass mind that poetry simply is a suggestion to live. it is not in the face of death as a polite conversation, it is a verbal assault at death's breakfast nook. he (ferlinghetti) seems to announce and renounce his own beliefs,in a whitmanesque yawp, "do i contradict myself? very well, i contradict myself". he reminds us to listen to our own brains and from the sounds that jumble in them, create a song. if there is no sound, buddistically pronounce a grand ohm to the rhythm of the running toilets of our collective conscience. just create a sound.
basil bunting professed that "all poetry is a sound". ferlinghetti says sing. i say buy it from a local bookstore and deduce for yourself. i was quite happy to have populist manifesto in print once again, both #1 and #2 side by side for, what i believe is the first time. it is well worth the 13 bucks.
it takes me back to the time, about four years ago, that i packed up a bag of notebooks, chapbooks of friends' infinite prayers, an old hat and a can of tuna, had angela drop me at the rest stop outside of portland oregon and headed down to san francisco with the intention of meeting ferlinghetti. there is a great telling of the story on a blog of a friend i made on that hitch-hiking excursion, here. i succeeded and to this day, when i am feeling a little lost, i turn off and picture his eyes looking at me, like two marbles in a mudpuddle, rolling in the ecstatic glee that is poetry, telling me that this life is enough for any one man to go mad. just decide if you are angry mad, or crazy mad, and know that while anger is a gift, crazy is a weapon.

book review: DeKooning: An American Master

de Kooning is the epitome of the american artist. an immigrant to this country, he went on from poverty and anonymity to become the 20th century american master. his influence is felt in nearly every media of art today, from painting to sculpture, he is often called the american matisse. the book follows de kooning from life to death, hitting on all key parts of his life.
the great thing is the amount of background you receive, not just on de kooning but on gorky, rothko, pollock, and other artists of the abstract expressionist movement. stevens and swan leave no holes in the history. i became so attached to the characters that i found myself crying at their sometimes tragic deaths and rejoicing with their achievements.
the book is a good read in length, and large enough in size to make you look fucking smart. harry potter ain't got shit on me, so take that you fifth grade bastard, i can read big books too.
the price is a little steep but being that it garnered so many awards, every library in the country has access to it.
while reading it, i became part of a hap hazard book club, by this i mean that two other friends, who are also artists, were drawn to read the book. we would call each other at pivotal moments, asking first what page the other is on, not spoil anything, and discuss, sometimes at length, what is happening in the story. there have been few books that i have read that have gotten the attention of my friends as much as this one. it changed the way we paint, the way we think about art, view art, critique and interact with one another as artists. it laid a bit of the groundwork for the now defunct WAC. after finishing the book, i made the decision to become what could be called a career artist. this simply means that i define myself as an artist AND act on that definition. working on jobs that i don't always enjoy but do so because they are artistic ventures and any day getting paid to paint is better than a day at the office, or factory for that matter. i can feel the burden that i think a lot of artists have felt. two kids, a wife, bills, and no steady source of income. but if perseverance pays off at all, then the outcrop is well worth the harvest.