The Chatelaine's Poetics

COO, COO, THE CHATELAINE COOS...

First, Blogger found all my old blogs.

Second, it seems to have been a technical glitch, indeed, on their part rather than the result of a conspiracy theory against Moi.

BUT...from the ashes rise ever more glorious WINGS! Nonetheless, I shall archive this blog....and continue blathering lovingly at y'all from MOI NEW PRIMARY BLOG

THE BLIND CHATELAINE'S POKER POETICS

Pls update your links.

I don't mind changing. The Poet, of all people, should always be flexible and ever-ready to adapt and evolve. After all, Poetry is a living critter...! It is Galatea becoming human and stepping off the pedestal to live, rather than staying as presumed cold objectified perfection as an immoveable statue....yadda! Poetry moves -- it lives!

DURING THE BLOGGER PROBLEM

which Dear Blogger thankfully fixed, I had a temporary blog up. I'm cutnpasting below what was said for moi BLOG FILE CABINET. Thank you again to all who shared concern and love.

*****

BLOGGER --PLS FIND MY TRUE BLOG

BLOGGER's lost my blog. Until they restore it (which hopefully will happen soon), this is the message you see here!

UPDATE YOUR LINKIES! I'll still continue to work with Blogger in recovering all my old blogs. But destruction, as artists know, can be a doorway to creation. So this seems a good time to point you to my NEW PRIMARY BLOG:

THE BLIND CHATELAINE'S POKER POETICS

I've also created a new HAY(NA)KU BLOG.

Onward!

************************************

BLOGWATCH
DAY 2, 3: No reply yet from Blogger.

UPDATE:
First, %&#$%#(*_)(U(T&^R%^%#!+()(*&)*&^^!!! All yelled out enchantingly, of course.

Second, boy, am I learning more than I ever wanted to know about Blogger. So, yes, EVERY SINGLE ONE of my blogs went missing yesterday. As I scrambled around trying to figger out what to do next (thank you Michelle and A.D.), here's what I learned that I promptly share with youse because I live to serve (yawn):

1) It's possible the Blogger will inadvertently delete your blog(s) as a result of spam sweeps through its system (this may be what happened to mine). Often, Blogger is able to recover blogs deleted from such (and even blogs you inadvertently delete).

2) Once a blog is deleted, your link addy may be co-opted by some spam marketer hoping to lure your former readers there.

3) So if you ever wish to delete a blog, unless you don't care about No. 2, the way to do it is to empty out your Archives and just leave the blog hangin' out there in the world. If you delete it, that blog addy becomes eligible for someone's marketing nooky.

Fortunately, I learnt all of the above soon enough so that I promptly created new blogs utilizing all of my old blog addies; when Blogger recovers my blogs, I then can meld them together in a fashion that is not yet clear to me but which has been done. Irony of ironies -- I forgot about the Hay(na)ku Blog which happened to be the one blog that had my name in its site addy. Shitski. Blogger might still take that back for me but it'd just take longer; in any event, I've created a new hay(na)ku blog whose addy I'll reveal later if it's not clear that my addy "eileentabios.blogspot.com" is not recoverable.

Anyway, I await Blogger's reply to my emails and queries yesterday. Since they may not be able to respond right away, I at least wanted to continue business as usual with GALATEA RESURRECTS (or GR). GR's blogs are also missing but not to worry -- I kept copies of all reviews. So if Blogger, for some reason, can't recover the blogs, then I'll just repost the first two issues so that the reviews are still out there available.

I also didn't want Blogger's response to affect GR's ongoing business -- so I've gone ahead and reposted what were only 2 entries anyway that comprised Galatea's Purse where information about submissions and review copies continue to be updated.

I honestly think the mix-up was a Blogger error...though I did wonder briefly whether someone actually hacked Blogger to do a specific attack against Moi. If anyone has ever heard of someone having ALL of their blogs (not just some of their blogs or some of their Archives but ALL of their blogs) deleted from Blogger's system, let me know please. Interesting conspiracy theory, though, from Mark, as regards "those fucking reactionary haikuists" (tee-hee).

I will admit to enjoying having Comments (hi Ivy!). Now, in the Comment Stream, Alex mentions archives et al. It's interesting -- for me, when all my blogs disappeared, I wasn't as concerned about blogs with my writings -- and poems and poems -- and cared more about GALATEA RESURRECTS because it contained other people's words (fortunately, I have copies). And so, you know what I can confirm as a result of this calamity?

What, her fascinated 70 million Peeps reply?

The Chatelaine beams and sez: Gather 'round Moi campfire and let Moi tell you a story: There was a poet who lived in a house stuffed with his papers and poems and books and all the results of many years as a poet. One day, a fire got started next door and soon spread to his house. The poet was forced to run across the street without any of his work -- he stood there watching his house burn down with all his books, writings, poems, drafts of poems and so on. And as he stood there, watching his house flare up and then get all wet from the firepeople's hoses, a neighbor walked over to offer sympathy.

"Tough luck," the neighbor sez.

"Eh," the poet replied.

"Eh? Don't you care?" sez the neighbor. "You told me all of your work was in your house!"

The poet shrugged and said, "It doesn't matter. Poems aren't meant to be hoarded. And if I'm a real poet, I'll write more..."

And I suppose the most important reason why I am not THAT bothered by this calamity is that Poetry -- my poetry anyway -- has never been based on ... words.

Why do you all think Moi blathers so much?

Keep tuned -- more updates to come!

COMMENTS:
Tom Beckett said... Yikes! Zounds! Holy crap! 12:36 PM

Sam of the ten thousand things said... This is terrible Eileen. I hope your blog can be restored. 2:36 PM

Gura said... here, bloggy bloggy! Come out come out wherever you are, bloggy bloggy! 2:46 PM

Ivy said... Wow, that sucks. I hope you find your blog soon.

On the bright side, it's nice being able to comment. I love your blog, Eileen! :-) 4:37 PM

Ernesto said... WHAT?

Sister, where art thou?

Hope it's found soon... :( 5:03 PM

RichM said... Did they look under the desk? That sometimes works when I've lost something important.

Gee, I wonder whether somebody keeps a backup of blogger blogs somewhere. 7:45 PM

Ernesto said... I used to keep a back up of my template in case something was lost during updates. But I wonder if that would restore the whole thing. I am totally ignorant of these things.

I do need this blog back! Argh! 9:44 PM

Gura said... Thissite links to a PC program called, HTTrack, that lets you archive your blog to your desktop. 10:00 PM

Ernesto said... ...and it seems the hay(na)ku blog is also gone... 10:22 PM
Jill said... zut alors and gott in himmel! how does one track down a blog-eater? Sorry to hear of this disappearance. Hope there's appearance real soon. 11:21 PM

shanna said... This is so frightening! 7:37 AM

Ernesto said... It's really frightening. What happened? I know it's a fragile medium, but how can a blog disappear like that? 7:41 AM

T Martin said... prayers for a speedy recovery, chattyblog.

Tim 8:55 AM

AlexG said... over at my place I've suggestd that an enterprising special collections curator take on the responsibility of preserving poet blogs. there must be a way to do it & if not then someone simply must invent a way. 11:31 AM

RichM said... hay(na)ku!
blogs nuked!
hesus maria hosep! 4:59 PM

Ernesto said... Eileen, I miss your blogs so much. Of course that it's great to see you are still there and that you are still writing. I think something really important is happening right now: we are all realizing what writing and publishing and archiving is all about.

Moi remains. It really does.

I
miss you,
but I do

cherish
you, right
now, right here. 12:48 AM

EILEEN said... Thank you all for your good wishes. Dios Ti Agngina,

smooches,
eileen 12:02 PM

Cathy said... So that's what happen to the hay(na)ku blog. I thought you had deleted it. Terrible shame that you lost all your blogs. Hopefully Blogger finds them.

Have you ever thought of going to another service like Typepad? I use them and they are very good for the $90 I paid them every year.

Cathy
www.thequietone.net 12:56 PM

OFF THE PEDESTAL!

As of this writing, if all of the commitments pan out, the next issue of Galatea Resurrects will contain new reviews of about 62 poetry publications/projects. Sure, it's possible that some reviewers may not be able to meet the deadline at the last minute (that's happened a couple of times for each of the last two issues), but that is still a hefty, number, don't you think?!!

62 new reviews compare impressively to 38 in Issue No. 2 and 27 in Issue No. 1.

And we still have plenty of time until the Submission Deadline of Aug. 5!

Whoo-hoo! And speaking of whooo-hoo!, just this morning I got an email from a poetry lover in New Mexico who sez: "...and I must admit I've purchased a couple books based on the reviews you've posted..."

Well now! I shall keep saying how fabulously amazed I am at all these poets and poet-critics volunteering their time -- is it the w(h)ine poured by Galatea (heh)?

Do feel free to join the party by checking out the contents of Moi Purse! That is, authors and publishers may wish to send review copies! I can tell you that of the 62 commitments for new reviews, 39 were generated by the list of review copies. So peeps are trawling through that site, folks.

And speaking of wine, and Moi am ever speaking of wine, remember that members of Oenophiles for Poetry will review the first four issues of Galatea and their favorite review, I mean, engagement will garner a bottle of wine for its author!

The best news about continously getting offers to review is that, obviously, people are reading Galatea's site!

I ADORE REJECTIONS

for creating (viz the ever-shakin' cornshake) such a lovely performance project here. Check out these rejection slips. I just think this is so funny!

And congrats to Deb Schwartz for "finally" getting published!

THE FORM -- OR ARC -- OF THE POETRY BOOK

I am one of those who consider the book's book-ness a form. I may write poems individually but when it comes time to forming a book, another layer -- at times a narrative arc, even -- surfaces and helps me choose which poems belong to which manuscript.

(I'm talking about choosing from poems written individually to create a book, rather than a series of poems written more overtly to form a larger book project.)

Matter of fact, I prefer poetry books whose book-ness offers another aesthetic layer besides being a logistical conduit for compiling poems into a book-length manuscript. This might even be a good strategy for countering the sense of sameness that one sometimes gets from reading one (usually) slim poetry volume after another by contemporary poets -- a result that bespeaks commodification (?) since, without the book's inherent form, what point of organizing individual poems into one place except to market, make the parents happy, or soothe the ego? (N.B. This paragraph is not meant to diss those who take a different approach but only for Moi to explicate moi preference...).

I was reminded of this arc underlying certain poetry books, too, by my prior post. I had created nearly 20 "sticker poem"/drawings. When I went through the portfolio to generate a submission to Otolith, a logic of which works to include -- and the order in which I presented them -- surfaced. It was only after I put 11 images together to form their own collection that I realized the title: "The Corporate Cat."

It's consistent Moi...I also usually don't title poems until after they've been written. I rarely know what I will be writing about when I begin a poem. It's seeing one's way as one writes or makes a poem. To be open also facilitates other elements into the poem besides what is autobiography (yes, yes, it's all autobiography but that's a different point), including what was initial intention.

Anyway, this approach of course is nothing new or unique. I belabor it because I blog.

To blog is not just to de-labor but to belabor.

MORE RE. LUCIDITY POETICS

Pleased as punch to hear that "The Corporate Cat," my 11-part vizpo/drawing series utilizing stickers will be featured in the next issue of Otoliths (thanks to editor Mark Young). Inspires me to go to some store tomorrow and pick up a bunch of stickers for more of what I'm calling "sticker poems".

Of key significance (key to Moi if not to Toi) to what I'm doing with "sticker poems" is that I don't choose the stickers that end up as raw material. I go to store, look for display of stickers, close my eyes as I reach out my hand, take the randomly-chosen stickers ... and practice the faith that they will form a poem(s).

The process, I've found, is a good practice for enhancing lucidity.: seeing one's way to the poem...

AND EYE IMBIBED

Latest list of books and wines experienced:

BOOKS:
EYE AGAINST EYE, poems by Forrest Gander

POP JUNK, poems by Jeff Karl Butler

WHERE X MARKS THE SPOT, poems by Bill Zavatsky

MARIJUANA SOFT DRINK, poems by Buck Downs

THE NAME POEMS by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright

ERRATIC SLEEP IN A COLD HOTEL, poems by Marie Kazalia

AFTER, poems by Jane Hirshfield

MY OWN SILENCE, poems by Jeanne Powell

20/20 YIELDING, poem by Sunnylyn Thibodeaux

LOVE WALKED IN, novel by Marisa de los Santos

FUNNY ABOUT THAT: MORE WONDROUS TALES FROM EVERY AMERICAN'S FAVORITE OTHER STATE--MAINE, essays by John Gould

THE GOOD LIFE, novel by Jay McInerney

5 pulp novels whose titles I can't remember


WINE:
1991 Seavey cabernet
1989 Rabaja Barbaresco
2002 Bouchard Chevalier Montrachet
2002 Luce Abbey cabernet
1994 Pesquera Janus
1970 Palmer
1988 Ch. d'Yquem
2000 Seavey cabernet
2___ Seavey chardonnay
1994 Tinto Pesquera
2003 Behrens & Hitchcock Napa Merlot
2003 Behrens & Hitchcock Alder Springs cuvee
2003 Behrens & Hitchcock Dr. Crane cuvee
2004 Relic syrah
2005 Zeitgeist cabernet
2004 Philip Togni Free Run cabernet (from barrel)
2004 Philip Togni Pressed cabernet (from barrel)
2004 blend in glass of free run and pressed cabernet
2002 Tanbark
2004 Ca Togni (from jar-"barrel")
1996 Beaux Freres pinot noir
2005 GOLD shiraz

from "The Poet Lives With Mom" series
WHY MARTHA STEWART SUCKS

This domestic goddess bullshit is bullshit.

As Moi stands here before you -- and I am standing in front of a new "standing desk" ordered to help ease the strain on Moi's back and fist-knotted wings -- I can't turn my head without suffering egregious, make that EGREGIOUS, pain. I can't turn left....right....or bow without majorly wincing. Why? Because I have something tortuous sounding in Latin that the doctor translates as "twisted neck".

And how did I twist my neck the Latin way, youse ask?

Because Moi tried something I should know better than to attempt: cook.

To wit, Mom has mostly done a decent (shoot me) job as a parent, but she never taught me how to cook because she didn't cook either until her 30s. (Many Bay Area Pinoy poets know this, hence, their occasional gifts of Filipino food to me -- bless you all. Please continue and you will know why by the end of this post). Anyway, by age 76, Mom did learn to cook and now that she's moved into Moi's house, she's decided it's time to rectify certain of her maternal lapses.

So, there I was, chopping celery, carrots and potatoes into teeny sizes to make lumpia. Which is to say, I was standing in the same position for about 2 hours because we made enough to feed an army or, rather, my mouth.

I moved from that 2-hour chopping position and, YOW, the shooting pain and then the Latin twist.

Shitski.

I continue to be the laughingstock of the clan (oh yes, they'll know as my cousins just departed from visiting):

Hey, did you hear latest?!!! Eileen tried to cook and she ended up hurting herself badly enough to go to the doctor!!!!!!

Bwahahahahahaha!!!!

Very funny. And this is before I mentioned that, among other things, the doctor prescribed 2 weeks of physical therapy and....CODEINE. Codeine, fer crissakes!!!!

Speaking of which,...and she pops that pill...

So you've heard it here: MOI shall never attempt that dangerous trade known as "cooking" ever again!!!!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bedroom, gingerly, to take an afternoon nap...standing up as I can't lie prone...!!!!

The only good thing about all this is that, based on the smells emanating from that war zone known as my "kitchen," Mom is making me kare kare stew to make me feel better this dinnertime.

...and as she limps off to the bedroom, a sound of tinkling bells waft over Galatea -- that sound of fallen angels laughing so hard they're pissing the golden rain over the mountain...

EFFORTLESS RADIANT FEVER

"...given away a lot of rubBEings through time--to friends, in letters, passersby who are interested--anyone--in hopes they provide openings into the world all around us that one doesn't always see, fell, hear, think of....

"nothing is refused--everything is felt as possibility--a way--of opening"
--David Baptiste-Chirot

One of my recent joys has been a conversation with David Baptiste-Chirot. I've always loved his rubBEings series -- one of the most moving art works I've ever experienced. And so I feel blessed to be able to chat directly with him (and can I just say how jazzed I am that he contacted me first because of Galatea Resurrects...!)

Recently, David wrote something that was so stirring that, with no prior intent, I ended up writing an 11-part hay(na)ku sequence inspired by it. I share Parts 5 and 6 below. The words of the poem are primarily David's, which is to say, perhaps my hay(na)ku sequence is my own way of *rubBEing* against his text (?). Anyway, my thanks to David and I recommend you find out more about his works over at Dan Waber's site here.


from
BROWN-ING MOON
(--for David Baptiste-Chirot, whose "AFTER RIMBAUD ILLUMINATIONS" provided inspiration)


5.
Farmhouse in distance.
A few
trees

mark the sky
at twilight.
My

friend is frightened.
He lacks
papers.

A dog barks--
a man
appears.

Inside, they give
us sandwiches
thick

with fresh butter.


6.
Walking continually these
streets and
alleys.

All wall cracks
and road
holes

are known to
me. I
am

the one listening
to peripheral
languages

signaling from hubcaps,
shining metals,
bright

plastics, painted woods.
The construction
site

overwhelms with its
orchestrations of
colors,

sounds, shards--its
chaos and
order

exchanging forms. Melted
snow runs
in

rivulets among smashed stones.



.

THE CITY SLICKER'S HARVEST

This morning, we "harvested" a sprig of basil from the vegetable garden. With six leaves, y'all. It is currently resting at repose on a plate in the refrigerator. Maybe I'll bronze it...

So, I'ma not gonna embarrass Moi by offering a list of the vegetable seeds and plants that she acquired to put into the garden this year. Because such list would only be compared to the list-in-progress of her further "harvests". To wit, to date, this season, your City Slicker thus far can proudfully list her following harvest bounty as follows:

six-leaf sprig of basil

a cherry tomato

a yellow squash


Sigh. And...and it is summer in Galatea...

THIRD ANNUAL MARSH HAWK PRESS POETRY PRIZE

Congratulations to

Steve Fellner

who has won Marsh Hawk Press’s Third Annual Poetry Prize for his manuscript Blind Date with Cavafy. The Prize includes a $1,000.00 award and publication of the book.

Aaron Belz and Andrea Cohen were awarded Honorable Mentions.

For more, click here.

CONFIRMED!

I'll have a new book out next year entitled

THE LIGHT THAT LEFT HIS BODY
ENTERED THINE EYES

from Marsh Hawk Press, Fall 2007.

Thanks to my New York publisher, who had published the BRICK just 2 years ago -- but obviously can't get enough of Moi (smooches). I won't give you 500-plus pages this time, but it still won't be a thin book. My poems are like my wines (and whines): a diet is unlikely.

I JUST LOVE SMALLTOWN NEWSPAPERS, PART II

Sunday, 8:52 p.m. A woman was urinating in the middle of the road and fell into the ditch when someone drove by on Randall Flat Road.
--from Crag Hill's "I Just Love Smalltown Newspapers"

I was quite tickled by Crag's post on why he "love(s) smalltown newspapers."


Crag, this poem I writ in 2001 shortly after leaving NYC for St. Helena, but it is dedicated today to you -- a poem I "found" from the St. Helena Star's reprints from the local police log. St. Helena's population is about 5,000:


CONTENTMENT
(Found Poem From the St. Helena Police Log)

Sunday, Dec. 19
0543: An officer contacts an employee of a local business who had not come in to work. Fellow employees were concerned when he didn't show up. The man did not realize he was supposed to be at work.

1349: A man in the Police Department lobby asks to have an officer speak with his 5-year-old daughter regarding her stealing a popsicle. The officer counsels the girl.

1427: A woman reports that the ATM at a local bank "ate" her card. An officer tells her to contact the bank in the morning or call the bank's 800 number.

2043: A resident reports a continuous problem with a barking dog. An officer confirms that the dog is barking and a letter is sent.


Monday, Dec. 20
0806: A man requests assistance in getting his Camaro back from his wife on Pope St. The sergeant explains to him that because both parties are still married, legally there is nothing the police can do. He is advised to contact legal counsel.

1005: A caller reports almost hitting a loose white Labrador retriever on Spring Mountain Rd. wearing a blue halter collar. The caller is concerned for the dog and other motorists. Police are unable to locate it.

1006: Vandalism is reported to property on Hunt Ave. A report is taken.


Friday, Dec. 24
1545: Several subjects are reported drinking, urinating and throwing beer bottles at the car wash on Charter Oak. Officers contact the subjects and take their car keys for safe keeping.

1602: Loud music and a party are reported on Hollis Lane. Officers contact the residents and they agree to turn the music down.


Saturday, Dec. 25
1555: A girl is bitten by a dog while she is riding her bike. It is a very minor bite, and a report is taken.

2109: Two juveniles are reported on the roof of the elementary school. Police are unable to locate anyone.


Sunday, Dec. 26
0012: A caller reports seeing thick smoke coming from a residence on Elmhurst. An officer checks the area and finds smoke coming from a chimney, but everything appears OK.

0102: The bartender at a local bar requests officer assistance in getting rid of unwanted customers. The officers speak with the subjects and have them leave the bar.

1510: A report is taken regarding a smashed mailbox and missing mail.

HEART MOI DAWG!

And the reason I'm blogging is that I finished the art essay (see prior post)! Which is good since I am just too eager to share

ACHILLES

Which is also a sample from Rhett's photography business aptly called "Your Exquisite Photos"! Yadda.

HAY(NA)KU PAINTINGS

Okay, I'm trying to finish this long-delayed essay on Thomas Fink's hay(na)ku paintings. So I'ma gonna post this to remind my navel -- you are not allowed to blog anymore (read: distraction) until you finish this essay whose deadline was last week! Meanwhile, for your peeping pleasure, one of Tom's hay(na)ku paintings:

NO WEEPING

We will sever the last ties between poetry and economics, which are imaginary rather than material anyway. We will celebrate a post-capitalist poetics.
--from "The Onion Union Pledge"

The Onion Union has released its latest: "issue 2: collective bargaining." I'm honored to be part of it, with Mark Young, William Piety, Sawako Nakayasu, Liam Wilkinson, Lina ramona Vitkauskas, Eric Lehman and Caleb Puckett. Please to visit!

TEXT IMPRESSIONS

So it's possible that I'll be scheduled for a Fall 2007 book, which significance is that the final manuscript be due with publisher's editors by January 2007. I'm awaiting confirmation, but if it's a Go, it's likely to be for my poetry collection that I entitled FLANEUR....or, rather, that had been entitled FLANEUR until I attended this evening a dinner and special presentation by Lynn Federle Orr, the curator of the soon-to-open "Monet in Normandy" exhibit at SF's Fine Arts Museum/Legion of Honor. Fascinating. As a result of Lynn's lecture on Monet, I am thinking of retitling FLANEUR as THE BROKEN BRUSHSTROKES.

Impressionism is one of the goals and inspirations of poems in this manuscript, such as moi 5 poems in the current issue of Shampoo Poetry.

We'll see. That book may be pushed back, in which case I won't have to address it this year in time to meet the deadline less than 7 months away. Until then, this Monet exhibit is perfect for summertime in the Bay Area...!

FATHER'S DAY

I just thanked Monique Truong for writing and sharing this. As I told her, my father died just two months ago and her article was salve for my still-red eyes. Loss, regret...for me, all redeemed by Love. Sweetness through salt...

GARDEN

P.S. to prior post -- but we did harvest our first fruit of this season's garden plantings: a five-inch long yellow squash.

Mom sliced it and included it into her pinakbet vegetable stew. Yum.

A cherry and one squash. A modest return to date but a real return. So that: Ahhhh, yes: the amortization unfolds slowly but surely for the garden's exorbitant cost.

...it is summer in Galatea...

BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING TO BLOG

about, let me say this *raw material for a poem I will never write*. Today, my husband gave me my cherry back.

The cherry in question was the FIRST cherry off our young cherry tree that'd been in the back yard for over 3 years.

So there the husband was, leading me down to the orchard, showing me this scrawny tree, plucking out a sunset orange-red cherry, then offering it dramatically with,

"Here's your cherry back."

I get it. It was a moment. Remember that we are the city slicker couple who, last year, spent $3,000 on vegetable seeds and plants (including six corn stalks despite my "WHY?!" to the hubby) for our garden only to reap exactly eight cherry tomatoes for that season's harvest (we savored each of those tomatoes but that's another story). Anyway, this was a true-blue cherry moment.

I should also say that this is the end of the cherry season. Which is to say, for this season, our first cherry was our last cherry is our only cherry harvest.

We didn't get more cherries because, the hubby explained, "We didn't have a pollinator tree."

I have no clue what that meant or means. Anyway, I tried to stay in the moment and just focused on my husband's remark, which is to say:

I bit back the knee-jerk retort that initially leapt to moi lips, to wit: "You never had my cherry"...and, instead, graciously and gratefully received the cherry onto my palm. Then I led the hubby back to the kitchen where, with due ceremony, we washed every, uh, eighth-inch width of that inch-wide cherry.

Then I bit half and savored each sweet sweet chew. Yum. Then I gave the other half to the hubby who replicated my homage viz chewing.

I saved the pit for bronzing later...

...it is summer in Galatea...

HAY(NA)KU

Allen observes how most of Ernesto Priego's hay(na)ku are sequences. It's a result that had caused Ron Silliman earlier to consider the hay(na)ku a "stanza" vs a "form."

Ernesto is like many others (moiself included) who don't stop at a single tercet. It's interesting to me to consider how this simple form seems to compel the poet to continue writing...and writing

and
writing and
writing and writing.

The few times I attempted the haiku, I did have a sense of feeling for an appropriate closure with its last word (not to say this is how others should or need to engage with the haiku; it's just how I did). I don't feel that search for "The End" with the hay(na)ku ... and I...like that result. Whether in silence or in words, Poetry in my ideal world ever blathers on...

Oh
why not?
Why stop at

the menage a
trois? Orgy
onward

Poets!
Not yourself--
your many selves...!

NOT THE DAWG POUND!

Allen Bramhall engages with Ernesto's NOT EVEN DOGS!

Here's a yum excerpt:

I learned an emphatic attention from Robert Grenier (not to say I utilize it well, just that he provided a rich exemplar), in which the reader gives every word all chances to, um, mean something. consider all definitions, yup, peer at etymology, okay doke, but also, perhaps weirder, be prepared to see lack in black, age in page. look at all possibilities. I think Ernesto Priego possesses that attention. that he is bilingual adds a consternation and question, in the sense that he has these 2 languages, but Poetry is his mother tongue.

And he likes Michelle's design! YaY!

NOT EVEN DOGS should have just arrived at SPD, or get it here at Lulu!

FOR CONVENIENCE, TWO SUBMISSION CALLS

for THE HAY(NA)KU ANTHOLOGY, NO. 2; deadline Sept. 30, 2006

and

THE FILAMORE TABIOS, SR. POETRY MEMORIAL PRIZE (see prior post); deadline Nov. 30, 2006

are also now available at this link:
http://meritagepress.com/babaylan/

I figured the above link would be a better link than this blog where I post new entries almost daily. And, of course, the Submission Call for the second hay(na)ku anthology is also up at the Hay(na)ku Blog.

from "The Poet Lives With Mom" series
DADDY'S POETRY PRIZE

This result below seems so logical, once Mom moved to Galatea. Please spread the word:

==========================

[PLEASE FORWARD]

Meritage Press is pleased to announce

A Call For Manuscript Submissions by Filipino Poets

for

"The Filamore Tabios, Sr. Memorial Poetry Prize"

DEADLINE: November 30, 2006

POETRY MANUSCRIPTS: Poets may submit as many manuscripts as they wish. Each manuscript should be 75-150 pages long. Each manuscript should come with two cover pages: (i) a cover page with Title, Author's Name, E-mail Address, Snailmail Address and Phone; and (ii) a second cover page with just the Title. (Manuscripts will not be returned so don't send your only copy(ies).) Manuscripts should be sent to:

Eileen Tabios
Meritage Press
256 North Fork Crystal Springs Road
St. Helena, CA 94574
U.S.A.

PRIZE: The winning manuscript will garner U.S.$1,000.00 for its author and be published by Meritage Press (www.meritagepress.com).

SUBMISSION FEE: None because Meritage Press prizes all poets.

ELIGIBILITY: Poets of full or partial Filipino descent, living anywhere around the world. All such poets are encouraged to send your best work. Whether you're an "emerging" vs "established" poet is irrelevant as judging will be based only on the merits of the submitted manuscripts.

JUDGING PROCESS: From the submissions, a group of Finalist manuscripts will be chosen by Eileen Tabios. From the Finalists, the winning manuscript will be chosen by Beatriz Tabios. Judging for the winner will be done anonymously.

ABOUT THE JUDGES:
FOR FINALISTS: Eileen Tabios is a poet and the publisher of the multidisciplinary literary and arts press, Meritage Press (St. Helena and San Francisco, CA). More information about her are available at http://marshhawkpress.org/tabios2.htm, http://chattydance.blogspot.com, http://chatelaine-poet.blogspot.com, http://secretpunctuations.blogspot.com, and http://marshhawkpress.org/tabios1.htm

FOR FINAL WINNER: Beatriz Tabios received her B.A. with English as her major from the Silliman University in Dumaguete, Philippines. She developed her love for poetry as a sixth-grader reading Homer, William Shakespeare, John Keats, Alexander Pope, William Wordworth and Samuel Coleridge while trying to survive World War II. She would further develop her appreciation for poetry as a college student instructed by poet Edith Tiempo, the first woman to receive the title of National Artist for Literature in the Philippines. The late Dr. Edilberto Tiempo, then the head of the English Department, encouraged Mrs. Tabios to continue her study of English and American literature. With Edilberto Tiempo's encouragement, Mrs. Tabios wrote her Master of Arts thesis which was the first investigation, regarding Filipino literature, of "(The Use of) Local Color in Short Stories in English." Later, she taught English literature at Dagupan College (now University of Pangasinan) and University of Baguio, before becoming a teacher at Brent School, a boarding school initially built for children from U.S.-American military, missionary and gold-mining families stationed in the Far East.

THE FILAMORE TABIOS, SR. MEMORIAL POETRY PRIZE:
From Mrs. Beatriz Tabios: "My late husband, Filamore Tabios, Sr., and I were absolutely delighted when our daughter Eileen started to write short stories and poems. In memory of my dearly beloved husband and her dearly beloved father, we would like to encourage Filipino poets by sponsoring this Memorial Poetry Prize."

BOOK PRIZES:
Finalists also will receive a set of books including these selected Meritage Press titles:

The First Hay(na)ku Anthology, coedited by Jean Vengua and Mark Young; information at http://meritagepress.com/haynaku.htm

Not Even Dogs, the first single-author hay(na)ku poem collection, by Ernesto Priego; information at http://meritagepress.com/notevendogs.htm

PINOY POETICS: A COLLECTION OF AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL & CRITICAL ESSAYS ON FILIPINO AND FILIPINO-AMERICAN POETICS, edited by Nick Carbo; information at http://meritagepress.com/pinoypoetics.htm

*****

ADDITIONAL QUERIES may be directed by email to Meritagepress@aol.com

from "The Poet Lives With Mom" series
THE PEACE OF POEMS DURING WORLD WAR II

Now that Mom's moved to Galatea's mountain, it's interesting the stuff one learns during ordinary conversations while the day unfolds. This morning, she spoke of when she was about 11 years old back in 1941-42 in the Philippines. WWII. And whenever the Japanese would enter their area, she recalled, the family and others residing in their particular village would go into more isolated areas to hide from the Japanese.

So as not to be too much of a burden to those who would take them in temporarily, Mom and her siblings and my grandmother each would have a bag carrying a small amount of rice and sugar.

"What else would be in that bag?" I asked.

"Yarn and thread," Mom replied. "I learned to crochet and knit during the times we hid from the Japanese."

"Huh. What else would be in the bag?" I continued.

"Staples. Like Homer's The Iliad."

"Really?" I said, genuinely surprised. "Weren't books relatively rare then?"

"Yes," Mom said. "But I had The Iliad, and so I never thought my intellectual development was stunted during those war years..."

"Staples", I thought.

"Plus, I had an uncle who had a book of poems by Alexander Pope, Coleridge, Wordsworth..."

As we had that conversation, Mom is 76 and I'm 45. I wonder what else I don't know about her.

HAUNTED, BUT ENTRANCED

Busy, in part due to addressing three Meritage Press forthcoming titles. Including

Dérive
Poems by Bruna Mori
Images by Matthew Kinney

I'm very pleased with this project, a collaboration between Bruna who "found" her collaborator Matthew on the streets, "kneeling on the sidewalk. He was painting the skyline in sumi-ink on a torn-edged canvas—a carryover from his skate-punk days when he regularly made impromptu washes on cardboard kept in his backpack."

Of relevance to the project:

--Situationist International founder Guy Debord's dérive, or "drift"

-- an imagined translation of the Argentinean poet Alejandra Pizarnik's Textos selectos

-- proprioception

-- Michel de Certeau The Practice of Everyday Life. He states, "Bodies follow the thicks and thins of an urban 'text' they write without being able to read it . . . knowledge of them is as blind as that of lovers in each other's arms" (93). It is the indefinite process of being absent and in search of a proper—"a universe of rented spaces haunted by a nowhere or by dreamed-of places" (103).

In this post, I am of course being deliberately elliptical...hopefully to tease your curiosity about this new, unique....and simply entrancing work. Also to be the first book (long-awaited) by a poet with one of the most interesting, open minds I've encountered: Bruna Mori.

Poetry, (astonishingly) I am (still -- still! --) at your service.

GORGEOUS IS

“Just lie still,” I said:
When patience finally flowers:

Thank you, John...

from "The Poet Lives With Mom" series
SUNDAY POETICS: AWWW YEAH I GOT YOUR SIGN!

So my Mom is traveling back and forth between southern and northern California this summer in transition for her moving in with us full-time in the Fall. Which is to say, today is Sunday and I just went to church for what feels like the first time in 20 years. We attended the St. Helena Methodist Church as part of introducing Mom -- a quintessential "church lady" -- to her new community.

And in listening to the pastor's sermon, I have to say I was struck mostly by how the pastor's view of God is very much how I view Poetry. I like this young minister -- she spoke about the rightness of "I don't know" as an approach to life, that it's not about knowing (all the) answers. At one point, she used physics (a subject consistently over her head, she admits) as a metaphor....only to conclude: our knowledge of physics ends before physics itself, and God asks us to understand that the world is even bigger than physics.

Relatedly, I think my frustration with poetics is that I know I can't verbalize Poetry. Our knowledge of poetry ends before poetry itself and if there is a world larger than poetry what is it? But that, of course, is also the same reason why I blather on so much poetics-wise -- to turn that frustration into amusement. (As you Peeps know, I love to be amused and Moi loves it even more.)

Church was also interesting for another reason. Beyond the often more visible wine country touristy trappings, St. Helena is a small town, and this seemed a classic small town church. A white clapboard church with only so many pews. Total attendance today (though it may be low due to summer vacations) was about 20. Mostly senior citizens, then the families to five babies or toddlers. Very few people in their 20s, 30s and 40s. It always begs the question of how such a church can be self-supporting (a national issue, ain't it?).

But the people were very friendly and outgoing. The combination of people's warmth and the intimate architecture made it very welcoming. I guess I'll continue going to Church -- this Church anyway. For the Muses also sent me a SIGN, to wit:

Today was a day where former and current Sunday School teachers were honored. Members of the congregation who'd ever taught Sunday school were requested to go up and receive some gifts from the three toddlers who were able to walk. Church lady Mom, of course, went up there even though this was her first time in this particular church. One of the gifts was a jar of salt -- for salt offers "flavor" -- with a lovely mother-of-pearl spoon. And when we returned home, we then unrolled the scroll and what was it?

A poem. A poem! What are the odds? I would have thought that on the scroll would be some Biblical verse. But, no -- that scroll offered a poem.

Now, any church that hands out poems is my kind of church. Aw yeeeahhhh, I got your Sign! So this is the "gift of appreciation" this Church gave Mom, thus welcoming me in its fold:

Ode to Salt
by Pablo Neruda

  This salt
in the salt cellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me
but
it sings
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those
solitudes
when I heard
the voice
of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a
broken
voice,
a mournful
song.

In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.
And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food.
Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste finitude.

RARE FOOTAGE

here of Moi The Hermit actually de-e-therizing herself to physically join other poets and writers....ALONG WITH MOM! So Bino -- award-winning poet recently in town -- reports on the eating fest he had with various Bay Area poets, and observes about Mom:

oh, that's the superfabulous mrs. betty tabios,...man, can mrs. tabios talk! i can totally see eileen in her. and she drinks wine! she's like, bino, could you... what, mrs. tabios, MORE WINE????

Geeez. Um, yeah, Mom was with me when we tasted through St. Helena (see prior post). Can I just say that since Mom arrived here for her June stay, she has told me UMPTEEEEEEN times that Dad apparently had been worried about me because he noticed that I drink WAY more than the hubby.

Which is ridiculous of course. It's just that one of the world's greatest ironies is that the hubby can't actually tolerate that much alcohol. So for every bottle in our household, he savors a glass while I chug the rest of the bottle (though I do that chug quite elegantly of course)....and, yes, now you all know the secret to why we'll be celebrating our 20th Wedding Anniversary soon.

Speaking of the hubby, Bino also had this to observe about him:

my god, tom is just the most hilarious lawyer i have ever met. i love conversations about changing world populations. japan will run out of japanese, do you know that? china's one-child policy is not working. ask tom. i think he watches NGC as often as i do.

A hoot. And btw, Bino, Tom said your sister's cooking is among the "the best Filipino cooking" he's ever et!

Last but not least, Bino -- a New York poet and whom I met in New York -- also observes about Moi's unexpected (unexpected from Manhattan days, that is) COUNTRY LIVING style:

i took eileen to the terrace to show her my sister's panoramic view of san francisco. immediately, we had a wonderful conversation about dogfood, trout, dog diseases and the possibility of bringing alaska to california in a pond. she wears a scapular with a picture of her two pooches-babies. i consider these things weird, but i try hard not to judge miss eileen. she's been after all a friend for such a long time before dogs started running her life in the mountains of arf-arf.

Go to Bino's blog for more photos and party wrap-up. As for my blog, let me just feature below the picture of my "two pooches-babies" to which Bino refers -- a miniaturized version hangs as a pendant from a necklace. Which is to say, to meet me in person is usually to have my pendant thrust in your face with this photo.



Wait. Let me guess -- you can't get enough! So here's another explanation as to why my life has gone to the dogs!

CHEERS FROM MISSY WINEPOETICS!

Speaking of my happiness, I spent the afternoon at Ehlers Estate listening to jazz while tasting wines made from the St. Helena appellation, which Galatea's winery hopes to join someday (we've finally begun conducting soil tests on the terroir for determining how best to develop the vineyard; fingers crossed!). Here are some of the St. Helena wines relished (discovery du jour was Sequum):

Chase Family Cellars 2002 and 2003 Zinfandel Hayne Vineyard
David Fulton Winery 2001 Petite Sirah, David Fulton Estate
Edge Hill 2003 Mixed Blacks, Edge Hill Estate
Rockledge Vineyards 2002 Primitivo, 2002 Zinfandel, and 2002 Cabernet Sauvignon "The Rocks
Ruston Family 2001 and 2002 La Maestra Meritage, Ruston Vineyard
Salvestrin Vinyard & Winery 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon, Salvestrin Estate
Sequum 2001 and 2003 Zinfandel, Kidd Ranch
Spottswoode Winery 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon Spottswoode Estate
Titus Vineyards 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley, 2003 Cabernet Franc Napa Valley and 2002 Lot 1 Napa Valley
Trespass Vineyard 2001 and 2002 Cabernet Sauvignong, Trespass
Vineyard 29 2002 Aida Zinfandel and 2004 Cru Cabernet Sauvignon

Since my last "Wine and Whine" update, I also relished imbibing and reading the following:

WINES:
2001 Kistler chardonnay
1991 Guigal Cote Rotie Cotes Brune Et Blonde
2003 Battely Sojourn
2001 Vandel Vineyard Pinot Noir Los Carneros
2005 Yellow Tail shiraz
2003 Three Rings shiraz
1999 Judds Hill merlot
1997 Nicholson River chardonnay


BOOKS:
IMPROVISATIONS, poems by Vernon Frazer

ISHMAEL AMONG THE BUSHES, poems by William Allegrezza

METEORIC FLOWERS, poems by Elizabeth Willis

ODE ODE, poems by Michael Farrell

AFTER THE SINEWS, poems by Patrick James Dunagan

THE ANIMAL HUSBAND, poems by Christine Hamm

[ONE LOVE AFFAIR]*, poems by Jenny Boully

FEMME DU MONDE, poems by Patricia Spears Jones

DANCING ON THE GRAVE OF A SON OF A BITCH, poems by Diane Wakoski

THE SALT LESSON, poems by Carol Frost

NIGHT SEASON, poems by Mark Lamoreaux

MY SPACESHIP, ekphrastic poetry anthology edited by Mark Lamoreaux

JOURNAL OF A NOVEL: THE EAST OF EDEN LETTERS, memoir by John Steinbeck

PARADISE, memoir by Larry McMurtry

AND SHE WAS, novel by Cindy Dyson

IDYLL BANTER, memoir by Chris Bohjallan

PURRRR POETICS

"...wide range of forms that we’ve come to expect from this dazzling writer....gems.... beautifully designed"
--Ahadada on PUNCTUATIONS

The above be for moi beloved publisher & book designer, Jukka (whose images, btw, just get better and better!) And because Moi loves to preeen.

Meanwhile, Ron discourses post-Olson on cat anthologies here.

Which is all to say, I've always thought Moi's Happiness is my best revenge: It is summer here and...

There's a brand new cobalt blue awning over the kitchen windows.

I've been surrounded by big, burly men all week....resanding and refinishing my oak windows and doors against the blistering Napa sun.

There's a brand new lemon tree in the orchard.

There are three brand new fig trees in the backyard.

There's a new gravel path strewn like a silver ribbon from the courtyard up into the mountain.

I have an expanded rock-walled vegetable garden.

There are two black steel spikes in the backyard from which I've hung a brand-new hammock for the summer.

There are fresh table grape vines planted and ready to climb up a brand new steel trellis to provide shade for whoever shall be swinging within my hammock (yesterday, it was Mom).

There are fresh and bright and colorful seasonal flower plants in the courtyard garden.

The backyard oak tree is freshly trimmed and mulched.

The young oak tree in front of my studio is freshly dentured to straighten its trunk from the strong winter winds that blew it sideways.

Last but not least, I have a brand new manuscript: DYING WITH DADDY. Work it out, write it out. DYING WITH DADDY ends with this word:

"[GRIN]"

Publishers, I await your interest! Purrrrrr. Call me, Small Press; I'm a cheap date. Cheap but always enjoyable (heh)!

"[GRIN]." And talk about synchronicity. Just before posting this, I did a quick blog jog and stumbled across Lorna's moving post about a former student who died in a car accident; she notes, "The first and last memory to remain of the dead is their smile." How fortunately true for Dad whose photo is in the kitchen, the most lively room in the house, ever-smiling amidst the hubbub of living..

And it'll be two months this weekend since your death. I love you, Dad. Even today, you are showing me how living can be ... easier.

Summer-ti...i....i....i...me....AND the livin' ... is e...e....e...e....easy....

POEMELEON!

It's always a delightful honor to be part of the inaugural issue of a new poetry journal! Do check out

POEMELEON

For this issue,we were asked to send poems about "place". Such a space for me, is not constrained by my physical travel plans/schedule/budgets. Because I also travel in books! So my two contributions are thusly titled at

Chapter Nine-Teenth"

and

"pages 89 & 90: Alicante"

Thanks to editor Cati Porter, whose editorial vision I appreciate.

And I hope you enjoy...

GRACIAS POR GRACE

Ernesto ramps up light with his shape-shifting "The Jainaku Project"!

Salamat for the gold of your mirrors!

ATTENTION EARTHLINGS!

MY SPACESHIP is enchanting!!! Ekphrasis after moi own heart.

Kudos to editor and designer Mark Lamoreaux!

And a review copy is even available for Galatea Resurrects!

O COME, ALL YE FAITHFUL...POETRY BOOKS....

Main Street Books is a lovely used books' bookstore on Main Street, St. Helena. It's a bookstore the way it should be in that Liza, the proprietor, knows her stock intimately...and her regular clientele intimately as well.

Yesterday, I brought my mother there to introduce her to this charming store -- a needed offset to the tourist-driven clothes, wine, tchotchke and gourmet foodie stores that have come to pockmark Main Street.

So there I was with Liza ringing up the three books Mom bought. But after she bagged Mom's books, she wasn't done yet.

"Eileen," Liza said as she reached to a shelf behind the cash register. "Would you be interested in these books? They were left for me in a big box with no note..."

On Liza's generous hand:

MY MIND IS AN OCEAN, a chap anthology of poems written by elementary school age kids;

MOONJUICE II, AN ANTHOLOGY OF POEMS BY SANTA CRUZ WOMEN;

DANCING ON THE GRAVE OF A SON OF A BITCH, poems by Diane Wakoski;

and

THE SALT LESSON, a chap of poems by Carol Frost.

Gladly, I took the pubs from Liza. I brought them back to Galatea to the Fallen Angels...

"Poor books. Poor poems," the Chatelaine crooned, "Where did you come from? How did you come to be discarded?"

Pause. The angels had ceased their poker game and were paying attention as the Chatty One continued to croon:

"Rest now. You were close to dying and I bet you never thought you'd be resurrected to end up in Heaven..."

Croon, croon, croon....

"GIRL SINGING. DAY..."

Two poems, written years ago and over which I recently stumbled during some file clean-up -- and of which one was writ in collaboration with Andrew Lundwall -- are now up at Litter Magazine. Thanks to editor Alan Baker!

If I stopped writing poems, no one would notice for a while. I could just keep cleaning up old files and stub my toe against long-forgotten poems that I must then send out to the world otherwise their closed faces would haunt me forever...

Tragedy is seeing a poem's face be a closed surface...

MELTING THE HAY(NA)KU!

Speaking of Zafusy, check out one of Moi's variation of the hay(na)ku -- a melting hay(na)ku sequence:

"Diary Leak (#3)"

I have a longer version of the same poem for a book someday (#4), but for now I'm pleased to be able to share #3 for your lovely, peeping eyes.

ZAFUSY WANTS YOUR HAY(NA)KU!

I received this from Zafusy, and am happy to pass on the word -- it's so lovely to see a phrase in a journal's Submissions Call as being "hay(na)ku-friendly"!!

Dear poets and editors,
zafusy is looking to publish some not-previously-published hay(na)ku.

If anyone would like to send some over please visit our submission guidelines and get in touch.

If any bloggers out there would consider posting a submission call for us we would be humbly thankful :-)

Look forward to reading them!
Yours, Jody Porter

PS: A thank you goes to Eileen Tabios for the form..
--
zafusy Online Poetry Journal
http://www.zafusy.com

I HAVE A WEEK TO ANSWER

these questions below, according to a student who just sent them to me. We've never met but I am her poetry project. Huh. Okay. But if any of you would like to answer any of the questions for me (surely you have an opinion on the very last question?), just email such an answer to me at GalateaTen@aol.com. After all, as a poet, Moi transcends moiself -- and fortunately so since I may be a *class project* but am rarely a *class act* (Moi just couldn't resist...):

Biographical questions

1. Of what ethnicity are you?
2. Is writing poetry the only occupation you have?
3. What are some of your basic hobbies?
4. What is (are) your favorite color(s)?
5. Do you prefer nonfiction or fiction? If fiction, what genre(s)?
6. Do you write other pieces of writing other than poetry?
7. What type of music do you enjoy most?
8. Is there a form of art other than writing and music that you like?
9. How and when were you introduced to poetry?
10. Do you feel you have improved in your writing over time?

Poetry-related questions

1.) Who or what inspires you to write poetry? Why?
2.) What type of poetry do you enjoy writing most? Why?
3.) What topics do you mostly write about? Why?
4.) What is your definition of poetry?
5.) Does your cultural background affect your peotry? How?
6.) Do you incorporate current events in your poetry? Please list a few.
7.) What poet do you admire most? Why? What makes this poet unique from others?
8.) What do you consider necessary to write poetry?
9.) Why do you write poetry?
10.) Do your beliefs (religion, politics, etc.) affect your poetry?
11.) Does it matter what environment is best suitable for you to write poetry? If so, describe the prefered environment.
12.) What is your favorite poem that you have written? What makes it your favorite poem?
13.) What is the basic outline of how you write poetry?
14.) Do you do research on the topic of your writing before writing the poem? What resources do you use?
15.) When you can’t think of something to write about, what do you do?
16.) If your poem includes characters, are they based upon someone you know?
17.) When writing poetry, do you like to rhyme or have rhythm?
18.) Do you keep a journal or a diary to write down ideas? Does it help?
19.) After writing a poem, who is the first person you show it to? Do you have the person give constructive criticism?
20.) How do you like all the questions above? (Constructive criticism on my interviewing skills.)

WHEN I GET A COMPLIMENT

and I hear of it, you dang right I repeat it here -- that's Moi's immodest modus operandi. To witty wit about Moi's PUNCTUATIONS, it's the lucky subject of a post by Allen who sez (in discussing my book with Michael Magee's Mainstream):

"seems like, when I write/think about poetry, the interest isn't in meaning so much, in the way of looking for treasure. meaning, whatever that dawg is, seems like a process of consideration and combination....modus operandi. both books come from a specific practice, it fascinates me how that practice proceeds."

"Eileen, kinda on that note, provides context and method in her rather lengthy book. I've noted earlier that in Bay Poetics varied types of works are cheek by jowl: prose, criticism and poetry. Eileen proceeds similarly. Eileen has a process that makes me think of Olson's sense of archive. genre distinctions are muted. there are poems, collaboration, and reflection in this book. I like how that works, all tied together. her thesis, to call it that, is a use of punctuation, a conscious controlling of the poem's space. I think this is a useful consideration, or what I mean, that punctuation isn't often seen in its larger meaning, or meaningfulness. I like to see the thinking of the artist, the active process, so these 2 books work for me. I just got Punctuations, just getting warm to its invitation."

Thanks Allen -- and hope things heat up further and nicely. And, it's interesting (well, to me if not to you) how this book is getting attention fairly quickly -- I had thought this would be the one book that'd die into obscurity. Well, it's still early -- it may yet happen...But with words like Allen's, Chris', Rochita's, Brandon's, Leny's, among others...I'm already happy that the PUNCTUATIONS have had a chance to bat their eyelashes...and be noticed. Salamat, y'all...

WOOF WOOF VIA SPD

Ernesto Priego's NOT EVEN DOGS will also be available in a few weeks through Small Press Distribution (SPD) -- a good thing to know for teachers of poetry, creative writing, and multicultural studies; and bookstores (which means you also can go to your favorite bookstore and order Ernesto's book via SPD)!

UPDATE: Note that per NED's link at SPD, the book is appropriate for poetry and Latino/Latina studies...to which I would add multicultural studies, creative writing...

To be a publisher of poetry is to never shut up, eh...?