Monday, September 30, 2013, 6:30 pm
535 West 22nd Street, 5th Floor
New York City
Geoffrey Young was born in Los Angeles in 1944, and grew up in San Diego. He moved to Great Barrington, Massachusetts, in 1982, after spending time in California, New Mexico, and France. His small press, The Figures (1975-2005), has published more than 135 books of poetry, art writing, and fiction. His own recent books include All the Anarchy I Want (Lonely Woman, 2013), Dumbstruck (Yawning Abyss, 2013), Get On Your Pony & Ride (Non-Fiction, 2012), and The Riot Act (Bootstrap Editions, 2008). He is also the author of previous works, including Fickle Sonnets (The Figures, 2005), Lights Out (The Figures, 2003), and Cerulean Embankments (Living Batch Books, 1999). He has directed the Geoffrey Young Gallery for the last 22 years, as well as written catalogue essays for numerous artists.
GET ON YOUR PONY AND RIDE
You are under the impression that my poems
Inspect the baroque business
Of being in the world (dawn light, texture
Of clothes, bare feet on stairs, hand
Skimming a railing), that they assay
What it feels like to be awake, to have sex
On the brain, to be sobered by memory, inspired
By chance, all the while feeding gossip to birds and love
To friends, etc., etc., but if you must know the truth
Inside each word (like pigeons cooing in belfries)
There is a perplexing acceptance
Of the fact that we are never free
That even this hand, this eye, this right
To die, must vanish in the end.
Jack Kimball was born in 1954 in Boston. He is an after-language poet and editor of Faux Press, Cambridge, which he founded in 2001. He has taught at Harvard University, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and in Japan. His books of poetry include Post~Twyla (Blue Lion Books, 2006); Manship (Detour, 2001); and Frosted (Potes & Poets Press, 2001). He lives outside Boston.
Where The Fuck Were You
Trulia voices wake me up.
It's too embarrassing
pulsing in is the deep mirror
a light snow performing butoh.
(Ethical and esthetic boundaries pertain.)
— I don't want any fun
or to get to know you
ultra-excited to be enthused / am..
web-mincing a response
one thinks on the way to
— the oppressor in his plumage
(I was up in the house
— I saw his softening machine)
how many pounds in a week?
I was hit in the face when he turned on himself.
I knew I am unhappy and not —
A toe-tap to signal potential
Demon Puffs that you are not occupied,
that you are on their side in the I-Be area.
A head with no moving parts, transfixed silhouettes,
plight dwellers' outlines — indexes to the gentle
varieties that keep steely details to a minimum.