Readings in Contemporary Poetry
Ann Lauterbach and Paul Foster Johnson
Thursday, February 17, 2011, 6:30 pm, Dia Chelsea
Thursday, February 17, 2011, 6:30 pm
535 West 22nd St.
New York City
Introduction by Vincent Katz
Ann Lauterbach
Ann Lauterbach was born and raised in New York City. She is the author of eight books of poetry including Or to Begin Again (Penguin, 2009), which was nominated for the National Book Award, Hum (2005), If in Time: Selected Poems 1975-2000 (2001), On a Stair (1997), And for Example (1994), Clamor (1991), Before Recollection (1987), and Many Times, but Then (1979), as well as a book of essays, The Night Sky: Writings on the Poetics of Experience (1994). Her collaborations with visual artists include Thripsis, with Joe Brainard (1998), A Clown, Some Colors, A Doll, Her Stories, A Song, A Moonlit Cove, with Ellen Phelan (1996), and How Things Bear Their Telling, with Lucio Pozzi (1990). In 2008, Lauterbach’s collaboration for Ann Hamilton's “Tower” was the subject of a talk at Beineke Library's, “Metaphor Taking Shape: Poetry, Art, and the Book.” She is the recipient of fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the New York State Foundation for the Arts, the Ingram Merrill Foundation, and the MacArthur Foundation. She is currently the Ruth and David E. Schwab Professor of Language and Literature and co-chair of Writing at the Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts at Bard College, and visiting core critic at the Yale University School of Art.
GLYPH
It was, she said, her favorite color.
Fine, I said, have it your way.
He said he loved small things.
How small? I asked. No answer.
A book arrived in the mail I did not order.
The leaves, many of them, were falling.
Perhaps, I thought, it was sent just in case.
It was, she said, her favorite color.
A dog barked. He was new to the neighborhood.
Fine, I said, have it your way.
He said he loved small things.
A book arrived in the mail I did not order.
Today was more or less full of surprises.
Something in the mix of habit and hope.
Surprise, she said, is a kind of call.
Perhaps, I thought, it was sent just in case.
To what or to whom are you referring?
I refer, she said, to the dog.
How small? I asked. No answer.
The leaves, many of them, were falling.
A dog barked. He was new to the neighborhood.
It was, she said, her favorite color.
Do animals forget? I asked.
The leaves, many of them, were falling.
Something in the mix of habit and hope.
A book arrived in the mail I did not order.
How small? I asked. No answer.
Today was more or less full of surprises.
Fine, I said, have it your way.
He said he loved small things.
How small? I asked. No answer.
A book arrived in the mail I did not order.
The leaves, many of them, were falling.
Perhaps, I thought, it was sent just in case.
It was, she said, her favorite color.
A dog barked. He was new to the neighborhood.
Fine, I said, have it your way.
He said he loved small things.
A book arrived in the mail I did not order.
Today was more or less full of surprises.
Something in the mix of habit and hope.
Surprise, she said, is a kind of call.
Perhaps, I thought, it was sent just in case.
To what or to whom are you referring?
I refer, she said, to the dog.
How small? I asked. No answer.
The leaves, many of them, were falling.
A dog barked. He was new to the neighborhood.
It was, she said, her favorite color.
Do animals forget? I asked.
The leaves, many of them, were falling.
Something in the mix of habit and hope.
A book arrived in the mail I did not order.
How small? I asked. No answer.
Today was more or less full of surprises.
Paul Foster Johnson
Paul Foster Johnson’s first collection of poetry, Refrains/Unworkings, was published by Apostrophe Books, and his second, Study in Pavilions and Safe Rooms, will be published by Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs. With E. Tracy Grinnell, he is the author of the g-o-n-g press chapbook Quadriga. His poems have appeared in The Awl, Jacket, Cannot Exist, GAM, EOAGH, Fence, and Octopus. From 2003 to 2006, he curated the Experiments and Disorders reading series at Dixon Place. He is an editor at Litmus Press and lives in New York.
MENAGERIE
Birds call like lasers
sainted creatures whose flesh’s funereal aura
fills the decorated shed.
A more extreme version
of passing out of objecthood
moves us to applaud.
We blended our voices to make overtones
and the dogs barked by instinct
or mechanization or both.
Whether it is thirty chickens rushing out
or one rat murdering another
an animal’s worldview is of consequence.
Someone said it was all very lord of the flies
but it was more like direct action in a mall.
It was like winged ants flying into our eyes.
sainted creatures whose flesh’s funereal aura
fills the decorated shed.
A more extreme version
of passing out of objecthood
moves us to applaud.
We blended our voices to make overtones
and the dogs barked by instinct
or mechanization or both.
Whether it is thirty chickens rushing out
or one rat murdering another
an animal’s worldview is of consequence.
Someone said it was all very lord of the flies
but it was more like direct action in a mall.
It was like winged ants flying into our eyes.