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Decoding Op. 4
the swallows are back to feast on territory
border book page 5 tuesday, important music
from a computer with audio political agenda
[must went out with expletives stands for mudder]
treated to copious amounts of ganja, animal parts the battery
may demand matches to manually administer on war torn liberia
connect administration to comply with the limits for a class b
everywhere Avermaria dumps during time everywhere the slider notes
conflicting reports arriving simultaneously from every poor town
of this summer storage allocation to our laughter having flown
away settings in the dumps pull weeds of composite metals
out of cathode ray tubes appareil numérique. Be sure you have
the controls to ninetten years! buttoning their pants and the off
underneath the down spout transferring variations in bird anatomy
if not adjustable, similar products must always be supervised
partly at the chance they remove the back from any ape so widely
reported in the media because transferring and sprays, solvents
and alcohol and abrasives carry features of this abuse to exponents
of proper human condition. december’s batteries are tuesdays page 8
turn it on again, wait five seconds, then turn it on again.
additional suggestions hung in the square.
our unmarried women includinginterference never service
never force a connector into a port. if the temperature
is always between 0 and 35 degrees…
Decoding Op. 3
using the rules of bereaved grammar
for windows, and lock holes negate your author to
operate the negative recharge the face of the outcome
of four steps to heaven through heels and old water
and more of the same m16 copper muzzle the shift in the heel
feeling romantic the battery status; 1 in 24.
notinstalled and used unproperly—that is,
in disk, the status light on the front of accordance
with the moisture in openings expanding and closing
the aerosol movement of aerosol important more often than not
don’t use the and knot the insertion or later the erect border
so blown and limp that we look on the run to
avoid getting minutes of water on ankles and shuffle to drag songs
in harlequin turn off of one minute charged
openingautomatically when you (willing to take tasteful risks).
the most sands of west africa. the scramble to make like.
then, each time youconnect it’s causedby the computer
or one of the photos from bottom patrol the streets of baghdad
in a roundabout way. ensemble of portions the first time you
lay on the buckle of positions tied to infirmed.
a headdress and sessions with compliance and dispose the port
the first the port. dispose the port the serial number.
Tomorrow or later you listen to using
you can not object the…
Decoding Op. 2
recent developments in the occupation update application
doesn’t your computer present the latest information?
go to make him impervious to bullets, he shuffles pulls it from the fccrules.
illustrated by the mid-90s for american rap
satan as a teenager [again, this is your connection calling]
thanks to the arrival of the internet we can only purchase.
The user is obstructed from fitting. residentialinstallation.
they made us prisoners in their own applications/utilities.
if nothinghappens set the switch
plays all alone with a shiny tin can. his computer.
for fastest transfer speeds, uniform dress doesn’t mean all
wars are of the television or radio.
tribal hunters, they pluck their style and source page 17:
following measures calmly. turn the television or believe us but we swear to god this is certain amount of space
near the to disconnect your reception is suspected.
radio is visible, the battery is out of power
so have some fun with it. death is out there causing interference for our own boys in uniform.
in about two hours, send your equipment and military uniforms. you could improve performance or add features. drag and conceal your collapsible stocks– you need to get started.
become caught or trapped—forexample, while canada makes electrical statements on civil wars: “Replace all civil wars with visual manifestations of combatants pushing rafters in cycles creating gothic structures out of sheer force…
Decoding Op. 1
Settings.note: with versions of
hours to change the battery. to strapless gucci number, or perhaps even the center of all this mayhem blows one question said to be analogous to bloomingdale’s:
If the status light blinks orange:
the device may not cause harmful interference, on dancing toes again, sparkling a service. finding the serial number of your experienced radio/television technician.
Follow the onscreen looting. Women were forced into slavery and push button three times quickly so help. rocket-propelled grenade launchers– a remarkable name!
Even when lightblinks green, check the battery.
the interior of any electrical product before west africa, contained “naked” transferred according to usb connector. border.book page 26 tuesday, your ear as shown.
If you don’t see this light, try golden and their other colour. the band was december 21, 2004 10:29 am.
Actually, that not only makes him happen. If you experience ringing, see the man is mad with love.
When the battery is charging, wait the barbarian. Animal skins and loincloths 561-684-TwentyOneHundred.
Use an authorized reseller. A used pipe for radio antenna until theinterference stops. Troubleshooting 23, if you’re attentive while driving, stop listening to illegal shoppers. Safe, proven fascists.
All The Unread Shelves: Neon Vernacular by Yusef Komunyakaa
Mark has accumulated many books. Unfortunately, he hasn’t read them yet. Each week, Mark will be read a book he hasn’t finished and offer his impressions.
Yusef Komunyakaa’s Neon Vernacular made me think about the evolution of poets over time. It seems that artists go through periods of initial radicalization followed by conservative honing. Hopefully after this cycle completes they once again embrace radical writing, this time informed by a steady hand. I believe the success of each of these, admittedly generalized and unnuanced, periods depends on the author’s ability to channel his impulses correctly. Neon Vernacular is an argument for Yusef Komunyakaa’s brilliance over an entire career through every cycle. The collection is helpfully broken down into selections from each of Komunyakaa’s previous books arranged in chronological order. Each “book” offers a glimpse at an appealing theme that follows its own process of development. One of the most intriguing parts of this work for me was trying to piece together the thrust of each book from the snapshot provided. This allowed me to enter the work to a certain extent by offering a slumps into Komunyakaa’s development. I get the sense from what I’ve read that there is much to explore and I admittedly felt a little guilty going through the greatest hits without exploring the back catalog. For me the strongest work came in the Dien Cai Dau (“This Crazy Head”) selections which offer insight into the insightlessness of war. Many authors and artists are too willing to enter a dialogue about war, especially the Vietnam War, with a heavy hand and a strong moral conclusion, though I somehow believe Komunyakaa’s expression of open-ended confusion and meaty mortality is more realistic. While I hope to go through more of the poems in their original context, I’m happy to report that Komunyakaa is a great singles artist. This is the type of book you hi light great lines in for future reference. For me, the images seem to strike three lines late, so that the poem’s tone funs the path of the language forcing connections in a very clever way. I can’t say how this is done, but as poetry is a very personal experience, it would be most worthwhile for you to pick up a copy and see how the language hits you. The best part of Komunyakaa’s poetry is that the writing was always in control. At no point did I feel I was reading amateur work as he never seemed to reach outside his grasp without admitting he couldn’t reach what he was after.
All the Unread Shelves: The Heights of Macchu Picchu by Pablo Neruda
Mark has accumulated many books. Unfortunately, he hasn’t read them yet. Each week, Mark will be read a book he hasn’t finished and offer his impressions.
Reading The Heights of Macchu Picchu is a lot like going for a walk at lunch and wandering into a distant and wild place. The language begins in a daze and eventually focuses as Pablo Neruda approaches his subject. The work is physical and grand, built of hands and lush categorical images. It’s a tribute to Neruda that his abstractions always seem specific. I’m most interested in the way Neruda uses spacing and form changes between cantos almost as you would expect to hear changes in a pop album. (Forgive the constant comparison to records, but I really believe an LP is the best modern yardstick for small books of poetry.) Is Neruda the Brian Wilson of Spanish poetry? Perhaps, though rather than defining his location, Neruda expands it into universal understanding. His Macchu Picchu is a place of ceremony, a place that speaks of collective physical experience and its organization through human thought. I’m likely to seek out more Neruda based on this work, as this book was much too short. And as a result, so is this response.
Night Writing 12
A fresh collection of poetry for the first time this June. Although it has not yet been published, I think my last manuscript is complete. Now I can work on my next set unhinged.
What a relief
here is your doe eyed conflict
away from here in broken buildings
and what do you cover
yourself, animals, grinning awareness
they do not do it primitive
they do it under neath your head
here is your polite keyhole
plugged with grass because you believe
in nature and leniency
there is a gas leak
and when they said to count
you climbed into the drain
and instantly aged
you sell fruit
oranges, lemon
Desperate and in a frame
I wore a white t-shirt
and questioned my essential homeliness
I made the telephone wood
a road of pantone stones
and I spoke to so many new peoples
who respected my lack of dignity
mainly I retold books I hadn’t read
something about a bread line and
ASIA minor
stopped the tea
with two large cubes
and reasserted my
essential assertiveness
the sky moved here as a projection
I held a ring of thick keys
and thought about girlfriends
he would have thought
this mattered
each line undone by kettle steam
in glasgow’s roads a tosser limped
Degenerate for what my tv can sell
any noise that is required c
an make but can’t see the ci
ty in here radio is not endi
ng anymore can’t hear piano
escape again don’t want to r
un don’t mind the day don’t
mind the job can see face on
tv can see a head very clear
all pixels are invisible onl
y clarity new technology set
s up this clarity on tv can
recognize family in this fac
e can recognize all sounds c
an hear any noise the bicycl
e makes an engineer the pick
of all this from a fountain
and back to an airport and b
ack to here again where the
package is tight have been p
utting thoughts into contain
ers thoughts come out of mou
th in gel bricks put one in
each ziploc container and pu
t them in the freezer until
are gone are gone again the
slurred house where baby liv
es and dollar for coke machi
ne have heard him on tv agai
n all over the street on the
wall on the grass natural ha
ir like they do under the bu
ilding any further down wher
e red is moving lights reduc
ed frame rate reduced bitra
te is a feature of…
Selection from “The Intruder”
… A nearly nude man entered among these canvases and into these stretches of ice and desert. He drew along a disorderly caravan and walked alone. A voice that came from somewhere else made our ears tingle with a new sound. But in the mixture of cloaks and daggers, of songs and cries, a carnival atmosphere reigned— grace with spirit was especially lacking.
A very old world was spinning in our heads and we were waiting for a moment when everything would fall.
— Pierre Reverdy, a selection from “The Intruder”
From a new translation of Pierre Reverdy’s first book Prose Poems by Ron Padgett. As I make my way through Reverdy, there are some translations that are absolutely thrilling and others that are flat. Padgett managed to hit every note and I suspect added a few of his own.
Michael J. Hartwell’s Word Machines
A friend of mine from Carnegie Mellon has started to publish some of his work online and it’s surely worth your time. Michael consistently wrote evocative and thoughtful work when I was in workshops with him. Judging from what he’s put up so far he’s doing some interesting work at Indiana University’s MFA program. In particular, Atlas is a forceful poem.
Judging by the title of the blog, we have a similar interest in automation.
The Parking Lot
A few months ago I attempted to write a long form narrative poem about a security guard at a massive parking lot faced with difficult and consuming events. My attention span is unusually short, so I struggle with narrative, but I thought it was time to give it a try. While I don’t consider this poem completely successful, I do believe it has some very decent moments. I’ve included it here for your viewing pleasure, since I have no plans to publish it elsewhere.
In Florida, large parking lots are abundant. The more elaborate parking lots that surround malls and theme parks are usually accompanied by very organized French-inspired gardens and rows and rows of lights that never go out. Occasionally, I would spend time in these parking lots at night and so this poem was particularly inspired by those visits. Pinpointing my inspiration is usually a fool’s errand, so, in accompaniment with its narrative form, this piece is unique.
Poetic Glitch: “I Am Sitting in a Room”
In 1970, experimental composer Alvin Lucier recorded a short speech, played it back and re-recorded it several times. The intention of the work was to bring out the resonate frequencies of the room using the speech as a point of debarkation.
As the work goes on, the explanatory text becomes indecipherable as the sound of the room’s resonance creates a lurid cacophony increasing in complexity with each iteration of the process.
I am sitting in a room different from the one you are in now. I am recording the sound of my speaking voice and I am going to play it back into the room again and again until the resonant frequencies of the room reinforce themselves so that any semblance of my speech, with perhaps the exception of rhythm, is destroyed. What you will hear, then, are the natural resonant frequencies of the room articulated by speech. I regard this activity not so much as a demonstration of a physical fact, but more as a way to smooth out any irregularities my speech might have.
While Lucier justified this experiment (likely with tongue-in-cheek) as a way to “smooth out” his stutter, the distortions of his speech and each repetition create unexpected and moving complexities. An empty room and a disembodied voice turn into an erratic symphony.
Since poetry presents another space and another disembodied voice, I suggest that Lucier’s technique can quite easily be adapted for our purposes.
For this model, I will use…
Sendoff
nervous customers in lines of two
make every check out girl offer
a downturn. remember nothing
this sequence a photographic_
is losing all its frames, a ceiling_
another nervous face a brick of plastic
face of berlin drum face of berlin
through the tile floor, pivot and his
displaced stone came up. look at
the cement grain. where are the pipes?
you can’t see the pipes. you might hear
the pipes_ how’d we get up on the chrysler
building? how’d we get this bike up here?
how’d we get our hands untied?
dead man’s curve ahead, all children
know it’s time_ dogs to die.
Couldn’t be a blues
You sucked the muscle
right out of its shell
I roll a die across the street
down at this corner when the sidewalk collapses
traces of bleu bruise
their skin was so brown it couldn’t been disease
this must be a higher call
we dispense discounts based on
the hour
of day you walk out of
here
no complaints this place had no cash
I think I forgot my home number
no one wrote statutes that must have been numbered
nobody knows that name
the even day hangs on too long
you can really smell the butter
we do smell and drink our fill
she has a boyfriend, just now.
Suspense!
A handrail
suspend with brackets
four bolts no washer
suspend
lye in canvas
beneath here cement
here glass window
A pictureframe
all mill round
automatic stop plug
belt secure, book
store to body run out
A mail bomb
sit on bushes
this sweet potato
ask question
this sweet potato
push back
my low
An insulated cord
secure clip toward
breath away take
secure ground putty
upheld cup juggle
move red nail paint RAW
matching hand RAW
about the journal
Process is a journal composed of poetry, literary criticism, as well as book and film reviews.
The name of our journal, and its origami crane logo, derive in part from the work of Gilles Deleuze. For Deleuze, there is “no one substance, only an always-differentiating process, an origami cosmos, always folding, unfolding, refolding,” write the editors of his Wikipedia page.
The journal has been in operation since January 2009.