IAWE Book Reading 07/07 at 7

Reading

I will have the honor of participating in a reading in Tel Aviv with Lois Michal Unger and Karen Alkalay-Gut on 7 July 2013 at 7 pm. The reading is sponsored by the Israel Association of Writers in English (IAWE) to honor books published in the last two years.
Please consider coming if you are in Israel, and please share this with friends who might be interested whether you are in Israel or not.

Details

New books by some IAWE members will be featured in readings by the writers

When: Sunday 7 July 2013 at 7 pm.

Where: Tzumet Sfarim Bookstore in the Tel Aviv Port, Hangar 20.

Admission free.

(Map is to the port, not Hangar 20)

The writers and books

Lois Michal Unger, How Country Music Helped Me To Make Aliya
Karen Alkalay-Gut, Layers
Michael (Dekel) Dickel, Midwest / Mid-East

How Country Music Helped Me to Make Aliyah by Lois Michal Unger

How Country Music Helped Me to Make Aliyah by Lois Michal Unger

Layers by Karen Alkalay-Gut

Layers by Karen Alkalay-Gut

Midwest / Mid-East book cover

Midwest / Mid-East by Michael Dickel

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Two poems from Midwest / Mid-East

Two poems from Midwest / Mid-East

Enjoy. These are two poems, pp.23-24, from my book, Midwest / Mid-East. The image in the background is the book cover, of course. The books is currently on sale for 60% off. Click on one of the images to find out more.

Late Night Jazz, page 23 Pirene's Fountain. 2(5). May 2009.

Late Night Jazz, page 23
Pirene’s Fountain. 2(5). May 2009.

clear

But Hear the Dissonance, 1948-2012, page 24

But Hear the Dissonance, 1948-2012, page 24

The selected and new poems in Midwest / Mid-East begin with an invocation, visit the Midwest, travel to the Mid-East, then settle into contemporary times within global contexts. Ranging from the lyric to experimental, the poems’ rich imagery and language express the complexity and multiplicity of contemporary perspectives of life, spirituality, love, politics, erotics and (mis)communication. The poetry in the book expresses a self-aware and questioning intellect emotionally engaged in the world which constructs the speaker’s uncertain identity. These two poems represent one selected (Late Night Jazz) and one new (But Hear the Dissonance, 1948-2012). If you like these, please consider purchasing the book to help support my work. Comments and reviews welcome.

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Experiment six—Deciduous Mirror Reflecting

Midwest / Mid-East book cover

Summer sale: 60% off
Midwest / Mid-East

Contributors to this experiment (hover cursor over name to see their words): Michael Veloff, Jacqueline Dick, Cathy Crossan, gabriella garofalo, Jonathan Freed, Martina Reisz Newberry, Clare Washbrook, Paulette Buche, Aviva Frankel, MaryAnn Franta Moenck. Don’t forget to hover your mouse cursor above images and links to see more.

Please leave your comments and responses, like this post if you found it provocative reading, and share it with your friends and networks.

If you wish to have your words included in a future experiment, leave a list of five random words in a comment below.

Thank you.

Deciduous mirror reflecting

The woman with a beard kneels to readjust the Lilliputian fulcrum of the toad’s garden, reading between the lines of papyrus to the tune of an amphibious plop. The succinct, princely frog reflects in the deciduous mirror as it drops its leaves in a stellar reflection of night.

Flutterby buttefly, reflections in a stream. Lever and Lillies put you here, what do they mean?

ripples encompass the earth in chaotically flapping butterfly wings

In 1968, the world revolted. Revolutionary fires return to this garden night, she reflects. Arterial blood flows through starlight as a feather drops and the ripples encompass the earth in chaotically flapping butterfly wings. Turkey. Greece. Japan.

The clematis bloom glows, a heavenly reminder of possibility in the face of probability, the white of snow turning blue. Time lights a candle in the spire of the flower as it writes caviardage: Be vast, matter, aye ye windmill, eye the coming winds of change. The garden waits. Time decides the status of weed or flower; hybrid history names epochs.

reflecting through rock

She robes herself against nakedness, the woman with a beard, standing there in the weather. Silk spreads softly, bringing with it its own fan of hyperbole. She smells the fecundity of toad, frog, garden, prince. Not aspartame-fake sweet, but a hieroglyphic packed with ritualized sacrifice, she thinks:

Her smooth-faced lover, cut out of her heart. The mad painter she erased, the crumbs brushed away. The stilted lover drifted away, followed the Dead. The tall one with the laser eyes, a space oddity, glazed over, lost to her world. The boy with the golden hair, driven out, away.

She throws rice grown in fish pits into the pond in the toad’s garden. The koi rise to the occasional flirting swallow twisting across a glimmering surface on a rolling basis, lapping pink from the sunset reflection. The toad thinks that pearls pester him, but not as much as they do the oyster.

She watches the water, then a tree girdled with carved lines from Gertrude Stein, sees a rose and thinks of the word love. What is it? A cheetah racing away or a crow cawing raucously to others? Not a stickler for such images, her property proves a magnet, her heart attracts ice, its melting memory a peripheral-vision flash as an icicle comes crashing down with a wallop.

20130616-191854.jpg

She watches the water, then a tree
girdled with carved lines from Gertrude Stein,
sees a rose and thinks of the word love.

Experimental Chaos  |  Experiment two—The Other Day  |  Experiment three—The Toad’s Garden  |  Experiment four—Reflexive Properties  |  Experiment five—Word-Tossed Salad  |  Experiment six—Deciduous Mirror Reflecting

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New projects underway

I’m taking a short rest from posting the experimental writing series for a promotional post. I have two new projects—one decades under development, the other a few days old. Also, while I’m at it, I have a couple of recent publications to mention as well. Call this self-promotion.

is a rose press logo

is a rose press

Project one is a new poetry / contemporary press that three colleagues and I are preparing to launch. For now, books will be by invitation only. After we get up and running, iron out any bugs, learn more about what we’re doing, we will probably change that policy.

The first official publication will be gary lundy’s when voices detach themselves. This is an amazing book of short poems that are also a single work, exploring relationship, meaning, connections and (dis)(un(connect)ions). As Donnelle McGee (Shine, Sibling Rivalry Press, 2012) puts it:

The remnants of love and fragmented voices shape the narrative of Gary Lundy’s when voices detach themselves. You will be enthralled with Lundy’s lines. Each line constructed of images that breathe vulnerability onto the pages of a narrative that brings you in close to the voices of longing, and even closer to the voices and bodies trying to find harmony amid discord.

We have the cover designed, the inside laid out, and we’re ready to purchase our ISBNs and assign the book to one. Then we’ll go to press. Schedule will be to send out review copies soon and an official launch later this summer. Check out the press here, on our blog / web page. It’s new, too, so many pages just have the logo, but there is some content and it will be changing daily. Or weekly. Something like that.

gary and I have been talking about working together at publishing contemporary poetry and writing for two decades now. It’s time we actually did it, don’t you think? With Valerie Déua and Rebecca Knots on board to help, we might actually do something here. We all hope something interesting and worthwhile. Stay tuned. Read more about the beginnings.

Po[a](es)[thet](it)i[c]s Un(der)gournd(ed)

Po(es)(it)is Un(der)ground(ed)

Po(es)(et)is Un(der)ground(ed) is about as long as I was allowed for the name of a new online “newspaper,” actually a news aggregate service that I have set up to follow certain feeds using filters. I’m trying to capture online activity—from conventional journals and news sources to Facebook, Google+, and Twitter feeds—related to contemporary poetics and poetry.

The first edition is now up here. Right now the filtering is perhaps a little broad, so related topics is wide enough to include non-poetry books, literature, reading links. It’s okay, though, I think. The paper will “regenerate” every week, Tuesday, 9:00 am Eastern U.S. time. I’ll go through the automated edition sometime shortly after and editing out unrelated material. I will tweak the feeds, filters, and priority for inclusion as much as I can in the coming weeks.

I hope that if you’ve been reading my blog and enjoy the full range of the posts, that you will go to this project, share it in your networks, and even “subscribe.” If you subscribe, you’ll be notified once a week, when the new edition is ready.

The title, as represented by the logo, can be read several ways in variation / derivations from Po-aesthetics to Poetics to Poiesis (possibly without the ego i) // Underground or Ungrounded or Ground or Grounded. po (a) (es) (thet) it is (alt. ics) un der ground ed. Have fun kneading your own combinations and versions. And feel free to include Greek, Spanish, French, Russian…Hebrew, Chinese, Japanese…Tamil, Anishinabe, Diné

Hands kneading bread

Two pieces in the most recent Drash Pit

The most recent issue of Drash Pit, which will remain up online through the summer, includes a poem of mine and a short essay. The poem, Following, responds to the theme announced in the prior issue, “bread crumbs.” The editor derived the theme from a piece I wrote for that issue, so I can’t complain. The short essay, If We Turn Down the Noise, reflects on the relationship between narrative and hope, with a Jewish flavor to the mix. If you read them, I hope that you like them. If you like them, I hope that you will share them on your social networks.

Next post

I expect to be back to the experimental writing for the next post. If you’d like to be included in an upcoming experiment, leave five random or free-associated words, comma separated, in a comment here. Thanks.

 

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Experiment five–Word-Tossed Salad

Midwest / Mid-East book cover

Summer sale: 60% off my book
Midwest / Mid-East
selected and new poems

This is the fifth experiment in this series. Each experiment includes words suggested by others, which I string together in some hybrid of Dada found object (the suggested words and the links I find later by Googling words and phrases) and surrealist automatic writing, with a definite nod to language poetry. Words. Sounds. Rhythms. Fragments of meaning. Contributors left their words in comments on here, Facebook, Google+, and LinkedIn. Contributors for this experiment: Joanna Chen, Stanley H. Barkan, Steven Wadey, Bogpan, Anna Patterson , Nicholas Whittaker, Louis Profeta, gabriella garofalo, Jason Topp and Lisa Holden.

Please leave your comments and responses, like this post if you found it provocative reading, and share it with your friends and networks.

If you wish to have your words included in a future experiment, leave a list of five random words in a comment below. Thank you.

Word-Tossed Salad

20130605-152819.jpg

A duck swims in the pond… photo ©2013 Michael Dickel

The woman with a beard strolls to the station through sunshine cutting like a blade. A duck swims in the pond to resonate resoundingly with restructured memories of chickens. A Brobdingnagian sense of largeness, largess from the Cajun Country music, Zydeco rides a coat of paint, counts rhythmically sensational sensual expansion on her timpani membrane.

A dingleberry drops on the earwig, unerringly resting in shade of the toad’s garden beneath a diachrony in space, the way her smooth-faced lover two-timed her tune, thyme in the chicken, parsley in the salad, sage advice, rosemary babying bye and bye. The real bird next to a cement-statue bird counts to five, standing still to still stand after the hunter.

Wharves sing to the waves, sea goings-on and off the sand, as autumn cascades corpulently toward the Bogpan peninsula. It all lowers and raises the living, shimmering question, what if? in her shimmed mind, off-balance scales, that way nothing.

…un-solid world twisting in solid up-born whirligig wind… ©2013 Michael Dickel

…un-solid world twisting in solid up-born whirligig wind… ©2013 Michael Dickel

To understand hope, to deny hurt, to sing. Elaboration is a form of pollution, her mind skips to my Lou. Walk walk green green skip my jolly flowering grasses. Cobalt blue sky calms clammy fear of the afternoon moon but nowhere recalls verbatim, an exceptional, lowly ingrate of an orang-utan twisting, elastic. Word salad tossed to the wind, un-solid world twisting in solid up-born whirligig wind, elephantine ego elastically sutured to the.


“…resonate resoundingly with restructured memories of chickens…”
Video and soundtrack by Michele Banabila, posted on YouTube

Menu for the series

Experimental Chaos  |  Experiment two—The Other Day  |  Experiment three—The Toad’s Garden  |  Experiment four—Reflexive Properties  |  Experiment five—Word-Tossed Salad  |  Experiment six—Deciduous Mirror Reflecting

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Experiment four—Reflexive Properties

This is the fourth experiment in this series. Each includes words suggested by others, which I string together in some hybrid of Dada found object (the suggested words) and surrealist automatic writing, with a definite nod to language poetry. Words. Sounds. Rhythms. Fragments of meaning. Contributors left their words in comments on here, Facebook, Google+, and LinkedIn. The contributors for this experiment: Susan ThorntonSteven WadeyAmpat KoshyNicholas Whittaker, Michele Baron, Carolyn Hoople CreedAliona ZykovaJonathan JonesLucile BarkerNalini Priyadarshni.

Reflexive Properties

Another bit of this and that from the net of ether, screened reality through spidered-network sociability unfolding in cyberspace-time. So much folderol, foolish nonsense on shiny screens an anesthetic pigsty, un-aesthetic style pick. The old don’t mollycoddle around with quotidian living—a day is not just a day when nearing the end of closing networks, out-of-work servers laying down their hard-driving rain. Unemployment controls. The sentence unfolds. The comma at the end causes trauma, pist one day us guys went up to the Five, 2+3, 3+2, reflexive properties, the drunk man mutters, sinks into his misting beer at the bar below as the woman with a beard watches. The beach cafe. So many bars, so many drowning folk stories, blew sung winds. The cook would fry up some creepers, tender. Drinking from this bitter gourd leaves a taste unwanted but accepted in sad nostalgic nasturtiums nested next to the path.

Night birds, digital photo montage ©2013 Michael Dickel

Night birds, digital photo montage ©2013 Michael Dickel

She wants to understand, to hold hope and have. Musty memories mold and deny understanding possessing geometric properties, recursive; hurt hops off hope spins it out of control over a cliff. Crash and burn in the sunshine of you are my Sing this, if you can, she would say to the folk singer at one end of space, but that singer would not listen from her end of time. A child, really.

A taste of salt this work, letters blowing away in sand, she sings to herself, these songs that do not end but echo endless mnemonic caverns, turn on the wing of a tern or sea gull over the beach, as she sips slowly her whiskey whispers. It’s a promise, a creed torch burning, the physiognomy of tomorrow that can mortify yesterday following an estuary as the gull turns. This bird teaches with a Socratic method without refrain, she thinks. A wonder-wench would dream it diving, deliberately darting daringly. The gull shrieks off in a pussyvan. Palatized consonants by palatines speak любовь, love, Lilith stealing away the night, haunting campfires of paleolithic desires, hunting spheres of influence emanating distinctions heard by Red Heifer herds.

 Lilith, digital photo montage ©2013 Michael Dickel

Lilith stealing away the night, haunting campfires of paleolithic desires

Laughing women three tables over wear different vintage sunburnt skins, slouching at the table while watching each other, murder the disposition of their eyes, as they recall betrayals, stolen lovers, sunshine my you are and traffic heavy, heaving across causeways narrowly traversed. Their radio blasted beach-combers who did not listen or hear here near the heart while hair twisted blue fingers. The lineup stretches into grief, solitary and communal. Later, over coffee, they will mention Montreal, a golf ball, and how much someone worries while on the run.

Menu for the series

Experimental Chaos  |  Experiment two—The Other Day  |  Experiment three—The Toad’s Garden  |  Experiment four—Reflexive Properties  |  Experiment five—Word-Tossed Salad  |  Experiment six—Deciduous Mirror Reflecting

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Experiment three—The Toad’s Garden

This is the third in my current series of experimental writing. Loosely based on Dada and Surrealistic automatic writing, I have collected a list of five words each from ten different folk who either left comments on the blog (leave your five words here, if you wish to be included in future experiments), on Google+, or on Facebook. Contributors to this experiment are: Monika Ashwin VAmpat KoshyMike StoneAllen NettletonJerry IngemangodessofsmallthingsRayona TuneeloChristine A. FarleyJen Pettit, and Peter Valentine.

The Toad’s Garden

A trinket that will traffic in trigonometry falls across a toad’s forest plaza. Love, without sex, creates a constant in the calculations of nothing. The toad lives on a nice and norval diggery ave, where it wonders, “Where’s my gawddamn slippers gorn?!?!”

It’s all a straw dog drawn along the floor. The capacitor follows the missing lines of calculations to enter an elephant. Mercury in retrograde or quicksilver at your feet, tosh. The grumpy steel worries when it will fall, effervescent sparks pluming, lonely, into the rolling molds.

The woman with the beard feels fright for the toad, poor wretch, while tending her garden. The rain-pulse pounds down the crimson flowers. Their efflorescence is the pneuma she seeks to savor. It is a stretch to deliver this thought to her tongue, precocious and fleeting this, and you, yet, still want it, she thinks. Her tongue tastes salty sweat trickling in the heat.

Crimson Flower Efflorescence Photo Montage ©Michael Dickel

Crimson Flower Efflorescence Photo Montage ©Michael Dickel

Menu for the series

Experimental Chaos  |  Experiment two—The Other Day  |  Experiment three—The Toad’s Garden  |  Experiment four—Reflexive Properties  |  Experiment five—Word-Tossed Salad   |  Experiment six—Deciduous Mirror Reflecting

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