Dan Raphael read last and Julie Otten & John M. Bennett played rock,
scissors, paper or some more inflated decisive order making game and
therefore--
Julie Otten read first, reading three long poems, The Death of Andy
Gibb, a graphic piece about his stomach exploding, roller skating rings,
and learning to give blow jobs to "I Just Want to Be Your Everything."
Gabriels Hearse, was next, a piece about a father buying his kid a
hearse because the kid has better looking girlfriends and is a real
gonowhere. Alyce's Hair, ended the set, "hair the color of a Barbie
dipped in baby shit" which "when you wash it, you have to touch it like
a cake you test for doneness." Many laughs were given through the
reading, the only disappointment being that her reading was cut short
due to the ex-slag burning, environment induced sinus infection that
hits many Ohioans this exact time of year.
John M. Bennett started with _Mailer leaves Ham_ from Pantograph. His
reading was a real treat, the way he snarls on crust, or any K sound.
These pieces sizzled reading-wise, much giggling was heard and eyes were
widened by the end of these. Bennett is an excellent reader, a
contortionist with his mouth as he hits all of the phonemes and
morphemes notefully from the page score. There was discussion of
Bennett's brilliant reading style after and his use of crust as a sexual
image despite the sound. _Mailer_ did me in. The third set piece I feel
incapable of describing. Comparisons to Schwitters were made, but none
to Chuck Stein. As for the fourth, metrically it was broken into lines
of eight syllables, but it did not seem to have the impact of the first
two "sets" he read from. It's focus was not nearly as consonant based,
perhaps this was why. The second set was a reading from the
collaboration with Ivan Arguelles (Chac Prostibulario) which includes as
many as 12 languages, this was the most technically achieved
experimental piece I've heard aloud and attempted to understand at the
same instant, here's a stanza:
the lig ht fog cut c ut ter minal be
gins to list er ate yr nal gas ga zing
mas alla del ruedo row dar t I'm e rio
"real b lame" the frowning moth
madrastra c limbs/tiny flutes//rice chews
outside the corn you grave ("mice m ice")
nada r en tu zapato (calce tin tin
Then we took a break, well needed, the melted ears & minds of the
audience headed frontward to see the library of books on display.
Dan Raphael blew out any expectations reading a greatest hits selection.
Healthy page counts were read from _trees through the road_ , _Molecular
Jam_, _isn't how we got here_, and _The Bones Begin to Sing_ as well as
some newer work. Raphael is a large guy and swirls his energy around in
movements bringing the air in cyclones of words without loss of
referent. Pilation, image upon image, in circuitortous movement in how
one image impounds another in litigations of unlawful yokings. If you
could be any tree what would you be? Raphael knows what textures to
forgive and which to incorporate, not to mention the swaying and dance
like movements in the words and in the physical of the black sock footed
giant. The Cherry Tree at the Top of the Stairs wiped the audience
clean. Here is another--
"And Now, a Word from your Atmosphere"
Said the conductor up the hoop of funk over whose ground
thru whose air of
carnality--
"you call this meat RARE?"
my third leg a hundred decibel bass
like manhole covers with great moves and knees flexing too fast to count
we pump, we hump, we leave the ground and come back tomorrow
Yo
means me
that shadow with a car in his chest, american steel, clutchless shifting
for efficiency, shiftlessly clutching to no one not in my mirror at
night-
background, rear view, coming up from the inside, knuckle curve spit,
centrifugal curling,
Like bach on methedrine playing sonic scattergun
each bird shot a chord stainvaying to some feathery oven
we rise in, yeast out of, party like an osprey
with how many brain-damaged sparrows inside:
Yeah they sing and fly even in their sleep--
they never sleep, the sun never goes down, beauty going down
where, stain of a fine time, wont ever wash this out, moon cyst,
digital paralysis with them numbers swimming like my fingers separate as
fish--
surging trout, salmon smelling heat,
thumb sturgeon waiting to pounce & hold down:
Never let em up for air, air so far away, air not meant to recycle,
air on a mission,
Don't trust it-- air'd do anything for skin
of its own,
to play flute with no slobbering lips and spasming lungs to run sour--
All across town air escapes from tires, balls and various prisons,
liberating the vacuums of lightbulbs and thermoses, turning up the
pressure,
taking names and teaching the new rules--
Listen to this, sucker,
or next time you breathe
nothings going down
Many thought it the best reading for some time. I was impressed at how
the audience was able to follow his great (i)magic leaps without puzzled
looks, trusting they were being lead somewhere important, so sat back,
relaxed, enjoyed the ride. We went out to Dow's on High, John had to get
up early for the library, took a raincheck. Discussions about
publishing, Oregon poets, Ohio poets, meth labs, the environment,
mexican drugs, and so on. Read some poems aloud, got engrossed in a play
in the new NEOTROPE: All Story, which kept me up, light sleep, breakfast
at Jack & Benny's, Raphael read a poem he wrote me, then went off to
BGSU----
Monday the 17th, Maj Ragain
Be well
David Baratier
Columbus OH, USA
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