Friday, November 5, 2021
Short Films by Ken Jacobs on PennSound
Wednesday, November 3, 2021
Happy Birthday to Tom Weatherly
We're familiar by now with the designation of neglected writers as "poets' poets" — essentially, an excuse for their continuing neglect. And we are, or should be, even more familiar with the neglect heaped on African American innovative writers, especially those who refuse to be easily pigeonholed into secure ideological or formal categories. Thomas Elias Weatherly (1942–2014) fits both categories. Since his death, on July 15, 2014, his work has continued to occupy the cracks, lost in the shadows, just another one of the ghosts of American poetry. It shouldn't be this way. Born in Scottsboro, Alabama, in 1942, Weatherly turned to poetry at the age of eight after seeing a vision of Homer, who instructed him to become a "wekwom teks," or "weaver of words." This experience inspired his first poem: "It did seem / That he said / Sing until dead." Weatherly would heed this call throughout his life.
Forming a companion to this work by Weatherly is a series of longer critical essays and shorter tributes. Burt Kimmelman's essay on Weatherly, "The Blues, Tom Weatherly, and the American Canon," shows Weatherly as a blues poet par excellence, carefully tracing his emergence in the New York poetry scene, the importance of his Southern background, and the technical innovations of his work. Ken Bluford's "Essay with Tom Weatherly in It," first published alongside Weatherly's work in Lip magazine in 1970, further points out how Weatherly's use of Southern vernacular traditions both sets him alongside and contrasts him to better-known poets of the Black Arts Movement. My own essay focuses on Weatherly's first book, the Maumau American Cantos, concentrating on Weatherly's writing of the American South and his figurations of sexuality. The piece by Evelyn Hoard Roberts reprinted from the Dictionary of Literary Biography provides a detailed and invaluable biographical overview of Weatherly's early career.
Monday, November 1, 2021
Eugene Ostashevsky: Scalapino-Hejinian Lecture in Innovative Poetics, 2021
This excerpt from the original announcement for the canceled 2020 event seems especially pertinent to the topic of Ostashevsky's talk:
Writing in LARB, Boris Dralyuk calls The Pirate a "raucous modern-day Anatomy of Melancholy, a seriocomic linguistic performance the likes of which we rarely see, in any tongue. It is a beautiful song, broadcast by an outcast whose language is all his own." The Italian newspaper Il Manifesto speaks of The Pirate's "poetics of immigration." The German edition of the book, translated by Uljana Wolf and Monika Rinck, was awarded the International Poetry Prize from the City of Münster, with the jury praising the original's "polyphonic and polyglot verbal acrobatics" and linguistic multiplicity. For the Süddeutsche Zeitung, Ostashevsky's work "argues that one must have distance from language, and also an awareness that no language is only 'mine'; it is rather many languages of different times and speakers that collide or coalesce under the name 'English.' Every language is, in a sense, a parrot language." For another German reviewer, The Pirate "deconstructs the strategies of linguistic exclusion concealed by such concepts as 'indigenous,' 'refugee,' and 'native language.'"
Originally the Scalapino Lecture in Innovative Poetics, the Scalapino-Hejinian Lectures in Innovative Poetics started in 2011, the year after Leslie Scalapino's death. As amorphous as its namesake's poetry, the series has had events at a variety of locations over the past decade, including the Pratt Institute, Small Press Traffic, Naropa University, and UC Berkeley. You can browse our complete archive of recordings from the series here; Ostashevsky's lecture can be found here.
Friday, October 29, 2021
Halloween Poems: A Brief Playlist
Wednesday, October 27, 2021
Robert Duncan Reads "Passages" at the Berkeley Poetry Conference, 1965
This new addition complements another recording of Duncan at the Berkeley Poetry Conference, presumable from during his seminar held July 12–16, which includes the titles"Often I am Permitted to Return to a Meadow," "Structure of Rime" numbers 9–11, "Apprehensions," "Osiris and Set (from Roots and Branches)," "A Poem Beginning with a Line by Pindar," "The Continent," and "The Multiversity." Taken together they present a fuller portrait of Duncan's influential presence at this landmark conference, though sadly we still do not have a recording of his July 13th lecture "Psyche-Myth and the Moment of Truth." Listen to both Berkeley recordings by clicking here
On PennSound's Robert Duncan author page you'll find a wide array of readings, talks, films, and more from 1951–1986, along with a 1990 memorial reading. Click here to start browsing.
Monday, October 25, 2021
Bern Porter on PennSound
Thursday, October 21, 2021
Remembering Kerouac on the 52nd Anniversary of His Death
[S]ound is movement. It interests me that the words "momentary" and "moments" come from the same Latin: "moveo, to move. Every statement exists in time and vanishes in time, like in alto saxophonist Eric Dolphy's famous statement about music: "When you hear music, after it's over it's gone in the air, you can never capture it again." That has gradually become more of a positive value to me, because one of the great things about the moment is that if you were there in that moment, you received that moment and there's an intensity to a moment that can never be gone back to that is somehow more memorable. Like they used to say, "Was you there, Charlie?"
Kerouac said, "Nothing is muddy that runs in time and to laws of time." And I can’t resist putting next to that my favorite statement by Maurice Blanchot: "One can only write if one arrives at the instant towards which one can only move through space opened up by the movement of writing." And that’s not a paradox.
"Old Angel Midnight" is only the beginning of a lifelong work in multilingual sound, representing the haddalada-babra of babbling world tongues coming in thru my window at midnight no matter where I live or what I'm doing, in Mexico, Morocco, New York, India or Pakistan, in Spanish, French, Aztec, Gaelic, Keltic, Kurd or Dravidian, the sounds of people yakking and of myself yakking among, ending finally in great intuitions of the sounds of tongues throughout the entire universe in all directions in and out forever. And it is the only book I've ever written in which I allow myself the right to say anything I want, absolutely and positively anything, since that's what you hear coming in that window... God in his Infinity wouldn't have had a world otherwise — Amen."



