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| Bruce Andrews February 2004 If effort could talk well hid spoils node ads cross out trill fingered by lament touch amiss, as is somebody were the house peeper, a wholesomely clandestine interval a threat startling in its known eraser bathos: can a turn burn? — real queasy glitters silence more delinquent heat made uniforms from skin congeal teeth skull as lyric a flame overindebted poke taut risk scald egregious butter an exploding since whining boring spasm overspills bows on an overhead sacrosanct bereaving Bruce Andrews Wind me up unknowing, a steady nocturnal you’re in danger of the worrying never makes a noise speculative to touch a sort of poetic radiator sacked by flesh the memories could go on vacation & I identify with myself first — your snapshots were my belt limbed the usually tongue-tied tactics for queasiness you never look forward to seeing me when you’re with me you’re pretty inconsiderable not begs to differ, something emotional could insist defeat in a mention your blustering about immediacy, smug my shield raped by unknown all itch dizzy night without reward into conversation I’m not sure the writer has a way with words, misgivings, misperceivings pressure felt sorry even desire is undesirable — can the small head be bedrest too willfully peppered I relax to feed deserted mouthpiece who said history has nudity picked out with real virgins Bruce Andrews Rhythm is a vacuum bruises are weapons the bookshops haven’t the heart gasp antibodies moved by facts or moved by pictures? — systole me some husbandry in stucco savvy provoke the passion between objects in design immanent allowanceable deception howls enough opining a head pump nouned on you release the pressure on your grudge recursively speaking, sudden or sullen? — only triggers can be awkward, only certainty is vintage: be glad your internal children die, a private reference fairground to invent appropriate developments in your past: no wheelchair could insure you I’ll be a monk on your mobile diffidence with the territory — a union of nothing special cussing threshold you’re so hostile now to the non-rational grows no more choice if quality had anniversaries to flatter by information my generosity cannot keep the book propped open feigned ensconcing shudders to short-cut non-living circumstance careful not to be an example of the perfect slurpie pedigree curtails — can you mother alone? Bruce Andrews is "a performance artist and poet whose texts are some of the most radical of the Language school; his poetry tries to cast doubt on each and every ‘natural’ construction of language" (The Oxford Companion to Twentieth Century Literature in English). Andrews is a founding editor of the legendary journal L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E, which catalyzed the eponymous poetry movement that emerged in the 1970s and ’80s. His many books include Lip Service, Give ’Em Enough Rope, Designated Heartbeat, Ex Why Zee, Tizzy Boost, and I Don’t Have Any Paper So Shut Up (or, Social Romanticism). |
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The Rail invites you to a reading with Jason Flores-Williams and Brian Carreira, along with musical guest Steve Strunsky of the Lonesome Prairie Dogs. Thurs., Sept. 22, 8:30 p.m. Vox Pop--Flatbush, Brooklyn www.voxpop.net |
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OFF THE RAIL FALL 2005 at the Central Branch of the Brooklyn Public Library - Grand Army Plaza |
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The Independent Press Association-NY recently honored The Brooklyn Rail with the following awards: |