bergen poesifest
durationpress forfatterside
brian kim stefans
Kildare
paramour
conference
mop factory incident (pdf)
violence of the white page (pdf)
utskriftsvennlig format
Stacy Doris (f. 1962) skriver helt eksplisitt i forlengelsen av Language-poesien. «En viktig premiss i Language-experimentet,» skriver hun i en enquête i det svenske tidskriftet OEI, «är att poesi kan gjenomsyras av och anta formen av en stor mängd andra skrivsätt, däribland litterär, social och politisk teori. […en] föreställning som haft betydelse för mig och som Language har fört fram, är att poesi kan vara revolutionär, att vi genom att återuppfinna syntaxen, motsätta oss och ifrågasätta grammatiken, och så vidare, öppnar språket och dermed också samhället för nya organiseringsalternativ.» Og Stacy Doris skriver da heller ikke tekster som har som mål å være gode dikt, å bekrefte genren. Det er heller snakk om å la teksten bevege seg gjennom ulike posisjoner og positurer, om enn aldri så banale og grunne, for å undersøke «poesins begränsningar och implikationer i förhållande till samhället i stort» – kanskje særlig speilet i forholdet mellom kjønnene. Identiteter, genre, roller, stilnivåer, følelser og kjønn alternerer kontinuerlig – å lese tekstene kan minne om å bevitne et karneval, eller kanskje en samtid malt av Bosch eller Bruegel. «Comedy is better than identity,» skriver hun i en kort, liten poetologisk tekst, «and so, even with cheating, you can't really have both. Comedy is a mess. A disunity. Where the seams split. It is also prosody's perfect compliment, since it alleviates form: comedy enlightens or illuminates the genre.»
Stacy Doris har gitt ut bøkene Kildare (Roof Books 1995), Paramour (Krupskaya Books 2000) og Conference (Potes and poets Press 2001) i USA, i tillegg til La Vie de Chester Wiener écrite par sa femme (P.O.L. 1998) og Une année à New York avec Chester (P.O.L. 2000) på fransk. Hun har også gjendiktet Christophe Tarkos til amerikansk, og redigert to antologier med gjendiktninger av fransk samtidspoesi: Violence of the White Page, sammen med Phillip Foss og Emmanuel Hocquard, og 21 New (to America) French Poets i samarbeid med Norma Cole. (PBA)
Diktene som presenteres her er hentet fra Conference.
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Belbel's Argument
Venerated = Excluded. So'so. Because being means embrace/ what is not.
Swallow yourself
Slinking toward death
Swallow yourself
Your insides are out
Where swallow = avail.
Those who are their own worst enemy, we like. Those whose ardency burns away their stains. Shower me in smut and garden-dust, only don't brush me off. You can't brush me off. What's annihilated is always feminine. Doll 'em up before taking aim. What we're starting up with here is a gamble. Prepare to lose. Loss is the only training I promise you. Here's all you need:
Purify porks.
Name that tune.
Never look back. It signifies regret. Reentry: impossible.
Rush,
and once your foothold's in intelligibility, forge ahead to its extreme.
But let's talk of the flames:
Fire resembling she who jumps over, fire stomping its feet through the air, formless fire wherein cries wheel, rich light spilling, arched and moaning, or a horse more dazzling yet than the burning, or the child astride the back of such a horse, all aflame, by gold encased, or, stripped naked, drawing the bow, on the horse's back, standing:
Disrobe.
******
[Our story is its end.]
--still 4.--The death of the bird is an expression but not Expression itself.
xv. For she who imagines and uses all names to be her nests
xvi. sleeping is treason.
xvii. Hide sorrow. Show jealousy.
8. Because whoever wants death can havefuck it. Its heavyheady bouquet.
Tired of the indissociable curtain between me and B's meeting . . .
[THE IDEA OF SEXBREATHING IS CONF-USION. I'M FUCKING'S DARLING. I LOVE INVADING AND INVADING LOVES ME. Think of the Lucy song. Try to understand. In licking I lick myself. I never touched anyone else. Where breathswallowing takes place and shape. Try breathingswallow me. Live on my doorstep. If I say, «oh how I want INasscockneckIN Peter-Paul-Mary,» repeat after me. I'm the sheet that dreaming sleeps under. In its depth, ours, SEXpassion doesn't recognize itself.
Life is a letter and you are its meaning. The name of the letter is whomever it is. Otherwise, immaterial. When you fuck all you can see is the other's irreality. My center is your shape. To grasp is understand. I'm invaded in the invading of invasion itself.
so'so's.
Tired of the indissociable curtain between breathing and being . . .
[Your being is extinguished. Why bother with numbers?]
[When you look in the mirror – see me.]
[Ô absent!]
_________________________
The idea of fucking islove is conf-usion of bird and drab. The idea of kissing isbreath is extinctions-in-contemplation. I'm the passion's darling.
I never liked this WORD INHALE, IN"hole" but also the feel of shaft, hollow but also screwed. But how useful. I began to see it as a flowing, grasping of form-in-form-of breath-IN-breath or breathINformIN or ForMbreath. Please substitute then. Death<=>breath.
In contemplation "inhale" becoming "in all" (which doesn't exist) something closer to gliding. InoutASflowering. Infreedomfrom gravity. It is this way to be in the world: out of this world.