hey credit one..
Que faut-il? Des cris de règle de la majorité enfilées sur les zones communes /
Je possède le haut. Je me maquille à casser des histoires — One admits one’s a Nike athlete in a relaxed conservatory for work.. Le dernier d’un type dessous du pair, un type sur un voyage loin du soleil.
Pour se baigner = dormir comme le blé. I’m the last below par sort this far from letting one happen faster = to sleep like wheat. Après un certain temps: Ces crocs sont à la porte. Que-c’est un marin du prototype au bateau? After a while: Claws? What claws? What is proto-sailing? On est devenu complètement libéré des pronoms en début de l’adolescence, c'est annulé, tout le monde, c'est libéré
à long terme, affalé bien sous un tartan, juste aller dans les coulisses où ils ont mis sur le maquillage. Comme y un retour. You’re freed of pronouns in preadolescence, long voided, you’re longterm freed slumped under a tartan. Go back to Makeup. Donc on a adoré l'école primaire de plus que son père.
Plus tard, à Whole Foods, quelqu'un agitait. On respirait bas, au même rythme en agitant les bras. You liked primary grades more than your dad. Later, at Whole Foods, someone waved, breathing down, arms apace.

Ten lines to go. One thought was I’ve waded out above your welcome

Working against deadline, ordered to bring prongs
Forcibly, surrounded by eerie patrimony for future attributes.

To each her or his own ad hoc Oedipus, pouring gooey homegrown beer and beet juice
That reaches its goal! Dad is a doormat.
                QED.

*

Except thus an authentic adult language, dance, charades and mores are raised.
Bullets and lists shape the last phase of withdrawal, possibly showing you
A look back over who we are after the actual sublime prequels to shorts un-filmed.
Once a lunatic fan rushes in or could rush in, a dentist, to remove our tongues.
It seems pleasing since so sensible a creature understood us.

Retour lorsque nous sommes sur notre propre,
comme le seul barde de notre époque, il l’a dit, un visage

.. ébullition triste tout ensemble.
Pas très joli mais il est en version imprimée et autour

Un retour à romance jusqu’au tas. Rythmes environ envie, la fugue-sonate
avec humeurs de tous les temps qui sont truquées

A une pratique complète au sein d’une trêve ou une question énorme; où
les automnes, les printemps, toutes solitaires, sont en mutation dans l’obscurité.

— absolument personne — personne ne reste à la maison
on est ralenti, à fournir le rythme —

Un prélude à chanter seul
dans le cadre de la colère d’origine afin de confondre tout.



Back when we’re on our own
as our only bard put it, a face

Boiling sad together.
Not pretty but there in print & around

A back to romance pile up. Rhythms about envy, fugue-sonata
moods for all time rigged

To a full practice in one truce or august matter; lone
autumns & springs mutating in dark

Chez nobody who’s stayed home,
slowed down to furnish the pace,

Prelude to singing along alone
as part of the original anger to confuse.

Poems to Work On: The Collected Poems of Jim Dine
Cuneiform, Victoria TX


It’s a good time to be braced by new poetry; it’s much like spring. This spring we have Poems to Work On: The Collected Poems of Jim Dine, open flights and linguistic enactments ("up your ass faithfully") from the late 1960s and early 70s (over 100 pages) as well as pieces from 1994 forward (over 130 pages). The poet, a.k.a. prolific artist, shows us he’s making ‘work’ out of available materials and experiences mediated through painter's methods. Here, in a brief piece, “My Poetry Biography,” Dine summarizes an approach, often writing “first on long sheets of paper tacked to the wall,” sheets as long as nine feet. He composes in crayon or charcoal, and paints over words with pigmented shellac or he literally slices letters off with a box cutter for stapling or gluing elsewhere. Most writers can recognize these procedures, erasure, substitution, etc. Yet the choreography and graphic scale of Dine’s methods imply an unprecedented level of immediacy: Poems to Work On interacts with itself and its readers — Dine exposes elements of doing the work and of openly figuring it out.

“Jane,” an early poem from the late 60s, starts “The shower is on hard / and I’m soaping up like mad,” establishing first the tangibles, putting up a physics in motion, in situ. He does this again and again in early poems as with “A Short Biography”:

I was born in Cincinnati
with the usual wrangle from
me about finding a tit
to keep my mouth quiet —

But also in the first 100 or so poems we join the ‘pop’ artist literally going about his artwork, talking shop so to speak:

making a long painting using all sorts of painting
techniques I’m making a long painting using all sorts of painting
techniques paint staining with all kinds of plastic paint washy oil...

Not fantastically “in electric moccasins,” Dine proclaims, “I wish only art for my sons / nothing less than / all kinds of words / and landscape.” I’m fairly sure we can resource battery-inspired mocs from the 1970s, so nothing is far-fetched here. In these first poems the painter and poet are one in the landscape; in the poem “Wind Marks” one sees “Violent wind” as a “dream,” yet also “I got your head smell // All over my nose.”

The later poems entail robust visual emotion and formal experiment (landscape and words). In a section of more recent work, “About Her for You,” there are shorter pieces alongside bigger poems, 3-pages or longer. Some later formats were adopted for inclusion in digital graphics, polaroids, gelatin prints, and so forth. More striking, perhaps, so many of the later poems aggregate lived experience, call-outs addressed to departed friends, Robert Creeley and Kenneth Koch, among others, as well as many variations to Diana Michener, poet, artist and collaborator with Dine. The rhetoric is crisp, frontal, performative: “BLAND NOTES / TO THE DANCER / KISS ME / THRU GAUZE…” In writing words and rearranging them on walls, the poet’s sounds and moves emanate from a visual imagination physically working out: “FAIRY ISLE / Your name — / clear / Lily of the Valley / HOLY GHOST. / BRING the bright / red paint / to your mouth.” So many of Dine’s poems are charged, however, with enactment of limits to sound, sight and something other.

ONLY THIN
SQUARES OF COLOR
IN THIS BEAUTIFUL PLACE
A METAPHOR
THAT DOESN’T DESCRIBE

ALCOHOLISM

Squares of color that glow only so far, but living and breathing with surges of surprise you may find antic and addictive: “I half holler fuck you — / William Carlos Williams.” On second thought, “I start running / backwards...” Limits to artistic practice are always with us but here’s Dine at work (inviting us to join in), stepping beyond those limits,

fittings on galvanized pipe are put together making nothing real
but a selection of pipe fittings put together

His point paraphrases text from one of four lithographs in this collection, “I visualized / a miracle — appearing anywhere.” Dine is deliberate, never to lessen what provokes, compressing visuals with a comedian’s ease in “Gide Lines to Paris”:

A man’s face turns to soft rubber
He twists it
To look like his wife

Comedic to slapstick to self-disparaging turns, “My nose goes vibrating down the street.” Vibrating more achingly, more indignantly in a piece best performed to an empty stage by an ex of Balanchine’s —

GEORGE B. POEM

BASTARD —
Bastard, Bastard
like
PRIVILEGED Boy
              dark
‘EXECUTIONER’ —
BASTARD

That’s an entire poem, an entire theater of vacant, beautiful anger.

Included with the collection are full indexes of titles, dates of composition, as well as lithographs and endpapers by the poet. The verse here, hundreds of grown-up toys, diagrammed scenarios — ‘all sorts...all over’ — new poems that go for broke and will stay new. Just a few artists operate with the sense that poet Vincent Katz picks up from Dine, “a sense that poetry matters.” Katz edited Poems to Work On and offers a helpful foreword to Dine’s chronology and “offhand calculation.”

Jim Dine’s poetry is calculation en plein air, a show of what has been done to self-empower and self-amaze:

INNOCENCE
THAT’S WHAT I LIKE!
I GO TO SEE SOMEONE —
THE NEXT THING I KNOW
I’M SCARED —
INTO MY FACE [...]

System rhyme.

Barbara Henning maneuvers conventional plain speech as an unlikely foil to ‘yogic twists’ mediating ‘ease and disease.’‘The Trade Center
towering over St. Paul’s / Two paper cups with coffee on a bench.’ The value of Henning is intense juxtaposition lived out through brevity.

Go back a few
Here I am, I’m un-brief, commiserating..

One’s grasp of political science
Long after the storm, far off, un manicured Gloucester..

Colleagues out of sight in the wings
Rainy electric puffs..

This café, I think, is going to help the weather from getting lost. Too



( I don’t mean they fuse the way

Ok, this is not Danzig.
But there is a they just above the street. )

Of..



It’s not just yesterday or last week. In

It works when it shouldn’t.

Continue. / Mad Max began / I did not
Mind leaving
Them at Liberty of London.]

( Dropping them off, any chance you’ll humor me
[An’ stitch me up for dinner? )

Back in Dogtown, arms entwined for many portraits
Of mutual liberty, how much it costs, Max! wuv,
Perfect workmates, bassists to Falstaff Olson’s guitarists!
Reminding me of who were jammin(g).

Creeley. Queer John Wieners I wanted to shun.
Ferrini, di Prima, once with Kerouac and Joe Dunn.



______________ I love the rugged tree in the foreground, our encampment after
Ridiculous, juxtaposed, great, privative, I guess..

White fluff so pervades preppiness. We know it when we hear it

An’ anacoluthon.