morescotch

sugar mile

well after "working" with glyn maxwell in st. petersburg, I picked up the sugar mile. it's pretty great & a lot different from everything else i've been reading.

applied for my consolidation loan today so july 1 can bite me.

otherwise, the 4th on the horizon, girlfriend gone to canada (again), roommate goes to nantucket, fresh law library checks in my pocket & if you look closely you can see trouble sidling up to me.

mot * scotch

Paul's got a preview of the new mot juste up. My RNC occasional poem from the fall, "Helicopter Day," is in there. Looks great, by the way.

Thanks a lot Paul.



Now, back to the law library.

I developed fears of flying, the color orange, atms, Russia and cream while I was in Russia.

I developed fears of flying, the color orange, atms, Russia and cream while I was in Russia.

morevodka

going to russia. be back in two weeks. peace.

You are Robert Frost. You are the epitome of white
heterosexual men who love tradition. You love
to write about nature and stuff but hate the
outdoors. Your scowl is legendary!


Which Famous Modern American Poet Are You?
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The WILLIAM-LOGAN-WANNABE Of the Week

I decided this week after reading a bit of the Contemporary Poetry Review to substitute something a little special in the place of everyone's favorite "Hartfordian of the Week". Otherwise known as the DOUCHE BAG OF THE WEEK, the WILLIAM-LOGAN-WANNABE of the week will be awarded for particularly cruel and unneccessarily spiteful poetry reviews such as James Rother's scathing review of both Carl Phillip's latest book The Rest of Love.

Putting aside that The Rest of Love was fucking awesome and that Carl Phillips is, in the words of a former BL roommate of mine, a prince, let's just take a look at how this Rother jackass writes:

"Just as in that pinning of empiricism to the logical mat known as “Achilles and the Tortoise” the fraction of sense grows smaller and smaller with the receding of the target of purpose ever further toward the unreachable, so Phillips’s reader cannot help but be caught up, like the defendant in Kafka’s Der Prozess, in a return of the repressed whose issue can only spell diminishment for all."

I believe the expression goes The more overblown the diction, the less blown the ....

His attacks vary from the untrue "the absence in his or her work of anything approximating a musical ear"

to the vague (and pretty hypocritical Jimmy boy) "Phillips constantly waves his academic credentials in our face"

to the plain stupid "The meandering aimlessness of this lamely unaccentuated verse to one side, what masquerades here as “content” at no time rises to the level, either literal or metaphorical, of anything resembling an 'argument.' "

So folks I guess if you string together some high-falutin' insults you too can get a review in CPR.

Well, woo-dee-hoo for the English, setting us straight.

No Sleep For The Scotch

First morning of waking up at five to write before library. Went alright. Very upset neighbor across the street was at it before me.