Boog City presents

d.a. levy lives: celebrating the renegade press

Katalanche Press (Cambridge, Mass.)

Thurs. Oct. 6, 6 p.m., free

ACA Galleries
529 W.20th St., 5th Flr.
NYC

Event will be hosted by Katalanche Press editors
Michael Carr and Dorothea Lasky

Featuring readings from

Will Esposito
Chris Jackson
Mark Lamoureux
Lori Lubeski
Christopher Rizzo
&
Michael Carr w/poems by Samuel Greenberg

With music by
Limp Richard

There will be wine, cheese, and fruit, too.

Curated and with an introduction by Boog City editor David Kirschenbaum

OK, NYC pals, where does a guy get his hair cut in the ballpark of $20?

ETA for Fulcrum 4 is October 18.

HYMN TO ATHENA

In the public park on 30th Avenue stands grey-
eyed Athena in effigy,

age brings sorrows numberless as stars
& so going, a man pays them no heed, like stars,
but to navigate.

A beggar among the joints that proffer
sullen pizza--Odysseus--you & I
both strangers among Greeks for a time,
tribulations rung around that pearl,
Ithaka, such a city as there never was;

these thoughts, a scar a man gives
himself to be known by.

Grey-eyed Athena, will you descend your pillar
& walk with me awhile?:

I've poured no wine to bodiless gods,
their wildeyed prophets &
their martyring abstractions.

I also am a man of twists & turns, master
of the winged word & the subtleties
of theft. We lose the art of speech.
We lose the anchor of the song.

& my men gone & my hollow black ship
dashed to bits. We walk as the dead
do, nameless, among men
who know no proper customs: such are we
who sing your songs, derived, to repicas.

Such is this life on the other side of the mirror:
signless, no body to cast an image, a thousand
reflections as made by a shattered glass.

Your face stares from the coffeecups, the lights
of the city hide the numberless stars,
as they do sorrows. On the screen writhes
our queen Kalypso & no grey-eyed
goddess, no son or country
to call us home.

A car just drove by my apartment blasting "These Boots Were Made for Walking."

Eventually, one learns to accept one's uncorrected personality traits. Like being helpless before memes, for instance.

By way of phil by way of Reb:

1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

My 23rd post was only two sentences, so I guess that makes the second the closest to.

Blackbird: "Yeah, I know how it is..."

Hold fast, my Texan friends. 2005 seems to be the year of angry winds and waters.

IMAGINARY OWNERSHIP

Is an invisible horse, blandly seething among
disintegrating vestibules. The chromium cross

reigns oblique over unelevated bakeries among
the fictions of a doppleganger; hindsight

a cake of nostalgias, glazed & threaded among
crystal boxes sheltering a ceramic nymph in a green shift,

a compass needle upright in foam among
careless abstractions--the ruthless imperative

broadcasting damp rhetoric: to eat glass bread among
plastic castles & a clockwork giraffe with a glyph

on its neck. High-impact organ research among
authorial shivers, an arbitrary pestilence, a

santicfied narrative: "Pretty pink Aurora gets a chilblain among
ponies in summer." A steel bud among dank revisions.

Navy beans & beetles spilling out the cup of the bodhran among
witching hours, labeled griefs. A cave of

discourse for gibbering knaves, golems among
zombies: horizontal vs. vertical stripes

on the trunks of the beholder. Mythic laughter among
bebarnacled barrels. The spill of the hold into

the frozen sea. The Master is a haughty buccaneer among
scribes. Hash-mark. Totem. Your anathema.

OPHELIA

Succumb to waters
become the
waters

"If you grew up in a family that practices a religion, and while you were still a kid if you lived in a community of diverse sects, you may recall some degree of ease hanging with your own 'pastor,' 'minister,' 'rabbi,' 'roshi,' and also how different you felt (e.g., reserved) when in the presence of their counterparts from other faiths. That sense of creedal difference begins to explain the origins of disrespect among poets and, more particularly, between schools and generations. If you grew up faithless, perhaps you have less to lose (because you are less likely to conflate sectarianism with output) and find it noncontroversial crossing thresholds."

Amen. Sign me up for the church of Kimball. (I myself was raised atheist BTW...)