Those of you who hang out on the net with Stephanie Young , who is physically a resident of Oakland, but whose voice resounds in all corners of the poetic universe, are probably familiar with her true story, “The Bees,” of a hive that was found outside the window of one of the buildings where she works. She describes how

The bee keeper thrust his hand up into the ceiling and pulled out the piece of the hive where the queen bee lived. He showed us her larger compartment, surrounded by cells of royal jelly which the babies had been eating only moments before. At his urging, we put our fingers near the honeycomb and then we ate the honey.

Thinking of this piece of Stephanie’s, I turned to ever-plagiarizable Maurice Maeterlinck for an entry into the flower of her person and her writing:



Day after day, at the first hour of sunrise, the explorers of the web return, and browsers awake to receive the good news of the earth. “The lime trees are blossoming today on the banks of the canal.” “The grass by the roadside is gay with white clover.” “The sage and the lotus are about to open.” ” The mignonette, the lilies are overflowing with pollen.” Whereupon the antennae of the race must organize quickly, and arrange to divide the work. The bloggers immediately sally forth, in long strings of zeroes and ones, each one flying straight to her allotted task. The bloggers are perfectly informed as to the locality, the relative melliferous value, and the distance of every melliferous thought within a certain radius from their personal cell.

Each of the cells is an hexagonal tube placed on a pyramidal base, but the royal cells are most exceptional, and contrived somewhat in the shape of an acorn, or a well-nourished moon, like the one in which Stephanie Young, today’s featured queenpoet, keeps her residence.

I met her there in the midst of that growing world that so constantly transforms itself, where hundred of workers are dancing and flapping their wings. They appear thus to generate some necessary heat, out of which a young queen like Stephanie can be born…. Picture her birth: two large and earnest black eyes appear, surmounted by antennae that already are groping at life, while active jaws are busily engaged in enlarging the opening from within. Having come from another world, she is bewildered still, trembling and pale. She is perfect, however, from head to foot; she knows at once all that has to be known, and proceeds to beat her wings and to dance in cadence.

No one, to my knowledge, has written as perceptively about Stephanie than one of her many fervent admirers, the hotheaded young blogger David Hess. I take the liberty of quoting him here.


To think and feel in xylophones, horns and zu-zu-zuum vibrations. What blurb would I write for Stephanie Young’s book were she to ask?

“I do believe there is some razzamatazz in here.”

What kind of critical reading could ever do justice to an aggressive celebration of life? We associate this proud and unresigned creation with idealism, forgetting its roots in the dire realities of daily living. Easier to do it with xylophones, horns and zu-zu-zuum vibrations. Words, get the words clean, if you wish, or load them up with flute saws and drumming plasmas.

In another blog entry, David Hess tells the story of Stephanie admitting to


“excessively enjoying a glass of iced water at a restaurant. “I’ve never been happier to see a glass of iced water,” she said. Somehow I found this the perfect addition to my love for her consistently surprised personality. You should have seen her point out a wooden 7-11 sign as we zigzagged around Charles Street, and the huge ears of a dog. “Those dog’s ears are huge!” Do you not want [he asks] this person to take you on a tour of the universe, and do so in one of those duck boats with wheels?”

Yes! We want very much for Stephanie to take us on that tour, in a duck boat or any vehicle she chooses. Friends, please welcome…

Introduction for Rodney Koeneke, Bowery Poetry Club, 11/6/04

To frame my comments about Rodney Koeneke’s work, I’d like to begin with a somewhat extended epigraph from E.W. Lane’s An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians, published in the early 1830s:


The dancing girls appeared in a cloud of dust and tobacco smoke. The first thing about them that struck me was the brightness of the golden caps upon their tresses. As their heels beat upon the ground, with a tinkle of little bells and anklets, their raised arms quivered in harmony; their hips shook with a voluptuous movement; their form seemed bare under the muslin between the little jacket and the low, loose girdle, like the belt of Venus. They twirled about so quickly that it was hard to distinguish the features of these seductive creatures, whose fingers shook little cymbals, as large as castanets, as they gestured boldly to the primitive strains of the flute and tambourine. Two of them seemed particularly beautiful; they held themselves proudly: their Arab eyes brightened by kohl, their full yet delicate cheeks were lightly painted, But the third, I must admit, betrayed the less gentle sex by a week-old beard; and when I looked into the matter carefully, and the dance being ended, it did not take me long to discover that the dancing girls were, in point of fact, all males.

Omaha native and San Francisco resident Rodney Koeneke is the author of Rouge State, which is the best title ever given to a book of poetry. Rodney, from the perpective of what he calls “the bruised Sargasso of white male sexuality,” clearly empathizes with “pussyboys”, girliemen, and femi-whatevers everywhere. In Rouge State, he madly liberates the once-vitiated template of the lyric, slotting in his own gorgeous, irreverent prosody, making poems that are not only zippier than pinheads but really the zippiest thing since zippers. You can distinctly hear the echoes of the footsteps of the ghost of Theophile Gautier, in his trademark yellow waistcoat, walking his lobster through the grand opera of these poems, They are deeply dandified “hostile melodic situations”, as “brazen as mariachis” and “fecunder than succotash.” They are “delicate lorgnettes” that can see all of history happening at once, and “mentholated curlicues” full of “pterodactyl dactyls” and “hot pink verbs.” The figure of the dandy, of course, most lately born into the media as the overcommodified metrosexual, represents the perfect union of the masculine and feminine principles, and is most often clothed in fine fabrics of oriental origin. Indeed, the attars of the mysterious “east” soak into every crevice of Rodney’s poetry but laced with pungent irony and historical awareness, so that the story of an odalisque is also the story of how our own tabula rasa get written all over with learned desires:

We spill in the world into genders,

fall out like dirty turpentine

from an upset coffee cup —

at first abductees of the harem

refusing silk pillows and gold-tipped cigarettes

then gradually learning to simper and sprawl…

By example, his writing answers the rhetorical question that one of the poems poses: “How to negotiate the mare incognita of preconscious verbal data without pissing off the vagina dentata its excretions will have to pass through?”

Although replete with bagatelles and monkeyshines like “Got Rilke?” and “the jewel is in the logo/ the jew/ is in the Logos,” they also drip with a kind of comic lament at the extreme trivialities and decadence of our time, its “dry transnational orcs” and ” glitzy manufacturies of consent.” To paraphrase Donovan:

Histories of ages past

unenlightened shadows cast

down through Rodney Koeneke

the crying of a manatee

down through Rodney Koeneke

the crying of a man…..

Viagric Importunings

For fuck’s sake, I despair at some humans, I really do. Gods, I am so angry. I wish there was something to be done, I feel so impotent. .

I am able to convey so many things through non verbal communications. why is it that I feel so impotent when using the tools. that others use with such ease? …

And the worst part is that I cannot do anything about it-except going on being a part of it. My god, why do I feel so impotent? When will we ever learn?

I do my job, but I feel so impotent when no one else does theirs!

You mentioned “I feel so impotent. I feel so vulnerable and helpless. I feel so small.” Sound like how exactly a small child would feel when they feel hurt? …

i’m scared. everything has changed. i feel so impotent. there’s nothing that can be done but to sit here and watch.

I feel so impotent with my wishes and ideals for this country and really feel that no one is listening to the millions of us who simply say No War..

I feel so impotent sometimes when I see people throwing stuff in the bin instead of recycling it, or using single use items like paper plates, plastic cutlery ..

When incidents such as this occur they tend to close ranks. My grief has become overshadowed by anger which I do not know how to direct and I feel so impotent.

I feel so impotent when I can’t think of the right words to describe the sound of an individual band or maintain an erection. …

eyes shaking like an earthquake i search for answers in this star shaped pillowcase i feel as empty as the skull on the president i feel so impotent, like his …

.. more….. she eats all day all kind of fat things, vomits several times a day and I feel so impotent and sorry for her….. …

” Porckie had to keep himself from crying, as he was afraid his helmet might get rusty if he did… ” I feel so impotent without it…

What bothers me is that I feel so impotent and useless when I read about the terrible events on the ground, the intransigence of the Americans…

Did you mean to search for: “I feel so important.

SCCCCCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMM!

I guess the Internet was full of the brokenhearted and the gloating yesterday; Blogger wouldn’t let me post.

Reading the paper this morning … I really wished I could stop crying. Even when I was feeling myself full of objective rationalizations my eyes were spilling.

(Remind me; it’s all Maya, after all… isn’t it? Isn’t it??)

The irony of Iranians denouncing America in their senate!

This country is moving closer and closer to being Iran. Do you think that’s an overstatement?

Shame. Embarrassment. Bewilderment. What the fuck? What’s the matter with people that they want a monarchy so desperately? That they want to dictate the details of other people’s provate lives? Sinpleminded BUMPKINS! Idiot HAYSEEDS! Look mommy, it’s another IGNORAMUS with a SUPERIORITY COMPLEX. And they’re multiplying all over the place, coming out of GIANT PODS!

What’s the matter with people besides the fact that they can’t READ and they have no CRITICAL THINKING SKILLS and they’re utterly BRAINWASHED AUTOMOTONS? What’s the matter with them? It’s …. aggh…. uggghh… religion! FUCK religion! LET’S CREATE A DRUG TO MAKE RELIGION DISAPPEAR AND PUT IT IN THE WATER SUPPLY. Churches are terrorist cells.

Wanting to go even farther over in reaction: like have a late-term abortion without my parents’ consent with my gay spouse while smoking medical marijuana on welfare… all the while practicing Wiccan rituals and reciting GOD-SCHMOD GOD-SCHMOD GOD-SCHMOD.

Where are the really militant leftists, the kind who will blow themselves up for their country, when you need them?

I’m scared to do that. But if you put me in a room with a bunch of those electronic voting machines and right wing fundamentalists… I have a fantasy of going really crazy, kicking at everything and everyone with big-ass combat boots… and Ashcroft, you EVIL CREEP, if you happen to be reading this, you can’t prosecute me because I can just say the violent fantasy was due to my low serotonin, of whose existence I have documented proof. UNLIKE YOU with YOUR COCK-O-CRATIC SUBJUGATING MONEY-HUNGRY “GOD!”

Blecch.

Well, we all have different ways of dealing with our disappointment. Many will respond with dignified, measured rhetoric, which is really very nice and mature.

But I want to SCCCCCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMM!

Planets Favor Kerry,

Say Indian Astrologers

New Delhi: Indian astrologers predict that the position of the planets is likely to bring about US Democrat John Kerry’s victory in this week’s elections.

According to them, Saturn, Venus and Mercury are placed in the cancer Lagna and are perceived as unfriendly planets. Subsequently, Kerry’s horoscope has mars and Moon occupying Taurus, and the planets are in mutual aspects.

The Sun and Moon are seen to be favoring Kerry’s planets and appear to offer him a marked advantage over Bush.

(from the newsweekly The Urban IndianVol. 2 No. 30 November 5, 2004)

Introduction for hassen @ The bowery Poetry Club, 10/30/04

Hassen’s work initially caught my attention with its deft dramatic remixes of patriarchal histories like the Salem witch trials, the story of Genesis, and the life of the 18th century naturalist explorer and systematizer Joseph Banks.

In August of 2001, Hassen began to “keep a journal related to [her] transformation and the sky’s” which resulted in her 2003 chapbook, sky journal: from land. It is an intricate and enigmatic work that juxtaposes, sometimes paralogically, degrees of solidity, qualities of light and color, and spectra of emotion. In it, there are “hundreds of miles of solid sky,” “phosphorous things” and “succulent thought,” “ethereal invertebrates,” and “a rock I’ve loved” not too far from an “anemone.” In it, “crystal dendrites prepare to melt.” It calls stars both “breathing holes” and “branding irons.” It calls into being “particles reflecting the senses maybe dark matter also…”

I daresay it’s a work of physics.

In an article entitled THE SCIENTIFIC PANACEA OF LUMINIFEROUS AETHER,

(which I found on the web this morning)

Robert A. Kerr, unknowingly describing hassen’s process, writes that


Light is a digital phenomenon.

It penetrates matter and exerts pressure on constituent electrons.

Electromagnetic radiation pressure is the initial source of all energy.

Cosmic bodies of significant size are all spherical.

Spherical formation results from the exertion of external fluid impulse acting on collective mass and confining it to minimum volume.

A body immersed in a gaseous fluid interferes with the motion of the fluid particles.

The interference concentrates the surrounding fluid particles increasing pressure and organizing random fluid energy.

A field around a body is formed from concentric isobaric spheres.

The surface pressure of each sphere is constant and decreases radially outward in accordance with logarithmic square law.

In earth’s atmospheric field the outward molecular pressure equals the inward confinement impulse of aethereal fluid.

The pressure balance establishes a stable essentially steady state field.

The formation of a field by geometric concentration organizes random particulate action and increases available energy levels.

Effectively the immersed body focuses fluid energy like a three dimensional magnifying glass.

Listeners, please welcome the intensely focused fluid energy and three dimensional perspicacious magnifying glass that is Hassen.

He’s better than the lesser of two evils.

HOW DO YOU ASK A MAN TO BE

THE LAST MAN TO DIE FOR A MISTAKE

From John Kerry’s statement before the Senate Foreign

          Relations Committee, April 22, 1971.

I would like to say for the record, and for the men behind me

who are also wearing the uniform and their medals, that my

being here is really symbolic. I am not here as John Kerry, but

as one member of a group of one thousand, which in turn is a

small representation of a very much larger group of veterans

in this country. Were it possible for all of them to sit at

this table they would be here and present the same kind of

testimony.

I would like to talk about the feelings these men carry with

them after coming back from Vietnam. The country doesn’t

realize it yet but it has created a monster in the form of

thousands of men who have been taught to deal and trade in

violence and who are given the chance to die for the biggest

nothing in history — men who have returned with a sense of

anger and betrayal that no one so far has been able to grasp.

We are angry because we feel we have been used in the worst

fashion by the administration of this country.

In 1970 at West Point Vice President Agnew said “some

glamorize the criminal misfits of society while our best men

die in Asian rice paddies to preserve the freedom which most

of those misfits abuse,” and this was used as a rallying

point for our effort in Vietnam. But for us, as boys in Asia

whom the country was supposed to support, his statement is a

terrible distortion from which we can only draw a very deep

sense of revulsion, and hence the anger of some of the men

who are here in Washington today. It is a distortion because

we in no way consider ourselves the best men of this country;

because those he calls misfits were standing up for us in a

way that nobody else in this country dared to; because so

many who have died would have returned to this country to

join the misfits in their efforts to ask for an immediate

withdrawal from South Vietnam; because so many of those best

men have returned as quadriplegics and amputees — and they

lie forgotten in Veterans Administration hospitals in this

country which fly the flag which so many have chosen as their

own personal symbol — and we cannot consider ourselves

America’s best men when we are ashamed of and hated for

what we were called on to do in Southeast Asia.

In our opinion and from our experience, there is nothing in

South Vietnam which could happen that realistically threatens

the United States of America. And to attempt to justify the

loss of one American life in Vietnam, Cambodia or Laos by

linking such loss to the preservation of freedom, which those

misfits supposedly abuse, is to us the height of criminal

hypocrisy.

We are probably angriest about all that we were told about

Vietnam and about the mystical war against communism. We

found that not only was it a civil war, an effort by people who

had for years been seeking their liberation from any colonial

influence whatsoever, but also we found that the Vietnamese

whom we had enthusiastically molded after our own image were

hard put to take up the fight against the threat we were sup-

posedly saving them from. We found most people didn’t even

know the difference between communism and democracy.

They only wanted to work in rice paddies without helicopters

strafing them and bombs with napalm burning their villages

and tearing their country apart. . They practiced the art of

survival by siding with whichever military force was present

at a particular time, be it Viet Cong, North Vietnamese, or

American.

We found that all too often American men were dying in

those rice paddies for want of support from their allies. We

saw firsthand how monies from American taxes were used for

a corrupt dictatorial regime. We saw that many people in this

country had a one-sided idea of who was kept free by our flag,

and blacks provided the highest percentage of casualties. We

saw Vietnam ravaged equally by American bombs and search-

and-destroy missions, as well as by Viet Cong terrorism, and

yet we listened while this country tried to blame all of the

havoc on the Viet Cong. We rationalized destroying villages

in order to save them. We saw America lose her sense of

morality as she accepted very coolly a My Lai and refused to

give up the image of American soldiers who hand out chocolate

bars and chewing gum. We learned the meaning of free-fire

zones. shooting anything that moves, and we watched while

America placed a cheapness on the lives of Orientals.

We watched the United States’ falsification of body counts,

in fact the glorification of body counts. We listened while

month after month we were told the back of the enemy is about

to break. We fought [with] weapons against those people which

I do not believe this country would dream of using were we

fighting in the European theatre. We watched while men charged

up hills because a general said that hill has to be taken, and

after losing one platoon or two platoons, they marched away to

leave the hill for reoccupation by the North Vietnamese. We

watched pride allow the most unimportant battles to be blown

into extravaganzas, because we couldn’t lose, and we couldn’t

retreat, and because it didn’t matter how many American bodies

were lost to prove that point, and so there were Hamburger

Hills and Khesahns and Hill 81s and Fire Base 6s, and so many

others.

And now we are told that the men who fought there must watch

quietly while American lives are lost so that we can exercise

the incredible arrogance of Vietnamizing the Vietnamese. Each

day to facilitate the process by which the United States washes

her hands of Vietnam someone has to give up his life so that

the United States doesn’t have to admit something that the

entire world already knows, so that we can’t say that we have

made a mistake. Someone has to die so that President Nixon

won’t be, and these are his words, “the first President to lose

a war.”

We are asking Americans to think about that because how do

you ask a man to be the last man to die in Vietnam? How do you

ask a man to be the last man to die for a mistake? But we are

trying to do that, and we are doing it with thousands of ration-

alizations, and if you read carefully the President’s last speech

to the people of this country, you can see that he says, and says

clearly, “but the issue, gentlemen, the issue is communism, and

the question is whether or not we will leave that country to the

Communists or whether or not we will try to give it hope to be a

free people.” But the point is that they are not a free people

now, and we cannot fight communism all over the world. I think

we should have learned that lesson by now.

Suddenly we are faced with a very sickening situation in

this country, because there is no moral indignation and, if

there is, it comes from people who are almost exhausted by

their past indignations. . . The country seems to have lain

down and shrugged off something as serious as Laos, just as

we calmly shrugged off the loss of 700,000 lives in Pakistan,

the so-called greatest disaster of all times. But we are here

as veterans to say we think we are in the midst of the

greatest disaster of all times now, because they are still

dying over there — not just Americans but Vietnamese —

and we are rationalizing leaving that country so that those

people can go on killing each other for years to come.

Americans seem to have accepted the idea that the war is

winding down, at least for Americans, and they have also

allowed the bodies which were once used by a President for

statistics to prove that we were winning the war, to be used

as evidence against a man who followed orders and who inter-

preted those order no differently than hundreds of other men

in Vietnam.

We veterans can only look with amazement on the fact that

this country has been unable to see there is absolutely no

difference between ground troops and a helicopter crew, and

yet people have accepted a differentiation fed them by the

administration. No ground troops are in Laos, so it is all

right to kill Laotians by remote control. But believe me the

helicopter crews fill the same body bags and they wreak the

same kind of damage on the Vietnamese and Laotian country-

side as anybody else, and the President is talking about

allowing that to go on for many years to come. One can only

ask if we will really be satisfied only when the troops march

into Hanoi.

We are asking here in Washington for some action, action

from the Congress of the United States of America, which has

the power to raise and maintain armies, and which by the

Constitution also has the power to declare war. We have come

here, not to the President, because we believe that this body

can be responsive to the will of the people, and we believe

that the will of the people says that we should be out of

Vietnam now.

We are here in Washington also to say that the problem of

this war is not just a question of war and diplomacy. It is

part and parcel of everything that we are trying as human

beings to communicate to people in this country — the

question of racism, which is rampant in the military, and

so many other questions such as the use of weapons; the

hypocrisy in our taking umbrage in the Geneva Conventions

and using that as justification for a continuation of this

war when we are more guilty than any other body of violations

of those Geneva Conventions; in the use of free-fire

zones, harassment interdiction fire, search-and-destroy

missions, the bombings, the torture of prisoners, the

killing of prisoners, all accepted policy by many units in

South Vietnam. That is what we are trying to say. We are

also here to ask, and we are here to ask vehemently, where

are the leaders of our country? Where is the leadership?

We are here to ask where are McNamara, Rostow, Bundy,

Johnson, and so man others? Where are they now that we,

the men whom they sent off to war, have returned? These

are commanders who have deserted their troops, and there

is no more serious crime in the law of war. The Army says

they never leave their wounded. The Marines say they

never leave even their dead. These men have left all the

casualties and retreated behind a pious shield of public

rectitude. They have left the real stuff of their reputa-

tions bleaching behind them in the sun.

Finally, this administration has done us the ultimate

dishonor. They have attempted to disown us and the sacri-

fices we made for this country. In their blindness and their

fear they have tried to deny that we are veterans or that we

served in Nam. We do not need their testimony. Our own

scars and stumps of limbs are witness enough for others

and for ourselves.

We wish that a merciful God could wipe away our own

memories of that service as easily as this administration

has wiped away their memories of us. But all that they

have done and all that they can do by this denial is to

make more clear than ever our own determination to

undertake one last mission – to search out and destroy

the last vestige of this barbaric war, to pacify our own

hearts, to conquer the hate and fear that have driven

this country these last ten years and mores, so when

thirty years from now our brothers go down the street

without a leg, without an arm, or a face, and small boys

ask why, we will be able to say “Vietnam” and not mean a

desert, not a filthy obscene memory, but mean instead the

place where America finally turned and where soldiers like

us helped it in the turning.

******************************************************

From “The New Soldier” by John Kerry and Vietnam Veterans

Against the War, Collier Books, New York, New York, 1971,

pages: 12, 14, 16, 18, 20, 22, 24