reading report: marinovich/coolidge

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SUCH a great double bill at the poetry project last night.  I had never seen Filip Marinovich read before and he was great!  So great!  He was wearing, for no explained reason, a navy blue bathrobe.  Beyond just reading his poems, which were marvellously expressionistic, almost Mayakovsky-esque, he DECLAIMED them.  They were full of political satire, faux-serious and serious-faux references to mythology, daring hyperbole, and beatific lyric force.  He opened the reading by holding up what he called a poème concrete, a t-shirt with two crossing words (COOLIDGE ROCKS), and ended with a gorgeous poem for Akilah Oliver. Some choice lines:
service without bile
service with satori
lungs turning gelatinous and coated with disco ball mosaic
summoned the spoogey bird
I am only a bowl of milk in your shade, lapped at by snow cats, salty, salty
there is no anti-matter bird laying a black hole in your blood
O Nancy Pelosi I miss you come back!
I am not a fairy
not not a fairy
and I love my lady
investigative milky cartoons
the Bach violin monster
tearing your ears apart
Clark Coolidge is simply the most sublime of all living poets.  I want to have his voice reading his poetry piped into my head 24/7. It’s a flow of impeccably syncopated constant astonishment, and it’s super-funny, even he was laughing at his own lines, and I love that, his delight so palpable, why can’t more writers take delight like that in what they do.  Streams of names, abstract expressionist painter names, other names, as music, and rhyming couplets popping up here and there.  I caught a few of the minnows in the stream:
we had a date to watch the rabbis fight
I wish childhood hadn’t been so fissionable
a nautilus in a sheepshank vest
turn the crank one day and the entirety of Amos ‘n’ Andy comes out
You start again with every noodle
hit the nebula with a stick
An incoorect music clouds the air
back when I thought the best breasts came in cones
zombie opens umbrella
still no meat
poet writes an ode to a piece of kelp
this poet is no help
music’s a kind of crystal mayonnaise
are you acquainted with the VOICE family?
all forest rose up from the original bean
a promise like a silk cosmos
corn is not my friend
glass isn’t either
next he visits a pimple, I mean a kitchen
he needs to go, so he develops zebra legs
maybe he needs a quick infusion of lore
amazing how many husbands there are in the world –
tugboats, too

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