The blog of author Dennis Cooper

Month: August 2013 (Page 1 of 2)

Gig #44: Portal, Tsembla, Fuck Buttons, Toshimaru Nakamura, Vår, Bill Orcutt & Chris Corsano, Egyptian Sports Network, Laundry Room Squelchers, µ-Ziq, Unicorn Hard-On, Interplanetary Prophets, Eric Copeland, Moonface

‘Noise is resistance, or at least it causes resistance, so can never be the mainstream. We should not have the idea that noise is subjective – it is something that happens to the individual, but it is not solely driven by that, however directly painful the moment might be when you encounter a concert that is too loud, or the relentless thrum of TV-derived hit songs. It’s more interesting than that: if that’s your reaction, you are noise, you are the bit that doesn’t fit.

‘But noise is a judgment, a social one, based on unacceptability, the breaking of norms and a fear of violence. So what do we seek if we are drawn to noise music? How and why would anyone want to be assaulted by it?

‘There is something ecstatic about extreme volume that undoes controlled listening, and creates a moment where you are just hearing, and not just through your ears. That moment is a moment of noise music – ideally a long moment with no obvious end or markers in it, like the assault of My Bloody Valentine’s You Made Me Realise, where their music was stripped of all instrumentation until the effects played themselves. Disturbance, disruption, distortion, these all make up noise music. But if all you’re doing is combining these elements, you will have a simulation of noise music, a generic version.

‘What I like noise music to have is a deeper sense of being overdriven, of being near to collapse, of courting failure, or using failure of machinery pushed too far (this includes human machinery).

‘At its strangest it should create a sense of liberation from thought, from trying to find structure, it should be made of material that just shouldn’t be there (“there” being in a concert, on a recording, or anywhere at all if you’re really lucky). But this is not an easy liberation. Instead of the ecstasy of the repetitions and crescendos of dance music, this is the joy of loss through the inflicting of sound (is this the time to say that noise music can be quiet, full of the threat and promise of silence, of sensory deprivation?).’ — Paul Hegarty

 

 

________
Portal Kilter
‘Parsing Portal’s Vexovoid should take you the better part of this calendar year. Initially forceful and ultimately complex, Vexovoid redirects the image of death metal through a dervish funhouse, where the expected shapes have been mutated and multiplied into orders so strange they seem surreal. Rhythms stay the course where you expect them to shift before finally switching without warning. Sharp-barbed riffs emerge from and climb above dins that once seemed irreparably unordered. Songs that, for the first minute, appeared to have but one aim and direction find a half-dozen new missions and vectors in a five-minute span. Hearing it all go by– the forms flux, the pieces connect, the momentum volley– provides an exhilarating, bewildering sort of audio whiplash. Vexovoid is a gauntlet that, to run again and again, is every bit as exhilarating as it is exhausting.’ — Grayson Currin, Pitchfork

_________________
Tsembla In B (excerpt, live)
‘Tsembla– Finland-based artist Marja Johansson– creates and inhabits melodic landscapes that are as decieving as they are addictive. Like fellow Finnish outré-experimental musician, Jan Anderzen– the brain behind projects Tomutonttu and Kemialliset Ystävät– Johansson creates recordings that feel equal parts childish, psychedelic, and tribal. Her craft may sound like alien transmissions sent from the past, but her style is inherently home-grown and of this world. On “Aivojen Pimeydessä,” Johansson weaves strangely melodic rhythms on top of each other before introducing pulsing, spaced-out bass hits. It’s not until halfway through, however, that Johansson restrains individual layers to show the true complexity of an effortless-seeming sound.’ — The Wire

_________________
Fuck Buttons Brainfreeze
‘Andrew Hung and Benjamin John Power have always been masters at dynamics and building momentum, only now they seem to have found a way to augment their strengths without having it derail the song. Unlike the constant building (which might be more accurately described as throbbing) that made much of “Street Horrsing” and “Tarot Sport,” on Slow Focus the songs actually build towards something. The band removes drums and synth parts for sections at a time, which gives the songs a feeling of pace they never had (and in my opinion always seemed to lack) before. “Brainfreeze” is the perfect example of this. It also is a track that tries to sonically recreate the feeling of an actual brain freeze, which is a pretty sweet thing to do.’ — Bitcandy

__________________
Toshimaru Nakamura nimb #37
‘Toshimaru Nakamura began his career playing rock and roll guitar, but gradually explored other types of music, even abandoning guitar and started working on circuit bending. He uses a mixing console as a live, interactive musical instrument: “Nakamura plays the ‘no-input mixing board’, connecting the input of the board to the output, then manipulating the resultant audio feedback.”Nakamura’s music has been described as “sounds ranging from piercing high tones and shimmering whistles to galumphing, crackle-spattered bass patterns.”‘ — collaged

___________________
Vår Pictures of Today / Victorial
‘Vår is the project of four best friends from Copenhagen. Each member of the band is involved in several other Danish bands and all four members are also accomplished visual artists. What began as the extremely lo-fi two-piece of Elias Rønnenfelt and Loke Rahbek recording on 4-track has evolved into an experimental noise/industrial/techno pop quartet. On this album Vår utilize everything from acoustic guitar, power electronics, bass, trumpet, multi-tracked vocals, and various percussive instruments, to broken glass & sheet metal samples. No One Dances Quite Like My Brothers is a remarkable debut, an emotional roller coaster of sorts which at times is profoundly uplifting, at times decidedly morose but remains unfailingly moving throughout.’ — Sacred Bones

____________________
Bill Orcutt & Chris Corsano live @ Industry Lab
‘You know Bill Orcutt from dozens of releases with now-defunct Miami noise legends Harry Pussy (including the recent One Plus One 2xLP comp on his own Palilalia Records, and the reissue of Let’s Build a Pussy via Editions Mego) or from his skull-obliterating solo acoustic guitar work. If you’ve seen him live, I bet you know him as one of the most memorable guitarists you’ve encountered. You know Chris Corsano from dozens of releases with collaborators in the avant/free-jazz/improvised music scenes, as one third of Rangda, or as improviser-in-residence at Hopscotch 2012. If you’ve seen him live, I bet you know him as one of the most memorable drummers you’ve encountered. Together, nothing is softened: strikes of the E-string correspond with cymbal crashes; both players reach the end of a winding phrase and stop on a dime before swinging into a new barrage; shouts rise up into the room mic; a guitar is picked with such speed and savagery that it seems to both diverge into too many discrete voices and spiral into itself as if it could chew into the vinyl (the MP3 will probably be fine); a snare drum is struck hard enough, you think, to split it. This is the sound of two minds and four hands striking in every direction and covering the mix in treble shrapnel.’ — Tiny Mix Tapes

_____________________
Egyptian Sports Network Necropolis Highlights
‘Egyptian Sports Network is the new collaborative project between Matt ‘Ducktails’ Mondanile and Spencer Clark, also known as one half of The Skaters (with James Ferraro), one half of Inner Tubes (with ex-Emeralds member Mark McGuire) and label boss of Pacific City Sound Visions. Taken from their debut five-track suite called ‘Interstitial Luxor’ for Mondanile’s New Images label, the track is written by Mondanile and Clark and beautifully executed by Mark McGuire. It’s as fresh as you’d imagine and expect, combining weird and wonderful textures in a thick vein of metallic, futuristic abstraction and undulating riffs.’ — collaged

_____________________
Laundry Room Squelchers live @ International Noise Conference, Miami
‘Laundry Room Squelchers is one of the most unpredictable outfits in all of noise’s underbelly. A founding member of the despicable To Live and Shave in LA, Mr. Rat Bastard (Frank Falestra to Mom) has been cracking heads, bursting eardrums, and causing structural damage in shitty clubs for decades, most recently with his sprawling International Noise Conference, which touts: “No droning, no mixing boards, no laptops.” I had the opportunity to see the Squelchers at last year’s No Future Fest in Chapel Hill, NC, where a burly man with black-rimmed glasses and beanie (Rat Bastard) hurled his static-spewing amplifier into the faces and chests of audience members.’ — Washington City Paper

_________
μ-Ziq Pulsar
‘Mike Paradinas, the man behind µ-Ziq and peerless electronic label Planet Mu, has been a central figure in progressive and inventive electronic music for over 20 years. His work both as a label boss and as an artist has been very much founded on the principles of exploring sound and all the possibilities it possesses. Just as important as the sound itself is its relationship with the body and the mind. This relationship is at the forefront of all his work and Chewed Corners, the first µ-Ziq album for six years, is an album that is the product of all those years of exploration. he music collected here flows and glides. It sounds like the work of a man who understands perfectly the music he wants to make and the feelings he wants to convey.’ — music OMH

____________________
Unicorn Hard-On live @ Raw Meet 10
‘Valerie Martino’s Unicorn Hard-On project has been a long running staple in the American underground since it’s inception in 2003. Through her own Tangled Hares imprint, as well as many others, she’s built a strong, constantly evolving catalog of singular works that serves to many as a prototype of the current beat-oriented phenomena currently sweeping the nation. Martino’s vision, however, remains unphased and flourishes accordingly to her own unique vision; standing outside of any trends and remaining loyal to the Unicorn Hard-On sound.’ — Spectrum Spools

_____________________
Interplanetary Prophets Zero Hour
‘The American producers Ital and Hieroglyphic Being, both known for their idiosyncratic and experimental approaches to house and techno, first teamed up for a performance at Unsound in Krakow last year under the Interplanetary Prophets moniker. The duo reconvened in the studio earlier this year, and this EP, Zero Hour, is the fruit of that session. They’ve boiled it down into three tracks, and from the sound of it, they’re covering a lot of stylistic ground. Expect everything from electronic post-punk textures a la Ike Yard to what the press materials describe as “deep space voyaging.”‘ — Resident Advisor

___________________
Eric Copeland Masterbater
‘While the sonic crush of Brooklyn noise trio Black Dice consistently aims for the gloomiest part of the brain, its principal vocalist, Eric Copeland, aimed for the body in his 2012 solo effort, Limbo. Made up of plundered VHS tape breaks stitched together by an amateur seamstress, it was rough around the edges, and the songs lurched in their color and arrangement. Limbo was unquestionably tied to dance-floor rhythms in a way only foreshadowed by the kick-drum pipe bombs on Black Dice’s Mr. Impossible. Copeland’s first solo effort for DFA, Joke In The Hole, largely carries on that tradition: whimsical beat-driven cuts, indebted more to Copeland’s ADD crate-digging than to the noise conventions that populate both his Black Dice material and his earliest solo work.’ — A.V. Club

___________________
Moonface Marimbas and Shit-drums
‘For those familiar with Spencer Krug, you know the drill when one of his many projects emerges with some new music. Acquire it, listen to it, and, in most cases, love it. For the newcomers… where have you been? Over the last decade, Krug has proven to be one of indie rock’s more intriguing contributors. The guy doesn’t sleep much, what with being a key member of every band you like (Wolf Parade, Sunset Rubdown, Swan Lake, Frog Eyes, etc.). However, when he does take a few minutes to lay down, he dreams of riding around on leopards, exploring confetti-filled wastelands, getting lost in folds of dresses, and slaying dragons. But he’s always dreaming up something new. This time around, either somebody slipped something strong into his cactus juice, or he dozed off to a Discovery Channel special on Zimbabwean rituals. Who knows, maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, with the newest manifestation of the Krug Empire, a little project called Moonface, shit just got a little tribal.’ — Consequence of Sound


*

p.s. Hey. ** Bill, Hi, B. First! Yeah, I’m not so into his non-fireworks pieces. He can get kind of precious or overdetermined or something when he works with solids maybe. How’s the hacking going as of whatever time you see this? ** Allesfliesst, Hi, Kai. That cover’s not so ideal, yeah. But those black fireworks pieces are such great eye-quicksand that it works anyway. My interest? Sure, the ephemeral sculptural aspect totally gets to me. And I’m a sucker for fireworks in a wide-eyed kid sort of way. And it’s pretty cool to watch fireworks and not spend most of the time thinking how unadventurous the practitioner is being, to be given such a new image that it stalls the imagination or something. So, I like his explosions the way I like the words and sentences in experimental fiction, and I like his stuff the way I love an innovative roller coaster. The black fireworks are the best, yeah, the real monsters. And the Xmas tree one made my head spin. ** Wolf, Hi. You made the blog’s very slow loading process exciting. It makes me wish I could control the speed with which the posts load in every browser. I could maybe work wonders with that or try to. Wow, nice meditation on his jumper. See, there you go. At my end of things, the post loads so fast I don’t have the time to notice things like that. No, I didn’t know that about the Shiva figure at the entrance of CERN. I’m going to CERN next year. I booked a private tour as a b’day present for my friend Zac. Did you know you can do that? You can, but it’s booked up in massive advance. Both Guo-Qing and Fujiko are doing pieces in this year’s Nuit Blanche. They’re happening way far apart (Fujiko on Republique, and G-Q over the Seine nearish the Eiffel Tower), but maybe there’ll be a very strong breeze that’ll make them touch or something. I knew you weren’t dissing them. I just meant that they both use wit in their work kind of architecturally, so the wit in the interview had this nice instructive quality. Or scary and pretty cool at the same time. That’s totally the best, no? ** David Ehrenstein, Thanks, D! ** Tosh Berman, Hi, Tosh. As I was just telling Wolf, he’s doing a piece in Nuit Blanche this year, so I’m very exciting to see his stuff in person. Word is that he’s figured out a way to spell words with fireworks and that the NB piece might be his first attempt to do that. I love fireworks, yeah. When I’m in LA for the 4th, I usually go up to Griffith Observatory where you can watch all the fireworks displays going off around the city simultaneously. I recommend doing that. ** Steevee, Hi. Obviously, I hope the blood test will end with a simple explanation and mild treatment if any. ** Heliotrope, Hi, Mark! My pleasure, buddy boy. That’s weird that people think of the Dodgers as winners. Maybe thirty years ago. They’re the collapsers to me. Like fucking clockwork. Wow, you’ve made me schedule a re-listening of ‘Electric Music For The Mind And Body’. It’s been decades, I think. All I can remember is that crazy drifting organ sound. Interesting. Why are the Hitchcock fan group people nonplussed by his new one? What isn’t there for them? Can you say? I don’t miss those never ending LA summers, that’s for sure. Paris summers always end about three weeks too early, yum. I felt the more maxi-personal touch. How did you do that? How can I respond to both of you in kind? I’ll think of something. Love upon love, me. ** œ, Hi. I got here late and missed the previous comment’s explosion. I just saw the dull gray, cinder-like standard Blogger sentence announcing that said explosion had taken place at some point. I like the black ones the best. They freak me out very pleasantly. Ashbery rules. His humor is incredible if you end up entering it, but the work works whether or not. I won’t do a Lady Gaga Day, I assure you. If someone else here does, it’ll likely happen. I think in the whole history of this blog, I’ve only rejected one guest-post, and that was eight years ago now or something. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, B. Yes, I caught the selling price. Crazy yet understandable. Awesome about your djing tonight, and the Crawl sounds like a lot of fun and even more than fun maybe. ** Alan, Hi, Alan! I’m so glad that you’re doing well. By the end of the year?! That’s fantastic! This novel has come together kind of swiftly, no? Or, I’m forgetting, is the tempo at which this new novel is completing itself the way such things work for you generally? I love the title. ** Misanthrope, Hi, G. Interesting. I guess I feel like plagiarism has become a more slippery thing post- the post-modern. What that person did to Florian’s drawing is robbery. I don’t see any gray area there. And I’ve never even heard ‘Blurred Lines’, as far as as I know, other than kind of hearing it while watching the notorious Miley clip, so I don’t know about that, but it seemed a bit more transformative re: the Marvin Gaye track than the ‘Try’ alteration example, but I don’t know, like I said. I guess for me it’s an example by example thing. Theoretically, taking something pre-existing and putting a slight personal spin on it, and that slight spin being the point or art or whatever, could be okay. That’s different than just stealing Florian’s art and putting it on a shirt that you only made in order to earn money. ‘Blurred Lines’ didn’t sound interesting to me in my half-listen, but it seems to have made millions happy, and that means something that’s worth thinking about and studying, I think. I don’t know. It’s slippery to me, I guess, and I have this heavy anti-generalizing thing. ** S., I’m just whatever about Google +. It doesn’t seem either worth investigating or opting out of. I don’t think I know those paintings. I don’t know … you know, I get kind of skin crawly about objectification, so I can’t think of whether any boys I know are hot or not. For me, their visuals are too intersected with who they are to me to coagulate and simplify like that. Scott McClanahan’s books are very worth reading, I think. You leave near him? Weird. Or not weird, I guess. I’ve never quite figured out where you live. Or where he lives, for that matter. You get a slaves post tomorrow, so good timing on that. Wow, your place is white. That’s interesting. I like it. It does some kind of crystalizing, hands-off thing with the stacks or something. I’ll go scroll through the new stack pronto. Everyone, new Emo stack from that stacker among stacker S., now with a shiny white background. You’ve got to see it It’s called ‘Arcade Boys’. Here. ** Will Decker, Hi there, Will. Well, thank you very, very much. I hope all is going very well with you. ** Statictick, Hi, big N. High five on the American football thing. We are not legion and must stick together. Thanks, of course, for your kindness re: the recent posts. I’m glad that, if it has to be mysterious, your latest court appearance was mundane. That’s one of the few contexts wherein the mundane and the sublime bear a certain resemblance. ** Rewritedept, There’s a super-great huge fireworks store on the outskirts of Las Vegas. I used to drive all the way there from LA sometimes just to buy fireworks since California only allows the wussiest kind. Interesting, wise thoughts there about art making and writing. Kudos. Word count … mine? Mostly up but with a constant whittling back at the same time. Today I’m going to work on some stuff, mine and collaborative, and help a friend move, and we’ll see what else comes up. Hope your Friday pays off. ** So. There’s a gig of mostly new stuff that I’ve been into lately for you today. Take it or leave it or something in between, please. See you tomorrow.

8 poems by Kenneth Koch + a conversation between Kenneth Koch and John Ashbery + links + Kenneth Koch talks to Mr. Rogers

Kenneth Kochin kasvot ovat kuin olisi runoilija Turusta

 

Mountain

Nothing’s moving I don’t see anybody
And I know that it’s not a trick
There really is nothing moving there
And there aren’t any people. It is the very utmost top
Where, as is not unusual,
There is snow, lying like the hair on a white-haired person’s head
Combed sideways and backward and forward to cover as much of the top
As possible, for the snow is thinning, it’s September
Although a few months from now there will be a new crop
Probably, though this no one KNOWS (so neither do we)
But every other year it has happened by November
Except for one year that’s known about, nineteen twenty-three
When the top was more and more uncovered until December fifteenth
When finally it snowed and snowed
I love seeing this mountain like a mouse
Attached to the tail of another mouse, and to another and to another
In total mountain silence
There is no way to get up there, and no means to stay.
It is uninhabitable. No roads and no possibility
Of roads. You don’t have a history
Do you, mountain top? This doesn’t make you either a mystery
Or a dull person and you’re certainly not a truck stop.
No industry can exploit you
No developer can divide you into estates or lots
No dazzling disquieting woman can tie your heart in knots.
I could never lead my life on one of those spots
You leave uncovered up there. No way to be there
But I’m moved.

Paradiso

There is no way not to be excited
When what you have been disillusioned by raises its head
From its arms and seems to want to talk to you again.
You forget home and family
And set off on foot or in your automobile
And go to where you believe this form of reality
May dwell. Not finding it there, you refuse
Any further contact
Until you are back again trying to forget
The only thing that moved you (it seems) and gave what you forever will
have
But in the form of a disillusion.
Yet often, looking toward the horizon
There—inimical to you?—is that something you have never found
And that, without those who came before you, you could never have
imagined.
How could you have thought there was one person who could make you
Happy and that happiness was not the uneven
Phenomenon you have known it to be? Why do you keep believing in this
Reality so dependent on the time allowed it
That it has less to do with your exile from the age you are
Than from everything else life promised that you could do?

The Boiling Water

A serious moment for the water is
when it boils
And though one usually regards it
merely as a convenience
To have the boiling water
available for bath or table
Occasionally there is someone
around who understands
The importance of this moment
for the water—maybe a saint,
Maybe a poet, maybe a crazy
man, or just someone
temporarily disturbed
With his mind ‘floating’in a
sense, away from his deepest
Personal concerns to more
‘unreal’ things…

A serious moment for the island
is when its trees
Begin to give it shade, and
another is when the ocean
washes
Big heavy things against its side.
One walks around and looks at
the island
But not really at it, at what is on
it, and one thinks,
It must be serious, even, to be this
island, at all, here.
Since it is lying here exposed to
the whole sea. All its
Moments might be serious. It is
serious, in such windy weather,
to be a sail
Or an open window, or a feather
flying in the street…

Seriousness, how often I have
thought of seriousness
And how little I have understood
it, except this: serious is urgent
And it has to do with change. You
say to the water,
It’s not necessary to boil now,
and you turn it off. It stops
Fidgeting. And starts to cool. You
put your hand in it
And say, The water isn’t serious
any more. It has the potential,
However—that urgency to give
off bubbles, to
Change itself to steam. And the
wind,
When it becomes part of a
hurricane, blowing up the
beach
And the sand dunes can’t keep it
away.
Fainting is one sign of
seriousness, crying is another.
Shuddering all over is another
one.

A serious moment for the
telephone is when it rings.
And a person answers, it is
Angelica, or is it you.

A serious moment for the fly is
when its wings
Are moving, and a serious
moment for the duck
Is when it swims, when it first
touches water, then spreads
Its smile upon the water…

A serious moment for the match
is when it burst into flame…

Serious for me that I met you, and
serious for you
That you met me, and that we do
not know
If we will ever be close to anyone
again. Serious the recognition
of the probability
That we will, although time
stretches terribly in
between…

Anonymous submission.

Poem For My Twentieth Birthday

Passing the American graveyard, for my birthday
the crosses stuttering, white on tropical green,
the years’ quick focus of faces I do not remember . . .

The palm trees stalking like deliberate giants
for my birthday, and all the hot adolescent memories
seen through a screen of water . . .

For my birthday thrust into the adult and actual:
expected to perform the action, not to ponder
the reality beyond the fact,
the man standing upright in the dream.

To My Fifties

I should say something to you
Now that you have departed over the mountains
Leaving me to my sixties and seventies, not hopeful of your return,
O you, who seemed to mark the end of life, who ever would have thought that you
would burn
With such sexual fires as you did? I wound up in you
Some work I had started long before. You were
A time for completion and for destruction. My
Marriage had ended. In you I sensed trying to find
A way out of you actually that wasn’t toward non-existence.
I thought, “All over.” You cried, “I’m here!” You were like traveling
In this sense, but on one’s own
With no tour guide or even the train schedule.
As a “Prime of Life” I missed you. You seemed an incompletion made up of
completions
Unacquainted with each other. How could this be happening? I thought. Or
What should it mean, exactly, that I am fifty-seven? I wanted to be always feeling
desire.
Now you’re a young age to me. And, in you, as at every other time
I thought that one year would last forever.
“I did the best possible. I lasted my full ten years. Now I’m responsible
For someone else’s decade and haven’t time to talk to you, which is a shame
Since I can never come back.” My Fifties! Answer me one question!
Were you the culmination or a phase? “Neither and both.” Explain! “No time.
Farewell!”

The Magic of Numbers

The Magic of Numbers—1

How strange it was to hear the furniture being moved around in the apartment upstairs!
I was twenty-six, and you were twenty-two.

The Magic of Numbers—2

You asked me if I wanted to run, but I said no and walked on.
I was nineteen, and you were seven.

The Magic of Numbers—3

Yes, but does X really like us?
We were both twenty-seven.

The Magic of Numbers—4

You look like Jerry Lewis (1950).

The Magic of Numbers—5

Grandfather and grandmother want you to go over to their house for dinner.
They were sixty-nine, and I was two and a half.

The Magic of Numbers—6

One day when I was twenty-nine years old I met you and nothing happened.

The Magic of Numbers—7

No, of course it wasn’t I who came to the library!
Brown eyes, flushed cheeks, brown hair. I was twenty-nine, and you were sixteen.

The Magic of Numbers—8

After we made love one night in Rockport I went outside and kissed the road
I felt so carried away. I was twenty-three, and you were nineteen.

The Magic of Numbers—9

I was twenty-nine, and so were you. We had a very passionate time.
Everything I read turned into a story about you and me, and everything I did was turned into a poem.

To Stammering

Where did you come from, lamentable quality?
Before I had a life you were about to ruin my life.
The mystery of this stays with me.
“Don’t brood about things,” my elders said.
I hadn’t any other experience of enemies from inside.
They were all from outside–big boys
Who cursed me and hit me; motorists; falling trees.
All these you were as bad as, yet inside. When I spoke, you were there.
I could avoid you by singing or acting.
I acted in school plays but was no good at singing.
Immediately after the play you were there again.
You ruined the cast party.
You were not a sign of confidence.
You were not a sign of manliness.
You were stronger than good luck and bad; you survived them both.
You were slowly edged out of my throat by psychoanalysis
You who had been brought in, it seems, like a hired thug
To beat up both sides and distract them
From the main issue: oedipal love. You were horrible!
Tell them, now that you’re back in your thug country,
That you don’t have to be so rough next time you’re called in
But can be milder and have the same effect–unhappiness and pain.

The Circus

I remember when I wrote The Circus
I was living in Paris, or rather we were living in Paris
Janice, Frank was alive, the Whitney Museum
Was still on 8th Street, or was it still something else?
Fernand Léger lived in our building
Well it wasn’t really our building it was the building we lived in
Next to a Grand Guignol troupe who made a lot of noise
So that one day I yelled through a hole in the wall
Of our apartment I don’t know why there was a hole there
Shut up! And the voice came back to me saying something
I don’t know what. Once I saw Léger walk out of the building
I think. Stanley Kunitz came to dinner. I wrote The Circus
In two tries, the first getting most of the first stanza;
That fall I also wrote an opera libretto called Louisa or Matilda.
Jean-Claude came to dinner. He said (about “cocktail sauce”)
It should be good on something but not on these (oysters).
By that time I think I had already written The Circus
When I came back, having been annoyed to have to go
I forget what I went there about
You were back in the apartment what a dump actually we liked it
I think with your hair and your writing and the pans
Moving strummingly about the kitchen and I wrote The Circus
It was a summer night no it was an autumn one summer when
I remember it but actually no autumn that black dusk toward the post office
And I wrote many other poems then but The Circus was the best
Maybe not by far the best Geography was also wonderful
And the Airplane Betty poems (inspired by you) but The Circus was the best.

Sometimes I feel I actually am the person
Who did this, who wrote that, including that poem The Circus
But sometimes on the other hand I don’t.
There are so many factors engaging our attention!
At every moment the happiness of others, the health of those we know and our own!
And the millions upon millions of people we don’t know and their well-being to think about
So it seems strange I found time to write The Circus
And even spent two evenings on it, and that I have also the time
To remember that I did it, and remember you and me then, and write this poem about it
At the beginning of The Circus
The Circus girls are rushing through the night
In the circus wagons and tulips and other flowers will be picked
A long time from now this poem wants to get off on its own
Someplace like a painting not held to a depiction of composing The Circus.

Noel Lee was in Paris then but usually out of it
In Germany or Denmark giving a concert
As part of an endless activity
Which was either his career or his happiness or a combination of both
Or neither I remember his dark eyes looking he was nervous
With me perhaps because of our days at Harvard.

It is understandable enough to be nervous with anybody!

How softly and easily one feels when alone
Love of one’s friends when one is commanding the time and space syndrome
If that’s the right word which I doubt but together how come one is so nervous?
One is not always but what was I then and what am I now attempting to create
If create is the right word
Out of this combination of experience and aloneness
And who are you telling me it is or is not a poem (not you?) Go back with me though
To those nights I was writing The Circus.
Do you like that poem? have you read it? It is in my book Thank You
Which Grove just reprinted. I wonder how long I am going to live
And what the rest will be like I mean the rest of my life.

John Cage said to me the other night How old are you? and I told him forty-six
(Since then I’ve become forty-seven) he said
Oh that’s a great age I remember.
John Cage once told me he didn’t charge much for his mushroom identification course (at the New School)
Because he didn’t want to make a profit from nature

He was ahead of his time I was behind my time we were both in time
Brilliant go to the head of the class and “time is a river”
It doesn’t seem like a river to me it seems like an unformed plan
Days go by and still nothing is decided about
What to do until you know it never will be and then you say “time”
But you really don’t care much about it any more
Time means something when you have the major part of yours ahead of you
As I did in Aix-en-Provence that was three years before I wrote The Circus
That year I wrote Bricks and The Great Atlantic Rainway
I felt time surround me like a blanket endless and soft
I could go to sleep endlessly and wake up and still be in it
But I treasured secretly the part of me that was individually changing
Like Noel Lee I was interested in my career
And still am but now it is like a town I don’t want to leave
Not a tower I am climbing opposed by ferocious enemies

I never mentioned my friends in my poems at the time I wrote The Circus
Although they meant almost more than anything to me
Of this now for some time I’ve felt an attenuation
So I’m mentioning them maybe this will bring them back to me
Not them perhaps but what I felt about them
John Ashbery Jane Freilicher Larry Rivers Frank O’Hara
Their names alone bring tears to my eyes
As seeing Polly did last night
It is beautiful at any time but the paradox is leaving it
In order to feel it when you’ve come back the sun has declined
And the people are merrier or else they’ve gone home altogether
And you are left alone well you put up with that your sureness is like the sun
While you have it but when you don’t its lack’s a black and icy night. I came home
And wrote The Circus that night, Janice. I didn’t come and speak to you
And put my arm around you and ask you if you’d like to take a walk
Or go to the Cirque Medrano though that’s what I wrote poems about
And am writing about that now, and now I’m alone

And this is not as good a poem as The Circus
And I wonder if any good will come of either of them all the same.

 

Conversation

laureleber_072

 

KENNETH KOCH: John, do you think we both might be too much concerned with matters of taste? Or don’t you think it’s possible to be too much concerned with it?

JOHN ASHBERY: What else is there besides matters of taste?

KK: How would you change that statement if you wanted to put it in a poem? I think that statement would seem too pompous to you to put into a poem. Or too obvious.

JA: I would not put a statement in a poem. I feel that poetry must reflect on already existing statements.

KK: Why?

JA: Poetry does not have subject matter, because it is the subject. We are the subject matter of poetry, not vice versa.

KK: Could you distinguish your statement from the ordinary idea, which it resembles in every particular, that poems are about people?

JA: Yes. Poems are about people and things.

KK: Then when you said “we” you were including the other objects in this room.

JA: Of course.

KK: What has this to do with putting a statement in a poem?

JA: When statements occur in poetry they are merely a part of the combined refractions of everything else.

KK: What I mean is, how is the fact that poetry is about us connected to the use of statements in poetry?

JA: It isn’t.

KK: But you said before –

JA: I said nothing of the kind. Now stop asking me all these questions.

KK: I’m sorry.

JA: Now I’ll ask you a few questions. Why are you always putting things in Paris in all of your poems? I live there but it seems to me I’ve never written anything about it.

KK: Isn’t “Europe” mainly set there?

JA: No. Reread that poem. It all takes place in England.

KK: What about the gray city and the snow valentines and so on – even though the main part of the narrative obviously takes place on the flying fields of England, the real psychological locale of the poem always seemed to me to be in Paris. No? Where were you when you wrote it?

JA: In Paris. But there is only one reference to Paris in the entire poem.

KK: Well, I wrote Ko in Florence.

JA: I wish you would answer my question and also explain –

KK: And there is only one reference to Florence in it, but the way things come together and take place always seemed to me to be very dependent on the fact that it was written in Florence. What did you want me to answer?

JA: Let’s ignore for the moment at least your enigmatic statement that the way things come together reminds you of Florence –

KK: I did not say that.

JA: Anyway I wish you would explain for me and our readers –

KK: Listeners.

JA: – why we seem to omit references to the cities in which we are living, in our work. This is not true of most American poetry. Shudder.

KK: Hmm. I guess we do. I did write one poem about New York while I was in New York, but the rest of the poems about America I wrote in Europe.

JA: I repeat, why we seem to omit ALMOST all references – ?

KK: I find it gets to be too difficult to get through my everyday associations with things familiar to me for me to be able to use them effectively in poetry.

JA: Snore.

KK: I myself am bored by my attempts to make abstract statements and wish I could do it as facilely as you do. I’m going to cut out my previous statement. What made you snore?

JA: Well, if you’re cutting out your statement, then my snore naturally goes with it, I suppose.

KK: Maybe I won’t cut it out. Or I might just keep the snore.

JA: It sounded too much like the way all artists talk when asked to explain their art.

KK: Yes, I agree. I dislike my statement. Why do you suppose are so bothered by such things?

JA: It’s rather hard to be a good artist and also be able to explain intelligently what your art is about. In fact, the worse your art is the easier it is to talk about it. At least, I’d like to think so.

KK: Could you give an example of a very bad artist who explains his work very well?

JA: (Silence)

KK: I guess you don’t want to mention any names. Why don’t you want to mention any names, by the way? Especially since I once heard you say that names are more expressive words than any others.

JA: Some people might get offended. I don’t see the point of that.

KK: Do you mean you’re afraid?

JA: No. Just bored in advance by the idea of having to defend myself.

KK: Have you ever been physically attacked because of your art criticism?

JA: No, because I always say I like everything.

KK: Would you say that is the main function of criticism?

JA: If it isn’t it should be.

KK: How can one talk about what should be the function of something?

JA: Our problem seems to be to avoid it.

KK: To avoid what?

JA: Talking about what you said.

KK: Let me go back a little.

JA: That’s always a mistake.

KK: All right, I’ll take you at your word. But we were getting on to something interesting – but it went by so quickly.

JA: This is true of much great poetry.

KK: And even truer of the rest of it. I was thinking today as I drove over here what my poetry could possibly do for me or for anyone who reads it. I thought it might make people happy temporarily.

JA: That’s a pretty tall order.

KK: I know. I was just going to change the word from happy to something else.

JA: I’d be interested to know what you were going to change it to.

KK: Maybe to pleasantly surprised.

JA: Now you’re talking!

 

Koch links

9045

 

Kenneth Koch Website
Kenneth Koch bio @ The Poetry Foundation
Kenneth Koch interviewed
Kenneth Koch’s ‘Some Generational Instructions’
‘One Man In His Time Plays Many Parts’
Kenneth Koch @ goodreads
Kenneth Koch interviewed @ PBS
Kenneth Koch @ The Allen Ginsberg Project
A Tribute to Kenneth Koch @ Jacket2
Kenneth Koch posts @ Locus Solus: The New York School of Poets
Kenneth Koch’s ‘On Aesthetics’
‘Getting some with Kenneth Koch’
‘The Adolescent: Marit MacArthur on Kenneth Koch’
Kenneth Koch’s poems @ The New Yorker
‘One Author May Hide Another: Kenneth Koch and Latour’
‘The Impossible Comics of Kenneth Koch’
Buy Kenneth Koch’s books

Kenneth Koch talks to Mr. Rogers

*

p.s. Hey. ** Peter maloney, Hey there, Mr. Maloney! How very cool of you to enter here, and thank you for the props. Really, really nice paintings by you on your blog. It’s a total treat to get to lodge them in my consciousness. Everyone, artist Peter Maloney kindly entered the blog’s airless space yesterday, and I recommend you click this link to his blog and look at his terrific paintings and the other stuff over there. Weird/funny coincidence: A couple of days ago, I saw the summer show at the Palais de Tokyo, which is mostly awful, but the best thing in it by far was a video of a boy dancing/facing the very painting that you’re using as your avatar. What are the odds? I don’t know those Janine Gordon images, no, but now I will, thanks to you. Cool, happy to have here, and please come back anytime. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. Wow, that is wild. I sent the link to Gisele immediately, and I’m sure she’ll dig it. Wow. Thanks, buddy. ** Tosh Berman, Aw, thanks a lot, my friend. ** David Ehrenstein, Happy slightly belated b’day to the great alternative film goddess! ** Gary gray, Hi. Cool, great, thank you! Yeah, that’s a quite clever and very committed technique you had going on there. Super awesome DG live report. They just seem more and more interesting/great all the time. Me, up to? Lots of projects in progress, mostly: novel, collab book about the Scandinavia theme park trip I took a while back, collab porn film project, new Gisele piece, etc. Upcoming trip(s) planning. Hanging out. Things are good. So, you’re getting a withdrawal effect that encourages and fuels writing? Hunh, interesting. Can you describe the effect it’s having on the writing or on your writing approach or whatever? Maybe it’s best to just let it happen without analyzing. Yeah, probably, right? Cool. ** Don w, Hi, Don! Thanks a bunch, man. That’s awfully sweet you to have typed. How in the world are you and everything you do? Big love. ** Kyler, Thank for saying and, I presume, thinking that, man. I think someone mentioned that book you’re reading to me. In fact, it might even have been my agent. How curious. Want to see the Allen. It opens here this week, I think. The p.s. yesterday was essentially the previous post. You just had to keep scrolling and clicking ‘Older posts’ if need be. Happy Wednesday, whatever Wednesday means and involves. ** Allesfliesst, Dance scholar, interesting. What’s your syllabus or dance examples line-up or whatever? I can imagine that the Quays’ film could sit in some place within me that is similar to the place where it has come to rest in you. Perhaps I’ll let it flourish in memories. The main and maybe only thing I remember about it at this point is how incredible Alice Krige was in it, or how incredible seeming she was at the time, at least. Hanna Schygulla as FB! I think I maybe have to find that. ** Wolf, Hi, Wolf. Your little dance? Surely I would remember it, if you did, so I guess that treat awaits my next in-person with you when, first thing, I will politely demand to see it. The blog’s loading problem will forever be a mysterious problem, it seems. Very interesting. I mean your approach to self. Hunh. I admire that. I even aspire to a place of at least making art like that. But it wouldn’t work with me, I don’t think. I think I wouldn’t be a good writer at all. The self has to hold total sway for me and then be battled and tortured into language’s proper place. So interesting that there are so many ways to make it work, whatever I mean by ‘it’. Oh, that is a nice building. That’s in Brighton? Weird. On Naoshima in Japan, there were a bunch of pretty great Sugimotos in the museum/hotel/etc. complex where we stayed. Punching a hologram, ha ha, what?! I’m going to be figuring out that image’s relationship to a live music gig all day, which is, obviously, a good thing. ‘Elysium’ is bad? That’s sad. I’ve been semi-into seeing it. Maybe sub-semi now. Thanks, Wolfy! ** Scunnard, Hi, pal. It’s kind of nice, the pre-moving boxing up and stuff, no? The getting rid, the reassessing, the tape dispenser, etc. Am I totally romanticizing that? Surely not. Yeah, hm, yeah, I had this sneaking suspicion that ‘IB’ might not hold up. Weird how that happens, or not weird, or I don’t know. Like I really liked Aronovsky’s ‘Pi’ when it first came out, and then I saw it again and thought it was pure misery, but I’ve found his subsequent films to be varying degrees of pure misery, so maybe I was actually innocent and right the first time about ‘Pi’. I don’t think so, though. Anyway, blah blah. Best of the best of what it takes to get packed up. When do you move precisely? Ultra-soon, yes? ** œ, Hi. Yes, that Fujiko video, so nice. My friend Zac and I will be visiting and documenting two of her France-based works while on our work trip to the Loire Valley next week. I’m going to find and read that Sollers thing on Mallarme. Cool, thank you for mentioning it. Oh, okay, well, if you feel you need to stay away, I hope everything goes incredibly well for you until I get the pleasure of visiting with you again. Much love to you. ** Sypha, Hi. I didn’t know that was Chris Colfer for a while, since I don’t know ‘Glee’ at all, and then, when I realized, I had to pair it with the Taylor Swift gif, which somehow seemed to justify my including those guys. Never danced in public? What about privately in your room? Do you ever play air guitar? ** Heliotrope, Hi, Mark! It has been too long, but you get a pass to take however long you want, man. As long as it’s not too long, okay? Except for the work shake-ups and car death (RIP) and the loss of your parents’ last friend, I’m sorry, your summer sounds to have been kind of nicely summery. And that was a nice summary, to create a rhyme. It’s terrible that the Dodgers being great right now just makes me feel nervous and suspicious. Fingers crossed, though. I miss you always too. I wish you guys would/could come to Paris. I’ll get to LA soon some way or another, I hope. Love you too, bud. ** Rewritedept, Finally the post caused someone’s computer or whatever problems! I was so sure that it would. Dude, everything at that bakery is edible heaven. I’ve got a bag of all kinds of their things in my kitchen waiting to be devoured by me and others in a few hours. Ugh, sorry, man, about the living situation shit. Take the genius tag. Surely that’s true, and it isn’t often that genius gets recognized externally or something. There are still intelligent people, they just aren’t wasting their intelligence in/on social networks. That’s my theory. The American anti-intellectual thing is eternal, I think. It’s been around and prominent ever since I was a kid. It was just much easier to forget it existed in ‘the old days’. My sleep thing is much better, but it’s not completely cured, weirdly. Solitary living might be good, yeah. It sure can be, at least for getting art done. Yeah, I don’t know, I think love for other people is the absolutely ultimate thing. For me, it is, for whatever reason. A secret? Cool. ** Steevee, Hi. Your Fassbinder piece at last! Great! I’ll be over there in just a while. Everyone, the extremely head-screwed-on critic and dude Steve Erickson aka Steevee has written a piece on Fassbinder’s early films for the Roger Ebert site, and I can tell you without even having read said piece yet that it is a must. So, head over here as soon as you are able. ** Bill, Oh, that sounds really good. That sextet, that line up. Sweet. New stuff! New Bill stuff! Yes, yes, yes! ** Schlix, Hi, Uli! Yeah, I’ve been waking up weirdly early due to the last vestiges of my sleep problems, so the blog has been more ‘on time’ than it usually is. Your Croatia trip sounds amazing. I would really like to go there sometime. It allures. You are right about the problem with the Frankfurt dates. The performances got rescheduled for next May, and I totally forgot to change the dates, but now I have. I haven’t been traveling with ‘The Pyre’, and Gisele has barely been in Paris this summer, but she tells me that the performances have been going really well, so I guess they have since she’s normally not deluded about how things are going. ** MANCY, Cool, thank you, man. ** S., Actually, I have some kind of back up thing on my laptop that I could use to preserve time-enslaved stuff, if it worked, which it doesn’t, so, no, I don’t have a time machine. Do you think I’d be sitting here writing this p.s. if I did? Maybe I would be, though. Weird. Cool about the good school thing and the blond surroundings. I was a pet person until I was about 14. There are a shitload of ‘dog slaves’ out there. A few ‘horses’ and I think maybe a ‘cat’ or two. A lot, and I mean a lot of ‘pigs’. Never have come across a ‘scorpion’ or ‘centipede’ slave. Some boy should offer that service, if he could figure what the service would involve. He would have the market cornered. You’re addicted to Kyler Moss? Interesting. He seems so ‘last year’ to me or something, but then it’s so easy to turn on things when they get famous. New short story, cool, duh, very cool. ** Right. We’re back to the normal post/p.s. fused situation today. And, to celebrate this great reunification, what better thing than the marvelous stylings of the poet Kenneth Koch. See you tomorrow.

« Older posts

© 2025 DC's

Theme by Anders NorénUp ↑