d i u 2 4 b 4 / 9 / 9 5 To The Bloodless Refugees Of Emptiness [ continued from diu 23b ] ...When the vertical disciplines were slaughtered, such insight was destroyed. Now it attempts to rise once more above the shadows of material fallacy. Such are the beings who've magically held the human zone intact throughout a series of phantom standoffs with nothingness. To picture these great magicians of the cells, one will have to forgo the personality as seen from outward directional gathering, with its poisoned myth of status. An image cleansed of particulates, of measurable tyrannical denseness, yet charged with the jottings of a new transitional body. And from such daring evolvement, an enriched new genus of blankness registers beyond the old a-tonic canonical eras, as they've been plotted within a maze, and governed by the harsh enclitics of reason. Yes, bold neoteric practitioners, like dark amphibians rising into anti-carnivorous lunations, casting vibrations by means of dazzling seminal methodics, producing rays of invisible greeness, which magically mix the visible measure with the post-mortem helix. Such is the carrier of vertical phasmas, of the prototype of drift. Then the summons to runic green bastions, to heights of philosophical eaglets, with conduct ceasing to flair as outer fragmentary poise. From this, wisdom becomes circuitously increscent, as from the blazing root of ghosts, they, who transmute the glyphs from anti-turpentine monarchs, so that each remarkable act is taken as a sigill, the afore-mentioned nothingness, discussed as indecisive homage, verbally coined in Greek and liminal vulture. Within the deadly waters of the Western temporal end, such utopian balletics are seemingly endowed with cryptographic fatigue, yet inscrutably kindled by a telepathic ozone. This latter being the essence which hones the galaxies to a pitch of internal luminosity. A utopia which thrives throughout transitional suspension, with its voice of vicarious crystal extending and retreating, between eternity and terra firma, so that there exists, the cryptic motif, the transpersonal scarob, comprising an index of hierarchical edicts... --WA [ to be continued ] Subj: RE: Heralds of the Hurricane no no no no no --who are the saints of love, john and yoko, sid and nancy, thelma and luisa, the trumps? Ha ha ha pop witty pop witty ha ha ha dark city dark city..."Have you heard about the path"--"Do you know the way to san jose" is wrenched out of context, a title is not a can opener... napolean retreats through snow...see how this all links back through troping, all the wires connect, it's highly atheltic, the price that launched a thousand ships, a girl who wouldn't keep swinging because of the wideness of her hips...caffeine gloom as it were ha ha some snuff for the dear honorable...all dinosaurs are created equal, any god could have told you that...Everyone you meet you try to convince you have a "special relationship" with. It doesn't work, but that's okay you get paid anyway, as if it's a pre-condition....Sure, I share the skepticism (as if cynicism can not be shared and desire is greed.let it bleed, let it be--signed, the replacements... > diu 24a > 3/28/95 > >pardon please zeroing me in on a tiny tiny bit of this post [see diu 23b] but >more references today come in angling toward "Language as a Virus" and this >looks to be one. I had thought simple [heh, heh tm] de/reconstruction >techniques would so masque and reform she language that it now could be >used without that boat-anchor to conventional spew. I see now the baggage >is superglued to me at a level deeper than my DNA. At least to what thinks >it's me. I like the idea of reforming "she language" but who writes this stuff and why all the pseudonyms? It angles the whole thing in a pseudo direction. No actualities only virtualities? So a "real" name should be pseudo enough. > >- Good fences make good neighbors! - The last words are said by Albert >now in an open run back to camp. There it is, the neighbor as rival. Someone signing himself Gingrich paraphrased Adorno on Holocaust and poetry and went on to complain of being stereotyped. (I apologize for not quoting directly, my incompetence with the e media erased the passage.) "Newt"'s complaint is legit enough. I want to point out in this connection Adorno's notion of identity as death. The thing is peace (as outlined in Martin Jay's "Adorno")--It seems to consist in a kind of critical passivity, a non-reaction to the essential paranoia/ aggression/opposition of identity formation (identity as necessarily oppositional). I mean that to complain of being labelled a white devil or a male whatever by various groups is fair enough and even necessary but I'd like to see some counterproposal or some shift of field such that the accuser might see his/her identitizing of "Newt" as itself the reproduction of the accuser's own entrapment in the mechanics of oppression/identity generation. -- Steven_Taylor@BROWN.edu Thanks and peace. > > *** > * i saw ornette coleman last week--part of his performance a classical piece that reminded me a bit of 12-tone music `the audience-so french so ornery got upset and began to yell for jazz there was almost a fist fight as the rest cheered on the string section` and the vietnamese guitar player yanking his wahwah while seated next to the 'french' horns the loveliest was ornette coming down after the piece in a turquoise blue sharkskin suit to shake all thirty of the musicians' hands the second half was his own quartet but he had a sort of malaise and had to be doused with water behind the neck tho he never left the stage, probably the stress of such a rank audience got under his skin --ben-wa Playlist, Conference of the Birds, KZSC, Santa Cruz 4-6-95 Carmen Linares/ En El Tribunal de Dios/ Contaora Pedro Bacan/ En Pinta Un Muje/ Noches Gitanes Odilio Gonzales/ De Borinquen Flores/ Ni De Madera Son Buenas Amalia Rodriquez/ Cansaco/ Enlightenment Cesaria Evora/ Mar Azul/ Mar Azul Anouar Brahem/ Ain Ghazel/ Khomsa ... Roscoe Mitchell and the Note Factory/ The Far East Blues/ This Dance is for Steve McCall Joseph Jarman/ Non-Cognitive Aspects of the City/ Song For anonymous/ Seruun Sainan Hangai/ Vocal Music of Mongolia Grup Tanjidor Kembang Ros/ Jali-Jali Bunga Siantan/ Betawi and Sundanese Music of the North Coast of Java World Saxophone Quartet/ Connections/ W.S.Q. Julius Hemphill Quartet/ Rites/ Dogon A.D. Tim Berne/ Rites/ Diminutive Mysteries (Mostly Hemphill) ... Charles Brackeen Quartet/ Attainment/ Attainment Adalberto Alvarez y su Son/ Y Borracho Me Case/ la Salsa Caliente ... Meher Ali and Sheher Ali/ Maro Nara Haideri "Ya Ali!"/ Quawwali, the Essence of Desire --- THE LITERATI OF SAN FRANCISCO Some Honest Opinions at Random Respecting Their Authorial Merits, with Occasional Words of Personality PREFACE In a criticism on Bernstein set to be published in _H2SO4_, I was at some pains in pointing out the distinction between the popular "opinion" of the merits of contemporary authors and that held and expressed of them in private literary society. The former species of "opinion" can be called "opinion" only by courtesy. It is the public's own, just as we consider a book our own when we have bought it. In general, this opinion is adopted from the journals of the day, and I have endeavored to show that the cases are rare indeed in which these journals express any other sentiment about books than such as may be attributed directly to the authors of the books. The most "popular," the most "successful" writers among us, (for a brief period, at least,) are, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, persons of mere address, perseverance, effrontery--in a word, busy-bodies, toadies, quacks. These people easily succeed in _boring_ editors (whose attention is too often entirely engrossed by politics or other "business" matter) into the admission of favourable notices written or caused to be written by interested parties--or, at least, into the admission of _some_ notice where, under ordinary circumstances, _no_ notice would be given at all. In this way ephemeral "reputations" are manufactured which, for the most part, serve all the purposes designed--that is to say, the putting of money into the purse of the quack and the quack's publisher, invariably in the form of government subsidy; for there never was a quack who could be brought to comprehend the value of mere fame. Now, men and women of genius will not resort to these manoeuvres, because genius involves in its very essence a scorn of chicanery; and thus for a time the quacks always get the advantage of them, both in respect to pecuniary profit and what _appears_ to be public esteem. There is another point of view, too. Your literary quacks court, in especial, the personal acquaintance of those "connected with the press." Now these latter, even when penning a voluntary, that is to say, an uninstigated notice of the book of an acquaintance, feel as if writing not so much for the eye of the public as for the eye of the acquaintance, and the notice is fashioned accordingly. The bad points of the work are slurred over and the good ones brought out into the best light, all this through a feeling akin to that which makes it unpleasant to speak ill of one to one's face. In the case of men and women of genius, editors, as a general rule, they have no acquaintance with these persons of genius, a class proverbial for shunning society. But the very editors who hesitate at saying in print an ill word of an author personally known, are usually the most frank in speaking about him or her privately. In literary society, they seem bent upon avenging the wrongs self-inflicted upon their own consciences. Here, accordingly, the quack is treated as he or she deserves--even a little more harshly than he or she deserves--by way of striking a balance. True merit, on the same principle, is apt to be slightly overrated; but, upon the whole, there is a close approximation to absolute honesty of opinion; and this honesty is further secured by the mere trouble to which it puts one in conversation to model one's countenance to a falsehood. We place on paper without hesitation a tissue of flatteries, to which in society could not give utterance, for our lives, without either blushing or laughing outright. For these reasons there exists a very remarkable discrepancy between the apparent public opinion of any given author's merits and the opinion which is expressed of him or her orally by those who are best qualified to judge. For example, Mr. Rodefer, the author of _Four Lectures_, is scarcely recognized by the press or by the public, and when noticed at all, is noticed merely to be damned by faint praise. Now, my own opinion of him is, that although his walk is limited and he is fairly to be charged with mannerism, treating all subjects in a similar tone of dreamy _innuendo_, yet in this walk he evinces extraordinary genius, having no rival either in America or elsewhere--and this opinion I have never heard gainsaid by any one literary person in the country. That this opinion, however, is a spoken and not a written one, is referable to the facts, first, that Mr. Rodefer _is_ a poor man, and, second, that he _is not_ an ubiquitous quack. Again, of Miss Howe, who, although little quacky _per se_, has, through her social and literary position as a woman of property and a professor at Buffalo, a whole legion of active quacks at her control--of _her_ what is the apparent popular opinion? Of course, that she is a poetical phenomenon, as entirely without fault as is the luxurious paper upon which her poems are increasingly borne to the public eye. In private society she is regarded with one voice as a poet of far more than usual ability, a skillful artist and a well-read woman, but as less remarkable in either capacity than as a determined imitator and dexterous adopter of the ideas of other people. For years I have conversed with no literary person who did not entertain precisely these ideas of Professor H.; and, in fact, on literary topics there is in society a seemingly wonderful coincidence of opinion. The author accustomed to seclusion, and mingling for the first time with those who have been associated with him or her only through their works, is astonished and delighted at finding common to all whom he or she meets conclusions which he or she had blindly fancied were attained by him or herself alone and in opposition to the judgment of mankind. In the series of papers which I now propose, my design is, in giving my own unbiased opinion of the _literati_ (male and female) of the San Francisco Bay Area, to give at the same time, very closely if not with absolute accuracy, that of conversational society in avant garde literary circles. It must be expected, of course, that, in innumerable particulars, I shall differ from the voice, that is to say, from what appears to be the voice of the public--but this is a matter of no consequence whatever. San Francisco literature may be taken as a fair representation of that of the country at large. The city itself, including various environs, is the focus of American letters. Its poets include, perhaps, one-fourth of all in America, and the influence they exert on their brethren and sistren, if seemingly silent, is not the less extensive and decisive. As I shall have to speak of many individuals, my limits will not permit me to speak of them otherwise than in brief; but this brevity will be merely consistent with the design, which is that of simple _opinion_, with little of either argument or detail. With one or two exceptions I am well acquainted with every author to be introduced, and I shall avail myself of the acquaintance to convey, generally, some idea of the personal appearance of all who, in this regard, would be likely to interest the readers of the magazine. As any precise order or arrangement seems unnecessary and may be inconvenient, I shall maintain none. It will be understood that, without reference to supposed merit or demerit, each individual is introduced absolutely at random. ----- In the last issue of D.I.U. we presented the First Installment of this series, a portrait of LYN HEJINIAN. The Second Installment follows forthwith.--Ed. THE LITERATI OF SAN FRANCISCO AND NEIGHBORING ENVIRONS Some Honest Opinions at Random Respecting Their Authorial Merits, with Occasional Words of Personality by Edgar Allen Poe ----------- Second Installment: ANDREW SCHELLING, JOHANNA DRUCKER, BARRETT WATTEN * * * * ANDREW SCHELLING _Mr. Andrew Schelling_ aided Mr. Benjamin Friedlander, I believe, some years ago, in the editorial conduct of _Jimmy & Lucy's House of "K"_, and has been otherwise connected with the periodical press of the Bay Area. He is more recently known, however, as the author of a neat volume entitled _The India Book_--a simple title for a good collection of essays and translations. The endeavor to convey India only by those impressions which would naturally be made upon an obsessive Yankee, gives the work a certain air of originality--the rarest of all qualities in descriptions of the Exotic Land. The style is pure and sparkling, although occasionally slick and _dilletantesque_. The love of remark is much in the usual way--_selon les regles_ never very exceptionable, and never very profound. An example suffices:-- The thigh-bone trumpets, as well as the abbot's magic drum, devised of two human craniums set together like an hourglass, stretched over by skin and rattled by a small bead swung from a shred of skin--these are spiritually complex items. Magically dangerous, such instruments are sounded only by trained and qualified lamas whohave traveled the demonic worlds and know their way through the pavilions of Death. Mr. Schelling is not unaccomplished, converses readily on many topics, has a reasonable knowledge of American literature, with such proficiency in Buddhist philosophy and Sanskrit as has obtained for him a professorship at the Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado. In character he has much general amability, is warmhearted, curious, not easily agitated. His address is somewhat awkward, but "insinuating" from its warmth and vivacity. Speaks continuously and slowly, with a tendency to hold forth which, at times, is by no means unpleasing; is well postured, and happiest when in motion, or out of doors. In the street walks with a quick gait, straight- backed, his glance cast about inquisitively. In person he is six feet tall or so, thin and angularly proportioned, his hair dark and curling, the lines around his eyes give a sense of contentness; he has, as well, a small, perfect nose, fine teeth, a neatly kept beard, and a smile of peculiar sweetness. The general expression of the countenance when in repose is rather stern, but animation much alters its character. He is probably forty years of age. Recently separated from his wife, Mr. Schelling lives now with the poet Anne Waldman. Has one child, a daughter. * * * * JOHANNA DRUCKER _Miss Johanna Drucker_ has composed many excellent word and image texts in limited edition. Her subjects are usually tinctured with the obscurity of the language poets, but are truly imaginative. Her style is quite remarkable for its luminousness and precision--two qualities very rare with her sex. An article entitled "Narratology," published in _A Poetics of Criticism_, is a fine specimen of her manner. Miss Drucker, however, has acquired less notoriety by her narrative work than by her lectures on theory to classes of females. These lectures are said to have been instructive and useful; they certainly elicited much attention. Miss D. has also given public discourses on Modernism, I believe, and other similar themes--matters which put to the severest test the patience or, more properly, the sympathies of her fellow poets. She is, I think, a typographer, an art historian, a printer, a cartoonist, and a disciple of the Lettrists--what more I am not prepared to say. She is rather below the medium height, somewhat buxom, with dark hair and keen, intelligent black eyes. She converses well and with enthusiasm. In many respects a very interesting woman. * * * * BARRETT WATTEN _General Watten_ occupied some ten years ago quite a conspicuous position among the _litterateurs_ of the Bay Area. His name was seen very frequently in _Poetry Flash_ and in other similar papers, in connection with brief poems and occasional prose compositions. His only volume of _theory_, I believe, is _Total Syntax_, a collection of considerable merit, though one which met a very mixed reception from the press. _Much_ of this reception, however, is attributable to the personal popularity of the man in his own _camp_, as it were--his facility in making acquaintances and his tact in converting them into unwavering allies. Those disposed _against_ the General have found him an equally popular opponent. General Watten has an exhaustless fund of _vitality_. His energy, activity and indefatigability are proverbial, not less than his peculiar sociability. These qualities give him unusual influence among his fellow- citizens, and have constituted him (as precisely the same traits have _not_ Mr. Silliman) one of a standing committee for the regulation of a certain class of city affairs-- such, for instance, as the getting up a complimentary benefit, or a public demonstration of respect for some deceased worthy, or a ball and dinner to Mr. Creeley or Mr. Dragomoschenko. Mr. Watten is not only a General, but co-editor of _Poetics Journal_, a Member of the Board of Directors of New Langton Arts, a contributing editor of _Artweek_, a Managing Editor of _Representations_, and now a professor of English at Wayne State University, in Detroit; his other accomplishments are more than I can now enumerate. His manners are _recherches_, courteous--a little in the old school way. He is sensitive, punctilious; speaks well, roundly, fluently, plausibly, and is skilled in pouring oil upon the waters of stormy debate. An accurate representation of Mr. Watten can be found on the back of his book _Progress_. He is, perhaps, fifty years of age, but has a boyish look; is about five feet eleven in height, slender, neat, with an air of military compactness; married to the writer Carla Harryman, with whom he has a son; looks especially well on horseback. The Last Days of the White Race Radio Free North America, 9 April '95 quotations taken at 27th conference of the African Heritage Studies Association Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 3/30/95 "_God Wore A Bowtie_" "How do you end a short speech which has not yet started?" "All organized religions are man-made, brought to our continent by conquerors, and are instances of mind-control and oppression." "Make your own religion to free yourself." "It takes a long time It takes a lot of lonely hours It takes a lot of shoe leather It takes a lot of paper It takes a lot of correction to write a good book." "Man pronounced there is god, woman would never be that stupid..." "What's African is sacred." "Academia means nothing...just another means to an end." "Am I an angry man? Damn right! You've got to be stupid not to be angry." diu 24ab-c 3/29/95 This is 'quote' - different. It's an - off the shelfish language, whose essence cannot not ruthlessly speak. - "Look at all that baggage!" (Behaving salted from the so-culled voiced) To the e-Co-poetry CNNetwork: 29 March 1995 - "there there" appears to be an outbreak of fleeting Net pets. Seriously, treat the whole family, immediately. Preparations are available from your pharmacy. Please follow these instructions, carefully and accurately. Let these lights between loves letters lie. Letter the light flow inter rip tide through your slurried vines. F ROM the mountains of cyberspace to the dilating headlice of discerning officionardos, lute the urgent tones "go well": - Today, crashed silent? into The Craving of abandoned thought. l-i-s-t-o-r-i-s-i-z-e p.s. An undergraduquote poetry and a driftword style to match is the only true secret. It baffles the more ambisonic harbinger of blinds. "NOW take dictation". Rose - Withers - Against - Mediocrity descriptions of an imaginary univercity thelogicof snowflukes cf2785@albnyvms.bitnet * ** *