A and I just arrived home from a fairly successful Thanksgiving excursion to Omaha/Council Bluffs and Norfolk, NE. Lots was eaten. Cards were played. Football was watched. I did 21 push-ups in there somewhere as a challenge to cousin-in-law marine. I lost. I have a lot to catch up on now as the semester heat turns up a notch for the next two weeks. But instead A and I ironed some clothes and spent an evening with Saddle Creek from Netflix.


Here is a pic from my messy closet where I stored a poster from a local showing of the Saddle Creek documentary. To its left is Denny's poster from Clean Part, which just propped up for the picture. The furthest left clothing item is my new suit jacket that I'll be wearing to a funeral tomorrow barring a blizzard. I bought it at Herberger's in Norfolk this weekend. What do you think?

I also lounged for a few seconds in front of our very own fireplace. It works now. Thank you, M.

And if you want to hear some archived My Vocabulary radio broadcasts, and hear me and some cooler poets read some poems in those broadcasts, go here.

Two or three years ago I had a brief but heavy fascination with a poet named Wong May after finding a book of hers, A Bad Girl's Book of Animals, at the bottom of a pile in a dusty Ohio bookstore. I wrote a Recovery Project on this brilliant book in the 3rd issue of Octopus (one of my favorite all-time issues I think) that concluded with a bit of a biographical (or anti-biographical note) that read: "She is almost completely undocumented, unphotographed, and unreviewed. She got a BA at the University of Singapore, got her MFA at the University of Iowa in 1968, and wrote three books of poems (Reports [1974] and Superstitions [1978]). In 1978, she curled up into a tiny ball and disappeared." For a while, I was bent on discovering more about May, but she seemed pretty reclusive. She is completely absent, as far as I am aware, from any sort of conversation about contemporary poetry, but has produced three killer books. Anyway, just this week I got an email from a friend of hers who promises to straighten things out. This I know, so far: she is alive and lives in Dublin, Ireland, with her husband. She has two adult sons. She is apparently still writing, but has not published any of it since 1978. A door has re-opened. I'll keep you abreast.

Denny made some killer new posters for the second Clean Part. Mathias and I are excited to litter them about town. Anyway, make your plans now to come to Lincoln on December 8 for the best poetry in the tri-state area. Anthony Hawley and Amanda Nadelberg. Don't disappoint us.

Simon is back and he's tackled Heather Christle in the open field.

Walking from the Union to Andrews Hall yesterday, I heard some loud clunky footsteps directly behind me that had the exact same gait as my own footsteps, the same exact pace, which I found unusual. Our paces matched for too long so I decided to speed mine up a bit, but the pace of our footsteps still matched. I then slowed it down: still the same. Pass me already! Finally, I kinda held one foot in the air an extra beat before I let it down, and they did too. It must be somebody I know putting me on only a few feet behind me, but when I turned around there was no one there. Apparently, it was the damn buckle on my pack, unlatched, and tapping the canvas. I felt pretty dumb and I wanted to tell someone, but I was all alone. So, I'm telling you.

It is now winter outside on my lawn


so I've been growing my beard.

I've been a little down lately. I'm sure it doesn't help that I've been listening to this depressing crap:


Death Cab's Plans


Sun Kil Moon's Tiny Cities (covers of Modest Mouse songs)

Thanks Adam.

A blues-filled weekend in Norfolk. I'll give you more on that as soon as I can wrap my head around it.

But I was greeted with some good mail upon my return: Review copies of Arielle Greenberg's My Kafka Century (Action Books) and Jennifer Knox's A Gringo Like Me (Soft Skull)(Thank you Brandon Shimoda of CutBank), Public Works by Ronna Bloom (Pedlar Press), a very encouraging rejection from Joshua Marie Wilkinson over at the Denver Quarterly, and a postcard from the famous and talented Mary Ruefle which, among other things, said that she found a picture of me purchasing a soda for a youngster in a handmade book at the handmade books festival in Iowa City this week. Kate, you know anything about this? Why don't I?

Dean Young was #1 last night--very funny, very kind. He's a rockstar poet in my book, one of my heroes, but he doesn't act as rockstar as he could. We threw down PBRs and High Lifes together at the Starlight Lounge along with Hadara, Michael D, Anthony Hawley and Becka (sp?), played 50's trivia, talked music (Silver Jews, Sun Kil Moon, Beck) and poetry, I even asked about the fullest his mouth had ever been, and if he thought he could fit 100 plain M&M's in there. He said he probably couldn't.

I was a smidge disappointed in his reading, not because his performance wasn't top notch (it was, and his banter was admirable) but the audience was tired, unresponsive, and too small for a Young reading. Dumanis did such a killer job putting this together, publicizing it, etc, I just wish Lincoln/Wesleyan would have answered the call a little better. They're not going to have too many chances at Dean Young.

In other news: A and I are going to Norfolk, NE, this weekend. I have about 70 papers to grade. I figure Norfolk is a good place to do it.

I'm having dinner this evening with Dean Young before his reading at Wesleyan. That's right. I said it. I'm a little nervous. I'm feeling sick. I have to do things I do want to (we're not talking about Dean Young anymore). I'm sad this week. My lower back hurts and I won't be hungry. I hope I say something insightful. I'm thinking of writing a poem with a line about Christmas in it. I have just the line.

I'm still recovering from this Clean Part weekend: the sleep I lost, the papers I didn't write, the papers I didn't grade, etc. But it was such a good time and I think this reading series thing will only gain momentum. Mathias and I are starting to get big eyes and bounce around some names of our heroes that have mentioned they might come. But that is for a later post.

We ate well this weekend. Indian food at The Oven afterward with Denny and Bri, Ashley, Kim, Michael Dumanis, A, and the other Clean Parters I've already mentioned. Diner food at Kuhl's. I got the BLT. Burgers at Red Robin on Sunday with Kim and Adam before they made the trek back to Arkansas. Pizza at Yia Yia's on Friday. Beer everywhere. I'm spoiled/broke now. I look forward to the next one.

Today, in class, I watched a terrific documentary called East Side Story on socialist propaganda musicals from the 1930's-1960's USSR. Fascinating. I want to write a poem based on some of the clips, using the titles of the musicals like I Don't Want to Marry (1961), Vacation on the Black Sea (1957), and Jolly Fellows (1934). The musicals were so ridiculous, so campy, showing men and women in the wheat fields, shoveling wheat and singing about what an honor and priveledge back-breaking slave labor can be, in order to support the country, or women sweeping up hog entrails in a meat packing plant while whistling about the great and wonderful Stalin. Hmm. Today I go to watch From Russia With Love with Connery as Bond for class.

Meeting A by the fountains now. We're going to have Subway.

The first Clean Part Reading weekend was an enormous success. All three of them poets are brilliant, friendly, and clean (or clean enough). About 35 people showed up to listen, a perfect number for that petite gallery, and they were engaged as the poets were engaging. Mathias and I couldn't have asked for a better reading to kick off the series. Anyway, the rest of the story will be told in pictures. Below are only a very small handful. See Anne's pics for a more thorough story, and Adam will post (many of these are his, that I stole) more of his soon too. And be sure to check out The Clean Part website later this week for a better wrap-up, pics of our raffle winner, etc.

A, A and A. Tired of mingling.



Anne in my dining room, walking away.



Mathias introducing Alex.

Adam wetting his lips for more playful between poems banter.



An interested Alex.


Mathias and Zach: attentive listeners.

Alex reading from Joshua Marie Wilkinson's A Ghost as King of Rabbits at Mathias' place.



Zach reading from the new Gulf Coast with both Alex and Mathias in it.



Mathias and a possessed Kim.



Kim happy in front of A and I's place, A and I discussing pumpkins in the backround.

Mathias and I are feverishly preparing for the Clean Part reading this Saturday night. We're passing around handbills, little miniature versions of our poster tonight, me at Rynn Williams' reading on campus, Mathias at the John D'Agata's reading over on Wesleyan's campus. We're also picking up the peanuts, raffle tickets, etc. It should be a good time. You should come.

The pumpkins I made into magical jack-o-lanterns today after work. The one on the left is telling a joke, winking, and the one on the right is looking at him, laughing. I used one of Denny and Bri's pumpkins, which they brought over last week and we never got around to carving them. A told me that what I did was wrong, but I figured no one would want a post-Halloween pumpkin. Post-halloween pumpkins bum me out--they are so sad. Denny back me up. Comment. Tell me what I did was ok.

Me in the shirt I must wear to carve my magical jack-o-lanterns.

Our neighbors, P and S. S was our first trick-or-treater as homeowners. S went as a Hershey's Kiss. We had about 20 total T-O-Ters. Best ones: Death and the kid Death killed, the Thing from the Fantastic Four, and psychotic 4th of July clown. Lamest: baseball player guy (at least be bloody baseball player guy or Palmeiro on 'roids or something), and boy-dressed-as-girl boy.

The joke-teller and the laugher out front, on their pillars. Next year, I'm putting the old rusty and creaky gate back on its hinges between these two pillars, and cobwebbing the whole gate/fence up. Oh, man.

Our spooky doorstep.

The laugher in a hauntingly bloody red photo, my bloody finger in the shot, trying to cover up the bloody flash.

If you're down with good poems, get your subscriptions to Parakeet. It looks like #2 is about ready to invade the suburbs. An interesting and unlikely collection of poets, it seems. And your boy (me) has 5 poems in there, 4 of which are from my unpublished manuscript [about 1/12 of the thing! (48 poems, but in 72 pages)]. So, if you're interested in reading my manuscript, getting a Parakeet might be as close as you get for years (cross your fingers that this is untrue).

I'm jealous of you, NYC. Don't miss Tony Tost and Lisa Jarnot read Sunday night.

Remember that commericial for Domino's Pizza, where the dog salivates Pavlovian-style and the guys on the couch say "dumb dog," and then the doorbell rings and they all sprint to open the door? That guy that says, "Whoa...Philly cheesesteak," came over to our house last night. He's pretty cool. But we ate chili together.

Reading Coconut 2, Octosubs, Wenderoth's new book of essays. Writing an explication of Rad Smith's Distant Early Warning, a poem either called "William and Mary in the Universe" or "Dirty Sanchez".

Hadara and I met over some of the remaining Octopus submissions. I now have a set list of acceptances and honorable rejections for #7. So, look out.

Today, I will sign up for Spring classes. Here's the gameplan:

1. Seminar in Poetry - Postcolonial Poetics
2. African Lit in English - Modern Anglophone African Writers
3. Creative Writing Fiction Workshop with Jonis Agee

Also, Mathias and I will cover downtown Lincoln with Clean Part posters. And I have a handful of essays to write through the evening, night, early morning. Good thing there's no baseball on tonight to tempt me away.

My front yard full of leaves. I will pick every last one of them up tomorrow. I'll even catch the ones that are still falling in my little brown sack.





















The beautiful red tree in our neigbor's back yard.





















The brilliant posters I was telling you about just yesterday. A striped candle, unburned. A bowl of little candy pumpkins.

Whew. I've just finished a mini-seminar paper on DA Powell's Cocktails. Heavy stuff. My eyes hurt and I'm up to my neck in blood (meaning: I wrote a lot of Powell's important blood imagery, not that when I toil over papers, I bleed a lot). I asked him a few questions in an email and he answered them. Nothing more impressive than conducting a personal interview with the author to help advance the paper a bit--lets hope Professor Raz sees it the same way.

Denny is done with The Clean Part posters. I'm going to pick them up today. Whee! I guess I haven't officially launched the blog for this reading series, and I won't until Mathias and I get some bios and pics up there. So, if you go to this site, know that it won't be launched for a few more days. Hmm. I think that's ok.

A bit it in Wal-Mart. We were pulling apart a pair of very stuck plastic storage containers. On the last strong tug, the containers separated easily and went flying into the air. A landed hard on the cold and dirty floor. There was a lot of plastic crashing sounds and A screamed. Some customers and a blue-vest came to help. They all thought I pushed her down. I was laughing and A was not. Aaah, good stuff.

Denny and Bri are coming over tonight I think. We are going to carve pumpkins. I'm going to make mine look mean.

Today, I got my last installment from Ugly Duckling on my current subscription. Good stuff. Christmas morning feeling, but just the presents aspect, not the love and family feelings. Here's what I got:

Chinese Sun. A novel by Arkadii Dragomoshchenko translated from the Russian by Evgeny Pavlov.
Iterature by Eugene Ostashevsky. My second copy.
Indeed, Insist (a mystery) by Bethany Wright.
Further Adventures of My Nose by John Surowiecki and illustrated by Terry Rentzepis. I've already made it through this strange little thing.
And some other UDP miscellany.

It is Fall break at UNL, so I'm digging in this weekend.

Every other Monday I meet with some terrific poets for coffee and workshop: Hadara Bar-Nadav, Michael Dumanis, and Arra Ross. Yesterday's was pretty valuable--sent me to the old word processor to pound out a few revisions. Michael drove me back to my car afterward and we talked poetry anthologies, particularly anthologies of "new" or "young" poets, the successes and failures of some of the ones we'd read in common (like the Manguso/Davis one) and his own anthology he co-edited with Cate Marvin coming out in January called Legitimate Dangers. This badboy will have 80-some poets and include 3-5 poems from each. My god.

Also of note: Michael has organized a solid reading series at Wesleyan University, where we both teach, for this fall. Check this out:

Thursday, November 3 - John D'Agata
Thursday, November 10 - Dean Young
Thursday, November 17 - Denise Duhamel

A big cyberhug and behind-the-back low-ten to good pal Adam Clay for getting his first book picked up by Parlor Press' Free Verse editions. I'm jealous as hell, but AC is deserving. A real hard working poet. And The Wash (his book) is killer, so watch out.

I, and a small handful of other PhD students, rubbed elbows with Marjorie Perloff today. We discussed Flarf, online v print publications, Jacket magazine, Kent Johnson, poetry hoaxes, poetry blogging (Ron Silliman), etc. I had the roast beef sandwich--MP had the turkey.

Thanks be to Adam Clay for sending me the new Silver Jews album. I love it to the max. Favorite Berman line so far:

How can I love you
if you won't lay down?

My busy days have started. This week I've added the teaching of a Comp 2 class at Southeast Community College on the agenda. So, two different classes in two different places and PhD student stuff. I can do this. I can do this. And I'm blogging now so it can't be too bad, right? I will, this week, find time to send out some poetry manuscripts to a few places on the list, and clean up the basement--make it liveable. If you come over, you'll need a place to stay.

This is what is behind me at the desk I work. This is the room where everything goes down. Meet Malkie the Cat, Pearl the Fern, and Stone Phillips, the rock that anchors our broken shade.

The reunion was strange. It was good to give an awkward half-hug to a few friends from 10 years ago and catch up on a few baby names, to see a few old friends I used to hang with, work with, old flames and crushes. But then there was a whole lot of the: You sell make-up and you want to sell me some right now? You sell karaoke machines? You still work at the go-cart track? You still do meth? To tell you honestly, the whole thing made me a tad uneasy. It was a bizarro world really. I was beginning to remember things that were never meant to be remembered.

But I came back home to hang with our out of town guests, M and J. We went to the Iowa St. v Nebraska football games. Woo-hoo. Played board games. Ate chicken wings. Ahh, people I've befriended as an adult.

Fantast Baseball is over and I got 14th! A big congrats to Jim who finished as our winner.

Tonight, I am headed eastbound to my 10 year high school reunion. I haven't kept in touch with a one of them, and I'm wondering if anybody will have any idea who I am. I'm thinking of playing it gay.

Tomorrow, M and J are in town and we'll be going to the Husker/Cyclone football contest. Should be a doozy.

Trying to clean up the Octopus box--it is so heavy. Rejections and acceptances within the next couple weeks, I hope.

Go Cleveland!

What I want people to say about my poem in workshop: I love your poem. I love you, Zach.
What I want to say sometimes about other peoples' poems in workshop: Maybe try Garamond, 11pt.

It is good to be liked by Jordan Davis. A poem of mine is #1011 on his list. And the hat took a poem. Good.

Mathias and I met today to chitchat about Lincoln reading series details. We have a name. We have details. In due time. Be patient.

Today was a terrific mail day. Brandon Downing sent me some of his poems on disk at Octopus' request, but I also begged him for a copy of Shirt Weapon. Mine was borrowed and not returned, and now the guy is hiding out in Mexico somewhere, or is it New Hampshire? Anyway, this is in the top five favorite books of all time. Did you read Brandon Shimoda's review of Dark Brandon? Do you have Shirt Weapon? Why not?

I also landed Joe Wenderoth's not-yet-published uncorrected proof copy of his new forthcoming book of essays from Verse, The Holy Spirit of Life: Essays Written for John Ashcroft's Secret Self (thank you Lori Shine). That doozy from the new Fence is in here, as well as one I heard him read in (I think--maybe I dreamed it) in Vancouver called "Twenty-Five Ways to Make Love Without Having Sex". I've never had so much fun reading a book that has offended me so brilliantly. It'll offend you too--put it on your Christmas list.

Chris Glomski was kind enough to send his Transparencies Lifted from Noon. I haven't had a chance to read this yet, but the initial scan looks promising. I think I'm going to try to get it review for #7. Any takers?

Happy Birthday to A

Tomorrow: going to hear one of my favorite new poets read, fellow Lincoln-ite Hadara Bar-Nadav. Then off to rock out with Neva Dinova and Tilly and the Wall. The off to A's cousin's wedding reception in Northeast Nebrasky. Saturday is A's b-day. I have a lot of ironing to do. Saw Miss Saigon last night with A. Not a real pick-me-up. Very rascist.

Then I'll be sending the old manny off for another go at it. Where should I be sending it? Anybody have a list of upcoming deadlines?

As Adam said: He and Alex Lemon and Anne Boyer will be doing a reading here in Lincoln. I'm starting a reading series (not sure of it's name yet. Any ideas?) I'll be sure to make official announcements when things become official, but you can start making arrangements for your plane tickets for later October.

partial wish list

It was nice for A and I to kick it with Bri and Denny this weekend, eat some enchildas and beans together, drink some Old Style in a wet booth. These are terrific people--the days are young.

I'm not your Fence Books winner, but my boy's Sex Hat was a finalist.

My issue of Spork came in the mail. One of my very favorite mags I think. Annalynn Hammond is consistently amazing in everything I find her in. Her book, Dirty Birth, is forthcoming from Sundress.

Tonight, I see my paternal grandmother. We will dine. Tomorrow, is study day. Oh, the papers I will write!

I got to hang out with Denny and Mathias at Yia's Yia's last night for beer and pizza. We talked about making this reading series thing a go, venues, readers, etc, the possibility of #8 being a print issue, some of the best poems from our submission period, Mathias' first hello to Tony Tost at Tony's coffee shop, Portastatic, bad and good Noise Rock, Beastie Boys, bad and good beer, Denny's name being carved in the bathroom wall above the urinal, etc, etc.

Tomorrow (Friday), a poem of mine will be posted here.

You like eggs

Just now, the neighbor girls (2 and 4) picked the beautiful and proud red flowers in my window box and knocked on my door to give them to us, as a present, in good will. Tonight, I egg their house.

Update on my Bus Situation (Wesley Willis style post #2)

My ride back to my car on the campus bus tonight was successful. The bus driver was helpful with busriding strategies. The bus driver was friendly. The bus driver is my friend. The bus driver can kick a seamonster's ass. I look forward to riding the bus from here on out.

Rock over London.
Rock over Chicago.
Budweiser, the kind of Beers.

I'm fed up with the parking at UNL so I've decided fight it. I turned in my parking pass and am prepared to use a strategy that employs both the city and campus bus system and my trusted $3 bicycle (see blog archives for March 21, 2005). I set up an appointment with the Director of UNL's Parking Services to discuss my getting a full refund and not a pro-rated one. I only twice found a space. RiDONKulous.

Today was my first attempt at the bus and I failed miserably. After parking 15 blocks from campus in a quaint little neighborhood I mistook a city bus stop for a campus one. Twice I watched the campus bus pass me, half of full of students peering out at me. It was on the second pass that I figured I was standing on the wrong block. What made it somehow worse was that I was carrying my 1950's blue collar metal lunch box. There I was watching two buses go by without stopping for me while I stood still and helpless, metal lunchbox at my side. I was 7 again. I ended up just walking the whole damn way.

Today I'm going to see two films at the student theater for my 1950's Cold War Hysteria class: Red Planet Mars (1951) and The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951).

Starting a new chapbook manuscript this week. I'm determined to distance myself from The Man Suit. I'll just send it off with its little backpack on, give it a gentle few taps on the ass and let it go to be read by some presses this fall. If it makes it, I'll be proud of it. If it doesn't, I'll change the locks before it gets back. Anyway, I'm taking Thornburn's advice on this chapbook (never really wrote for a chapbook manny before) and building off a few displaced Man Suit poems and taking them in a new and bizarre direction.

Having thoughts of putting a poetry reading series together here in Lincoln. Have a few possibles lined up, possibly. Trying to think of a name for the thing--always the first step. Trying to line up a venue. Exciting times--I'll get back to you later with what I don't know (now).

Tinkering with the manny for the fall send-outs (I gots my 200 dollars saved up for the attack). It seems to keep getting smaller. Is that the way it should be? Starting a new one, but man, all these new poems want into the old manny. I tell them no, but they won't listen.

Today we're hosting A's grandparents for grandparents day. I grilled too many bratwursts. Then C and I cleaned the dead leaves from my gutter.

If you submitted to the Octopus August reading period, I'm sending your poems off to some other readers today. There are 240 of you. 140 of you will be read by someone else but me. So, if you're interested in a mag's digits, there you be.

Today I go to the student theater to watch North by Northwest for 1950's class. Then go to teacher orientation at Southeast Community College for a second comp class I'll be teaching, then back home to write a paper. I'm a busy man, baby. And I ain't even gots time for that.

The booth in our kitchen. In this photo it looks dark and haunted. Well, it is. It's haunted by past homeowners who died while dining casually.

Reading and conversation quarters.

Where the magic happens (poetry writing).

I worked on the backyard too. Notice the grandma swing (we put that together yesterday in no less than 4 hours), notice, again, the absence of leaves, notice the window/plant room on the side of the house (my fav room). You should come by sometime and sit in our hammock.

I did a lot of yardwork today. I am a good home-owner. I raked and raked and swept and watered. Look at my nice yard and landscaping. Notice the Nebraska Huskers flag--notice how it matches the red flowers in the flower box. Tonight is the first game against the Maine Blackbears. A and I got tix and we're so going.

I did my regular weekly check on the new Fence to see if it is up and online yet, and today, lo and behold, I saw a different page. I am so excited. I badly want to see my name on their site. But all I could see were a gi-normous pair of milky white breasts. And, of all places I had to be for this great moment, I am in the public computer lab with my screen facing outward. I had to click away--I am too scared to go back. I really don't want to be the computer lab perv. I can't wait to go home and scan the issue (and maybe get a better look at the boobies).

New Killer Books in my Aqua Green Tote Bag: Ben Marcus' Notable American Women, Peter O'Leary's A Mystical Theology of the Limbic Fissure, Ben Marcus' The Age of Wire and String, Anthony Hawley's Afield, and Eugene Ostashevsky's Iterature. Reading bits and pieces between classes.

Recently, I've been wearing fake tattoos and smoking candy cigarettes. Right now I am sporting a dragon shooting flames from its nostrils on my right upper arm, and a box of Hawk candy stix smashed up in my pocket. I think I am going to try to make it my new thing, at least for the next few months. It has been a thing I do before, but I am ready, I think, to commit to it.

Today at 3 I am going to watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers with A. Tomorrow, I have an interview for another teaching gig. This one is at the Community College in town. I'll be a busy busy very poor little poet. Will be sending the manuscript out to a few places this weekend for another round of bruising. It is ready. It has new armor.

Wow, Fascicle. This is a monster. Do not go in pussyfooting around. This changes everything.

Here are a few pics for you wrestle with, snuggle up to. These are the ones that could have been posted 2 weeks ago. The pics of the house will come later, when it is presentable.

Going to a Mathias Svalina reading tonight. Then to Ames to visit with M and J.

P, A, and C shopping the outdoor market in Butte. Smelly, ugly, deserted, strangely fascinating Butte.

Z and P

Z buying cherries. Z ate about 400 cherries over the week. Z had indigestion problems. Backchannel me if you want details.

I look so out of place here. What am I doing? This makes me laugh out loud. I want a poster of this.

Lake MacDonald

Captain Z taking his crew around Lake MacDonald in Glacier National Park.

Louise, the Lake.

Z and A, with C. At a little Italian place in the town of Banff. It is very European, but strangely, very un-National Parky. There is a Gap just around the corner from here. It successful resisted the urge to jump over the ledge here to buy a man purse before my manicotti arrived.

Overlooking Banff.

A and Z in Banff

A and I - Last Day in MT

Again, a bridesmaid.

A chunky one with bad skin, in aqua green and big ruffles on the sleeves. I'm not your Verse Prize winner. Jon Woodward is. But, I will be "press"ing on. Ha Ha. I'm sad.

Octopus Note: If you are trying to submit poems, know that there is a bit of a clog in the system. We're getting it cleared up and the damn thing should take your poems in the next few days. So, chill. Just chill.

Met with Anthony today down at the Mill in the Haymarket. Going to try to make this my "hangout" as much as possible. Gonna get my study on there, I think. We talked shop, which is what I've wanted to do for a long time with Mr. Hawley, but so much was left unaddressed. Next time. We did cover Greg Kuzma, Ben Marcus, Brandon Shimoda/Phil Cordelli, Hilda Raz, Wayne Chambliss, Eugene Ostashevsky, Andrea Zanzotto, and Russian Absurdism and Translations. He gave me some Ben Marcus to read, and his own Ugly Duckling chapbook. Apparently, Marcus' Father Costume sounds a lot like my Man Suit. I wasn't copying--we'll see after the read. Had to ditch Anthony to go watch War of the Worlds (the 1953 version for Cold War Hysteria in Film and Lit and Culture class I'm taking).

Internet may be up at home now. Gotta go see. If so, pictures are to follow. I think A is cooking up some bbq beef sandwiches tonight (that I put in the slow cooker). Mmm.

Haven't showered for several days. The new house has bad plumbing. If I shower I have to pay consequences. I must shower though before class tomorrow. Must shave. The house is beautiful, but it needs love.

Instead of showering, I unpacked the CDs, LPs, 7-inches, and cassettes last night. Organized them and displayed them all. Dusted off the old Wesley Willis. It has been too many years. Wow. RIP.

Rock over London.
Rock over Chicago.
Burger King--Have it your way, right away.

Put up a mailbox yesterday at the new home with mega help from M and C. Now the mail carrier will quit holding my mail hostage at the local post office. They will bring it to me. PPut it in the new metal box. Christmas morning from the federal govt now, 6 days a week. So, I got hoards of bills that had been collecting during the move. Most overdue. But you don't want to hear about that. You want to hear about my two new books: Iterature by Eugene Ostashevsky. I have been waiting for this bad boy for months. He is tops on the list, for the most part, of poets I am excited about. I love Mr. Ostashevsky's poetic mind and can't wait to rip through his pages. This is also a reminder for renewing my Ugly Duckling Presse subscription. I also got Peter O' Leary's new chapbook from Dos Madres. The name of which escapes me at the moment. Also a big O'Leary fan. Both poets have been more than instrumental to Octopus. So, to the two of you: Thanks for that, and thanks for books.

Got to catch up on the shotty cell phone with big time friends Matt and Jill. They are in Ames now, a short 3 hr drive away from Lincoln. Looking forward making the trek--maybe this weekend.

Buying an old house (pictures soon when the internet gets to my house!) is cool. This one is a beauty. But the plumbing, we learned, is shot. A stab in the heart of our new house momentum. May your showers and craps at our house be few and far between.

I'm a new student and a new teacher this week. Wish me luck, won't you.

There are cool people in Lincoln. I'm not alone. I met Anthony Hawley yesterday, turns out he's a cool guy. We talked at the English Department orientation between stabs of other conversation. I'm very much looking forward to conversations 2-10. And the ones after that as well. We seem to be in similar places in life: age, family status (almost), etc, so perhaps we can give each other some needed reflections. I also met Mathias Svalina. He is a creative writer at UNL and we seem to have the same elite taste in the good poetry. Looking forward to picking his brain, reading his poems, giving him mine to read, etc, over some beer and/or fried chicken, or perhaps some hot chocolate, or perhaps something light, downtown, on a rainy weeknight.

Haven't run into Octopus designer Denny yet. He is in Lincoln. Our relationship up until this point has been almost entirely electronic (though before that it was good face to face times in undergraduate school in southern Missouri). Can't wait see him, but I've been too busy to stop by. So, Denny: How bout Tuesday for lunch? I'll swing by your office.

I'm being oriented all day today. Got a job at Wesleyan University here in Lincoln and spent the morning absorbing information. Must go home and bend and twist the old syllabus to fit Wesleyan-style. I did find out that my office is directly across the hall from new poet hire Michael Dumanis. I know a little (enough) about Mr. Dumanis to know I am a fan, or could be a bigger one. I have read some of his poems in LIT and some other mags. Fun to know I'm across the hall. We can chit-chat about po-biz sometime. Also learned that Dean Young is tentatively scheduled to read at Wesleyan. Hey hey. I wasn't supposed to say anything because the gig ain't been finalized yet. So, keep it hush. But, I hope he comes. Maybe I can turn his visit into a kickoff for my own Octopus sponsored Lincoln-based reading series. Could I be more ahead of myself? I'm thinking outloud now.

Off to new student orientation at UNL. I got a nice clean folder (New Kids on the Block folder circa 1989) to put all my multi-colored handouts in.

Wow. Ok. I'm in Lincoln. Not sure how that happened.

Aug 6-8. Glacier National Park. My eyes have never. My retinas have been spoiled. This is the most beautiful part of the country I have ever seen. Everything is so grand and untouched there. We boated on a glacier lake (Lake McDonald?) for an hour. I got to be the captain. We drove on Going to the Sun Road, which is a too-narrow swervy mountain road that winds upward (for us) with little or no railings on the side. The drops are 5000-10,000 ft straight down, sure death by heart-attack before collision. It was relaxing. I wanted to look at all the glaciers surrounding us across the valley, but I could only get glances, very quick glances. We also hiked up in there. Saw lots of mountain goats. Ran through an alpine meadow, singing like Julie Andrews.

Aug. 9-11. Calgary and Banff National Park. Calgary is much bigger than I had anticipated. A million Canadians live there. I learned remedial french by reading road signs and am now an expert on the metric system. Banff is gorgeous, though not like our own national parks. People live there, and they have houses there. There is a mall in the middle of it all--a Gap even. Money is being made everywhere inside the boundaries. And there was more trash off the trails. I saw a billy goat smoking a cigarette. But Lake Louise. Ho, man. I need to show you pictures. Very soon, I'll have pictures. I have to get internet set up at home to do that. I am in UNL's computer lab right now.

Aug. 12-present. Move to Lincoln. A real headache. We have too much crap. Too many books. But I have a disease: I can't give away any books, especially the ones I have read. So, I accumulate like nobody's business. But we are in, and the house is terrific. We got a good one. Fireplace, sunroom, booth in the kitchens. Again: wait for the pictures. You'll like it.

I'm at U Nebraska today, shaking a few hands, paying fees, etc. I'm so excited. I've learned about some pretty cool people, and met a few too. Can't wait to dive in. Learned about reading series' that are going on (might try to start up an Octopus sponsored one later--more on that soon).

Octopus submissions are through the roof. Brandon Shimoda has been a good little editor while I've been gone. He has sorted through all the submissions and put them in piles. A public thank you to B-Shimmy. But let me tell you, there is going to be some competition, boy.

So much to do and tell. But let me be for now. I have to find a job.

A and I will be taking in the mountains one last time, one last hurrah before we go back to flat ground. Tomorrow we'll leave for Glacier National Park in Northwestern Montana--poke around in there for a few days--then journey up to Banff National Park outside Calgary. It should be a good time. We want to remember the reason we moved out here in the first place just a few days before we leave it. We'll be back on next Wednesday to start packing up the UHaul for Lincoln. I won't have computer access until August 20-something, so this blog will be asleep until then. Though, watch out, when I get back I'll have an assload to say.

For now though:

1. We have had a lovely response to the new issue so far. These new poets are promising, and there is a lot of pressure in giving them the proper curtain. It feels though that the pressure has been lifted a bit. People seem to be eating it up. Up until this point, Octopus #3 has been the fan favorite, but the reaction to #6 may give it a run.

2. Ryan Murphy (get his chapbook, The Gales--seriously good) just recently told me that Anthony Hawley (a poet I'm very fond of (see my reaction to Canary #4)) would be teaching at U of Nebraska--Lincoln. I've had some anxiety about going back to Lincoln for the PhD because I was afraid there wouldn't be a big enough push for the kind of poetry I read and write. Ted Kooser is king there. Not the biggest Kooser fan. It is nice to know I'll have a kindred spirit in Hawley.

3. I am not your 2005 National Poetry Series winner. Bridesmaid, again. Didn't want it anyway. They can have it.

4. While I'm gone, throw your poems on the Octopus submission pile. This your one chance for the year. Don't blow it with your B poems.

See you when I get back. Have a great time, Zach. Ok. Tell A I said hi. Alright. Good luck on the move. Ok. Gotta go. Bye.

http://www.octopusmagazine.com/

Octopus #6 has arrived and it is not like the others. The poetry side of the plate is filled only with 16 promising young hot shot poets in the very earliest stages of their long careers-—for some of these 16, this is their first publication. 8 poems from each poet are included so that the reader can get a more complete representation of the work. And each selection is introduced, each poet endorsed, by a more established poet.

The ones giving the introductions: D.A. Powell, Dan Beachy-Quick, Matthew Rohrer, Heidi Lynn Staples, Jonah Winter, Matthew Zapruder, Dara Wier, Andrea Baker, Wayne Chambliss, Tony Tost, Donald Revell, David Lehman, John Koethe, Timothy Liu, Chris Vitiello, and Dean Young.

The young hot shot poets: Heather Christle, Alessandro Niero, Bill Cassidy, Betsy Wheeler, Joe Fletcher, Andrew McCarron, Brian Howe, Geoffrey Babbitt, Jill Beauchesne, Brian Dewan, Ethan Bull, Farah Marklevits, Danny Khalastchi, Randall Williams, Caryl Pagel, and Michael Quattrone.

Be sure to read all of them before deciding which poet is your new favorite.

Also check out REVIEWS from Brandon Downing's "Dark Brandon" by Brandon Shimoda, Michael Ives' "The External Combustion Engine" by Kathleen Ossip, Standard Schaefer's "Water & Power" by Allyssa Wolf, and Heidi Lynn Staples' "Guess Can Gallop" by Brad Flis, and an ESSAY on Gregory Corso by Matt Hart.

And RECOVERY PROJECTS on Edith Sodergran's "Complete Poems" by Johannes Goransson and Pam Rehm's "The Garment in Which No One Had Slept" by Stan Mir.
And don't forget: our reading period is the month of August. Send us your best, or else you'll have to wait again until next year.

Enjoy.

Zachary Schomburg, editor
Denny Schmickle, design

I've been busy, what with moving and all. Lots of things to do. I'm buried in boxes. A and I took a break from it all and went on a hike up the mountain. Beautiful views. She has the camera though at her last week on the Crow Reservation so I guess I'll have to prove it some other time. Been trying to get this special sixth issue of Octopus out but my internet was on the fritz since Saturday afternoon. I've been disconnected from the world. Look for it though by tonight.