i have two spare copies of my chapbox "the secret meanings of greek letters" (dancing girl press, 2007, sold out) and of my collaboration project with alex stolis "small confessions and pebbles of regret" (rubicon press, 2008, sold out). is anybody interested in swapping chapbooks? if so, leave a comment on this post, email me, or contact me on facebook.
for more info, see these blog posts:
small confessions ...
secret meanings ...
song of the day: samson by regina spektor.
yesterday was my last day with the english II class - another eight weeks over in what seemed like the blink of an eye! my students gave me a mandarin tree, now called amy, and a couple of frogs (not real!) that i can try to throw at the wall if i feel like it: ferdinand and floggy. and chocolate and candles. :) we threw a farewell party on the last day, of course. ;)
i have recovered from being ill, and the weather is now back to summer, very hot, too hot to be working in stuffy rooms or spending more than three minutes on the u1 underground trains. thursday evening i honestly thought i'd pass out in there. ugh.
but what other way to get to my date? and that thursday evening was most definitely worth it. a perfect summer evening on a terrace, stars out, and late at night a bit of mist hovering just above the ground on neighbouring fields ... a candle, a couple of drinks, pistachios and chocolate, good music ... relaxed conversation, laughter ... and the rest, my dear readers, will not be disclosed (no, not even for the sake of science, valerio! *g*).
but ... tonight this girl here is not quite so thrilled and wondering where exactly it says "please piss me off!" or "show me how much of an asshole you can be!" - or is standing women up and generally behaving like complete bastards the latest fashion among men?? in this particular case, maybe i should have seen it coming. maybe so. but that does not make it right. by the time it became obvious that the man in question had better things to do than stick to his promise, it was too late for anything else, so i spent the evening at home, working, and chatting. sometimes i really am beginning to think i should give up on men altogether.
no new poetry. but i now have copies of alex stolis's and my chapbook signed by us both, so if you fancy a chapswap or would like to buy one of these (rare) copies, get in touch!
we've received our copies of the book about the armenian massacres in turkey, so i have started reading and taking notes, and we will decide soon which parts will be translated by ka and by me respectively.
i am re-reading cecilia woloch's late, and some of the poems choke me up no matter how often i read them. such great work. and i still have tons of (chap)books piled up that i hope to get around to reading soon: latest additions are ivy alvarez's mortal and sam byfield's from the middle kingdom.
off to bed now, i am an official photographer at steve gander's videoshoot for copulate and populate tomorrow (today, really)!
oh, and: me!
song of the day: salsa caliente by marisa monte & cesaria evora.
jenna, our wonderful rubicon press editor, sent a note last night to tell alex stolis and me that our chapbook small confessions & pebbles of regret is now available! yay! it's taken a while longer than planned, but it's actually better this way, because otherwise it would have been out at the same time as my secret meanings.
you can find (and buy) the collection at rubicon press, or you can wait and get a signed copy (possibly even signed by both alex and me) from either one of us. i'll let you know when i/we have some copies. watch this space.
here are two poems from the chapbook - the first one by alex and the second by me:
Dear J_______
I want to forget you ever loved me, forget that time can stop the bleeding
and it's possible to walk again after my legs have been broken.
Let's go back to the city where we met—I'll wait in the restaurant
where you watched me make a fool of myself with that dark Rapunzel.
If it were possible to fly and watch stars waver in place, teeter on the brink
then topple down a mountain—I wouldn't want to change my name again
and again. I should know how this works—there are only so many miracles
to go around and mine have been pawed over by too many greedy hands
and now I find I have nothing. I think about waking up godless and hung-over,
waiting for ocean waves to collapse on the beach, hoping for someone
to fish me out of the sea. We are supposed to believe that death is bold—
a loud noise from behind, the roar of a train, the sharp crack of a gun
and beginnings are never sudden movements, they're soft and unobtrusive.
Last chances are smoky bar rooms overflowing with harsh consequences,
consequences that will cut you off at the knees and leave you blind.
I rearrange the faces of lost friends and lovers
until all that's left is a punch-drunk Sisyphus, stranded on a hill—
disenchanted and ordinary.
Ever yours,
L_______
* * *
Dear L_______,
Unlearning to love you is like sucking back sand through the narrow
waist of an hourglass. I already have a desert in my throat, a desert
crossed and recrossed by words that have begun to shape my mouth:
never; again; your name. Sometimes a question slips from underneath
my tongue: Did we let it die too quickly? But we both know that death
is not bold. Death grabs what he can get, strangles his victims from
the shadows between streetlights. He chooses wisely—never anything
that will put up a fight. The end was like the beginning—a moment
we missed, the way you'd miss a landmark from the window of a train
that moves too fast, eyes aimed too high, too low until you realise
you've already gone past, and you slam down the window, crane your
neck and hear the air rush in to push all words of loss and longing
up your windpipe. There is no going back, not to a morning of soft
sunshine on unfamiliar skinscapes, not to the city where we met;
it no longer exists. Its roads have moulted, the pines shed needles
like flakes of dry skin. Everything we touched, has been touched
a thousand times since. Rapunzel's hair has fallen, again and again,
like a rope, like a ladder; the streets to her tower echo with laments.
J_______
oh and the cover photo is my dad's. :)
song of the day: iieee by tori amos.
... and i have already smiled five times, and laughed twice. :)
thanks to simone muench who chose my poem beta from the secret meanings of greek letters as poem of the week over at sharkforum.org!
song of the day: steven smith by the organ.
what could be nicer than coming home on a friday afternoon - a bit tired and braindead after this week, especially the 9.5 hrs of teaching yesterday - to find nic-mail in the mailbox?! yes, that means the wait is over and i have got ms nicole cartwright-denison's recovering the body in my hands, plus i will soon have "her" music in my ears. thanks, sweetness!
song of the day: portions for foxes by rilo kiley.
i am now officially addicted to scrabulous over at facebook. i finished three games yesterday, won the first, then got my butt kicked in the second, and just squeezed past my opponent in the third, even though i was well over 50 points behind at one point. yay! :) and now i am at it again. if you are on facebook and fancy a game, let me know.
alex and i received word from rubicon press that our chapbook is ready to be proofed. we still need a cover illustration, so i have asked my dad to send me some photos. i wish i had known this before christmas, then i could have gone through his tons of photos myself.
and here are a couple of pics of me with gudrun's jakob who is one year old today. happy birthday! 
first two pics taken by gudrun.
song of the day: nail in the sky by howe gelb.
hooray! finally! everyone, young & old, big & small, blonde & dark, girls & boys, can now recover ms nic's body - that is to say, her chapbook recovering the body is now available through dancing girl press (yep, me = october girl, nic = december girl) or you can contact the lovely lady herself. congrats, fishgirl! i look forward to your words, those lovely little sparkly stars.
it's 02:22 and i only got back from the open mic at café kafka ten minutes ago (and that only because michi + night bus = perfect timing)! i really enjoyed tonight, some really, really good stuff, also fun stuff. if i had not arranged to present my chap"box" tonight, i would not have gone, because i fell asleep in the afternoon and woke up with a temperature and felt totally knackered.
i thought there might not be too many people tonight, what with christmas coming up, but it was packed. it was nice to catch up with the regulars, and talk to a few new faces.
i read five poems from secret meanings and have sold all remaining chap"box" copies. the reading went well, too - i was a bit worried, because i did not feel 100% fit, but i was quite happy with it. :)
and afterwards: chat chat chat and lots of laughter. did me good. thanks for listening, jean. thanks for the free "homemade" therapy, martin. *g* thanks for letting me flirt a little, too, hillary. ;)
and now i am sitting here wondering whether nathan has found his pear novel again, or is still looking for it all over vienna ...
song of the day: hey ya by the outkast.
poemeleon's prose poem issue has gone live, with lots and lots of words by jeannine hall gailey, eve rifkah, mark cunningham, andrena zawinski, and many others. i have two elements poems in this issue: caesium and silicon.
the publication of cahoots magazine has been delayed. soon, they say.
foursquare editor jessica smith has contacted me to solicit some of my work for the next issue - needless to say i was/am thrilled. foursquare's list of contributors reads like a who is who of small press poets. so, i guess i will have to choose a few poems on the weekend.
i received a short "fan letter" yesterday. made my day.
i have begun to send out chapbooks, but some of you will have to wait until i have received the second shipment, because i have already run out of copies - or will have, after tomorrow's open mic, where i will present secret meanings. :)
i have contacted quite a few poets to swap chapbooks with them, and have already received ryan murphy's down with the ship and arlene ang's secret love poems. yay for chapbooks! :)
this is my reply to nathan h's haiku:december is not
as hot as it used to be
due to being single
song of the day: military of the heart by naked lunch:we don't need entertainment
we entertain ourselves
i saw the doctor again on tuesday, and we agreed that i'll try one sertralin in the morning and see how that goes, whether the nausea will gradually become less of a problem. it's strange, for a few days this week, it was better, but yesterday i felt sick all morning. still, the attacks are happening a lot less often, and that is good. i've just been really tired this week, and not very bouncy either. rather sad and subdued, and that worries me. i know people mean well when they say that an ending is always a new beginning and i should look forward to my "new life", enjoying single life, etc, but it is too soon. i cannot enjoy it now. i'm scared, too. i've had to deal with too much crap this year, i am worried sick over my finances, and it would be lovely to have someone by my side. in addition to my amazing friends, that is. *s*
so, still no money from that company, despite another promise to expect payment around 16 november, and several letters. also, this is my last week in amstetten, and i haven't got anything for december yet. not good.
winter struck much too soon this year - lots of snow on friday, between 15 and 40 cm (6 to 16 in) in/around vienna! my train was really late that morning - 30 minutes. when i got home, i quickly dropped off my work stuff, put some warm clothes on, and went to central cemetery again to take pics. i hope to have them edited and up soon. 
my chapbooks still haven't arrived, but the good news is that even before i have the 45 copies i'm getting, they're all already spoken for! i am swapping with quite a few poets whose chapbooks i've been wanting to read (i like this idea of chapbooks as a kind of currency *s*), giving some to close friends as presents, and selling the rest. i'll have to order more soon. :) i'll present the chapbook at the next open mic, on 7 december.
i'm still not writing, and i miss it. i really, really miss it. not sending out many subs either these days, too busy, and waiting to hear back from some journals that don't take sim subs. allen itz has been kind enough to ask for some of my photos and a poem to feature on his blog - one of the pictures and a secret meaning poem can be viewed there.
i went to a film premiere last night, a short film (30 min) called three old men, because my friend sabine knows the guy who edited the film, christoffer. interesting, though maybe a couple of parts were a bit over the top. the actors were very good.
not very exciting, all this, but that's okay. :)
song of the day: haiti by the arcade fire.
ten months after being accepted, my second chapbook, the secret meanings of greek letters, has come into the bookworld. judging from the pictures – and that is all i have for the time being – kristy bowen of dancing girl press has done a terrific job, and secret meanings is not actually a book, as you can see here.
if for whatever reason (and feel free to name it!) you would like to get hold of a copy, you can either buy it from DGP and support a wonderful small press), or get in touch with me (the book is $9 or €6, shipping cost depends on where you are); if you are really lucky, i'll even sign it. ;)
if anybody has a chapbook out and wants to swap, let me know! i expect to have my copies within the next two weeks.
and here's a poem from the chapbook:
lambda
deep in the belly of eve, seed in the shape of a dragonfly
sleeps until the morning a crimson drop announces a flood.
thirty days pass; thirty times the warm hands of summer
smooth wrinkly flowers, pluck them at bedtime – shhh.
seaweed grows among the rocks where eve's bare feet
slip, urge her into mad waves where she'd be a mermaid:
fish could teach her how to wash away the faded red
of loss. she'd learn silence, the freedom of black depths.
every day the wet cheeks of apples remind her; every
day, the snake criss-crosses her path, triumphant, cruel.
there's a wind that lives for weather vanes, the craz
swirl of technicolour meadows; it sings into hollow hearts.
eve listens; lilting voices pull until strings snap. sunset
draws a window on the far horizon, a drake takes flight.
stones do not grow softer over night, do not sprout
rivers or plants. eve kneels, sacrifices a fistful of time.
she gathers cotton for a bed. at new moon, she will join
the goddess, press her head against that empty womb.
song of the day: halloween song from the nightmare before christmas.
remember this? the collaboration project alex stolis invited me to do with him late last year? the chapbook of "letters"? remember that we sent it out to rubicon press in january? a month ago we heard that we had made it to the final round. and last night ... well, last night we heard that jenna and yvonne have decided to publish the chapbook in the fall! this is what jenna had to say: After going through your collection several times with Yvonne, we have decided that we would very much like to publish your chapbook this fall. We found the poems you and Alex have written to be incredibly rich in imagery, texture and emotion -- an outstanding collection!
we are sooo, soooooo thrilled! and i am glad alex asked me to write that collection with him in the first place, and that i said yes. :)
so - small confessions and pebbles of regret will be out some time in october if all goes as planned - a kind of twin to my other chapbook. *g*
and thanks to everyone who was there during the process, and helped inspire me, and supported me in some way - the ITWS crowd, mainly. and to teresa for looking the manuscript over!
here are poems 5 (alex) and 6 (me):
8358 Sunset Boulevard
West Hollywood, California 90069
July 25, 19__
Dear J_______,
You told me you have dreams of Italy, bright-winged birds
and Byzantine churches. We made love in a bell tower and tasted
redemption—there were yellow hills, uneven fields, there was a sun
that created a halo above the clouds.
Now you say no to silence—believe only blues and reds will fill the void,
the void left when the last remnants of your first vision disappeared.
You say you don't want to hear the sound of water as it rushes down
the throat of First Avenue—
say you no longer care for words strung together, so carefully,
by boys who misunderstand the meaning of a wink.
You would rather comment on the beauty of stars, wait for them to fall
asleep, then leave by the backdoor without saying a word.
I was in a dream once—walking down Sunset Boulevard, a wine bottle
in my hand—there didn't seem to be an end in sight though I could see
the beginning very clearly. You were there too— Venetian-blonde hair
drying in the wind—the geometry of your face in contrast to an oblong moon.
Yours,
L_______
* * * * *
Gellertgasse 42
1100 Vienna
August 23, 19__
Dear L_______,
Yesterday the sun rose at 6.24. I carried its heat within me all day;
it triggered a longing for the sea that did not subside until I licked
salt off my thumbs, someone else's collarbone. I felt like a cradle,
a wave, a riptide in the night. You were the one I wanted to drown.
After sunset, nothing remained of the moon, the only thing that
could have plugged my well of dreams. This is what I saw—
I was bedded on pillows of kindling—throat zipped up, dry between
my legs. My tongue flicked out to spark a flame, set fire to neatly
stacked rows of corned pork, corned beef in cans with bevelled
edges. I watched it raging across the sacred rooms of childhood,
fuelled by bedtime stories, teddy bear fuzz. The attic went last,
with its nibble of mice, skeleton dolls dangling from sooty rafters.
I woke up kneeling, prayer on my parched lips. Frantic fingers
counted out colours like a wish list, all of them shades of red or
blue, all of them wearing a stranger's tired face. A siren wailed
an answer to my call. Hysterical shadows slithered down half-
closed curtains, pooled at my feet. I bit down hard on cold metal,
on glass; I sharpened blades. The noose tightened around my neck.
J_______
song of the day: happy by jenny lewis with the watson twins.
