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Saturday, March 31, 2018

New Release: Bradley Mason Hamlin and John D Robinson THESE POEMS STOLE YOUR LUNCH MONEY (Holy&intoxicated Publications, 2018 (30 pages)

This is the latest limited edition chapbook venture between the English poet John D. Robinson and the Californian poet Bradley Mason Hamlin. They each contribute seven free verse narrative poems in this slim volume. 

Robinson says of his fellow contributor, “Hamlin is a ‘favourite’ poet of mine, his Californian wine-drenched laid back cool style never fails to hit me.” The cover design is created by Hamlin with art by Mort Todd, courtesy of Mystery Island Publications.

The title of the book These Poems Stole Your Lunch Money is perhaps a satirical take on how some poetry consumers expect everything for free online these days. The price of this book is only $5- only marginally more than a cup of coffee.

Robinson likes to relate to us personal anecdotes such as the strangeness of his father sober sitting at the kitchen table with the family or watching as two women tenderly make out. The language is clean, unadorned and usually flows sentenceless in a one inch bar down the left hand side of the page.

Hamlin form is similar and he writes about smashing things, drinking beer and sex. His words seem to float down the page in quirky, unexpected ways.

Friday, March 30, 2018

Featuring Catfish McDaris

Mr. Boris

The nickel sized spider lived between the double storm windows and outer window. Fierce winters required three panes of glass. The spider was yellowish black with reddish gray stripes on its barber pole like legs. It couldn’t get inside, I pointed that out to Paola, it was in our second-floor bedroom. Petunia the cat loved to peer out the window to watch the spider and the birds and squirrels. I called the spider Boris. It spun a beautiful web, I tried to get it out three times with a bent coat hanger. Boris hid and came back after each attempt. It had a marvelous iridescent web that reflected the sunlight perfectly. It was completely stocked with a plethora of food. Two green aphids, a fat mosquito, a copper centipede, an ant, and some alien looking beetles. One morning I took some wire and jammed it between the windows, breaking and bloodying a fingernail and knuckle, but Boris was gone. Paola saw it and screamed are you getting outsmarted by a spider. I took out the three panes of window and screen, I had Paola hold an old shower curtain over the window. I took a garden hose and blasted water up there. I told Paola it has to be washed away, she watched as I started reassembling the window. It was far from easy balancing the heavy glass in the wet metal window tracks. Here comes wet Boris, mad as hell landing on the back of my hand running up my shirt. I slam my chest into the wall, while juggling three panes of glass. Paola screams, I thought I killed Boris. The windows slams down on the backs of my hands, like a guillotine. One hand soon looks like raw hamburger someone beat with a meat hammer and an artery is swollen like a blue worm. The other hand looks like it’s been slammed in Cadillac door. I think both my hands have black eyes. Paola got me some ice and said, “At least you killed that ugly ass spider.” I didn’t tell her Boris had moved into my closet.

            “Hey Fish, thanks for not ratting me out.” I thought it was a dream or those funky tacos I had washed down with Mad Dog the night before.
            The voice was kind of squeaky like a cartoon character, maybe Bugs Bunny.
            “Call me Mr. Boris. I’ll only speak to you when I feel like it.”
            The spider took a couple of flexed jumps on its web like a trampoline and then did some flips. “Don’t go insane on me human. I can help you write, just take me outside to catch some juicy insects.”
            “Okay Mr. Boris, show me what you have.”
“Red necks in the chicken coop
making cackle whoop whoop

A closet full of homos wearing
shoes and socks like Perry Como

His mama was a cougar
he liked to eat his boogers

Chocolate man was a nigerette
he rolled a marijuana cigarette

Driving a Chevy drinking with a ghetto lean
Leroy changed his name got cut in the spleen”

“That’s enough Mr. Boris, your rhymes are so bad you’ll get my ass kicked for sure. I’ll burn bridges north and west, I’ll have to carry a derringer in my vest.”
“Not too shabby, Fisherman.”

The Sandman

He low crawled to the top of the sand dune and stared down at the oasis. Five nomads were watering their livestock. Nappy kept his rifle scope trained on each of them and shifted his hand grenades to a more comfortable position. He signaled to Qadr and she disappeared down the trail to where Nahla was guarding their animals. Most nomads were honest, but there were rumors of bands of thieves roaming this area. He’d learned long ago the best ways to stay alive. The five men left the oasis, headed east. Waiting until it was safe, Nappy’s entourage approached. 
       Nappy relaxed during the hot afternoon. The palm trees yielded shimmering shadows over the refreshing cool oasis. Sand dunes and mirage visions fought wars across the vast oceans of desert as far as you could see. His only wife, Qadr, who’s name meant fate, he’d met while living among the Blue Men of the Tuareg Tribe. Her beauty was unsurpassed. Nappy loved her so much, it frightened him at times.  She had only one servant, Nahla, which meant a drink of water. Often Nahla had found water for them and their camels, goats, and sheep, when they became thirsty on their journey. 
       Abdullah, Nappy’s Bedouin friend could not believe he’d wanted only one wife, when he could’ve had many or a harem of beauties. Nappy was excellent at raising livestock and racing camels. He could’ve been wealthy in gold, instead he was a seeker of knowledge. They watered their stock, then made camp a few miles away from the water. Where there was water in the desert, there was danger. Something woke Nappy, it wasn’t a sound exactly, it was more like a feeling of dread. Something was amiss. One camel and Nahla had vanished, she was on guard duty. Qadr and Nahla were always armed to the teeth. Nappy pursued the tracks leading toward the oasis.
       The five nomads were taking turns raping his camel. Nahla was hiding, invisible to all, but Nappy. For men to hurt animals was unthinkable, it was a crime against God. Nappy was enraged, he became a monster killing machine. He waded into them like the devil incarnate. Bones were broken, heads and limbs were separated from torsos, blood soaked deep black into the sand. The camel trampled the last man to death. Nahla had seen Nappy in battle and knew enough to keep out of his way. She kept her rifle trained on the ferocious melee, in case her assistance was required. She filled a bucket of water for Nappy to wash in.
         Nappy helped Nahla drag the corpses away from the water. The desert was quiet as the red orange sun peered above the sand dunes. Spotted hyenas were ready to feast, vultures circled above.                           

Writer, Painter, Thief, Killer

I love mama poems, no dada
poem for mama in heaven
best poem for mama
mama poems birthday
my mama poems
mama poetry in blood 
poems on mama in Hindi
dear mama poem
mama naked poem

Chasing broncos, ghosts, and ladies through the night

A guy ticks off his mama, she beats him in the head with
a toaster then puts his penis in, plugs it in and clicks
it down to bagel setting.

The Biggest Joke is Death

exploring nature, red wagons,
animal love, family, China, the
Arabian desert, quiet birds, burning
books, condoms, Bibles, poet hats,
coffins, cowboys, virgins, ghost
snakes, dog tags, and cannibals.

there is even some sex, but never
enough just a toe dip into the river,
shackled by my years, gravity sucking
my energy, the sky and ceilings piss
on my head, the walls yawn in boredom,
nobody laughs at the ugly motherfucker.

Even Death Can Make a Mistake

Love is a huge blood diamond
shoved up the ass of a virgin Zulu

Love is an alligator’s yellow tooth
worn by a gypsy mojo priestess

Love is a black baby dying of starvation

Love is a palomino stallion falling
into the Grand Canyon

Love is the workers getting overtime
wages on the Great Wall of China

There is no such thing as love.

Bio: Catfish McDaris’ most infamous chapbook is Prying with Jack Micheline and Charles Bukowski. His best readings were in Paris at the Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore and with Jimmy"the ghost of Hendrix"Spencer in NYC on 42nd St. He’s done over 25 chaps in the last 25 years. He’s been in the New York Quarterly, Slipstream, Pearl, Main St. Rag, Café Review, Chiron Review, Zen Tattoo, Wormwood Review, Great Weather For Media, Silver Birch Press, and Graffiti and been nominated for 15 Pushcarts, Best of Net in 2010, 2013, 2014, 2016, and 2017 he won the Uprising Award in 1999, and won the Flash Fiction Contest judged by the U.S. Poet Laureate in 2009. He was in the Louisiana Review, George Mason Univ. Press, and New Coin from Rhodes Univ. in South Africa. He’s recently been translated into Spanish, French, Polish, Swedish, Arabic, Bengali, Mandarin, Yoruba, Tagalog, and Esperanto. His 25 years of published material is in the Special Archives Collection at Marquette Univ. in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Bukowski’s Indian pal Dave Reeve, editor of Zen Tattoo gave Catfish McDaris his name when he spoke of wanting to quit the post office and start a catfish farm. He spent a summer shark fishing in the Sea of Cortez, built adobe houses, tamed wild horses around the Grand Canyon, worked in a zinc smelter in the panhandle of Texas, and painted flag poles in the wind. He ended at the post office in Milwaukee. 

Thursday, March 29, 2018

New Release: Wolfgang Carstens PERPETUAL PALLBEARER (30 pages)

Recently received my copy of this signed, limited edition of Canadian poet Wolfgang Carsten’s latest book. It features 22 new poems which focus on Carstens’s fascination with death.

These portrait poems are about the impact that the deaths of celebrities, friends and acquaintances have had on the poet. The language is characteristically flayed back to the bone and Carstens expresses his emotions in a caring but direct, non bullshit way.

The covers are designed by Rob Plath, and internally, there are two illustrations by the Swedish artist Janne Karlsson.

The book, and accompanying numbered broadsides, are a 'limited edition' of 100 copies printing. Carstens advised BM today that there are no more for sale and no more will be printed.

You need to be quick next time!

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

New Bukowski Release: The Mathematics of the Breath and the Way- On Writers and Writing (Edited and Introduction by David Stephen Balonne) City Lights Books, 2018 (250 pages)

Available 15 May 2018 (Australia)
Booktopia Description
"Genius could be the ability to say a profound thing in a simple way, or even to say a simple thing in a simpler way."-Charles Bukowski
In The Mathematics of the Breath and the Way, Charles Bukowski considers the art of writing, and the art of living as writer. Bringing together a variety of previously uncollected stories, columns, reviews, introductions, and interviews, this book finds him approaching the dynamics of his chosen profession with cynical aplomb, deflating pretentions and tearing down idols armed with only a typewriter and a bottle of beer. Beginning with the title piece-a serious manifesto disguised as off-handed remarks en route to the racetrack-The Mathematics of the Breath and the Way runs through numerous tales following the author's adventures at poetry readings, parties, film sets, and bars, and also features an unprecedented gathering of Bukowski's singular literary criticism. From classic authors like Hemingway to underground legends like d.a. levy to his own stable of obscure favorites, Bukowski uses each occasion to expound on the larger issues around literary production. The book closes with a handful of interviews in which he discusses his writing practices and his influences, making this a perfect guide to the man behind the myth and the disciplined artist behind the boozing brawler.
Born in Andernach, Germany, and raised in Los Angeles, Charles Bukowski (1920-1994) is the author of over forty-five books of poetry and prose.
David Stephen Calonne has written several books and edited four previous volumes of uncollected Bukowski for City Lights.

Book Depository Description

Previously uncollected, unknown and some unpublished essays, short stories, interviews and introductions to other writers. All dealing with the subject of writing and literature from Bukowski's point of view and selected from throughout his career.

This book uniquely introduces the theme of writing itself, so important to both Bukowski's fiction and poetry, direct from Bukowski's eyes, revealing how he developed his voice.

The Mathematics of the Breath and the Way is different from Ecco's recent Bukowski's book On Writing (which only contains letters) because it explores the concept of writing through Bukowski's short stories, essays, interviews and introductions to other writers' work, thus giving a more well-rounded approach to the subject.

Includes Bukowski's introductions to several poets whose work he admired such as Steve Richmond, Al Masaryk, John William Corrington and the Canadian poets, Al Purdy and Irving Layton. 

Table of Contents
Manifesto Upon the Mathematics of the Breath and the Way Tales A Dollar for Carl Larsen Hell Yes, The Hydrogen Bomb (1958) Dialogue: Dead Man on the Fence Bio from Long Shot Poems for Broke Players Bukowski Meets a Merry Drunk (NOADOM, LA Free Press, March 17, 1967) Notes of a DOM (National Underground Review, Aug 2-8, 1968 Open City, "Bukowski's Gossip Column" More Notes of a DOM (Candid Press, Nov 29, 1970) Candid Press, "More Notes of a Dirty Old Man" Dec. 13, 1970 More Notes of a DOM (Candid Press, Dec 20, 1970) Notes of a DOM (Nola Express 96, Tony Kinnard 1971) 1972 April 14, "Notes of a Dirty Old Man," LAFP June 23, 1972, NOADOM, LAFP Notes of A Dirty Old Man, Open City, November 3-16, 1972 Notes of a Dirty Old Man (Nola December 8-21, 1972) Narrative Account of Career/Guggenheim 1974 NOADOM LAFP, May 17 Notes of a DOM (July 12, 1974) Notes of a DOM (LA Free Press, Aug 16, 1974) Notes of a DOM (Nov 22, 1974) LAFP, April 11, 1975, NOADOM Notes of a DOM (LA Free Press, June 13-19, 1975) NOADOM, LAFP, Feb 13-19, 1976/Feb. 20, 1976 Politics and Love Dildo Man Introductions and Criticism "Editors (and others) Write," Trace 36, March/April 1960 Little Magazines in America Introduction to John William Corrington, Mr. Clean, 1964 The Corybant of Wit (Irving Layton) Introduction to Jory Sherman Review of John William Corrington Another Burial of a Once Talent (John William Corrington) Foreword to Steve Richmond Essay on Nothing for Your Mother Nothingness Who's Big in the Littles "The Deliberate Mashing of the Sun" da levy "Charles Bukowski on Willie", Introduction to The Cockroach Hotel by Willie [William Hageman] Introduction to Doug Blazek's Skull Juices The Impotence of Being Ernest: Review of Hemingway's Islands in the Stream An Introduction to These Poems (Al Masarik) "Foreword," Steve Richmond Earth Rose, 1974 "A Note on These Poems," 1976: "Appreciation" to Al Purdy's At Marsport Drugstore "About Aftermath," 1983 "Preface", The Bukowski/Purdy Letters 1964-1974 Introduction to Horsemeat Douglas Goodwin Intro 1988 Foreword to MacDonald Carey Beyond That Further Hill "Further Musings," Half-Truth, Nov./Dec. Interviews Stonecloud Interview Berkeley Barb Interview New York Quarterly, 27, Summer 1985, William Packard, Craft Interview "Gin-Soaked Boy" Film Comment, Vol 23, No. 4, July/August 1987 Lizard Eyelid's Interview with Charles Bukowski