Thursday, January 31, 2013

Wednesday, January 30, 2013


Ode to Walt Whitman

by Federico Garcia Lorca

Along the East River and in the Bronx
young men were singing, showing off their waists.
With the wheel, the oil, the leather and the hammer,
ninety thousand miners extracted the silver from rocks,
and little boys were drawing stairs and perspectives.

But not one would sleep,
not one wished to be a river,
not one loved the great leaves,
not one, the blue tongue of the beach.

Along the East River and on the Queensborough
young men wrestled with industry,
and Jews were selling the rose of circumcision
to the faun of the river,
and the sky emptied out onto bridges and roofs
herds of bison pushed along by the winds.

But no one would ever pause,
not one wished to be a cloud,
not one searched for the fern
or the yellow wheel of the tambour.

When the moon comes out,
the pulleys will turn to disturb the skies;
a boundary of needles will enclose the memory,
and coffins will carry away those who never work.

New York of muck,
New York of wire and of death:
What angel is carried hidden in your cheek?
What perfect voice will speak the truths of the wheat?
Who, that terrible dream of your stained windflowers?

Not for one single moment, beautiful old Walt Whitman,
have I ever ceased seeing your beard full of butterflies,
or your corduroy shoulders worn thin by the moonlight,
or your thighs of a virginal Apollo,
or your voice just like a column of ash;
aged one, as beautiful as the mists,
who wailed the same as a bird
with its sex pierced by a needle.
Enemy of the satyr.
Enemy of the vine,
and lover of bodies beneath coarse cloth.

Not for one single moment, my virile beauty,
for on mountains of coal, on signs and on railroads,
you dreamed of being a river and sleeping like a river
next to that comrade who placed in your breast
the tiny hurts of nescient leopards.

Not for one single moment, Adam-blooded one, All-Male,
man alone upon the seas, beautiful old Walt Whitman,
because on rooftop terraces,
huddled together in bars,
running out of the sewers in bunches,
trembling between the legs of chauffeurs
or flitting about on the platforms of absinthe,
the faggots, Walt Whitman, are pointing at you.

That one, too! Him, too! And hurling themselves
down upon your luminous and chaste beard
are blonds of the north. Negroes of the sands;
a multitude of shrieks and gestures,
just like cats and just like snakes,
are the faggots, Walt Whitman, the faggots,
blurry-eyed with tears, flesh for the whip,
or the boot or the bite of animal trainers.

That one, too! Him, too! Tinted fingers
are leveled at the shores of your dream
when that friend eats from your apple
with its slight taste of gasoline,
and sunlight sings upon the navels
of the boys playing beneath the bridges.

But you never sought out scratched eyes
or the darkest swamps where they submerge little boys,
or that frozen saliva,
or those wounded curves like toads' bellies
that faggots lug about in cars and on terraces
while the moonlight lashes them on the street corners of terror.

You only sought a nude who would be like a river.
A bull and a dream that would join wheel and seaweed,
a sire of your mortal agony, a camillia of your death,
and he would wail in the flames of your hidden Equator.

Because it's not right for a man to seek his delight
in those blood jungles of the morning after.
The skies have shores where one can avoid life,
and some bodies should never be repeated in the Dawn.

Agony, mortal agony, dream, ferment and dream.
That's the world, friend: agony, mortal agony.
The dead are decomposing beneath the clocks of the cities.
The war passes by us, weeping, with a million grey rats,
rich men give to their mistresses
tiny, illuminated half-corpses,
and Life is neither noble, nor good, nor sacred.

A man can, if he wishes, guide his desire
over a vein of coral or a celestial nude;
tomorrow loves will become rocks, and Time,
a breeze coming through the branches fast asleep.

That's why I never raise my voice, old Walt Whitman,
against the little boy who inscribes
a little girl's name deep into his pillow,
nor against the young man who dresses up as a bride
in the darkness of his clothes closet,
nor against those lonesome men of the casinos,
who drink with disgust from the waters of prostitution,
nor against those men with lecherous gazes,
who love men, but whose lips burn in silence.
But decidedly against you, faggots of the cities,
with your tumescent flesh and vile thoughts.
Mothers of filth. Harpies. Unsleeping enemies
of the Love that bestows crowns of joy.



 from Ode to Walt Whitman & Other Poems
Federico Garcia Lorca
translated by Carlos Bauer
(New Directions 1988)

Tuesday, January 29, 2013


To the Naropa Community

I am very sorry to announce that Professor Anselm Hollo passed away this morning following a long illness. Anselm was one of the pillars of the Jack Kerouac School and a great friend to Naropa and beloved mentor to hundreds of students and inspiring poet to countless readers around the world.

Anselm’s  wife Jane Dalrymple-Hollo and children Kaarina and Tamsin were with him during what Jane described as a peaceful death. Naropa has lost another of our treasures, who will be greatly missed. Please join me in sending good wishes to Anselm as he embarks on his next journey and to the family during this poignant time.

Anselm will be at the Crist Mortuary and his family would welcome you to visit tomorrow, Wednesday, between 4 pm and 7 pm at 3395 Penrose Place, near 34th St and the Diagonal. Professor Reed Bye is working with my office in planning a memorial for Anselm for some time next week. Details will follow.

Charles G Lief
Naropa University
2130 Arapahoe Ave
Boulder, CO 80302
(303) 546-3517<>

For general rules of using Naropa's staff and faculty mailing lists, visit:

 Anselm Hollo

Paavo Anselm Aleksis Hollo was born in Helsinki, Finland. His father, Juho Aukusti Hollo(1885–1967) — who liked to be known as "J. A." Hollo — was Professor of Philosophy at the University of Helsinki, an essayist, and a major translator of literature into Finnish. His mother was Iris Antonina Anna Walden, a music teacher and daughter of organic chemist Paul Walden. He lived for eight years in the United Kingdom producing three children: Hannes, Kaarina, and Tamsin, with his first wife, poet Josephine Clare. He was a permanent resident in the United States from the late 1960s until his death. At the time of his death and he resided in Boulder, Colorado with his second wife, artist Jane Dalrymple-Hollo.

Hollo published more than forty titles of poetry in the UK and in the US, in a style strongly influenced by the American beat poets.

In 1965, Hollo performed at the "underground" International Poetry Incarnation, London. In 2001, poets and critics associated with the SUNY Buffalo POETICS list elected Hollo to the honorary position of "anti-laureate", in protest at the appointment of Billy Collins to the position of Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress.

Hollo translated poetry and belles-lettres from Finnish, German, Swedish and French into English. He was one of the early translators of Allen Ginsberg into German and Finnish.

Hollo taught creative writing in eighteen different institutions of higher learning, including SUNY Buffalo, the Iowa Writers' Workshop, and the University of Colorado at Boulder. Since 1985, he has taught in the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University, where he held holds the rank of Full Professor.

Hollo became ill, and during the summer of 2012, had brain surgery.

Several of his poems have been set into music by pianist and composer Frank Carlberg.

Poets Ted Berrigan and Alice Notley named their son Anselm Berrigan after Hollo.

Hollo died from post operative pneumonia on January 29, 2013 at the age of 78.



Amos Oz

Two final thoughts from Oz worth the consideration of Israeli politicians: On the nature of tragedy and the nature of time.

“The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a clash of right and right. Tragedies are resolved in one of two ways: The Shakespearian way or the Anton Chekhov way. In a tragedy by Shakespeare, the stage at the end is littered with dead bodies. In a tragedy by Chekhov everyone is unhappy, bitter, disillusioned and melancholy but they are alive. My colleagues in the peace movement and I are working for a Chekhovian not a Shakespearian conclusion.” 

And this: “I live in the desert at Arad. Every morning at 5 a.m. I start my day by taking a walk before sunrise. I inhale the silence. I take in the breeze, the silhouettes of the hills. I walk for about 40 minutes. When I come back home I turn on the radio and sometimes I hear a politicians using words like ‘never’ or ‘forever’ or ‘for eternity’ — and I know that the stones out in the desert are laughing at him.” 

Sit down with Oz. That is my advice to the next Israeli government — and to all the deluded absolutists, Arab and Jew, of this unnecessary conflict whose unhappy but peaceful ending is not beyond the scope of open-ended human imagination.

Roger Cohen, The New York Times

photo : Stelios Charalampopoulos

[ from the moleskine ] ~

If I Am Lost & The Shadow Grows Long

Inhabit the house

like a bird

Build a nest

of twigs,

bits of cloth


To be abandoned

in time —


for a time


from gleanings / fragments / february 2013
Houston, Texas

photo © bob arnold

Monday, January 28, 2013



First Notes From One Born and Living in an Abandoned Barn

Every dusty bar and narrow streak of brilliance
Originating from white slits and roof crevices
Or streaming to the floor all day in one solid column
From the opening directly overhead
Are only light.

The rising tatter of weed ticks under the door
And the quick unseen banging of shingles above
Are named the sudden and the unexpected.

Silence is understood to be the straw-flecked
Morasses of webs consistently filling the corners
With a still grey filigree of dirt, and meditation
Is called orb weaver and funnel spider tugging
At their ropes, working and stitching
With the synchronization of their flexible nails.

The farthest limits to which the eyes can see —
The rotten board walls and the high wind-stopped
Eaves—are the boundaries the mind clearly recognizes
As the farthest edges of itself, and the steel-blue forks
Of the swallows bumping and tapping along the ledges
Of the rafters all afternoon define again
The barriers of the acknowledged. Realization
Is simply the traceable expansion gradually filling
All the spaces known as barn.

And at night the point at which the slow downward swoop
Of the bat first begins its new angle upward is called
Proof of the power of the body's boundaries.
And what it is believed the snake experiences as it slides
The line of its belly along the thigh
Is thigh. The length of the arm is nothing more
Than the length the mouse crawls before its feet
Are felt no more. And what it is imagined the owl sees
As it stares from the eaves directly into the eyes
Of the one it perceives is called identity.

What appears in the opening of the roof at night
Is only what the barn envelopes and holds.
What the mind envelopes and holds in the opening
Of the roof is called the beyond.
And the beyond is either the definition of disappearance
Discovered by the bats, or else it is the rectangular
Body of stars defining the place of the roof, or else
It is the black opening looking down on the starlit
Rectangle creating the eyes, or else it is the entire
Inner surface of the face composed of stars, or else
It is the first lucky guess of the mind at the boundless
Which is exactly what has caused the need to begin tonight
The documented expansion inherent to these notes.


Pattiann Rogers
Song of the World Becoming
new and collected poems 1981-2001
(Milkweed 2001)

Sunday, January 27, 2013


25 January 2013

Foul Play in the Senate
    by Bill Moyers and Michael Winship

The inauguration of a president is one of those spectacles of democracy that can make us remember we’re part of something big and enduring. So for a few hours this past Monday the pomp and circumstance inspired us to think that government of, by, and for the people really is just that, despite the predatory threats that stalk it.

But the mood didn’t last. Every now and then, as the cameras panned upward, the Capitol dome towering over the ceremony was a reminder of something the good feeling of the moment couldn’t erase. It’s the journalist’s curse to have a good time spoiled by the reality beyond the pageantry. Just a couple of days before the inaugural festivities, The New York Times published some superb investigative reporting by the team of Eric Lipton and Kevin Sack, and their revelations were hard to forget, even at a time of celebration.

The story told us of a pharmaceutical giant called Amgen and three senators so close to it they might be entries on its balance sheet: Republican Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, Democratic Senator Max Baucus, chair of the Senate Finance Committee, and that powerful committee’s ranking Republican, Orrin Hatch. A trio of perpetrators who treat the United States Treasury as if it were a cash-and-carry annex of corporate America.

The Times story described how Amgen got a huge hidden gift from unnamed members of Congress and their staffers. They slipped an eleventh hour loophole into the New Year’s Eve deal that kept the government from going over the fiscal cliff. When the sun rose in the morning, there it was, a richly embroidered loophole for Amgen that will cost taxpayers a cool half a billion dollars.

“Two guys nurtured at public expense, paid as public servants, disappear through the gold-plated revolving door of Congress and presto, return as money changers in the temple of crony capitalism.”Amgen is the world’s largest biotechnology firm, a drug maker that sells a variety of medications. The little clause secretly sneaked into the fiscal cliff bill gives the company two more years of relief from Medicare cost controls for certain drugs used by patients who are on kidney dialysis, including a pill called Sensipar, manufactured by Amgen.

The provision didn’t mention Amgen by name, but according to reporters Lipton and Sack, the news that it had been tucked into the fiscal cliff deal “was so welcome, that the company’s chief executive quickly relayed it to investment analysts.” Tipping them off, it would seem, to a jackpot in the making.

Amgen has 74 lobbyists on its team in Washington and lobbied hard for that loophole, currying favor with friends at the White House and on Capitol Hill. The Times reporters traced its “deep financial and political ties” to Baucus, McConnell and Hatch, “who hold heavy sway over Medicare payment policy.”

All three have received hefty campaign donations from the company whose bottom line mysteriously just got padded at taxpayer expense. Since 2007, Amgen employees and its political action committee have contributed nearly $68,000 to Senator Baucus, $73,000 to Senator McConnell’s campaigns, and $59,000 to Senator Hatch.

And lo and behold, among those 74 Amgen lobbyists are the former chief of staff to Senator Baucus and the former chief of staff to Senator McConnell. You get the picture: Two guys nurtured at public expense, paid as public servants, disappear through the gold-plated revolving door of Congress and presto, return as money changers in the temple of crony capitalism.

Inside to welcome them is a current top aide to Senator Hatch, one who helped weave this lucrative loophole. He used to work as a health policy analyst for — you guessed it — Amgen.

So the trail winds deeper into the sordid swamp beneath that great Capitol dome, a sinkhole where shame has all but disappeared. As reporters Lipton and Sack remind us, just weeks before this backroom betrayal of the public interest by elected officials and the mercenaries they have mentored, Amgen pleaded guilty to fraud. Look it up: fraud means trickery, cheating and duplicity. Amgen agreed to pay $762 million in criminal and civil penalties; the company had been caught illegally marketing another one of its drugs.

The fact that their puppet master had been the subject of fines and a massive federal investigation mattered not to its servile pawns in the Senate, where pomp and circumstance are but masks for the brute power of money.

Peter Welch, Vermont’s Democratic congressman, has just introduced bipartisan legislation to repeal the half billion-dollar giveaway to Amgen. Its co-sponsors include Republican Richard Hanna of New York and Democrats Jim Cooper of Tennessee and Bruce Braley of Iowa.

The Amgen deal “confirms the American public’s worst suspicions of how Congress operates,” Representative Welch told us this week. “As the nation’s economy teetered on the edge of a Congressional-created fiscal cliff, lobbyists for a private, for-profit company seized an opportunity to feed at the public trough. It’s no wonder cockroaches and root canals are more popular than Congress.”

In his inaugural address, Barack Obama said the commitments we make to each other through Medicare, Medicaid, and Social Security don’t make us a nation of takers. But the actions of Amgen and its cronies under the dome on Capitol Hill show who the real takers are — not those who look to government for support in old age and hard times but the ones at the top whose avarice and lust for profit compel them to take as much as they can from that government at the expense of everyone else.


thanks to Geoffrey Gardner 



J.D. Whitney's third 'Cousins' chaplet from Longhouse, and many of these cousins are found in our rafters, under our floor boards, at our windows, barking at the back door. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Three color booklet of new poems

by J. D. in fold-out splendor.

Both signed and unsigned editions.

from Longhouse

Signed limited edition $15.
Unsigned $10

(International orders kindly inquire)

order here through Paypal with free shipping

So Many Cousins

Saturday, January 26, 2013

(Charlotte Rampling)


One of the most prolific actor, poet, activist, performers of our time, and here with his Longhouse third booklet, about our sequoia.

Three color booklet of new poems

by Heathcote in fold-out splendor.

Both signed and unsigned editions.

from Longhouse

Signed limited edition $17.
Unsigned $12

(International orders kindly inquire)

order here through Paypal with free shipping

The President


Friday, January 25, 2013


A good friend in Arkansas just wrote to say he'd driven his sons to school and the distance traveled was the length of listening to "A Stairway to Heaven". The original masterpiece. I asked if he was familiar with the Tiny Tim version. He wasn't. So we share it here with everyone. 




He said
when he
was old
real old
he would
go live in
Venice and
watch the
pretty women

She said
no the
women with
the best
legs were
not in Venice
or France but
Czech women

He thought
a moment
and said
okay when
I am old
and alone
I will go
live in

Bob Arnold
from GATE #5
ed. Stefan Hyner


Thursday, January 24, 2013


In our 'bus-ticket' series of booklets where Mark is no stranger — more prose poems from the master word whittler

Three color booklet of new poems

by Mark in fold-out splendor.

Both signed and unsigned editions.

from Longhouse

Signed limited edition $15.
Unsigned $10

(International orders kindly inquire)

order here through Paypal with free shipping

The Other Side

Wednesday, January 23, 2013



cover image 4

An early issue from Longhouse when it was initially "Workshop" and even before that "Our Poets Workshop". Shown here is from 1975.


: so much for wanting to write (today) a marathon short commentary on all the final leg of the Longhouse Bibliography, the 2008-2012 years. Instead I opened the day's mail and there was a new book by John Brandi and Steve Sanfield (sent by Steve with other loose poems of Steve's packed in there). I got further serious and started planning a postcard by Steve of one of his poems, plus a small booklet of poems from a series on the Gulf War district, or somewhere in that bedlam. We designed and printed the postcard the next morning and shipped them to Steve. The booklet to follow, and more on all of this when we get there at the July 2012 segment of the bibliography. On with the show!

2011. Bob Arnold. A Possible Eden 2. Bob Arnold’s second book of modern fables. With two paintings by the author. Three color text. Hand-sewn wraps. 40 pages.

Possible Eden

: A Possible Eden 2 is the second volume of prose poems I had written over the previous winter & spring. Prose poems are a good habit of mine that occur in bunches and often at the onset of Spring. Or thinking of Spring welled up deep in winter.

2011. Bob Arnold. Bigger Than You. New poems from the woods, river and beloved. All wrapped in decorative Nepalese wraps. Very limited. 

Bigger Than You

: another small book of new short poems, handmade and maybe 30 or so copies sent out mainly to friends or those sending a book gift at the same time as the book is being made — share and share alike. The cover wrap is more lovely embossed natural pressed plants and flowers.

2011. Bob Arnold. Forever. 20 new poems by Bob in this handmade pocket-size companion with Himalayan wraps. One of only 50. Stapled wraps 


: and one more. The title says it.

2011. Bob Arnold. Yokel, A Long Green Mountain Poem . New, perfect bound wraps, 156 pages. A small portion of this first appeared in Backwoods Broadside edited by Sylvester Pollet.


: Yokel had a few early appearances and took a great deal of time to get it all fitted right. Since I am still living in the same place as the subject matter and characters, and that back country life is disappearing, I was making celebratory poems and portraits of individuals and occasions right along with elegies and goodbye pieces to those passed on. Those I worked with and saw go. It's the first book in a trilogy that spans 40 years called Woodlanders. I'll speak to the second volume (love poems) when we get there. Someone could say these are love poems as well.

2011. John Bradley. Amongst the Turks. In three-color fold out performance. Very limited. Pamphlet

Amongst the Turks

: with travel poems and photographs from Turkey by John, this is a smaller foldout booklet. John and Jana traveled for a portion of the summer and on their return John just sent poems he had coming to him (day by day) as a sharing, but I could see they would be mounting into a booklet. So it happened.

2011. John Bradley. Fordtopia . In three-color fold out performance. Pamphlet. 


: all Henry Ford and his era and expanse and inventions and what was happening with our country all at the same time. A few photographs have been slipped in to grease the gears. John's uncanny ability to steer poetry and historical subjects into Bradley made poems.

2011. Hanne Bramness / with photographs by Ina Otzko. A Calendar In Colour. Three-color fold-out booklet of poems with wrap around band. Limited edition. 

A Calendar In Colour

: Hanne's third Longhouse booklet following the year's calendar with photographs and poems to match. What I had put aside from one of my handmade books I can see went into Hanne's cover wrap. Ina Otzko was kind enough to share her photographs throughout the booklet.

2011. Susan Briante. $INDU or Ghost Numbers. In three-color fold out performance. Pamphlet. 

Susan Briante

: Susan looking over and shaking down the US financial district, with sidelight commentary on all contributors in her open field vision. Susan's manuscript arrived with her husband's Farid (up coming) and together we designed and built a family, with their new baby, two booklets shipped to Texas.

2011. Mary Ann Cain. The Water Diaries. In three-color fold out performance. Very limited. Pamphlet

The Water Diaries.

: Mary Ann's complexities of body, soul and landscape brought into view by this foldout of prose reverie, written on the high crest of Colorado (since burned over) and all about a re-building, while holding on.

2011. Thomas A Clark. By The Rock Garden. A tall but narrow road broadside ready to frame from the poet's visit to Ryoanji, Kyoto with photograph by Laurie Clark.

By The Rock Garden

: Tom in the Japanese garden. It looks folded but its appearance is one tall broadside. Someone wrote to me after seeing the photograph of Tom in the famed garden and asked, "How'd he get to be there all alone?!" That's Tom.

2011. Byron Coley. Beefheart. Three-color fold-out booklet of poems with wrap around band. Limited edition. Very limited. 


: I already can't remember if Byron sent this to me, or someone else did, but Captain Beefheart (Don Van Vliet) has always been close to us all. The musician and the artist. So the week he passed away we printed this up and got it to all parties onetwothree. Susan's second cousin is Don Van Vliet's wife, Janet. She always liked Janet, but when she saw Captain Beefheart perform in the 60s, no dice.

2011. Cid Corman. Chop. In three-color fold out performance. Very limited. Pamphlet


: in our wish to publish something by Cid every year from the press, Chop is here showcasing Cid's many uses for the handstamps he used on all his correspondence, often on the outside envelope or blue aerogramme. His widow Shizumi gave to me the ink stamps, all that I had seen during my long correspondence with Cid, and it seemed right and lively to share them all further.

2011. Merrill Gilfillan. Warbler Haibun. New poem sequence in fold-out fashion in forest wraps with band. Signed by the poet

Warbler Haibun

: the second Longhouse publication by Merrill, this time shorter (haibun) in a foldout method of hearing the bird sing.

2011. Ray Gonzalez. The Mud Angels, Mesilla, New Mexico. In three-color fold out performance. Very limited. . Pamphlet

Mud Angels

: Ray came our way via mutual friend George Kalamaras (we all have a three way zing for music, particularly Gene Clark and others) and while a bit crowded for the format, it all resonates and thensome. I could have made two booklets with all the good poems I had from Ray.

2011. Whit Griffin. Cathedral Ring. In three-color fold out performance. Pamphlet. 

Cathedral Ring

: Whit's second Longhouse booklet, and this time a taller design with some of Whit's photographs (often taken off his cellphone no matter where he might be) all taking part. Just look at the blossoms of that tree! You're in Tennessee.

2011. Ken Letko. Forgotten Inventors. In three-color fold out performance. Very limited. Pamphlet

Ken Letko

: Ken's poems just played with me nicely as I read, and a sizable group easily fell into place to make a booklet. This effortless is hard work.

2011. Li Po / translated by J. P. Seaton. Fall River Song. A three color fold-out booklet of poems with wrap around band. 

Fall River Song


: every Sandy booklet of Chinese translations is my favorite, but this one may take the cake. We had just the paper wrap for the cover, and it had taken awhile for us both to finally get to the place where Li Po just had to show up in the Longhouse title family. I'm very partial to the Han Shan booklet we all did as well. Close my eyes on some days, choose one.

2011. Gerry Loose. "Every Year..." . Gerry as always thinking like a tree, plant or bush! A walker of the landscape. Here is a postcard poem to share. Signed by the poet on own small bookplate, ideal to frame 

Gerry Loose

: this poem is the Gerry I know. I never feel I am inside anywhere when I read his poems. Always outdoors.

2011. Bob Love. Saskatchewan Waters. A three color fold-out booklet of poems with wrap around band.

Saskatchewan Waters

: Bob is a logger in big sky Montana and came my way via his teacher, from long ago, the poet Ken McCullough. I received a bunch of poems from Bob, and while the logging poems are quite fine, there was something exploratory and of a different adventure on a fishing trip with Bob in Canada. One day in the mail, after we published this booklet, came a tangle of sweet grass from Bob and his wife — an aroma to fill the room.

2011. Antonio Machado / Alvaro Cardona-Hine. The Pocket Book Machado. A beautifully packed packet of poems from the master with photograph done-up new by New Mexico's own Alvaro Cardona-Hine. Three-color fold-out booklet of poems with wrap around band. Limited edition.

The Pocket Book Machado

: we weren't done with Alvaro, now well into his 80's, not by a long shot. Along with his own poems and paintings, he also translates, and Machado quite well.

2011. Joseph Massey. Another Rehearsal for Morning. In three-color fold out performance. Very limited. . Pamphlet. Fold-out booklet. Our third publication by this poet. 

Another Rehearsal for Morning

: same with Joe, one more booklet, so carefully sculptured between us.

2011. Farid Matuk. Riverside. In three-color fold out performance. Pamphlet. 


: Farid's gritty and true poems covering the wider planet he sees and wishes to protect. Some of this work first started out with us and Farid when I was editing ORIGIN, sixth series, and just maybe it was helped along by the good guidance of Dale Smith and Brooks Johnson. The best poets push other poets forward.

2011. Ken McCullough. Diet For The Smallest Planet. In three-color fold out performance. Pamphlet. 

Diet For The Smallest Planet

: I've long admired Ken's poems and we had already done one shorter booklet together; it was time for something larger. The poems here throw good weight between Montana, Cambodia (Ken also translates from the language) and elsewhere. He writes, "Most of my life I've been eating shit", but it's not what we read, far from it, when we have his poems.

2011. Mohammed Mrabet. / translated by Mark Terrill. "The Canary". Three color 4-1/4 x
6 postcard suitable for framing or slipping into the mail. 

~ Mohammed Mrabet ~

: Mark coming through with this poem amongst maybe many he sent at one time and I let this one slip right down onto my lap to read again and again, which we then did up as a postcard. Once upon a time Mark knew and visited Paul Bowles and he brought some essentials away.

2011. Shin Yu Pai. Nearly Invisible. A three color fold-out booklet of poems with wrap around band. 

Shin Yu Pai

: I had already worked with Shin Yu Pai and her poems in the ORIGIN, sixth series and wanted to see more and she gladly complied. A unique poet so quietly in the room with us all.

2011. Mark Terrill. Up All Night. In three-color fold out performance. Very limited. Pamphlet

Up All Night

: when Mark isn't writing poems, stories, essays, reviews, reading books and getting into trouble with all his cats, he's kicking around his German neighborhood with sketch pad and charcoal, and when he travels away from home, too. We made here some of the poems with some of the sketches. It's my favorite Terrill.

2011. U Sam Oeur. translated from Khmer with Ken McCullough. Ever Hopeful. In three-color fold out performance. Pamphlet.

Ever Hopeful

: while organizing a booklet with Ken, I had in the back of my head his deep resource translations of U Sam Oeur. I had already seen a few of his books and would very much like to have more stemming from Longhouse. We asked and we received from the hands of the translator.

2011. Janine Pommy Vega. Walking Woman With The Tambourine. In three-color fold out performance. Pamphlet. 

Walking Woman With The Tambourine

: these are poems Janine Pommy Vega was working on at her death (toward a new book) and put into our hands. It's another of our larger and fatter foldout booklets with some of Janine's best long poems ever. Slowly but surely this will all evolve into a much larger book of Janine's singing and praises.

2011. Karma Tenzing Wangchuk. Holding My Breath. A three color fold-out booklet of poems with wrap around band. 

Holding My Breath

: Tenzing often writes to me by short email messages out there in the coastal pot of Port Townsend, home to thousands of poets and mountains. His short poems are brilliant for common locality and touch. He continues the long tradition made once by wanderers.

2011. J. D. Whitney. Other Cousins. In three-color fold out performance. Very limited. Pamphlet. Fold-out booklet. Our second publication by this poet. 

Other Cousins

: J.D. is the skilled mathematician of language and earth and all those on it, particularly the forgotten, neglected and lost. This is the second booklet from Longhouse of J.D.'s "cousins" who are often mine. We write to one another every day without fail and have yet to meet. Can you imagine that day! (Now I can — it happened this past September 2012).

2011. Finn Wilcox, Freight Train. Three-color fold-out booklet of poems with wrap around band. Limited edition. 

Freight TrainFreight Train

: Finn Wilcox is what I hope the world will one day turn into — a good guy with a good heart and good hands put into the good earth. Treeplanter, hobo, train man, father, lover, husband, neighbor, family man, friend. He knows his train poems are going to be my train poems, too.

© 2012 Longhouse, Publishers & Booksellers