This one was really fun. I could go on for a long time again and probably will as an exercise but here's a little sample.
I let him wake up to mulch.
I’m the one who tells him each grass blade licks his face and tells him stories. Though, that’s me telling the stories about the stories. I’m endocrine. I get turned on by light, not chloroplast. Derrick would like to think it’s the other way around; that he’s plant based.
Still though, he’d be partially right to think so. Trouble with distance I suppose; sun to plant to soil to rock to psychic geology. Derrick pushes from his psychic molding. These levers grow longer. These pulleys become stretched.
I’m formed of his geology. Sedimentary. Bits of me slip into bits of him, wear off my palms onto the pumice handled levers. I suppose they brush into his Broca’s area before I have him type. I have no incentive for insight. A lack of endocrine I suppose. No bother though.
He rarely notices me, though he just did.
Right there. Could you tell? No I suppose not.
He’s reading this back to me in our head –more mine than his- while looking at a brain map.
I pull a lever.
I work Derrick through a system of levers and pulleys.
He recalls steam punk.
Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being. I persist in his. We persist in being.
Derrick seems to persist in memories of movies like Brazil.
Though, to his credit, he has read Ethics. For which I thank him. I do this by secreting shaves of algae into his cerebral cortex.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Stein Exercise in Style
Hi all.
Instead of doing both of these remixes I kind of went with a mash-up of the two. Below is my Stein influenced Exercise in Style.
Hope you like it.
If not, just look at this instead. It's pretty and Dutch.
In the inside of the S bus it is crowded. In the outside of the S bus there is Paris. In Paris there is a crowded midday scene. The midday scene is filled. Filled with commuters. These commuters –some of them- are on the S bus.
Like me.
Like me, I’m on the S bus at midday.
In Paris.
Outside of the city but inside of the bus. Inside the bus it is crowded just as outside the bus the city is crowded with people pouring into the bus. In the bus there is the feeling of shoulders. Shoulders are against other shoulders. It’s the way of the city, shoulders against shoulders. Shoulders, in mid-day, in Paris, along the metro, in route to lunch, which is to say to be in route to meet people for lunch people. People in and about Paris, crowded onto the bus.
Similar to the bus I’m on, the S bus. The S bus in midday in Paris crowded with shoulders. Beyond shoulders there are other body parts contained in coats and trousers crowding the S bus. Trousers containing men’s knees and ankles and calves ready to and taut to kick and shuffle with the shuffle of the city, the city of Paris, and its midday bustle of commuters on the S bus, the bus I’m on. The bus I’m on watching trousers and suit jackets containing men and women bustling about in the midday, lunchtime, by far the busiest part of the day in Paris. Well at least during the week when the midday keeps the bustle at its trouser bustle point of note. Suppose this is a point of note, as it is being noted, the bustle, the midday bustle that is to be noted, specifically on the S bus. This day in June during the midday bustle on the S bus.
In the bus it is frantic. In the outside of the bus it is frantic, as it is midday. Inside the bus the passengers coil in their fabrics. Inside their fabrics their knees buckle a bit and when the bus lets out, in the midday sun outside the bus there is a similar bustle but that doesn’t matter for now. Though the bustle outside the bus is the bustle of thousands, their small lunch movements, all of them, let light on the pavement amidst frantic pigeons consuming the bustles lunch fragments.
Inside the bus I’m sitting in outside the midday sun inside the city of Paris on the S bus. Inside the S bus but on it I see a long neck inside the bus, the same bus that I am inside or on but inside the city of Paris, though not outside of it are my thoughts, not exclusive to the city, as is summer and my thoughts have drifted to the country. I love the city in the summer and its contained day dreams of the country. Wheat fields and such and the way that inside of them outside of the city I think of life with Paris in the distance. Bits of wheat like drips of grapes feeding a city out of grasp of itself. Out of grasp is the city with a view of itself. Anywhere in Paris you can see the Eifel tower except under it.
Outside the city is a bustle in the midday. Inside there is a bus, that bus I’ve been telling you I’m on. Well, inside this young man, the young man with the long neck is inside of my periphery, which is to say he is outside of those outside of the bus but inside the view of those within a few seats of me, as mentioned the bus is crowded in the midday in the midweek in the midsummer.
Outside there are tourists looking inside a midday S bus in Paris in the midday. They take photos, captured in film, taken out of cameras, developed outside of Paris, more than likely in Ohio or Baltimore. Outside Baltimore, in Maryland is a bit of land designated outside of its state held right. Designated as a Capital of a country. The United States of America is outside of Baltimore, inside of Maryland, Virginia and some other state that is currently outside of my memory.
Inside the S bus this boy I’ve mentioned with the long neck –did I mention his funny hat? It sits outside of fashion for the time– is growing upset inside the bus and outside of his contained wits.
“Hey there buddy, You’re in my personal space.”
“Surely not intentionally.” Say’s the man, in his own right to defend himself but outside of his country and comfort zone. He appears to be a foreigner both in his manner of speech and outwardly in his mannerisms, which appear inwardly eastern while his speech is overtly western. Which is to say English. English being the language he felt most comfortable in, up until this point, in another country, where his loafers lived up to their expectations and repeatedly lounged against this long necked man on the S bus’s wing tips and upper ankles.
“Surely not intentionally” He repeats, now to himself as the young man with the long neck and the waywardness of a boy negligent of his own habits rather than repeating himself, as the man did, in the S. Bus, on the S bus, in Paris, during a midday commute felt the need to do so.
Instead this boy with the long neck, in my vision, on the bus, outside the blistering June midday commute, inside the bustle of this could be commuters view, which is to say my view, which is to say in the view of many, both inside and outside of the bus, saw him, rather than further ensue the argument walk to the nearest vacant seat.
Of which there were a few opening and closing and opening and closing as passengers or commuters or persons in the perpetual present of the moment during the altercation of the moment of the perpetual present moment of the altercation between the boy and the foreign man with the loafers who loafed about casually and accidentally or casually but regardless accosted a young man with a long neck -and a funny hat- in front of me on the S bus during midday in Paris on an afternoon in June, the afternoon and June I speak of being the present one. Well then if not for that alone the boy moved seats and the foreign man continued to look foreign, as was not his want but more than likely simply his nature or modus operandi as it was known in the past and in many respects the present, though not at all known to those outside the periphery of such referential diction.
Should I then tell you of the inconvenience of seeing this long necked boy yet a second time in that same blistering afternoon, though past the bustle of the present tension taken on the S. Bus.
Not an hour later. In the city of Paris, still. Still within a matter of kilometers from the incident on the S. Bus, that must have dropped the boy off the crowded bus during such a time as I did not see the boy outside the bus but surely as other passengers still saw me on the bus I later left or possibly left prior to the boy, for like I said after the incident he was out of my periphery. Though I suppose he was in others, but none of those are telling this story. Are they?
Thought not, so before or after or at the same time we might have gotten off the bus a time elapsed during which both me and the boy with the long neck and funny hat traveled to the same gare as passengers now, at least for a time off the bus, for what is a passenger outside of a bus but not currently on or in one? Passengers awaiting a bus. Not on one currently but possibly to be on one again, this is the makings of a commuter, a metro, a system of connected travel routes convenient or inconvenient for passengers such as myself or such as the boy with the long neck, though it might have been the hat that made his neck so funny, who wound up off the S bus and some time later at the same gare. This should not be of any surprise to me, though at the time, in the midday it should be noted that it might have been but more thank likely, as memory currently recalls and for the sake of the tale was and is in the present sense of the story I am currently telling.
I saw this long necked boy, outside the gare Saint-Lazare, inside the same coat he was wearing. A long coat, inside or outside or beside were a series of buttons, fashionable or otherwise.
“Too close together.” Said his friend outside the gare, inside the city, within the presence of myself and others, though I don’t recall them from the bus. Though they might have been within it while the bustle of the midday took place, as it does in June, as is June’s want. This boy stood out because of his neck, hat, and the altercation with the foreign man, who was not to be seen at this juncture but it can be said, and will be said, in this story and outside of it in my intuitive memory that the foreign man remained foreign inside the city of Paris on this afternoon, now past midday, as he -the foreign man- was a long way from Baltimore or where ever he may have been from.
“You ought to move that button up a notch.”
Instead of doing both of these remixes I kind of went with a mash-up of the two. Below is my Stein influenced Exercise in Style.
Hope you like it.
If not, just look at this instead. It's pretty and Dutch.
In the inside of the S bus it is crowded. In the outside of the S bus there is Paris. In Paris there is a crowded midday scene. The midday scene is filled. Filled with commuters. These commuters –some of them- are on the S bus.
Like me.
Like me, I’m on the S bus at midday.
In Paris.
Outside of the city but inside of the bus. Inside the bus it is crowded just as outside the bus the city is crowded with people pouring into the bus. In the bus there is the feeling of shoulders. Shoulders are against other shoulders. It’s the way of the city, shoulders against shoulders. Shoulders, in mid-day, in Paris, along the metro, in route to lunch, which is to say to be in route to meet people for lunch people. People in and about Paris, crowded onto the bus.
Similar to the bus I’m on, the S bus. The S bus in midday in Paris crowded with shoulders. Beyond shoulders there are other body parts contained in coats and trousers crowding the S bus. Trousers containing men’s knees and ankles and calves ready to and taut to kick and shuffle with the shuffle of the city, the city of Paris, and its midday bustle of commuters on the S bus, the bus I’m on. The bus I’m on watching trousers and suit jackets containing men and women bustling about in the midday, lunchtime, by far the busiest part of the day in Paris. Well at least during the week when the midday keeps the bustle at its trouser bustle point of note. Suppose this is a point of note, as it is being noted, the bustle, the midday bustle that is to be noted, specifically on the S bus. This day in June during the midday bustle on the S bus.
In the bus it is frantic. In the outside of the bus it is frantic, as it is midday. Inside the bus the passengers coil in their fabrics. Inside their fabrics their knees buckle a bit and when the bus lets out, in the midday sun outside the bus there is a similar bustle but that doesn’t matter for now. Though the bustle outside the bus is the bustle of thousands, their small lunch movements, all of them, let light on the pavement amidst frantic pigeons consuming the bustles lunch fragments.
Inside the bus I’m sitting in outside the midday sun inside the city of Paris on the S bus. Inside the S bus but on it I see a long neck inside the bus, the same bus that I am inside or on but inside the city of Paris, though not outside of it are my thoughts, not exclusive to the city, as is summer and my thoughts have drifted to the country. I love the city in the summer and its contained day dreams of the country. Wheat fields and such and the way that inside of them outside of the city I think of life with Paris in the distance. Bits of wheat like drips of grapes feeding a city out of grasp of itself. Out of grasp is the city with a view of itself. Anywhere in Paris you can see the Eifel tower except under it.
Outside the city is a bustle in the midday. Inside there is a bus, that bus I’ve been telling you I’m on. Well, inside this young man, the young man with the long neck is inside of my periphery, which is to say he is outside of those outside of the bus but inside the view of those within a few seats of me, as mentioned the bus is crowded in the midday in the midweek in the midsummer.
Outside there are tourists looking inside a midday S bus in Paris in the midday. They take photos, captured in film, taken out of cameras, developed outside of Paris, more than likely in Ohio or Baltimore. Outside Baltimore, in Maryland is a bit of land designated outside of its state held right. Designated as a Capital of a country. The United States of America is outside of Baltimore, inside of Maryland, Virginia and some other state that is currently outside of my memory.
Inside the S bus this boy I’ve mentioned with the long neck –did I mention his funny hat? It sits outside of fashion for the time– is growing upset inside the bus and outside of his contained wits.
“Hey there buddy, You’re in my personal space.”
“Surely not intentionally.” Say’s the man, in his own right to defend himself but outside of his country and comfort zone. He appears to be a foreigner both in his manner of speech and outwardly in his mannerisms, which appear inwardly eastern while his speech is overtly western. Which is to say English. English being the language he felt most comfortable in, up until this point, in another country, where his loafers lived up to their expectations and repeatedly lounged against this long necked man on the S bus’s wing tips and upper ankles.
“Surely not intentionally” He repeats, now to himself as the young man with the long neck and the waywardness of a boy negligent of his own habits rather than repeating himself, as the man did, in the S. Bus, on the S bus, in Paris, during a midday commute felt the need to do so.
Instead this boy with the long neck, in my vision, on the bus, outside the blistering June midday commute, inside the bustle of this could be commuters view, which is to say my view, which is to say in the view of many, both inside and outside of the bus, saw him, rather than further ensue the argument walk to the nearest vacant seat.
Of which there were a few opening and closing and opening and closing as passengers or commuters or persons in the perpetual present of the moment during the altercation of the moment of the perpetual present moment of the altercation between the boy and the foreign man with the loafers who loafed about casually and accidentally or casually but regardless accosted a young man with a long neck -and a funny hat- in front of me on the S bus during midday in Paris on an afternoon in June, the afternoon and June I speak of being the present one. Well then if not for that alone the boy moved seats and the foreign man continued to look foreign, as was not his want but more than likely simply his nature or modus operandi as it was known in the past and in many respects the present, though not at all known to those outside the periphery of such referential diction.
Should I then tell you of the inconvenience of seeing this long necked boy yet a second time in that same blistering afternoon, though past the bustle of the present tension taken on the S. Bus.
Not an hour later. In the city of Paris, still. Still within a matter of kilometers from the incident on the S. Bus, that must have dropped the boy off the crowded bus during such a time as I did not see the boy outside the bus but surely as other passengers still saw me on the bus I later left or possibly left prior to the boy, for like I said after the incident he was out of my periphery. Though I suppose he was in others, but none of those are telling this story. Are they?
Thought not, so before or after or at the same time we might have gotten off the bus a time elapsed during which both me and the boy with the long neck and funny hat traveled to the same gare as passengers now, at least for a time off the bus, for what is a passenger outside of a bus but not currently on or in one? Passengers awaiting a bus. Not on one currently but possibly to be on one again, this is the makings of a commuter, a metro, a system of connected travel routes convenient or inconvenient for passengers such as myself or such as the boy with the long neck, though it might have been the hat that made his neck so funny, who wound up off the S bus and some time later at the same gare. This should not be of any surprise to me, though at the time, in the midday it should be noted that it might have been but more thank likely, as memory currently recalls and for the sake of the tale was and is in the present sense of the story I am currently telling.
I saw this long necked boy, outside the gare Saint-Lazare, inside the same coat he was wearing. A long coat, inside or outside or beside were a series of buttons, fashionable or otherwise.
“Too close together.” Said his friend outside the gare, inside the city, within the presence of myself and others, though I don’t recall them from the bus. Though they might have been within it while the bustle of the midday took place, as it does in June, as is June’s want. This boy stood out because of his neck, hat, and the altercation with the foreign man, who was not to be seen at this juncture but it can be said, and will be said, in this story and outside of it in my intuitive memory that the foreign man remained foreign inside the city of Paris on this afternoon, now past midday, as he -the foreign man- was a long way from Baltimore or where ever he may have been from.
“You ought to move that button up a notch.”
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
A Poet on the Road
I.R.F.
Well first off I was wondering what is the day to day of doing a poetry tour?
K.G:
You know you get up in the morning you think where am I where am I going. And then you think, ‘Oh yeah. Oh my god how many miles do we have to drive. What time is the reading? Can I get there on time, please today as I have not for the past three days.’
You know it’s just trying to get to the place on time. I always do a different set list for every reading because, I don’t know why. I try not to but I can’t help it. So I’m always doing that stuff in the car and then trying to time it and… you know, we share the driving. It depends…sometimes…You know, there’s always something. You’re on the road, so you know, roadwork. (Laughs.) You know and it’s all just a form of roadwork then. It’s interesting because it’s always the same and yet it’s always different. You know, you get to the place and you know some of them. Some of whom you’re really looking forward to seeing and other people you meet when you’re there. It’s nice, you know. It’s nice.
It’s amazing to think that in every town you go to there are a couple people who are interested in poetry and one of them might even be interested in you. But then if you have a really good gig where, like one of my first ones in Cambridge was really good. The room was really packed and we sold books to half the audience and everyone was so enthusiastic and you almost start to think, ‘It’s going to be like this all the time.’ But of course you know that’s insane, it’s not. So you have to have a fairly high tolerance for, not exactly disappointment. The anti-climax. Some time’s it’s just like that, but usually I try to keep it in mind that all I have to do is reach one person. If I reach one person, especially if that’s one person I don’t know, one person who’s not read my work. Then it’s like, I’ve done the job of the night, what I’ve come out to do.
I.R.F.
Related to that; the day to day of doing a tour, with the traveling so much. How much new writing do you get done? I noticed that the DVD’s along with the new book were very transitory in nature. I’m wondering if that’s a reflection of doing these types of things.
(We both talk a bit here.) Trees, movement, cars, buildings.
K.G:
Well I took a lot of that footage when I was out last time, with Case Sensitive. That was the first video I ever did. Um, you know I swore to myself that this time when I was out I would write everyday and I would exercise everyday and I haven’t done either, not one day. This is day 25. Ok, so that didn’t happen, yet.
But, what I do is I kind of, I’ve got the book. And I’m kind of basically reading from the book. Sometimes I read from other things because either the students have read Case Sensitive and not the new one or someone wants me to read from the last chap book or something like that. Basically I read from that. But in order to make it interesting to me I make a new thing out of it, make a new poem out of the poems. So, to do that I read parts of things. You know I’ll read on my set list and it’ll be, ‘first paragraph second sentence.’ Then I’ll flip through the book and I’ll just make new poems out of the thing and by re-ordering it changes it. So that’s the closest thing I’ve done to new writing.
I.R.F.
I notice that that happens in the DVD too. It’s not consistent with the book.
K.G:
No, it’s not consecutive with the book.
I.R.F.
I was watching it yesterday and trying to flip through and catch up. But this kind kind of segues into the next question. The difference between something that’s made to be viewed as a mixed media or multimedia kind of thing with something that is strictly on the page. How do you approach something that you’re making both for film and page differently? Or how do the two relate?
K.G:
Well, the first part of, The Last Four Things, I basically wrote years ago. So that was written for the page. You know I did change it of course. But that was done and that was basically supposed to be the book. The sanitized version is I decided that it needed a second part. Then I wrote Fifty-Six Days. I had fifty-six days for writing, so that’s just where the title came from. And I wrote it in fifty-six days and when I wrote it, as I was writing it, I made the movie. So those two things happened simultaneously. And that was a different kind of movie because I was just taking, you probably read the author’s statement, I was just taking a piece of text. One piece of text I would say and one piece of text I would use as a subtitle. Just to work with that dialogue/subtitle, all in the same language, idea. It was a little bit more like a real film project in the sense that it wasn’t a transcription of the book.
The other one, I’d been doing these experiments. First I made a whole recording of the book. Then I was just fooling around with all the junk I had on film. And I just, I felt like I really quickly tried to make some little parts. Some little parts, some little pages, they’re not poems. But just pages that I liked the best. You know, I was learning Final Cut. It’s pretty steep so the first whole part I was just learning and acting like I had time. But then all of the sudden I was out of time. I don’t know if that’s a good answer.
I.R.F.
No, no it is. Within those two, The Last Four Things (the film version) seems to have a lot more experimental kind of feel.
K.G:
They’re all experiments, where as Fifty-Six Days is just one experiment.
I.R.F.
There even seems to be more of a score to it.
K.G:
Well we did a lot of music for it. We hadn’t intended to. And Max, (her partner) he used to be a musician. Used to play a lot. But he like played for… I don’t even know how long. I can’t remember, it might have been like twenty years. But we were learning garage band together. I was just learning all of these programs all at once.
Did you ever hear of Lynda.com? You should put this in your thing cause you know, it’s great. It’s such a cool place where you can just, for 25 bucks a month, you can go and learn any program for as many hours as you want to spend, you can learn it. So I learned Final Cut and Soundtrack and Garage Band and all these different things. So yeah, we were surprised. We were moving notes around in Garage Band just visually. It wasn’t really like music. It was like that doesn’t sound right, that’s wrong. And we want to have some wrong notes absolutely, but that’s too wrong. Let’s move it to the left. We were amazed it worked as well as it did. Which is still debatable.
I.R.F.
We kind of already hit on it but being aware that something is going to be used for film, how does that visual component affect the writing?
K.G:
See it doesn’t because, for the first thing… Well you know it could but it didn’t in this case because for the first thing the writing was done. So then it was just a matter of, what things did I have that I thought sort of worked together. Or what ones did I particularly like. Still in that I really hate the way I say, ‘to leave home without making the bed’ for instance. It’s practically the first thing and I just hated it. It’s so softy. But I jut couldn’t go back and rerecord it. I didn’t have the time so I had to deal with it. I had to accept it. For Fifty-Six Days it wasn’t like the writing was affected by doing the film except in the sense that doing the film changed my general and broad ideas of what I was writing about. In other words I began to feel like there was a character who was writing in a diary. I was just taking that dated thing as a sort of, ‘will this help me?’ idea because I knew I only had so many days.
I.R.F.
The film component then adds that feel of narrative?
K.G:
Yeah, does it have a little bit of a narrative feel.
I.R.F.
Reading it it didn’t?
K.G:
Right.
I.R.F
But then watching it and having read it.
K.G:
It has a little bit of that thing. So that’s guess, working on the film began to convince me that there was…just a…just a thread of narrative. OR more like the smoke of narrative. I just began to feel like, ‘I know her.’ I know. I get it. I get it. I began to feel that I knew what was going on with her. But it didn’t change the writing as such. The writing was just coming the same way it always comes, just be bringing in all the notes that I had and spreading them all over the floor and trying to say it and just walking around and trying to get into a trance of, ‘What is it?’ I hope that doesn’t sound too wispy but that’s how I do it.
I.R.F.
No, it doesn’t. That sounds like a great approach. It’s similar to my piles and piles of notes.
K.G:
Yeah it’s the same. A lot of people work this way and that’s very, ‘I don’t know what I’m doing until it happens.
I.R.F.
I notice that coming across in Four Things a bit. I was wondering about the ambiguous nature of the work through that and kind of elusive identification of the speaker, as far as age, among other things, is concerned.
K.G:
This is in the first part, that part of the book I actually worked on for years. Fifty-Six Days came together really fast, in fifty-six days. But The Last Four Things I really worked on that for years and it went through a lot of changes and a lot of reorganization. So that was, I could say it was really thought out but I don’t know what that would really mean. I think.
I.R.F.
It was delved into.
K.G:
(Laughs). Yeah, or what I like to think, dwelved. Sort of a combination of dwell and delving. So I dwelved into that pretty hard. I think it’s just a sort of basic fact of my life that now that I’m actually 60 years old a lot of stuff that I’m writing… I’m time traveling. It’s not necessarily about my life but I don’t necessarily feel that old. You know, it’s totally normal. I don’t think that there’s a person alive that ever thought they were 60 years old, at least not until they were 90. As far as I know.
So, there’s also just the thing of, sorry I always do this.
I.R.F.
It’s ok, I’ll write it in. It’ll be in the parenthetical.
(Kate was doing much circular had gesturing)
K.G:
I’m just trying to tune into myself I guess. A lot of people by the time they’re my age, they’ve figured everything out already. They’ve had a whole life, they’ve achieved their success or failure and they’re not really, they’re not like me. I don’t know anybody like me, that’s my age. I know a lot of people who are like me who are a different age. So I think that comes into it. When I picture a character that I’m writing about, she might be like 40. She’d still be in the middle of what she’s trying to do. It all combines. There’s a child, a nine year old girl for instance, who’s lighting the fires. There’s a lot of dream stuff. Like that particular one came from a dream from years ago that I put into a painting. I used to put a lot of words into my paintings cause that’s what I used to do. I was a painter. So I just basically took some sentences from the painting so it’s all very intertwined. You know?
I.R.F.
I noticed in a few specific places. There was the line, ‘the sea can’t stay inside you’ and the other section about having a baby but it being a plant and not the speaker’s baby. There’s this denial of ownership over nature.
K.G:
Speaking personally I’ve never been pregnant. That informs it somewhat. Whoops, dead end. Let’s go back to nature.
I.R.F.
Well it’s a baby and it’s not the speakers in on sense but it’s also not the speaker’s because it’s a plant.
K.G:
Because it’s a plant. I hate to sound like an idiot savant or just an idiot but that’s just a dream. It was a dream I had and it was a very powerfully dream. And I often have dreams about babies and when I do, the love that I feel for the baby, is overwhelming. but I’ve never had a child. And it’s not like I think, ‘Oh, gee I wish I had had a baby.’ It’s not like that. In my dream life it’s almost as if I know about it.
Kate Greenstreet's work can be better explored at her website
International Radio Frequency thanks her for her time and patience in publishing this interview.
Well first off I was wondering what is the day to day of doing a poetry tour?
K.G:
You know you get up in the morning you think where am I where am I going. And then you think, ‘Oh yeah. Oh my god how many miles do we have to drive. What time is the reading? Can I get there on time, please today as I have not for the past three days.’
You know it’s just trying to get to the place on time. I always do a different set list for every reading because, I don’t know why. I try not to but I can’t help it. So I’m always doing that stuff in the car and then trying to time it and… you know, we share the driving. It depends…sometimes…You know, there’s always something. You’re on the road, so you know, roadwork. (Laughs.) You know and it’s all just a form of roadwork then. It’s interesting because it’s always the same and yet it’s always different. You know, you get to the place and you know some of them. Some of whom you’re really looking forward to seeing and other people you meet when you’re there. It’s nice, you know. It’s nice.
It’s amazing to think that in every town you go to there are a couple people who are interested in poetry and one of them might even be interested in you. But then if you have a really good gig where, like one of my first ones in Cambridge was really good. The room was really packed and we sold books to half the audience and everyone was so enthusiastic and you almost start to think, ‘It’s going to be like this all the time.’ But of course you know that’s insane, it’s not. So you have to have a fairly high tolerance for, not exactly disappointment. The anti-climax. Some time’s it’s just like that, but usually I try to keep it in mind that all I have to do is reach one person. If I reach one person, especially if that’s one person I don’t know, one person who’s not read my work. Then it’s like, I’ve done the job of the night, what I’ve come out to do.
I.R.F.
Related to that; the day to day of doing a tour, with the traveling so much. How much new writing do you get done? I noticed that the DVD’s along with the new book were very transitory in nature. I’m wondering if that’s a reflection of doing these types of things.
(We both talk a bit here.) Trees, movement, cars, buildings.
K.G:
Well I took a lot of that footage when I was out last time, with Case Sensitive. That was the first video I ever did. Um, you know I swore to myself that this time when I was out I would write everyday and I would exercise everyday and I haven’t done either, not one day. This is day 25. Ok, so that didn’t happen, yet.
But, what I do is I kind of, I’ve got the book. And I’m kind of basically reading from the book. Sometimes I read from other things because either the students have read Case Sensitive and not the new one or someone wants me to read from the last chap book or something like that. Basically I read from that. But in order to make it interesting to me I make a new thing out of it, make a new poem out of the poems. So, to do that I read parts of things. You know I’ll read on my set list and it’ll be, ‘first paragraph second sentence.’ Then I’ll flip through the book and I’ll just make new poems out of the thing and by re-ordering it changes it. So that’s the closest thing I’ve done to new writing.
I.R.F.
I notice that that happens in the DVD too. It’s not consistent with the book.
K.G:
No, it’s not consecutive with the book.
I.R.F.
I was watching it yesterday and trying to flip through and catch up. But this kind kind of segues into the next question. The difference between something that’s made to be viewed as a mixed media or multimedia kind of thing with something that is strictly on the page. How do you approach something that you’re making both for film and page differently? Or how do the two relate?
K.G:
Well, the first part of, The Last Four Things, I basically wrote years ago. So that was written for the page. You know I did change it of course. But that was done and that was basically supposed to be the book. The sanitized version is I decided that it needed a second part. Then I wrote Fifty-Six Days. I had fifty-six days for writing, so that’s just where the title came from. And I wrote it in fifty-six days and when I wrote it, as I was writing it, I made the movie. So those two things happened simultaneously. And that was a different kind of movie because I was just taking, you probably read the author’s statement, I was just taking a piece of text. One piece of text I would say and one piece of text I would use as a subtitle. Just to work with that dialogue/subtitle, all in the same language, idea. It was a little bit more like a real film project in the sense that it wasn’t a transcription of the book.
The other one, I’d been doing these experiments. First I made a whole recording of the book. Then I was just fooling around with all the junk I had on film. And I just, I felt like I really quickly tried to make some little parts. Some little parts, some little pages, they’re not poems. But just pages that I liked the best. You know, I was learning Final Cut. It’s pretty steep so the first whole part I was just learning and acting like I had time. But then all of the sudden I was out of time. I don’t know if that’s a good answer.
I.R.F.
No, no it is. Within those two, The Last Four Things (the film version) seems to have a lot more experimental kind of feel.
K.G:
They’re all experiments, where as Fifty-Six Days is just one experiment.
I.R.F.
There even seems to be more of a score to it.
K.G:
Well we did a lot of music for it. We hadn’t intended to. And Max, (her partner) he used to be a musician. Used to play a lot. But he like played for… I don’t even know how long. I can’t remember, it might have been like twenty years. But we were learning garage band together. I was just learning all of these programs all at once.
Did you ever hear of Lynda.com? You should put this in your thing cause you know, it’s great. It’s such a cool place where you can just, for 25 bucks a month, you can go and learn any program for as many hours as you want to spend, you can learn it. So I learned Final Cut and Soundtrack and Garage Band and all these different things. So yeah, we were surprised. We were moving notes around in Garage Band just visually. It wasn’t really like music. It was like that doesn’t sound right, that’s wrong. And we want to have some wrong notes absolutely, but that’s too wrong. Let’s move it to the left. We were amazed it worked as well as it did. Which is still debatable.
I.R.F.
We kind of already hit on it but being aware that something is going to be used for film, how does that visual component affect the writing?
K.G:
See it doesn’t because, for the first thing… Well you know it could but it didn’t in this case because for the first thing the writing was done. So then it was just a matter of, what things did I have that I thought sort of worked together. Or what ones did I particularly like. Still in that I really hate the way I say, ‘to leave home without making the bed’ for instance. It’s practically the first thing and I just hated it. It’s so softy. But I jut couldn’t go back and rerecord it. I didn’t have the time so I had to deal with it. I had to accept it. For Fifty-Six Days it wasn’t like the writing was affected by doing the film except in the sense that doing the film changed my general and broad ideas of what I was writing about. In other words I began to feel like there was a character who was writing in a diary. I was just taking that dated thing as a sort of, ‘will this help me?’ idea because I knew I only had so many days.
I.R.F.
The film component then adds that feel of narrative?
K.G:
Yeah, does it have a little bit of a narrative feel.
I.R.F.
Reading it it didn’t?
K.G:
Right.
I.R.F
But then watching it and having read it.
K.G:
It has a little bit of that thing. So that’s guess, working on the film began to convince me that there was…just a…just a thread of narrative. OR more like the smoke of narrative. I just began to feel like, ‘I know her.’ I know. I get it. I get it. I began to feel that I knew what was going on with her. But it didn’t change the writing as such. The writing was just coming the same way it always comes, just be bringing in all the notes that I had and spreading them all over the floor and trying to say it and just walking around and trying to get into a trance of, ‘What is it?’ I hope that doesn’t sound too wispy but that’s how I do it.
I.R.F.
No, it doesn’t. That sounds like a great approach. It’s similar to my piles and piles of notes.
K.G:
Yeah it’s the same. A lot of people work this way and that’s very, ‘I don’t know what I’m doing until it happens.
I.R.F.
I notice that coming across in Four Things a bit. I was wondering about the ambiguous nature of the work through that and kind of elusive identification of the speaker, as far as age, among other things, is concerned.
K.G:
This is in the first part, that part of the book I actually worked on for years. Fifty-Six Days came together really fast, in fifty-six days. But The Last Four Things I really worked on that for years and it went through a lot of changes and a lot of reorganization. So that was, I could say it was really thought out but I don’t know what that would really mean. I think.
I.R.F.
It was delved into.
K.G:
(Laughs). Yeah, or what I like to think, dwelved. Sort of a combination of dwell and delving. So I dwelved into that pretty hard. I think it’s just a sort of basic fact of my life that now that I’m actually 60 years old a lot of stuff that I’m writing… I’m time traveling. It’s not necessarily about my life but I don’t necessarily feel that old. You know, it’s totally normal. I don’t think that there’s a person alive that ever thought they were 60 years old, at least not until they were 90. As far as I know.
So, there’s also just the thing of, sorry I always do this.
I.R.F.
It’s ok, I’ll write it in. It’ll be in the parenthetical.
(Kate was doing much circular had gesturing)
K.G:
I’m just trying to tune into myself I guess. A lot of people by the time they’re my age, they’ve figured everything out already. They’ve had a whole life, they’ve achieved their success or failure and they’re not really, they’re not like me. I don’t know anybody like me, that’s my age. I know a lot of people who are like me who are a different age. So I think that comes into it. When I picture a character that I’m writing about, she might be like 40. She’d still be in the middle of what she’s trying to do. It all combines. There’s a child, a nine year old girl for instance, who’s lighting the fires. There’s a lot of dream stuff. Like that particular one came from a dream from years ago that I put into a painting. I used to put a lot of words into my paintings cause that’s what I used to do. I was a painter. So I just basically took some sentences from the painting so it’s all very intertwined. You know?
I.R.F.
I noticed in a few specific places. There was the line, ‘the sea can’t stay inside you’ and the other section about having a baby but it being a plant and not the speaker’s baby. There’s this denial of ownership over nature.
K.G:
Speaking personally I’ve never been pregnant. That informs it somewhat. Whoops, dead end. Let’s go back to nature.
I.R.F.
Well it’s a baby and it’s not the speakers in on sense but it’s also not the speaker’s because it’s a plant.
K.G:
Because it’s a plant. I hate to sound like an idiot savant or just an idiot but that’s just a dream. It was a dream I had and it was a very powerfully dream. And I often have dreams about babies and when I do, the love that I feel for the baby, is overwhelming. but I’ve never had a child. And it’s not like I think, ‘Oh, gee I wish I had had a baby.’ It’s not like that. In my dream life it’s almost as if I know about it.
Kate Greenstreet's work can be better explored at her website
International Radio Frequency thanks her for her time and patience in publishing this interview.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
This Week in Digital Thought
So we've been winding down the semester by being overly stressed and putting together a myriad of projects.
Myself, I am working on an emulation of the Japanese poet Kenji Myazawa as well as working on a video project with Mark and Tom.
We've, in the last week, seemed to establish something of a focus out of the seemingly random. I knew we could do it and I commend us for it. Said focus is on the transitory and displaced sense often found in digital work and modern life. Our footage, tied together with the text Mark and I have worked on reflect a sense of narrative with an acknowledged denial of it. I'm pretty sure that's the smart way of putting it.
As for this semester as a whole, I've had a pretty good time with this class and I think have learned a lot. Not only to keep working on as I continue in the digital medium but also something that I can put into my work on the page. I think it's interesting and I can already see it in my work, how an awareness of sound and visual art are beginning to take more of a presence in my work.
On that note, I might write a little more in a bit but I just took a bite of my lunch and realized they've slipped in chicken instead of tofu.
I'm going to go scrape my mouth out now. Please enjoy a selection from the legendary hit makers of the 1980's Hall and Oates
To go on, I believe that this class's purpose, for a writer, is to begin to view text not only as written but also as an image, an action, and as sound. It's helped me immensely and I look forward to further study within this digital realm. Also the concept of remixing is in direct correlation with my own work, as I base a lot of my revision and poems on cut up technique.
So, yeah, those are my thoughts. I look forward to the remix class and taking this medium past experimentation and into more serious implementation in my writing.
Kenny Loggins
Myself, I am working on an emulation of the Japanese poet Kenji Myazawa as well as working on a video project with Mark and Tom.
We've, in the last week, seemed to establish something of a focus out of the seemingly random. I knew we could do it and I commend us for it. Said focus is on the transitory and displaced sense often found in digital work and modern life. Our footage, tied together with the text Mark and I have worked on reflect a sense of narrative with an acknowledged denial of it. I'm pretty sure that's the smart way of putting it.
As for this semester as a whole, I've had a pretty good time with this class and I think have learned a lot. Not only to keep working on as I continue in the digital medium but also something that I can put into my work on the page. I think it's interesting and I can already see it in my work, how an awareness of sound and visual art are beginning to take more of a presence in my work.
On that note, I might write a little more in a bit but I just took a bite of my lunch and realized they've slipped in chicken instead of tofu.
I'm going to go scrape my mouth out now. Please enjoy a selection from the legendary hit makers of the 1980's Hall and Oates
To go on, I believe that this class's purpose, for a writer, is to begin to view text not only as written but also as an image, an action, and as sound. It's helped me immensely and I look forward to further study within this digital realm. Also the concept of remixing is in direct correlation with my own work, as I base a lot of my revision and poems on cut up technique.
So, yeah, those are my thoughts. I look forward to the remix class and taking this medium past experimentation and into more serious implementation in my writing.
Kenny Loggins
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I've been confusing ambiguous and equvical for too long
So in working on the project I've been trying out a lot of different things either while moving and filming or just sitting the camera down and allowing it to pick up what it can.
This has lead to a juxtaposition between the transitory and the seemingly still and is somewhat of a focus for our project. We're exploring the concept of capturing movement, either as a result of moving or being still while other things are.
A lot of footage we shot yesterday was on the light rail in Denver. It reminded me quite a bit of this Michele Gondry video.
Also, I think a bit of the focus is in on the idea of allowing things to blend, equivocating various footage through text and through mash up and forcibly viewing them at the same time.
I guess the idea is to offer glimpses or suggestions of narrative while at the same time denying it's advance into the video itself. Ya dig?
By tying things together we are suggesting there is a relation but by focusing on the transitory nature of the train footage we are also suggesting the idea of movement without destination and without relation. I picture that, if this were written rather than filmed, the main character would be constantly aware of what it is to be human. "This is me riding a train, going to the grocery store, shitting in a public restroom even though I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea" and so on. What the film will suggest is that all of these things are equivocal. No one thing is different from the other because they are all human things. (Unfortunately Mark was uncomfortable with the idea of filming anyone using a public laboratory, prude, so that won't be in there. Here's another Michele Gondry film relating to such a topic. (To be truthful I never brought the idea up to Mark. I guess this makes me the (I'm making a square sign with my index fingers right now)))
Here's a video that kind of relates to that. I'm really interesting the idea of someone misinterpreting things, whether on purpose or through the eyes of someone, in a sense, socially autistic.
I've been trying to find examples of the things we're working on or that are influencing my thoughts and am having trouble. Along with the equivocating of things I also imagine we'll slowly begin mislabeling things and placing more and more juxtaposing images together.
I have this vision of the "speaker" of the video as being hyper aware of the relative nature of being. Kind of an Allen Watts type of deal. Here's a link to him talking about Moksha. Listen to it, as the video is kind of lame.
Also, David Byrne thinks like this. At least the voice in a lot of his songs does. Like, "Don't Worry About the Government." I see the video as the life through that guy's eyes, kind of. We still have two weeks to drastically change things around.
These are my thoughts.
This has lead to a juxtaposition between the transitory and the seemingly still and is somewhat of a focus for our project. We're exploring the concept of capturing movement, either as a result of moving or being still while other things are.
A lot of footage we shot yesterday was on the light rail in Denver. It reminded me quite a bit of this Michele Gondry video.
Also, I think a bit of the focus is in on the idea of allowing things to blend, equivocating various footage through text and through mash up and forcibly viewing them at the same time.
I guess the idea is to offer glimpses or suggestions of narrative while at the same time denying it's advance into the video itself. Ya dig?
By tying things together we are suggesting there is a relation but by focusing on the transitory nature of the train footage we are also suggesting the idea of movement without destination and without relation. I picture that, if this were written rather than filmed, the main character would be constantly aware of what it is to be human. "This is me riding a train, going to the grocery store, shitting in a public restroom even though I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea" and so on. What the film will suggest is that all of these things are equivocal. No one thing is different from the other because they are all human things. (Unfortunately Mark was uncomfortable with the idea of filming anyone using a public laboratory, prude, so that won't be in there. Here's another Michele Gondry film relating to such a topic. (To be truthful I never brought the idea up to Mark. I guess this makes me the (I'm making a square sign with my index fingers right now)))
Here's a video that kind of relates to that. I'm really interesting the idea of someone misinterpreting things, whether on purpose or through the eyes of someone, in a sense, socially autistic.
I've been trying to find examples of the things we're working on or that are influencing my thoughts and am having trouble. Along with the equivocating of things I also imagine we'll slowly begin mislabeling things and placing more and more juxtaposing images together.
I have this vision of the "speaker" of the video as being hyper aware of the relative nature of being. Kind of an Allen Watts type of deal. Here's a link to him talking about Moksha. Listen to it, as the video is kind of lame.
Also, David Byrne thinks like this. At least the voice in a lot of his songs does. Like, "Don't Worry About the Government." I see the video as the life through that guy's eyes, kind of. We still have two weeks to drastically change things around.
These are my thoughts.
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