4X2 or FOURBYTWO BOOMING ALONG IN BEATNIK TIME

The 8th issue of FOURBYTWO is out from the hands of Klipschutz and Gaulke. If my scan of its contents seems askew, that's in honor of the skewedness of the layout of this particular issue and also of the "poems as in process" of  some the poems by James Schuyler (Pulitzer Prize in 1981 for The Morning of the Poem) included herein, plus the variety of the  typefaces for the various poems by Klipschutz, Rene Ricard (also, like Schuyler, deceased) and Schuyler. Of the three, only Klipschutz (latest, A Visit To The Ranch) is not deceased. The poetry as always is interesting and entertaining. Who could ask more of poetry than that?

As for myself, recently long lost in novel and short story and screenplay writing, poetry has fallen by the wayside, it's little vowels scattered and broken by the winds of fiction. All I have to report is that I'm plugging away at the short fictions I hope to imprison together into a book probably by the end of the year. Other stories are drifting into my imagination to be written for the first time. BUT, will I? At 78, I almost think I hear a gallop of creativity thundering over the far horizon, coming my way. Or, maybe, it's only the sound of my horse drawn hearse. 

FOURBYTWO ON BOARD THE GOOD SHIP BOOMERBEATNIK

Ten days between entries here. Sorry. Last night and this morning, this old writer got to work and submitted five short stories for consideration at five literary magazines. Also sent two more queries about my novel, Programming Frank Singletary. Feels productive. My reading at this time is the anthology, Cutbank 83, which I received as part of my unsuccessful entry into its recent short story competition. Some of the work within its pages fascinates me. A style I don't yet understand, but I'm willing to understand, at least as willing as Copperfield's Barkis ever was. I believe some young writers might be trying to write stories as robots might write them or by revealing their tales through the eyes of a person without free will. Not sure. Just a guess. I'd like it to be true as it's about time writers align ourselves with the facts. I may be too old to catch up or on.

Also, the most recent FourByTwo is in my hungry clutches. As usual, the look of the little magazine is classy and the poetry sassy. That word choice and rhyme are almost so awful they ought not be connected to the fine thing that FourByTwo is. I'm showing you a couple of poems that are by klipschutz. The other poet is Michael Earl Craig. Craig, by the way, hails from Dayton, Ohio, my own birthplace. Most of the time, I select for sample the poet who is not klipschutz, but this time I went the other way. This is not a comment on Craig's work. It's just that I thought klipschutz ought to have a turn in this blog. Money is becoming an issue for them. Doesn't it always?

SIGH OF RELIEF BOOMS OUT

Still, I'm working on the final chapter of Programming Frank Singletary, but I'm over the hump, the anguish subsided, and happy to be saying what I want to say at the end of a pornographic novel about sexual obsession. Should wrap up this rewrite within a day or two. 

Also, reading with respect and affection the most recent FOURBYTWO, subtitled, elsewheres. The poetry of Klipschutz and translations of several German poets by Scott J. Thompson are inside. Thompson's translation skills from the German are beyond my talents to evaluate but reading the English versions is satisfaction enough for me. Below is one of Thompson's translations of Georg Trakl's (1887-1914) imagistic poems:

SLEEP
Be damned, you dark poisons,
White sleep!
This most eccentric garden
Of twilit trees
Full of snakes, night moths,
Spiders, bats.
Stranger! Your abandoned shadow
In the sunset,
A sinister corsair
In the salty sea of anguish.
White birds flutter up at night's edge
Over collapsing cities
Of steel.

RUSHING THROUGH WHILE BEATNIKING OFF

Wow, moving swiftly through the rewrite of The Porn Writer. Already done with Chapter 22 and only four more chapters to go. I don't know how this will be received by women agents, and women agents are the majority of literary agents these days. It's full of long passages of pornography that the old porn writer is writing in despair of any success in more literary fields and the pornography of his primarily sexual encounters with Cora, a victim of incest. But the novel is about sexual addiction from a man's point of view, rather than from a woman's point of view, even though everything I put in the novel about Cora I learned from women who were victims of incest. Don't worry, Cora is not based on any real woman. She's a conglomerate. Though I treat my hero, Frank, very unkindly, I'm trying to make the point that when a victim of abuse hooks up with a victim of abuse, it's a dance they do for which they both are responsible, even though our society is always quick to blame the male because he's physically stronger.

Also, the Spring 2015 issue of 4x2 is in my hands and, as always, the book itself is well made and interesting and the poetry of Klipschutz and Michael Hannon is sterling silver. Here's a sample of Hannon's work: 

THE MUSE

I don't go to her, she comes to me,
red with unspeakable crimes, and her hair is a black wind
annihilating worlds to get at the door in my bed.

It takes forever to get her clothes off,
and I don't have forever.

I'VE GOT AN ACCORDIAN IN MY HANDS ... IT PLAYS ITSELF

I've got the latest FOURBYTWO in my grubby little hands, and it's designed anew again, by gosh and by gum and by Jeremy Gaulke. I've had it for a week about. This time it opens out like an accordion with the front and back covers as separate ends. Is it musical? Yes, and cryptic too, the songs. I can't say too much as I'm drained from fighting county hall commissioners who show up in priestly robes occasionally to drop their version of their God upon our skeptical and doubting heads and molest our blithe spirit with their Teapublican rue. 

Don't ask me why!

Maybe I'm just vulnerable, but Sandra Beasley's poem, "The Hotel Devotion", snuck right in between a couple of my ribs and found my heart [the seat of all poetical emotions]. It's too long to show here, so, this time, you gotta buy and read it. Klipschutz is inside too, nailing all the sidewalls up tight so the ocean won't drown you. I've got to go to the dentist now. I'm including a poetry review of FourByTwo from another source. See here!

FOURBYTWO IS A KNOCKOUT PUNCH

I now hold the latest FourByTwo in my hands, the Fall 2014 edition, the Los Angeles edition. I can't tell you how this tiny book affects me. Wait a minute ... yes, I can! It's delightful, magical, unique! FourByTwo is hand crafted by Jeremy Gaulke who has now departed for the East Coast, Virginia, making the book bi-coastal, and edited by klipschutz who still prowls his old haunts on the West. 

Order an issue or subscribe here. I'm telling you it's production values will be remembered as time goes by. It's a visual and tactile sensation to hold in your hands. The book's uniqueness resides in the fact of how lovingly the fine poetry is treated within the structure of an imaginative and beautifully designed book. Artistic far beyond selecting cover art, each issue is one of a kind! 

This issue of FourByTwo features the poetry of Paul Fericano, John Tottenham and klipschutz. Sample below.

THE SIGN OF THE DOUBLE CROSS

In the name of the Bogart,
and the Cagney,
and of the Holy Edward G.
Amen, see?

                   Paul Fericano

Delightful, eh?

BEATNICK A PATH TO FOURBYTWO / 2 ENTRIES IN 1 DAY

The Summer Issue of FOURBYTWO is in my hands, and a fine production it is, put together by Kurt Lipschutz and Jeremy Gaulke in association with Luddite Kingdom Press of Yakima/San Fransisco. This issue features the poetry of Klipschutz (Kurt's nom de plume) and Joie Cook. Very small and beautifully conceived, it cries out to be held and appreciated both for the poetry and for its polished and intriguing format. Altogether a handsome thing in a small package. You should get your hands on it as quickly as possible. The Spring Issue, I've heard, disappeared quickly. The poems aim for cultural relevance and are droll observations of the times we live in. Klipschutz's "Apples" is a brilliant send up of Steve Jobs, and, here, I'll give you the whole of Cook's 

TO AN INTELLECTUAL MODERN

we were born
in the same century,
i presume;
and from the same tribe
of carnivorous apes
we emerged,
craving warmth, shelter and food;
then three nights of babylon hit!
some cappuccino was ordered,
computers were down at the club,
and there you were,
strapped to canvas at the museum,
being perfectly analyzed.

SILENT BOOMER THRASHES THROUGH ANOTHER STICKY THICKET

The plot gets twisted....

This week has been a good week for writing, but I did learn a painful lesson about plotting. Awhile back, I jammed a different Chapter -7- into the novel, then renumbered all the chapters that followed. I added the chapter because I felt I wanted to complicate the plot at that point and, secondly, to add some danger for PI Manning for the purpose of hyping up the excitement. I thought the novel might be dragging. Well, the plot complication I added created other unforeseen complications that couldn't be resolved in a plausible manner. Each time I moved from one chapter to the next, I'd discover my Chapter -7- complication created many other situations that needed to be adjusted for. The adjustments piled up and each adjustment made other adjustments necessary until the plot became a bog through which my mind could no longer safely travel. This week, I've had to go back and remove Chapter -7- and another later Chapter that was dependent upon Chapter -7- for it's existence. I'm in the process now of rereading and reworking—where necessary—everything after the offending chapter to make sure that consistency prevails. The writer who said that writers must have their plots in order before beginning to write seems to have been correct. I did sit down this week and tried to lay out a plot before continuing, but, goshdarnitall, I just can't see my way clearly through to the end. I like the beginning immensely, and I know, roughly, the ending, but the middle steps aren't clear yet. I just can't imagine, sitting still and waiting to see the plot all the way through. If I do that, I could easily quit writing altogether.

Want to mention an interesting project that friend and poet/song writer, klipschutz, and his pal Jeremy Gaulke have begun. It's a pocket size poetry chapbook, they call fourbytwo. They are trying to develop a zine that is financially sustainable as well maintain a certain level of quality. I like the format, and the poetry, of course, is exceptional. Follow the link to see what it's all about. 

THE BEATEST SILENT BOOMER GETS LOST IN HIS REFLECTIONS

klipschutz

The personality trait about myself hardest to accept is that I'm a writer. Came through to me two days ago when a publisher I queried asked to look at Angie's Choice and also asked for "intended audience, marketing ideas for your work". These days the writer not only writes but he must market his work. Panic! I never took a course in marketing, have no talent for selling myself or the book I've written. The thought of selling myself terrifies me. 

my hidden nature

I don't know marketing from grocery shopping or networking from fishnet hosiery. I've been writing about my life and the reality it exists in since high school with absolutely no financial success or major critical acclaim. If I'm not writing a poem or short story, I've been at work on a novel, most of those unfinished. Those times when I'm not working on creative stuff, I'm pounding away at internet debates with strangers, letters to the editor, emails to friends and family, and essays or journaling, now blogging or Facebooking—thousands and thousands of pieces of my reality all over the place—plus those scholarly term papers when I was in school. Several decades ago I got tired of carrying them around and found a home for them in a dirty green dumpster. Could it be, I ask myself, that I'm trying to disprove the idea that if a writer sticks with it, he'll make it. "Make it" itself is loaded with ambivalence and ambiguity. 

Here's the problem in a nutshell: What is it about a human nature that it must have someone other than itself approve of what it's doing before the value of the doing becomes evident to him or her? At the top, I've included a photo of klipschutz, a poet/songwriter who understands the art of presenting the self. His work is pretty damn good also. Take a look at it. We published him long ago in a microzine wife and I published and edited: George & Mertie's Place.

SILENT BOOMER BOOMS THROUGH ROADBLOCK ...TECHNICALLY

Yesterday, I finally saw my way through the technical problem and came up with a communication system that's plausible. The future of the futuristic novel, Manning, began to have a heartbeat once more. The more you know about how the brain works, the less plausible "thought commands" seem.

photo link

Finger Food Please, George

On other fronts, good things. A poem is to be anthologized in an upcoming anthology out of Printed Matter publishing, Toni Partington's and Christopher Luna's house. Due out in December, I think. Chris and Toni also interviewed me for an article that appeared in our local alternative newspaper, the Vancouver Vector. I also reconnected with poet, songwriter, sometimes journalist, Kurt Lipschutz (aka klipschutz) while he was sailing up the West Coast on a book tour for This Drawn and Quartered Moon. Mertie and I published Kurt in George & Mertie's Place (a monthly microzine my wife and I produced from 1995 thru 2001). Also huffed and puffed up my courage and ventured into Portland to participate at Three Friends open mic, my first reading South of the mighty Columbia River. Featured poet that night was Douglas Spangle whose recent poetry collection, A White Concrete Day, came out from GobQ Books. You can get it at Mother Foucault's Bookshop in Portland.

Today I learned: the more names a writer drops, the longer it takes to get a blog entry finished. Hail Columbia! Roll on!