She balance is not slightly tipping
But the orders in my seed said
Tears are garbaged, sloven
Wears a pithy meaning in the nose-ring in her
Ring in my tree is pink passer
I feel pity it’s a long high good I do
Rosing better ten injunctions on the past moment
If a sin, a key into a boy if not but waiting kill
Kill song the hunting hound is planted
We are lashed together thru the eyes, I give a powder to you
A clear runs sale on Etna hills. Push a button to remind the dead
underneath the dead, the underestimated dread repeating
The dead storing in the living’s garbaged tears are rike very rife-rike
Terrifying police b/w my thigh, a brush with
Danger slightly less if you are bound enough, by depleting kill
By too much, the butt of the gun needs kissing
The dreamings’ eyes closing, bolt.
So this begins a new series here on this Magic Helicopter tumblr, interviews with our authors—to preview, to review, to catch up and feel happy together once again.
This whole thing gets walloped first by Carrie Lorig, author of NODS., MHP’s newest release and the first chapbook in the new Gobble Editions series. Check out what Carrie has to say about what this chapbook means to her, how it developed, and what this book would look like if it were a painting (PLUS MUCH MORE OF COURSE). Then, grab yourself a copy of that wildthing NODS.
Carrie stoked with NODS. at its first arrival.
1.What is this book? What’s it mean to Carrie Lorig? Why NODS.?
a) This book is an attempt to document and give dark/bright life to the sense of being overwhelmed by the world and by the potential to love in the world. It is the hope that swelling will not be a pushing out or closing off but a productive, necessary spilling. These are the wounds that will not be forced to heal, but will change and overlap with each other. This book is built by the idea that a poem can’t and shouldn’t always hold a poem. It is a gleeful and futile attempt to herd a flood of constant, fragmented emotions and desire. It is a reaction to growing up covered in cows and horses and fur and fields and allergies. It is a vocal register set to female and to you and to I and to intimate and to underground. It is lost down here in cloth and up there in sky and in high temperatures and in pools of unashamed shame. My damage is my joy is my handmade canyon is a growth. I want to be able to reach, and I also want to recognize, in a microscopic/telescopic way, how often reach doesn’t or can’t work. How difficult and present light can still be after that! The bodies of words shake like mine does, like my little does. I wanted to give and give and die and die wrapped in leather and dirt. I wanted to flip off cowboys by putting fireworks in their hands as gently as I couldn’t.
b) As soon as I finished writing NODS. for real, I called Jared Joseph, the J who the book is dedicated to, and like…cried while curled up in a ball of a ball of a ball. I was tired of myself, my room, my computer. When I got to the end of the writing, I thought something I could palm would be there. I thought I would walk away with some new tool belt for being a Carrie Lorig and a (trash)human. I expected Werner Herzog to show up with my celebratory beer. This is so contrary to what I stand for poetically (Anne Boyer: I write to undermine perfect confidence). It is so contrary to what I just said above, but nonetheless, I felt oddly displaced and covered in ugly migratory patterns. I don’t mean to linger here so much as to bring us towards a point where I say this book is a documentation of an intense relationship I have with myself re: my relationships with others. Thus, it has to mean everything. However, how it continues to mean and echo and stain glass through me after the fact will go on for a good, long while and at a pace I can’t control. I think, actually, this is how most books mean to us despite our impatient penchant for the quick pay off.
c) Ha! Nick Sturm suggested this title to me like the second or third time we ever talked? ‘Nods’ is something I say on G-chat with startling regularity. IT’S A HABIT. I began typing it as a way to express listening and attentive-ness, which on some level, is poetry’s only ratty bathrobe. And both Nick and Jared, who read a lot of these poems en-route to the slaughterhouse, commented on how strong some of the affirmative emergences of the text were despite the shitty shit that is also there stink waltzing and barfing repeatedly. I hope that can be something a reader can clutch while on the way to Tahiti or the grocery store. Once I had that casual suggestion, I began seeing it everywhere as the only title the book could have. I write by reading out loud, by sound, by mishearing and rehearing and by turning my tongue/ear over and over. So NODS. became an obvious nod to the rhythm and performance that is necessary to engaging with this text. It became the invitation to nod along while I read outloud or while you read to yourself, the reassurance that you won’t be entirely lost in being open to being so lost.
2. What published pieces from the book best illustrate the power and intent of the book?
This is hard. The scatterstate in Everyday Genius, IT CAN’T BE LOVE / IT MUST BE LOVE in Stoked. The cattlehurter in Whiskey Island. You know, this scatter in Jellyfish didn’t end up being in the manuscript, but I still listed it in the acknowledgements because its spirit was therethere, so I’m going to say that one, too. Maim Cattle. Pain holding flowers.
Leif Haven’s small press Persistent Editions has happily created, & here excerpted, my chapbook Hosni Mubarak which is available for pre-order now
Insufferable note about the financial workings of pre-orders:
Small presses have no start-up, & just as often finish with no end-up. They also generally put out the most exciting books, regardless of genre, period. The relationship b/w the two is not coincidental. They do not operate out of market interests; there is no market for great contemporary books. & thus SP’s operate out of sheer dedication to works they genuinely love, & want to ensure gets out there in the world
Pre-orders give small presses the start-up capital they need to disseminate actual physical books after the release date. The more pre-orders at the pre-time, the more books printed in the post-time, & thus the better the chance that a small press doing good does good forever amen. So Carrie Lorig’s amazing, nothing-else-like-it book Nods was heavily pre-ordered, & hence it’s available here http://magichelicopterpress.com/lorig.htm. Pre-order for example Jennifer Tamayo’s book Poems Are The Only Real Bodies because it looks incredible http://www.bloofbooks.com/patorb.html. & pre-order mine too if you feel like it http://persistenteditions.com/books.
“You are afraid of Tuesday I’m going to marry / A skull with pubic hair, a city tangle sound of baby”
Enjoy THE SOUND OF YOUNG AMERICA, a new poem by Jared Joseph up on HOUSEFIRE today!
So this book I wrote is available for preorder now from Leif Haven’s wonderful press Persistent Editions. I am excited & bewildered & here, feel free. http://persistenteditions.com/books
ever have a vantage of the riches, the wealths
cosen him to mandate to you & He’s crumbled
: force. God
the void rubs a vapo
somehow survived tonight’s imagination.
: In signal of his power he will come : a long alliant ar.
of security for your Mister; he will shut your love in
Moses family & of Aaron; the angles have her in their
you as a sign, Waring/waning hug.
shoulders, he told his soldiers : God goes to prove the
with him is thirst : his thirst will not be mine;
alvo drinks the hole of hand) counting herself : hmong
all the rest drank their His thirst. When the way &
traversed the river the rest exclaimed upon the middle
a numerous ugly trope vanquishes a
eal to Pls Gd. God’s a condom
soft sugarwater : that you’ll lack the fear temptation.
mystique god. If they terminate their actions, intone
I know, I know perverser contracts.
like the back room
mouthing, & those secret place makeles below the
opens you, Porres them as they oppress you a
Mister saps the con with coins who fear the Opiteous
within the send a God & it does not appall you, it
manners flocking on your breath an abdomen. Do it
phases moons well, shar crescents pululate the Fiendish
& the visit to the saints’ places
Mamma rots in circles thru her ovarios, & if that
Don’t share : your wooly heads
where you owe one immolated star of being from your
would inform or waltz razors Rausing some sensation
a whole sickle-bodied Currant, continente this, he’s
wrong & crooked lumps the moon
for women : ‘s ccramps, the possessive leaks tos ay it
a slit in which to enter Pardon : of God highly
Money is indeed an ecstasy, a manor in the otherwise ascetic
crenibues CONSERVED THE MEMORY OF
Mathers & haste men to life today. Hey, Men, that say
of ghosts that World of guts. There will have no
Mister, a signature a good part in this World a good
us in the FIRE in the ash mountain of the templ
to g oto them amidsr the TINY BLA BLAS OF
angels, & all the sea commanded all the sees
mortality causes turning unto God.
makes brilliant changes, God favorable, He apprehend this
is for the text that do careen towards the makeles
God atop those [1st. Ed.] on the day of underwear
without telling much about them love.
roundly fascinated like a nation
The deity of the book (The Pent
he truth, to decide among the men’s asses foam the
well, the men don’t pussy to dispute more than they
the evidente surges women threw the
guide to men relieving hazes smile for the truth
to be an object of dispute within permission of the
without heaving : thought sensed the book that
eeded you. Felt them up now well, the disfraces &
were lacy sockets : the adversity until the hasty
& those believing in him had exxclaimed : When
They ash you : They ask you how it’s necessary
Is he not caring the ox of cirling boustrophedonic
them bend & break, your Ma
there’s a manola, lovely Morello smells but with the
Which kind. The apple’s whole cohesive knows its
part with the taste of hit to better known be by God, my
& yet you rake & in aversion take upon yourself
which gives a vantage do you like dancing do you
but you don’t know the damages
Lope the sacred moth, stamped war nto this month Tell
a grave : peeking, part yourself from God’s send & relieve
jumbled, high-jumping expulsión from his rectum to
*The temptation of idolatry is worse than
your ripped shoulders are operas
the ether, a son, those men destined to the FIRE
the women, they all on your Brothers. Good knows to
& that the which does good. He’ll offbeat you if he
surge the better good
women til they don’t relieve. A believing slave’s
dolatrous women even when you like her oven. Don’t
A blowing slave values more than
capitalismo though you hate him more
to the mad floor, proverbially free, so the tread itself
House with shut.
Coming soon from Persistent Editions.