Ron Silliman

Under Albany

• Broschiertes Buch

Produktbeschreibung

"Under Albany is the shadow movement of Ron Silliman's epic of everyday life, The Alphabet. Silliman provides a set of extended, vividly etched, mostly autobiographical, meditations on the background for each of the original 100 sentences of his 1981 poem Albany. This constructivist memoir provides an exquisitely rich exploration of the relation of context to reference, subtext to meaning, back story to presented experience, and composition to poetics. All of Silliman's work unravels and reforms in this exemplary and exhilarating act of attention, recollection, and reflection." --Charles Bernstein

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Produktdetails

• Verlag: Salt Publishing
• Seitenzahl: 112
• Erscheinungstermin: 15. November 2004
• Englisch
• Abmessung: 216mm x 140mm x 7mm
• Gewicht: 152g
• ISBN-13: 9781844710515
• ISBN-10: 1844710513
• Artikelnr.: 22264054

Autorenporträt

Ron Silliman has written and edited over 30 books, and has had his poetry and criticism translated into 12 languages. He has worked as a political activist, editor, and market analyst. Among his honours, Silliman was a 2012 Kelly Writers House Fellow at the University of Pennsylvania, and the 2010 recipient of the Levinson Prize, from the Poetry Foundation. His sculpture poetry (Bury Neon) is permanently on display in the transit centre of Bury, Lancashire, and he has a plaque in the walk dedicated to poetry in his home town of Berkeley, although he now lives in Chester County, Pennsylvania."Called a 'thaumaturge' ('wonder-worker') by the poet Robert Duncan, Silliman has created a new kind of writing from the simplest materials.... The poet confides, describes, extols, remarks, puns, paints domestic scenes, slyly alludes, records minutiae, leaps to large statements, arouses, repeats. Through it all, a friendly, northern California sort of personality emerges." -David Melnick, San Francisco Chronicle"What I find most striking about Silliman's sentences is that they're fun; they give pleasure in many different ways, through their wit, their allusiveness, their visuality, their phonetic texture, their descriptive precision, or their sheer unlikeliness." -Roger Gilbert, Contemporary Literature"Of all the language poets, Silliman's express-line writing was and is the one that stuck to my ribs. It was so thingy, so specific, so formally radical, so hard-headed, yet witty, and now and then, in spite of itself, lyric. I liked his post-industrial music. I loved Ketjakand Tjanting and Paradise... And the reach-the compulsion to pull everything in." -C.D. Wright, Jacket

Inhaltsangabe

* If the function of writing is to "express the world." My father
withheld child support, forcing my mother to live with her parents,
my brother and I to be raised together in a small room. Grandfather
called them niggers. I can't afford an automobile. Far across the
calm bay stood a complex of long yellow buildings, a prison. A line
is the distance between. They circled the seafood restaurant, singing
"We shall not be moved." My turn to cook. It was hard to adjust my
sleeping to those hours when the sun was up. The event was nothing
like their report of it. How concerned was I over her failure to have
orgasms? Mondale's speech was drowned by jeers. Ye wretched. She
introduces herself as a rape survivor. Yet his best friend was
Hispanic. I decided not to escape to Canada. Revenue enhancement.
Competition and spectacle, kinds of drugs. If it demonstrates form
some people won't read it. Television unifies conversation. Died in
action. If a man is a player, he will have no job. Becoming prepared
to live with less space. Live ammunition. Secondary boycott. My crime
is parole violation. Now that the piecards have control. Rubin feared
McClure would read Ghost Tantras at the teach-in. This form is the
study group. The sparts are impeccable, though filled with deceit. A
benefit reading. He seduced me. AFT, local 1352. Enslavement is
permitted as punishment for crime. Her husband broke both of her
eardrums. I used my grant to fix my teeth. They speak in Farsi at the
corner store. YPSL. The national question. I look forward to old age
with some excitement. 42 years for Fibreboard Products. Food is a
weapon. Yet the sight of people making love is deeply moving. Music
is essential. The cops wear shields that serve as masks. Her lungs
heavy with asbestos. Two weeks too old to collect orphan's benefits.
A woman on the train asks Angela Davis for an autograph. You get read
your Miranda. As if a correct line would somehow solve the future.
They murdered his parents just to make the point. It's not easy if
your audience doesn't identify as readers. Mastectomies are done by
men. Our pets live at whim. Net income is down 13%. Those distant
sirens down in the valley signal great hinges in the lives of
strangers. A phone tree. The landlord's control of terror is
implicit. Not just a party but a culture. Copayment. He held the
Magnum with both hands and ordered me to stop. The garden is a luxury
(a civilization of snail and spider). They call their clubs batons.
They call their committees clubs. Her friendships with women are
different. Talking so much is oppressive. Outplacement. A shadowy
locked facility using drugs and double-celling (a rest home). That
was the Sunday Henry's father murdered his wife on the front porch.
If it demonstrates form they can't read it. If it demonstrates mercy
they have something worse in mind. Twice, carelessness has led to
abortion. To own a basement. Nor is the sky any less constructed. The
design of a department store is intended to leave you fragmented,
off-balance. A lit drop. They photograph Habermas to hide the
hairlip. The verb to be admits the assertion. The body is a prison, a
garden. In kind. Client populations (cross the tundra). Off the
books. The whole neighborhood is empty in the daytime. Children form
lines at the end of each recess. Eminent domain. Rotating chair. The
history of Poland in 90 seconds. Flaming pintos. There is no such
place as the economy, the self. That bird demonstrates the sky. Our
home, we were told, had been broken, but who were these people we
lived with? Clubbed in the stomach, she miscarried. There were
bayonets on campus, cows in India, people shoplifting books. I just
want to make it to lunch time. Uncritical of nationalist movements in
the Third World. Letting the dishes sit for a week. Macho culture of
convicts. With a shotgun and "in defense" the officer shot him in the
face. Here, for a moment, we are joined. The want-ads lie strewn on
the table.