815 lines
19 KiB
Plaintext
815 lines
19 KiB
Plaintext
BENJAMIN HENRY <BH4781%ALBNYVMS.bitnet@UACSC2.ALBANY.EDU>
|
|
|
|
====================================================
|
|
I am pleased to bring to you the second virtual
|
|
edition of inter\face. As I stated in inter\face 3,
|
|
"inter\face is an offering." Take this as a
|
|
gift and enjoy. Comments are appreciated.
|
|
email to BH4781@rachel.albany.edu.
|
|
====================================================
|
|
|
|
|
|
inter\face 4
|
|
|
|
March/April 1993
|
|
|
|
she was upstairs crying: finch, leaf,
|
|
build. God. are bristles of our sour heart.
|
|
her hair like it always did. tired old brown
|
|
books. rush of air given a nickname....>
|
|
well-used binoculars.
|
|
|
|
he fell into the trough: to melt her face
|
|
against the wall "bed of lists".
|
|
I say that. can't comfort me. she gets the
|
|
urge to be vulgar - meshes - divination
|
|
rinsing smoke in the childish field.
|
|
|
|
fingers understand hands
|
|
borne from the trees
|
|
I love this thing
|
|
whispering between us
|
|
|
|
believing it has body.
|
|
|
|
from Elizabeth Robinson's Bed of Lists & John Malboeuf's
|
|
Whispering Loud
|
|
|
|
===================================================================
|
|
Part Two of "Inter\face Is:"
|
|
|
|
interface is to charm burden from
|
|
talisman
|
|
our mother is the
|
|
ship we're in
|
|
good to record
|
|
the passage
|
|
imperfect &
|
|
immanent
|
|
|
|
-ky
|
|
|
|
Now I dream in text, floating
|
|
through tabs on a white rectangle.
|
|
Inter\face is physical; I can touch it.
|
|
|
|
-bh
|
|
|
|
sometimes i forget what interface
|
|
is. then there it is a bookmark
|
|
tucked in days. to know where
|
|
we stand. our pages a-flutter.
|
|
|
|
-nd
|
|
=============================================================
|
|
cover collage by: Benjamin Henry
|
|
|
|
=============================================================
|
|
contributors:
|
|
|
|
Emily R. Novak
|
|
|
|
Lisa Schapiro
|
|
|
|
Marc Guillaume
|
|
|
|
Wilma Kahn
|
|
|
|
Katie Yates
|
|
|
|
Nancy Dunlop
|
|
|
|
Benjamin Henry
|
|
|
|
Kurt Lohr
|
|
|
|
Join Malboeuf
|
|
|
|
Michael Basinski
|
|
|
|
======================================================
|
|
Emily R. Novak
|
|
|
|
Illinois Retrograde
|
|
|
|
Dead grass/candles/a fire in the woods.
|
|
Two mouths open and staring in at the
|
|
flames in the freezing cold, warming
|
|
themselves as the snow starts up. And
|
|
no one realizing I woke up to the
|
|
rocking backward.
|
|
|
|
No one believes you when you say the
|
|
will has been separated, when there are
|
|
pieces of things and nothing whole. A
|
|
surface disguising a bruise
|
|
|
|
(So the preface reads, two roads next
|
|
to each other on a stage. The speaker
|
|
moves above one for each particular
|
|
monologue. One's facing the mountains,
|
|
one's facing flatlands, fields of corn
|
|
up to your knees.
|
|
|
|
You could say they mean exactly
|
|
opposite things. The flatland a return
|
|
to innocence, the mountains a desperate
|
|
escape to overcome it. But it's the
|
|
same thing)
|
|
|
|
Back and forth it's the same thing.
|
|
An ocean of stars.
|
|
Cement roads breaking down, running for
|
|
the woods.
|
|
|
|
Two bodies in a wood house in the
|
|
mountains and she can do nothing but
|
|
record details. The smell of wood
|
|
burning and the sound of its collapse.
|
|
The lamps made out of tin cans. The
|
|
lake freezing.
|
|
|
|
ballooning outward/ like a body sore
|
|
from reclaiming
|
|
|
|
============================================================
|
|
Katie Yates
|
|
|
|
2.10
|
|
|
|
having not seceded successfully into
|
|
"where are you. I have been... etc."
|
|
roses as usual my/sincerest effort to
|
|
see ^ not in the/a Blakean sense so
|
|
much as you might have imagined my hand
|
|
in it -you know- revocable Woman {rich
|
|
by night & day} - the rich plays on
|
|
sensibility on which we rest in assured
|
|
Avenue steps. So much the light tender
|
|
play [A] And you in equality that is
|
|
light's grateful inequality - smell old
|
|
humor happiness both half stalked
|
|
Poeima Nouthelikon. Cythrigen (shepard
|
|
mother) "Love forever" my nest is
|
|
arable" tabernacle globe command air
|
|
and fortune. The emblem of saturn of
|
|
waiting still for the return: Glauki,
|
|
Talei, Kumodike, Nesalie, Speiro, Thoe,
|
|
Halie, Kumothoe, Actaie, Limnoricia,
|
|
Melite, Iairo, Amphitoe, Aguai, Poto
|
|
and Proto, Pheirosa, Dunamene, Doris
|
|
Panope, Galetia, Nemertes, Apseudes,
|
|
Kallianaissa, Klumini, Ianeira,
|
|
Ianassa, Maira, Oreithya, Amatheia of
|
|
the deepest bath "but we ran ahead of
|
|
it all" - you might be the other girl
|
|
of lime by the intimacy of eyes of
|
|
restiveness of heart to breathe the
|
|
fire of these cares blow your smile at
|
|
me in aspect. I sent thee a poem late
|
|
and always slow "will not hurry a path"
|
|
in windfall in honey rush of snow
|
|
(Voice Off). Any other > Transmute.
|
|
The old fields permit us this stay.
|
|
Say how you knew that grammar. initial
|
|
dove. initial blue. initial light
|
|
arrogance. not the foreplay of an
|
|
hectic insistence. cells above earth
|
|
until metal moon carve bone say cut
|
|
cherry wood obtrude yellow gloss for
|
|
now: silence is useless: a hull: a
|
|
fruit: see: love: wet root from
|
|
shadow limned face of cold. infinite
|
|
water. the chiasma of blossom.
|
|
addressed between grates boarded
|
|
against the darkening darkening (or
|
|
Winter rose) to fetch: she hid in the
|
|
drunken sand row. born stinging of the
|
|
crane fire just scarcely midnight blue
|
|
dispersal * sun: a world to climb in
|
|
nectar's clock-wise enumbrance copper
|
|
round our rubric intrusions: After a
|
|
night of thinking ebb of the whole arm
|
|
white gold autumn flashing infinitely
|
|
burgeoning would not further divide the
|
|
80 flowers.
|
|
|
|
---------------------------------------------------------
|
|
The Return of Painting
|
|
|
|
from having no money
|
|
from trying to sleep w/him
|
|
what she tried to but (an
|
|
orange, an egg, a cabbage) a
|
|
misery of sequencing (cropping}
|
|
finding) out horizontal & vertical
|
|
breaking up the Fiction: the same as
|
|
her, her extreme surface
|
|
& the orange in-the-darkness runs
|
|
// ( the complete child hood waking)
|
|
is astonished ~ quietly his long arm
|
|
quietly, very happy, very water, (an
|
|
ape is always drinking) congregate near
|
|
to me. be
|
|
helpful. on the outset.
|
|
|
|
walking, curled up
|
|
on the metal deck
|
|
then sleeping on
|
|
the floor, a baby
|
|
in the dark chewing
|
|
|
|
to see into maybe
|
|
happens with the
|
|
towns all around us
|
|
caring about you
|
|
so it could be the -
|
|
only hanging
|
|
low
|
|
|
|
call (if) a prayer
|
|
just-the-sky
|
|
just-the-desert
|
|
|
|
just go out in the sky
|
|
just going out in the sky just this
|
|
very gentle manner
|
|
above: the streetlight blue sky
|
|
insand: door opened
|
|
|
|
---------------------------------------------------
|
|
2/14
|
|
"And is the inside of this"
|
|
L.S.
|
|
|
|
"The Night"
|
|
come lightning thru the lattice
|
|
(the inside of this)
|
|
recording? Come
|
|
lightly to beg
|
|
cannot drop
|
|
her body
|
|
into her mind
|
|
&
|
|
(that night)
|
|
young sole
|
|
hostility
|
|
come in
|
|
fall
|
|
|
|
force the body to bruise Ohio body
|
|
bodily going down is
|
|
constellation/consolation
|
|
it is empty: a tiny
|
|
matchbox
|
|
|
|
holed up in her apartment
|
|
or not floating - (married)
|
|
the dead body outside her
|
|
having nothing to hide (cardboard)
|
|
weeping swimming among (others)
|
|
car goes in the sun
|
|
over sawdust kissed
|
|
being ill - the terminal
|
|
acutely ravine with rain
|
|
because her eyes (charity)
|
|
Jump. Cling. To Return.
|
|
so clear. so beautiful.
|
|
loving beforehand
|
|
openly - a part
|
|
& she wanted to
|
|
convince -him-
|
|
Red Sea
|
|
|
|
the magnolia tree
|
|
|
|
crush of trees assuming
|
|
they would part brushing
|
|
hot
|
|
|
|
just go out in the sky
|
|
just going out in the sky just this
|
|
very/gentle manner
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She gets out. Expresses. Her body is
|
|
the car. Between the. Just keep his
|
|
eyes open.
|
|
from the heat of weeping (in him)
|
|
utterly despondent. [matching aprons]
|
|
buds on the
|
|
trees. Slate cored. The same as sand.
|
|
Not spoken between them. Not coming
|
|
Her on. Gentle kneeling. As Galileo
|
|
opening the bud. Layers to avoid it.
|
|
Crumbling
|
|
metal. Glowing poppies. Withdrawn
|
|
from her. The fan turning. My body.
|
|
Withdrawn from her. A long time to
|
|
escape.
|
|
|
|
Glowing poppies
|
|
We see this.
|
|
Not using the mind
|
|
But-only one
|
|
|
|
Door opened
|
|
"Orion"
|
|
|
|
===================================================
|
|
Lisa Schapiro
|
|
|
|
Lucy in the Sky Doesn't Live Here
|
|
Anymore: The Sequel
|
|
|
|
You sit
|
|
belly on your lap
|
|
facing your computer
|
|
lawyer-shirt strewn over
|
|
the back of the
|
|
old couch.
|
|
|
|
You smell
|
|
of cigarettes
|
|
and car fresheners
|
|
as you stare and stare
|
|
straight into the screen,
|
|
taking a second out of
|
|
every few
|
|
to smoke another cigarette
|
|
out in the garage
|
|
or make a comment
|
|
about the television show
|
|
filling the family room.
|
|
|
|
You will be sitting there
|
|
until maybe eleven or twelve at night
|
|
then get into bed
|
|
reluctantly,
|
|
with a new day of litigation
|
|
or client meetings
|
|
ahead.
|
|
|
|
How did magic tricks
|
|
and teaching me to use the wok
|
|
drawing me pictures to show me
|
|
the principle of time travel
|
|
become this?
|
|
How did you
|
|
lose your childhood altogether?
|
|
Mom says:
|
|
back when daddy had a personality...
|
|
but you do still, you must.
|
|
|
|
The man in the undershirt
|
|
once wrote poetry
|
|
i know, i have a copy of the booklet
|
|
it wasn't great poetry,
|
|
but it rang of your inner depth
|
|
your mental strength
|
|
that I have always admired.
|
|
|
|
You once had a brother
|
|
who I never got to meet
|
|
he was crushed by a truck
|
|
when he was sixteen years old
|
|
and you have never mentioned him to me.
|
|
You used to light up smiling
|
|
young and full of dreams
|
|
all the time.
|
|
Despite your younger brother
|
|
who I think you purely forgot.
|
|
How much of your brightness did you
|
|
bury with your baby brother?
|
|
|
|
Or were you happy --
|
|
Grandma always liked him better.
|
|
How much of your brightness remains?
|
|
|
|
Now you pour your brightness
|
|
into the computer
|
|
you let it sing to you in the garage
|
|
with your cigarettes
|
|
but you don't put my finger
|
|
in the make believe guillotine
|
|
anymore or show me how
|
|
you can make a little gold
|
|
butterfly locket
|
|
appear out of thin air.
|
|
You put that locket around my neck
|
|
and I told everybody
|
|
that daddy did magic
|
|
at the living room table
|
|
just for his little girl.
|
|
That was when you were
|
|
my infallible daddy
|
|
that was when i didn't
|
|
wonder about your past
|
|
your inner feelings
|
|
that was when you came
|
|
before any other man in my life.
|
|
Somewhere that changed.
|
|
|
|
Now
|
|
Every once in a while
|
|
you embrace me
|
|
or tell me a joke
|
|
or play ghost with me
|
|
and I see daddy again.
|
|
Why can't I be your
|
|
little girl anymore?
|
|
Why doesn't you magical computer
|
|
astound me
|
|
as did your magical tricks?
|
|
|
|
=======================================
|
|
John Malboeuf
|
|
Kurt Lohr
|
|
Nancy Dunlop
|
|
|
|
Subj: easy listening
|
|
|
|
n-
|
|
|
|
sorry that you disappeared friday, but
|
|
you were lucky you missed the fight.
|
|
thank you for the tape. and happy
|
|
birthday. kurt and i would like to
|
|
take you out for beer when chance
|
|
comes. who is on that tape? i do like
|
|
that one song that you played earlier
|
|
best...
|
|
|
|
for the record...
|
|
|
|
caverns echoing externalities
|
|
am i digging now or
|
|
sweeping up nether stairwells
|
|
she is spinning
|
|
thru the hole in my clouds
|
|
nos lavamos
|
|
we wash ourselves
|
|
but from where we started
|
|
in the crinkled ocean waves
|
|
in the corral reef
|
|
under the sweet bed light
|
|
winding carving my way thru
|
|
your mountain valleys
|
|
searching for forbidden city
|
|
between sanctuaries
|
|
hand over hand
|
|
except for regulars
|
|
there is no balance or contradiction
|
|
which finds itself ringing
|
|
in tabernacle urgency
|
|
we grow to carrier pigeons
|
|
saving face
|
|
|
|
a bridge in nowhere
|
|
for people i am
|
|
to take them back to
|
|
nowhere but i care about nowhere
|
|
where is nowhere
|
|
i could be real negative here
|
|
or technical
|
|
the situation would agree
|
|
this too can settle to
|
|
small pockets of water
|
|
at the tops of highest mountains
|
|
bridge bridge repair my bridge
|
|
Donde esta?
|
|
stacked natural
|
|
bridges and mountains
|
|
only the most delicate flora survive
|
|
|
|
but we can
|
|
get back to this
|
|
sometimes the escarpment
|
|
opens to wider waters
|
|
the causeway between
|
|
risk and wrong
|
|
has collapsed
|
|
contrary action
|
|
adequate
|
|
impulsive organism a bridge
|
|
this tiny animal does swell
|
|
beyond the petri dish
|
|
understanding what fire is
|
|
or smoke or trees in spring
|
|
city limits
|
|
sky line permits
|
|
brief glimpse of what
|
|
is to come. city limits
|
|
to repeat to
|
|
WE HAVE TO STAND UNDER THE ROOF
|
|
la mesa de noche
|
|
el lavaplatos
|
|
the arc is the support
|
|
situations don't explain themselves
|
|
|
|
if there were just a little more $$
|
|
or a bridge
|
|
from here <mine>
|
|
to there (YOU)
|
|
hair pin turns
|
|
through jaded issues
|
|
|
|
<<<<<<GUITAR SOLO>>>>>>
|
|
|
|
see: our sky filled
|
|
aeroplanes dragging
|
|
words thru holes
|
|
in young clouds.
|
|
left lane closed
|
|
must rely on the right side
|
|
to think... it's not easy
|
|
being me
|
|
finding it like coins
|
|
in grass
|
|
webs continue
|
|
poking up over division
|
|
deadbeat
|
|
lost no i am found
|
|
Donde esta?
|
|
all its angles
|
|
water running over
|
|
sections under place
|
|
abetted factions we are
|
|
close now parked
|
|
and buffeted by wind
|
|
|
|
<<<<<<DRUM SOLO>>>>>
|
|
|
|
=======================================
|
|
Wilma Kahn
|
|
|
|
julie glass cat
|
|
|
|
give me a cat with its head in a can
|
|
give me a glass ashtray half sunk
|
|
in artificial jungle at joy fong's
|
|
give me a julie head wrapped
|
|
in a doll's cap or bandage
|
|
|
|
a cat head stuck in an orange juice can
|
|
drags its butt along oakland drive
|
|
i pull at the can but the cat
|
|
bats with front claws
|
|
|
|
glass ashtray what is your secret
|
|
why are you sunk
|
|
crystal ship in an artificial forest
|
|
you oddity you queen you idol you idyll
|
|
|
|
red hat/white cap covers your head
|
|
you are abrasive and fragile
|
|
as red coral a bandage a tuft of hair
|
|
you point to a hollow a vein
|
|
here they give chemo
|
|
|
|
orange cat hesitating on the edge
|
|
to walk in the road to end
|
|
mike tears off the can and
|
|
i think i see a sick eye
|
|
the cat bounds away
|
|
a man comes out to watch
|
|
|
|
the ashtray
|
|
i'm not taking it out i say
|
|
not me says mike
|
|
let it stay a transparent wreck
|
|
in a dry green sea
|
|
|
|
i try to pull off the orange juice can
|
|
to what horror of cylindrical head
|
|
or bare brain
|
|
i saw a sick eye
|
|
the cat bounded away
|
|
|
|
julie jewel you odd egg
|
|
tufted with stuff
|
|
hair growing back a new color
|
|
old hair out new hair in
|
|
odd egg brown/white odd egg
|
|
|
|
orange cat orange juice can
|
|
faced like a gas mask turning here
|
|
turning there what can you
|
|
see hear smell
|
|
|
|
glass ashtray jaunty smile
|
|
light glints glass ashtray
|
|
planter/divider glass ashtray
|
|
I don't want to see
|
|
|
|
and julie how could i tear off
|
|
the red hat fling
|
|
the bandage from patchy head2/13
|
|
|
|
the can must come off
|
|
how can a cat breathe
|
|
have a head shaped like a can
|
|
not know even without
|
|
seeing that cars can kill
|
|
|
|
glass ashtray what do you hold
|
|
i want to know no i don't
|
|
it is indelicate to want to know
|
|
i want to know i want
|
|
|
|
glass ashtray come to me
|
|
i summon you to rise from the wreck
|
|
to julie jewel to uncover the egg
|
|
to give it air to smell and hear
|
|
and taste to cat to cat
|
|
freed of can to run to bound
|
|
a rabbit cat to bound
|
|
across a black man's yard
|
|
glass ashtray what is your miracle
|
|
what is your julie jewel
|
|
glass ashtray a cat with head
|
|
shoved in a can glass ashtray
|
|
julie jewel unravel your bandage
|
|
let your tricolor egg breathe
|
|
|
|
=======================================
|
|
Benjamin Henry
|
|
|
|
Window
|
|
|
|
1. I look out from a view
|
|
not including myself
|
|
except one shoulder,
|
|
two hands, a lap -
|
|
I feel hair -- imagine a
|
|
reflection, faintly:
|
|
|
|
Apples creating caterpillar webs,
|
|
shreds, spillage
|
|
semen strewed about the room,
|
|
I declare necessary
|
|
-something-
|
|
specific presentation, ode(or)
|
|
intimate,
|
|
a frost would/could no closer touch
|
|
nimbly, nimbly
|
|
follow close
|
|
imagine fallow fodder,
|
|
simplicity --
|
|
wave form(at) [and]
|
|
boca-mouth-art
|
|
suspension
|
|
tongue-checked
|
|
(So I am)
|
|
|
|
whipped, snap, attack, flow,
|
|
angry me to(o) lean close [if ever]
|
|
I knew : the distance!
|
|
Shimmering like lightning, striking
|
|
notes of discord unsounded,
|
|
traced in [white] light,
|
|
outlined by a deep, blue sky.
|
|
|
|
II. I know this reflection
|
|
must not end, I allow
|
|
her purification smoke
|
|
to cleanse.
|
|
|
|
C. frozen lattice clings
|
|
to smooth surface,
|
|
|
|
tumbling, trembling,
|
|
|
|
watching the sky for power
|
|
surges, melting heat-
|
|
the pot handle,
|
|
boiling steam,
|
|
|
|
(visible.)
|
|
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
Tomorrow.
|
|
|
|
Grant it, darn it, grant it,
|
|
wait for the apocalypse, forgotten,
|
|
those outdoor elements fixed,
|
|
the cement holds their path-rail,
|
|
|
|
trodden, crowded,
|
|
I look for an exit sign, glowing,
|
|
glowering
|
|
redAngryMad
|
|
above me,
|
|
over the
|
|
doorway...
|
|
|
|
I do not notice the people dash by,
|
|
they are running from crumbling ruins,
|
|
toward the forest, taking the highway,
|
|
|
|
(umber midden, streamy, teary-eyed,
|
|
lash beaten, frogged, stampede!;)
|
|
|
|
-call out for that echo-
|
|
|
|
-wait for its return-
|
|
|
|
=======================================
|
|
Marc Guillaume
|
|
|
|
Lottery Luck
|
|
|
|
Sucking my batteries that were
|
|
charged by photovoltaics. I try not to
|
|
think this when I think, but it's true.
|
|
I pat my pocket. Mini-array still
|
|
there. I've got a full charge but I 'm
|
|
still nervous. This could be a lollg
|
|
story.
|
|
It started when I won the lottery,
|
|
don't you know. Everything starts with
|
|
money, I'm not stupid. It was a
|
|
special lottery lump sum and all.
|
|
Suddenly in my lap, a couple of
|
|
million. I never bothered to count.
|
|
I'd always wanted to be one with
|
|
everything. I'm a Zen going way back.
|
|
Read the Tao of Pooh, don't you know.
|
|
Owl is my hero. Smart guy.
|
|
So I hired this scientist. He
|
|
said he was well qualified. Something
|
|
about neuro-physics, neuro-networks,
|
|
neuro-stanford doctorate. Meant nothing
|
|
to me. I just called him doc. He
|
|
didn't mind. He only wanted money.
|
|
I guess that's the problem. He
|
|
said he could have given me a better
|
|
battery if he had more money. Could've
|
|
made it possible to trigger Implant (I
|
|
call it my higher self) with my mind
|
|
(what ever that is) instead of
|
|
something he called a physically
|
|
stimulated activation switch. "You
|
|
mean, like a light switch so I can turn
|
|
on the light in my head?" I thought it
|
|
was funny. He said he could have put a
|
|
self-diagnostic in; keep me healthy and
|
|
make me live longer, he said. Too bad
|
|
I didn't have any more money. He even
|
|
said he could give me perfect memory.
|
|
You guessed it, more money.
|
|
So I win a lottery, (don't
|
|
remember entering) and all I have left
|
|
is a bit of silicon in my body and some
|
|
batteries that will only accept charge
|
|
for another 2 years. I wonder what
|
|
part of me has all the stuff? I used to
|
|
know. Sure do need that memory
|
|
enhancer. Need money.
|
|
What, do I put a want-ad on some
|
|
network? (or even the paper!) Youth
|
|
with able body and very able, computer
|
|
enhanced mind needs work. Who's hire
|
|
me? McDonalds, but they'll hire
|
|
anyone, any time, always. Must be some
|
|
kind of universal truth.
|
|
|
|
=======================================
|
|
Michael Basinski
|
|
|
|
Vase From a Pillow Book
|
|
|
|
The working fluid must
|
|
be contained in these
|
|
erotic vessels of an
|
|
adequate size and shape
|
|
for the physics in hand and
|
|
made of cormorants and
|
|
humming-birds in human form,
|
|
one of them preparing a
|
|
liquid in a little receptacle
|
|
over a bonfire and stirring
|
|
it with some implement, while
|
|
a cormorant lifts a
|
|
vessel in an arbor of a
|
|
man and woman making love,
|
|
but it has characteristics
|
|
that we do not find in other
|
|
cultures, in the presence of flames,
|
|
this radiation will mainly be
|
|
extremely soft cloud tracks.
|
|
===================================================================
|
|
-------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
inter\face is published by HUB Press down in
|
|
the basement of the Humanities building at
|
|
SUNY Albany. We use Mircosoft Word for
|
|
MacIntosh on a Mac IIci and Microsoft Word
|
|
for Windows 2.0 to convcert to ASCII to
|
|
upload to the network. Anyone interested in
|
|
contributing or helping please e-mail to
|
|
BH4781@rachel.albany.edu.
|
|
--------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
|