[Local events] Spare Room Presents: Brown, Warren, Waitr, July 1st 7:30 @ The Waypost

Maryrose . maryrose at gmail.com
Tue Jun 19 20:27:52 PDT 2012


Brandon Brown, Alli Warren and Zosia Rose Wiatr
*Sunday, July 1st*
*7:30*
*
*
*The Waypost* <http://thewaypost.com/>
*3120 N. Williams Ave*
*503-367-3182*
*
*
*$5.00 Suggested Donation*

Upcoming Readings

*July 8 *Judith Goldman, Chris McCreary, Jenn McCreary
*July 29 *Jared Stanley, Chris Piuma
*August 12 *Chris Pusatieri, Michelle Naka Pierce, Stephen Vincent

*Brandon Brown*'s first two books were published in 2011,*The Persians By
Aeschylus* (Displaced Press) and T*he Poems of Gaius Valerius
Catullus*(Krupskaya.)
Poems and prose have recently appeared in *Postmodern Culture, Model Homes,
Poetry Project Newsletter, Swan's Rag, Try!*,and*Art Practica*l.   He has
programmed literary series at New Langton Arts, 21 Grand Gallery, several
consecutive living rooms, and published small press chapbooks under the
imprint OMG!  He lives in San Francisco.

*Alli Warren* is the author of *Grindin* (Lew Gallery), *Acting Out *(Editions
Louis Wain), *Well-Meaning White Girl* (Mitzvah Chaps), and *Cousins* (Lame
House Press). With Michael Nicoloff, she wrote *Eunoia* (Abraham Lincoln)
and *Bruised Dick*. Recent writing appears in* Lana Turner Journal, Saginaw*,
and *Where Eagles Dare*. She co-edits the Poetic Labor
Project<http://labday2010.blogspot.com/> and
lives in Oakland.

*Zosia Rose Wiatr *is a graduate of The Evergreen State College, where she
received a BA with a concentration in poetics and French. She engages
regularly in salons, sharing and critiquing literary works. Her poems may
be found in various publications, among them *Slightly West *and James
Yeary's newsletter, *Canned Lumen*. Zosia is the founder of *Boisson/
Artiste*, an online interview column dedicated to a dialogue with fine
artists who also work in coffee or tend bar. She always encourages writers
to send her their work via post, thus beginning a poetic correspondence.

*SWAN OPTIONS*

I've got $300,000 in speculative futures and this
is my last monster poem.  I'm cashing in, going to Lake Merritt
and laying in the grasses fine with the dog shit on my loafers,
in luv with swan shit on my glasses. I'm surrounded
by the ghostly voices of peasants displaced so Lake
Merritt could be hollowed. Where their huts stood
now loiter pampers. It's tough to be a peasant and try
to camp in the center of financially charged orgiastic development.
J'ai vu le cygnet et il m'a ouvert les yeux. I saw
a swan. I've got shares of British Petroleum and 300,
000,000,000,000,000,000
lyric poems cobbling inside my
diaphragm and not one is grotesque
or monstrous. Walking away from a mine and squatting
by this gleaming slag of avian shit it's cool.  Clacking kayaks.
Thumping cardiovasculars. the fame of my monster poems
leads me to reflect that I am one of the
top 20-25 monster poets of all of the Internet. I stop to pant,
fix my cravat and stunt by the mob of swans at the lake's edge
Then I read the writing on the sign:
WELCOME TO LAKE MERRITT
HOME OF THE LAKE MERRITT MONSTER

*Brandon Brown*


FARMER GOES TO THE POKEY

"whitney houston athens burning"
is your boyfriend as wasted as mine?
thru which my subjectivity is enunciated
in the multifunctional administrative city
twenty igloos and a trading post
the reed people, the selfish herdsman
standing motionless against the melee
enchanted by ruins sometimes
there's free leftover cake
to bid an ear to multiplicity
as one is compelled, deprived
of what might multiply desire
peat moors on the Penine hills
the draining of the marshes
uncalled helmet to helmet
on the sack of Smith
Sui Sin Far is my CNN
one machine serves another
the doctors say I'm fine
wherever the regime is laxest
collapse is pregnant
O degenerate utopia
unstoppable great green egg
help me with this nebulizer
break the squire's gates
people have the right
to put a car in a bra
the Igbo have no king

*Alli Warren*
*
*
*From Sheet Music: A Few Short Pieces    *
*
*
*Part I: Creation Myth*

Debussy said, your harmonics
move me, but where is your form,
you deliver no balance?

So Satie placed a round green pear on the table
and it swelled like a woman,
you could smell it like a woman

when it split into three worlds,
which you could tell apart
by discrepancies in dynamic tension
penciled between measures*. *
*
*
*Zosia Rose Wiatr*

*Maryrose Larkin*
*Writer/Researcher*
*
*
*maryrose at gmail.com*
*503-819-9455*
*
*
*http://www.northwestresearch.com*
*http://maryroselarkin.blogspot.com*
*
*
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