by Stuart Krimko Memoir
I’m sitting up in bed, or on the couch, as it were, where I have been trying to sleep off the slew of vodka-and-tonics I downed last night at our Sand Paper Press reading here in Portland. Shawn Vandor, whose Fire at the end of the rainbow was just reviewed over at Dossier, and I [...]
Tagged as: convalescence, Elizabeth Bishop, Los Angeles, Rimbaud, spring, William Carlos Williams
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by Joe Weil Aesthetics
If I am anything at all, I am a vaudevillian. Considering that vaudville has been stone dead the last 80 years, that’s a hard thing to be, but wouldn’t you want to attend a reading where, first, someone read Elizabeth Bishop’s “One Art” beautifully, followed by a white poodle jumping through a fiery hula hoop, then a great tap dancer, and then a good torch singer doing “Strange Fruit,” topped off by a rousing version of Etheridge Knight’s “All Fucked Up”?
Tagged as: Bengali, Billie Holiday, Elizabeth Bishop, Etheridge Knight, George Oppen, grad students, Hitchcock, John Ashbery, Louise Gluck, Performance, rites of ecstasy, Schumann, vaudeville, Wordsworth
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