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previous events

  • The Book from the Sky

    by Robert Kelly

    North Atlantic Books

    $15.95 List Price

    For more info visit:
    Amazon • IndieBound • Barnes & Noble

    You and Three Others Are Approaching a Lake

    by Anna Moschovakis

    Coffee House Press

    $16.00 List Price

    For more info visit:
    Amazon • IndieBound • Barnes & Noble

    Robert Kelly and Anna Moschovakis Readings in Contemporary Poetry

    Robert Kelly Robert Kelly is the co-director of the Program in Written Arts at Bard College. His first book of poems was published in 1961 and his most recent books in prose are the novel The Book from the Sky (North Atlantic/Random) and his fifth collection of shorter fiction, The Logic of the World…

    Robert Kelly

    Robert Kelly is the co-director of the Program in Written Arts at Bard College. His first book of poems was published in 1961 and his most recent books in prose are the novel The Book from the Sky (North Atlantic/Random) and his fifth collection of shorter fiction, The Logic of the World (McPherson & Co.). He has also written substantial texts responding to work by Brigitte Mahlknecht, Philip Taaffe, Nora Jaffe, Matt Phillips, Heide Hatry, Sherry Williams, Barbara Leon, Nathlie Provosty, Susan Quasha and others. Kelly lives in the Hudson Valley with his wife, the translator Charlotte Mandell.

    Section 53

    But if you burn a log a wolf has pissed on

    in deep winter but it’s summer now

    some strange night cold sugars of his appetites

    will dance in smoke above the franklin stove

    filling the parlor with outrageous schemes

    lust and bite and midnight chase

    close that old book

    old wolf is trotting still

    no need for memory

    forget the meat you bit or bite

    don’t let melody resolve

    so quick inside the harmony your head

    the malady of intercourse

    there are sentence patterns here

    you have to learn from listening

    the opal sky gives way to grey and then to pearl

    a little rain a little wind and thou

    asleep beside me be wilderness enow

    I wolf my way through the light

    guided by cloud contours

    brisk northwind shoves the sky out to sea

    secateurs and flowers

    only voices here no people

    bodies come later

    after the linguistic conventions are established

    it’s time for meat

    and Entities come down to the surface of earth

    to take up residence in the pronouns

    to inhabit the language they had to make

    flesho-mechanical bodies to manifest and control

    the organs of articulation needed to speak

    then ears to hear then hands to cover them

    when the information grows too thick

    and the Entity yearned for opalescent repose

    east of the sea

    where the strayed voluptuary tries to think of something else

    only the images count

    ignore the propositions

    they’re just armatures

    to wind our bright things on

    that teach us how to be and touch and to mean,

    only the images

    the story’s for the sake

    only of the instruments deployed

    the scythe and the haystack, lipstick in the canoe.

    I saw you part your lips last night

    standing beside the bed I got in first

    for a change you were putting lip balm on

    standing there in your blue peignoir

    and this is heaven I understood,

    Eden was an accidental suburb of this moment

    a cluttered Levittown of heaven,

    heaven that is here now, thingly and will-free,

    apocalypse of This.

    Anna Moschovakis

    Anna Moschovakis is a poet, translator, and editor. Her most recent books are You and Three Others Are Approaching a Lake (Coffee House Press, 2011), and The Jokers (New York Review of Books, 2010), a translation of La violence et la Dérision by Egyptian-French novelist Albert Cossery. She is also the author of a previous book of poems, I Have Not Been Able to Get Through to Everyone (Turtle Point Press, 2006), and translator of novels by Annie Ernaux and Georges Simenon. She teaches at Pratt Institute and in the Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts at Bard College. Moschovakis is also a longtime member of Brooklyn-based publishing collective Ugly Duckling Presse. She lives in South Kortright, New York.

    from Death as a Way of Life

    It began:

    1. Life is not fair

    2. How can I be happy while others suffer

    3. How can I not be happy while others suffer

    4. Others will suffer whether or not I am happy

    5. It is not the suffering of others that causes my happiness

    6. It is not the not-suffering of others that causes my unhappiness


    I have been attracted to the idea that naming is a form of violence

    but does that mean we should go around calling everyone Hey You

    which seems like another sort of violence

    even though it is a way of recognizing the other

    as other

    What can be said on this point?

    $6 general admission; $3 Dia members, students, and seniors

  • How Long

    by Ron Padgett

    Coffee House Press

    $16.00 List Price

    For more info visit:
    Amazon • IndieBound • Barnes & Noble

    Ron Padgett and Thomas Devaney: Readings in Contemporary Poetry

    Unbalanced tokens, check your syntax…

    Ron Padgett

    Ron Padgett was born in 1942 in Tulsa, Oklahoma. His poetry books include How to Be Perfect (Coffee House Press, 2008); You Never Know (Coffee House Press, 2002); Great Balls of Fire (Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1969; rev. ed., Coffee House Press, 1990); His Collected Poems is forthcoming from Coffee House Press in November 2013. His most recent translation, with Wang Ping, is Flash Cards by Yu Jian (Zephyr Press, 2010). In 2012, Padgett edited The Collected Writings of Joe Brainard for the Library of America, and his collection of poems, How Long (Coffee House Press, 2011), was a 2012 Pulitzer Prize finalist. Padgett lives in New York City.

    Cake Sonnet

    Whenever someone says

    “He wants to have his cake

    and eat it too” I know

    what they mean

    but wonder how someone

    could eat their cake

    without first having it.

    Would it not be better

    to say “He wants to eat

    his cake and have it too”?

    I think so, and I hope

    that you will too.


    Marie Antoinette

    Thomas Devaney

    Thomas Devaney was born in 1969 in Philadelphia, PA. He is a poet, teacher, and editor. He is the author of The Picture That Remains (The Print Center of Philadelphia, 2013); A Series of Small Boxes (Fish Drum, 2007); The American Pragmatist Fell in Love (Banshee Press, 1999); and the nonfiction book Letters to Ernesto Neto (Germ Folios, 2005). He is the editor of ONandOnScreen, an e-journal featuring poems and videos, and teaches at Haverford College, Haverford, Pennsylvania. He lives in Philadelphia, PA.

    Darkroom Diaries

    Diary found in a darkroom at Moore Women’s College of Art,

    dated 1972

    Tuesday September 19th

    The fresh air will kill you.

    Tuesday Sept 26th

    The radio in the next room tuned to a classical music station

    all night.

    Tuesday Oct 2nd

    Eskimo headgear in the Museum.

    At Shelley’s drug-store kids rode up on their bikes and handlebars.

    Tuesday Oct 9th

    Fell asleep on bed while smoking, woke up to smoke everywhere,

    ran outside with the smoldering navy comforter.

    Tuesday Oct 16th

    A piece of scrap paper found in my pocket: “But there is still time

    to save the lives of your children” written in pencil.


    My legs are dolphins that cut across the surf.

    Tuesday Nov 2nd

    Awake again: sleep, dream, the Andy William show, drink.

    Some people came in wearing trench coats.

    Tuesday Nov 9th

    Susan said it’s forbidden for our pictures to echo

    the objects they depict; nothing looks like that,

    she said, but it’s allowed, it’s allowed

    for the world to look the way it does.

    Fine words those.

    Tues Nov 16th

    One more night, still here.

    Tuesday Nov 23rd

    Some nights you skip.

    Tuesday Nov 30th

    Cold Sunday afternoon grandmother’s block in Orange NJ: the

    smooth slate pavements where I rollerskated as a kid are all broken

    up by the massive roots of the old red oaks. Took many photographs.

    The many sides of the sidewalk.

    Tuesday Dec 6th

    The tunnel leads to probably the deadest area in the city.

    Sonny Rollins

    playing St. Thomas.

    We are not found out.

    Only Debbie’s dog Trixie and me

    dancing the Calypso.

    The rhythm and tune and Trixie’s large bright eyes.

    She’s no dummy only a perfect patch-work

    of black & white & brown.

    Take a solo—upright bass tenor sax & drums.

    No that’s not a real solo—that’s the bass, high hat

    & Trixie—Saint Trixie herself!

    Tuesday Dec 13th

    Prints are not reproductions. Susan said this is a mistaken idea.

    What you’re looking at is a photograph: how something looks there.

    After class Lara said: “There are many good reasons not to quote

    Julius Caesar. That is all I will say,” she said.


    Undated Entries:

    Glamour: a starlet in an Alp’s ski town.

    It doesn’t just happen in novels; it doesn’t just happen in the movies.

    “It's theater for somebody, somewhere.” And It loved to happen in

    every diary I’ve ever read. Like Marcus Aureoles always said:

    Be not too eager & Who needs speed? Thanks for the book Dad!


    bodies. thresholds.

    Two or three hundred color snapshots on the bathroom wall.

    Flawless Sabrina through the door—

    “No saints in three acts,” she declares.

    On your mark, get set, pull back—

    Jack D’s electrical tape face lift.

    Two more Moore Menthols for the tall lady in the livingroom,

    the top few buttons of her purple dress open, her hairy chest, beautiful.

    She’s been getting a blow job for the past fifteen mins.

    DD (who took me here to meet Jack) was checking around on the plants;

    now he’s at the fireplace making (and partly burning) Jiffy Pop

    buttered popcorn as it erupts through the tin-foil—


    Peter Hujar’s reclining portrait of May Wilson: a photographic

    Matisse—the color of the arabesque only richer in the silver print

    (the black-and-white).

    I want to love in that world.


    From the time I was twelve I wanted to marry Van Morrison.

    What a jerk.


    Avedon and Baldwin’s disturbing and gorgeous Nothing Personal.

    (The black glossiness of the black borders). That we are all custodians

    of something more—every face an argument against cultural suicide,

    and suicide itself.


    Vinegar, Mayo, Hardboiled Eggs. No Thanks.


    A picture postcard from Ingrid:

    Her light sail-boat penmanship on the back.

    Steel Pier Atlantic City in soft watercolors on the front.

    The watercolors are the color of water taffies.

    Someone said that they made up all those flavors down there,

    but it’s a lie, a beautiful lie.

    $6 general admission; $3 Dia members, students, and seniors