The inevitable Thanksgiving post.

"Thanksgiving Prayer" by William S. Burroughs

Deadline 12/15/08: Fiction, poetry, creative non-fiction

This just in (forwarded to me my the owner of the gallery I just showed and performed at, in San Diego):

Lavandería:

A Mixed Load of Women, Wash and Word

seeks submissions. Fiction, poetry, creative non-fiction

and other dirty deeds signifying sorting, washing, ironing,

folding laundry and life.





Maximum 5,000 words or 5 poems.
Include short bio (50 words or less)

E-mail word doc submission only to lavanderiazspot@gmail.com <mailto:lavanderiazspot@gmail.com> .

For more info go to: http://lavanderiahome.net <http://lavanderiahome.net/>



Forthcoming 2009 from City Works Press

http://cityworkspress.org/submit.html <http://cityworkspress.org/submit.html>

I promised you...

I promised you I would write a happy poem about the heart and struggled with this all day Saturday for the show Saturday night. After Soulon writers Thea, Steve and Tory said or wrote sweet things to me in their unsolicited RSVPs, it came and flowed through me on to the page just in time for me and Draco to make it to the show by 9:30ish...kinda late, but it worked. I did the sad heart set about an hour later, and then closed the show at about 2:30 AM with the new one and then a cover of my absolute fav heart poem by e.e. cummings (sweet William pulled this finale together for me even though everyone was gone or pretty tired by then...and the band members all stopped tearing down and came over to listen...and one of them wanted more so I read one of my sad ones for him and he liked it...told me I reminded him of Frank O'Hara or is it Hera...anybody heard of him??? Anyway, here's the happy poems:)

©11/15/08 Nance Broderzen

There is a love I forget about,

maybe because I haven’t been laid in so long

and my heart feels so destitute,

what with the Agape of the universe in its disappearing act

seeming to forsaken me so long that

I forget about this love.

This love is in the heart and it goes to the heart

from outside the heart and the heart sends it outward all the time.

But its easy to forget about it because

it tends to hide a bit,

because it is not really given the status of love.

Calling it love can be a bit of a phopa,

can scare the source of love away.

I have to call it “source of love” because we can’t call it “lover,”

This love confuses issues and make the loved one leery, when

its called love, can make me leery if I am the source of love,

the giver, sender of this love.

Because the “L” word is so Eros

that we forget about Philio,

forget about friendship

and how much L O V E we get from it.

This love might even be bigger than Eros,

has so many more sources then Eros,

so many more hearts sending and receiving it,

so many more hearts hiding what it really is,

that I too often and maybe you forget it is there.

and this next one I practiced reading to Draco Saturday afternoon...needed him to read this because…whenever I read this poem it makes me feel all the hearts I've ever carried, animal, human (because they're all still there and I feel them all)...and then I feel everyones hearts and all the hearts they've ever carried...then then I just feel too much and I start crying...but I love it...and I actually made it through, because I practiced with Draco, to the very, very second to last word Saturday night, or actually it was already Sunday morning:)

i carry your heart

ee cummings

©1958

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

.

Fun TOY for the playful POET

Soulon friend, Steve D, gave me this really cool cutup machine that I've decided to post here so I always know where to find it when I need it...and also because it's a fun toy that you may want to play with sometimes too.

from Steve:

I got yer Jack Kerouac and I'm gonna raise you a William S. Burroughs.... I don't know if you're familiar with the CUT-UP TECHNIQUE that Burroughs explored with his sometime-collaborator Brion Gysin... but it basically involved cutting up various writings into strips and splicing them together randomly, trusting that some external chaotic force would reorder this word salad into a new and revelatory meaning. HERE, Burroughs describes the technique himself... part of his effort to "exterminate all rational thought."

Somebody created a webtool that's essentially a CUTUP MACHINE (which won't work with all web browsers -- firefox can't handle it,but Explorer can) --

Later, when I was doing research on the dada movement, I found this...from around 1918 or 1924 ...

To Make A Dadist Poem

Tristan Tzara

Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that make up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are--an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though
unappreciated by the vulgar herd.

I hope you have fun playing with this!!!

Nance

SOULON -- This Sunday!