Tuesday, June 14


The Kootenay School of Writing Presents

Sam TRUITT + Maryrose LARKIN + David WOLACH

Tuesday June 14, 2011

People's Coop Books
1391 Commercial Drive


SAM TRUITT is the author of Vertical Elegies 6: Street Mete, Vertical Elegies: Three Works, Vertical Elegies 5: The Section, The Song of Rasputin, Anamorphosis Eisenhower, and Blazon. Truitt was born in Washington, DC, and raised there and in Tokyo, Japan, and holds degrees from Kenyon College, Brown University and the University at Albany. He currently teaches in the Language and Thinking Workshop at Bard College and is Managing Director of Station Hill Press in the Hudson Valley, where he lives. For more on Truitt, including his AV works, go to www.samtruitt.org 

1 from Verticle Elegies 5: The Section

my first discovery of nature was through television
on the roughly cemented brick wall out back a block of sunlight
the world began to take its form in and will
task the mind

a scherzo of branches flung crisscrossing into the sky 
that is not a human but a mirror
all our lives we have sacrificed to the golden calf
braced with coffee and semen like the heroes of old
where the dirt's been rubbed away
being a ploughperson of thought at the cutting
explosions the wind littered with candy wrappers
the night soft and clear, no wind blows quiet
the cracks which although beautiful are hang-ups
but it would have been so different if only we had wrecked
a few miles downriver

MARYROSE LARKIN lives in Portland, Ore. where she works as a donor researcher. She is the author of Inverse (nine muses books, 2006), Whimsy Daybook 2007 (FLASH+CARD, 2006), The Book of Ocean (i.e. press, 2007), DARC (FLASH+CARD, 2009), The Name of this Intersection is Frost (Shearsman Books, 2010), and Marrowing (Airfoil, 2011)
Larkin is one of the organizers of Spare Room, a Portland-based writing collective, and is co-editor, with Sarah Mangold, of FLASH+CARD, a chapbook and ephemera poetry press. She is currently working on  "Twenty Questions for Five Masters" a play for Language Master and voice.


Broken how                                                
and I cant
grey blinked
and mixed into                       
then less than against
her crossing ladder  alone              
the sentence swimming           
until the concrete cracked
joy contained wilder
a self-eyed wave
reading as reading
greater than
spinning or standing
less than cell
spun framed and found


DAVID WOLACH is editor of Wheelhouse Magazine & Press and an active participant in Nonsite Collective. Wolach's first full-length collection, Occultations, has just been published by Black Radish Books. Other books include the multi-media transliteration plus chapbook, Prefab Eulogies Volume 1: Nothings Houses (BlazeVox [books], 2010), the full-length Hospitalogy (chapbook of the same title forth. from Scantily Clad Press, 2011), and book alter(ed) (Ungovernable Press, 2009). A former union organizer and performing artist, Wolach's work often begins as site-specific and interactive performance and ends up as shaped, written language. Recent work appears in or is forthcoming from Jacket, Augfabe, P-Queue, Try Magazine, No Tell Motel, and Little Red Leaves. Wolach is professor of text arts, poetics, and aesthetics at The Evergreen State College, co-curating the PRESS Text Arts & Radical Politics Series there, and is visiting professor in Bard College's Workshop In Language & Thinking. Wolach is currently touring with the experimental music-sound text ensemble Performance Research Group, performing Kenneth Gaburo's opus Maledetto, as well as original works.

Postoral Poetics of Holiday Inn Express from Hospitalogy
on the lamp that is hanged 

cathexis glaze,

eulard was an asshole-
no who am i shouts hang
at your pool's edge we can

about the deep end.

i ordered chicken
wings to flap after midnight,
had to devour a devour-
ing mode, mastication is not
like you,

in the morning a newspaper
went unread

i must be
from a small town.

among our easily
vacuumed hallway carpets
how they smell
of hair closeup and without

i am sure of one thing:
absent destination
beyond icemachine
and those flat 

paper flowers,
hot spreads
of daily atrocity
in 300 words or less,
our language is a future

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