Friday, June 29, 2012

Interview with Jaap Blonk

Gary Barwin, Jaap Blonk, and Gregory Betts

Very delighted to have Gregory Betts' and my interview with Jaap Blonk now online at Jacket2.

Gary Barwin: Selected Audio, Music, & Sound Works

light in the branches of moon

a selection of my music, audio, and sound works involving language

[my recently updated PennSound page]



Wednesday, June 20, 2012

My computer music setting of "If I Told Him" by Gertrude Stein

"Let me recite what history teaches. History teaches."

Monday, June 18, 2012

How I became Barbie

My body is Gertrude Stein’s body
My body is Ezra Pound’s
My body is Goofy
My body is Marilyn Monroe
My body is a tree’s body
My body is Billie Holiday’s body
My body is a mollusk
a veranda
My body is, like the sky, only an idea
My body is the entrance to a cave
My body is a Lascaux of Happy Meals
My body is a streetcar
My body is Oprah Winfrey’s
My body is petrochemical
of Blackbeard the pirate or Johnny Depp
of Lady Gaga, Jackie Robinson, a Lada
My body is Lassie Come Home
My body is Lassie’s
My body is the body of Golda Meir
of Heidi Klum and of Seal
My thighs are cream cheese
fried egg, lax
I have Twiggy’s body
I have the body of Walt Whitman
My body is Spanish Colonial gold coins
the body of Venus de Milo
of her arms
My body is always outside
My body lies over the ocean, in a trunk
My body is Virginia Woolf’s
My body is D. radiodurans
My body is Leopold Bloom’s
My body is Queen Victoria’s body
My body is Friedrich Nietzsche’s body
when at rest is Albert Einstein’s body
when dancing, Sir Isaac Newton’s or Martha Graham’s
My body is James Brown, John Brown, Valerie Bertinelli
My body is the Venus of Willendorf
is Arnold Schwarzenegger
My body is Barbie

*   *   *

And while we're talking bodies: Here's a recording of the Spoken noire "A Body in the Trunk," by Kerry Schooley and BumpHEAD.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

I remember writing this...

for Pearl Pirie

The future’s formation being contingent on whether or not there was irony, several weeks before.
I remember writing this.

How many butterflies inside the light bulb?
The dark night of the soul.

A chicken finds its way across the slick tarmac to the egg.
It has to want to be born.

I remember.
A small movement of the wings of a hurricane.

My ears.
Courage is better than no courage.

In the tree, a shopping bag, a breathful, plastic trembling.
I remember writing this.

A piece of string, a priest, and a Polish firefighter walk.
The dark night.

There is only one parachute.
Light, color, and form are refracted rather than digested by irony.

The butterfly
The chicken.

I remember writing this.

Thursday, June 07, 2012

Sunday, June 03, 2012

Saturday, June 02, 2012



Eyefuls of pollen blinked away behind a wall are as much a solution to war as anything.


It was by speaking curling and without fruit, but earnestly and with a viola, that we learned the origin of language.


At night, a man says ‘night,’ says ‘Darfur is being taken care of by another God.’


I look at the well and say, be well. In this way, I am God and the well is well.


The sultan thought about the glimmer of the maidens. The maidens thought about the glimmer of the maidens. They all thought about the glimmer of the sultan. Then they poisoned his fruit.


He said, God is the Gatling gun of Elves killing things in the forest. The antlers and the sky: what is above the bull’s-eye, the Elves said.


Build the roof without thinking of the sky. Sleep between the wise and also between night and day.


Night ditches anger in a sudden ditch. Laughter kills man with laughter.


They are not real stars, but dummy stars. All arguments over ownership of the observation require a Faustian bargain and explosives.


Without guts, Beirut, or talent, how can there be friendship?


Divining morals from the preceding sayings is like taking a shower with a pig. Both organisms end up cleaner.


From the ditch, the mother of words sees the punctuation of stars.


Those who would taste the richness of life should not be afraid to mispronounce words when their mouth is full or punctuate the world with their teef.


Do angels have dreams about being anxious gunslingers? A groundless earth, nature without green, mankind with gloves but no fingers, only the idea of a deer to a bullet.


Without seams, day is night, and night is trousers with neither seat nor legs.


To drool on one’s own hat when one is wearing it, means one is no slave.


Written on a monument outside the school for war: What kind of upbringing do mica have? What makes their lives hurt?