Kabuki Mind

Last week at my book group we were all tired and slap happy. There were many belly-laugh moments. From the start Ann and I were making each other giggle. We bumped in to each other at the front door to Dena’s apartment and when I asked how she was doing I thought she said: “ephelant”. I decided that was a combination of elephant and excellent. She was an excellent elephant and so the evening began.

At the end, I said the dinner and discussion had been a “balsam” for me. No one seemed to think that meant what I wanted it to mean, like a balm. Later I did a little online research and found that after all the woody definitions, balsam also had the meaning I had intended: nr.9 was any agency that heals, soothes, or restores: “the balsam of understanding and appreciation.”

In the middle of the evening for some unknown reason we all began to laugh about having a “Kabuki Mind”.  I just fell in love with this, I think, made up term. I still love it in the bright light of a well-slept day. I decided to look up Kabuki to find out more about this Japanese art form. In the process I discovered to my surprise that when this theater form started in the early 1600s it was performed by solely by women! I cut and pasted the wikipedia passage below. Now I’d like to read a more thorough the history of Kabuki.

FROM WIKIPEDIA: 1603–1629: Female kabuki

The history of kabuki began in 1603 when Okuni of Izumo, possibly a miko of Izumo Taisha, began performing a new style of dance drama in the dry riverbeds of Kyoto. Female performers played both men and women in comic playlets about ordinary life. The style was instantly popular; Okuni was even asked to perform before the Imperial Court. In the wake of such success, rival troupes quickly formed, and kabuki was born as ensemble dance and drama performed by women—a form very different from its modern incarnation. Much of its appeal in this era was due to the ribald, suggestive performances put on by many troupes; this appeal was further augmented by the fact that the performers were often also available for prostitution.^[1] For this reason, kabuki was also written “歌舞妓” (singing and dancing prostitute) during the Edo Period.

In kabuki’s nascent period, women were the only performers in the plays. Soon women began attracting the wrong types of audiences and gaining too much attention from men. This type of attention raised some eyebrows and officials felt as if women were degrading the art of kabuki. In 1629, women were banned from appearing in kabuki performances.^[2]

Art Docs: Aakash Nihalani, Red Hook Project, & The Poetry Brothel

I’ve wanted to write about Babelgum and some short art docs on Radar (weekly, series produced by WBP LABS) that I’ve been watching there. Then I saw that they had one about Aakash Nihalani*, one of my favorite street artists and that got moved to type this up today. You might have seen his work around–he creates two-dimensional cubes out of brilliantly colored tape on all sorts of city surfaces. Here’s the short doc on Nihalani. I also like Radar short doc about a community art project in Red Hook**. And this one about a poetry brothel***!

Below are the descriptive  texts from the Radar-produced short docs:
*When artist Aakash Nihalani moved from the suburbs to NYC he was compelled by its symmetry. As an organic response he started laying down tape on the streets and on buildings, creating brightly colored sticker tape boxes framing aspects of the city he wanted to show people, creating tableaus from real life. Both uncomfortable at potentially defacing property by using permanent materials, and enraged at the continued treatment of public artists as vandals, we join him as he brings 3D to his work for the first time, via use of mirrors and passers-by, and discuss why impermanence is important to the acceptance of street art.

**When curator Laura Arena approached MIT’s Luis Blackaller & Andy Cavatorta, her brief was simple: create something that initiates interaction between the inhabitants of the neighborhood. From the Portuguese fisherman to the Projects, to the artists and hipsters, to a new influx of people, Lucky Gallery sits at the crux of several different communities, none of whom talk, but acknowledge each other as familiar strangers. Luis and Andy’s response was to build a miniature version of Red Hook and populate it with photographic doll versions of people they met and talked to on the street. We join Luis and Andy as they prepare for the opening and watch as the element of play in a virtual world impacts communication in the real one.

***Believing that Poets undervalue themselves in the creative marketplace, The Madame, and right-hand man Tennessee Pink, set up the Poetry Brothel in order to confirm in writers the literal monetary value of their work, and also to present Poetry in its more natural form – intimate and sensual over the more standard formal and jilted reading. The collective is made up of ‘Poetry Whores’ who ply their trade at specially arranged events, dressed in turn of the century dress, in character. The creation of character, as both disguise and freeing device enables the Poetry Brothel to be a place of uninhibited creative expression, where both whore and John can be themselves in private.

My Chapbook Between My Teeth

Yesterday I received the best email ever. A first of its kind. A bookstore, Bluestockings in the Lower East Side on Allen Street,  emailed me to REORDER my chapbook Between My Teeth. Reorder because they sold out of the first batch. I’m still on cloud nine. It’s the first time I’ve ever sold my work, the first time strangers have chosen to purchase something I’ve created–with help from my wonderful partner Craig who designed the fabulous the cover. It is a wonderful feeling.

I’ve also had work published online at Diagram. Please go here to view. And they thoughtfully included these poems in their second anthology Diagram.2.

Here’s Craig’s cover:

And here’s are a few of my favorite poems below. I don’t have titles, so I separate them with symbols.

The outline of the day,
-smelling of mustard and tears-
stretched to cover my mouth.

Awake, I imagine on my chest,
a small house filled with sleep,
blankets piled high, midnight blue, plush.

Wrapping them around my eyes, around my feet,
I’m sleepy, yet my mind is busy counting
not sleep, not sheep.

My eyelids close and my lashes flutter,
louder than ever.

***

I walk under a tree,
that fits like a hat,
leaves waving around.

In a bark shirt,
I’m on my knees praying,
for a good new habit.

People are full.
They pull in their feet and hands,
frothing, they carry no weight,
not even their own.

***

Weariness muscles my eyes.
I am tied up in exhaustion knots, yet
sleep has abandoned my night.

I imagine dreams standing in line at 3 am.
Negotiating with sleep, I hide and seek among the wires,
arguing for time to think all my thoughts.

Perhaps you could unfold me,
place kisses on my forehead, on my cheek,
maybe then I could sleep.

***

I’m working on some new poems. One that I really like that’s in the works, is this one:

I went on a walk,
with an almost circle, late in the sky moon,
a glow between clouds,
and a branch.

Turning a corner on the way home,
I looked over my shoulder and saw again,
astoundingly bright near a tree, then behind a veil,
bow down, the bright light.

Poet Cesar Vallejo

I was cleaning my desk an found a small metal box that I packed with little odds and ends including a copy one of my favorite poems by the masterful Peruvian poet Cesar Vallejo. So I thought I’d write a post about him and include this poem, which I’ve read so many times.

Between pain and pleasure there are three
creatures. One looks at a wall,
the second puts on a sad disposition
and the third advances on tiptoes;
but, between you and me,
only second creatures exist.

Leaning on my forehead, the day
agrees that, in truth,
there is much accuracy in space;
but, if the happiness, that, after all, has size,
begins, alas! in my mouth,
who is going to ask me for my word?

To the instantaneous meaning of eternity
corresponds
this encounter vested with black thread,
but to your temporal farewell,
corresponds solely what is immutable,
your creature, the soul, my word.

- Cesar Vallejo, from Payroll of Bones (1923-1936)

I found this poem in one of my favorite books the National Book Award winning Cesar Vallejo: The Complete Posthumous Poetry, 1978 translated by Clayton Eshleman and Jose Rubia Barcia. Now I’d like to buy The Complete Poetry, 2007, translated by Clayton Eshleman.

Comic Notes: Gabrielle Bell

A while back I began to discover comic book/graphic novel artists and among my favorites is Gabrielle Bell. I love her straight forward style and autobiographical storylines. She’s been published by Drawn and Quarterly of Canada which does amazing work.

There has been a growth of graphic novel and comic book shops around town. Three great places I’ve come across are: Desert Island on Metropolitan Avenue in Williamsburg; Bergen Street Comics in Park Slope; Rocketship on Smith Street in Cobblehill; (and my pal Drew directed me to a wonderful one in Portland, OR called Reading Frenzy). So it’s easy to find Bell’s books, support local owners, and to discover great new work.

Added Jan 24: The friendly owner of Desert Island mentioned that Gabirelle Bell has a blog. It’s here.

Ursus Books

In November during the first weeks at my new job the Whitney museum I noticed the sign for a book store above the Carlyle Hotel. It read Ursus Books. I was intrigued, but couldn’t see the entrance. When I asked colleagues they hadn’t been there and also weren’t sure of the location of the shop’s front door.

I forgot about it unless I was walking along Madison in that direction each time looking up at Ursus Books wanting to go in and look around. So right before the holiday break I decided to go into The Carlyle. Seeing a stairway to the first floor, up I went and there it was–a glass door to Ursus Books. I only needed to ring a bell and then I was in a room of what I then told Craig was “big danger” as I immediately wanted  three of the stunning art books one of the tables. It’s one of those places. I then read a bit about the store and saw that it was founded back in the 1970s!

I did allow myself the amazing Eva Hesse drawing book edited by Catherine de Zegher published by The Drawing Center and a stunning book in English and German on James Turrell (This is a link to James Turrell on PBS’s Art:21). And I’m going back for a book on Hiroshige to die for…here’s the book.

Discovering Dylan Thomas

Coming to Arizona for the holidays, we first flew into Phoenix. The next morning needing coffee and wi-fi we also discovered a terrific used book store, Book Gallery. At the store I bought two books, C.S. Lewis‘ Out of the Silent Planet and The Poems of Dylan Thomas. I’ve always wanted to read Thomas, but never had found the time. The moment I flipped thought the book I was hooked.  I picked a few poems below.

LIGHT, I KNOW, TREADS THE TEN MILLION STARS

Light, I know, treads the ten million stars,
And blooms in the Hesperides. Light stirs
Out of the heavenly sea onto the moon’s shores.
Such light shall not illuminate my fears
And catch a turnip ghost in every cranny.
I have been frightened of the dark for years.
When the sun falls and the moon stares,
My heart hurls from my side and tears
Drip from my open eyes as honey
Drips from the humming darkness of the hive.
I am a timid child when light is dead.
Unless I learn the night I shall go mad.
It is night’s terrors I must learn to love,
Or pray for day to some attentive god
Who on his cloud hears all my wishes,
Hears and refuses.
Light walks the sky, leaving no print,
And there is always day, the shining of some sun,
In those high globes I cannot count,
And some shine for a second and are gone,
Leaving no print.
But lunar night will not glow in my blackness,
Make bright its corners where a skeleton
Sits back and smiles, A tiny corpse
Turns to the roof a hideous grimace,
Or mice play with an ivory tooth.
Stars’ light and sun’s light will not shine
As clearly as the light of my own brain,
Will only dim life, and light death.
I must lean night’s light or go mad.

HERE IN THIS SPRING

Here in this spring, stars float along the void;
Here in this ornamental winter
Down pelts the naked weather;
This summer buries a spring bird.

Symbols are selected from the years’
Slow rounding of fours seasons’ coasts,
In autumn teach three season’ fires
And four birds’ notes.

I should tell summer from the trees, the worms
Tell, if at all, the winter’s storms
Or the funeral of the sun;
I should learn spring by the cuckooing,
And the slug should teach me destruction.

A worm tells summer better than the clock,
The slug’s a living calendar of days;
What shall it tell me if a timeless insect
Says the world wears away?

(Both poems are from The Poems of Dylan Thomas, 1952)

Amazing Animation

There are at least THREE amazing animation films to see in New York this holiday season!

The most widely available and marketed is of course Wes Anderson’s THE FANTASTIC MR. FOX, which is perhaps my favorite film of the year. I can’t get over the accomplishment of this film, the exquisite details throughout and the spot on teenage tensions, and the fabulous sense of humor throughout. And to top it off the nutty details such as how the possum’s pupils turn into spirals when he’s confused are so delicious.

Then there’s Stephane Aubier and Vincent Patar’s  A TOWN CALLED PANIC now at Film Forum. I don’t want to give away the wild whimsy of this film*. I’ll just say it is insanely imaginative both in the way it’s made and the story itself.  I’d like to see it 3 times in a row to try to comprehend all the ideas used to tell this fabulous tale. *The film is based on a show of the same name which you can watch here.

And finally Nina Paley’s SITA SINGS THE BLUES will be a the IFC Center next week, Dec 25-31.  This film is sensationally original with its many levels of story telling and styles of animation. Here’s the IFC’s  film description:

“Tragedy, comedy and musical collide in this gloriously animated film from Nina Paley, New York’s own “One Woman Pixar” (Wired Magazine). Sita is a goddess separated from her beloved Lord and husband Rama. Nina is an animator whose husband moves to India, then dumps her by email. Three bickering shadow puppets with Indian accents act as comic narrators as these old and new stories are interwoven in a post-modern retelling of the ancient Indian epic, Ramayana, animated in a dazzling mix of traditional and collage animation style, and backed by a soundtrack from legendary 1920’s jazz singer Annette Hanshaw. SITA SINGS THE BLUES follows in the line of Triplets of Bellville, Spirited Away and Persepolis to exemplify animation as a “serious” art form—which does not stop it from being laugh-out-loud funny. A panoply of monsters, gods, goddesses, warriors, sages, pyromaniac monkeys and winged eyeballs fills the screen with vivid color from start to finish, while the narrators’ improvisational debates over the Rama legend join the filmmaker’s own tragicomic story to layer a modern feminist commentary on the ancient Indian legend. The result is a subtly subversive, visually stunning, highly original work that is as enjoyable for children as it is for adults.”

It’s Good to Live with a Geek

I meant to write this last week, but was quite busy with the announcement of the 2010, Whitney Biennial artists and such so had to take a week off. Now I need now give a shout out to the geeks of the world especially the one I live with. I asked him if “geek” was a positive term, i.e. if I was allowed to use it here, and he said yes.

In any given week, Craig Howarth, my life partner and wonderful pal, will point out to me at least one techie item that change the way I do things. The most recent example is Feedly. I’ve been griping about the Google Reader’s ugly interface for a while now and Craig mentioned Feedly as another way to look at the RSS feeds I’ve gathered. I’m still looking at whether Feedly will work for my needs, but it’s a much more elegant solution to the “how to I scan all this News” problem. In the same week Craig emailed me a new way to skim The New York Times-a kind of headline summation that The Times puts together by section. Again I’m just testing it out, but whether or not I end up using these tools it’s so lovely to have a geek on my side.

Poetry in Translation

A few years ago my Mom gave me a subscription to Poetry magazine and I always have an issue on my bedside table. It’s hard to keep up! My favorite month is usually April’s Translation Issue. Here are two favorite poems, one from the 2007 edition and one from 2009:

This poem New York is by Valzhyna Mort, a young Belarusian poet:

New York

new york, madame,
is a monument to a city

it is

TA-DA

a gigantic pike

whose scales

bristled up stunned

and what used to be just smoke

found a fire that gave it birth

champagne foam

melted into metal

glass rivers

flowing upwards

and things you won’t tell to a priest

you reveal to a cabdriver

even time is sold out

when to the public’s “wow” and “shhh”

out of a black top hat

a tailed magician

is pulling new york out

by the ears of skyscrapers

Translated from the Belarusian by Franz Wright and Elizabeth Oehlkers Wright
Source: Poetry (April 2007)

This poem Backside is by the Japanese modernist Chika Sagawa (1911-1936):

Backside

Night eats color,

Flower bouquets lose their fake ornaments.

Day falls into the leaves like sparkling fish

And struggles, like the lowly mud,

The shapeless dreams and trees

Nurtured outside this shriveled, deridable despair.

And the space that was chopped down

Tickles the weeds there by its feet.

Fingers stained with tar from cigarettes

Caress the writhing darkness.

And then the people move forward.

Translated from the Japanese by Sawako Nakayasu
Source: Poetry (April 2009)