I’ve always been fascinated by Isidore Ducasse’s Poesies–especially this entry:
“Yes, good folk, it is I who direct you to roast upon a red-hot shovel, with a little brown sugar, the duck of doubt with lips of vermouth, which, in a melancholy struggle between good and evil, shedding crocodile tears, without an air-pump everywhere brings about the universal vacuum. That is the best thing for you to do.”
Alexis Lykiyard glosses this by saying that the commentator Caradec suggests that this bizarre apercu might be a sly allusion to journalistic gatherings during the hours of aperitifs. These gatherings were commonly held on the terraces of cafes at the time, and Ducasse probably witnessed them. I would like to add that the form of Ducasse’s insight is prescriptive and is taken, I believe, from collections of folk medicine of the 19th century, excerpts of which sometimes appeared in the newspapers. I say this because, years ago, while going through the early numbers of the American Folklore Society’s journal, I ran across a folk remedy (for a cold, If I recall correctly) that did indeed require the ingredients to be roasted, with a little brown sugar, on a red-hot shovel. I remember that it appeared in a version of John George Hohman’s “Long Lost Friend” which the society published and annotated at the turn of last century, and it should be there still.
I also think, regarding some of the circumstances of Mervyn’s death in Maldoror, that there are echoes of the death of Kasper Hauser–one of the great mysteries of the time that Ducasse was probably aware of through the popular press
What is it about the Cherokee that attracts so many wanna-bes? (I’m thinking particularly of the Ward Churchill situation.) I believe the answer is that the Cherokee were led in the 19th century by an apparent mixed-blood elite: Chief Ross (who some commentators wrote had blue eyes), Elias Boudinot, the younger Ridge, and the genius Sequoya. Ross, I think, comes closest to the wanna-be ideal: the amount of Cherokee blood in his veins was rather small, yet he was beloved by the tribe, led them through the “Trail of Tears” and played a truly significant role in the history of Native Americans.
Professor Ward Churchill appears to be a wanna-be white man with a great deal of anger. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Mr. Churchill has put that anger at the disposal of the Red Power movement, and sadly enough, some of the members have embraced his message of hate. I do not believe in advocating armed revolt in my class rooms to a captive audience, as Churchill apparently does, neither do I believe in physical intimidation, as it is reported that the six foot five inch Churchill practices–especially with university women. This is all too easy to do in the air-conditioned buildings of the University of Colorado. What I do believe is that Professor Churchill should pack up his anger, turn his back on privilege and become Mr. Churchill. Let him take his anger into real-time America and decide what he is: a criminal or a law-abiding citizen, and begin from there. What Professor Ward Churchill is doing now is the equivalent of wearing a six-shooter strapped to his hip while teaching a creative writing class. Surely there’s a more admirable way. Chief Ross took the plight of the Cherokee to the Supreme Court and won. Elias Boudinot lectured to hundreds of average Americans in the early years of the 19th century and, with his intellect and his eloquence, convinced his audiences that Native Americans were more than capable of being thinkers and leaders. Sequoya showed whites that genius was also found among the indigenous tribes. These were non-violent men, who believed in rationality and law. I believe that Ward Churchill should take his obvious charisma, his dubious intellect and his apparent energy and enter the only “real-time” arena that counts–politics. That’s the true way to help “his” people and to bring about change in a civilized society–bombs won’t do it, preaching to the converted won’t do it, and speaking from both sides of one’s mouth about oneself and about the methods one advocates surely won’t do it.
Langston Hughes, much like his mentor Carl Sandberg, was always a “given” of high school English classes, and like any “given” we are liable to take him for granted. Recently, however, I’ve returned and taken a good hard look at Hughes and I like what I see–and hear! I guess my taste for Hughes can be traced back to my finding a recording of his performance of some of his blues poems backed up by a jazz band. Oral performance gives back the grit and the humor to texts that sometimes seemed a little thin. With Hughes’ voice in my ear–now trained by twenty years of listening to Tommy Johnson, Robert Johnson, Charlie Patton and the rest–I see–and hear–just what this man was up to! So Langston, if you’re listening somewhere–it took me a little while, but I get you now. Keep singing. Keep shouting ‘em down! I’d like to dedicate this blues to my son Derek, my brothers Jeff and Chris and their wives, my mother Kathleen, my father’s ghost and my ex-wives Eileen and Ann (and her wonderful family):
Life Is Fine
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn’t,
So I jumped in and sank.
I come up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn’t a-been so cold
I might’ve sunk and died.
But it was
Cold in that water!
It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn’t a-been so high
I might’ve jumped and died.
But it was
High up there!
It was high!
So since I’m still here livin’,
I guess I will live on.
I could’ve died for love–
But for livin’ I was born.
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry–
I’ll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
I’ve just finished an exciting book titled Monturiol’s Dream; the Extraordinary Story of the Submarine Inventor Who Wanted to Save the World, by Matthew Stewart (Pantheon, 338 pages with illustrations). This is the true story of the revolutionary Catalan inventor Narcis Monturiol, who built the first true submarine–with successful oxygen scrubbers that allowed the crew to stay submerged for up to four hours and an underwater steam engine that worked by chemical combustion instead of fire!–all of this way back in 1858. The submarine, which was built in two versions, was called the Ictineo–”the Fish” and its design perfectly embodied its name, because the inventor felt that his mystic ship was an “organic” machine–a living extension of human intelligence into a new realm. It had double hulls and observation windows that allowed the submariners to marvel at the wonders of the deep, and it could safely dive in up to five meters of open ocean, though the Catalan designed it to go much deeper. Unlike the inventors of the Hunley and the Alligator, Monturiol did not build his marvelous craft for battle. Instead, it was meant for scientific research, coral harvesting, and for the general advancement of humanity. Sounds beyond belief, doesn’t it? The fact is that every word is true! This incredible genius built a safe, reliable means of underwater exploration when submarine designers were still looked upon as elaborate coffin builders. Why have we not heard of Monturiol before? Most of the information concerning his life and career are in Spanish. As I read this book, however, Monturiol’s personality and the design of the Ictineo grew more and more familiar. Of course! Jules Verne had based his Captain Nemo–with his quirky mixture of idealism and inventive genius–on the Catalan inventor and the Nautilus is merely the Ictineo raised to the realm of science fantasy.
Stewart’s scholarship and his ability to explain the politically complicated times in which Monturiol pursued his dream are first-rate. I heartily recommend this book.
We received the following missive from Derek White’s fineCalamari Press. He asked that this fish story be cast “far and wide”; we’re happy to oblige.
Calamari Press is proud to announce the release of “The Singing Fish” by Peter Markus. You can get your fresh copy, still twitching from the printers, from Calamari Press.
You may have read or heard his signature fish tales of mud, brothers, moons and rivers in places like 3rd Bed, Post Road, Black Warrior Review, Quarterly West, New Orleans Review, Third Coast, Massachusetts Review, 5_Trope, Failbetter, Taint, Elimae, Pindeldyboz, La Petite Zine and DIAGRAM. But no more catch and release, this one is a keeper! Get your copy now for $10, straight from the source using paypal and save on postage, or wait til the Singing Fish is stocked in Powell’s and other fine independent bookstores.
Praise for The Singing Fish:
Peter Markus’ gorgeously spare, riverine fables of brotherly sweetness and violence are hypnotic, haunting, and sublime.
- GARY LUTZ, author of Stories in the Worst Way and I Looked Alive
There is an obsessive quality about Peter Markus’ writing that I am obsessed with and a musicality that I cannot get out of my head. The fish are singing and Peter Markus is too.
–MICHAEL KIMBALL, author of The Way the Family Got Away and How Much of Us There Was
And if you are in the Chicago area, be sure to check out his reading at Danny’s Tavern on May 11th at 7:30.
Are made by Cliff Stoll the whiz of the see-through recursion at his Acme Klein Bottle Company in Oakland, California!
Cliff’s specialty is the one-sided 3-D topological model of the famous 4-D manifold made of two Moebius strips melded together. He makes baby, regular, classic, large and gigantic Kleins big enough for a cat to chase a rat along its single side! (He also makes Klein Steins to tipple from. Can you imagine Gauss and Euler reaching for their Klein Steins after a hard day at the blackboard? Well, Cliff can!) What I think he should do, however, is to make a building-sized Klein bottle so that we can all take a one-sided walk. Or, better yet, can you imagine a block made of a Klein bottle, so that we could all take a one-sided topological excursion around the block!
But I’m getting carried away here….and rightly so because Acme Klein bottles has earned the Ahadada Seal of Approval! TAAAAA DAAAA! (Drum Roll). Visit their website at www.kleinbottle.com and tell one and all that Ahadada sent you. (My secret goal in producing this modest show of flim-flammery is to convince Cliff to help me create a one-sided, 4-D Klein bottle-ku poem and we’ll give you the nod if and when it happens!) We wish Cliff and Acme Klein Bottles continuing success with their topological ventures! Onward and upward, as they say, and around and around and around!
Ahadada is pleased to announce that its books are available in the US through Small Press Distribution. Small Press Distribution is a nonprofit book distributor, representing 500 smaller literary publishers of independent poetry, fiction and cultural writing. Their mission is to nurture a cultural context in which the literary arts are valued and sustained, and they work to accomplish this mission by providing wholesaling services to independent presses and through public programs and advocacy efforts. They believe that the written word, in its most eloquent form, deserves the broadest possible distribution.
Check out our ad in the upcoming New Titles Catalog from Small Press Distribution! Click here to request a free copy of SPD’s Fall/Winter 2005 new titles catalog.
Small Press Distribution is a non-profit (501(c)3) literary arts organization located in Berkeley, California.
Again, all of us at Ahadada are pleased to be announcing this partnership. As always, thank you for your being a friend of Ahadada and for the opportunity to serve you. If you have questions about our new relationship with SPD, please do not hesitate to contact us.
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