B O N D P H O N E.
Words and pictures by Chris Lamb.

I might do a bigger thing on the current state of my unread pile (christmas money means books, which now Tower of Babel off the edge of my desk. If I pick up the new McSweeny's and it's Iceland porn, I might just reach Heaven.), but for now, this:

I picked up two books of poetry at East Village Books on Monday: LIVE FROM THE HONG KONG NILE CLUB, by August Kleinzahler, and SLANKY by Mike Doughty. The former I've never heard of, the latter I never thought I'd see. SLANKY is what I wanted - Doughty's flow-over-meaning beat lyrics stripped of Soul Coughing's rythm and occasional donkey samples. The book just rolls, smells of burnt cocaine and stale cigarettes, feels like familiar used skin. Finishing it at 7A last night on the other side of three pints and a burger and just exhaled. SLANKY has road map qualities.

Halfway through LIVE FROM and it just hums. Kleinzahler approaches subjects and times like blurry photos, like carved in stone Where It Changed moments or talking over beers. His word ambidexterity just stuns. I'm halfway through the book - well, done with the East Coast bit and a couple into the West - and keep stopping to just stare at the page.

Me and poetry got together late in the game. Growing up in the fly-over country monoculture, you got four years of English and the poetry section at Barnes and Noble. so I'm snapping it up where I can, leaning towards closer to my time and my place. I can't write poetry to save my life, but there's tools there for everything else I want to say.

2003 and talking to Darby in the backyard in San Francisco, she sums it up. "Writing poetry is taking a thought it stripping it down to as few words as possible. Saying the most with the least." I'm looking for people to teach me how to stop saying like so much, to drop is in the trash and identify objects and sound and feelings for what they are with only another image, no trimmings.

posted by chris  # 9:40 PM