CIEN SONETOS by Iván Argüelles

Includes a Foreword by Jack Foley & and Afterword by John M. Bennett


With the words “I am become something more than myself” Iván Argüelles opens the third of these 100 sonnets. This describes his entire body of work, but in these poems we find the poet pursuing that “something more” across dark ground, the shadowland of death. Suffering from the loss of his son and driven by that sorrow through what the mythic terrain renders of absence itself. He confronts this inversion, this loss of self, by eloquently revealing one layer after another of startling imagery that speaks to us on a level no common tongue can tell. The result is an intuitive map of both the poet’s subconscious and the collective memory of the species singing out of the ancient sources. Argüelles always enchants, but in these sonnets he ferries us across the river and allows us to see what must forever remain unseen. He makes darkness shine. - Jake Berry


ISBN 9781938521515






At the end of "The House of Grand Farewells", Bob Heman explains the methodology he used in creating these marvelous prose poems. The random discovery of words that 'caught his imagination' in a particular book allowed Bob to embrace the Bretonian surrealist vision of 'Objective Chance.' Words (or objects) that we happen upon embody our hidden desires and our connection to the Universal Unconscious. That being said, "The House of Grand Farewells" is not about literary history; it is the chance, in each prose poem, to take a delightful trip to a place we have never seen before. - Lawrence R. Smith, editor of "Calibanonline"
87 pp.
ISBN 9781938521508




SESOS EXTREMOS by John M. Bennett

After having read John M. Bennett's poetry almost daily for 20 plus
years, you would think I would have something very definite to say
about it, but if there's one thing I've learned from reading it all these
years, is that things can change in an instant. At first you think
some of the pieces you've been reading are hardcore concrete poetry,
poetry of and maybe to the physicality of words, of expression, the
mechanicality or instrumentality of thought, but then that year, you
happen to meet or watch a performance by John and you've got the book in your hand, and suddenly you realize that a certain percentage of
the poems, or even of any given poem, might suddenly become a very
succinct notation for performance, an agile, well oiled vocal
performance where some strange fog is playing the 'john-horn' or its fog
suit avatar. In short, that the poem was made as such for a specific
purpose (in one sense), but also that it is still concrete poetry, or
it's concrete sound poetry mapped to a visualization, and its
functionalization as such is also visually important because it
realizes a unique cultural production which is both solipsistic and
immensely social and referential. There are the collaborations, the
works inspired by travel and friendships, poems in Spanish and French,
and an engagement with the entireties of several avant-garde
traditions and anti-traditions. There are hacks, riffings, homages,
fever dreams, and obsessions galore! Like an oozing tarantula of
snapping human jawbones carved from Olmec jade, or the Zapotec
lightning amoeba Cocijo, the poetry of Dr. Bennett works its way into
the crannies of your soft green brain, it sticks on your neck like a
stain inspecting the muddy blowhole you call a mind. It's literary
peyote, both sacred and profane, but also scared because it's making
propane in the cave and the only light there is from an illuminated
turtle language (with fire legs in its shirt) and there's some gelatin
left over which is already living in a bowl on your mantle and it has
its own flag, the stone hand, ALTO! who knows how it got there, John
may have picked it up on his shoe in the jungles of Mexico riding with
the revolutionaries until they got lost, or found. In short, John M.
Bennett is a national treasure and an international man of mystery. Is
he a mild-mannered librarian or a fluxist master? Is he camping in a
hole full of beans? Possibly. Whatever it is he's doing, he's doing it
just fine and will probably continue to do it, no matter what we think.

- Lanny Quarles 2018


117 pages

ISBN 9781938521492

$13.00 US






ARTHUR DIES: First Chronicle, Vol. 3, by Olchar E. Lindsann 

This is an epic poem of that eldritch troubling time, issuing from a vast swarming archaeology as it might have been. Discover a land in which history, legend, death, language, and the world itself are otherwise than even if we think it, where magic infuses, confuses the words that describe it, as if - where discontinuity even infects the grammar of another, a bleary consciousness of another, reality – drift-read upon the current scene of bloodshed, deceit, and the insistent gnarled hope and striven mourning for a better world: ARTHUR symbolized the dream to come, where meaning flows as music overpast; a dank vanished temporal slaughter swale (that of Albion, womb of Blake) where the spells of words became cemented never – where rhythmic abstraction and storytelling tangle in mutabilitous dance: shamanic trance-speech, a fantasy uttered from within: for such is Arthur's dream – Jack A. Withers Smote