The consignment has crossed safely to Scotia Minor:
Have truck with me, or order them from RunAmok.
THE RISING EVENING STAR
“Gobble with me, friends, this hog
The poor are our enemy, no?
& you my neighbors, by quid quo pro, & love? . . .
Arrive at this, our present station,
With very few boar;
And by quid pro quo, and love, . . .
The poor are our enemy, no?
& fatten up quickly?”
- Easter Island Accord, February 2012 . . .
guttergazy pie, yet for that that cord dysh dance
dark w w w lazarus of caravels, I size you and belle indifference
Sea Adventures, or, Pond Life by Harvey Joseph & Lindsay James
© Harvey Joseph & Lindsay James 2012
RunAmok, Cork, Ireland
Front and back images taken from Ernst Haeckel’s 1904 book Kunstformen der Natur .
The city guide by Fernando Pessoa is Lisbon – What the Tourist Should See, made available by Shearsman Books in 2008.
SETTING KEEL AT BREAKERS PART 2 first appeared in Comentarios Reales de los Incas (Lisbon, 1609); an earlier version of LUKE LOOSED first appeared in Codex Fejérváry-Mayer / Tezcatlipoca (Veracruz, Pre-Columbian); for whose support & guidance the authors wish to express their deepest gratitude.
For ordering and further information [...]
Note by Lindsay […], Joseph […]
James Harvey & I worked on this collection on & off from 2007 to 2012, emailing files to & fro, chatting about it when we bumped into each other at poetry things, & once (when we decided it was nearly finished) conducting our two eminences to a big quiet pub on Lamb’s Conduit Street for most duteous negotiation. We found a publisher for it (RunAmok – “Fantastic!!!!!!!!!” James wrote), worked out the last details with Jimmy Cummins, & started talking about organising a launch event (“Signs are still hopeful for a very propitious voyage,” wrote James). Not long after I heard the news that James had died. In our emails, other than whatever we were saying in the poems themselves, we didn’t usually say much more than “I like this bit” or “I really like this bit” (& in the last edits, occasionally, “I don’t like this”). These wee hints could have accrued into a shared tacit poetics, but I don’t think ever they did, or at least, they didn’t make anything stable enough to guide fresh writing. Nor were we guided or bound by definite thematic or narrative or argumentative purposes. We shared a few links. At first, I expected our permanent common ground to coalesce around ideas regarding self-organising systems (since that was a subject we’d both independently become interested in (see for instance James’s baby elephants)). It didn’t (even though we both worked those ideas into our words, we did so from different angles); other perches crystallised instead, crumbly little ledges barely big enough for the both of us. The accruing work enclosed its own internal parameters of proximity and commonality. I guess I just mean it felt like a free and unpredictable collaboration. But James was scrupulous too: just for instance, twice I used words without bothering to know what they meant (can you spot them?! (a) c_____e (b) g____________s), but James did know, or he found out, & his next contribution enclosed clues to his poesy colleague to go get Google-chastened. Most of the collection now is quite mixed up in my mind, vis-à-vis who wrote what first, but where the seams do seem visible to me, they usually are associated with some agreeable wrong-footing of that order. Or of a slightly different order, a resistance, an adamancy articulated across the lightest of touches: I might send James something totally stamped (I thought) with the spirit of a specimen ready for extrapolation, or send him a first crack at something which would obviously (obviously!) need superseding, and he would create patterns of it instead, or set spaces inside it. He had a dreamy knack, I guess dependent on some specific generosity towards the latent, of saving the scraps and place-keepers and off-cuts of our collaboration, just by scooping them up & tilting them just so. The book we wrote together is very strange.