From the Big Apple to Big Ben: NYC Arts and Culture in 2013
New article on London Glossy: From the Big Apple to Big Ben: NYC Arts and Culture in 2013
Tumblr!
This is my new tumblr. It is for pretty things I collect. Because I hate this blog. However, it is too old to abandon. Like a child, or a toy, something cobwebbed.
http://lisamariebasile.tumblr.com/
http://lisamariebasile.tumblr.com/
Upcoming Readings!
Derangement of the Senses — 12. 21.12
Highwaymen NYC — 12.28.12
Cornelia Street Reading Series — 1.22.13
The most beautiful 2-minute thing I've ever seen
People are talking! Lovely and more lovely, at The Strand Bookstore, and at Bowery Boogie.
Then there's the Poetry App, a whole bunch of stuff we recorded in our dresses, reading from one another.
LMB / LORCA
Joseph Quintela does poem mash-ups, and he does them all really well. It's like poemsex. He mashed me and Lorca, my poemboyfriend, using "How do I Explain Andalucia?" from my chapbook Andalucia and Lorca's "City Without Sleep."
How do I explain the sky?
I went there and saw no body.
Though the moon did not miss anything,
the living drea
How do I explain the sky?
I went there and saw no body.
Though the moon did not miss anything,
the living drea
med my life
and rushed out of dream. How do I explain the
street? The bones
quiet beneath the tender protest of white
stars sailing the
earth. The tango of no body asleep. No body is
watching. No body is
there. And in blood there is a
sea that moans for the city.
And the countryside is a dead child draped
in a skin of
slow, quiet
dreams. Careful, Careful! But careful is slower still, is a
slow as slow as stairs dressed in moist earth.
Because the voices of the dead don't want to leave our mouths.
Because ours dreams don't forget that language does not exist.
Because we are a kiss of alligator
veins. How do I explain?
I will feel your pain.
I will not miss anything.
From this day my life
will be lived in your bones. How do I explain?
The enraged
skies that throw themselves upon the eyes.
The horse sailing the day
in a tango of butterflies
and disease, through new forms of life,
and holes that spring from the tongue.
Be careful to watch for failed cities. Be careful to
drape the dead in
cries of love. Because the invention of skin could not save,
only slow
the waiting teeth.
The teeth that do not move but are always waiting.
Why don't we want to leave? The hand
of language stands with a violent shudder
and we are no body.
How do I explain sleeping? No body.
I close my eyes and
I do not miss anything. A scared boy
opens my eyes
to fire. How do I explain
sleeping? No body. No Body.
I have said it before. A white horse
sailing the latitudes. No body. No body.
Someone bleeding and the night grows long:
no body. The moonlight a trapdoor watching your life:
no body. Through the theater of holes:
no body.
and rushed out of dream. How do I explain the
street? The bones
quiet beneath the tender protest of white
stars sailing the
earth. The tango of no body asleep. No body is
watching. No body is
there. And in blood there is a
sea that moans for the city.
And the countryside is a dead child draped
in a skin of
slow, quiet
dreams. Careful, Careful! But careful is slower still, is a
slow as slow as stairs dressed in moist earth.
Because the voices of the dead don't want to leave our mouths.
Because ours dreams don't forget that language does not exist.
Because we are a kiss of alligator
veins. How do I explain?
I will feel your pain.
I will not miss anything.
From this day my life
will be lived in your bones. How do I explain?
The enraged
skies that throw themselves upon the eyes.
The horse sailing the day
in a tango of butterflies
and disease, through new forms of life,
and holes that spring from the tongue.
Be careful to watch for failed cities. Be careful to
drape the dead in
cries of love. Because the invention of skin could not save,
only slow
the waiting teeth.
The teeth that do not move but are always waiting.
Why don't we want to leave? The hand
of language stands with a violent shudder
and we are no body.
How do I explain sleeping? No body.
I close my eyes and
I do not miss anything. A scared boy
opens my eyes
to fire. How do I explain
sleeping? No body. No Body.
I have said it before. A white horse
sailing the latitudes. No body. No body.
Someone bleeding and the night grows long:
no body. The moonlight a trapdoor watching your life:
no body. Through the theater of holes:
no body.
Pushcart Prize Nomination
My poem, Oceans, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize by the magazine Short, Fast & Deadly (the publisher also publishers Deadly Chaps Press). I was the featured writer for their April 2012 issue, and the theme was on Place Marks/identity/ethnicity. Super happy! HOWEVER, the coolest thing about the nomination is that I was one of six selected among other very, very talented writers and poets:
2012 Short, Fast, and Deadly Pushcart nominations:
“no one will rescue you are the rescue team” by Diana Salier(March 2012)
“Oceans” by Lisa Marie Basile (April 2012)
“looksee (blackout)” by Rosaire Appel (May 2012)
“When I was Nine I Lay in Bathwater and Told My Mother My Breasts Were Different Sizes” by Rae Bryant (May 2012)
“Reproductive Rights” by Jee Leong Koh (June 2012)
“Dear Tenants in Room 16” by David Tomaloff (August 2012)
2012 Deadly Chaps Press nominations:
“The Hours (notes for time travel)” by Rachel Eliza Griffiths (Memoria, Memoria)
“Well Hung” by Douglas Kearney (SkinMag)
“You Must Answer Accordingly to My Questions—Don’t Turn Them Away” by Eryk Wenziak (1975)
“Lots of Swamp Out Here” by Meg Tuite (Reverberations)
“Broken Butterflies: Ten (10)” by C. Martinez aka Chris Martinez (Broken Butterflies)
“Roadside” by David e. Haase (Roadside Savants)
2012 Short, Fast, and Deadly Pushcart nominations:
“no one will rescue you are the rescue team” by Diana Salier(March 2012)
“Oceans” by Lisa Marie Basile (April 2012)
“looksee (blackout)” by Rosaire Appel (May 2012)
“When I was Nine I Lay in Bathwater and Told My Mother My Breasts Were Different Sizes” by Rae Bryant (May 2012)
“Reproductive Rights” by Jee Leong Koh (June 2012)
“Dear Tenants in Room 16” by David Tomaloff (August 2012)
2012 Deadly Chaps Press nominations:
“The Hours (notes for time travel)” by Rachel Eliza Griffiths (Memoria, Memoria)
“Well Hung” by Douglas Kearney (SkinMag)
“You Must Answer Accordingly to My Questions—Don’t Turn Them Away” by Eryk Wenziak (1975)
“Lots of Swamp Out Here” by Meg Tuite (Reverberations)
“Broken Butterflies: Ten (10)” by C. Martinez aka Chris Martinez (Broken Butterflies)
“Roadside” by David e. Haase (Roadside Savants)
FOOT | KNOTS
AHHHHHHHHH. I've been doing work with the fucking awesome Joseph Quintela, who has completed a gorgeous sculptural poetics installation at 164 Orchard Street, NY -- the whole space is filled with thousands of book parts ) pages, spines, covers. There are spires and walls and trees and art pieces made of books. It begs the question of the tangible book and literature as object. He asked me to be one his #bookdress models, which has allowed me to meet some incredible people: photographer Kyna Damewood, poet and photographer Rachel Eliza Griffiths.
We took photos in the Baroque mood, set with pretty music and gently inspired by Griffiths' visions -- as well as at The Strand (starting off in their rare books room. Fuck yes.) We ran through the streets as book creatures. We were buried and unearthed from the book soil. It was weird and wild and lovely and imaginative. My poetry collection, Andalucia, was ripped up and included in my dress as well. The other book creatures were Gabriel Don and Sarah McSherry, who were beautiful and powerful #bookdress sisters/lovers.
More to come.
We took photos in the Baroque mood, set with pretty music and gently inspired by Griffiths' visions -- as well as at The Strand (starting off in their rare books room. Fuck yes.) We ran through the streets as book creatures. We were buried and unearthed from the book soil. It was weird and wild and lovely and imaginative. My poetry collection, Andalucia, was ripped up and included in my dress as well. The other book creatures were Gabriel Don and Sarah McSherry, who were beautiful and powerful #bookdress sisters/lovers.
Fifth Wednesday Journal
I've joined the super talented team at Fifth Wednesday Journal as an assistant editor. I'm reading poetry submissions and really enjoying a lot of what I'm reading. It's really a privilege to work with them!
Carina Finn's New Chap: in cowboy movies everybody is noble and I like that about them also their skies
Cheap wine, summertime, poems
I rewarded myself with this "bottle of wine" because I wrote 5 poems that will be a part of my newest collection, which is sort of a follow-up to Andalucia.
In my head there is a cast of characters I can't stop writing about: so far, I've collected Dolores, Alejandro, Gael and some others. But they keep cropping up, and they won't stop, and even when I try to write not about them they enter into the picture.
My book A Decent Voodoo (Cervena Barva Press) will come out later this year, probably in the Fall, and even though that was written two / three years ago, all I see is these characters taking shape — some unnamed, some named, some still forming.
I feel like there's a new one coming, and her name is Lordes.
That's all.
La Fovea, Connotation Press, HOWL Festival!
I have a few poemy-flash fiction pieces coming from Connotation Press, thanks to very talented Meg Tuite.
Also! La Fovea published two of my pieces, and that journal is great, because it's invite-only and yet the work is so diverse, and functions like a body - each piece a separate vein.
Last month, I read the HOWL Festival. When we were rained out of the park, we took the reading to the Belgian Room, where I also host (with my friend Emily Linstrom) Patasola's Parlor. These photos were snapped by The Local East Village...
On a separate note, it's important to give poets microphones so they can be heard over loud music, especially considering the nature of the festival.
On a separate separate note, the 2ND ANNUAL NYC POETRY FESTIVAL IS COMING!
Also! La Fovea published two of my pieces, and that journal is great, because it's invite-only and yet the work is so diverse, and functions like a body - each piece a separate vein.
Last month, I read the HOWL Festival. When we were rained out of the park, we took the reading to the Belgian Room, where I also host (with my friend Emily Linstrom) Patasola's Parlor. These photos were snapped by The Local East Village...
On a separate note, it's important to give poets microphones so they can be heard over loud music, especially considering the nature of the festival.
On a separate separate note, the 2ND ANNUAL NYC POETRY FESTIVAL IS COMING!
The golden and silver daisies burned the whole garden
A review of my Sex Poetics course went up over at Whack Magazine, edited by an awesome lady/poet, Lynsey Griswold. I'm happy someone took kindly to my choosing of Marosa Di Giorgio's poetry.
A tarot reading, May 11
Find your professional identity
Write all the time, be creative, develop poetic identity
Write all the time, be creative, develop poetic identity
Life changes coming
Legal problems coming
Let go
Find sanctuary
Detach a little bit
Be OK with tradition
Limit overly sensual pleasures: sex, food, drinks, etc.
Find intellectual pleasures
Stay away from the evil man
Ampersand
We are always on the verge of something new.
I have to remind myself of this from time to time.
A beautiful poem, Ampersand, by John Reibetanz.
You needed a hand,/ the open-armed return of all your relations./ You wanted, harder than death, ampersand
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