·:[ Stephen Vincent ]:·
• • • • •

I am afraid my President trumps poetry today. This country is in the middle of a massive hurricane tragedy (apparently the biggest natural disaster to have ever struck the continent) and this guy, instead of facing that horror head on, he takes the day to weave a fiction about the similarities between his leadership of the war in Iraq with that of Franklin Roosvelt in World War II. He’s gone totally around the bend. (Can you imagine Tony Blair trying this story on the English:
“Iraq is just like what we the English fought for in World War II.?
“Yes, Tony. It’s the same. Absolutely” etc.
Jeezus. Or read on at one’s peril!

CORONADO, California (AP) — Facing a public increasingly wary of his war policies, President Bush declared Tuesday that America cannot rest until its freedom is secure and likened his spreading-democracy vision to Franklin D. Roosevelt’s.

Commemorating the 60th anniversary of the end of World War II, the president drew comparisons between that 20th-century conflict and current wars on terror and in Iraq.

“As we mark this anniversary, we are again a nation at war. Once again war came to our shores with a surprise attack that killed thousands in cold blood,” he said at a naval base here, referring to September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks.

He said that as in the time of World War II, the United States now faces “a ruthless enemy” and “once again we will not rest until victory is America’s and our freedom is secure…”

****

Is there a way to liberate Bush & Cheney early? Is there a golden parachute clause in their contracts? Is it enforecable? Maybe, in the case of Katrina, he will again send Clinton and his father to support rescue and aid for the victims.

This is an exciting event. Take a look.
(I should add that I am not a totally impartial reader -
this first issue includes several of my Sappho ‘translations.’

To find Fascicle go to:
http://www.fascicle.com

This first issue features a special portfolio of Poems
on Poetry by Hebrew Poets from Spain & Provence (12th
- 15th c.) translated by Peter Cole.

Also featured are the first two Fascicle chapbooks,
Duncan’s Spiders by Paul White, and Quasi Flanders,
Quasi Extremadura by Andrés Ajens (translated by Erin
Mouré).

Issue one includes critical prose by Eliot Weinberger,
Clayton Eshleman, David Rosenberg, Jon Thompson, Tony
Tost, Thomas Basbøll, Graham Foust, Kent Johnson,
Mikhail Epstein, and Nicomedes Suárez-Araúz. Also:
Jonathan Mayhew on Eshleman’s reissued Conductors of
the Pit, and Tony Tost on recent releases.

Fascicle also has a unique feature, Local Poetry News
from 18 different locales/scenes.

There are also interviews with Joseph Donahue and
Standard Schaefer, as well as an extended dialogue
between Dale Smith and Alan Gilbert.

Fascicle also features new work from poets and writers
from across the globe: Fernando Pessoa (tr. Daniels),
Mary Burger, Joan Perucho (tr.
Billitteri/Friedlander), Urmuz (tr. Semilian), Geof
Huth, Coral Bracho (tr. Gander), Pamela Lu, Omar Pérez
(tr. Dykstra/Tejada), Linh Dinh, Rob Stanton, Kent
Johnson, Marcus Slease, Gherasim Luca (tr. Semilian),
Ana Cristina Cesar (tr. de la Torre), Du Fu (tr.
Klein), Mel Nichols, Ariane Dreyfus (tr. Nolan),
Thomas Basbøll, Martha Ronk, Gérard de Nerval (tr.
Lamoureux), Sextus Propertius (tr. Johnston), küçük
Iskender (tr. Nemet-Nejat), Eric Baus, Adam Good,
Stephen Jourdain (tr. K.Waldrop), Joseph Donahue,
Sophocles (tr. Tipton), Ece Ayhan (tr. Nemet-Nejat),
Ken Rumble, Evelyn Schlag (tr. Leeder), Tim Van Dyke,
Daniil Kharms (tr. Ostashevksy), Peter O’Leary, Cesar
Vallejo (tr. Eshleman), Ben Lerner, Li Shangyin (tr.
Klein), Carla Harryman, Lev Rubinshtein (tr.
Metres/Tulchinsky), Evie Shockley, FT Marinetti (tr.
Encke), Aaron McCollough, Anise Koltz (tr. Joris),
Chris Vitiello, Cheng Hui (tr. Bradley), Simon Pettet,
Sappho (tr. Vincent), David Berridge, Valerie Mejer
(tr. Giancola), Buck Downs, Astrid Lampe (tr. Nolan),
Philip Metres, Andrea Zanzotto (tr. Chambliss), José
Martí (tr. Weiss), Todd Sandvik, Dino Campana (tr.
Ballardini), Celal Silay (tr. Nemet-Nejat), Adam Clay,
Sagawa Chika (tr. Nakayasu), Shimon Ballas (tr.
Alcalay/Shelach), Tony Tost, Abe Hinako (tr. Sato),
Lara Glenum, César Marañón (tr. Suárez-Araúz), Ulf
Stolterfoht (tr. R.Waldrop), Mary Margaret Sloan,
Reina María Rodríguez (tr. Dykstra), Judith Goldman,
Rodrigo Garcia Lopes (tr. Daniels), Edna Sarah
Beardsley, José Kozer (tr. Weiss), Jerome Rothenberg,
Meredith Quartermain, Henry Parland (tr. Göranssen),
K. Silem Mohammad, Johann W. Von Goethe (tr.
Rothenberg), Standard Schaefer, Wen Yiduo (tr. Klein),
M. NourbeSe Philip, Abelardo Núñez de Arce (tr.
Suárez-Araúz), Alessandro Niero (tr. Sweet), Brent
Cunningham, Takarabe Toriko (tr. Sato), Noah Eli
Gordon, Nguyen Dang Thuong (tr. Dinh), Nishiwaki
Junzaburô (tr. Hirata), Stacy Szymaszek, Jaime Luis
Huenún (tr. Borzutzky), Matthew Henriksen, Bedri Rahmi
Eyüboglu (tr. Nemet-Nejat), Carlos A. Aguilera (tr.
Gudding), Semezdin Mehmedinovic (tr. Alcalay), Can
Yücel (tr. Nemet-Nejat), Tim Peterson, Amalia Iglesias
& Lola Velasco (tr. Mayhew), Salvatore Camilleri (tr.
Ballitteri/Friedlander).

Thanks,

Tony Tost, editor
Kent Johnson, contributing editor (translations)
Chris Vitiello & Ken Rumble, contributing editors

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/08/23/DDG53EAH5C1.DTL&hw=Hoyle&sn=001&sc=1000

Dan Hoyle - performance artist who currently specializes in circumnavigating the globe while variously and wonderfully encountering and mirroring the character(s) of globalization - has a totally engaging, eye opening piece on performing in Port Harcourt, Nigeria in this morning’s San Francisco Chronicle. (the website atop here will bring it up).
Heartwarming to me. I was in the Peace Corps in Nigeria in the sixties. In the early eighties, Daniel - who is a son of Geoff Hoyle (a now famous mime and vaudevillian performer) was one of the four toddlers - including my daughter, Pearl - in a joint family “play group.” Ironically, Daniel was so shy then. (Play Groups are what we formed as writers and artists - when we could not afford ‘professional’ childcare.)
Anyway it’s a hot piece and nice to see something really electrify the entertainment section of the Chronicle!

It did happen last night - Beverly Dahlen and I gave the last reading of what’s been a series (2 years?) of New Brutalist readings at 21 Grand Street in Oakland - a series coordinated by Tanya Brolaski and Cynthia Sailers. (David Larsen and Cynthia will start a new series, “The New Yipes” in September. )
Hats off to Cynthia and Tanya for the lovely work!
Tanya did a wonderful, delightful to hear and well researched job of introducing both myself and Beverly Dahlen. The girl does her homework! !
I will not say more about myself except that I read from “Sleeping With Sappho” and “Walking Theory.” We actually divided the readimg into two halves, with two segments for each of us inside each half.
I will say Beverly was quite extraordinary. The first half she read from A Reading - 18. This from her long poem/prose work that she started in the 1970’s. (18 - 20 will be published next spring by Instance Press.) Once the 20th and 21st Century clears the decks, I fully suspect that A Reading will be considered one of our more significant works. Though when Beverly writes, her intentions and integrity to the line, and the line’s content, are as hard as nails - her career, in spite of numerous books, is as counter-careerist as it gets. Though I do not think the work will ever be read with a greater audience than, say, Zukofsky, and that would be no small accomplishment, Bev certainly deserves a critical champion (in the way, her long time friend, George Stanley, deserves one as well.) Ironically, tho Bev certainly has the longtime respect of the LangPo folks, she has never been celebrated within the criticism written by that circle. I suspect the reasons are ultimately wound up in Langpo’s unwillingness to explore the subjective in Bev’s manner - deeply influenced and shaped by Freud and Kristeva. Additionally, Bev’s world view is not built on a constructivist optimism (at least, I read Langpo as ‘optimistic’), but a view that is permeated by a sense of the bleak and tragic. One may be darkly humored by the work, but no reader, I suspect, finishes a volume and runs into the future with a reaper defeating set of tricks and/or tools. Or, as I wrote in my journal this morning:
…In Bev’s work the world’s architecture - in both public and private spaces - is collapsed. We look at the vanquishment - its measurement - a very carefully sounded out and visualized measurement - that, in turn, becomes an architecture against all odds. This is not to say the work is at all self-piteous. One might think for a moment of G Richter - the German painter - without the concept, the pre-conception of “master” ahead of and around his project. Similar to Richter, Beverly’s work begins in that stark place where history (its architecture) ends, yet, perforce, “stark by stark”, begins to arrange and color itself, word by word, once again.

Ironically, Bev would read different pieces of her work, and once or twice, finishing a particularly dark piece, would then joke, “I guess I am a New Brutalist.”

Thanks again, Tanya and Cynthia.

I am sorry I can’t help it. It’s become clear to me that the invasion of
Iraq was built on the principles of “Intelligent Design.” In fact I cannot
understand why this country’s leading cartoonists have not seized upon the
clear relation between “Operation Iraqi Freedom” and “Intelligent Design.” I
won’t even tire myself or you into the inevitable symbiosis of the two
projects. And the intensity of President Bush and Vice President Dick
Cheney’s unstinting support of the co-allignment of each piece of faith.
Indeed it is a stupid “Faith Based” project, or one that is disguised as
such over a purely imperial one such as “I am going to get your oil” and/or
determine the fate of your country (by these same guys who are so in favor
of “States Rights.” !!)
Why we must suffer this disaster, this metaphysic, this concept of
“Intelligent Design” that has absolutely no correlation to “facts on the
ground”, that is the reality of Iraq, continues not only to astonish me,
but also brings untold or only partially told literal suffering to the
Iraqis and to “our” troops. It’s blankety-blank crazy.
I do hope the boomerang is about to strike. Cindy Sheehan’s witness in
Crawford has obviously got under their - the Bush & Co. - skin. The right
wing is obviously trying to strike back with every hysteric and
spin-manipulative move they can muster. One, or, at least myself, can only
pray and act that something huge and massive in this republic - if it still
is one - can arise and correct this self-destructive, totally mal-designed,
unintelligent madness.
Of course, one might imagine, “Intelligent Design” is meant to infect and
kill the usefulness or need to poetry. It’s built on the most
counter-pragmatic vision of language imaginable. The fixities of this
so-called “Intelligent” vision render linguistic improvisation, or the
language of poetry and political empowerment and process, a dead horse in
the wind.
Is it not more than time for writers to go on the counter-attack - or???

((In case you are looking for “I Want” - the poem I read last night at Shampoo’s Fifth Anniversary Party - scroll down a few inches to the next entry! Thanks. SV))

If you are in the San Francisco Bay Area this Sunday, I invite you to the
New Brutalism Reading Series Finale with Stephen Vincent & Beverly Dahlen!!!

Sunday, August 18th
7-9 pm
@ 21 Grand
416 25th St. (Near Telegraph Ave.)
Oakland, CA 94612 (note new location behind God’s Gym)

About the poets:
Beverly Dahlen was born in Portland, Oregon in
November, 1934, and raised and educated in various
port towns of California and the Pacific Northwest.
Her previous book publications include _Out of the
Third_ (Momo’s Press, 1974), _A Letter at Easter_
(Effie’s Press, 1976), and _The Egyptian Poems_
(Hipparchia Press, 1983). In addition, she has
published three volumes of _A Reading_, and Instance
Press will issue _A Reading_ (18-20) next year. Chax
Press published _A Reading Spicer and 18 Sonnets_ in
2004. She was an associate editor of HOW(ever), a
critical journal devoted to modernist and current
experimental writing by women. Ms. Dahlen resides in
San Francisco.

Stephen Vincent lives in San Francisco. His most
recent books include
Walking (Junction Press), A Walk Toward Spicer (Cherry
On the Top Press), Sleeping With Sappho (faux ebooks)
http:/www.fauxpress.com/e/vincent/and Triggers
(Shearsman ebook)
http://www.shearsman.com/pages/books/ebooks/ebooks_home.html
His poems have been published widely in magazines and
in pulp. Recent appears have included: Volt, Ecopoetics, Boog
City, Zyzzyva, Big Bridge, Shampoo, Fascicle Hamilton Stone
Review, Black Box.
Long time resident of San Francisco, in the
nineteen-seventies, Stephen Vincent was founder,
publisher and editor of Momo’s Press and Shocks
(magazine). A publishing house committed
to innovative writing by men, women and people of
color, among the many writers included first
books by Beverly Dahlen and Jessica Hagedorn. Other
authors included Victor Hernandez Cruz, Hilton
Obenzinger and ntozake shange. He also edited Momo’s
Press/ Shocks anthologies including, “The Androgyny
Issue: Men looking at women, women looking at men,
in themselves”, “Omens from The Flight of Birds: The First 101
Days of Jimmy Carter” and, with Ellen Zweig, “The Poetry Reading: A
Contemporary Compendium on Language and Performance.”
In the eighties and early nineties, he was the
Director of Bedford Arts, Publishers” a publisher of
art books.

I am trying hard to be relaxed, organized, productive
I am trying hard to forget, immortalize and realize
I am trying hard to be present, attentive and lovely
I am trying to be aggressive, focused, totally on track
I am trying to read, not read, read again
I am trying to examine desire, be desire, love desire
I am trying to pinch, push, pulverize

I am not doing very good

I am doing very bad
I like the anxious feel of guilt
I like the feel of failure
I like paralysis
I like to dumb it way down
I like to turn on the television
I like newscasters that don’t blink
I like punishment
I like to hear the count of the war dead
I like the long lines waiting for gas in Iraq
I like the boys and girls that are shot by mistake
I like Presidential, Pentagon and Home Security News Conferences

I am not doing very well

I am afraid they are winning
I am afraid I cannot rise to the table
I cannot speak
I cannot praise, celebrate or charm anyone
I like surveillance, video monitors in the hallway, in my bedroom
I like Jesus, the Father, the Holy Ghost
I like Ronald Reagan, Jerry Ford and both Bushes
I still cannot seem to like Nixon

I am having a terrible day. The windows won’t open. I can hardly breathe

I like old faded 1950’s Marilyn Monroe Calendars
I like stories of the early, late and most recent plague
I like bridge movies where the train falls off the edge
I am getting too nostalgic

I am not doing well

I am reading and not reading and then trying to read poetry
I am sick and tired of Elvis. I want to see Clint smile
I am tired of Lyn Cheney, Laura Bush and the Secretary of the Interior
I am tired of seeing the same street bombed in Baghdad
I want to live inside Google and count my PDFs
I want to be a search engine without a task
I want to pick up my life and put it in a compartment.
I want to sell the compartment to science
I want winter to be dark as can be and let it all be over
I want to be an ocean without breakers, without waves, without salt
I want to be one of the one thousand golf courses in Palm Springs
I want the gray sky to slit its throat.
I want this abuse - international, national and domestic - to absolutely stop
I want to wake up without a war, without a threat, without their dumb terror
I want the army, the navy and the marines to dissolve instantly
I want real sweat to come out of my body
I want real demons to come out of my body
I want to stop writing this poem. I want to get back to work
I want to stop being anxious
I want the private blood to celebrate the public
I am tired of public blood, the endless thirst for public blood
I wanted a complicated, simple life with plenty of roses
I want to feel great putting my shoulder to the wheel
I want your love and my love and everybody’s love
I want to hate on the most intimate level
I want to dispel hate on the most intimate level
I want the full circus everyday: lights, camera, action
I want to dissolve the solitary poem into the grandest of actions
I want to stop saying “want” instantly
I want the lack of want
I don’t want the lack
I don’t want anything
I want to slow down
I want to slow
I want to
I want
I.
.
II.
I want to write the first and last 220 pound
200 volume Beatnik suicide concerto
I want to have the first, computer monitor delivered, spam baby
I want to name him or her “Antwan Viagra Gold Potent”

I am not doing too well

I want every poem to be above the key of “C”
I want each word to bloom miraculous.
I want you and me to quell our racism,
Our terrorism, our fourth grade left-handed
Poor batter’s swing down third into left
Field round second giving the finger to the umpire.

I want Allen Ginsberg to shut up, and Whitman
And Melville and sugar on your tongue Emily:
Go for the sugar, walk, crawl, get under the bed
To the other side, go for that sugar, Emily
Forget “the slant”, deliver it straight, straight ahead
Give America a prolonged French Kiss, Emily!

I don’t want to be interrupted by my
Internet Service Provider
I want to be survived by my last memory
I want to permanently migrate from one
Service platform to the next
I want to survive the technology that bears me
In the year 2076 I want to be the subject
Of an essay as he who bore the anxiety
Of each successive, new migratory platform.

I am not doing too well.

I need a young, well informed, intuitive
Counter-intuitive human assistant – what is your name? –
Am I talking to the Philippines or Burma or
Where are you? Is this robotic speech? Do you
Have children, how many islands are in your country?
At high tide, do they give you a boat? No
I don’t understand satellite inner-lunar communications.

I want to be a construction site with a sign on the curb
One that says “Under-Construction, 9 – 5, Every Day”
Please don’t put the Porto-Potty too close to my good shrubs
My mother and her mother will be terribly upset.

I want Edgar Allen Poe to come to lunch. I can hear
The floorboards creaking. I can hear the White House
Up its terror alert, its hurricane warnings. Someone
Is endangered, the President’s face is sweating
And I am just giggling. “Edgar, it’s so nice to have you.
Does your horse get upset and pissed, lying down all day
A prisoner with one white bulb stranded in the President’s basement?”

Why does Louise Bourgeois insist on kissing you, Edgar?”

I am having a bad day and then not
God I am having a weird day

Where are the best minds of my generation?

I want to gather each of my nuclear war-heads
I want to put them into a nice box, good foam padding,
The works. I want to take them to market – foreign and domestic
I want to share them for a good price. I want to
Make sure everyone can intimately protect themselves
I want them to be as intimate as old fashioned, elegant
Charming and lovely – note the China – well polished silverware
I want you to join me as my sales force
I want us all to earn a good and proper margin
Not to worry, I will assume that we will all have
Extravagant, but watertight, flush expense accounts
Any good sale requires the illusion of Western luxury
Lets have at them, everyone, o, please join me.

I am not doing too well.

I want to be a small historical society.
I want everyone to stuff their history into my ears, mouth and pockets
I want to record everything. I want to put the histories on my variable discs
I want to do it real clean. I don’t want to get even one little blister
I want totally convenient, easy, maximized access with each
And everyone’s phone number on my maximum upgrade Excel
Absolutely clean vision, “add ‘em up”, killer clear, oxygen protected calculator
I want history to smoke with the clarity of love undisturbed by any broken bodies.
I want to imagine the impossible and call it a day, a real nice, clear, loving day.

I am not doing too well.

I am haunted by Hiroshima. I am haunted by Baghdad, by Palestine by
Movie theaters in Moscow, by soldiers with real-time convoy installed black and white kill anything that moves, right-on-target, shoot them down videos
I am afraid “civic” and “civilian” are outmoded, out of the way, now useless, spit them into the dustbin of history, dead, real dead concepts
I don’t think voting without a visible “I am counted” trail is real
I covet the woman in the ditch in prayer next to the President’s ranch
I want to take a long bike ride with the President, a very long bike ride
A night ride into the deepest, darkest dirt trails in Texas
I want to say we’re the fittest and ride so fast that we do unexpected
high flying flips over the foothills until each of our wheels comes rolling off.
I want the President to walk across the Texas desert, a long way
I don’t want him to come back home for a long time, a very long time.

I am not doing too well, maybe a little better.

Once again I want to be a couch at a lounge party
Strange as it sounds I want someone named Dolores
to sit comfortably on the rosy contours around the shapes of my face
I want someone to crawl around my belly – my fuselage –
And please remove any loose foam or cloth
I want to be the first unmanned shuttle to Mars, Saturn and, of course, Venus
Indeed, I want to rise and rise, rocket and rise with each variable moment.

I am doing better. I can feel it.
I hope you can feel it, too.
I will not give up my leather walking shoes
We’re back on the earth now
It’s not easy, it’s not get easier
Don’t stumble on the bramble in the clear-cuts
Watch out for the ghost of the President
We know long time ago, he left his body
But he’s still considered armed and dangerous
Keep your eyes to the ground and then around the horizon
Practice compassionate disengagement if he comes into view
Occasionally, now that were feeling better, let’s watch each shoe
One by one, moving forward, step by step,
Step by – breathe in and out now –
Maybe even dance a little, take a partner, whatever -
Each beautiful – toes and ball followed by arch
By heel to the ground - unflinching - go for it now – step
By step. Then again. And again.

Stephen Vincent
December 2004 - 2005

With much attention focused on the current anti-war protest near the President’s Crawford ranch, Gothics News Service is pleased to reprint an Easter story that also took place this past spring near the same location:

Easter Morning at the SUV, Solar and Oak Grove Ranch Near Crawford, Texas
(Crawford, Texas, GNS, April 8, 2005.)
Easter morning, drivers along Highway 185 in Texas, the one that leads right by the President’s White House in Crawford, found themselves treated to a brand new roadside attraction. Five SUVs, each from a different manufacturer, are spaced 10 feet apart and stuck nose first at 65-degree angles into the earth. Only the back side doors, windows and rear ends remain revealed. Each of the vehicle’s alternatively royal blue, butterscotch gold, white, and cherry red colors glow oddly like fresh spring growth in the face of the rising sun.
More curiously, on a small northern pathway from the SUV vista stop, on what is normally an arid, some say biblical landscape, is the emergence of a large, circular oak grove that includes picnic tables at the open center and several winding paths into private alcoves with small benches under the awnings of the robust trees. Perhaps equally spectacular, extending out for several acres behind the SUV spectacle and the Grove, are parallel, reflective solar-energy panels that rotate at different angles to best catch the sun’s rays at various points of the day. Visitors are welcome to pedal the site’s free bicycles up and down paths that extend in several directions across the horizon.
In the roadside parking area, on a stand sculpted out of an SUV hood, a small brochure printed on recycled paper provides some information about the site:
The solar panels’ steel rotational supports are 100 percent constructed from shredded SUV metal. Granulated glass and shredded synthetic upholstery units constitute the reflective material and chemical agents required to produce solar energy.
Bicycle frames, wheels and gears are also created from recycled SUVs. One SUV will create 1000 bicycle frames and parts.
Individuals and families are welcome to donate their SUVs to the Ranch Recycling Center located at Crawford town limits. Free van transportation to a destination and back home is provided to donors.
Under the auspices of Solar Utility Vendor, Inc. (SUV, Inc.) the company provides energy throughout Texas and adjoining states for community electrical, fuel and heating systems.
Easter Morning featured an egg hunt in the Grove with both adults and children fanning out across the paths to find blue, red, gold, and green eggs in and around the trees. Each egg also bore a stencil printed message:

RECYCLE & CREATE

Eggshell waste cans were set up at the exit with fresh painted advice, “Disposed egg shells convert to biodegradable plastic for practical use.”
Houston art critics were quick to claim the new site’s significance. “This is a great contemporary re-interpretation of the both practical and sublime use of the traditional religious shrine,” one said. “It’s a magical combination of high-tech modern materials used to produce both illumination and power co-leveraged with the Oak’s healing, restive and regenerative power.
Another critic remembered Joseph Beuys, the German artist who planted trees, and the Texas Ant Farm’s Cadillac Ranch as influences, but, he said, “SUV, Inc.’s commitment to recycling, non-fossil fuel commitment and implicit reverence for nature as a human partner is a clear artistic step forward to community, national and world health.”
The Crawford White House refused to comment publicly on the value of the site other than to express its concerns about either pagan religious and/or terrorist uses. It is also not known whether the President’s ranch will buy into SUV Inc.’s solar power unit. At last look, on Easter morning, families were stopping – many in SUVS - to join in the egg hunt, picnic and sit quietly and contemplate on Grove benches while many others took advantage of bikes to pedal toward the horizon on special paths between the illuminated panels.

Stephen Vincent is a journalist for Gothics News Service, poet, political and arts commentator, as well as writer of city,rural and montain walks. Recent Gothics News Service pieces can be found in yesterday’s entry. The other kinds of work may be discovered by exploring the archive.
Recent ebooks may be easily accessed on the web:
Triggers, my new poetry ebook from Shearsman Books is available at:
http://www.shearsman.com/pages/books/ebooks/ebooks_home.html
and.
Sleeping With Sappho (a faux ebook) now at:
http://www.fauxpress.com/e/vincent/

Contact Stephen Vincent at steph484 at pacbell dot net

Note: This is NOT the site of the late journalist, Steven Vincent, killed in Iraq this past week. Ironically, though we did not know each other, we shared similar interests in the arts and politics. Ironically, as one may discover variously on this blog, we frequently had diametrically oppositions, particularlly about the war in Iraq. In a further twist of nominal fate, over 6,000 visitors have come to this blog by mistake. No matter the oddness of being confused with a deceased person, I welcome your stay here.