#Cole Heinowitz

[manwalksintobar]

DID YOU NOTICE HOW THE SEINE DOESN’T LOOK US IN THE EYE ANYMORE & HOW THEY FILLED THE GARE DE LYON WITH PROPAGANDA OFFERING $$ FOR THE CAPTURE OF THE BAADER MEINHOFF GROUP? // Mario Santiago Papasquiaro

I embrace my next suicide as my sharpest poem my consummate poem In the Kenacort & Valium-10 seats of 1 cut-rate moviehouse at Barbès & Rochechouart kissing with rabid-white rat kisses Daisy’s flowering thighs / mistress & queen of my laughter & I embrace her : I embrace her as 1 lush embraces his rotten liver or 1 exile from the Communist Party embraces the voice that screamed: To hell with Marx he’s washed in the piss of Utopia & if they think the Bogart film’s damaged or washed out or the magic flute of hash can’t quite cover the swollen—bulging— galleon of my lungs in Spanish doubloons What heroic act what Keatonesque face will be left to us but the 1 where we catalelepticoluciferianistically position ourselves like corpses on the saltback of 1 imaginary railroad & there / from that position / from that enclosure walk our least gnarled paw across the least melted spotlight of our eyes until we can’t tell the hairs on our head from the hair on our balls the eruptions of Mount Venus from the lava of the Vigilant Mind While we sing on empty stomachs 1 euphoric thick hot cacao of a tune: There’s no future & plunge to the bottom wells? / divers? / gold diggers? / foragers for what?

(translated from the Spanish by Cole Heinowitz)

[senso1954]

(translated by Peter Valente and Cole Heinowitz in Selected Late Letters of Antonin Artaud, 1945–1947, Portable Press @ Yo-Yo Labs, 2014)

Artaud writes, in a 1947 letter to André Breton: 

On my stomach and under my testicles, armies of succubi and incubi who are live men, very much alive, taken from all nations, and all races of the earth … spend their nights sinking their tongues, their lips, their uvulas, their glottises, their clitorises, into my organs.

[kosmomusa]

The terrors of death are sexual terrors.

Antonin Artaud, letter to Marthe Robert, May 9, 1946. In: Succubations & Incubations: Selected Letters of Antonin Artaud 1945-1947 [tr. Peter Valente & Cole Heinowitz]. 

[minoracts]

3  Night, the Poem

If you find your true voice, bring it to the land of the dead. There is kindness in the ashes. And terror in non-identity. A little girl lost in a ruined house, this fortress of my poems.

I write with the blind malice of children pelting a madwoman, like a crow, with stones. No—I don’t write: I open a breach in the dusk so the dead can send messages through.

What is this job of writing? To steer by mirror-light in darkness. To imagine a place known only to me. To sing of distances, to hear the living notes of painted birds on Christmas trees.

My nakedness bathed you in light. You pressed against my body to drive away the great black frost of night.

My words demand the silence of a wasteland.

Some of them have hands that grip my heart the moment they’re written. Some words are doomed like lilacs in a storm. And some are like the precious dead—even if I still prefer to all of them the words for the doll of a sad little girl.                                               23/XI/69

--Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. Cole Heinowitz

[loscheveresyaestantomados]

Words are too solid, too loud, to register the overwhelming lack that defines experience.

Cole Heinowitz on Alejandra Pizarnik. The Most Foreign Country

[violettesiren]

If you find your true voice, bring it to the land of the dead. There is kindness in the ashes. And terror in non-identity. A little girl lost in a ruined house, this fortress of my poems.

I write with the blind malice of children pelting a madwoman, like a crow, with stones. No—I don’t write: I open a breach in the dusk so the dead can send messages through.

What is this job of writing? To steer by mirror-light in darkness. To imagine a place known only to me. To sing of distances, to hear the living notes of painted birds on Christmas trees.

My nakedness bathed you in light. You pressed against my body to drive away the great black frost of night.

My words demand the silence of a wasteland.

Some of them have hands that grip my heart the moment they’re written. Some words are doomed like lilacs in a storm. And some are like the precious dead—even if I still prefer to all of them the words for the doll of a sad little girl.

Night, the Poem by Alejandra Pizarnik (Translated  by Cole Heinowitz)

[cor-ardens-archive]

Among other things, I write so that what I’m afraid of doesn’t happen; so that what wounds me doesn’t exist; to ward off Evil (cf. Kafka). It has been said that the poet is the great therapist. In this sense, the poetic task entails exorcism, invocation, and, beyond that, healing. To write a poem is to heal the fundamental wound, the rupture. Because all of us are wounded.

Alejandra Pizarnik, in an interview with Martha Isabel Moia, originally published in El deseo de la palabra (1972), tr. Cole Heinowitz, Seedings, Issue 4, 2007 (x)

[loneberry]

Between 2017 and 2020, the Aeromoto public arts library in Mexico City organized a monthly series of bilingual readings. The gatherings, called Salón de belleza (Beauty Salon), brought together more than 70 poets and writers from many generations, contexts, and traditions, predominantly from Mexico and the United States, but also from various parts of Latin America and Europe. In these events, translation was used to bridge linguistic and cultural gaps between poets separated by political borders, and helped to create a space in which literatures of different origins and approaches could coexist. The result of this collective initiative was a unique cross-section of some of the most intriguing writing taking place in the Americas during the second decade of this century. Salones de belleza: Writers in Aeromoto gathers work from these writers—in a completely bilingual edition—many of whom are appearing in translation for the first time.

Entre 2017 y 2020, la biblioteca pública Aeromoto en la Ciudad de México organizó una serie de lecturas bilingües. Los encuentros, llamados Salón de belleza, reunieron a más de 70 poetas y escritores de diversas generaciones, contextos y tradiciones, casi todos de México y de los Estados Unidos, aunque también de varias partes de América Latina y Europa. En las lecturas, la traducción se utilizó para zanjar las brechas lingüísticas y culturales entre poetas separados por fronteras políticas y para establecer un espacio donde las literaturas de diversos orígenes y estéticas pudieran coexistir. El resultado de esta colaboración fue una muestra representativa de algunas de las expresiones literarias más intrigantes que han tenido lugar en América durante la segunda década de este siglo. Salones de belleza: escritores en Aeromoto reúne, en una edición totalmente bilingüe, el trabajo de estos escritores, muchos de los cuales aparecen en traducción por primera vez.

David Abel , Alexis Almeida, Andrea Alzati, Karloz Atl, Mario Bellatin, Brandon Brown, Ruby Brunton, Juan Carlos Cano, Garrett Caples, Francesca Capone, Ricardo Cázares, Carlos Cociña, Corina Copp, Bruno Darío, Elisa Díaz Castelo, Jessica J. Díaz, Luis Felipe Fabre, Carla Faesler, Cynthia Franco , Rocío Gallardo , Paola Gallo , Forrest Gander, Verónica Gerber Bicecci, Peter Gizzi, Margo Glantz, Tilghman Goldsborough, Barbara González Miranda, Maricela Guerrero, Diana Hamilton, Cole Heinowitz, Tanya Huntington, Jacob Kahn, Nurit Kasztelan, Anne Kawala, Evan Kennedy, Shiv Kotecha, Tatiana Lipkes , Xel-Ha López Méndez , Megan Marsh, Jonathan Minila, Robin Myers , Tilsa Otta, Elisa Palacio, Andres Paniagua, Francesco Pedraglio, Micaela Piñero, Karen Plata, Rodrigo Quijano, Christopher Rey Pérez, Mariana Rodríguez Espinoza , Xitlalitl Rodríguez Mendoza, Judah Rubin, Jerónimo Rüedi, Raquel Salas Rivera, Daniel Saldaña París, Kit Schluter, Yolanda Segura, Javier Taboada, Daniela Tarazona, Leonardo Teja, Truong Tran, Juan Carlos Villavicencio, Asiya Wadud, Jackie Wang, Alli Warren, Noah Warren, Magnus William-Olsson, Isabel Zapata

2021

456 pages

Spanish/English

17 cm x 23 cm

Printed in Offset

In coedition with

Wolfman Books,

Aeromoto

and UNAM

Retail Price

39.90 USD

‍

ISBN: 978-607-98763-5-7

978-607-30-3920-8

https://www.gatonegro.ninja/#catalogue

[asfaltics]

forget-s-ting-got-ten

  3222       Eddy wind-s 3223       Eddy tide-s   2219       In the channel 1982       Muddy bottom   3677       A little farther 1984       Rocky bottom   4128       Get-s-ting-gotten 7492       Soundings gained   5280       Look-s-ed-ing                 looking for my words   5287       Is, or are looking out, to, or for 3221       Eddy-ies   5293       Lose-s-ing-lost-loss-es 5296       Loose-d-en-ly-ness, (see sail)   62            Lost an anchor 63            No anchor left   —   2215       Change of moon 2216       Change of tide   2217       Change of wind 8441       Vocabulary-ies   7852       Symbols change 5391       I have no map of the vicinity   —   3969       Forget-s-ting-got-ten 2227       A different channel                   knotty in the lower reaches 3673       Far enough                   looser in the aspirates 8609       What-ever-soever   8722       How is the vessel to windward standing? 8723       How does the stranger to windward bear?   2277       Should the weather clear 3833       Lower flag  

sources

Thornton A. Jenkins (1811-93 *), compiler, Code of flotilla and boat squadron signals for the United States Navy (1861) LC copy, entire, at archive.org

and

“Working with words or, more specifically, looking for my words, involves a tension that doesn’t exist in painting.” ex “Some keys...” in Alejandra Pizarnik, A Tradition of Rupture : Selected Critical Writings (Cole Heinowitz, trans., 2019)  

[babblism]

countervail

hello

[finita--la--commedia]

The danger of my poetry is a tendency toward the desiccation of words: I fix them in the poem as if with screws. Every word turns to stone ... I have suffered from words of iron, words of wood.

Alejandra Pizarnik (1936 -1972), diary entries, 1959 and 1961, translated by Cole Heinowitz in: “A Passionate Absence: The Early Work of (Flora) Alejandra Pizarnik”

[lostchildren]

Available to stream or purchase: https://orcd.co/lostchildren

An Emulsion Pictures production

CAST AND CREDITS

Director: Ryann Thompson

Producers: Avery Brooks, Rich Joneleit, Ryann Thompson

Production Manager: Stella Quinn

1st AD: Shoji Kurokawa

Director of Photography: Yayo Vang

Underwater DP: Jendra Jarnagin

Additional Photography: Nausheen Dadabhoy

1st AC: Ari Torbin

2nd AC: Dante Corrocher

Steadicam Operator: Tim Westover

Man: Avery Brooks

Woman: Lee Anne Mitchell

Girl: Victoria Pincus

Wolf 1: Makita

Wolf 2: Balto

Band Members: Kurt Feldman, Tsugumi Takashi, Shlomi Lavie

Editor: Billy Nawrocki

VFX: Peyton Bloom

Hair Stylists: Ryuta Sayama and Ryota Hara

Dog Trainers: Luann Johnson and Mike Cimino

SPECIAL THANKS

Heidi Pincus

Brent Felker

Cole Heinowitz

Tsugumi Takashi

Adam Czaplinksi

Brandi Thompson Ullian

Debra Thompson

Miguel @ Blue Water Divers

Blue Water Divers

Chris Scott

Alan Lewis

Glenn Vanderlinden

Matt Mitchell

John Clapp

Chris Scott

Jendra Jarnagin

Michael Ceraso

Jeff Pincus

Jason Baum

Raphael Halloran

[the-other-voice]

Oh, the banality of my evil passions,             enslaved by ancient tenderness.

Alejandra Pizarnik, On Silence, trans. from the Spanish by Cole Heinowitz

[loscheveresyaestantomados]

Like Artaud, Pizarnik sought a language that would "annul...the distance society imposes between poetry and life."

Cole Heinowitz on Alejandra Pizarnik. The Most Foreign Country

[adrasteiax]

If you find your true voice, bring it to the land of the dead. There is kindness in the ashes. [...] A little girl lost in a ruined house, this fortress of my poems.

Alejandra Pizarnik, from Night, The Poem in “Uncollected Poems (1962–1972)” [translated by Cole Heinowitz]

[babblism]

en passant

In his early twenties, Santiago was the terror of Mexican literary society, interrupting readings to declaim his own poems, insulting the featured readers, and even starting brawls. In 1975, along with several friends (among them Bolano), he founded the radical Infrarealist poetry movement. Santiago and the “Infras” drew on a wide range of sources, from Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Lautreamont, to Dadaism, Surrealism, Stridentism, and the Beats. Santiago was also influenced by the leftist, avant-garde Peruvian poetry movement Hora Zero and by Mexican writer-activists such as Efrain Huerta and Jose Revueltas (the pseudonym “Santiago Papasquiaro” comes from the town where Revueltas was born). For Santiago, poetry and politics were inseparable. 

Frustrated by the rigidity of the Mexican literary world (and chasing the poet Claudia Kerik), Santiago left the country. He was a thief in Paris, a fisherman on the coast of France, a political prisoner in Vienna, an agricultural day laborer in Spain, and a kibbutznik in Israel. When he returned home at the end of the 70′s, little had changed. Literary Mexico remained as institutionalized and conservative--and as utterly hostile to Santiago--as before. Experimenting with hallucinogens and meandering for hours through the mazes of Mexico City, Santiago continued to challenge aesthetic and cultural norms, insisting: “I’m only interested in poetry that springs from flaming labyrinths.”

By the 90′s, Santiago had drifted far from his old Infrarealist comrades. He would disappear for days, without warning, lost in the ghettos and on the outskirts of the city. In the course of his wanderings, he was hit by a car--twice. The first time left him bludgeoned and forced to walk with a cane. The second time was fatal.

“Advice from I Disciple of Marx to I Heidegger Fanatic” (1975) is considered by some as the canonical poem of Infrarealism. Built from the collision of “low” and “high” culture--of police brutality and drunken ranting with Modernism and German phenomenology--it is a testament of resistance to political and artistic repression comparable to Ginsberg’s “Howl.” In the Infrarealist manifesto Bolano writes, “The true imagination is the one that dynamites, elucidates, injects, emerald microbes into other imaginations....Perception opens by way of an ethic-aesthetic taken to the extreme.” No one embodied these ideas with the visceral ferocity of Santiago. Or as another fellow Infra put it: Bolano “portrayed the bleeding heart,” but only Santiago “held it in his hand.”