Monday, January 29, 2007


We love you and we love your hot ass..

Hot Ass Poem

Jennifer Knox
Hey check out the ass on that guy he's got a really hot ass I'd like to see his ass naked with his hot naked ass Hey check out her hot ass that chick's got a hot ass she's a red hot ass chick I want to touch it Hey check out the ass on that old man thats one hot old man ass look at his ass his ass his old man ass Hey check out that dog's ass wow that dog's ass is hot that dog's got a hot dog ass I want to squeeze that dog's hot dog ass like a ball but a hot ball a hot ass ball Hey check out the ass on that bird how's a bird get a hot ass like that that's one hot ass bird ass I want to put that bird's hot ass in my mouth and swish it around and around and around Hey check out the ass on that bike damn that bike's ass it h-o-t you ever see a bike with an ass that hot I want to put my hot ass on that bike's hot ass and make a double hot ass bike Hey check out that building it's got a really really really hot ass and the doorman and the ladies in the informatiom booth and the guy in the elevator got themselves a butt load of hot ass I want to wrap my arms around the whole hot ass building and squeeze myself right through its hot ass and out the other side I want to get me a hot ass piece of all 86 floors of hot hot hot hot ass!

—from Great American Prose Poems: from Poe to the Present. Ed., David Lehman. New York: Scribner, 2003
Well, they had to put down Barbaro today.

And on the Sonoma Ranch, Wes had to be put down as well. It's not a good week for horses.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

River Series - Cont.

(poem was here)

Send books to New Mexico!

We should all send our extra copies of beloved poetry and fiction to Northern New Mexico College. Their library is lacking and those of us who live in New York should be especially pleased to make more room in our apartments by donating our duplicates.

Click here for full post by Lorcaloca
Okay, I've got to admit it; I'm sick.

I'm trying to pretend I'm not, but I really wish I had this, as I'm pretty positive it would make me feel a lot better.

The Delicate Art of Procrastination

Things to do before I settle down to write (aka methods of neurotic procrastination):

1. organize closet
2. go grocery shopping
3. make homemade chicken soup
4. talk to grandma
5. talk to mom
6. talk to dad, cynthia and bryce
7. watch my netflix movie
8. mop the floors
9. gym
10. check out the new kitchen store on my block
11. manicure
12. read more of the novel I'm reading (Shadowplay by Charles Baxter=delicious)
13. scrub the bathtub
14. finish the CD's I'm making for the girl gang
15. buy Jen's birthday present
15A. Write poem

How'd I do? This list makes me want to take a nap.

I dreamt about this painting last night..

Again, this is by my mother, Stacia Brady, and I swear it was where I was in my dreams last night.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

I've already had too many adventures today. It's only 2PM. I need to stop leaving my house so early.

Friday, January 26, 2007

Recap-Book Party Love

Everyone came and was beautiful and lovely and I couldn't have felt more overwhelmed by all the goodness:

Some of the beautiful people were:

Hosts, Jennifer "El" Knox & Jason Schneiderman

(puppet stars: Our Hero, The Lady at the Hardware Store, Lewis, & Wife)

Trish Harnetiaux
Heather Grossmann
Michael Broder
Eric & Lis Sanders
Rigoberto Gonzales
Marion Wrenn
Michael Lopez
Jude Domski
Cindy Price
Sarah Manguso
Michele Kotler
Russell Carmony
Nicole Hefner
Greg Pardlo
Susan Brennan
Kaelea Sim
Alexa Vachon
Deb Stein
Jason Hurwitz
Cory Bronson
Nicole Stumpf
Jonte Edwards
Pam Norwood
Dawn David
Jen D'agostino
Erin & Michael Palmer
Wendy Mure
Katie Berry
Heather Kirkland
Ashleigh Lonson
Michele Terrebone
Will Brockmeyer
Melissa Finley
Bridget Profumo
Art Rotberg
and many other wonderful lovelies..

I heart you all. Thank you, thank you.
Best book party ever.

Thank you for coming!

More later ..... (recovering)

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Kazim Ali on Jeopardy!

Our darling Kazim Ali, the lovely and wild poet, is on Jeopardy tonight. I wonder if we can play it during the book party?

Kazim on Jeopardy, REALLY!

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Are we all very excited! I am! I am!

It might SNOW!

but rsvp to, petes email is dead and gone....

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Thursday, January 18, 2007


When I was younger I was convinced that I had magical powers. Seriously. I sometimes still think I do, but I just forget how to use them.

This is the poem that made me want to write poetry. It changed my life. It was the first poem that really made me shiver. I saw how it worked, the rhyme, (oh glorious parenthesis), the wonderful wonderful form. I was in a sophomore English class and I remember looking around and thinking, "Is everyone seeing this? Is everyone shivering?"

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

My father was my principal in elementary school. He was a very good principal (although some boys were pretty scared of him). When I was in third grade our teacher punished our class for goofing off by taking away our right to participate in "Anything Goes Day" (you could wear anything you wanted, i.e. ball gowns, baseball uniforms, top hats, leg warmers, a combination of all those things). She punished all of us even though it was really just the boys that were goofing off, none of the girls. So, I organized a strike. Yes, a strike. I made big signs and attached them to sticks that said, "Unfair Teacher." And a got a bunch of friends to march with me. We marched around the playground and shouted, "unfair teacher" over and over. My father still brings it up to illustrate how stubborn I am. I think it really made my teacher think about her actions. Oh and yes, while I was doing this, I was wearing a very pretty red Hawaiian muu muu.

The majority of my life I called wash cloths, "wash closhes." I also had an issue with my R's and rail road is still hard for me to say. Although I was told my an acting teacher that "soft R's are good for TV," so I got that going for me.

Okay, here we go.. Five Little Known Facts About Me (as tagged by Shanna)


When I was fifteen. I wanted to be many things, but one of them was a scientist. I was particularly interested in water and water testing. As part of a Sister Cities Program, a group of us from Sonoma traveled to the lovely Kanev in the Ukraine and tested the Dnieper River (the largest river in the Ukraine). We tested the temperature, turbidity (that was my favorite test), nitrates, total phosphorus, fecal coliform bacteria, and PH. (I was much smarter then). It was an amazing time. I met wonderful people, particularly, Valya Gorovenko, who I am still looking for - we lost touch thirteen years ago. We swam in the Black Sea, and saw the sites of Moscow, I learned how to drink Vodka and danced in Ukrainian dance clubs. I hope to go back someday. Taras Shevchenko, the famous Ukrainian poet, was buried in the Kanev, as he wished to be buried along his beloved river.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

5 Little Known Fact TK

I'm thinking, I'm thinking.....

As soon as I return, I'll have something.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007


I'm having issues with my petesbigsalmon email so email me here, if you need to be in contact!


Monday, January 15, 2007

Happy Birthday Martin Luther King

When I taught second grade poetry in the Bronx, with the amazing Community Word Project, we taught the kids the words ANAPHORA (yes, it's a big word for me too). And we had a hand sign and we would sound out the syllables and say: A-NA-PHOR-A: The part of the line that repeats! Then when we tried to think of examples together, this one always made them go, "Oooooooohhhh." One of the most brilliant examples of the use of an anapora is, "I have a dream." Happy King Day!


I Have A Dream - Dr. King

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. *We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by a sign stating: "For Whites Only."* We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."¹

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."²

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!³

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Party Shoes - Danced Out

All the harem came, including Jason Schneiderman, Michael Broder, Max and John (it's okay, they're girls too).

We decided these things:

One - We are going to make a cookbook

Two - We are all going to perform at Joni's Story Hole

Three - After awhile, you just can't dance anymore

Four - Sarah Manguso and Shanna Compton tagged me (physically) to do that 5 little known fact thing - so that's to come

It was a good night to wear these shoes:

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Tongue Tied

Okay, if you want to hear me completely stumble over my words during a radio interview, just found this online. I had no idea I sounded so incoherent, but next time = wine prior to any interview. Although Jan Beatty is a wonderful poet and a great host, still, I sound a bit idiotic. Why post then? Ah, well, it's out there anyway, might as well hear it from the horses mouth. I read the poems right though!

Ada on Prosody

It's Party Night!

Put on your party shoes!!

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Thank you Book God!

Second book is on Amazon!! Wooohoooo!

This Big Fake World

Thank you Book God, I am your humble servant.


Tuesday, January 09, 2007

I had a little bit of this feeling today...

The self escaping from the world. This image is from Blair Drawson's book Flying Dimitri, he was an old friend of my parents although I believe they've lost touch. He is a wonderful artist. And my real good dreams remind me of his work.

Monday, January 08, 2007

Well, this kind of scared me today...

This title + the smell of natural gas flooding the streets of Manhattan = Can I go home now?

Sunday, January 07, 2007

"Poets" = "Poor"?

I read a book recently about Sonoma, my hometown, and the author kept saying that rich Socialites were pushing out the poets. Now aside from this book being pretty much a dud all around (not just because I'm sensitive about my home town), I take exception to his use of the phrase "poets" as if it means "poor" (although it's true, not many of us make a living doing our art). What he means is real people can't afford to live there anymore, but he makes it into some unnecessarily literary argument. Now there are poets in Sonoma, don't get me wrong. Carolyn Kizer still lives there, Maya Angelou lived in Glen Ellen, and there are many more that have found hiding spots in the valley, but "pushing out the poets?" Come on. Maybe it's just a cop-out as he doesn't want to delve into the issue of the working class and instead uses "poets" as a metaphor he feels comfortable with while he sips his Screaming Eagle, poolside.

Okay, I'm sensitive about my hometown.

I think I just ordered every poetry book on Amazon..

Happy Sunday to me!

I've been thinking a lot about our old dog Cody..

He died years ago. He was such a good dog. So serious. My mother, Stacia Brady, did this painting of him. Once he kept sleeping in front of my bedroom door, so I led him back to his blanket and told him to stay on his blanket (so I didn't trip on him in the middle of the night). Later on that night, I woke up and he had moved his blanket right in front of my door so he could sleep there and follow the rules. He was very smart.

Friday, January 05, 2007

If you can't make it, you can always send me flowers.

Jennifer Knox is reading at KGB Tonight!

Knox says this:

"Hi everybody, I can't think of a better way to start the new year than to
break down, publicly, on stage, at the Barrelhouse Magazine reading at KGB
this Friday, 7-9.

I've been holding back for a long time and I think 2007's the year I lose
it. The sooner the better.

I'll be doing things like:
€ shrieking
€ hollering profanities
€ moaning
€ wailing
€ punching myself in the face
€ getting hauled off stage by security people and/or a giant hook.

If you don't know Barrelhouse Magazine, they're funny. What's that? You
don't believe me? Prove it, you say? Well, this summer they sponsored an
essay contest about Patrick Swayze. How's that for funny? Gosh, you are so

Here's some interweb links for your hi-tech lifestyle

I sure hope to see you there."

RRReading Report from Readers' Books, Sonoma, CA:

Reading Report from Readers' Books, Sonoma, CA:

I should have done this earlier, but here's the news that fit to print:

We had a lovely time, we missed you a lot, but we were glad you sent flowers.

I think there were about 75 people there, all gorgeous and Californian.
Lilla Weinberger gave a kind and generous introductions.
Andy and Lilla provided a nice spread of cheese and wine (very Sonoma) prior to the reading.

I was nervous, but the reading went smoothly - the crowd was made up of all the Sonoman's in the world,
some of them were the following:

Artist, Beverly Prevost
Artist, Jim Callahan
Artist, John Curry
Artist, Janice Crow
Friends, The Gilmores
Author, Darryl Ponicsan
Friend, Charla Gray
Friend, Matt Smith
Friend, Erin Smith (sans the two babies)
Swordswallower (no joke), Tobias Weinberger
Pilot, Chris Price - he's really a pilot folks!
Tarny Baldinger, poet, Ukrainian advocate
Old neighbors, Ken and Carol
And many more lovely friends and strangers.

Thanks all for coming and for buying books!!

I'm "sponsored by people like you."

Monday, January 01, 2007

Happy New Years! (Back in New York)

First there was this:
(Ms. Knox & I)

Then there was this:

Everyone was wearing nice stockings and shoes:

Then there was this:
"Who's shirt is this?! Where am I?!"

Guests included the future poet laureate of the beat, the future president of all things righteous, the New York Times, designers, firestarters, the most amazing girl in the circus, the prettiest flower, the queen of champagne, bearded doctor man, big fish, darker image, blossoms, bunnies, my lord!

Man, that was fun! Thank you moving on. Onward and upward. Let's read a million books. And write a million books too.

Resolutions to come...