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FLUX by Jane Joritz-Nakagawa Book Preview

FLUX by Jane Joritz-Nakagawa Book Preview

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Published by Geoffrey Gatza

Words conflate and peel apart with equal ease in Jane Joritz-Nakagawa's poetry. Elliptical but charged by that desire to traverse absences in search of deeper truths, the language in FLUX opens and closes like a fist -- full of haiku-esque moments, fragmented to epigrammatic revelations, tensions, and lyrical, poignant releases.

—CYRIL WONG


Give moving a chance! Perhaps part Acker, perhaps part Ono, FLUX features language agent Joritz-Nakagawa as she writes her way out of a self-torn, flower-torn, money-torn zone . . .

—MICHAEL FARRELL


In Jane Joritz-Nakagawa's FLUX, we encounter a poetic temperament equally at home in the openness of the personal lyric and the laser-sharp probe of social commentary. In her dexterous handling of lineation and compression, the poems oscillate— challenging us to reconsider just about everything we hold dear. Some things, as she says, cannot be translated; yet, with the help of these poems, we are better prepared for what the strange world offers us.

—JENNIFER WALLACE




About incidental music (2010) and notational (2011):

. . . these collections show a poet in full control of her powers and pushing the boundaries of poetry, a fearless and challenging writer in the mode of Lyn Hejinian, Alice Notley, and Susan Howe.

—STEVE FINBOW, The Japan Times




Originally from the U.S.A., Jane Joritz-Nakagawa lives in central Japan. Email is welcome at janenakagawa@yahoo.com.




Book Information:

· Paperback: 104 pages

· Binding: Perfect-Bound

· Publisher: BlazeVOX [books] 

· ISBN: 978-1-60964-155-9

$16

Words conflate and peel apart with equal ease in Jane Joritz-Nakagawa's poetry. Elliptical but charged by that desire to traverse absences in search of deeper truths, the language in FLUX opens and closes like a fist -- full of haiku-esque moments, fragmented to epigrammatic revelations, tensions, and lyrical, poignant releases.

—CYRIL WONG


Give moving a chance! Perhaps part Acker, perhaps part Ono, FLUX features language agent Joritz-Nakagawa as she writes her way out of a self-torn, flower-torn, money-torn zone . . .

—MICHAEL FARRELL


In Jane Joritz-Nakagawa's FLUX, we encounter a poetic temperament equally at home in the openness of the personal lyric and the laser-sharp probe of social commentary. In her dexterous handling of lineation and compression, the poems oscillate— challenging us to reconsider just about everything we hold dear. Some things, as she says, cannot be translated; yet, with the help of these poems, we are better prepared for what the strange world offers us.

—JENNIFER WALLACE




About incidental music (2010) and notational (2011):

. . . these collections show a poet in full control of her powers and pushing the boundaries of poetry, a fearless and challenging writer in the mode of Lyn Hejinian, Alice Notley, and Susan Howe.

—STEVE FINBOW, The Japan Times




Originally from the U.S.A., Jane Joritz-Nakagawa lives in central Japan. Email is welcome at janenakagawa@yahoo.com.




Book Information:

· Paperback: 104 pages

· Binding: Perfect-Bound

· Publisher: BlazeVOX [books] 

· ISBN: 978-1-60964-155-9

$16

More info:

Published by: Geoffrey Gatza on Jul 31, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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12/05/2013

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original

 
 
LUX 
 
 J
ANE
 J
ORITZ
-N
AKAGAWA
 
B L A Z E V O X [ B O O K S ]
Buffalo, New York 
 
 
 
FLUX 
by Jane Joritz-NakagawaCopyright © 2013Published by BlazeVOX [books]All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced withoutthe publisher’s written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.Printed in the United States of AmericaInterior design and typesetting by Jane NakagawaCover image by Joanne G. YoshidaFirst EditionISBN: 978-1-60964-155-9Library of Congress Control Number: 2012944191BlazeVOX [books]131 Euclid AveKenmore, NY 14217Editor@blazevox.org
p
ublisher of weird little books
 
BlazeVOX [ books ]
blazevox.org
 
21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10
 
 
 
11
I acknowledge the feverishness of my new mental illness
-- Helene Cixous,
Hyperdream
A postcard which never turns up, wedged under a frayed door,obscured by a dusty wooden table leg, in an abandoned houseabout to be foreclosed. A postcard forgotten or never sent. Apostcard only dreamt about. A postcard never written, butrehearsed until somebody goes mad, featuring a mysteriousold stone building with a starving child in front of it wearing ared torn sweater on a post-war street with large grey potholes.A postcard which can never be written, to which ink won'tadhere, refused by a post office due to profanity or insufficientpostage (may I recite the catalog of insufficiencies?) whosestamps fell off or which dropped into a grey gutter during arecent typhoon (like this one) instead of the mail carrier'swhite pouch and falls out of holes in dirty red bent metalmailboxes. A postcard with an illegible address, addressed toor by someone in a non-existent country, like this one, writtenby somebody dead (as dead as the non-existent doorknobs onthe
fusuma 
dividing us) perhaps myself.
 
Here I am in this goddessforsaken country, my every moveclosely inspected by a shadowy mysteriously uniformedgovernment, prevented from crossing any more borders,especially the ones I've already managed to cross withoutexactly dying. This makes me very cross indeed, as I want toretrace my mistaken steps til I go mad, so mad that I fling onthe restaurant conveyer belt sushi I've half eaten whileassigning random grades to students in my English classesbased on the 2nd letter of their non-existent middle names.After wielding my large pink and white Hello Kitty alarmclock until it shatters in plastic bits adhering to the brownsticky sparkly stucco bedroom wall, it continues to shriek atme in Japanese (
mada da ne? OKITE! - 
- still asleep? GETUP!) every morning, as if that were possible, as if anybodywould be capable of moving in this intense July heat even aninch or a centimeter. Yet somehow I manage to unstick myself 

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