The Red Herione

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Obpyt_tYxCU

Portland Update 4

Last night we had the luck of eating at Navarre in Portland. Navarre recently got voted the best restuarant of the year in Portland, so we thought we'd give it a try. The first shocker, for me, was that there was no line to get in on a Friday night. I told jim that if it had been silly new york, you wouldn't be able to get a table for 3 years after such a review. We also, shockingly, got into the new Harry Potter movie (the theatre wasn't even full!) and for seven dollars to boot!

There is this thing I love about Oregon. New York is so hard everywhere. Everything is hard, so that when you come to Oregon, you still have NY standards and problems stuck in your head, so you feel blessed when say; all the poets are super nice or it's easy to get into a movie. I wouldn't give up that struggle that is NY for anything, but it is nice to escape for awhile.

Anyway, Navarre has a menu of small dishes (kind of tapa size) with many, many different choices. You have to order by checking your choices with a magic marker. The choices were a bit overwhelming. I had the salami plate, au gratin, salad, bread with 'grass' olive oil. Jim had buffalo, cavier, and beet greens with gruyere. I have to say that the food was probably the best I've ever tasted (outside of new mexican and my husband's). The ingredients were so fresh (a very oregon thing). But, disappointly, the service was absolutely horrible. We felt ignored most of the dinner. They forgot to bring all of our dishes. We had to wait 15 minutes for desert and I had to go up to the cash register to ask to pay the bill. They had 2 waitresses for a completely full place (about 25 tables) and no busboy.

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I will be offline for a few days. During this time, I will be reading Duncan/Levertov Letters. I got an amazing letter from the Portland poet Michael Weaver a few days back. In it, Michael notes (info I didn't know) that Levertov is dismissive (at first) of Eigner's abilities. I have to go research this for myself. Ordinarily, I would be pissed at Levertov, someone who I have idolized for years. I have always respected, not only her poetry, but her activism, her close friendships with Duncan and Rukeyser, and her questioning of feminism. I am not mad, though, as her potential Eigner comments fit into my 'evil plan.' The idea of the Eigner book just doesn't go away. I constantly question my ability to make something worthwhile. I know that there are so many other living poets/people who lived with Eigner and they are much more capable of speaking than me. However, I do think that because I have cerebral palsy and am intimately aware of the prejudices, I have a different perspective.

Portland Update 3

From Steve Fama, I stand corrected on funky Spicerean notes: Everson knew Spicer, Norma knew Duncan (which I knew, but wanted to be safe) and Killian didn't know Spicer. For those who don't know the actual origin of this game, my husband taught it to me today - it's Erdo's number - with a hat over the 'O.' For the record, my grandfather had a Erdo # of 1.

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Today at the farmer's market, we scored berries (blue and ras), a chunk of fish, fresh artichokes, berry havarti, pickles, fresh tomato and cucumber, and chipotle pesto. We ate at South Park - which we recommend highly! The best food, service, atmosphe, and cocktails.

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Here is today's bus story: There was a couple waiting for the bus downtown. The man was pouring a Colt 45 into a big gulp plastic cup. I just glanced at him and he yelled at me, 'You're just jealous!!" The bus ran out of gas!!! I am not joking. Luckily, another #12 came quickly. I met the most beautiful woman with three absolutely charming children 6,8, and 15. But, she didn't have a lot of money and this made me very sad. Dear Maryrose, we remain committed to TRIMET, even though it drives us nuts. Now, I want a car - but too late. Neither of us have licences (it's a long, boring story). But, I'll just say it's not from drunk driving (we WALK HOME drunk, thank you very much!) Now, we have become stubbornly opposed to getting our licenses (or perhaps just lazy).

As a last note: Please buy the new Peaches and Bats. The magazine is fabulous and so is Sam!

Grumpy Portland Part 2

A couple glasses of wine and a visit to the public pool (tho not in that order) have put me in a better mood. On Pg. 165-166 of the Spicer bio, Ellingham and Killian write:A victim of cerebral palsy, Eigner had been in a wheelchair all his life. Perhaps that's my problem -- I'm a victim of cerebral palsy. They do admit to Eigner's cheeky side tho; (Quote from Eigner) "He asked me if I knew Josphine Miles, and the idea amused me, like a branch of Poets in Wheelchairs Anonymous.

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Here is our bus report from today. My bike lost it's breaks. So, they make a good idea to put bikes on the front oF buses. We waited 15 minutes for our bus to go to the bike shop. But, the driver tells us, in the most impassively voice humanly possible, only 2 bikes on the front of the bus. So I say, well, the kid's bike is small, we'll just bring it on the bus. Driver says, 'no' and drives away. I just can't get my way on these damn buses!

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I'll be reading in the next Spare Room Reading. Here's the info:

Jennifer Bartlett
Sarah Mangold
Lindsey Boldt

Saturday, July 25
4:00 pm

4903 SE Rural (south of Woodstock, between 39th and 52nd)
PORTLAND, OR
for directions, or other information:
503-819-9455

NOTE: This is a house reading and potluck hosted by Maryrose Larkin and Eric Matchett; all are welcome.
Parking is on the south side of Rural, or in the driveway.


We suggest not taking the bus, if you value your sanity.

Crab report from Portland

Yes, I'm cranky!

I have been reading Jack Spicer's biography -- eating it really at 50 + pages a day - I'm usually a slow reader. Last night, I had a dream that I was in Paris and carrying the book around. I went into J Crew (yes, in Paris) and gave them my credit card - I think you had to get a credit card to get in there. My card was bad, so they said,;'we'll have to take your book away.' I FREAKED out and ran out of the store. It was raining and my book got wet. This is the third dream 'in which I was a poet' in two weeks. I also dreamt that Eileen Myles was my boss at the Department of Education and that I was trying to write a poem like Mei Mei Berssenbrugge writes a poem - with collage pieces all over the table.

I'm exploring the idea of whether every writing poet today can claim they know Spicer by six degrees of separation. I'm still working on the rules. My primary idea is to connect the people through intimate relationships - not sexual - meaning long friendship, relative, mentor or other. I've found out that Jack and I are pretty close. Here are some lists I made last night which I'm not sure are accurate:

Me
Lee Bartlett
Bill Everson
Robert Duncan
Jack Spicer

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me
Norma Cole
Jess
Robert Duncan
Jack Spicer

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Me
Lisa Jarnot
Kevin KIillian
Jack Spicer

Portland Update 2

Portland is starting to grate on my nerves a little. We have to take public transportation and, regardless of what people say, many normal Portlanders don't seem to 'bus it.' Either that or there are just an unusual amount of insane people per capita. Today, on bus#1 I asked a young man for directions..he wouldn't even look at me. I was sitting right next to him and kept saying 'excuse me, excuse.' He just continued to stare at his text messaging. Ruda! He had a pierced cheek and was a hipster (as compared to a hippy). I felt like saying - 'Look Mr. I've lived in Williamsburg since you were in fifth grade - so don't be giving me attitude.'

Because I didn't give the boy a talking too, I was all worked into a tizzy. On bus #2 a woman stared talking about - oh look at the handicapped woman! She's not handicapped now - look she's not even drooling. I had my ipod on and attempted to ignore her, but she was persistent. I told her, 'Look, I know you are psycotic, but could you please leave me alone.' She said, 'You don't even know what that means because you're.,...' and she made so-called mentally disabled faces and waved her arms. I said, 'Fuck you, lady.' And then, 'I'll have you know, I'm a professor.' To wit, she just stared and I got off the bus. Geesh, the insane people in Brooklyn just talk to themselves! I'm not even she was totally insane because she reacted to my comments. Boy, I wish the so-called able-bodied folk out there were more aware of this stuff that goes on. It's nuts! It's still painful even though I have a good job and she's just a woman who spends her time riding the bus making fun of 'the disabled.'

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Last night, I saw the poets Farrah Field and Jared White as per the Spare Room reading series. I also got to spend time with the fabulous Maryrose Larkin. I enjoyed Farrah and Jared's work. I particularly enjoyed an unpublished work that Farrah read - a mystery. poetry, novel, sort-of thing about 2 (or 3) girls who ran away from their mother who I think Farrah said was involved in orgies...or was it orges. Anyway, it was great! It reminded my of the Vivian Girls for some strange reason. I also looked up Farrah's fake syllabi on her blog, which are fabulous too.

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If you happen to still be reading this dribble, chances are that you have corresponded with me at some point. If so, I have tried to sell you electronics or asked you to take a chinese class with me recently. Know that this is not me, it's actually little elves that broke into my hotmail and hacked it and think I can get you to buy a wide-screen TV. Joke's on them - I can't even get a poem in FENCE, let alone sell someone Chinese language lessons. Anyway, I am in the process of so-called archiving all these hotmail letters so that I can close the account. O it's a tedious affair. If there are any techies out there who know how to archive hotmail, give me a ring.

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Finally, on TV, they are listing the new rules in Seattle for washing your car.

Portland Update

Last night we had dinner with the poet Sam Lohmann and were treated to a new issue of Peaches and Bats. I am trying really hard not to like Portland, but it just isn't working - I love it here. I am spending my days compiling lists of why I like Portland and why I like Brooklyn. I had the worse Spring (nearly) humanly possible - and I thought there would be no hope for a happy summer...and yet. Things I don't like about Portland are relaxed laws and a bad economy make for a big sex worker trade - which I'm not too keen on. Yes, I'm one of those conservative feminists who think women should make art or a cure for AIDS rather than using their bodies to entertain (largely married) men. O, but that's just me! I also am discouraged by the amount of 'homeless' teenagers.

Speaking of fiesty children - last night we were walking home and Jeff asked us if we were going to stay in the' Whole Milk Motel.' I was like, 'huh?' He said, 'No, Hotel Motel - you know where your poems are!' O, he meant Reb Livingston's No Tell Motel and he thought we could go 'stay' there with mommy's poems. Then, without another word, he turned to his father and said, 'Dad, what did you mean when you said George Bush tortured all those people?'

I have lost the capability to write so-called poems. I just finished reading Brainard's 'I Remember.' I made my own attempt at remembering and quickly found that I didn't really want to remember anything.

In his interview on Bookslut CA Conrad has the best quote EVER! 'It's safe for me to say that I haven't just been ridiculed in this life, but have been persecuted at times, ruthlessly so, but I'm finding ways to live with this fact so that I'm not consumed and destroyed.' Yes, CA, that's kind of the narrative of many of our existences. You're right on the money.

Collection of Silence

I had the honor of, before leaving New York, participating in Eileen Myles' Collection of Silence. The Collection of Silence was Eileen Myles wonderful collaboration where artists, poets, performers, monks, and school children would come together to 'perform' simutaniously and in silence. The performance was supposed to take place outside in the courtyard of the Hispanic Society, but rain drove the event (at least temporarily inside).

I was in Charles Bernstein's group with one poet more fabulous than the other - Frank Sherlock, CA Conrad, and Danny Snelson. My first reaction in starting was that I wasn't going to be able to maintain silence without laughing. Charles was so absolutely funny, I couldn't even stand near him - although I did glance him reading a certain point with the lovely drag queen. The task was a little daunting for me, and yet important. I found out so much about my body, my reading style, my poems. I felt so akeward reading silently. The power of the word seemed so tried to the verbal. Reading the poems over and over silently quickly became painful and tedious. Words started to blur. I felt useless. At one point I started reading Charles poem!

I felt much happier as a spectator. I took a break and wondered the rooms. The two events that caught my eye the most were the monks and Monica de la Torre's 'film.' The monks were meditating, but they were facing very funny objects (I can't remember what they were) but I remember thinking 'gee, it must be more difficult to meditate looking at x.' One of the monks charmed me because he was older and appeared to have fallen sound asleep! I, then, followed strange white dots into the library. Monica's 'film' was impeccable. Part of the reason it worked so well is that it fit perfectly into the containment of the small library. Everyone was wearing white. Monica was walking around with headphones and posters that said stuff about language. A performer was playing with a guitar with a large white dot over it. They seemed so focused. The effect was, in that, it was LIKE a real film.

But, the beauty in such an immense event is watching all over little ticks - behaviours or misbehaviours of a mass of people attempting to co-exist silently, for even a short period of time. For better or worse, one of my favorite incidents was a guard TALKING ON A CELL PHONE! I glared at him and he got off. But, I started laughing too because I couldn't believe how oblivious people can be! It definitely didn't harm the performance, in fact it added to it in a fashion because it was so human.

After that, I came to the stairs and all my poet guys were going outside - it was really hot in the building. I thought that everyone was giving up but I realized that I was walking into an outside of silence. It took me awhile to realize that my group was in the bottom of the courtyard, reading from the statues, where I joined them. Slowly, slowly, each group moved outside. Time moved toward that breaking note. Finally, Eileen waved, the opera singer began his one note. It started small and became ear crushingly loud. I can't begin to describe the beauty of it. And the realization that we all talk far too much.

Portland Update

Today, a visit to the Japanese garden... you can hear my reading from Segue at Penn Sound here.

Hello From the Great NorthWest

Today is our sixth day in the NorthWest. Other Jen & I took a quick trip up North. We did learn that Seattle is a city full of rules, particularly surrounding 'adult beverages.' Other Jen got carded for trying to buy water in the liquor store. Other random rules that you might want to watch out for in Seattle are - you can't drink in a strip bar, you can't be naked in a strip bar, you can't take a child into a bar , even if the bar is actually a restuarant - in fact if you are under 21, you can't be 500 feet near alcohol, you can't be a surrogate mother, you can't buy booze on Sunday, and you can't get married if you're gay - although there are strange rumors of many microsoft mail-order russian brides running around.

I did make it to the more than fabulous Open Books. Even though they were closed, the fine folks let me in. They had Black Sparrow first printings of Eigner books for $12, beat that with a stick! Also, Duncan's Collected Essays, The Spicer biography, Marcella Durand's Traffic and Weather, and Joe Brainard's I Remember. Tomorrow, a full report from the Japanese Tea Garden.

Tonight, on the phone, my father used the word 'google.' I said, 'Who taught you that word?' He said, ' O, I've known it for almost a year!'

The Collection of Silence

Tonight, I'm taking part in Eileen Myles' Collection of Silence at the Hispanic Society of America,

I let my kid start a blog. It's called ppppokemon.blogspot.com

Some good poems there.

My Larry Eigner

Below are my thought today on the LE book: Note there may be typos as in process; also, I hope I didn't use any quotes people didn't want me to use. A bibliography will follow:

My Larry Eigner

What started this essay was a curiosity of the lack of discussion of the influence of 'restricted movement' in Larry Eigner's work. There exists a sort of a claiming that Eigner's body was secondary or not influential in creating his voice. What is interesting is that, as I research Eigner's letters, ignoring the issue was not how he dealt with cerebral palsy. He begins letter after letter stating that he is 'in a wheelchair.' This explanation is always matter of fact.

Eigner was a poet who was loved intensely. To read the essays by Jack Foley, Ron Silliman and others is to find words full of understanding. Many of these poets admit the obvious difficulties. Jack Foley, Eigner's friend of ten years, writes, 'I was able to stay friends partly because I didn't live with him and partly because I understood his speech as well as anyone. This was more something I willed than something I learned.' I am assuming that this relief at not living with Eigner may have been from, not only not having to take care of Eigner, but from getting rests from his intensity which seems to have rival Robert Duncan's.

Foley explains Eigner's will, not just to write, but to speak. This is apparent in the radio interview that Foley did with Eigner. Foley attempts to interact -- to translate. Eigner just keeps talking without pause. In Eigner's passion to communicate through copious letters, poems, and conversations one is forced to see the true situation of cerebral palsy -- or any other disability. While the different body becomes so-called less than, the will becomes more than.

For the poets who loved and surrounded Eigner, however, to name this body would mean to have to deal with the constant barrage of idiocy that comes - not from the actual body, but the reaction to it. This societal bigotry is much more tedious than disability itself. It is much easier to cope with society by ignoring the crippled self - to make Eigner one of us. There is a subtle distinction to be made here. The difference is to accept Eigner fully as a person with cerebral palsy and to accept cerebral palsy fully in the way one would claim to accept homosexuality or race or any other 'different' given. Not as less than, but as is.

In a defense of the poet who is disabled, the so-called able-bodied community is forced to defend the poet on two fronts. The first of which is dispell society's attempt to 'cutify' the poet's work. A disturbing example of this would be Eigner's New York Times obituary 'Poet Who Saw the World From His Wheelchair' which condescendly overplayed disability in Eigner's work; "As a result of a birth injury, he developed cerebral palsy, a condition that confined him to a wheelchair. His disability had a profound influence on his poetry, which often captured, in emotional bursts of language, fleeting impressions received through the window of a house, an airplane or a car window." Rather, Eigner's case is, as Silliman notes of an earlier event, "The interviewer wanted to make of the occasion an uplifting "my left foot" kind of tale, amazed that someone so afflicted with cerebral palsey could write poetry at all. But that of course was NOT the story. The story might have been this: that one of the great poets of the 20th century -- no further qualification needed -- happened to have had cerebral palsy." And Sillian might have noted that 'My Left Foot' wasn't exactly even a 'My Left Foot' story; Christy was a obnoxious drunk who played on the streets as child equally with his neighbors and brothers. But, O how society wants to manifest things. To package stories into something 'we' can accept.

The task in the poetry community to protect Eigner's work from 'cute little handicapped poet syndrome' is a valid one and I think it why poets such as Curtis Fayville are hesitant to through disability into the mix. But, the work is powerful and oblique enough that it manages it's own task. In Eigner's own disjointed lyric, he gives permission to explore the role of disability because the work isn't about disability itself. This also brings into play the fact that the other always has whether/how/and how much she will let this otherness gain attention for her work. Some poets go the opposite spectrum. One such poet is Paul Guest, who has chosen to make disability the forefront in his work -- to the extent that he has a pending autobiography. This willingness (or non-willingness) creates a tension in every disabled poet's life and work.

The second difficult role that the able-bodied critic as friend or admirer of the fully realized poet with a disability is forced into a position of defending. It is shocking how, within the poetry community with all our freaks and outsiders, prejudice abounds. While I don't suffer fools lightly, I recently came across an 'essay' written by Kirby Olson's from last December where he claims, "I remember Eigner had been brought up in Larry Fagin's class at Naropa University in 1977. That was the only time I had heard the name. I remember too hearing that he had a disease or a disorder of some kind, and I didn't know what to make of it. I think it's cruel somehow to think that a defective mind that is unable to process words properly is therefore "poetic."' Here, is an example of the so-called able-bodied speaking liberally about something he know nothing about. The person with cerebral palsy is put in the tedious position of explaining that CP is a 'disability' not a 'disease' and cerebral palsy, itself, is a physical condition, not a mental one. And then one must deal with the fact that people are unable to understand such distinctions and their meaning.

The primary barrior is that the able-bodied critic simply does not know what it means inherently to be disabled. People argue that by association, one can come to realize what disability truly means, while functioning on a dally basis in a body that society endorses. One wonder whether having a disabled child, for example, might give the parents a new understanding. Although I am sympathetic, my estimate is that, with the exception of the Deaf community who don't accept Deafness as a disability, the able-bodied parent always longs for their child to be cured instead of truly accepting them.

Can disability be sexy? Not sexy in meaning I want to fuck you - but sexy as Peter Littlefield would use it ; attractive in the global sense. Can disability be anything other than the old metaphor we have assigned it ; weak, ugly, distasteful, less than, messy. Can it be translated into something new and powerful? Can a disability pride exist?

Of course, for much of Eigner's life, so-called disability pride or even understanding was farfetched, as it still is by most today. In Eigner's day, people with cerebral palsy (and their caregivers) were merely involved in the struggle not to be abused in institutions such a Willowbrook. Eigner's situation was so vastly an exception.

NYFA 2009

The NYFA's poetry Fellowship list was released today. An extra congratulations to my loves - Lisa & Marcella - Mothers of the world unite & take over! Meanwhile, I'm putting the final touches on (a) lullaby without any music & looking into my next project which is probably going to include Larry Eigner in some fashion. I also have to figure out the best way to get a bicycle from Brooklyn to Portland Or. I wonder if I should just ride it.

Here's the full NYFA list -- someone's having champagne tonight!

E.J. Antonio (Westchester)
Edmund Berrigan (Kings)
Tina Chang (New York)
Monica de la Torre (Kings)
LaTasha Diggs (New York)
Marcella Durand (New York)
Alan Gilbert (Kings) – Gregory Millard Fellow
Jennifer Hayashida (Kings)
Lisa Jarnot (Queens)
Mara Jebsen (Kings)
Suji Kim (Ulster)
Anna Moschovakis (Delaware)
Willie Perdomo (Kings)
Julie Sheehan (Suffolk)
Patricia Smith (Westchester)
Sue Song (Queens)
Paige Taggart (Kings)
Anne Tardos (New York)

This -n- that

Atlantic City Mosque By Julia

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This is what a feminist (and goddess) looks like.

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And some words on Catholicism from my home-girl Fanny Howe:

The atheist is no less an inquirer than a believer. In living at all, she is no less a believer than an unbeliever.

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The New American Writing is out!

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Finally, I'll be reading (or not reading as the case may be) on June 30th inThe Collection of Silence project curated by Eileen Myles at The Hispanic Society of America.

A.I.R. Fellowship in memory of Emma Bee Bernstein

A.I.R. Gallery is honored to announce the permanent naming of one of its yearly A.I.R. Fellowship Program Awards in memory of the artist, activist, writer, and feminist Emma Bee Bernstein (1985-2008). A.I.R. Gallery’s Fellowship Program supports the burgeoning careers of six emerging and underrepresented women artists each year. In recognition of Emma’s significant contributions as a young artist, writer and feminist, each year one Fellowship Recipient, under the age of thirty, will receive the additional honor of holding the A.I.R. Emma Bee Bernstein Fellowship.

Contributions towards The Emma Bee Bernstein Fellowship can be made at www.airgallery.org or can be sent to A.I.R. Gallery, 111 Front St., #228, Brooklyn, NY 11201. A.I.R. Gallery is a not-for-profit 503(c) organization. All donors will be acknowledged on A.I.R. Fellowship Program materials.

ABOUT EMMA BEE BERNSTEIN:
Emma Bee Bernstein graduated from the University of Chicago in 2007, receiving a BA with honors in Visual Arts and Art History. She exhibited her work at the Smart Museum in Chicago, the University of Chicago, as well as A.I.R. Gallery. Her writings on feminism and art were published in M/E/A/N/I/N/G Online and in a tribute volume, The Belladonna Elders Series #4. In Emma's Dilemma, a film directed by Henry Hills, Bernstein interviewed dozens of artists from the downtown NYC art scene. GirlDrive, a book of interviews and photographs on the younger generation’s relation to feminism, co-authored with Nona Willis Aronowitz, will be published by Seal Press in the fall of 2009. Bernstein worked as a curatorial assistant at the Art Institute of Chicago and the Renaissance Society; as a docent at the Smart Museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Brooklyn Museum; as a Teaching Artist at Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art; and was an involved mentor and teacher for the Step Up Women's Network. Emma Bee Bernstein was the daughter of A.I.R. gallery artist Susan Bee and poet Charles Bernstein.

ABOUT THE A.I.R. FELLOWSHIP PROGRAM:
Critic Carey Lovelace wrote in Art in America in 2007: “Since 1972, the trailblazing A.I.R. gallery in New York, the world’s first women’s gallery, has provided quiet support for those operating outside the art world’s market-obsessed precincts.” The A.I.R. Fellowship Program for Emerging and Underrepresented Artists, established in 1993, has helped launch the careers of over 35 women artists. Each year the program offers six women artists the opportunity to have their first solo exhibit, or first solo exhibit in ten years. Recipients participate in eighteen months of professional development workshops, receive a studio visit with an art professional, and are mentored by A.I.R. artists and staff members.

No Tell Motel

I'm the pin-up girl this week with a poem in five parts/ five days at Reb Livingston's No Tell Motel. Thanks ReB!

Today's Mail!

The 2009 edition of New American Writing arrived today with my poems in it!

Larry Eigner Biography

I am beginning to explore the idea of writing a biography of Larry Eigner. I'm not sure what form this would take, or if anyone is undertaking such a task (although I know that his Collected Poems are coming out this year). Would anyone with thoughts, ideas, or interest in being interviewed please leave a comment or write to me @ saintlizstreet@hotmail.com

My Larry Eigner

My Larry Eigner

Lately, the thought has come to mind. Can one fully appreciate the life and work of Larry Eigner without a deep understanding [or at least a sensitivity] of disability, what this means, and the current disability 'movement?''

Of course it is possible to explore Eigner's work while ignoring his disability, but it seems like a missed opportunity. Many insist that Eigner seriously downplayed his disability and never confronted it in his work. This seems completely impractical as a poet's body and 'breath' inadvertently go into the work. As James Galvin once told me, 'Don't write about your disability directly. It isn't needed. Your disability is there in every topic. It cannot be removed from your voice.'

Eigner's limited motion, along with the poetic mind, were what created his intense vision. People with slow or limited movement are forced to see the world, to examine, not to rush through.

In his so-called autobiography, What a Time Distance, one sees this wildly maniacal examination of place. A work where the body cannot move -- or is at the mercy of being moved by others. And yet the mind is able to examine and translate. Did Eigner have a high IQ? Not necessarily. He could and did write amazing poets like many other poets. Language and translation were his gifts, to question his IQ seems like beside that point for how many so-called able bodied 'genius' poets have their IQs questioned? To question his intellegence in particular seems to be saying that a 'crippled' body MUST be of superior intellegence in order to create.

I guess I want it both ways: I guess I want critics to treat him as 'equal.' AND to realize that, by society's standards he wasn't.

I have yet to hear people discuss the fact that Eigner probably could not feed himself or use the bathroom alone. He almost most assuredly had few romantic connections. If he hadn't had a doting family, he would have ended up in an institution like Willowbrook where most people with cerebral palsy in that age did. Few people seem to know about such institutions where people with cerebral palsy were basically disposed of and lived in their own shit and piss. Without a doubt, Eigner suffered daily prejudice and cruelty. Eigner, himself, said an interview that "physical exercise was the hardest part of his life, everything else was a vacation." It IS probably true that Eigner downplayed his disability in his work and life. That is what 'we' do. That is what we have to do.

I do argue however, that Eigner DID approach 'disability' in a concrete way throughout the poetry. I would argue that, although disability is not central to the work, it is all over it. It's only that someone without a disability may not be able to or may choose not to see it in this way.

Eigner writes:

But I grow old
because I was too much a child

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I say nothing

when asked

I am, finally, an incompetent, after all
to have the time

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And in portions of Open

But, I flower myself.
or can't change

As i dream, sight
I have been on all sides
my face and my back

o i walk i walk

the pavements
assume they are yellow

the flowers seem to nod

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I am getting used to this
my shoes hve been the same

I wonder if people want to downplay Eigner's biography simply because, as impossible as it sounds, they are still uncomfortable with disabilities. But, I don't believe that Eigner's contemporaries denied or ignored his disability. I think they either accepted him or, more likely, as 'outsiders' and narcissists themselves, didn't really care.

Here is my primary point. If people can accept Eigner, this is stride in accepting so many others like him.