12 Feb 71
My God I’m so slow getting this to you — thanks for yr card esp. tht Alex. Ham. brass balls special — I told myself 1 Jan I wdn’t write till I cd send on the poems enclosed — I thought a quick job to get together, but here it’s 1½ months later before there’s anything like done to send — but here they are, howsomever —
look, please tell me any thing you can abt these — maybe especially the one for Max — I’ve been in it since Oct & down so long I don’t know up no more, or out of it, or where — so any thing you can tell me wd be pure gold (or title? any ideas on that?) —
Kelly was here end of Jan & he dug the Max poem a lot thought I shd get it out & into the various heads/hands directly, but it’s not clear to me how I can do that — Jack Shoemaker’s sort of interested, but has abt a 6 month backlog to get through — haven’t sent it to Martin yet, but what can he do w/ just a small bk? Wd/cd Harvey Brown? or wd that be a year or more getting out even if he wanted to do it? Maybe mimeo it myself. Well, hog balls & wormwood, no matter now. I want you to see it, & I’ll fret the other shit later. I didn’t know Max of course — I met him one evening last summer here, at Bromige’s — but I took off for Oregon the next day — so Kelly’s right when he points out Max is emblematic in the poem — not addressed as a friend, really, nor grief of the close parting — yas, I know that — his death was suddenly the occasion for so much to get said — however strung out & hodgepodged — to him, or where he was from, the areal person — suddenly gone —
Well, all that’ll be clear to you w/o me elaborating — violá //
Aside from recent flurries of trashing, car burning, street sashays, etc., things have been quiet (except in LA of course) — the sudden heavy scent of early powerful spring here — cherry blossoms thick & the earth fermenting — always unbelievable for a Kansas/Texas man like me — as Feb must be still a freezer w/ you up thar —
Spring sometimes vertiginous here, as I woke up this morning dizzy, from a dream of catching mice — something I ate, surely! & a heavy smog.
Been rereading all the Sauer Pleistocene pieces, but where does one go from there — any takes on what else has been done, & since? Or any references on, say the Aztec–S.E.–U.S.–Indian/Mound builders trade? Maybe it was the Jews, as I see one man recently’s opining abt some Tennessee rock inscription — rock art certainly seems a next heavily accessary close attention — what’s between (as lines) sites on the map — Sauer suggested St. Louis was the nerve-center of Pleistocene N. America, & Calif. a dead-end drift — but what’s connecting, in between? (So there was Max, who might, in time, have found out, St Joe is such a weird crossroads — alas, who’s up to it now?). Kelly talked abt some guy’s notion that there are literal lines on the ground (visible from air in some cases, still?) connecting all the important early Neolithic centers of Europe (or earlier than that — meso- ?)
I dunno, questions as usual — somehow in my still dizzy brain (& stomach) this spring morning, its bound up w/ the roots of jazz in the Great Plains — Coleman Hawkins was from St Joe, after all, & went to Washburn in Topeka before he ran off w/ Mamie Smith’s Jazz Hounds c. 1923 (the year C.O. Sauer came to California & joined the freaks & exotica) — & Scott Joplin, I mean! Sedalia! From Texarkana! (if you haven’t, GET the new Nonesuch disc of S. Joplin’s piano rags played by Joshua Rifkin — they are great pieces of the finest sort) — & Charlie Christian from Oklahoma, Buck Clayton from Parsons, before he went off to Shanghai & played in a dance hall from 1934–36 — oh well, all the cross currents & travel lines of jazz in Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, down to Texas of course — Walter Page’s Blue Devils, Andy Kirk’s Clouds of Joy, Mary Lou Williams — & of course the K.C. scene —
but all those lines of movement — in that refractory space of the Plains, focus also on the Ice Age lines of movement — my lord, yes —
well, so it goes — maybe I’m coming down w/ some cunning virus (o Harvey) — all this febrile trembling over the table as I write this —
Anyhow — how are you all? & what’s up? & let me hear from you —
Is the Malin thing still a go? This summer my brother will be out here teaching at U.C. — & I think I cd, using his access to the U.C. Library etc, get the texts together finally, if you still want to collaborate on an introduction & if Harvey Brown will still do the book — I want to, if you’re game —
At any rate, do let me hear whatever, & esp. on these mss. enclosed — ¡Salúd! to you all —
3. Aside from “To Max Douglas,” it’s not possible to determine which poems Irby is referring to, because they are not included with the archived letter. “To Max Douglas” was published as its own book (under the same title) by Tansy Press in 1971. A second expanded edition of To Max Douglas, which included the poems “Jesus” and “Delius,” as well as an introduction by Dorn, was published by Tansy in 1974.
4. Max Douglas (1949–1970) was a poet from St. Joseph, Missouri, and Dorn’s student at Kansas University in 1969. By the time Douglas died from a heroin overdose at twenty- one, he’d published a small volume of poetry, along with numerous poems in small magazines, like Caterpillar. His Collected Poems was published in 1978 by White Dot Press.
7. Harvey Brown, founder of Frontier Press, which published The Rites of Passage: A Brief History (1965; later titled By the Sound), Gunslinger Book III: The Winterbook (1972), The Cycle (1971), Twenty-four Love Songs (1969), Songs: Set Two — A Short Count (1970). Brown was a close friend of Olson, Dorn, Irby, and many other New American–era poets.
8. Irby is perhaps referring to John Michell’s book The View Over Atlantis (London: Sago Press, 1969), or to one of its primary subjects, ley lines, and their earlier discoverers, such as British amateur archeologist Alfred Watkins (1855–1935).
9. Cf. To Max Douglas: “The Berkeley climate of exotica / Sauer’s home // these almost 50 years, Kroeber’s / their houses just across the street from one another // Arch / and Rose // Grenier at one end / Bromige at the other[.]”
7 Jul 66
Here at last are two more copies of that photograph of Red Cloud, all that Brodhead had left. I wish there were more, to proliferate that image all around England & the Continent, but then. Hopefully these will help. / Here everything is very quiet & almost idyllic. I had to go back to Kansas again in May—& while there it not only thunderstormed, as if for me to see it, but it hailed abt hensegg size tearing hell out of the greenhouses and forcing (!) the car dealers into sudden precipitate sales. I’d never noticed till then how different a green the foliage is there, as compared to here, say—how much lighter green it is in Kansas than the very dark here (eucalyptus, evergreens, camellias, fruit trees). On the way back on the bus I stopped off in Placitas, but Bob was still in Europe; the 5 days I spent at Goodell’s were the most peaceful & pleasant possible return to that country — the thirst, appetite, longing, for it, however much submerged & covered over, depressed, by living elsewhere & by the bad things remembered of living there, comes out completely, takes over again — that vista off toward the Jemez, Santa Fe, leave residues forever in one. No wonder Max went back, however desperate Santa Fe is. / Here, as I say, things are very quiet. I wallow sensually in the weather the way some people do in food & liquor. This is the foggy season but there hasn’t been much till lately. Even so, by noon these days its cleared off & like today you can see Marin clearly, Mt. Tamalpais & Angel Is., & SF; 60 out & the sun out. So I sit here writing this, with all that out both sets of windows, the bay on one side & the hills on the other — listening to John Cage, records out of the public library. / The library school here at UC has accepted me, so barring catastrophe (like the GI bill money being screwed up somehow) I shd be set for the next year — they’ve given me a research asstship which with the GI money shd be barely enough to get by on. For one year’s work I get a MLS degree which means I can get a librarian job; that pays, that is; without the degree, nothing. & I’ve abt concluded a library job is abt the ideal for me, better than teaching & with access to at least one major source (category) of information; books etc., by its nature. So. / I’ve also started working on Cabeza de Vaca, with the intent of writing a long poem on, or from, him, his account. I’ve just finished Hodge’s edition of the Relación (T. Buckingham Smith’s translation), & am going through Morris Bishop’s biography; having also read Sauer again (The Road to Cibola), on the western end of his trek; & am trying to get hold of Cleve Hallenbeck’s book on retracing the whole trip (he went out & found that most of the trails are still followable today, were Indian trails used over & over again before & after CdeV). I’ve got Haniel Long’s interlinear here, of course, & I’m pleased (never having read the book before, just looked at it), how much of the central concern that’s brought me to this work, is what Long was dealing with too. It is a study, of course, that could take the rest of my life, and even if Olson says, after 14 years or so on one such subject you’d know it & cd then deal with anything. I dunno how far or long. But already it leads afield, back to WP Webb, of course, and on to Sauer’s new book just out, The Early Spanish Main, dealing with Spanish colonial policy 1492–1519, i.e. up to the conquest of Mexico — as well to a much more firmly grounded botanical study, etc. Well yes. After all, I forget too often, I was born in Texas & lived there almost 4 years before going to Kansas. Maybe this will be, finally, the point I’ve sought & never got to, that will begin to connect all the other points I’ve wandered from & to. / As a poem, I ain’t sure of much, haven’t written anything yet. The specific appetite came from hearing Bunting (tape) read that wonderful “Chomei at Toyama,” that means of using another man’s words & aromas; but what Ill come to I dunno a-tall. I don’t want some “retelling,” a narrative that wd only dilute the much more compelling & vital original. Long’s is all right, it’s his work, really; & its revelation is demanding. At any rate, the decision finally seems (so I feel now) to have nothing to do with me, my self, will, but comes from the substance of CdeV’s account, that country, his acts, the fact of that relation. / I’ve abt decided anyway I don’t have anything original or very profound to offer, my own thought that is; I can best work letting what is around me come out, giving that. Somewhere I remember a statement you made something to that effect — was it? // Not much happening here, but Neruda did read at the campus abt a week ago — Duncan & Bromige came to dinner, & we all went up to hear him — he is a heavy, solidly set man, squarish, with a large, balding head & heavy eyelids. Some actor-fink read the English translations. But Neruda’s own reading was very impressive — he reads in the traditional Spanish dramatic manner, but not melodramatic — rising at times to an almost ecstatic pitch — more like speech, though, than most Spanish declamation ever gets to be. As seems to be typical here, the reading was held in an auditorium that even ahead of time was clearly too small, & many people were turned away at the door; I went out to pee & almost had to fight the ushers to get back in where my coat was on my seat. Ginsberg was there, came over & kissed Duncan, who said, my my people will talk, & Allen sd, o let them. So. / Last Saturday there was a benefit reading for Sinclair & the Detroit workshop, at which I saw Gino, after months — his left arm in a sling — he looked up one evening & some guy’s hand was coming in the window; he rushed headlong to push the window out against this guy, & ran his own hand clear through the window, slicing it up badly. Whew. / Tonight I’m going to see the Japanese movie (from Lafcadio Hearn ghost stories) Kwaidan; & tomorrow night 900,000 people are coming to dinner for curry. Sometimes things seem too quiet & easy (easy?), but they really aren’t, so I don’t worry. /
How are you all? You’re staying another year I hear. Tell Stuart Montgomery (as if he needs to be told) the books he is putting out are magnificent — that Bunting Loquitur is lovely beyond compare. /
So, enough. Creeley I hear is coming to SF for abt a month, next month I guess. Hopefully finally Ill be able to see him again, after missing three times in a row. Let me hear from you. Hang loose.
1. Along the right margin of this letter, Irby has drawn a flower in black ink, with a handwritten note above it that reads: “(Voodoo Lily ~[see July 16 Scientific American]).” Irby to Dorn, 7 July 1966, box 13, folder 137, Edward Dorn Papers, Archives and Special Collections at the Thomas J. Dodd Research Center, University of Connecticut Libraries.
2. See endnotes 2 and 3 (“April 17, 1966”).
3. Larry Goodell (b. 1935), poet and founder of Duende, which ran fourteen issues between 1964 and 1966, published Irby’s The Roadrunner Poem (Duende 4, 1964) and Movements/Sequences (Duende 8, 1965).
7. Carl Ortwin Sauer (1889–1975), cultural geographer who had a very significant impact on Irby’s poetics. For further information, see Irby’s prose pieces on meeting Sauer and Malin elsewhere in this special feature. Sauer, The Road to Cíbola (Berkeley: University of California, 1932).
10. See Charles Olson, A Bibliography on America for Ed Dorn (Bolinas: Four Seasons Foundation, 1964). Olson writes: “Best thing to do is to dig one thing or place or man until you yourself know more abt that than is possible to any other man. It doesn’t matter whether it’s Barbed Wire or Pemmican or Paterson or Iowa. But exhaust it. Saturate it. Beat it. [//] And then U KNOW everything else very fast: one saturation job (it might take 14 years). And you’re in, forever” (13).
15. Gino Clays, coeditor (with Drew Wagnon) of Wild Dog, nos. 10–18. See endnote 9 (“October 21, 1964”).
16. Lafcadio Hearn (also Koizumi Yakumo, 1850–1904), author of Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things (New York: Houghton, Mifflin and Co., 1904). Japanese film director Masaki Kobayashi adapted Hearn’s stories for his 1965 film Kwaidan.
17. See endnote 9 (“December 26, 1965”). Montgomery’s Fulcrum Press published Bunting’s Loquitur in 1965.
14 May 72
Curious dream in which yr name occurred — newspaper article, mentioned you (& Duncan McNaughton —!) as war correspondents in Vietnam — also simultaneously engaged in
geophysical investigation of “verves” — large stone ridges — or the people who lived among them —
unclear newsprint photographs accompanied — reports from Elsewhere —
Everything winds down to its finalé here at Tufts, amid a bit, finally, of real Spring — i.e. leaves flowers emergence (grass was here all along, actually) — I distrust pushing my truck for another transcontinental traversal, but a student I know’s driving west w/ his girl in a new VW bus in June, returning in August, I may very well travel w/ them — away, at any rate, from here for the summer —
The tape from yr reading here has a rather low volume level & a hum when the loudness is boosted, but the audience seems much much more vivacious than on the Brown tape — at any rate, worth saving (esp. since very little was duplicated in the two readings) — I’ll try to get it copied & bring it out in the summer — the quality of Bialy’s tape is definitely high grade (but what a cold sepulchral auditorium that was!) —
I seem to keep circling back on the Kansas/Missouri borderland all spring (Sauer once in a dream told me to attend to that area: specifically the Missouri side, a band abt. as deep as Sedalia — it seemed so obvious I didn’t pay much attention for a long time) — not that I really want to in every regard — I begin to feel like the Chamber of Commerce Tourist Bureau — it only seems there again, as a means to get out, or on from, of locality into another distance/dimension — how/where do you think you made that shift yourself? (a translation of dimension/address, it feels to me, after the work in N. Atlantic Turbine or am I purely imagining that?) — much of the time efforts I have made that way seem to me only to have shifted the locale — to another part of the country, say — rather than on off altogether —
I’ve got this house, see, that for the moment is in Lawrence, but may be (has been) other places (like early Ft Scott, or Galena, except for a literal glacial edge, at this instant) — & a set of “characters”/operators — Dr Dee definitely, & Delius, & some Haitian sinister notables newly arrived (or abt to arrive) — or John Brown, plus — merely a presence so far, not a person — someone very much like the Whore of Babylon grown old — it’s really her piece/place — all this not a play, not a set of voices — I’m interested in simultaneous rooms — it so far only feels like an assemblage of tokens — if we take the dimension of the local as X, then that aspect of it as simultaneous ages of history/places in geography may not be another dimension altogether, but we might designate X' — X prime — then — it’s the dimension that is beyond that, that all that fiction, of story, seeks, yearns for, yet but there —
I don’t know that stating the situation in these terms is even helpful — one reason I dig around in Dee & Kelly’s skrying session is the intimation of another language there (not just some romantic biography that lures), that is present and all around me if I wd/cd hear it — i.e. all this talk of dimension — the dimensions are of here, this present, this actual — so as the heart leaps, as it warms in me as it attends those places I approach, or merely name, it knows the leap, the warmth, is for, or of, another, coinherent, realm …
“The glory is the thing happening; it is not, though in our talk we seem to make it so and can only believe in it so, an accident of the thing happening. The glory of God is in ‘facts.’”
as Charles Williams wrote, I read to my class last week — as Kelly wrote me recently: “Some times I wake up & realize I’ve been living in the profane for weeks …” — ah yes —
«I have oftentymes … and many ways, looked into the State of Earthly
Kingdoms, Generally, the whole World over: … being a Study, of no great Difficulty: But, rather, a purpose, somewhat answerable, to a perfect Cosmographer: to fynde hym selfe, Cosmopolites»
& in another place:
«But … more ample is our Science, than to measure Plaines: and nothyng lesse therin is tought (of purpose) then how to measure Land. An other name, therefore, must nedes be had, for our Mathematicall Science of Magnitudes: which regardeth neither clod, nor turf: neither hill, nor dale: neither earth nor heaven: but is absolute Megethologia: not creping on ground, and dasseling the eye, with pole perche, rod or lyne: but liftying the hart above the heavens, by invisible lines, and immortall beames: meteth with the reflexion, of the light incomprehensible …»
(from his preface to Euclid)
• • •
S. Indian Karnatic vina musio on air radio — writing office looking out over the campus SW off the hill — wind fierce, sky cotton-boll clouded — Sunday noon quietudes —
hope all is well with you all — let me hear from you as you can — & hope to see you out there sometime abt ¾ of the way through June, or subsequent —
(enclose some prose from the local student newspaper)
I reckon you’ve seen Penrose’s article in current Sci.Amer, on Black Holes? (lot of other goodies in this issue) //
2. Duncan McNaughton (b. 1942), American poet, cofounder of the New College in San Francisco (where he invited Irby to give three lectures on Whitman in the spring of 1986), and close friend and correspondent of Irby’s.
3. Dorn, The North Atlantic Turbine (London: Fulcrum, 1967). In the jacket note for this book, Dorn writes: “In ‘The North Atlantic Turbine,’ the poems since ‘Geography,’ I have tried to locate another hemisphere. And I want this collection to be the last necessity to work out such locations. I think I can now see my way clear to a spiritual address. I don’t feel that possibility as a ‘mellowing’ but more a transfer from an energy factor of my practice to an altogether direct plane of intensity I hope to find my place on. That non-spatial dimension, intensity, is one of the few singular things which interests me now. […] I have begun to do two things already: 1) Follow the vision of ‘Thesis’ (The poem which leads this collection) and 2) explore the mythification of the Gunslinger.” See Dorn, Collected Poems (London: Carcanet, 2012), 924–925.
27 Sep 73
Slow getting around to writing, getting settled at last, classes starting etc. Got a good apt finally, after 2 wks of searching, having things slip through my fingers, etc — its a hard place to find housing in, much less being able to afford it — but this place, in Christianshavn, the “bohemian” or “hippie” part of town, an area of cold buildings and canals & the remains of the 17th cent. fortifications and moat, certainly works out very well, with dishes, coffee grinder, utensils etc already in it — at 1000 Kr per month, with the dollar abt 5.7 Kr these days / The classes don’t amt to much in the way of attendance: 2 in one class 1 (today at any rate) in the other — one Dane, one American, one Canadian! So the year’s my own really to use as I want // […] ANYHOW the days go by glorious & sunny, only a little of the usual Danish rains so far. I want to get the book ms. together for Moritz but also wonder with his marriage split-up what chance there is of him getting anything out for some time to come. Have you got any ideas of other places/people/outfits might be interested — some collection of my stuff 68–72 or thereabouts —? // The trip over on the France was luxuriously a bore, the food good (but not great — the fish, for one thing, was frozen cardboard, no amt of sauce cd disguise —), copious, as was the table wine — drinks in the bar as expensive as NY, except Amer Picon, which I drank up all of their supply of — except for eating, I mostly slept & read Oliver Onions ghost stories, talked with the Hellmans & smoked up the rest of my grass, fearing the customs which in fact did not materialize at all, nothing, neither in Germany nor Denmark. So far the only dope Ive gotten here has been so weak as to be pure fragrance of imagination of better times past fondly remembered, but hope springs eternal // How’s wid y’all? Bialy’s last letter suggested you were living in Riverside, verdad? At any rate Im writing you there as best. / Did you ever get the piece off to Alpert? If not Id be mildly curious to see it myself, if you cd zip along a xerox // Have almost 2 wks off the middle of Oct thinking of going with Ruth somewhere warm and “exotic” like Crete, if all the tours aren’t booked up as they tend to be months in advance — have thought also of London but realize I don’t know anyone there except Michael Hamburger and him only slightly — then there’s Jonathan Williams up in Yorkshire […]. The way travel agencies are here, and the way expenses are living here, its really cheaper to travel than stay at home, as long as you take one of these Danes-en masse-lie in the sun and drink-nothing else kinds of sashays. // Otherwise I haven’t been travelling much so far, only got paid yesterday, for one thing — have slipped over to Sweden on the ferries 3 times, twice to watch birds with a birdfreak friend, once with Ruth to see Carl F. Hill’s extraordinary drawings in the Malmö museum (1849–1911, painted in France, went crazy c. 1878, mad the rest of his life, put away in Lund, his birthplace — the drawings from his years of madness are among the most impressive things I’ve seen in years, crazily prefiguring all sorts of later developments, but a world of their own, regardless of such comparisons). // Anyhow, things go on comfortably, & certainly Copenhagen is a very lovely city to be in, the pace of existence much less frantic here than US (it is also as you might guess a pretty expensive place to live, too), & the people, if a bit bland, very agreeable. And the pay is good.
/ Hope all goes well w/ you — let me hear from you
2. John Moritz (1946–2007), poet, student of Dorn’s at the University of Kansas, founder of Lawrence, Kansas–based Tansy Press and magazine, which published six of Irby’s books. See endnote 3 (“February 12, 1971”).
12 Feb 74
A query: Moritz and I are abt to get started on the reprinting of the Max Douglas poem, figuring to change the format to 5½ x 8, like say a New Dir. pb, and to add “Jesus” and “Delius” (keeping the same overall title though), along lines had been considering for some time (both Harvey Brown and Gerrit had suggested including those other two poems of the same time, two years back) — anyhow, the question is this: can you see using that piece you mentioned you’d done for Vort, but never got to Alpert in time, as a preface, postface, whatever, for this new edition of To Max D.? Since I ain’t seen what you wrote of course I don’t know how it looks etc, but how wd it seem to you?
I don’t know Johns schedule on all this, but he seems anxious to get it under way soon — from my end of it, there isn’t much to do, very few revisions in any of the poems.
… I feel like I’ve been typing with no let up ever since I got back from England the middle, last, whenever, of January, doing the ms. for Callahan, which took an incredible amt of wk for such a short bk — he’s got (I hope, if the mails didn’t go down again) it by now, take a look at it if you wd — any comments wd be appreciated — then on top of that some poobah shit for a talk the Fulbright office rookydooed for me in Brussels, god they’ve wanted one thing after another, summary, bibliography, copies of poems, on & on, all for some pittance in Belg. fr. (which as I fast found out, ain’t the same a-tall as French fr.) — AND starting now on the ms. for the other book Moritz wants to do, the one I wrote you abt in the fall I think, of poem 1968–1973, which is going to be a real bitch to get together — anyhow, um hum and ah ha and on …
I left here just after Xmas for Paris, where I stayed first with Clarence Brown, the Russian translator, a friend through my brother from Princeton, who was getting ready to head back to the US, his wife & kids already gone back, had the whole apt (Ionesco’s!) thus empty, spent a week there (rue de Rivoli, just where it starts, in the Marais, not down by the Louvre), mostly walking around digging the place, the incredible produce in the mkts in the streets, whew! esp after the Barren North, drove around in his truck some, etc, then spent abt a week with the Eshlemans in their place (Cavalcanti’s apt!) in Montmartre, during which time ate magnificently (except for one record and some postcards, that’s all I spent any money on in Paris: food and drink) though never more than one star Michelin, but lawsy what goodies, esp. the game, venison and wild boar. A memorable visit, all around. Then to England, crossing the Channel on one of those damned hovercraft, people barfing all around me and me feeling like my kidneys were going to bounce out my mouth, worst storms, I later heard, in 30 yrs, etc — went up to Yorkshire to visit Jonathan Williams in his “cottage,” 2 floors 2 baths and a sauna, which was very comfortable, the dales lushly green, the weather mild, incredibly soft and mild — back to London, stayed with Pierre Joris, the Luxembourg poet editor, via Bard, (Sixpack), where found Tom Pickard also staying so got to meet and talk with him, spent one day wandering around some together, and stayed over to hear him read at that Poetry Society outfit in Earls Court, a curious scene, but his reading great — in fact found Tom altogether, of course, a lovely memorable person I instantly liked and got on with — also saw the huge Munch exhibit at the Hayward, worth, as they say, the whole trip just to see, esp the late work, Id never seen even reprod. of before & bought records, books, a silk sq on sale in Liberty for Ruth, a fancy facsimile of the 1870 ed of Lady Cadogan’s Illustrated Games of Patience, for Tad, etc — had a great time all around, though London was dark dark and the sense of impending civil scrimmage building … & if the Irish start hitting the subways instead of scattered buses, ah me indeed …
& back here to the typing mill. How’s with you all? Bob sd you were looking for a place in SF, without luck (at that point, but since he sent the letter by regular mail it took almost 6 wks to get here — so what’s happening now? & such — I reckon you’ve got the big baby anthology Quasha and Rothenberg’ve done, which I must say I’ve dug digging around in, a lot, and as I said to Bob, any such compilation that puts me in between Emerson and Rexroth cant be all wrong.
So — basta for now — do let me hear soon /
2. See endnote 7 (“February 12, 1971”).
3. Gerrit Lansing (b. 1928), poet, essayist, founder of Set, “funky scholiast,” and close friend and correspondent of Irby’s (see: “[Some Notes on House and Woods] for Gerrit,” in The Intent On, 657–659).
4. “Kenneth Irby/David Bromige,” special issue, Vort 3 (Summer 1973); see endnote 5 (“September 27, 1973”).
5. Bob Callahan (1942–2008), writer, teacher, publisher, editor of New American Journal, cofounder (with Eileen Callahan) of Mudra Press, and founder of the Turtle Island Foundation, which published, among numerous other titles: Carl Sauer’s Northern Mists (1973); Dorn’s Recollections of Gran Apacheria (1974); and Brakhage’s Film Biographies (1977), for which Creeley, Dorn, and Guy Davenport supplied section introductions. It’s likely Irby is referring to his work on Sauer’s Seventeenth-Century North America book, which Turtle Island published posthumously. For further information, see the introduction to Irby’s prose pieces about meeting Carl Sauer and James Malin, elsewhere in this issue.
8. Clarence Brown, translator, arrived at Princeton as an instructor the same year as Irby’s brother, James, in 1959, and both promoted to assistant professor in 1962. Irby (Kenneth) and Brown shared an interest in Mandelstam: in 1965, Brown had translated and published, The Prose of Osip Mandelstam (Princeton University Press), and in 1973, his critical study, Mandelstam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973). In 1974, his cotranslation of the Selected Poems of Mandelstam (Macmillan), with W. S. Merwin, was imminent.
12. See endnote 8 (“September 27, 1973”).
13. Pierre Joris (b. 1946), born in France and raised in Luxembourg, poet, translator, essayist, cofounder and coeditor (with William Prescott) of Sixpack, which was active from 1972 through 1977, and a close friend of Irby.
15. [Irby’s handwritten note]: for the most part the inter-city trains weren’t heavily affected at that pt, though slow [After a thirty year hiatus, the IRA began an aggressive bombing campaign in London in March 1973. According to the BBC, “[o]ne of the most horrific bombings came in February 1974 when an IRA unit planted a bomb on a coach carrying servicemen and their families, killing eleven people” (“The IRA Campaigns in England,” BBC News World Edition, Sunday, 4 March 2001).]
16. Irby’s poem “Relation” appeared in between R. W. Emerson’s “Hamatreya” and Kenneth Rexroth’s “A Lesson in Geography” in the anthology America a Prophecy: A New Reading of American Poetry from Pre-Columbian Times to the Present, ed. George Quasha and Jerome Rothenberg (New York: Random House, 1973), 61–63.
17. Holbrook Teter (1930–1999), activist, printer, social worker, renaissance man, and cofounder, with artist Michael Myers, of Zephyrus Image, which produced hundreds of books, pamphlets, posters, and other printed items. Myers illustrated Dorn’s 1974 quasi-comic book edition of Recollections of Gran Apacheria, published by Bob Callahan’s Turtle Island Foundation. Teter designed the complete edition of Dorn’s Slinger (San Francisco: Wingbow Press, 1975), which remains unchanged in each reprint [Gunslinger (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1989), and Collected Poems (London: Carcanet, 2012)].