Tag Archives: Anne Gorrick poet

Anne Gorrick’s I-Formation (Book Two)

© Image by Elizabeth Bryant

 
 
Anne Gorrick is a poet and visual artist. She is the author of I-Formation (Book 2) (Shearsman, 2012), I-Formation (Book 1) (Shearsman, 2010), and Kyotologic (Shearsman, 2008). She collaborated with artist Cynthia Winika to produce a limited edition artists’ book, “Swans, the ice,” she said, funded by the Women’s Studio Workshop in Rosendale, NY and the New York Foundation for the Arts.

She curates the reading series Cadmium Text, which focuses on innovative writing from in and around New York’s Hudson Valley. She also co-curates the electronic poetry journal Peep/Show with poet Lynn Behrendt, which is a taxonomic exercise in textual and visual seriality”. Images of her visual art can be found here. Anne lives in West Park, New York.
 
 
 
 
 
 
I-Formation in its entirety is comprised of four separate groups of poems, that when ordered in a particular way, tell a Genesis story. The first book (2010) begins in a garden and ends with an incarnation of Eve meeting her coeval. The break between books expresses a break in the story. Something has happened. Something perhaps as simple as eating an apple. The second book addresses the things we are left with once we are thrown out of the garden: co-identity and depiction, the self and landscape. The first section of the second book is a collection of poems based on anagrams of people’s names, and forms a relationship map of this poet’s life. The final section is comprised of poems based largely on the Hudson Valley landscape, a world exterior to and surrounding the garden.”
 
 
 
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“Anne Gorrick echolocates with ‘ninja canniness’ a mythos and topology of selves amidst and against haunted weathers and ‘feral dollars.’ I-Formation (Book 2) is a book of spider nests and tennis nets, a vibrant book of Genesis (continued). But most of all it is a hot web of keyword alter egos and shifting stakes, where ‘Misnomers simmer like memoirs’.”

– Tom Beckett
 
 
 
“Anne Gorrick’s, I-Formation (Book 2) is exuberant writing. Expanding fields of vision communicate with what is imperceptible, undisclosed and under the surface. That is to say, the tactile and sensual border on forthcoming presences, what is yet to become—there is so much tension and anticipation in this not-yet future. To get there, marvelous syntax is used. These realms are in a radius, like local color, proximate to the body, felt. This book is the universe.”

– Brenda Iijima

 
 
“Anne Gorrick’s wonderfully astute ear & eye for words provoke in me alignments & intertwining with other art forms. In the first section of this book, with its anagrammatic approach to the names of the people the poems are dedicated to, I keep seeing Klee, hearing the canons & fugues of Bach. With the second section, the Hudson Valley poems, I find the music symphonic, the landscape Fauve. Surround sound in a delightful gallery.”

– Mark Young
 
 
 
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Blizzard and Flock
 
 
settled in her lungs
She knew when she coughed up feathers
A bouquet of bruise and fresh peonies
was the rusty promise of her chest

In these interior branches
hung sacs of liquid: clear, watery
that bubbled up into her mouth
A hatching: platinum streaked with blood
She felt a swimming against her tongue
felt she must test everything in the world
for its truth in existence by licking
each fur, each stone, each piece of glass, beach bone

She didn’t tell anyone:
the feathers, the roe burst
the infection that bloomed in her house

When the new brood protected by her tongue
began to hum slightly, she ferreted in
the backs of his closets. A burgundy velvet
dress from the 1940s, tied in the back, a row
of rhinestone buttons fell down her sternum
like frozen tears

In this once-empty dress, she moved the metal
wardrobe from the door, and entered Julia’s room

Dress the color, a cardinal’s peripheral fragment
Dress the color, the blood-opal
Dress the color, torchsac of the jellyfish

White walls rimmed skyblue
A shoebox filled with the hair
of an appendixdead son
And a black slip and a red one
a pink mesh dress, an unburnt candle

She spit an entire salmon onto the floor
and it begged to be let back in

She ground its eggs in her teeth
She coughed four starpale feathers
and rubbed the constellation on her sternum
Wishes made and wishes granted

She was melting snow, had the quality
of a virus descended
a protean, unknown migration

When he returned to bed
she drew with her tongue the sunrise and
sunset on his belly
a spidernest in his left hand
a turtle on the left side of his neck
a pronghorn on the right shoulder
the latter two connected by a footpath
spanning the jugular plain

A wintercrop in her lungs
she coughed splinters of wheat
This is what the birds found as food
why they were there
 
 
 
 
from I-Formation (Book Two) (Shearsman, 2012).

Order I-Formation (Book Two).
 
 
 
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Anne Gorrick’s I-Formation (Book One)

Anne Gorrick © Lynn Behrendt

  
 
Anne Gorrick is the author of I-Formation (Book One) (Shearman Books, 2010), the forthcoming I-Formation (Book Two), and Kyotologic (also from Shearsman Books, 2008). She collaborated with artist Cynthia Winika to produce a limited edition artists’ book, “Swans, the ice,” she said, funded by the Women’s Studio Workshop in Rosendale, NY and the New York Foundation for the Arts. Images of her visual art can be found at The Rope Dancer Accompanies Herself with Her Shadows.
 
She curates the reading series Cadmium Text, which focuses on innovative writing from in and around New York’s Hudson Valley. She also co-curates the electronic poetry journal Peep/Show with poet Lynn Behrendt, which is a “taxonomic exercise in textual and visual seriality”. Anne lives in West Park, New York. 
 
 
 

 
 
“In this book, Anne Gorrick writes poems of heft and delicacy. Each is constructed as a musical thinking through of an idea, as she builds a poem through deft and fluid repetition and musical ways of speaking. Even though these poems exist here only on the page, her voice, unique and personal, is present in each, and it guides us through her surreal landscapes of concrete abstraction with gentle tenacity and a rich and vivid vocabulary. Everything exists, in her poems, as a thought, as a vision, as a sound through space, and all at once. What a poem must do to justify its existence is to surprise us with its necessary inevitability, which is what these poems do piece by piece, one by one, and together.”
 
– Geof Huth
 
 
“What is this ‘piece of sea kohl on the tongue?’ Indescribable, uncapturable, the two primary texts of I-Formation ‘abundant inside the unknown weeks’ convolute, permutate and gestate into various complex gardens ‘informed by duplicate vibrations’. An ‘arrangement released from families, beds, factories, from books’. If you, like author Anne Gorrick, ‘consider stars, their vapor whistles/ how they spread out their thoughts across the night’ and attend that ‘rose whose belief is secure’ and ‘time dissembled from indigo/ the sky broken from its facts’ then you just might be ready to enter into the text’s dreamy fabulist’s ‘declaration in color’. But, don’t expect to keep your I’s intact!”
 
– Kimberly Lyons
 
  
“Finished with expulsion? Garden again. Here. In an Eden made of metal or terrible gristle or the exact equivalent. Like Adam. Like Eve. You know them? Think again. Indent. Reconfigure. Indent. Reverse. Invent I more as vowel than self—an auto’s horn(y) chrome. Anne Gorrick’s I-Formation (I) plants readers in a genesis. We watch how she tends to ‘the excess of humanity’—its clay, its cancer, its color, its counting—with a wry reverence. The visual is intellectual: ‘To be red in corn, in the need to divide …’ Sonic recursions become mechanical matter(s): oil drums, rope, yellow narcissus. Making marriage mythic, Gorrick lets desire flourish and combust. One could return to these meditations season after season. I will. ‘She is systematically new’.”
 
– Lori Anderson Moseman

  
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The April Garden
 
 
The sky’s miracles gaze into her thinness
Weeping: what she does to give the days form
Because Shaolin gave me “Colette” in roses
The garden takes in her greening arms
willful, ancient wood narcissus
Spring’s shadows fall into their fire
 
          Guinea hens, obstinate and strange
          The ancient yellow of narcissus in April woods
 
That which has extraordinarily expanded is recently thin
Crying is what makes the days occur now
The old yellow narcissus is intentionally strange in the wood
Photography lodges itself into one of her weekends
It’s purpose? To stand still very quickly
 
          Star of many miracles A and as for me
          sometimes you’d think I’m composed
          entirely of my own screaming
          Grandmother: where we were large once
 
Cancer peels her into thinness
Each day now is a cinder
Darwin criticizes her lips
a pink impression, yellowed pages
Aluminum silk, cancer silver
She fasts and stands as though inside glass beads
 
          The cancer believes in itself
          Regard the many, many stars in her
          “Colette” knows the essential color of roses
          The writer believes firmly, yet it does not happen
          Quiet inside an aluminum book
 
Consider stars, their vapor whistles
how they spread out their thoughts across the night
in our shouts, our affliction
How do you know the true color of roses?
 
          Darwin’s own blood spills
          Changed yellows
          I am installed inside a photograph
          for the duration of one weekend
          The rope colored crown
          Movement takes place in glass granules
 
The belief that time exists completely for cancer
The skin end of a dog
As for me, the stars are steam considered
The rose whose belief is secure
 
          When knowing does not happen
          Green, a fact which waits around for tulips
          When fairness first changes
          I fast from silver
          The aluminum silks of cancer
          their glass particulates
          engaged in movement, acquisition
 
 
 
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The October Garden
 
 
          Our first true freezing
          by the time the sheets hang in addition to the leaves
          I supervise the landscape
          There have been very few distinguishable reds this year
          Facts linger in the Japanese maples
          “Slap me red”
          The hydrangeas turn to paper
          pale and luminous
          The birds devour the crimson seed heads
          The sky divided multiply by a tree
 
The year is few and red under enormous rain
as soon divides itself
If I indicate a view, this year taken in small amounts
very mine amongst the You seen in red
A factual Japan applied with influences
in paper revolutions bright in an arc of salt
The birds below “Jeanne d’Arc”
the white of 300 Thalia swallows the wood immediately around him
That decreases were decreased
 
          When autumn originates within rain and indicates
          a view: German silver, deep red
          Method dawns in a plate of hydrangeas
          new jonquils the color of white cars
 
A medical exam in October, normality under an enormous rain
The enemy sees you completely in a German silver-plated place
which is red-dark
The facts outside of Japan: dishes of hydrangea
jonquils carved into the red-dark
The He is tall, next to white car underneath a red pine
swallowing 300 Thalias
When he is divided from form
importance immediately ardently
This reduction of environments
 
          The interior of this year is enormous
          When German silver indicates sight in place
          of a dark red ore
          Papery, pale and luminous
          The Japanese fact applied to a tree
          “He will be red-dark, reliably believed”
 
Method shovels hydrangea, plates of jonquils
Belief in the firmly red-dark bulbs in electric lamps
The high crow and the white automobile
You under a red pine tree
300 established for swallow’s white
Thalia in components
Respect divided by form in love immediately, importantly
Environment in this reduction
 
          The You I write has changed
          still inside the fall, an enormous rain
          takes Looking at this thing, this ore
          when the German enemy should cover the place
          with a silver that is also dark red
          A thin bright paper
          Japanese fact applied to function in wood, which is
               substance
          Securities stacked with red darknesses
 
Meaning in order to believe in electricity
The world prints an annual edition of 300 hydrangeas
The white automobile You
and being wooden the pine to be red
swallowed in white hostas where the jonquils are
When we are divided by form in certain decreases
immediately, seriously, decreased in love
 
          October is the prosecuting attorney of these materials
          In order to establish fact, we exchange seats
          The I spreads out and it writes
          Belief in enormous fires
          in identical times, in Grace’s Water Museum
          An ore in place of obligation
          The enemy of time and red
          The paper, as dawn, thins
          The Japanese fact as function applied to these trees
          By him, an immediacy, the targets piled up
          To believe in a lightbulb when it’s dark
          The jonquils point inside in inferior
          white shedding of the blood curve
          In love with reduction, the mother-body, in decrease
 
The I propagated outside and written
under enormous fires
Autumn rains mineral and obligation
Documentation is thin
The trees are applied to the sky above us
a considered directness, objects accumulate
jonquils swallowed in buttery light
The white autokinetic You
The pine tree and a spade divided
decreases in places of love
This mother-body, this reduction
 
          The jurist in October
          The I external, and he writes her
          There will be enormous fires in this rain
          Our interior autumns in regard to water
          Expenditures, mineral final, obligation
          When Germany is applied to the red of the thing
          Documented together, we appear thin
          Tasks accumulate alongside darkness
 
In concrete she eats attainabilities
A bright tuber of electrical light = sufficiency
Problems swallowed in walnut oil
The jonquils inside Jeanne d’Arc when she burned
an interior whiteness, blood oppression
Crow writing high crow
The white automatic kinetic You
swindled hydrangeas from a red pine
 
          Jurist, natural elements, examinations
          Minerals established instead of place
          The electric light is tubercular with obligation
          Tasks accumulate in responsibility
          The whiteness of jonquils, a blood oppression
          Crow high, a kinetic automatic target
          along the axis of a hydrangea
          The atmosphere diminishes leaving him on an axis divided
 
October is a material jurist
a place for ending mineral things
The obligation in him
German characters in red time
The crow has written in order to write
You swallow jonquils, pure white
He shines electric against concrete
The methods of resembling when she is systematically new
The atmosphere divides, decreases
On the axis of automatic motion: some hydrangeas
 
 
 
 
from I-Formation, Book One (Shearsman Books, 2010).
 
Order I-Formation, Book One.
 
Allen Bramhall reviews I-Formation, Book One at
Galatea Resurrects.
 
Lynn Behrendt reviews I-Formation, Book One at
Galatea Resurrects.
 
 
 
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Anne Gorrick’s Kyotologic

Anne Gorrick © Elizabeth Bryant

  
 
Anne Gorrick is the author of I-Formation (Book One) (Shearman Books, 2010), the forthcoming I-Formation (Book Two), and Kyotologic (also from Shearsman Books, 2008). She collaborated with artist Cynthia Winika to produce a limited edition artists’ book, “Swans, the ice,” she said, funded by the Women’s Studio Workshop in Rosendale, NY and the New York Foundation for the Arts. Images of her visual art can be found at The Rope Dancer Accompanies Herself with Her Shadows.
 
She curates the reading series Cadmium Text, which focuses on innovative writing from in and around New York’s Hudson Valley. She also co-curates the electronic poetry journal Peep/Show with poet Lynn Behrendt, which is a “taxonomic exercise in textual and visual seriality.” Anne lives in West Park, New York.
 
 
 

  
 
“In the winter, when it is very cold and one lies buried under bedclothes listening to one’s lover’s endearments, it is delightful to hear the booming of the temple gong, which seems to come from the bottom of a deep well. The first cry of the birds, whose beaks are still tucked under their wings, is also strange and muffled. Then one bird after another takes up the call. How pleasant it is to lie there listening as the sound becomes clearer and clearer!”
 
The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon
 
 
“Anne Gorrick’s first collection of poems is a remarkable reworking of themes from the 10th century Japanese memoir of Heian court life, The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon, which is the only evidence we have about how life was lived 1,000 years ago during the Heian period in Japan. That women enjoyed almost all the same freedoms as men … That a woman of this time produced what we consider to be the first modern novel … That poetry acted as an intrinsic cultural currency of the kind that is almost impossible to imagine today … These points serve as a continuing reminder of what poetry can be to culture.
 
Anne writes over and within the historic text of the Pillow Book and through various textual manipulations and colonizations, makes a new work out of it. An ancient Eastern text drunk on Western footnotes: Tristan Tzara, Susan Howe, Robert Duncan, Robert Desnos, Mei-mei Berssenbrugge. Modernity sewn flamboyantly over the holes of an old cloth, an ancient boro text/ile.”
 
 
 
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“A densely beautiful book, young poems growing out of old poems, vines round an ancient pine. Imagine language talking to itself, all skin and rain and blossoms, scattering like leaves, seeming to remember some other country some other time—yet always being vividly present like a strange food you’ve taken into your mouth that’s too sweet—but after a moment, just barely sweet enough, as we get to like this world Gorrick has incarnated for us here, safe in our deepest feelings.”
 
– Robert Kelly
 
 
“In Kyotologic, Anne Gorrick takes Sei Shonagon’s poetic diaries as materials for a new performance of eccentric intimacy. A book of days that is also a “model of interruptions”, Gorrick’s work admits us as voyeurs, offers us mysterious routines in lieu of identity, and includes history (albeit processual history). Trust that this book is written in silk, cherries, and “with a good pen”, but don’t expect orientalism or even orientation, as such. The logic of Kyotologic is a cold engagement with personhood mediated by a world of things.”
 
– Aaron McCollough
 
 
 
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161. On the Twenty-Fourth of the Twelfth Month
 
 
The Empress arranged that there should be a name
and for us a temple to aim for a secret tryst
I divided a carriage with some others
Snow descended as if it were days
The morning stopped and there was a strong wind
Black cotton soil where snow had puffed up
The rooftops were completely white
ignited by a pale moon
as though they were covered with money
The icicles seemed to be deliberately hung
like the various lengths of nights
luminous and assembled
 
               Blind men outside the carriage, the moonlight well inside
               Eight layers of plum and clearly red
               A coat of sunk violet
               In the openings of his casings one could see
               pink and yellows scarlet within him
               He had demolished the white dazzlingly
 
He recited the words, “cold drilling, it drew aside as ice.”
 
The Empress ensured that the buddha should have a name
The snow part was air-pushed
The huts of the poor were roofed by slats of the moon
 
               His external the blind
               Covered in eight layers of magenta-free red
               The material stood grape colored
               with a strongly described Design
 
Time became cold and perforated resulting in snow
 
The Empress drew a salary
assessed the fact that buddha would need to name us
The snow descended, hours stopped
The black cotton soil
The poor besides were burned
The moon was sick as if covered with money
The icicles seemed to hang with incredibly good manners
 
               A sinkful of moonlight
               One could be Mrs. and A simultaneous
               in eight layers of fuschia, red-free and red plum
               Over this he transported a coat of viola sunk
               that he has polished with one luminous streak
               Legacies of the material: firm, grape, colorful
               One could see you indent it
               The scarlet dresses like evenings under yellow
 
The woman slid into the back of the car in order to prevent
     the luminous moon
 
I divided the stars between the others
The moon on a stick burned
The Empress arranged that we nominate the buddhas
for a private game, a tryst
I shared a covered cart with falling snow
One could see a patch of black land
where the snow was casting absentee
The rooftops were completely white despite the poor
illuminated uniformly by the moon
thatched in silver
Icicles deliberate in different lengths
 
               She carried a coat of descended violet
               A luminous gloss
               A strongly described design
               In the openings of his residences
               one could see the notchings
               and the scarlet within him
               The evening gowns of magenta-ed lower parts
 
“The whole night likes to spend you.”
 
A divided carriage covered in delicious movement
Snow came to the bottom of our days
One could see a piece of the black cotton soil
where the snow had missed the frame
The pale moon wore a luminous uniform
moved across the sky like completion covered in money
Icicles hung in different duration as if they were days
 
               At the openings of his domiciles
               one could see notch and scarlet
               He stood in such a way, one of his legs inward
 
The cold in order to perforate the hours
The entire night to spend leisurely if there would be similar ones
“We will suffer a surplus of destination soon.”
 
               The snow arrived instead of days
               exquisite movement
               the hours gusting
               the roofs were completely white with women
               their icicles deliberate and hung
 
I could see one courtesan
covered in eight layers of magenta, red, plum
and other white dresses of the night
On this she laid a covering of violet descending
a luminous gloss
One could carve scarlet into domiciles
Dazzle the white demolished
 
In the end, we subvert moonlight
by sliding into the backseat of a car
On some occasions we recite the words
“the cold ends to perforate the hour”
An excess of destination soon
 
               A covering of coming down in viola
               The night’s dresses cut free
               The night ended in a familiar courtesan
 
 
 
 
from Kyotologic (Shearsman Books, 2008).
 
Order Kyotologic.
 
Anne is interviewed at Galatea Resurrects, Open Letters Monthly
and Five & Six Photo/Text.
 
 
 
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