a poetry reading

I'm reading from my new book, The Transparent Dinner, at 3:00 at the Ear Inn this Saturday.

326 Spring Street (west of Greenwich Street)
New York City
FREE

Subway: C/E to Spring Street; 1/9 to Canal Street; N/R to Prince Street

November 4

Readers: Christine Hamm, Thomas March, Juliet Patterson

Here's a sample of one of my poems:

Animal Husbandry

The dog tells me that's he leaving me, that he no longer likes sticking his nose in my crotch. This last week he has been slipping his leash after I fall asleep and sucking cock in the backroom at Woody's. He tells me about the glory holes in the bathroom of the New York Public Library. I tell him he's lying, that dogs aren't allowed in the library. I'm having trouble breathing. I sit down on the edge of the bed. I shout, what, so women aren't good enough for you anymore! I remind him of our first date, how he tied me up and we cried all night. Never before had I been threatened with such tenderness, such sincerity. You can't fake that! I scream. I am sobbing. I am not a woman if my dog doesn't want me. I'm a question mark in a skirt.

The dog has his sad puppy-dog eyes on. I've seen him practice this look in the mirror. He asks me not to hate him. He rolls his eyes and whines.

I know that he's already picturing himself out on a walk, leaving me here alone in a room full of condoms and chew toys, some man's hand on his leash. I wonder if it's my scent that he finds so vile. He rests his chin on his crossed paws. It's not that you're fat, he tells me. There's a gland near the base of the skull that regulates it-- this desire, this thing, for bones.



For more about me or the book, go to www.christinehamm.org

Disco Time

the glitter in my hair is infinite
stocking feet on blue shag carpet
the Hustle has many complicated steps
I’m wearing a rainbow in three different places
Cindy demonstrates sloppy fellatio on a hotdog
I laugh so hard my cheeks hurt
we’ve found her parents pot and porn
my jeans are so tight it hurts to sit
Led Zeppelin is kinda cool
but the Bee Gees are gnarly
we’ve locked her little brother out of the den
she’s wearing thirteen plastic bracelets
the color matches my eye shadow
and the unicorn on my notebook waves his horn to the music

Led Zeppelin is kinda cool
the unicorn on my notebook waves his horn to the music
the color matches my eye shadow
we’ve found her parents pot and porn
we’ve locked her little brother out of the den
the Hustle has many complicated steps
stocking feet on blue shag carpet
Cindy demonstrates sloppy fellatio on a hotdog
she’s wearing thirteen plastic bracelets
I laugh so hard my cheeks hurt
my jeans are so tight it hurts to sit
but the Bee Gees are gnarly
I’m wearing a rainbow in three different places
and the glitter in my hair is infinite

Some Mothers

……. they move slowly on
…. the grass, shifting their feet
and pausing

… their heads are bent
busy on the ground
……. they are full already
but still they eat
… they are sleek and their
… bodies glimmer

…. . …. if you try to come
close they will raise
their heads all at once ……. and stare

……. their faces will move
quickly then and they
will talk to each other
in low, worried voices

their expressions are
……. difficult to read
their eyes and mouths
……. . . . . . dark and still and shifting

…. . . .…. and then you step again
……. and they lift
a vast sudden wave
complaining loudly
……. without ceasing
and throw themselves into the sky

Hey I'm a little famous.

New Poem. hurrah.

Two Friends


Can I hold your hand without breaking your wrist?
Can you comb my hair without pulling it out?
Can I kiss your cheek without taking a bite?
Can we talk without you spitting in my mouth?
Could you hold still for a minute?
Did I say you could borrow my shoes?
Didn’t I tell you that he would be trouble?
Could you let me finish my sentence?

Do you have to wear that shirt?
Do we both have targets painted on our hearts?
Did you just say what I thought you said?
Can we have a conversation without you calling the police?
Do you have to be so clingy?
Can you stop slamming your door in my face?
Can you try sleeping by yourself for once?
Did we have the same dream again?

Do you trust yourself alone in a room full of cake?
Do you need me to be there?
Can you stop yelling so I can hear myself think?
Could you put those scissors down when we’re discussing your mother?
Do you think you can get a driver’s license on your own?

How long until we get there?
Do you need some money?
Are you ever going to stop humming that song?
Do you have to do that this minute?
Could you just forget you ever had my phone number, please?

Can you ever forgive me?

Things I never thought I'd be saying to a college class:
"No, I think paper really does cover rock."

Hey there.

I started working on some poems as a sort of framing device for my next book (I know: Next book? Jesus Christ Almighty haven’t I heard enough about this one; but I have to keep moving! Or like a shark I will sink to the bottom and drown). The manuscript is tentatively titled Lessons in Cannibalism. I had to get away from the adjective noun construction I always use for titles. So here’s a new poemeee. (Shrieks and runs away.)

Your Next Assignment

After reading “The Life of a Vegetarian Cannibal”, please answer the following questions in your notebook.

1) Samantha states that her vegetarian lifestyle is compatible with her cannibalism. Are you convinced by her argument?

2) In the story within the article about Cecilia and her black dog, the author uses several symbols. What does the symbol of the Queen Anne’s Lace on the kitchen counter represent? Can Cecilia’s work at the community soup kitchen be seen as symbolic?

3) Compare the two graphs representing common nutritional deficiencies of cannibals and vegetarians. What vitamin supplements do both cannibals and vegetarians need?

4) After reading about Cynthia’s trouble with Mr. Evans, what do you think she could have done differently? Where would you hide the body?

I had my interview today with a Queens Newspaper (with a circulation of 100,000!) Eek.
Let's hope it went a leeetle better than the last one.

Some new photos.

Selecting Tulips for Slaughter

when resting, the petals must not be entirely motionless
the heavier tulip
ddddddddmay dress higher,
i.e. produce a carcass of heavy
weight dddddddd but a tulip who sports
thick skin, pelt or a heavy cover of hair

all over the body yields
a lower dressing weightdddddddd as non-carcass

components (such as breasts) of the tulip body increase

the possibility of dressed meat
ddddfffffffdddddecreases

the mark of a healthy tulip
dddddddda quick,
smart appearance underlying keen reflexes
ddddddddas such tulips move, they do so steadily with ease
tulips who are not fat or bulky

are suspecteddddddddd a butcher
ddddddddshould acquaint himself

with the key criteria of tulip selection
ddddddddbefore fingering the bulbs.
when resting, the petals must not be entirely motionless

So my book is now up on Amazon.

I will give a free copy of my book (and free shipping!) to the first six people who write a review for the book on Amazon.

The way it works is: you email me requesting to review it, I send you the pdf file, you read it and post the review, and I send you the book!

I already met this lovely lady, Peggy, who agreed to post review for me.

Wadda' ya say?

I have read Navigate. I am still recovering. It is under my skin, spinning. And I think it's in my dreams, because last night I thought I was sunburned and barefooted and crazy on a large, dark beach. I might have been tearing up strips of paper from an old book, and there might have been fire.

Sung to the tune of "My Humps":

My book, my book, my lovely boooky-book. Check it out!"

Whoever googled "angry teenage poetry" and ended up here --I have one word for you:


Whatever.

Selected Excerpts from Student Comments About My Poetry Course

The professor’s comments are difficult to read, and, I suspect, in another language.

The professor scrunches up her nose when I write about daisies. As she does this I can see her top row of teeth which are both brittle and sharp.

The professor refuses to recognize that I have levels. Levels within levels.

The professor laughs loudly and frequently at nothing. Her laughter is like plates breaking on the floor of an infrequently used garage.

The professor stares at me like she knows where I live.

The professor suggested that if I wanted to be a poet I should take up truck driving and/or prostitution.

The professor is silent and lays her head on her desk for long moments in class.

The professor asked me to eat my pen.

The professor asks us to use our imaginations, when she knows I am disabled and don’t have one.

The professor often dresses from head to toe in a single, loathsome color.

Sometimes the professor repeats one word over and over for nearly the entire class. I am unsure if this is a form of stutter or experimental poetry. Once when the word was
“brackish” several students left the room and never came back.

The professor encourages students to jump out the window.

The professor has made me cry on several occasions when she was not even in the room.

I signed up for intro chem.

The professor offers us pieces of chocolate which are possibly poisoned.

I have never met the professor.

The professor sometimes claims to hear an alarm bell and rushes the class from the building, then disappears in the shrubbery.

I suspect the professor’s intentions are impure.

I went to the best reading yesterday at KGB -- some astoundingly brave work also some that was raw some that was funny some that was deadly and did I mention James Frey showed up but I missed all the hullaballo though I did notice there were an awful lot of pictures being taking with this one guy and why does everyone want their picture taken with their arms around him?


Jolene Siana reads from Ogre (click for a bigger picture)



Tony O’Neill reads a completely made-up story about death (click for a bigger picture)


N. Frank Daniels reads from Future Proof (click for a bigger picture)


The reading was by the riot lit collective -- a group of the most gritty, truthful, painful, spectacular and scary writers ever, including two members I’m very proud to actually know --
Jolene Siana and
Tony O’Neill.

I’ve already bought their books -- you should too.

THE BOOK

IS HERE

ESTA AQUI

ETC.

(I'm feeling a little faint)

(Probably a few more days before it shows up on Amazon.)

(It's unbelievable and beautiful. It has my picture on it!)

(There are poems inside. By me.)

(And Kristy is getting a copy. Right away.)

(And so is Cheryl.)

(And Anne. )

Despite what she thought, it IS true that the whole damn class was out back practicing the one-handed frisbee toss.