asinine poets’ cafe

Houghton Piker Dies at 77

2009-12-15T09:54:00.000-08:00

Houghton Piker, Founder of Asinine Poetry, Dies at 77
By UPTOWN SINCLAIR, reprinted from the NEW YORK TIMES without permission
Published: December 14, 2009

Houghton Piker, the prolific and populist poet who founded Asinine Poetry, a literary journal that carved out and fiercely held on to a deservedly ignored niche of verse, died in Brooklyn on Monday. He was 77.

A long-time sufferer of anusitis, Piker was enjoying a brief convalescence when he went out to shop for materials to make crab cakes and was hit by a bus.

“Did beauty kill the beast? No, twas, the B61 doing 55,” said longtime colleague Richard Cairo, one of the editors of AsininePoetry.com. Cairo added, “At least we can say he beat the big itch. It didn’t beat him.”

Said Catty Marlboro, news editor at AsininePoetry.com, “There were a lot of celebrity deaths this year, and Piker could never resist being in on a trend. Except for pants-wearing. That never caught on with him.”

Indeed, it was one of Mr. Piker’s final requests that he be cremated sans trousers.

Mr. Piker (whose first name, he once wrote Ms. Marlboro, was pronounced, “Not ‘WHOO-ten,’ but rather ‘HOAT-en,’ stressing ‘HOAT,’ which rhymes with ‘boat,’ with an unreleased ‘t,’ followed by unstressed ‘n,’”) was an old-fashioned man of letters — writer, editor, publisher, teacher, boozer, and cad — with a wide range of knowledge and interests. He was a busy glancer at of publications from The New York Review of Books to OK!, and he is said to have even finished reading entire articles.

His own works were ambitious and idiosyncratic, addressing such topics as Christian myths, bestiality, and cross-dressing. He wrote about Jesus Christ and St. Valentine, but also Michael Jackson and Martha Stewart. He wrote admiringly of Jenna Jameson, Soupy Sales, and himself, finding in all of them a motivating sense of joy that made their otherwise disparate work comparably brilliant.

His self-published books included the collection of essays, In Stultos Versus, composed entirely on toilet paper, which argued that artistic creativity is a performance, a self-aware exercise of self-expression in which artists should attempt to liberate themselves from the cultural, moral, political, and psychological strictures of the expectations of other artists; and critical studies of Allan Sherman, Mort Sahl, and Tom Lehrer, which placed them at the forefront of American comedy, albeit for only several seconds.

“At its best,” Mr. Piker wrote of Tom Lehrer, “his writing exemplifies the kind of effort that can and needs to be made by anyone who proposes to make more than submissive sense of the world as it now is. And he’s a pisser.”

Mr. Piker, who was a longtime attendee of gratis events with free food at university campuses, founded the journal of asinine poetry in 1994.The zine evolved into a chapbook series, which evolved into a website. Altogether, the journal is an attempt — unsuccessful, by most standards — to engage both “poetry LUVers and h8ers “in a convo re: hi + lo culture,” Piker wrote in a recent Tweet.

“He really believed that literature was something that could be accomplished in the shower,” said a Facebook friend, the poet Finnerton Deerfield. “He believed you could be playful and carefree and still come up with something of value. What a moron. Although a charming one with quite the liver.”

In the online journal’s pages can be found the poetry of Hal Sirowitz, Daniel Thomas Moran, and Albert Van Hoogmoed, among many others, as well as the work of the many obscure essayists and complete unknowns, including gender-studies theorist Stoney Emshwiller, literary critic Colonel Drunky Bob, and J.C., who would really rather not be labeled.

“He represented the most insignificant and useless wing of poetic endeavors of his generation and perhaps every other’s,” said U.S. Poet Laureate Kay Ryan, whose work has been rejected 752 times by AsininePoetry.com.

Houghton Asininus Piker was born in Gloucester, Mass., on July 1, 1932, into a poor “totally non-literary family,” he recalled in an interview with the Rutgers literary magazine Guttalk. His father was a fisherman, his mother a ventriloquist. After high school, he joined the Army and served in Iceland during the Korea War. Afterward, on the G.I. bill, he went to Amherst, where Robert Frost was an influential presence, giving Piker tips on local horse races. He subsequently earned an M.A. at Yale, spent time at Cambridge on a Fulbright fellowship and was awarded a Ph.D. at Harvard in 1960.

Piker repeatedly claimed to have been born in 1962. “We knew he was a bit older than he said he was,” said Marlboro. “With all the ‘23-skidoo’ references.”

Before founding Asinine Poetry, Mr. Piker was an editor of Crème de Gruyere Review, an avid foot wrestler, and he also edited anthologies, as well as several editions of Spectra.

Mr. Piker had apparently left behind plans for a complete overhaul of the AsininePoetry.com website. Editors of the journal have been reticent to comment. But Marloro did note that Piker left one last poem to be inscribed on his tombstone: “You may’ve love me,/and I may’ve love you/But all I’ve ever wanted/Was a quiet place to poo.”

He is survived by his wife, Martha, his older brother, Neap, a daughter, goth poet Creeley Merlot Piker, the result of a torrid affair with exotic entertainer and dealer-in-antiquities Juniper ''Legs'' McCorkindale, and possibly one illegitimate son, salesman Houghton Auspicious Piker, Jr., who claims to have been fathered by Piker when the poet visited Saturn in the 31st century.

Top 10 Reasons Dave Letterman Is Such a Stud Muffin

2009-10-02T09:18:00.001-07:00

10. Nothing fascinates the ladies more than a man in a double-breasted jacket and white socks.
9. That gap tooth smile is irresistible.
8. Having a nationally syndicated talk show is kinda hot.
7. Johnny Carson taught him everything he knows.
6. Madonna wants him.
5. Drew Barrymore wants him.
4. Bizarre wit, massive ego, and a stifling sense of ennui are his Spanish Fly.
3. The way he smokes that cigar.
2. He's got a car.
1. He's got Paul as a wingman.

Water on Da Moon!

2009-09-24T11:32:00.000-07:00

WATER ON THE MOON!!
(Thanks to the Police)
by Richard Cairo

Giant gulps are what you take
Water on the moon
I hope my mug don’t break
Water on the moon
We could drink forever
Water on the moon
Make more Tang together
Water on, water on the moon

Swimming in a crater
Water on the moon
A moat around the moonbase
Water on the moon
A rink that you can skate upon
Water on the moon
See the stars reflected on
Water on, water on the moon

Some have said
We can build a Moon Club Med
And with the Sun above your head, they said
Swing with the alien in red, you said
In a big waterbed!

Should this be uploaded to AsininePoetry.com in the next issue? What do YOU think?

Michael Vick Does Tricks

2009-08-25T07:48:00.000-07:00

Killer in the End Zone
For Michael Vick
(To the tune of “Doggie in the Window”)

How much is that killer in the end zone?
The one who just got out of jail.
How much is that killer in the end zone?
I’d call him a big justice FAIL

I just made a trip to Philadelphia
And saw that dog-killer playing
If he were his dog, he’d be shot now
Or fighting for his life in a ring

I read in the paper he had herpes
And now he is choking with debts
The NFL is not known for its mercy
They treat their own players like pets

The NFL doesn’t want to fix Vick
They don’t want to make him go heel
They just want to sell football tickets
And bad PR’s just as good for the deal

How much is that killer in the end zone?
The one who just got out of jail.
How much is that killer in the end zone?
I’d call him a big justice FAIL

Under consideration for the next issue

Asinine Poetry Prose Contest Results!

2009-08-14T11:25:00.000-07:00

FIRST PRIZE ''The Scourge of Unlawful Infants'' by Stoney Emshwiller
SECOND PRIZE ''A Woman and Her Secrets'' by Ed Kornfeld
THIRD PRIZE ''Tie Goes to the Dog'' by Dustin Michael

And our runners up!
''Letter from My Girlfriend Who Works in Marketing'' by Steve Blackburn
''Corporate Gag Gift'' by Marybeth Niederkorn
''On Cell Phones on Queues'' by V.S. Frimmit
''World's Number One Bukowski Fan'' by David Ochs
''For the Love of Neurotics'' by Daniel Thomas Moran
''What Brought This On?'' by Gerald So
''For the Love of Neurotics'' by Daniel Thomas Moran
''The Chupacabra's Charming Roadside Cuchifrito Cafe'' by Raul Chuletas

http://www.asininepoetry.com/contest/13

Hot August Asininity

2009-08-01T07:20:00.000-07:00

* NEW poems for August 2009--

"Bring Me a Coldie, Obama" by Richard Cairo
"Aqui in Heaven" by Raul Chuletas
"Tour de Farce" by Dana Esau Larsen
"Thank You for Your Gift to Mizzou" by Katharine Showalter
"Schtupping the Chupacabra" by Jessica L. Kleinman
"My Dog's Getting Older" by Albert Van Hoogmoed
"beta carotene" by Stephen Kopel
"The Sea" by Christian Ward
"Has Anyone Seen My Meds?" by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
"Alarm Clock Melody" by Heather L. Green aka the Dark One

http://www.asininepoetry.com/

* Winners from our Asinine Prose contest announced next month!

Obama Makes a Beer Run

2009-07-30T08:06:00.000-07:00

BRING ME A COLDIE, OBAMA

by Richard Cairo

Bring me a coldie, Obama
We’ve had enough of this drama
Screw race and screw class
They’re a pain in the ass
Hey, let’s fly Air Force One to Bahama!

Let’s have that beer now, Obama
Congress is a lame pack of llamas
If they won’t go for health care
Let’s give them a real scare
And put IEDs in their pajamas

Pour me a coldie, Obama
Let’s drink a toast to your mama
The world’s at your command
With beer bottle in hand
After this, then we’ll go get Osama

This ditty will go up in the next issue. The whole thing makes me wonder why Obama chooses such a middle-brow beer — is it because of some poll? Also, after a couple of Buds, will he be able to resist lighting up a Marlboro?

Shatner Reads Palin Speech as Poem

2009-07-28T07:50:00.000-07:00

On the Passing of Gidget, the Taco Bell Dog

2009-07-23T16:18:00.000-07:00

AQUI IN HEAVEN
For the Taco Bell Dog--
(apologies to Eric Clapton)

Yo quiero Taco Bell
Even more now in heaven
Would it be the same
If Taco Bell was in heaven
I must not bark, but carry on
‘Cause I can’t find Taco Bell
Aqui in heaven

I would love to see
The Fresco menu in heaven
I would risk rabies
for chalupas in heaven
I'll smell my way, through night and day
‘Cause there must be some Taco Bell
Aqui in heaven

Death can make me beg
Death can dull my bling
Death’s not a la carte
Has me shivering
Shiverrrrring

Debajo las nubes
There's cinnamon twists I'm sure.
But I guess there’s no Taco Bell
Aqui in heaven

Yo quiero Taco Bell
Even more now in heaven
Would it be the same
If Taco Bell was in heaven
I must not bark, but carry on
‘Cause I can’t find Taco Bell
Aqui in heaven

Snow Misered!

2006-02-13T14:09:00.000-08:00

Gentes perezosasosas!Donde estabas?! Dormiendo! Roncando!Mira eso!Welllll, we stalwart woke up, all ready for the live readingwe'd scheduled months ago and have been looking forward to eagerly eagerly eagerly, woke up and looked out the window and there saw a giant puffy white blanket covering the City, and so we thought, What a loverly piece of timing.What the hell?!So I, dutiful editor, called up one of our peons, I forget his name and told him to trudge downtown, carrying big bagof Asinine Love Poetry books and an Asinine Cupid throw pillow to sell, just in case. "Go to the reading, " I told him, "just in case anyone is crazy enough to show up." It was a quiet City, he later reported, white canyons, with cleared valleys, and so he walked in the powder-lined streets to the Bowery Poetry Club. Friends came from close by and miles away. And more amazing than anything, Marybeth Niederkorn and her spouse extraordinaire show, having flown in from Cape Girardeau, Missouri. For this! For asinine! That is bravery! That is dedication! But you, oh now you were less than 15 miles away, home, sleeping late. Oh the subways were running slow! Oh, it was so hard to pull on boots! Such a pain! Hey, Niederkorn booked a flight, lost two lighters to Homeland Security, and worried about her poor cat being watched over by some strange lady whose name sounds like a human-cat hybrid. You know what I'm talking about! So the crowd was small, about five people,but it was good fun, the four readers going in turns as the peon emceed. Sold no books! So we docked his pay. Then the poets went next door and thought about beating upthese other poets they saw, but then they just got drunk. So, we'll try to reschedule for warmer weather, but no promises! And thanks much to the Niederkorn!

Boxed In...Or Out

2006-01-16T07:04:00.000-08:00

People-watching gives me some of my favorite ideas for poems, not that I ever use them. But when I'm awake and surrounded by people in the morning, I like to wonder what they're moving as they load boxes from car to store, store to car. Most times it's probably just stock, but the possibilities are really only limited by the size of the box.

Which is true of a lot of things.

View from Above

2005-12-23T06:12:00.000-08:00

It must be Christmas. The little burg where I live is crawling with last-minute shoppers, making it impossible to get a good chai latte in under an hour. The Christmas-music station is running out of music to play and panicking at the thought of having to listen to "Santa Baby" for the eleventh time this hour, so they're pulling out things like Less Than Jake's version of "Silent Night."

And new poems for the week are up! What did you think of them?

A Little Themed Out

2005-12-16T07:38:00.000-08:00

I hope you've all had as wonderful a month off as I have--a month full of foreign travel, Christmas parties, and the joys of working retail over this glorious season. Fiji was lovely, but it's hard to update a blog while knitting. I only have so many hands, people!

New poems up today, in spite of the looming transit strike in NY and the looming donut shop in my workplace's parking lot. It's supposed to open in March, they say. March! That does me no good when I want my coffee now. What's with people, anyway?

Forgive me, I'm still a little off-kilter from hearing Raul Chuletas' amazing (?) performance of "Little Drunken Boy." I don't think my life will ever be the same, after that.

And I made the mistake of reading the poems before hearing the podcast, meaning I've now completely forgotten the hilariously witty and incisive comments I was going to make about said poems.

Oh, right. Arthur Radley's poem, I loved it--what with the tree being cranky and so correct on his view of the season. It was a little long, though. Not in and of itself. But I grew up watching Sesame Street, and have roughly the attention span of a dyspeptic gnat. Anything longer than eighteen syllables usually gets my attention only if it's wonderful. And I can remember what Arthur's poem was about, so that must say something.

Which is something I liked about Daniel Thomas Moran's poem--to the point. I thought it dragged a little bit in the penultimate stanza, but what do I know. Other than the immorality of yelling FIRE in a crowded opera house never bothered me. ...Until now.

Joe "King" Lee is a personal favorite poet of mine, in that he inspires me to reach for the heavens of asininity. And that poem will be stuck in my head for the rest of my natural life, especially at Christmas time, when I'm hearing "Winter Wonderland" twice a day, every day. Thanks!

Lisa Smith cracks me up. Every poem she writes is another episode of her haiku life. It's like a sitcom we can all watch together, and enjoy. Not like that Friends crap.

Snacktastic

2005-11-18T13:49:00.000-08:00

Ahh, Cheetos. Who doesn't love their fried-corn goodness, their fake-cheese decadence? With the intricate flavor nuances and the gentle feel of scraped mouth-roof, truly, there is no greater snack food of this age. Doritos have too much action going on in the flavor department, and chocolate, despite its many health benefits, remains bad for you.

That said, it's almost Thanksgiving! Well, six days from now, anyway. Which is kind of like almost. With that in mind, exciting new Thanksgiving poems are up. Fenway Parker returns with a few odes that I can't help but like. Really. I have been given little choice, with their imagery and texture. There is beauty with Parker's work.

I liked Richard Cairo's take on the vengeful turkey. I happen to know many a hunter, and they all have lovely trophies in their dens, trophies that include preserved turkeys, as well as deer heads and fish and did I mention deer hooves? Yep. Deer hooves. On the wall. But the turkeys, sometimes, around Thanksgiving, the turkeys get decorated too. And I have always thought that turkeys deserved a little more respect, and that if they were smart, they'd get revenge someday. Kudos to Mr. Cairo on yet again writing a better poem than I could've on a subject I have long mulled over!

Zach Brown seems to have some kind of a food thing...period.

Finally, Daniel Thomas Moran takes a philosophical look at everyone's favorite addiction, food! I particularly liked the bit about the slugs vs. escargot. Never having eaten bugs (knowingly), can't say that I find the word escargot any more appealing than slug. But that might just be me.

So what'd you think?

Earth to Asinine, Earth to Asinine

2005-11-14T07:25:00.000-08:00

Here's a cliche: Wow, we haven't really been very good in keeping up our bloggery. How many bloggers write about not keep their blog content fresh? Scientifically speaking, I'd say 87 percent. But that's just from asking two people on the subway (one of whom was dressed as an Irish setter), so there's a margin of error of plus or minus three percent. But enough about me. How about the new contest? Haikus! We at the asinine offices are hoping that the perceived simplicity of this poetic form will drive up the amount of entries. Of course, at the same time we fear it will drive up the amount of bad entries. And haikus can be very very bad. And not funny. If you're looking for any guidance, just please make it funny, and make that last line really a kicker, an ironic or twisty 5 or 7 syllables (the 5-7-5 structure of the haiku may be shuffled around all you like--e.g., 7-5-5, 5-5-7) that sings, takes off, goes someplace perfectly fitting but perfectly unexpected. Either that or go for a fart joke.

And a collective sigh of relief spread over the land

2005-11-03T09:54:00.000-08:00

Many congratulatory remarks go out to our fellow asininer, Dustin Michael, who this morning successfully defended his thesis. We all knew you could! Hooray for Dustin!

If you run into him, make sure to give him a pat on the back. Or buy him champagne. Or a small plot of land. Something. The guy's worth it.

The Week's Revue

2005-10-28T08:04:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but I love Hallowe'en. All of the Stepford Wife magazines come out with delicious and ohsoscary treats to make your party the envy of the neighborhood, costumes go on sale, and it's actually legitimate to decorate your house as though you worship the French cults of death. Last year I went as the Battle of Hastings (I was working at Hastings that day, it was only fitting), and this year I have no idea what to go as--to work, anyway.

Enough about my problems! We are this week again graced with the presence of four new poems, all by seasoned poets entering their next phases of life. Leon N. Cluck gives us another ode which I personally enjoyed heartily. Wade Christian can do no wrong! Delivering another bang-up poem, that's what he does. I thought it was a strong addition to a powerhouse lineup. Houghton Piker makes me happy. Just because his name is Houghton. That would be enough, but nooooo, he has to write awesome poetry as well! And about Hallowe'en. I mean, really. And that brings us to Ook. That dude gets weirder every time he writes something. Level 82 of what, I ask?

Yeah, I'm not much at reviewing poetry. But it sure is fun!

Biggest Ever

2005-10-21T16:10:00.000-07:00

What would happen if everyone left a vaguely poetic comment on this entry, without looking at the other comments, and after all those comments added up, there was a gigantic towering juggernaut of an asinine poem?

Let's find out!

Hallowe'ening

2005-10-21T13:10:00.000-07:00

So, our contest is done and now we're back on a schnide of new poems. Usually it's a small vacation for us at the office when the contest results are running, but this time it didn't feel like it, at least not for me. These last three weeks have flown by and sure we've stocked up one some poems (so, watch out, when we have surplus we get real picky; and it's been happening more and more; in the early days, we all gathered around the computer waiting for something anything to come into our inboxes; we clicked everything open; which is why it took three years to clear all the viruses off our computers; now if I could just do something about these mouth sores; I hear there's an all-natural cure for herpes; anyone out there know it?) Now we're into the main holiday stretch of the year, and Halloween, the first of these, is my favorite. We've had some excellent 'alloween poems over the years (check out the four classics on the bottom of the home page). We're waiting to get some new ones now. We have one or two that are pretty good. I better write one. You got any?

Silence: It's What's For Dinner

2005-10-12T11:19:00.000-07:00

It has been a quiet week. And it's only getting quieter.

Yea, the passing of child to man

2005-10-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

A child just rode his bicycle past the window, and he was carrying a bicycle tire in his left hand. In a way he was tricycling, but the third wheel is held aloft. Isn't that really what childhood is all about?

That, and candy.

RIP, Nipsey

2005-10-05T07:19:00.000-07:00

Comedian, actor, POET Nipsey Russell died this Sunday at Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan. He was 80 and lived in Manhattan (damn, if we knew he was nearby we would have invited him to our readings! damn!). Russell is one of several celebs from the '60s-'70s era of TV who passed away recently (I suspect government conspiracy, or a new reality show by Mark Burnett), and his passing in particular marks another loss in terms of class and classic and smart humor. Russell brought poetry to the masses. No doubt he will never get props from the likes of highbrows such as John Ashbery or Rita Dove or Sharon Olds, but his poetry reached more people and entertained more people than all of them put together.

When we started our site, we linked to Nipsey Russell's Funky Palace, and we've always lamented the fact that the site (which may be his official site--who knows?? there is no nipseyrussell.com) featured very few Russell poems. But fortunately some of his obits have included some of the master's chestnuts:

"Before we lose our autonomy
And our economy crumbles into dust
We should attack Japan, lose the war
And let Japan take care of us."

Another:
"The opposite of pro is con
That fact is clearly seen
If progress means move forward
Then what does Congress mean"

In 1993 Russell told the Los Angeles Times that writing poems ''is very simple to do.... I start with the joke line and write backward.''

On that note, I've tried a meager eulogy:
Nipsey Russell is dead and gone
he's rhymed for the last time
but we will always give you props
you are a god of asinine

Achey Breaky Shakespeare

2005-09-30T07:27:00.000-07:00

So, the sonnet contest entries are in and the votes tallied. What do you think so far? Right now, we have the first five runners up on the site, next week the next five runners up will appear. In two weeks, the winners will be up there. It was a hell of a lot of fun putting together, and there really are some funny and very asinine entries. More than a few about body parts and functions, but the contests always seems to bring that out in people.

Author, Author!

2005-09-30T07:20:00.000-07:00

So, three of the asinine boys read this week at Junno's with the fine folks at the Needle Exchange Hour, a newly inaugurated reading series run by those rapscallions Tim Hall and Ken Wohlrob, who read their prose along with Brian Cogan. The asinine boys R. Narvaez (eerily on time), ern modern (an hour late, but only missing 10 minutes of performance), and Bob McNamara (two hours late, on account of bad directions, but on stage within minutes!). R Narvaez sputtered along, hawking his '"Childhood's Smell" chapbook. Since no other asininer had arrived he figured he would have to do again, but in walked ern, who when he went to the podium gave the audience a 10-minute preparatory speech about pets before reading three great animal poems (the last he read twice, the second time in Latin; I am NOT kidding). Then Narvaez figured he'd bat clean up, but in walked McNamara, who, with two minutes to prepare, gets up there and kills, adding a piquant history of professional wrestling in the '70s before he read ''Bo Bo Brazil." It was a fun time, especially with the beer and wine. The next reading is next month. You should come by. Really.

News Bulletin

2005-09-28T12:24:00.000-07:00

Roving reporter mb here with an update from the Missouri Offices of Asinine Poetry. The weather is cooling off, my asinine poetry tshirt arrived in the mail, I've been snarfing candy bars like nobody's business, and all the science fiction I can eat is mine for the having.

There's not been much activity among the asininers here in town, mostly because nearly all of us have some sort of schooling going on, though mine's of the more informal bent. Dance Dance Revolution! Also rewriting stories. Usually immediately after a go-round with the dancing. Sometimes during. I am dextrous.

Tonight is the first meeting of a writing collective starring myself and Wade Christian, and possibly a Dustin, as well as a dear friend of mine who's not an asininer yet. Soon we will have the entire population of Cape Girardeau in the clutches of the web lackey! Ten down, fifty thousand to go!

Ambitious, yes. But so was eating a pound of Skittles in one sitting.

Would You Believe He's Dead?

2005-09-27T19:25:00.000-07:00

So, Don Adams is dead. A moment in the cone of silence, please. That's two '60s TV personalities within a month. Not, perhaps, more tragic than two furiously deadly hurricanes in the same amount of time, but devastating in their own way. Phillip Lee sent this into the site--and since we're about to put up the contest entries, we can't use it right now--with a e-mail header that read: "Never Smart":

Don Adams is Dead

He's dead
Don Adams is dead
He was Inspector Gadget
He was Maxwell Smart
He did Love Boat
He had a failed sitcom
But you'll never take, ever take
Tennessee Tuxedo away from me

A Quest

2005-09-27T08:17:00.000-07:00

So does anyone else have trouble with the Search function at the site, or is it just me?

Podcastaways

2005-09-22T07:26:00.000-07:00

So, we're at the office last night, polishing off a bottle of Cointreau, having finished chopping through a blizzard of contest entries, when Frimmit called out from the half-opened bathroom door, "You think anyone really cares about the podcasts we're doing? I mean, it's a pain in the ass to get everyone together and semisober to record these things. Is it worth it?" This began a debate. I proferred that if we had fun doing it, then what the hell. Catty thought that if we thought about it too much it would make us look like the insecure bunch of sonsabitches we really are. Frimmit flushed and, not washing her hands, said that all those points were fine, but the mandate from the boss on high was that the podcasts are meant to translate into book sales, and while we're getting a nice amount of podhits, the books are still collecting dust. Ever-chipper Narvaez, from under his desk, offered that maybe we were looking at it too closely and should open up the discussion.

Site Specific

2005-09-21T07:18:00.000-07:00

So, a lot of stuff is happening at the asinine offices, what with the contest entries in and a case of Dewar's accidentally delivered to our premises. I've been wondering about what to write in this space, and I suppose that's something that happens with anyone doing a blog--What the hell do you fill it with? I mentioned this to other staffers and poets at our recent podcast recording/dinner party last Saturday. P-Woody thinks we should do a comments/bulletin board page on the site. ern modern thinks there's not enough of an asinine community. Well, you can't really tell from this site--yet!--since only a handful of people know about it. So, I figure I'll opne this up to some fans and see where it goes. Other than that, I really don't like the shirt I'm wearing today.

Whodunit?

2005-09-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

Every sound I hear these days is a ticking clock. What poems will be up on the site tomorrow? Who entered what for the sonnet contest? How many people will find pirate poetry in honor of Talk Like a Pirate Day, which is coming up this Monday?

When I'm reading a mystery story, this is usually the point wherein I stop reading and throw the book against the wall with extreme prejudice. Because the main suspect's just been killed off, and he wasn't married so obviously his wife can't be the murderer either, and that leaves Mrs. Wallace from down the street, a cop no one suspects of being crooked until he hooks a donut on his way out of Tim's Coffee and Murder Implements, and Tim, owner of said establishment. Who's been looking a bit shifty about the eyes lately.

But with asinine poetry, riding the wave of suspense, leaping over the edge of the thrill-ride, it's so very worth it. Besides. I know tomorrow will bring a poem or four about Britney's offspring, John Roberts, or Mike Brown being replaced. Or all three. How about it, Cairo? You up for it?

Adding Playwright to My Titles

2005-09-12T13:37:00.000-07:00

Someone very wise once said to me, "Diversify! Diversify!

"Every feather in the cap of an asinine poet, is a feather in the cap of Asinine Poetry."

That fellow might be pleased to note that I'm suddenly in demand.

I wrote the beginnings of a musical comedy based on Rene Descartes' Meditations, which I entitled Meditations!. This was written for one reason and one only--to get out of writing a six-page term paper. I got thirty pages into it and handed the thing in.

It was handed back with a garish red "SEE ME" scrawled across the top of the page.

While I hadn't followed the criteria for a term paper, the professor was impressed with my efforts, and I wound up with a C. Not bad, altogether, but not great either.

I put it out of my mind with as much of the rest of my college experience as I could forget.

Then two nights ago, I met a friend of a friend who's in a theater troupe, and laughingly in passing I mentioned it. His eyes went wide. Apparently they've been looking for something with just that Marybeth flair for their own production uses.

And when I mentioned this to a member of a local theater troupe, he was ecstatic. Wants to perform it here.

Don't worry. It is most definitely asinine.

There's a song and dance routine demonstrating mind/body dualism.

And somehow, none of you are surprised.

On the Sonnet (Contest)

2005-09-10T17:39:00.000-07:00

So, our sonnet contest deadline is next week, and we've been poring through the batches of submissions, and there are some really good ones. One thing we've heard from our contributors is this fear of sonnets, of iambicizing, ABAB, CDCD, or whatever combo, Petrarchan, Shakespearean, Mississippi-style. You know, many entrants aren't giving a damn about form--well, maybe just sticking to 14 lines. We at asinine are not ones to harp on rules (except for Piker, but he's too busy working on our next book to care), but yeah, we don't care about being to strict. We want our contests to be fun, we want our contestants to have fun, and hell we editors want to have fun. If you're still wrangling over your sonnet, relax; just put it in the sonnet ballpark. We like to think of our contests as a costume party. Sure, it's nice if you spent 17 hours on your Pacman costume, but the gal who arrives in French stocking and holds a plate of French fries will be in no way snubbed. Sonnets! Our next time is to assemble a gaggle of nonsite judges, guest stars; we like to pick new judges (no, it's not just us sitting around a table, drinking and smoking and picking winners; not just), people who we hope will bring a new perspective to asininity, or at least will buy us a drink or a T-shirt for themselves.

So Long, Little Buddy

2005-09-09T07:11:00.000-07:00

Well, just when I was beginning to lose faith (not that I ever had any to speak of), bemoaning the lack of timely poems on the site, whoops comes along three poems about the untimely death of Bob Denver. Three! All within 48 hours after his death and before we met to finalize our poem list for this week. One of the poems, by this new guy Charles Bukkake, was even semi-semi-political, getting Rehnquist in there. I love this kind of what is it serendipity, zeitgeist, harmony of the universe? I was trying to write a Rehnquist poem but it was coming out too bilious--after going back and forth with Marybeth and Wade, of the Midwest Asinine Office, I feel I shouldn't always try to be preachy. But maybe I'll changed my mind if I can find a good word to rhyme with Rehnquist. Funny what inspires people to write about something in the news--not a hurricane, not a new planet, not torture in Gitmo, but Gilligan! Gilligan! I guess he's close to our collective hearts--and not our collective pancreas.

Look Closer

2005-09-01T12:47:00.000-07:00

So, one of the big arguments at the office is whether to do more timely poems, to feature poems that have more current political and social content. Now, if you read my stuff, you see I do a lot of it, sometimes well, sometimes forced, but I prefer to write poems that try to say something. I guess that makes me an agitpropist! A few of my fellow asinine poets prefer just to be funny in a general way, make eternally lasting commentary about life. I think that sometimes tends to diary-entry writing, which can be really bo-rrring, or endless lines about body parts and body functions. I try to solicit political poems via the Asinine Pulse (which I edit, as if you didn't guess), but so far, zilch. What do you think? Should we just stick to poems about the ins and outies of our days?

Last August Poems

2005-08-29T07:45:00.000-07:00

Hey, I liked Figgie Creamcheese's poem and want to see more from her. I have an ass handicap myself and tend to slide off plastic furniture. (BTW, Catty thought Figgie's name was too close to Finny Deerfield; I say if so, let them fight it out over coffee.) As far as P-Woody's ''Conversations with My Wife," I'm surprised he submitted that poem. Everyone knows his wife, right? G-Ro? (Gina Rodriguez, the singer; from the boogie-down Bronx; Gina from around the block) She's a handful. Well, more than a handful, much more. If she reads that poem I wouldn't be surprised if she pulls a gun on P while they're out at a club or driving his SUV. Woody's lucky she has no appreciation for poetry. Marybeth Niederkorn's poem I think we talked about last time. Existential fishing. Does a river run through that poem? And G. Nash--don't you love that name?

The Asinine Capers, or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Photoshop

2005-08-29T07:05:00.000-07:00

It's a warm morning here in beautiful Southeast Missouri, and my hand is shaking as I drink my overpriced/undersugared coffee. I'm alone in a bookstore and it feels mighty fine. We have yet to be hit by Katrina, and Killshot doesn't start filming here until the end of December.

The state of anticipation, she almost kills me.

The powers that be at the Journal of Asinine Poetry have commissioned a certain leggy blonde supergenius to do some dirty work, and I for one couldn't be more thrilled. We have a strong asinine presence in Cape Girardeau, for whatever reason. Maybe it's that we are the only inland cape in the world, or we were anyway until they blew up the cape to put in a railroad. Maybe it's that we have the longest university name in all history, with the smallest enrollment. (Go, Southeast Missouri State University!) Maybe it's because people all over the world are fascinated by our proximity to the Mississippi River, which in reality is more an open sewer than anything else. What with the dairy farms upriver and all.

Whatever the case may be, there are currently a whole mess of poets from our humble community of 40,000, all with an attitude and most with an agenda. We're trying to get some sort of writing group thing together, but us being poets doesn't lend itself well to cohesion or social interaction. When we're all in the same room, it's a mutter-fest, with everyone avoiding eye contact and taking shots of malt liquor. But it's fun, that's my point.

Technical Glitches

2005-08-26T07:57:00.000-07:00

So, you may think everything works perfectly at the site every week--hah! but you'd be wrong. Oh, the poems went up fine, thanks to the adequate work of our Web lackey R. Narvaez. But the podcast that is up there right at this minute is the wrong podcast. It's the first run of episode 5, but that was redone with a new intro and other poems, plus a plug for Graham Everett's gig at Cafe 87 tonight. Not that we like to point fingers around here, but actually we do. And it's P-Woody's fault. Woody, as many of you may know, has been trying to lauch his new line of fragrance products; recently, he hurt his back while trying to lift a three-gallon jug of cologne. So, he's been kind of laid up, but he sure does smell good. He wrote ''Ah shoot. I've been too preoccupied with pain. I didn't send episode 5 for this week. will do today and get it to ern [our engineering officer].'' So, we hope to have the right episode up later today and to rework the one that's up there now (for better sound quality, etc.). But anyway whatcha think of this week's poems?

Monkey Business

2005-08-22T04:47:00.000-07:00

The poetry readings run by Robert McNamara are unique, as far as I'm concerned. These are the Mind Gorrilla readings he hosts at the Aubergine Cafe in Woodside, Queens; the readings celebrate and plug his literary zine Mind Gorrilla (although there is a heavy asinine poet presence in it ever since Bob joined the asinine zoo). And the unique element--well, besides Bob and the wonderful local poets who come by and perform, and besides the large simian doll named Aldo that site at the front of the room during every performance--are the noisemakers. Bob decided years ago that poetry readings were too polite and the smattering applause was not only dull but not very participatory. He decided to make the reading more interactive. So he got a bunch of New Year's Eve noisemakers--the rattling things, the little horns, some balloon whistle things (I apologize; I'm sure the folks who manufacture these things have very specific names for them)--and places several on every table in the room. And he encourages you, rather than applaud, you should rattle or whistle, or blow that metal horn that is usually heard only once a year. It sounds chaotic but it's quite a bit of fun. It gets the audience excited and gives the performer quite a bit of love and energy. (Though I'd hate to be the person who came by just for camomile tea and got caught in the middle of a reading.) Anyways, last Saturday was the latest reading--were you there?--and Bob hosted and read, R. Narvaez (introduced as the asininepoetry.com Web lackey) read, as did April Clinton (somewhat reluctantly, as she'd forgotten to bring printouts of her work and had only a couple from the book to read). The editors of asinine are thinking of adopting Bob's noisy idea, and maybe adding M-80s and cherry bombs. Catty Marlboro says she would add a police siren. That crazy Cat.

Just this Friday

2005-08-22T04:31:00.000-07:00

Seriously, any thoughts on this week's poems? I don't ask because I have one up there. I mean, I don't just ask because I have one up there--"The Road I've Taken," a shameless ripoff of Robert Frost, who is actually one of my poetic heroes. There's also a haiku by famous poet Hal Sirowitz. He sent us a bunch in and we'll be parcelling them out like sweet, rare chocolates. New poet Staci Class is in there. She came to the site after a suggestion by Dustin Michael (pictured). Maybe she's from Cape Girardeau too?? The late Jim Tyack is up there again. He's a really fine poet. And we put Bob McNamara up there to give him a plug for his Mind Gorrilla reading. Anyway, any feedback? Any thoughts? Don't worry about laying into my poem. At best I'll learn something about writing. At worst, I'll end my life with a blunderbuss.

The Cafe Is Open for Business

2005-08-12T14:10:00.000-07:00

So the editors of asininepoetry.com and I figure we need a place for us, and for asinine poets and fans, too, to come hang out, drop notes, say hi, comment critically or hysterically or nonsensically on the week's poems or podcasts, fight, duel, tango, bitch about the T-shirts, whatever, you know, interact, a place off the site, because for us, while asininepoetry.com is a place of fun and art and worship, we wanted something more on the downlow, more casual, more back alley. See what I'm saying? Anyway, we're hoping to all stop by and make comments, and we hope that poets and fans of the site come by often as well. And we're hoping new people trip across this blog and become asinine fans and poets.

As one of the main editors of the site, I've been assigned to maintain this blog, and I wanted to call it Rick's Cafe Asinine, but maybe I'll save that for when I open up a poetry reading store that happens to serve coffee in the back. People will have to sign up for lattes.