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I Am As You Are Anything by Mark Sargent E-mail
Wednesday, September 26
We woke up and there it was: poetry!
Doru Chirodea's Self-Translated Horses E-mail
Monday, September 24
Doru Chirodea lives in London, which is why his horses have a whiff of British in translation.
Brains Confounded by the Ode of Abu Shaduf Expounded E-mail
Thursday, August 16
J.J. Phillips brought this remarkable text to our attention. Here is an excerpt from her letter:

Andrei, I’m sending you a few brief excerpts from the 17th century Egyptian satirist Yusuf al Shirbini’s Brains Confounded by the Ode of Abu Shaduf Expounded (pub. by Peeters, a Belgian academic house).  It was translated by Humphrey Davies, an old running buddy, beloved friend (a Brit now living in Cairo), a highly respected, prizewinning translator of Arabic literature, primarily contemporary Egyptian fiction.  I think you might find this quite compelling.  Brains Confounded... is truly insane (the title alone tells you that), brilliantly insane, and parts of it are written in Egyptian Colloquial.  (Humphrey’s one of only a handful of people fluent in 17th century Egyptian Colloquial.)  It’s outrageously transgressive, blasphemous, and anti-PC with a vengeance.  Rushdie’s a piker compared to Shirbini, who, unlike Rushdie, was defending the religious and cultural establishment of his day; and it’s apparent that Shirbini revels in being outrageous and disgusting in general.  It is also, not paradoxically (unless one is a rank dualist),  a marvelous text, written by a man who, whatever his personal politics, revels as much in the delights of the intellect and of language and linguistic precision as he does in flights of absurd fancy, crudity, funk, and buffoonery.  All this shines through in the translation and accompanying notes.

       It’s a book that begs for a wider audience, not only for those with a taste for the weird and crazy, for perverse satire, and scatologists; but it offers a veritable deluge of fascinating information for social critics, cultural anthropologists, folklorists, historians, Middle Eastern scholars, theologians, linguists, and others.

       The attachment consists of a selection of verses that Humphrey sent me.  But the book isn’t composed solely of these kinds of verses; there’s much, much more, including crazy linguistic disquisitions (sometimes spurious, sometimes not, in fact on every level the question of what’s spurious and what’s not pervades the text – so postmodern), a magnificent annotated catalog of farts, all kinds of folktales and folklore, many riffs on Alf Layla wa Layla, Arab poetry, theology, food, eating habits, sex habits, dress, you name it.  I’d urge you to go out and buy the book except that the English translation alone (there are two more volumes, v. 1 the Arabic text, v. 3 a lexicon, all meticulously annotated) is obscenely expensive, thanks to the self-sabotaging, anal-retentive Belgian publisher.  May the director of Peeters be sodomized by one of his country’s fabled Belgian pommes frites for his crimes against the democratization of knowledge.  It’s a shame because I doubt even that many college and university libraries would spring for it, even though they should.  However, Humphrey’s hoping that there will be a cheaper edition (from another publisher) sometime in the future.   Here’s a link that'll give you some background info. .  More can be found on the Internet.  Humphrey is also working on a translation of Leg Over Leg, a book by Ahmad Faris al-Shidyaq, a 19th century writer (to be published by NYU), which also contains wild pre-postmodernist craziness.  Excerpts from his might also be something for The Corpse, but for now I want to let you know about Shirbini.
Haydn's Head E-mail
Thursday, May 31
An addition to "The Disposition of Body Parts in the Romantic Era," in The Stiffest of the Corpse (City Lights)
Multilegged Milliped by Gershon Hepner E-mail
Monday, May 14
Gershon Hepner ( This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it ) is America's news poet, author of seventy thousand (you heard right!) poems on the margins of comments of interest to him, culled from our ever-growing media. His wide interests are expressed in extraordinarily thoughtful, witty, and skilful verse. He is by no means naive: had he not chosen poetry forms to express himself he would be a celebrated media personality. The following poem is a reply to my note below where I despair of ever keeping up with him. Andrei Codrescu

Nota Bene: You didn't hear right. It's ten thousand poems, as 10,179 below the below illustrates
New Work by Scott Bailey E-mail
Saturday, May 12
Scott is looking for a job teaching his art
9/11, god, and the mets by michael andre E-mail
Saturday, May 12
the legend of the unmuzzled ox speaks
Wormwood Scrubs by Steven J. Fowler E-mail
Saturday, May 05

 all heart & some voices

Recent Works by Dragosh Ziditoru E-mail
Friday, May 04
Dragosh Ziditoru's Many Loves & the Secret Wall
commute to quarter centuries E-mail
Tuesday, May 01
old canadian taxpaying narcissist pets self in mirror
commute to quarter centuries E-mail
Tuesday, May 01
old canadian taxpaying narcissist pets self in mirror
surround systems by calin-andrei mihailescu E-mail
Wednesday, April 11
the politics of tools
Paul Fiction by Calin-Andrei Mihailescu E-mail
Tuesday, April 10
Saul going to see Paul
FROM THENETHERWORLD Special to the Corpse from JJ Phillips E-mail
Monday, April 02
Brautigan’s Brains
Brains blasted there
upon the page
gray matter gobbed
blood of the poet congealed
this grotesque palimpsest
last words concealed
beneath the blood
shattered neurons
glial cells unglued
glopped, splattered

A text of rage coagulated
there upon the page.

Axons impel thought to take
that fatal fiery leap
across synapse into act
fiction into fact.

Atoms smash against the skull
the neural net tattered warp and woof
the brain that strings the words extruded
globbed, fragmented, spattered
last words occluded by the final proof

The text of rage coagulated
there upon the page.
Death by Scott Bailey E-mail
Saturday, March 17
Five Poems Con Leche y Sangre by Merilyn Jackson E-mail
Sunday, March 11
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