Yeah, No - Softcover

Gregory, Jane

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0998829021 ISBN 13: 9780998829029

Publisher: The Song Cave, 2018

Synopsis

“Gregory works to a place where language makes its own prophecies ... meaning-making in language reveals how faith impels us beyond what we know―an approach of belief through word-matter.” ―Anna Morrison, Omniverse

Jane Gregory's mystifying second collection, Yeah No, begins with a “Knock knock,” inviting the reader into a realm where “Everything is a pattern / of yesses and no.” Within these pages we find Gregory constructing a multivalent world―ripe with struggle, prophecy and, by the end, a resemblance of hope. Using her highly-tuned sensibility throughout, Gregory guides us through the anxieties of this journey by inventing new and enigmatic forms filled with sonic experimentation and polyphony. Yeah No builds upon the singular vision found within her previous collection, My Enemies, and continues her elegant and challenging address to poetry.
Jane Gregory is from Tucson and lives in Oakland. She is cofounder and coeditor of Nion Editions, a chapbook press.

About this title

About the Author

Jane Gregory is from Tucson and lives in Oakland. YEAH NO (The Song Cave, 2018) is her second book. Her first, MY ENEMIES, was published by The Song Cave in 2013. She is co-founder and co-editor of Nion Editions, a chapbook press.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Yeah No

By Jane Gregory

The Song Cave

Copyright © 2018 Jane Gregory
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-9988290-2-9

Contents

PROFICES, 3, 
PROFICES, 7, 
PROFICES, 8, 
ACTION IS CONTENT AND CONTENT WITHOUT ANY ACTION IS DESIRE, 12, 
BOOK I WILL NOT WRITE, 13, 
PROFICES, 17, 
PROFICES, 18, 
UNTITLED, ON TIME, 21, 
PROFICES, 22, 
PROFICES, 27, 
BOOK I WILL NOT WRITE OF MEMORY AND DEATH, 29, 
BOOK I WILL NOT WRITE IN WHICH TED SAYS, 31, 
PROFICES, 32, 
PROFICES, 35, 
PROFICES / BOOK I WILL NOT WRITE, 36, 
PROFICES / NOT, 38, 
PROFICES, 41, 
PROFICES / BUT IT IS AN INFINITE COMMAND, 45, 
PROFICES, 57, 
EACH WAVE'S A CURVE / PROFICES, 59, 
PROFICES, 60, 
AN ESSAY IN WHICH I TOLD YOU, 61, 
PROFICES, 67, 
BOOK I WILL NOT WRITE, 72, 
PROFICES, 74, 
PROFICES, 76, 
NOW THAT I KNOW DEATH BY RESIDUAL TECHNOLOGY, 78, 
BOOK / PROFICES [WITHHELD], 83, 
PROFICES, 84, 
PROFICES, 89, 
TO HYPNOTIZE SPACE AND TIME, 91, 

CHAPTER 1

PROFICES

[The world's terrific]
* * *

That it goes from all
shall be well to oh
well

Knock knock

Everything is a pattern
of yesses and no

Now is only not otherwise
& sobriety's death for the moon
is a licked wound,
the glimmering innards
of a ripped whale &
obscures the world's terrific exit [obscure's]

Obscured, the world's terrific

[Exit]

I want to thank what is clear
for the grimness, what the
future's retrojection bore a hole right through,
the commune where/as it currently stands

And what —

The moon thus shed
its singleness
as if it were real and behold:
The world's terrific


PROFICES
[Graced]

* * *

Why do I need my ideas [validated for me]
the index of prophecy is light
So that I understand
the world with all its signatures visible

Light, icicles, feces, profit

Of the world

Was made
Panic
And then its exit
Imiseration
Graced


PROFICES
[Help]

* * *

I understand where all this is going
so nothing I anticipate happens
except to what it happens upon

Everything takes great effort
though I am more
and worse than a coupon

For what will you go to this?
For what shall you like it?

Like what, the melody of thought; for [?]
what, night through its own vision, green
-ing against the fallen
dark like heh in spring; like
hell in spring, how things feel; how
things feel wet, or weird, but aren't, not [nigh]
made that way, only sensed?

Like what [/ well that]
we are [as] makes sense like each
to their users and what
else not to be overcome

Though here must be a bad vortexx
said everyone of where they find themselves
since everything

Since every known thing
only occurs to me each thing occurs
not to overcome what is else but

Hey Everything [Hey Everything takes]
takes great effort

What of it stop it

Or what of it stops

* * *

What if it stops?
Whelm the field — [Over/]
Whelp it

Whelm the field [over it]
Yr face ok'd
My shame & by it

Help it

\


ACTION IS CONTENT AND CONTENT WITHOUT ANY ACTION IS DESIRE

There is a flashing forth by which
I enter your heart and instruct you: get me

to the brouhaha, the cry of
the devil in the cloth of the clergy,

the hubbub, bubba, go, scum
up the wildredness

and then you will see some of the light lifht
in the grass the moss was in the clover of

what everything is but m[in]e, dug
under the little I cannot instrument

, man, I have imperceptible knowledge
a lot, guys, and work very little

all of the time so that your desire is strong
as it should be to call attention to the title's

own: to unhurt with, be smart about, and
redact, while healing what makes you make them, your faces.


BOOK I WILL NOT WRITE

In After Static the artist is perfect, after meaning it's all gone
and we're after it, on it,

like a hunter
for whom
the • world
is just a
circumstance
of birds,

baby. There is that wiggles a but between the doubled impossibilities, the dimpossibility that neither/nor's indemnity restores. A worm in the mouth of a bird in the mouth of

So, science, something that needs doing, right, law, imagine it undone, and WHAT ELSE, a wrist for your sleeves like love unruins itself. Because there are no more books I will not will what'll not write this fineness in which infinity well definitely goes on in deafness as the blaze of the incomplete completes you,

yon civil
civilian dear
yonder and
wonder such
vessels as
wander where

I had suffered a feat of logic and a cabin was lodged in your nostril, Drama, within which the subject could neither pay back, defer, nor default on those woes, floater, mine a drift.

Here is what I do not have: all of it. Do some

Where I
am wrong
is in

trying to provide experience, not take it, specifically, away. In particular forms experience can either be learned or conferred, or so they make

[make/less]

believe, me, whose rocking is a mode and form confessing its astral ambit and doesn't help the day-moon not appear as bird-shit on the windshield as though as a mistake it could matter and be taken, later, back

'neath the nother surface atop the slight erotics of the visionary turn, turn it unto me on these days but: all I can do is stuff with my minds

PROFICES

[the moon through the trees]

* * *

I charged this language
in the lands of my fat

so bring low the rock
the dust it hides

in fire say this
sigh let the world

be stump riddled
with holes holes fill

the holes with its seed[s]
grossen your own things

juggle my thighs
the moon thru the treeees


PROFICES

[a version of everything else]

* * *

What was learned by the waves
of their unending under wind
which irritates the sand was either not long
for this world or to not long for it
[Mess with me and will the sentence be
the baby of the best of us what takes
from all the rest of us]

[Mess with me and will the sentence be
the baby of the best of us what takes
from all the rest of us]

* * *

It must be — time, that unlimiter of suffering
unlatching itself around an occasion, by which [cry]
I am obsessed, into which I am hurled and cannot stand

Being beside the self, paranoia is
looking in the mirror at nothing like my real face

Come out of the tent and do not be dead

I give up all the strangers and the not yet
strangers, for whom I only aim, to continue

the banquet of your rage and all our wrong memories
together, strangers to each other, all and each one

nothing and a band of nothing and others
nothing beside us

No, I am the unlimiter, untimelier [!]

* * *

I cannot be but bothered with molecules, the study of
solutions, but infirm, fear inturned and that I feel
what I cannot feel I am proof
of concept, an abstract mode trying
to be practice despairing [to prosper]
I am writing and describing
myself writing and suddenly
[beside/ [a horse
in a field] /where
everything is / a version of /
everything else]


UNTITLED, ON TIME

Having the manner of a
beast looking backward: nostalgia —herald, regardant —
for the ministered administration
plus anguish, if power was
a vacuum you used on the rug
with your hands it was less
effable, but its language
much more
like these are the bounds
by which I leap
and here is a box and here is the box
you're in, by which conjunction
you pay for
things with time
though there isn't
a whole lot left
and if you can see the whole
and, like all problems, is given

immediately it's a problem
is as a given, the gift work is but
doesn't do

which is the opposite of a window
that is what it does, does what it
wants to be (outside) and inside
every word is a safe-word, each
one anymore


PROFICES

[for you, work]

* * *

The day felt it was an event.

The last is only [last[']s; last est]
imaginary but there is speed
without your time

* * *

Their ill to believe everything issues [is issues]
from flesh the bells dry bones the wind
breath fouled by the corners
of their mouth
where they keep
how to feel
about yourself
[herself?]

* * *

Soon it would be less easy
for him to contain
what they aren't in what he said.

Survivre, the sun
soon allied to the wound,
the word to the gesture
the living conceal, the living
conceals the end it protects

* * *

[What I shall come to rest]
I shall come to rest
in the crotch of the tree

[Jesus thought Of God / as I the Internet]
because i know myself God [Your face wld put his out]
cannot be a man you guys [giys / zuys] and what else not
everything takes great effort right
and is in my nature
to be wrong and redeemy [about the wrld]

* * *

[so] i've given up [so wronged,]
all your gentleness / for you try hard

to take it back for when the dead
equal ah created and the archive

lives for itself and on what decays
the map of decay, and if still

all my feelings go about
and I just cannot, or tell how early it is

to try anymore to feel how it's so late
or what if only I am the way

I think things are, weird,
how things seem ways,

how some pleasures are not good
for you, work.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Yeah No by Jane Gregory. Copyright © 2018 Jane Gregory. Excerpted by permission of The Song Cave.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: The Song Cave
• Publication date: 2018
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0998829021
• ISBN 13: 9780998829029
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 112