Friday, January 15, 2021

Mythic & Secular Rituals of an Anglo Koshare Poet in Placitas - by Gary L. Brower - Introduction for Larry Goodell - Malpais Review - Summer 2012

untitled

"Entrapment 1s this society’s sole activity.. . and only
langhter can blow it to rags. Bat there is no negative
pure enough to entrap our expectations... "

-Ed Dorn, Gunslinger, III

"I've always been interested in risking myself
at the boundaries others have imposed on me."
-Larry Goodell

"To be art-strong is the only resistance
and the greatest love."

-Larry Goodell

Note: I am grateful for the section of my poems in this edition of Malpais Review and for Gary's elaborate introduction reprinted here. My quest for a performance narrative on the stage or classroom or bar or wherever comes from my own rather isolated creativity and I do not have any pretense to compare myself in any way to the great clown culture of great societies that surpass anything I've ever done by centuries and cultural breadth. Gary's seeing parallels comes exclusively from him. LG

Malpais Review - Summer 2012 - editor - Gary Brower - featuring Larry Goodell,
Tomas Transtromer, Scott Wannberg, Tennessee Williams, and Spanish Poetry ed. by David Garrison

I first met Larry Goodell in the early 1970s when I came up from Albuquerque (where I was teaching at the University of New Mexico) to read my poems at the Thunderbird Bar in Placitas, a place known for music and poetry in the "Countercultural capital" of the Albuquerque area. Goodell was there too, and his reading was a real surprise because of the nature of it. Never had I seen such before (and I had attended many readings), because it involved masks, costumes, totem animals made of sewn materials, and a headpiece with two large, greenish, round discs on either side of his face. His wife, Lenore, (a photographer and artist to whom he has been married since 1968), handed him the totem animals at certain points in the reading. The performance was meant to puncture "everyday reality" and bring the poet's messages into the minds of listeners by dint of psychological "shock and awe." Since then, I have seen him read many times, sometimes with accoutrements and sometimes not, but his readings are always a dramatic experience, never a dull recitation. Like the Surrealists, who believed humor could be used to break through the veneer of common (low) consciousness to create an opportunity to enhance non-rational perception, Goodell uses his "visual aids" (as well as irony, satire, humor) to open up a "playing field" in the mind. The two levels of perception, it might be said, crash into each other like particles in the Hadron Collider. It's hard to say if the result is the Higgs Boson particle or not.    


Goodell (b. 1935, Roswell, NM), who studied piano during his childhood and still plays quite well, graduated from the University of Southern California (1957) with honors). He then spent two years in the Army in the Mohave Desert before returning to his native New Mexico. He studied for a Master's degree at UNM, taught at New Mexico Military Institute and what became Albuquerque Academy. Robert Creeley, already famous when he came to UNM to take a Master's degree, also taught at Albuquerque Academy while living in Placitas. (His friend Ed Dorn stayed for a short while also.) After finishing the degree, Creeley left, later returning to Placitas and to teach at UNM. Goodell studied with Creeley and visited his home frequently. Many poets traveling through stopped in: Ginsberg, Tuli Kupferberg, Ed Sanders of the Fugs, avant-garde filmmaker Stan Brakhage, and many more. It was like Black Mountain West, says Goodell. Creeley talked about the poetry of W. C. Williams, and they discussed Pound, Gertrude Stein, and many other writers. In a poem dedicated to the Creeleys and titled "The House that makes it so," Goodell says of that experience in the Creeley Placitas house:

 I drove by the old Creeley house because I wanted to write a poem.

There was the piano-shaped bedroom Bobbie had Von Shutze build.

The floors of adobe with sheep's blood sealer that kept crumbling in the old house,

the step-down new studio with that volcanic Jemez view where we sat & picked the energy of language apart

and I could put my life in art back together. ... {....}

The patio of corn & rhubarb & music to enchiladas Almaden white wine as

back to the kitchen, the slow night weaved on and the alternative worlds to where I was born. . . 

[/played over the cassette player or hi-fi out to space]

(Here on Earth, pp. 70-71)

It was a time of artists being engaged in social change, experiments in "higher consciousness," and cultural renovation, none of which was popular with those in power. During this '60s heyday. Placitas was a rural "vortex," with four communes in the mountains and valleys around the village (an old Spanish town, part of Las Huertas Land Grant from centuries past). It was off the beaten path, attracting "creative Outsiders" who were part of the uprising against the nation's racism, exploitative socio-economic system, and the Vietnam War. It was also simply a place to "drop out" of the larger society, as were communes near Santa Fe and Taos. Like everywhere else, some fought the system and some took themselves out of the system as much as possible. Remnants of these communes still exist in New Mexico.

Later, as events brought often-violent responses from all levels of government to nation-wide protests, there were manifestations of the national conflicts in New Mexico. The Power Elite was scared! At UNM, student protestors who had arranged with authorities for a peaceful anti-war protest, were, in spite of the arrangement, bayoneted by National Guardsmen, along with journalists covering the event. Students blocked Interstate 40, helicopters dropped tear gas on them, and then on the campus when they retreated there. UNM Regents, a collection of reactionaries who bought their way onto the Board, used their power to try to repress students and faculty, attempting to censor and prohibit free speech on campus. In northern parts of the state, supporters of Reies Lopez Tijerina and his Alianza de los Pueblos Libres de Mercedes clashed with authorities over issues related to government seizures and Anglo encroachments on Hispanic land rights, leading to a deadly confrontation at the courthouse in Tierra Amarilla. Federal and state authorities moved to destroy Tijerina, his family, his movement and political party. (He has lived in exile in Mexico for many years.) This was a time of turmoil in the nation: University students were shot-killed and wounded-at Kent State, South Carolina State, Jackson State, University of Kansas, UCal Berkeley, and countless other institutions; the Black Panthers were attacked by Chicago police and nationwide by the FBI; busloads of drafted young men bound for Vietnam were blocked by anti-war protestors in Oakland; the American Indian Movement, trying to defend itself, was assaulted by the FBI at Wounded Knee on the Pine Ridge (Lakota) Reservation in South Dakota; Civil Rights marchers were attacked by Kluxer police in the South; JFK, RFK, and MLK were assassinated; the "police-riot" attack on protestors in Chicago at the 1968 rigged Democratic convention; the U.S. Constitution ignored by the authorities who refused to follow the laws they imposed on everyone else; the world-wide uprising in 1968. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, and it was busy.

Larry Goodell had attended the famous 1963 Vancouver Poetry Conference where he met Allen Ginsberg, Charles Olson, Robert Duncan, Denise Levertov; Philip Whalen and others, attending many presentations. Creeley was there. In "Yesterdays," a poem from his 2003 book, If I were writing this (New Directions, p. 91), Creeley refers to the conference: "Then that / Summer there is the great Vancouver Poetry / Festival, Allen comes back from India, Olson / from Gloucester, beloved Robert Duncan / from Stinson Beach. Denise reads 'Hypocrite / Women' to the Burnaby ladies and Gary Snyder, / Philip Whalen and Margaret Avison are there / too along with a veritable host of the young. / Then it's autumn again. I've quit my job / and we head back to Albuquerque / and I teach again at the university."

Goodell also went to the Berkeley Poetry Conference in 1965. In New Mexico, he established Duende Press (which published a series of books, or a journal, depending on your point of view, in which each issue focused on only one poet), and poetry/art magazines Fervent Valley (1972) and Oriental Blue Streak (1968). Over the years, Goodell organized readings for Albuquerque's Downtown Saturday Night, the Rio Grande Writer's Association, the Central Torta Series, ABQ United Artists, Living Batch Bookstore, and Silva's Saloon in Bernalillo. Since 2004 he has been one of the directors of the Duende Poetry Series of Placitas. Goodell has published his poetry in innumerable journals and anthologies through the decades and in four books: Cycles (Duende Press, 1966), Firecracker Soup (El Paso, Cinco Puntos Press, 1990), Out of Secrecy (Yoo-Hoo Press, 1992), and Here on Earth (Albuquerque, La Alameda Press, 1996).

In 1972, Goodell went on a nationwide reading tour with poet Stephen Rodefer in which he performed "Ometeotl Trilogy: The Staff, The Bowl & The Book" at various venues, and later he was at the Mandeville Gallery at UCSD in La Jolla, Ca. This production included costumes, masks, and an array of props. Today (though he may not perform the longer pieces), he still presents, from time to time, his "word performances" that manifest his belief "in extending poetry to its ceremonial roots." Goodell is dedicated to "oral poetry" and has said that he always thinks of poetic structure in terms of rhythmic musical compositions, related to his training on the piano. As he says in his poem "Performance," "Language should do something other than pray for reality to come true." (Here on Earth, p. 42).

In an essay in Artspace (Southwestern Contemporary Arts Quarterly/, Vol. I, No. 1, Fall, 1976), which Goodell has posted online, he says: "Poems for me no longer could be trapped in a book or stay too long on the page. They had to be enacted from real life. At the same time, their source remained a mystery." (p. 6). However, Goodell is both a "page poet" and a "stage poet," though not a slam poet. He believes what Charles Olsen was telling younger poets: "we weren't doing things large enough, we had little bits and pieces poems." (p. 5). Goodell has created mythic contexts for many of his poetic structures. As he says, "Now that I look back on it, I was exploring to the hilt the tremendous longing for rite in me. Living all my life in New Mexico observing people with their own meaningful rituals, I wanted my own and had only me to come up with it. {....}! was... .magician and fool at once. The Sacred and the Profane. The Clown-Priest, not really, just me." (p. 5). Is Larry Goodell the "Clown Prince of Poetry" in New Mexico, as he is apparently the "Poet Laureate of Placitas" because of his longevity there? Perhaps, and he is also the origin of all his dramatis personae, of which there are many manifestations. There may be the common tensions between the "T" and the "Poetic I" in his poetry, but there are many more contrasts between the masked characters who show up to dramatize a performance, as if all of Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa's heteronyms come to life, with masks? Poet Gus Blaisdell (1935- 2003), who owned the Living Batch Bookstore and is known for his collection Dented Fenders: Poems, 1960-75, named what Goodell does "Poesis dramatized."

Blaisdell also said, in an Artspace essay called "Larry Goodell: Co[s]mic Clown," (Ibid, p. 9) that the Placitas poet:".. . steps out upon the stage possessing and invaded by his own poetry and paraphernalia. In the course of his caperings, the stage becomes a piece of this whirling planet as he enacts, incarnates and embodies in performance what poetry must have been like before it was expurgated categorically into epic, which was tribal and gave the bard shaman-like powers into lyric.. . .and into tragedy. Goodell's poetry is more ancient than these first, classic Aristotelian resolutions. It is antediluvian.. . and his poetry is also deeply comic." Goodell described himself in "Ears please too" (from Here on Earth, p. 67): "Larry Goodell is a poet whose overdose on poetry / has left him inebriated for life, like the Zen student / whose shins have been kicked by the Zen master."

In an unpublished interview (2009) with fellow Roswell native Randy Biggers, Goodell said about his creative process: "I wait 'til some line pops into my head and I put it in my notebook. It can be any time day or night. I try not to force it. I generally wait for something .... and write it down as quickly as I can. There is no intention; it's like listening to what appears in my mind. I have a sense when it is the end, then I try to find a title and that's it." He also noted that he often writes two or three poems per day, and that he doesn't revise a lot. Influenced by his early interest in jazz, it is perhaps a lot like musical improvisation. Asked who his favorite poet is, Goodell said "Gary Snyder.Or rather, Allen Ginsberg." Other favorite poets have included Tom Raworth, Ken Irby, Joanne Kyger, and Gino Sky. Regarding Jimmy Santiago Baca, he says: "He howls and luxuriates in the coyote yelp, he returns to the reader the gift of happiness and vibrancy he infuses his language with. Page after page, the marvelous poetry displays both grandeur of spirit and courageous heart." Goodell also explained that he doesn't really write the "long poem," and that he considers rhyme to be important in poetry. And, finally, "My poetry is best if it has a ceremonial aspect."

Goodell has an affinity for some types of experimental poetic structures when they merge with dramatic form, genre mixtures at times too, but he is particularly fond of unique combinations of repetition and variation in poems, especially when they play with syntax. He likes puns and word plays, which often lead to humorous lines that reverb back onto the main topic of the text. The repetition can accumulate, double, or even triple up. Sometimes the repeated words look the same on the page, but each segment is different when read aloud, and at times italics give distinct emphases on the printed page. Often he's using the same word as both noun and verb. And, as he has said:".... only poets and artists who are attuned to the world as a whole. . . have the primary power to warm over the hearts and allow illusion to cast its spell. . . . Our imagination places auras around the specifics of our daily lives. Not all the time, but some times. Hilarity is the only escape .. ." (Artspace essay, p. 7). This sounds a lot like the epigraph by Dorn I placed at the beginning of this essay:. only laughter can blow it to rags..." This emphasizes an important aspect of Goodell's poetry, the use of humor in all its multifarious forms. Word play is frequent, for example, in "Republican"

			Republican
			repugnant din
			repube lick in     
			re pug lick sin    
			re plug bite in     
			re puke lick can
			republic banned
			republic canned
			the public damned
			republic jammed
			the pubic tanned
			the pubic damned
			the pubic planned
			re-pubic man    
			re-pube your man
			repugnant man
			repuke replan
			repugnant plan
			republican 

Although Goodell likes word play, he is not a fan of the "language poets" for they "throw meaning to the wind." As for common themes, his note on "Anthrax Avenue" says, "the poem touches on New Mexico, the WIPP (nuclear waste disposal) Project, Los Alamos (nuclear weapons issue), drunkenness and greed, gardening, compassion... (heck, that's all I write about)".

Add to the list: political, mythic, and religious themes. Regarding the Mythic, he said he always identified with the Hero Twins from Pueblo and Navajo/Dine mythology, is interested in Mythic (circular) time, and relates strongly to the Native American figure of the coyote as trickster. Beyond this, there is a larger question of the archetypical figure of a shamanic, sacred clown from the Native American tradition, their global-cultural context, and their relation to the play element in culture.

Back in the 1960s when Goodell was first elaborating his poetic personae with masks, costumes, backdrops, totem animals, and other elements of his "word performances" there was probably a more positive context for this, given the nature of that era. But now, the context needs to be "filled in." We need to remember that the play element in culture is not just about amusement but a serious consideration. "Games" are the basis of war (battles were fought on demarcated, "pitched" fields, like life-size game boards), and trials within the law are arranged as "games" too. You can lose your life in these "games." In an essay in Jacques Ehrman's Game, Play, Literature, Eugen Fink notes: "Play is finite creativity in the magic dimension of illusion," and "... play is no harmless, peripheral or even 'childish' thing." (pp.28- 29). And in the same volume, Michel Beaujour says: "The poet plays against two opponents, which are, ultimately, two faces of the same coin: language and the subconscious." (p. 60). In Johan Huizinga's book Homo A study of the play element in culture, the author says that "Poesis" is in fact a play-function, which lies "beyond seriousness, on that more primitive and original level where the child, the animal, the savage and the Seer belong, in the region of dream, enchantment, ecstasy, laughter." (p. 119). Poetry; says the Dutch scholar, is not only aesthetic but liturgical and social as well. At the same time it can be ritual, entertainment, artistry, persuasion, sorcery, soothsaying, prophecy; and even a competitive game. An ancient appellation of the poet was rates (Seer), which implies possession of extraordinary knowledge. Huizinga: "Gradually, the poet-seer splits up into figures of the prophet, the priest, and even the philosopher, legislator (cf. Shelley's "Poets are the world's legislators"), the orator, the demagogue, etc." And: "Poetry in its original culture-making capacity, is born in and as play - sacred play..." (p. 122). Myth is always poetry, and "All poetry is born of play: the sacred play of worship, the festive play of courtship, the martial play of the contest, the disputatious play of braggadocio, mockery; and the nimble play of wit and readiness." (p. 123). And, "As civilization becomes more serious and developed, only poetry remains as the stronghold of living and noble play." (p. 134). This is part of the background to the various "mythic" performances that have figured in Larry Goodell's poetic-dramatic creations.

The various figures and incarnations of the poet, expressed through costumes and masks, totem animals and symbols, augment the texts recited, creating a "mythic" context for Goodell's readings (not all, but those with appropriate texts). The "visual props" and paraphernalia are basically made by Larry and Lenore. Gus Blaisdell's earlier reference to Goodell as a "Co[s]mic Clown" fits with a role that goes back to ancient Egypt, to European societies when the Court Jester not only entertained but was the only one near the King who could tell the monarch the truth without being punished, and in mainly "non-techno- logical" societies where the shaman connects and interprets different realities. In New Mexico, where Nature, Culture, Art, Myth, and History come together in a nexus distinct from anywhere else on earth, it is natural that Goodell would relate to the local figures of the Sacred Clown, the Koshare of the Pueblo Indian cultures (Kayemisi in the Puebloan Hopi culture, the Mudhead figures). He never dresses as or assumes similar costumes to these Pueblo figures, but the role he plays, no matter the mask or costume, is equivalent.


The role of the Koshare is a semi-religious figure which can embody a spirit, especially the Corn Spirits, in Pueblo cultures. They are generally painted in black and white stripes, faces painted like masks, corn shucks often tied into their hair and standing straight up from their heads. As corn grows from the ground, so they climb up the ladder from the underground sacred kiva at ceremonial dances. They amuse but are also feared for their social control role, their power. They often entertain but they also are allowed to be contrarian, to do things not generally allowed in the tribe; they can reverse normalcy for a short period. They connect the mundane and profane to the Sacred. Goodell, in the mythic roles which he assumes as poet, as Seer, fits into the Sacred Clown, the Cosmic Clown persona. And when assuming these roles, he is beyond an empirical reality; into the realm of poetry as myth, creating the "ceremonial" context for his "mythic" poems.

The question of God, in Christian terms, is not one which plays well in Goodell's work, at least in the traditional sense, and it doesn't figure into the Mythic aspect of his "word performances" unless it is a topic of derision for the most part. The Christian God simply seems to be, for Goodell, a negative concept used by unconscionable minions of established sects for social control and repression, and long ago lost its mythic context. In a poem which satirizes the attempts of right-wing Christians to impose control over public (secular) schools during the terms of President Ronald Reagan (who wasn't religious but pandered to the Religious Right), Goodell uses humor to push the whole controversy into the realm of absurdity it deserves:

"God Has Been Expelled from the Classroom"
(The title is a quote from Ronald Reagan)

         God was a bad boy-

         he came to school

         with a snotty nose

         popping bubble gum at the girls.

         They all recognized him for the virgin he was

         but he was such a bully.

        

         And when he pulled Veronica's braids & almost

         uprooted one from her scalp

         the Principal had God on the carpet

         and expelled him right then & there.

(Firecracker Soup, p. 18)

If there is a secular ritual in Goodell's poetry; it would be in his political poems, where he takes the absurdity and lies to their source, confronting the Power Elite with the Truth they generally don't want thrown back in their faces, as they try to fool the people in order to take advantage.

Claude Levi-Strauss, in his many fascinating books, has elaborated several aspects of the artist in relation to the mythic and to science:"... art lies half-way between scientific knowledge and mythic or magical thought." (The Savage Mind, 4th U.S. edition, p. 22). The genius of the artist, says Levi-Strauss, is in uniting internal and external knowledge in the creation of an artistic object which can elicit aesthetic (and other) emotions. By way of a creative process of synthesis (uniting opposites, and beyond), a work of art is created out of nothing other than the mind of the artist. For most people who appreciate art, this is magical thinking in itself. When Goodell turns the aesthetic into a ritual through use of mythic text and context, then the event becomes an artistic structure on another level. The role of the poet in all of this is, of course, central. If, according to Levi-Strauss, such an event is ritualistic, it is a "conjunction" -conjoining the audience with mythic context, but if it becomes a "game" then it is "disjunctive” separating the audience into "winners" and "losers." The poet as shaman always speaks to his audience from the mythopoetic "Center of the World." (See Eliade's Shamanism, first Princeton/Bollingen edition, pp. 264-65). When Goodell puts on the mask, he is speaking as someone other than his literal self. He is speaking from Eliade's "Cosmic Mountain," another way of saying from the "Center of the World." He has moved from speaking as the "I" to the "Poetic I." William Blake created his own Bible-like mythopoetic "reality." While Goodell hasn't done this, he has brought the truth-telling Sacred Clown to the fore, and he, the Anglo Koshare poet of Placitas, can also speak Truth to Power in his political poems as well as present his mythopoetic structures to his audiences. And sometimes, they cross, using the one to illuminate the other.

Goodell of course, knows that these roles he plays, in the process of communicating on more than one level at the same time with his audience, are temporary. But he also knows, that all serious poets are Outsiders. As Colin Wilson says: "the Visionary is inevitably an Outsider." (The Outsider, first Delta edition, p. 203). Not all poets are visionaries, nor vice versa, but for those poets who are real "Seers," the Truth is the poet's strength and best weapon. It may also get the poet into trouble with those who don't want it revealed to the society at large. This is why the role of the poet must almost always be in contrast, or opposition, to the established Power in a society, for when (almost) all media have been brought under control of the governing elite, as is the case now, someone has to tell the King the Truth, whether he wants to hear it or not. Someone must inform the people that the monarch has no clothes.

And finally, Nature is also a common theme in Goodell's poetry: the role of Nature, the need to save the planet from destruction by corporate greed, the beauty of walking in the Ojito Wilderness, the yearly gardens around his house, his tasks with the local committee to clean out irrigation canals, the stark beauty of the Sandia foothills, the timeless poetry of the "fervent valley" where he lives, above the larger Rio Grande Valley; in the shadow of the Cosmic Mountain. We think you will find all these riches in the poetry of Larry Goodell.   - Gary L. Brower, Placitas, New Mexico 

1 *Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935), the Portuguese poet considered by many to be one of the greatest poets of the 20th Century, in any literature, created five different heteronyms, the poems of each were written in a different style. Ironically, and directly related to the multiple pseudonyms, is the fact that his surname means "person" in Portuguese.       2 *Latin poesis from Greek poiesis, literally "creation."

Malpais Review - Summer 2012 - editor - Gary Brower - featuring Larry Goodell,
Tomas Transtromer, Scott Wannberg, Tennessee Williams, and Spanish Poetry ed. by David Garrison

Tuesday, October 6, 2020

HOODWINKER

an avaricious airhead

an arrogant ass

an assumptive asshat

a blithering birdbrain

a bloated blockhead

a bonedead bonehead

a blundering bozo

a bigoted buffoon

a cheesy charlatan

an unchastened chiseler

a show-time chauvinist

a cultureless clod

a caterwauling cockscomb

a contemptuous con man

a cringeworthy cretin

a cultivated crook

a diabolical deceiver

a domineering defalcator

a dead set despoiler

a democracy-hating demagogue

a deadly double-crosser

a distasteful dingle berry

a deadpan dolt

a deranged dope

a  deadly double-crosser

a do-or-die double-dealer

a dilapidated dullard

a dead-wrong dumb-ass

a dum-dum dumbo

a deranged dunce

a doddering dunderhead

a ferocious fascist

a fact-hating fathead

a fractured fool

a fucked up fraudster

a gregarious goat

a heinous halfwit

a hellbent hoaxer

a hateful hoodwinker

a hubristic hothead

a hyperactive hypocrite

an idealized idiot

an ignominious ignoramus

a juvenile jackass

a klan-loving kleptocrat

a noxious knucklehead

a laborious lamebrain

a double-lying loser

a murderous manipulator

an amoral misogynist

a malevolent monster 

a minuscule moron

a merciless muppet

a miserly muttonhead

a nasty narcissist

a Neanderthal nitwit

a non-entity nincompoop

a nickle-dime ninny

a notorious nit

a niggardly numbnut

a no-goodnik numbskull

a pandering pendejo

a pea-brained pinhead

a putrid plonker

a puckered-lip Putinian

a calculative quack

a riotous racist

a rapacious racketeer

a resolute rapist

a showy shyster

a shit-dealing schmuck 

a super-dooper simpleton

a seditious suck-ass

a shallow chauvinist

a swine-faced swindler

a treacherous toad

a two-timing traitor

a time-capsule twerp

a treasonous trickster

a vituperative villain

a premiere white-supremacist

a yellow yo-yo


/larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / 6Oct2020 - love to all



Friday, July 10, 2020

3D Poet


 Photographs by Jim Burbank of my poetry event at Very Special Arts in Albuquerque.

People don’t realize the ritual dharma behind what I do.
Nor should they if there is a reasonable modesty on my part.
There is the life dialog between the supposed presence and myself.
There is the pressure to be unique that any artist feels
and the lonely path where imagination gets its way.
There is no single way to present 360 degrees,
thus handmade objects, masks, costumes, levels of presence,
the sound of the voice following the lead of where to go.
And music sustains, speech music, assonance and internal rhyme,
rhythm of the heart beat and the guttural beat the Anglo Saxon base
with whispers of the French and intelligence of the Latin.
And the overriding drive of the American
demands 360 degrees, 3-D words to follow the seasons
and the human attack on them. What goes on behind the scenes
stays behind the scenes. What goes on in front stays in front.
Thus the 3 ring circus becomes one ring and not a circus, but a
life of limited discovery & magic ants in the pants.
That glow that every prism sends out in sevens and more.
That dance, that prance, that single stance where the vocal
is queen to the king and the king perhaps is only a presence or just
a subject of the realm. Larry Goodell / Placitas, New Mexico / 2009


The Blue Spaceman event poem at Very Special Arts, Photo by Jim Burbank.

Larry Goodell in muscle shirt reading from the Ometeotl Trilogy. 
Shirt and Photograph by Lenore Goodell. VSA, Albuquerque

Tuesday, May 26, 2020

The Masculine Race - a notebook manuscript from 1998



Larry Goodell
Third line from the bottom, the questionable word is "winnied" - what was intended?
This is from To Hell With Mumbo Jumbo, poems written in 1998, to be published.

The Masculine Race
/for Judy Grahn
Are we not big?
Are we not bad?
Are we not brutes?
Are we not had?
Are we not shoe spaces?
Are we not conjured doors?
Are we not upturned floors?
Are we not familiar faces?
Who is the toughest
the roughest
the dullest?
Who is the puffiest
the dustiest
the shortest?
Who is the biggest?
The worst?
The blasted?
the first
that lasted
the least
that lost
the most
that hosted
the toast
that roasted
the race
that winnied
the winner
that lost
the least on the list.
The smallest that finked
the skinniest that winked
the loser that screwed
the winner’s behind.
We are the last who lost the race
we are the defeated masculine race.

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / 31Mar98
(Come to think of it, perhaps "whinnied" . . . )

Tuesday, April 14, 2020

Agriculture Chant for Audience in The Fool - 1968 - by Larry Goodell

In the performance piece "The Fool" I say/read nothing but enact a series of ceremonial movements while the audience reads, usually 2 people simultaneously reading each text (including an International Cookbook). This is one of the texts which is a fold out poem on a vertical small wood panel.


Sunday, March 22, 2020

Moonless Night, a shuffle and read poem, by Larry Goodell


Print these 2 sheets out on cover stock, 
cut the stars out, mix them all up & stack. 
Read from the top down!





For kids after school at Singing Arrow Community Center in Albuquerque, 1999.
Thank you, City of Albuquerque for the grant to meet with kids after school and do poetry.

Skull Poem, 1968, by Larry Goodell

Thursday, November 7, 2019

The Fool - Event Poem 21 May 1968 - for Steve Rodefer's Class

The Fool: poet acts out aspects of human history silently while audience reads texts 
from cookbook to poems on scrolls & objects.




















Properties (Things for The Fool) and Procedure (for the event) on IBM Cards. Everything fits in box with cover which becomes table top. Audience reads provided poems and texts handed to them. Poet goes through creation of the world motions and says nothing. larry goodell / placitas, new mexico

Friday, June 28, 2019

Jim Ruppert, Terry Boren, and Mark Schiller Interview Larry Goodell, ca.1976


Contact Print from Bob Christensen, Thunderbird Bar, Placitas, New Mexico

I ran across the cassette recording of this interview and the transcription which, I think, Terry Boren did. This occurred in the 70's when Jim Ruppert was working on his Doctorate at the University of New Mexico and running a wonderful series of poetry readings there. Mark Schiller was living in Placitas and was a neighbor and friend. I'd erected a serial performance work called the Trilogy of Ometeotl and the interview focuses on that. Loving thanks to Terry, Jim and Mark for doing this.

Note:  Date of interview is probably 1976 when Artspace did an article on my poetry events. I am amplifying the transcript a bit as I go over the recording and I'll update this text accordingly.

Interviewers: Jim Ruppert, Terry Boren and Mark Schiller.

Larry Goodell: I really don't know what it is to be "Southwestern" or "regional." So I don't worry about it. As John Brandi said, occasionally there are certain things that he writes about that are classified as'"Southwestern" or "New Mexican" – like place names and so on.

Terry Boren: That's "place poetry."

Mark Schiller: You could call Charles Olsen a "place poet" because he was writing about specific places.
TB: I've always thought that a regional idea should be defined in the broadest sense. I mean, if you are going to put together a regional anthology, you have to make one or two decisions: Not whether the poets are writing about the region, but simply what's being produced in a region, or from a region. You could define it so that anyone living there was included, or people that have come out of there – regardless of what they wrote about.

Larry Goodell: Some people comment about the fact that there are various references to the Sandias in my poetry, hell, the mountains are right there! If you look out the window and something’s there everyday, then it's naturally going to come into your writing. But it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with your feeling about "the area," unless you’re consciously writing, say, science fiction which has no place except the future, it's just a natural consequence of writing that those things appear, including corn, and living in an adobe, & all those "clichés."

Jim Ruppert: I wouldn't mind doing an anthology in which every poem had to have the word "chile" in it.

Larry Goodell: It's just as viable as having a volume in which all of the poets' names are "Charley."*

Terry Boren: It's just a way of defining your territory.

Larry Goodell: It's like consulting the I Ching, it gives you a set of something with which to look at something bigger through. So why not have a "Southwestern" anthology? It's just that I don't like the kind of pompous, self-defeating stance about what poetry should or should not be that is often included in the idea.

Jim Ruppert: The word "shamanism" has been associated with your performances, but I wouldn't use that word to describe what you do. I guess it has confusing connotations.

Mark Schiller: Well, I think that an association is made – especially in this area where they have the Koyemshi in the Zuni and the Koshari among the Pueblo Indians, where they have a priestly caste of jokers. A lot of Larry's performances have a great deal to do with that.

Jim Ruppert: Well, they are ritual, for sure, but I don't know if you can borrow that sort of cultural concept.

Larry Goodell: I think if you were just a "typical poet," writing poems (and it’s pretty easy to do because all you need is a piece of paper and a pencil or pen – you don't need to spend a lot of money on acrylics like you would if you were a visual artist), you could reach a point where you might become really fascinated by, say, paper or the pencil you were using, and you become interested in making your own paper or providing your own writing tools. Then you would be involved in a step beyond your "typical poet's" activities. And that's what I got involved in. By going to so many actual ceremonies, festivities, gatherings and dances – especially like at Zuni or San Felipe – I was aware of how certain objects would take on a nuance within the occasion. For instance, a Shalako priest picking up a dyed red eagle breast feather and tying to his head. The simple act was an indication of his standing at that particular ceremony.

Jim Ruppert: But doesn't a shaman's job imply something like the propping up of' a religious and cultural superstructure?
Mark Schiller: Don't you think a poet has a place within that? Doesn't he prop up a superstructure?

Jim Ruppert: I see him more as tearing it down than propping it up – or restructuring it.

Larry Goodell: I think that in relation to tribal societies, the independent discoverer who is taught certain things from his father or teacher, is the person that you may be relating to. It's not a group of people performing something within a group, but it is more one particular individual who is doing a certain thing. Like in Fino-Ugric shamans, where the guy has a shallow drum and wears feathers and bells – feathers to fly to the spirits and bells to announce his arrival. And he's a separate individual who puts himself in a trance by way of beating the drum and dancing around with all his feathers and bells on. Now, that is something that a poet can be related to in a sense – but only foggily – because it's something you read about in another culture.

Jim Ruppert: But all of the people who made modern literature have not been shamans, they haven't been people who have been their cultural heroes, they have been people who have been sort of outside, trying to push new ways of thinking, of expressing, of developing against a society that was basically conservative and not interested.

Mark Schiller: Sometimes the poets are actually more reactionary than others, trying to reach back to the old values. Like the movement towards poetry as performance – what Larry's involved in – is, I think, a move towards the older values, like the poetic performance in Homeric times. The shaman was a poet.

Terry Boren: Well, some people look at it from different ways. If there is a superficial resemblance to older modes, is it trying to instill older things, or is it really searching after something else? Performance as poetry is very old, but it doesn't mean that new works are functioning in the same way.

Larry Goodell: Many of my earlier works involved trying to break down the barrier between the poet and the "audience" – in which there has always been too exclusive a number of people.

Jim Ruppert: Do all of those objects (things) that you bring in for a performance help break the barrier, or do you think they create more distance because they give something more to look at and mesmerize the audience.

Larry Goodell: Well, some of my earlier works were an attempt to get people involved. But in the "Trilogy” [of Ometeotl] I’m concerned with not so much audience involvement as my active participation in extending the poem itself into everything that I, personally, can do. There really is no audience participation except in reacting to what I do. Occasionally I ask for some help from the audience. But in an earlier work called "The Fool" I had the audience do the reading while I was in the middle involved in a stagy, mock-rite, mock-ceremonial-like performance.

Mark Schiller: Why do you call it a "mock-ceremony"?

Larry Goodell: Because I feel that true ceremonies occur from group pressure and I didn't really feel that there was that much group pressure and/or tradition where a ceremony could literally, like folk music or something [traditional] just occur. It was something that I made up, really. It was, in a sense, an idea. The idea of it was just as important as the creating of it. The creating of it does not mean that you have an idea of it because that has to do with inspiration and all of that – what comes to you out of the blue. What I was doing might today be classified as "conceptual." I did feel that I was certainly not a serious priest in acting these things. In a sense I was like mock turtle soup. I wasn't exactly the real thing, but I was doing what I could do and enjoying the outrageous scene.

Mark Schiller: Do you ever feel that you are performing the function of priest?

Larry Goodell: Only in private, certainly not in public.

Mark Schiller: What specifically do you feel is the connection between shamanism and your performance?

Larry Goodell: First of all, I don't understand shamanism at all. I've seen some pictures, I've read a little bit. But I think it should be discounted all the way around, in so far as what a poet actually does. Just because I might use costumes and a backdrop and stuffed "ritual objects" doesn't mean that I have anything whatsoever to do with a shaman. I don't because, as I said, it is something that is passed down to a certain person that puts his self into a trance [according to what little I know]. I'm not sure that I'm ever in a trance. Certainly tribal shamanism has nothing whatsoever to do with a contemporary Mary Hartman follower who has something that could be classified as a shamanistic interest. I don't think that a contemporary person really can have more than a kind of bookish interest in shamanism. If there is a relevant shamanism involved in my life work, it must remain forever private. In a sense there is a relationship, but I'm also saying that I don't understand what shamanism really is all about because it is not part of my given culture. Again, it is something that's coming from the outside as a classification that's trying to pin itself on me – which I resent. I am not ''regional," I am not "Southwestern" and I am not currently "shamanistic." However, that doesn't mean that I don't fend around the best I can. And behind everything I’ve used visually or in so-called costumery for my readings, there is something more relevant than a typical theatrical production relevance, which is, that instead of making something up just for the occasion, generally a lot of the things which I use are things which have occurred over a slower period of time. I’m not just saying that this is a costume I need, rather, those things seem to have a relevance in so far as the materials used, etc. I mean, I would never use plastic in anything I do or use.

Jim Ruppert:s You don't use anything mechanical either do you? Except for lights.

Larry Goodell: I have used a rheostat light, but I switched to an old, multi-levelled floor lamp, so that I can govern the level of light. And that's a major point. Poets ordinarily read under flourescent lights and are unaffected by their environment. My pet peeve concerning poets is that visually they are numbskulls. Which may or may not be "right." But you can control your environment with a little effort. I feel that I am an animist and everything that surrounds me has its own nuance and life and aura. I simply don't read in a place unless I can do something about the "evil" decor. I feel that an environment conducive to the reading of a particular poem must be reclaimed.

Terry Boren: You can't reclaim some auditorium spaces with what you have, but when you put those things up, it's a comment on the environment.

Larry Goodell: I have always identified more with the musicals and spectacles of the 1940's and ‘50's – those large-scale cinematic productions. I was always involved with a kind of colossal backdrop. I was never really concerned with what one person could do – unless he had to do it, which was my case, in that I had to do what I could do to change the environment. I was primarily concerned with a major production. In other words I wanted to be the director. And then there's the circus – which at one time even had the special environment of the tent. Or the Bread and Wine Mission in California in the ‘50's. Of course, I'm not speaking for other poets, but, for me, I've always had a fascination for large forms. And the only way I can achieve large forms is through taking a little more control over the environment that l'm given for a particular reading. I do this by making certain movements, having certain objects in front of me, using costumes, taking advantage of a mask. In a sense I'm really interested in a kind of  Yeatsian point of view toward theater. It seems there should remain a distance between the performer and the audience. In the earlier works I did ("Making It" and "The Fool"), I was after audience participation. But in the "Trilogy" I was trying to achieve more separation between me and the audience – although I'm very interested in the audience's response. Still, by using masks and other things, it's been possible to represent the voice that is given to me at the time that I am writing – which is unrelated to any audience. Thus I can take on some of the nuance of the writing.

Mark Schiller: Are the costumes and such really just for the audience or are the costumes necessary for you in terms of the poems themselves without the perfomances?

Larry Goodell: Just about everything that occurs visually in a reading occurs apropos the particular poem at the time of the writing. It is never subsequent to the writing – except in the actual making of it. Usually when I'm writing, I make little drawings as ideas occur. When I'm actually making a costume or prop, something remarkable happens wherein I'm bringing into existence something that had only appeared as a kind of outline, something that was dictated at the time of writing the poem.

Jim Ruppert:. A concrete poet once said that concrete poetry is the "Iconization of the verbal" – turning words into objects. What relation do the objects in your performance have to words? Did they start out as word-concepts in your head and become objects later? They don’t exist independently of the words, do they?

Larry Goodell: Robert Creeley says, "Form is an extension of content" and these "things" are simply extensions of the words. I find exploring the relationship of the ears to the eyes to be a challenging thing to do.

Mark Schiller: Would you ever publish the "Trilogy" apart from the performance aspect of it?

Larry Goodell: Yes, it should be published this spring by Truck Press, the full "Trilogy": "The Book," "The Staff," and "The Bowl of Ometeotl." "The Staff," which was the first of the performance pieces, comes from a piece of cottonwood,about 6ft. long with 3 scrub-jay feathers on top. "The Bowl" is involved with a ceramic bowl having a bump aligning with each of the 4 directions."The Book" is a rebellion against the theatrical aspects of my writings and is simply a book bound in cloth from which, as an old man, I am supposed to be reading. There are a few things that occur during "The Book" that are theatrical: like at one point I destroy the American version of the calendar and try to resurrect a new one. The new calendar is a sort of ceremonial calendar which contains events worth looking forward to other than birthdays (although they're important), and a ghastly Christmas and a blasphemous Easter. If you could affix importance to certain stations during the year, it might be more interesting. But that has to do with a sense of community and with people sharing feelings. Harvesting your garden can be an oocasion for celebration. I particularly like the possibility of writing what they used to call "occasional poems." The only way that the poet can get out of his ivory tower is by breaking all of these barriers and denying all of the stereotypes that have been handed down since the Eliotine freeze, which just about froze everything. And Robert Bly thought that there was an equally icy freeze that occurred after Olson's prominence. The "Trilogy" was a definitive attempt on my own part to break through the cliches and stereotypes of the contemporary poetry reading atmosphere and the institutional demands that are made on poets.

Mark Schiller: Did it work?

Larry Goodell: Yes, but I think a lot of people who have seen these readings have thought that the trappings were merely theatrical. Not to put down theater, I want to again emphasize that these objects are something that grow from my daily life and are made up of materials that are extremely important to me.

Jim Ruppert: Do you think people see the trappings as merely theatrical attention-catching devices, rather than a deepening or extending of the content, because they are so humorous – and people don't tend to take things which they laugh at seriously?

Larry Goodell: Generally, when I give a reading, things turn out funnier than I thought they would be. There are definite satiric and hilarious aspects to the poems. There is a quasi-Camp aspect, there is – what might be called – a "Pop" aspect, there are certain easy, tricky phrases with lots of sexual overtones – like a kind of extended dirty joke which can be taken on more sophisticated levels. I basically find that I'm interested in humor more than anything else.

* cf “Two Charlies” featuring Charlie Vermont and Charles Walsh

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