Yeah No

Yeah No

by Jane Gregory

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Overview


Poetry. Jane Gregory's mystifying second collection, YEAH NO, begins with a "Knock knock," inviting the reader into a realmwhere "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.

"At the beginning it feels almost awkward (as well as anguished). Written in poems that are accretions containing both language that's constantly questioned and a more subtle, subterranean lyricism: 'the bower made of agitation' seems to be the form, and the book seems to be about being agitated by different impulses. Suddenly, more than mid-way, everything comes together into a new tone, and what was hesitance. is a method. 'I am against achievement,' Jane Gregory says in obvious and thrilling mastery of poetic form. She really takes over then. and the reader's pleasure is acute. This is a terrific book to go through."--Alice Notley

"To take the relentless work of sensing/making/relating/judging/desiring/suffering/trying ('What? // Yes. and little else') and wrest it via language into bombs of awful hope and gorgeous despair just is poetry's job, and in YEAH NO Jane Gregory makes it fully and spectacularly hers. 'Thank what is clear / for the grimness,' she writes, 'what the future's retrojection bore a hole right through.' Gregory's taut and particular rigor is a contagion (read: corrective) that I dearly want to spread across the present tense. Take note of what happens to your heart--I mean the organ, 'tenderer. tenderer now'--as you read this mighty book."--Anna Moschovakis

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780998829029
Publisher: The Song Cave
Publication date: 03/01/2018
Pages: 112
Product dimensions: 5.40(w) x 7.20(h) x 0.40(d)

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.

Read an Excerpt

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
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,
And what —

The moon thus shed its singleness as if it were real and behold:
PROFICES
* * *

Why do I need my ideas [validated for me]
Light, icicles, feces, profit

Of the world

Was made Panic And then its exit Imiseration Graced

PROFICES
* * *

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?
Like what, the melody of thought; for [?]
Like what [/ well that]
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]
What of it stop it

Or what of it stops

* * *

What if it stops?
Whelm the field [over 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]
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]

* * *

It must be — time, that unlimiter of suffering unlatching itself around an occasion, by which [cry]
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]
UNTITLED, ON TIME

Having the manner of a beast looking backward: nostalgia —herald, regardant —
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]
* * *

Their ill to believe everything issues [is issues]
* * *

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,
* * *

[What I shall come to rest]
[Jesus thought Of God / as I the Internet]
* * *

[so] i've given up [so wronged,]
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 some pleasures are not good for you, work.

(Continues…)



Excerpted from "Yeah No"
by .
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.

Table of 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,

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