OH WORMIE, YOU'VE TURNED SEVENTEEN...
The Wormwood ReviewVolume 5,Number 1IssueSeventeenEditor: MarvinMalone ArtEditor: A.SypherGuest editor,this issue:Allen DeLoachNew YorkRepresentative: HaroldBriggs1965, Wormwood ReviewPress
The poets and poems in this anthology are repre sentative of the diverse activity reverberating at the Cafe Le Metro on New York's Lower East Side. Being a center of poetry, rather than a school, Le Metro nur tures the most vital facet of the creative arts: the right and the opportunity to present the created without any form of censorship or pre-judgment. Le Metro not only has the importance of having completely open and permissive readings, but presents, one night a week, a feature reader. Each of the feature readers has either previously obtained recognition in the field of writing, or has shown definite, noticeable growth in that di rection. Since the first of these readings in February of 1963, a random choice of writers that have made an appearance is Gilbert Sorrentino, Joel Oppenheimer, Diane diPrima, Gregory Corso, Denise Levertov, John Weiners, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, LeRoi Jones, Brion Gyson, William Burroughs, etc. The list could continue, and then be added to a similar list of prominent poets who frequently participate in the weekly open readings. However, it is not the elite who profit through the Cafe Le Metro movement. It is the neophytes, shaping their thoughts and molding their voices, who profit mainly through the - availability of associations with poets, such as alien Ginsberg, who always manage to give the extra minutes asked of them. Let it suffice to say that Le Metro offers to any person on any level what he comes for honestly,pri marily because its patrons have made it that way and because its patrons, would like to keep it that way. — Allen De Loach April, 1965 The Exorciser
In this body's universe (laid out in hands, and feet, a heart, head, and eye) this one soul rides its sea, mountain range, or plain with neither oar, wheel, nor wing and has no name, place, or part and I, no identity, except the body's strange extensions, like familiar stars in a foreign sky that orient a global chart to plot a course around and show where their positions are outside the circling world — as though the "who," the "what," and "when" answered a journey's "where" or explained a wanderer's "why."
— Kirby Congdon
Of Jazz and Hierophants
In gem thick smoke, in matrix of eyes, I am embedded in brass that loves me.
Caught behind the iconostasis in the center of the sun, I measure the osmotic ingress of the substance that controls my breath.
Blaze from my head, a full grown planet, blood of space, whose heat has held me.
ho road is as wide as Al Sirat expanding across the ravenous gulch, repairing slitted footsoles in tactile cadence that puckers drawstring time.
- 2 - Slime dries. In this web of amber I walk from ear to ear on a bridge that knows me.
— Barbara Holland
The Trade
In England where the Beatles came from Poetry is going big guns Even coming here to America from where we sent Elvis around the globe showing we had something besides bombs.
— George Montgomery
Mumbo-Jumbo the shadows of discontent nightmare dreams mind being somewhere other than where it is now your face a mere covering for what it is not there wading on the beach off the coast of Fiji philosophy bouncing metaphysical souls too beautiful for poetry or endless discussion who is being spoken to from what consciousness reception as diverse as facial lines pale, white mellow brown complexion no one knows who anyone ever is anymore ever my love irrational poetics politics flitting zap directions telephone lines railroad ties intermingling criss crossings botched circuses of intelligence communicating to what is no longer there finding what was once opposite attraction embracing bracing what is neither sunlight nor shadow a flickering candle emanating through mortar bricks, lead wood paper light years arriving when certainty is poof eyes sufficient for light already blind listening to voices
- 3 - as any cacophonic assemblage harmonically disconcerting to the dumb who understand the distribution of biscuits making it with one another anyway the dog tricks woof to how its said not what go, bo, so, what incomprehensible to the yu2oic4$ i.e. extrasensory perception necessary to decipher the babble to be human mumbo jumbo what only machine cant do
— Dan Saxon
Gage Rip
get completely deranged getting completely deranged becoming completely deranged getting entirely deranged becoming fully deranged moving toward complete derangement get control of complete derangement get principle stock of complete derangement the fullness of derangement the completeness of full & entire derangement
blood soaking into the earth full derangement of dirt & small malignant creatures of the earth
blood blood blood all over the earth malignant earth deranging out of creatures
not the hope of the world but a mad motherfucker sinking into the slimes of the Universe and the last thing the world sees of him is his slowly sinking out of sight with his two blazing evil eyes peering madly out over this plain of derision & pestilence & terror of puke-hills & scab-rills
— John Keys
- 4 - Poem To A Word Unspoken
You pull me toward you You fill me My body reaching towards yours So full of you
I cannot breathe
It is the best part of us that loves Yet we love with our whole selves The night filled with sleep
Only once I touched my fear Named it To this I dedicate my poem To this And to you Remarkable to me as my own hands As I touch them Recognize them as mine
Would I destroy my tongue Pull the lips from my mouth This presence once existing ordering the rest m y world
The answer is here It comes silently Like a word never spoken Hanging suspended
A small green thing
— Susan Sherman
there was no need of dialogue (i sd. he said you sd. she should have (sd. there was no need )) imagine that & ) no time
— John Harriman
- 5 - when (there are no words to say affixitive (wds. not even initials sufficing
even birds stopped and trucks
putting all into parenthesis; silencing that space ( ) were it not/though it is so there are flowers/that there were
so there are flowers (is peace).
— John Harriman
Confusing Order With Sunset
black patent shoe
tapping
dancing against the wall in your dream
but walking down the willow road days of duck feathers floating on that pond, days of the pomegranate opening & fracturing the membrane/ shiny eyes tumbling in a bowl
touch, you won't let me touch you we walk we walk the path becomes a train rushing through the grand canyon
- 6 - I put out my hand 8 wheels continuously repeating rotating through the flesh you could tap dance your way through the world not just dreams
I want to touch y o u find I must leave before the last act/ cannot bear to watch you
applaud once more.
— Diane Wakoski
City Museum, Split
The national costumes were simple or complex colorful, I suppose. Such artifacts as bed-warmers, fanning shovels jewelry & spindles, Okay. the practical or delicate. The adorning
I liked only the weapons & the musical instruments. The principle, the demarcation of my fascination is use.
Creation/Death
The intentness sunk in either process.
— Paul Blackburn
- 7 - T h e Glory Hairs
To watch a woman pissing in open air is to watch an animal do it / that naked like a horse or cow Nothing so neat as a man's dong but wide as a church door whizzing openly .
They do well for their purposes to hide the act, that frank, flat use of the equipment for business, with a cheerful sound not associated with love . And then
to dry and rise with a sly sweetness, thinking of it . All I can stand of delicacy is the hand moving on my chest inside the shirt when she is thinking of it .
— Paul Blackburn
Ramamir III
for Miriam Sanders
Ramamir gropes the night gently her lover is the Black Night for he is DEATH his lips are a phantom verse his heart is a murrain his boots are a psychic stomping his eyes are a sickness
& she is life & her eyes are blacked-lined in sorrow her ears are filled with his shrieking her hair so blondly aureate are the nest for the birds from his insensate uncompanionate pukings 0 Ramamir Woman of Pain make him gentle as a pool that dries in the sun after storm persevere kind Rama for he will be a warm kind fur-beast & from his bonds suspire in to your arms lifting him from the blackness
— Bd Sanders
Dick Tracey 1 & 2
1 Dick Traceys yellow hat & black suit always running thru doors — Hes in a jam this time but at the bottom of the page sooner or later comes the brave end. I have the proof to prove Dick died say 25,000 thousand times. & all ex-killers are living in his mansion house as like a wax-museum The clothes are bright & fine, a white resturante floor, a pale orange street — pure flat
Of course Dick moves in the modem world with the same knife cut pencle face — what a sharp kiss he must give his wife — If I had my way I'd give Dickey a real crime to solve to face the crime of life — his badge melt like a candle his gun to shoot water at leaves on the porch. 2 Looking out the window — walking I see — his black pants come up to his tits & his red shirt ends there — his legs — well they arent sexy looking.
— Peter Orlovsky
- 9 - Flower Passion
I want to fuck flowers Flowers want to suck me Kinsey should have given me a chapter I would go down in fucken history.
Daffodils and tiger lilies Open up their fleshly lips I would dare the thorns of horror For a taste of red rose hips.
You may keep your birds and wild bees You may keep your soft does eyes Nor can sweetgirls passion equal Sweetpeas coming through the rye.
Love Is All Fucked Up
Love is all fucked up. its gotten mixed up with rats oedipuses, the 6 sexes, affection, affliction aggression, Flaming Creatures, Hooversexuality & creeping onanism.
Love is all fucked up. Is it pacifism, glandulism, sociology, idolatry, movie-making, consternation, sprung rhyme or ectopic beat?
I think, I said, love is what you make it. OK, she said, winking her, lets make it.
— Tuli Kupferberg
- 10 - Colors
Colors strange reflections they mellow the tempo of evenings mellow with age on paintings colors as reflections are people they too mellow with age that is time is a learning process/is to mellow to learn that one color of the spectrum blends easily with another color all of the same spectrum that is truefully there is only A spectrum.
On A Jazz High
Sounds/ (re)sound(ing)(s) wavelength notes that hit the ear// categorize take any group of functions the variable being the only static point not leaving to chance the question of movement questions in themselves completely complete(ly) divorced from any relevance each note is aimed directly the aberration is aimed even more direct(ly)/ incident(al) (ly) the only happenings at all are real ones/ twice removed from reality.
— Allen De Loach
- 11 - Excerpts From! 108 Salt Pillars For Sodom
XXXIV The Sea is my Lover, I shall not want. He taketh me with utter abandon, he loveth me all over at once with his thirst, he devoureth my hesitation, in him is my rhythm woken, in his fury is my weakness strong, in his buoyancy I touch sky. Though deeper than his edge I tread waters of the abyss hidden in him, I shall fear no evil for thou art in me, thy resources spring in my throat, stir in my loins, in my blood is thy resonance alive, in my chestbone is thy rhythm planted, surely vision and meaning shall direct me all the days of my life and I shall walk thy surf everlasting, unto everlasting as long as my days shall be.
XXXVI I thrust my fingers into the holes of your wounds to be certain you are truly God as God thrusts His Awareness into the holes of my doubt to make me know m y doubt is ferment with Your Presence.
XXXVII — for Carol Bergé Here on this grass, no not this grass this legume thing rimed with dust and the peace of the other side of fences, here inside iron where no iron is but sky and us, you lie there and I lean here though I am lying and you are leaning y los ninos puertoriquenos run around us and smile when we complain of their risen dust, how you are still and I talk though it is you who sound and I who say nothing,
- 12 - here you make me learn to hush again and the sun can get thru to me ... and the green ungrass touches my hand ... and the risen dust of the children tells me secrets in strange words, and your hand-hid mouth laughs at my clumsy stroke as I swim, naked, without words at last, in the overflow of your lapping hush ....
— Will Inman
Rain Dance
Let's shovel out a song and dance all knew it Like in the movies Black fright Like rain occurs missing the whole point so he got tired
Chocolate shoes pass in the winter My main ruse is in the mope Our dumb deaths flop inside our dainties He is surprisingly uncanny at the whiskbroom, but laughs at me Learning the effort retort
They cooed some, wildly swaying Saying what's so damn sweet Liquor is her price when she sashays she gouged me a long time with fins Whose foreign compulsion wounded his taint Elevate
Dance la night
The looney facile gay are de rigeur today (I know it) The sore oozes vomit up in the ear shut the drum We'll mash your leman, plunk!
Brokethrew. She's fall off mah ahms Humorit Ewes is full of Pill
— Ted Berrigan
- 13 - St. Tropez
They were all waiting. I waited, looking down the turnpike into the dark of one more crime lost to the light of everything. "When will we end?" I asked myself. Now we are close to one another, Where only in the night sometimes, I seem to know the road. Yet they are all I love: and all I'd hear is "Follow me!" We pull out rapidly and find our way with speed by signs before that lets me see what I do now. We are silent. The big one adjusts his helmet, because he cannot sleep. There is nothing else to do. Even the spitting stops. This was as far from home as we could go, almost beyond return, of what's been done to learn the speculation from the others and owe no one a look into the night of what we have been riding toward.
There is haste about them. I find my way in front, bright and slender, as a saint into a thousand dreams to kill the serpent stirring in my heart. What was won with care is already over, for what I've done in all my life before now lets me see what more there is to do, though there is nothing more to say. One by one they bear their speed into the dawn. There are no signals any more, hardly a tree. Either I do not care or what I care for is already over. I think’ it was the team of ourselves we saw for all the good of what we were, until the sun shone brightly on the rubble they had left. Cautiously they pulled away. Night never seemed to end. Now I lose my way and wear a sigh of speed and sorrow on the open road and feel the temple beating in my head.
— Gerard Malanga Autumn Is Here And I Am Dubious
What is not here in imagining what is Remembered in distance. My fate is full of Promises and peace. What beyond Great courage will not stay? I continue To think about the origin of loveliness And how my hair prows longer With each day. The blanket Is warm beneath us and they Are asleep. Today the miracle Will presumably appear. I am Brought to the final term of suicide And what it all means. The window Is open. They are asleep. The leaves Are still in the trees but are turning.
— Gerard Malanga
Inland Percussive
Loose I love witch I said you're water leaves held fire but still they fell skinny girl whose skin I shaded pumping passion to keep rich & long against leafless trees & frozen water
I said o what hell you hold my love
cried this wealth was water under woman dreaming the muscled rind to dust returning dust the flower in the moss was fire nor flesh my thirst my girl whose root twisting deep in the long earth tossing
I said o what hell you hold my land
rainscript worm & witch the water I held neither the scarlet sapchords knew the axebite's rimfire tolled in liquid chips feathers spooked swindled fucking shit
I learned hey o what hell you hold my heart
— Allen Planz
- 15 - Workshop: Storrs (a brief chandelle.)
Pacing the flat Connecticut campus my sandal crunches out a universe: a landscape shimmers in the rain-rinsed air as I deplore my role of deity.
How to those lively was I epiphanized? As H bomb? Falling star? Were poets there twitching cold feet in bed? Did meteoric egos play at war?
Back in the dorms the hieratical elite exchange felicitous awards, mimicking England's arty trinity.
Shipshape tables are signatured by cokes, grounds are damp: adventurers suffer colds.
Up on an ancient hill a graveyard hangs patchlike between two tall gray chimneys, where scholars 'peradventuring' as of old spell out the past on flowering headstones.
Tunnels are cooling the long hillside slopes: cars, like bugs, dart to and fro from Hartford ....
Everything works: this field is magical: I savor the moment ... walking slower, salute an 'x' that grants my brief chandelle and climb the steep steps to Poetry 4.
— Margarette Harris
My Sister / And I
We live our browndown our heads up passing on to night our feet are not prisons
love a wall mean our tears
run into the wind crying bits of sun grown tall with laughter
— Gloria Tropp Tusk
Dark flags lisp In a bright slash New York hatches From its icy crystal 1 million workers Dead of boredom Pink black w/ Brown blood fluttering
A rubber keyboard Guns its groans Plows the intricate layers 1 million crystals stiffen In sullen Articulation
Dark flags rattle Dark stars Stripes of equal darkness Wave
— Stephen Tropp
Maryann
Medals go for Maryann and all her blond soldiers, unsuddenly here all the way from Fort Smith, Nagasaki, Bremerhaven, like home-flushed hunted birds, she followed the boys there. Now her oldest son's in olive drab at seven years, Daddy's brought souvenirs home, and she, her belly moaning morning now in black tight lace and two other children, girls, Mommy loves them too but 0 Bobby got an air-gun. Sun sweating she and the sergeant here in the hot swamp smells of central park, she swears "I am sympathy" and it's too bad these damn love fill the terrace, any older man or soldier would better love Maryann, wife of a soldier, mother, of an air-gun.
— Irene Schramm
- 17 - chant / for kennedy
shriek of sirens & lights flashing over hate field!
there! birds gather! over dallas!
bird there poised open to receive bronze box
hovering of angels body of eyes gleam w/glistening of wings
bald eyeball frozen, feeling bullet never felt
coughing blood all over yr lover
time-clock stops
running out / the space
"we must abolish war" we MUST
love another!
— szabo
Breakfast At Greenfield the town loony philosopher or poet beret and beard shorts tho its cold outside in a dirty sweatshirt a knapsack over his shoulder sensing a kindred soul and spotting me over the coffee — and
- 18 - waves he pets up aimlessly walks around sits down and talks to himself harmless an institution apparently as no one avoids him fingers dark brown stained an incessant smoker his blue eyes faded from staring too hard at the truth? we recognize one another across the counter across eternity two tortured souls two breakers of all the rules for living I wanted to answer him back but didn't unsure I sent him a thought instead (which perhaps he received) I know you are kind I know you have suffered I like you forgive me ...
— Helen Luster
Heartsick
Swacked & high for 4 days tonight to 42nd St movies. A tested remedy. Coltrane & thousands, others before me with pain to dull & bodies too weary for sleep. Our An gel who we were with half our time embraced or touching. When the moon is full above us two months we were warm together
- 19 - in Maine, where fireflies plow at dusk Love at the edge of Witch country. Land we can't po back to never, on this rocky road we ran right in to The Storm. Fought Love's demons, now we're boxed down pone to Hell. God Help us Lovers who split up day of the Eclipse, last Saturday.
— Clive Matson
Lawrence Leaves Arabia
All that has happened and what will happen now Shall appear mysterious and remain incomprehensible To people who do not know that Asian deserts Are unimaginable to alien eyes that are not directly scanning them; To those whose flesh is reasonable to thought And liberal of intelligent alleviation (For it seems to me that mind is not a bondage And the consolation of Philosophy a hoax;) To those who do not know how the degree of failure in England Might in an Arab's mathematic be the full measure of success, Which is not an English life beyond the extents of dream: To those who do not know how much and can not know what I loved in line That lying fallow in some consternation Was the intensity without hiatus of that face, Who do not know what happy eyes are or what direct fury is. The problem of the prosaist who has all fantasy at his tongue's tip Opposed to the soldier with all fantasy in his fortune Is refreshing because it is neglected rather than new. Unspoiled fearlessness and total fear are the same: The pariah's withdrawal. Or so it seems to me, who have known The effete division between dream and wakefulness: That waking is a disturbance out of dream.
— Ronald Tavel a revolution of eyes how long, old man, how long? four hundred years looking at the ground of this hot cruel land four hundred years looking at the white man's shoes/ 'fraid to meet his eyes — to see his fear reflecting mine — marbling the separating air/
(Lord, mine eyes have not seen the glory ...) they have seen the first fruit of my loin3 grafted to the limb of an oak tree
the dark terror of violation in a black girl's eyes —
the bewildered pupiled tears of a young child branded 'nigger'
& i have seen the preacher toming from the pulpit telling me work all day live on hay keep out of Mr. Charley's way — for cake by the pound when the trumpet doth sound ...
& i'm TIRED, LORD GOD, i'm tired/
blind to evil no more now i shall look upon it as a man — though that sight be latticed by steel or warm-misted by the blood of my youth
hard land of promise you will be sweet my eyes will see to that how long? not long/
— nelson barr
- 21 - Hotel laboratories of night Pulse purple crystal cries Tearing fat December terrors Like slashed sewer rats — Green forever cries suck Electric marrows for love And finding home Phosphoress opal bones — Poiniard cries Green glass membrane walls And blue chimes fly Forever half-past self.
— Steve Rosenberg
jane's dawn
two forms cross a trembling landscape. two riders in the mythical light orient to the escaping moon. the trees separate from sparse redness to glow upon their path. one rider is tall, and carries an oblique silence.
the tapestry of approaching birds textures the light with morning. one rider is tall, and carries an oblique beauty. her streaming form fades with the mist and the distance down their soundless path. the trees lead a broken lane toward the moon.
two forms enter the horizon. the sun retracts its shadows towards the bases of the trees. a hawk revolves in the tilted distance. one rider is tall, and her hair like a hand extended, covers the shy moon.
Erik Kiviat
- 22 - lincoln h 'pital
lincoln h 'pital laughs obscene ly as th anencephal ic giv es birth again and again
pity th d ' tor who slips on/ a shit litt' ed floor
d n't curse man
just/? one more p' rican born d— d
— Joseph berke m. d.
The listening man never experiences absolute stillness. The listening man defends himself against the total silence The listening man understands - listening.
— P. H. Lee
- 23 - Nausea
Feel the blue sea: nausea. Know your body from stomach to mouth: pitch, pitch-rocking. This is the mouth i eat with, this is the mouth i kiss with, i suck with, i lap with, this is, this is the mouth the black bile flows through on the deck, on the chick beside me, on her new b]ue dress.
Here comes more, get ready]
Aah! do you like it? want some more? Up — the rumble in my belly, shaking — crack, enzymes move to undulating of gastric walls — ignite, the goo globultes and correlates to the music of back bending and head throwing and mouth, tongue — get ready ... start, climb the esophagal walls — again masses of edible shit convulsing and propells itself ever upwards ... it's dung, it's scum, it's ... the horn of plenty in watery form. Clear the path, watch out, i need room; (i have something to do.) Burp burp burp. Hark burp a burp foreboding sign burp! False alarm.
— ronnie zimardi
Passing Through
i have felt my limbs foreshorten. even though my youth is still upon me, a chill that bids the warmth receed. as ray sight retains the beauty of me, something paradoxical beckons and something mystical says stay. in depths that were not meant for me to fathom blind or clearly see i spin m y mind and body too trying to catch the ghost, to see meanwhile asking, who are you? fleet shadows cast, and bend in spirits eye there is the relentless image of my lifetime passing by.
— Rai Saunders nickleodeon nights banking to make the stem in spite of the toy or instantaneous piano let me get you a parking lot? about how sapphires are such cold stones the shakes, a first night from the sack. lines moved by anger and the radio gage a skeleton of it to substitution hack she has been a second to take the come
from all open I thought she enjoyed to come back to the house shorthand be not this just wrote in the coffeepot, habits walked up adhesive to the banking spray
— James Brodey
Waiting a poem for Lorca
There is Death in the middle of the road drowning in a blood-empty moon the jasmine ink permeates the fainting breath of corpses
the sigh of deathless brides awaiting the groom dying in the middle of the road
Death enters from the left comes mid-stage and counts the house
the silver moon-knife flashing in the raw black streets the deathshead seal upon the groom's wax lips fallen in the middle of the road
Death smiles stoops rights a fallen jasmine and moves off-stage into a field of blue-flowered flax and soft poppies.
— Steve Levine Dressed in mist and hiding net in hand and trident high wet and glistening God is hiding and the sea is running to its tide
The west winds last airs brush the sea-cliff side and a wet mist flows down to the tunning flood below where the sea-spray surf holds the struggle it feels from a fin in a net of mist and blood sighs on the water where a moan escapes the sea and the spray engulfs a lover but not the one whom cried as trident flew and maiden dived to a rock on the bottom where the net has caught the mist and not the maid or the maid's laughter which the God was really after.
Harry Monroe
Some Spanish Stud
The cat had yellow pants and a grey cap The cuffs were tight his bloodshot eyes walking in the snow His eyes were swords He was on his way to murder the landlord The sun disappeared yellow pants tight cuffs his eyes walking in the snow
— Jack Micheline
- 26 - Lailaika 3
The man dirties the air with hungered yawns becoming shouts of gold toward rust
that reach the palisaidal evening on a yellow-scripted page toned
a tired winged vermillion shade which through innocence illuminates the sun
but once because a poet tore the tongues of once phallic dead men in ages
— Robert Lima
For Tristan Tzara
A black-night and Robert dropped me from the cart indicating cross-country might be best then went on ahead his kerosene lantern-light disappearing at the branching of the road. Uncertain I stepped and stepped again into the moving circle flash-light beam -- proceeding directly across the frozen-field. Suddenly then — mis-stepping falling forward ground-ward arms outward downward the light hit and went-out.
- 27 - Rage indignity and panic all came , and passed as night-vision slowly came. Footing became now quite distinct and my-range of vision almost limit-less. I recalled my-daddy had said a struck-match would be quite visible for many-miles to a man standing in total-dark — he was you know an air-raid warden in the last last-war.
Forward I cried stamping the flashlight into flash-light heaven and proceeding to proceed cross-country-ward forward keeping my eyes peeled ahead like-apples.
— M. K. Book
Patrons: Mary Jane Brabston, Clark P. Galle, Mrs. Nancy Glenn and Joe Nickell Contributors: Anonymous: W, William H. C. Newberry, Donald R. Peterson and Mrs. Nelson Rostow
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4 4 4 The following sometimes-brilliant, -diverse, -perverse, -mad, -sad, -arrogant, -opinionated, -dada (but never -mama and never -dull) magazines exchange with The Wormwood Review. Sample them until you find your taste.
Aquarius, Box 312-A; Route 1; Half Moonbay, California. Albatross, P.O. Box 2829; San Francisco 26, California. Alphabe, 276 Huron St,; London, Ontario, Canada American Weave. 1109 Bushnell Road; University Heights 18, Ohio Approach. 114 Petrie Ave.; Rosemont, Pa, Beloit Poetry Journal, Box 2; Beloit, Wisconsin 53512 Birth Press,, 381 East 10th, St,; N. Y, 9, N. Y, Bitterroot. 5229 New Utrecht Ave,; Brooklyn 19, N, Y. Black Cat Review, 333 West Highland Ave,; San Bernardino, Calif. Blitz 2004 First Sta; La Grande, Oregon, Border. 2601 South Phoenix, Ft, Smith, Arkansas. Burning Deck. Creamery Road, Durham, Connecticut, Canyon Cinema News, 263 Colgate Ave,, Berkeley, California. Chat Noir Review. 1351 North Sedgwick St.; Chicago, Illinois 606l0 Choice Magazine. P.0. Box 1858, Chicago 80, Illinois, Coercion Review, c/o D, Rasey, Colonial Hotel #23, 3801 Farnam St.; Omaha, Nebr, Coyote’s Journal, 1558 Lincoln St,; Eugene, Oregon 97101 Cyclic. 2820 Ekers Ave.; Montreal 26, Quebec, Canada. Delta. 3176 Vendôme Ave.; Montreal, Quebec, Canada, Descant. Dept. English, Texas Christian Univ,; Fort Worth 29, Texas, Desert Review., 917 Idlewilde Lanr, S.S.; Albuquerque, New Mexico, Duende. c/o L. Goodell; Placitas, New Mexico. Dust. Box 123; El Cerrito, California. Eco Contemporaneo. C C Central 1933; Buenos Aires, Argentina. Elizabeth Press. 103 Van Etten Blvd.; New Rochelle, New York. Epos. Crescent City, Florida. Este Es Press, c/o Judson Crews, P.0. Box 1192; Taos, New Mexico. Floating Bear. The American Theatre For Poets, 35 Cooper Square, N.Y. 3, N.Y. Fluxus, P.0. Box 180, New York, N.Y. 10013 The Goliards. P.0. Box 2672; Tampa, Florida 33606, The Goodly Co. 100 Sylvia St.; West Lafayette, Indiana, Gooseberry, c/o Cornillon, 11038 Superior, East Cleveland 18, Ohio, Goosetree Press, P.0, Box 278, Lanham, Md, 20801, Grande Ronde Review. P.0. Box 308, La Grande, Oregon 97850. Grist, c/o Abington Book Shop, 1015s Massachusetts, Lawrence, Kansas, Hardware. c/o Bloedow, 323 East 53rd. St.; N,Y., N.Y. 10022. Hors Commerce Press, 22526 Shadycroft Ave.; Torrance, California. The Human Voice, c/o Olivant, P.0. Drawer 1109; Homestead, Fla. 33030. Icarus, 3 Trinity College, Dublin 2, Ireland. Iconolatre. 71 Ryehill Gardens; West Hartlepool, Co. Durham, England. Imago, c/o Dept, of English, Univ. of Alberta; Calgary; Alberta, Canada. Inferno Press, 209 Post St.; San Francisco 8, California, Input, 21 Olsen St.; Valley Stream, New York. Interim Books, 102 West 11th. St.; New York 11, N.Y. Intrepid, c/o De Loach, 333 East 5th. St., Apt. A—1; New fork 3, N.Y. Joglars, c/o C . Coolidge, U yP Moivis Ave.; Providence, Rhode Island 02906.
(more) Kauri, c/o Inman, 362 East lOthu St.; New York, N.Y. 10009. Kayak. 2808 Laguna St.; San Francisco, California 94123o Lines. 321 East 45th. St.; New York, New York 10017. Literary Times (formerly Chicago Literary Times) Box 4327 Chicago 7, Illinois. Midwest. 289 East 148th. St.; Harvey, Illinois. Motive. Box 871; Nashville 2, Tenn. Move, c/o Bums, 7 Ryelands Crescent; Larches Estate; Preston, Lancs, England, Mt. Adams Review. 1118 Belvedere St,; Cincinnati, Ohio 45202. mummy. 3632 26th. St. ; San Francisco, California 94110. Maestro Insana. 2625 North 36th. St., Milwaukee, Wisconsin 53210. New Departures. 57 Greek St.; London Wl, England. The New Era. Box 1000, Leavenworth, Kansas 66048, Northeast. Box 353, Temple, Maine. Ole, c/o Blazek, 499 South Center St.; Bensenville, Illinois. The Outsider. Lujon Press, 1109 Rue Royale, New Orleans 16, La. Penny Poems, c/o English Dept.; Midwestern Univ.; Wichita Falls, Texas. Plumed Horn (El Corno Emplumado) Apartado Postal Num» 13-546, Mexico 13, D.F. Poesie Vivante. 11 Rue Hoffmann, Geneva, Switzerland. Poet and Critic, 210 Pearson Hall, Iowa State University, Ames, Iowa 50010. Poetmeat. 11 Clematis St., Blackburn; Lancs, England. Poetry Newsletter, c/o Depew, 463 West 19th. St.; New York, N.Y. 10011. Poetry Northwest, University of Washington, Seattle 3 , Washington. Poetry Review, c/o Locke, University of Tampa, Tampa, Fla. 33606 Prism International, c/o Dept, Creative Writing, Univ, British Columbia, Vancouver 8, Canada Promethean Lamp, 2174 34th. St.; Sacramento 17, California, FS, c/o Alan Swallow, 2679 South York; Denver 1, Colorado. Radar, Smolna 40, Warsaw 43, Poland. Radix, l63 College Ave», Somerville, Mass. The Resuscitator, 35 Gregory’s Tyning; Paulton, Nr. Bristol, England. Salted Feathers. 112 Washington, Pullman, Washington, Sciamachy. 1096 Elm St.; Winnetka, Illinois. Semina. 10426 Crater Lane, Los Angeles 21+, California. Seven Poets Press « 537 East 5th. St,, (5—A); New York 9, New York. Silver Cesspool, c/o Levy, 14112 Becket Rd„; Cleveland, Ohio. The Sixties. Odin House; Madison, Minn, The Small Pond. RED 3, Box 101-A; Auburn, Maine 04210. The Smith. Room 535, 15 Park Row, New York, N.Y. 10038. South and West, 2601 South Phoenix, Ft. Smith, Arkansas, The Southern Review. Drawer D, Univ, Station; Baton Rouge, La, 70803. The Sparrow Magazine- 103 Waldron St0; West Lafayette, Indiana. Spero , Fenian Head Centre Press, 4821 John Lodge, Detroit, Michigan 48201. Sum, c/o Fred Wah, English Dept.; State Univ. of New York, Buffalo, N.Y. 14214. Theo, 309 Court St»; Utica, New York. Tlaloc. c/o Cavan McCarthy, 22 Brüdenell Rd.; Leeds 6, England Trace. P.O. Box 1068, Hollywood 28, California, Voices, 716 Holland Ave.; Saginaw, Michigan, We Magazine, c/b Greenwald, Northview House, New Paltz, New York, Whetstone. 6039 North Camac St,; Philadelphia 41, Pa. Wild Dog. 39 Downey St.; San Francisco, Calif. 94117. Wild Hawthorn Press. 24 Fettes Row; Edingurgh, Scotland. Writer’s Notes & Quotes. 142 West Brookdale PI., Fullerton, Calif. 92632. Yowl &. Femora, c/o Greenwald. Main St., North View House, New Paltz, New York. .... A WORMWOOD BROADSIDE......
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