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New at Perceval Press

Source: Perceval Press.
Found By: kaijamin
Categories: Creative Outlets

Scott Wannberg, poet of Dutton's was 58
Kevin Roderick
August 21 2011, © LA Observed
Scott Wannberg, a member of the traveling poet troupe known as "The Carma Bums" and a 23-year employee of the late Dutton's Brentwood Books, died Friday of an apparent heart attack in his recent hometown of Florence, Oregon, according to his friend Rip Rense. They attended Venice High School together and Rense wrote about Wannberg in 1994 in the L.A. Times. Tributes are rolling in non-stop at Wannberg's Facebook wall, where one poster observes with a smile, "I really liked that Scott didn't have an 'inside voice." Especially inside Dutton's."

At the blog Radius: From the Center to the Edge, Carlye Archibeque writes:
By now the arts community is aware of the passing of poet Scott Wannberg. Word started being delivered yesterday morning, August 20th, by phone and internet and by the end of the day it seemed that the entire world was aware that a great void had just been created in the world of word. Everyone who met Scott knew him because he was what he was. No hidden agenda, no guile, no malice. Just Scott.

Posted by Peggy Clifford on Sunday, August 21, 2011, © The Santa Monica Dispatch
A few minutes ago, I learned that Scott Wannberg died Friday of an apparent heart attack. I met Scott at Dutton's before it was Dutton's, I think it was called Brentwood Books. He was the best book in that pre-Dutton's store.
And I knew him all the years he was at Dutton's. He was a true poet. What I loved most about him was that he was all the things that the world doesn't want us to be: shy, talkative, prolific, overweight, a bad dresser, generous, original, funny, unambitious, strong, fragile, passionate. He knew what mattered, and didn't bother with the rest of it. I don't think he ever did or said anything cruel. I missed him when he moved to Oregon, and now I miss him more. I'm not sure we can do without him.
--Peggy Clifford

Email from S.A. Griffin, Wannberg's close friend and publisher:
Scott Wannberg's influence as a poet-writer reaches well beyond his hometown of Los Angeles. The genuine article, Scott was one of a kind, a larger than life American original; the stuff of myth and legend. I was lucky enough to be his friend and publisher for almost thirty years. For twenty years with The Carma Bums, we traveled across the country and the internet, our last gig together in Kansas City, MO, August 2009... The past few years via Facebook, Scott had cultivated a whole new audience that was literally global. Generous to a fault, he mentored many poets via the blogs, especially younger up and coming writers... Scott had arguably become the Poet Laureate of Facebook. His loss and legacy are immeasurable. . . .

© Perceval Press.

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Viggo Pays Tribute to Scott Wannberg at Perceval Press

Source: Perceval Press.
Found By: kaijamin
Categories: Books & CD's
© Deryck True/Perceval Press.
Our thanks to kaijamin for the heads up.

Scott Wannberg left shore from Florence, Oregon in the middle of the night without waking anyone, but not before hiding an unknown number of treasure maps that may help us get through the coming winter. We'll find them by and by, but now we rise on tip-toes to watch his contrails fade above the sunrise swells. We wave him on with hands holding his recent poems up to the early light, then let the wind take the pages and scatter them like gulls skimming and corkscrewing over the Pacific. Here's wishing him safe travels, good luck -- and promising we won't forget to write.

Here are two new poems from the collection of Scott's work that was printed a few days ago:

Earful of Sun

How you get up in the early hours
tells me a lot about your dancing ability.
They claim the highway has no best friend.
Someone bailed it out of jail, though, last night.
We sat and drank beer and watched the meteors fall.
I got an earful of sun and had to wash my ears out afterward.
Maybe the resurrection will show up as promised and give us
something to sing about.
Maybe it won't.
I intend to sing anyway.
When you finish reciting all the pain,
when the dog finally digs up his last bone,
come on over and put the bulletproof vest down.
Everybody says they want to be loved.
They say it over and over and over.
As soon as they finish hitting me over the head,
I will get up and love them.


One Day Summer Rented a Room

Hard laughter in a can, a bright can, aisle 56,
endurable can, endurable bright hard laughing can.
Can I, would I, should we, hard hard hard laughter in the land,
cool front moving in on,
cool front moving,
sad coffee hallelujah.

Man stumbles up alongside me.
Man says can I sing him some everlasting everloving?
Says me, yeah I can, and commence to let it all fly.

Cool cool front hanging in the back,
easy sorrow in a can, a bright can, aisle 58,
endurable can, endurable bright easy sorrow can.
One day summer rented a room.
I fit into it.

Woman stumbles up alongside me.
Woman says can I dance her some altogether alltime?
Yes says me, yeah I can, and still commence to let it all fly.
Don't matter how brokedown or busted, how forgot or lost,
the flight ability starts here.
One day summer rented all its rooms.
We all fit in.


© Perceval Press. Images © Deryck True/Perceval Press.

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And the Festivals Just Keep on Comin'

Source: CIFF.
Found By: Chrissie
Our thanks to Chrissie for this find. News that A Dangerous Method will be at the Chicago International Film Festival.

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TRANSLATION: Second Installment of 'People And Field'

Translation by Ollie, Rio, Sage and Zoe
Source: CASLA
Our thanks once again to Ollie, Rio, Sage and Zoe for bringing us the second instalment in their translation of the lengthy conversation between Viggo and Fabián Casas posted at the CASLA website.


Dear Viggo - your letter reminded me of a phrase from Baruch Spinoza that seems very accurate to me - "politicians are impotent beings who use the sadness of the people to govern." Today is an atypical day - the heat is lethal and they're announcing on the radio that it could hail. The city seems like a set from the film Blade Runner. Two days ago, I went to the parish church of Santa Cruz, in Boedo, with my nearly one-year-old daughter Ana. It occurred to me to have her baptized. Do you know that church? It's a medieval structure, very beautiful, and its priests were very strong members of the resistance during the dictatorship; it was in this church that the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo met for the first time to resist. My godfather took me to this church and although I'm not a constitutional Catholic (I detest the Pope, who to me is the manager of the organizational structure and doctrine of the Church), I'm a profound believer, and I am devoted to this particular church. I confess to you that it's very hard for me to support the Argentine team. I have a bad experience with what soccer does when it nationalizes itself and starts with the same old national anthems. I listened to the anthem on the radio when the dictatorship staged the coup against Isabel Perón, the anthem sounded full blast on the radio when one morning I came down from my bedroom and my old man told me, rejoicing, that we had won back the Malvinas. We listened to the anthem every other minute in that harsh and metaphysical cold of the Mundial 78 [translators' note: the 1978 World Cup] while the people celebrated and kidnapping and killing was going on wholesale. I detest chauvinism. For me, the ideal place is the bar in Star Wars, where women with three boobs and men with fish heads and dealers from Andromeda get together. In diversity, in a mixing of cultures, the intense life that I love emerges. Where we're all blonde or all black; that is, where one looks for purity, there is only fascism. Look how even nature is right-winged, since according to its plans the weak have to be sacrificed in favor of the purity of the pack. The left is like a tumor. It's unclassified information. The left should be service to others, elimination of the "I", of personal importance. Not long ago I dreamed that CASLA played - by one of those tricks of the unconscious - in a World Cup. The news surprised everyone. They said they were going to let San Lorenzo play with the national teams from around the world. In the dream I said to my old man, "Now I really can cheer for someone in the World Cup!" The club is something atavistic; it's a passionate territory that doesn't understand borders. For me, the San Lorenzo shirt, its color on a sunny day, can make me weep with emotion. Well, you played Sigmund Freud in Cronenberg's most recent film - how do you interpret my dream? With love, Fabián Casla.


I think that´s a great dream! To me, there´s nothing bad or insecure about it. I don´t think Sigmund could find any hidden frustration or sexual damage. It´s a child´s dream, like winning an Olympic medal, being the first one to reach a wonderful valley or unknown planet, to score the goal that wins the Cup for San Lorenzo.

I completely agree with you, Fabián, about nationalism. And with Orwell, who said, "The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them." Look at Breivik in Oslo, defending the homeland´s honour and the supposed racial and Christian purity with an appallingly detailed Islamophobia.

For me, the thing about Argentina´s national team is a bit complicated. Although I don´t think nationalism is at all right (I´d like it if passports or borders didn´t exist), the national team affects me because of my history with the country, and is similar up to a point with Denmark and its national team. I spent some important years in Denmark and I´m a citizen because of my father. I have an especially strong link with my family there and I had beautiful experiences living in Copenhagen and other places. I even like our Queen Margrethe a lot, although I´m not a great fan of monarchies in general. She is a cultured and talented woman, very committed to the well-being of Danish citizens, the arts, science and the environment. The Danish people´s relationship with the royal house is much closer and more relaxed than that of other people with their kings and princes - especially compared to England´s case, for instance. In Denmark, patriotism is less offensive than that of many other countries, although it´s true that xenophobia has gone up a bit since the time when Anders Fogh Rasmussen, NATO´s current Secretary General, was Prime Minister between 2001-2009. In spite of the opposition by the great majority of citizens, he got Denmark into the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Very similar to what happened with Aznar in Spain, who, like Fogh Rasmussen, is a great admirer of G. W. Bush and his predatory foreign policy. All that has changed the relationship of the Danish people with other nations, especially with those with a Muslim majority, but I trust that this recent imbalance will be corrected. As I say, Danish people are generally peaceful and culturally open. Forgive the socio-political digression. What I´m driving at is that I have a strong and somewhat irrational connection with Denmark, too. By the way, there´s a lot of soccer tradition in that nation with five million inhabitants. The national federation was founded in 1889, and the Danish are as crazy as the Argentinians when it comes to soccer. It is also the king of sports there. During any World Cup, whether or not the National Danish Team is in the tournament, soccer paralyses half of the country.

In 1978, I was working in a factory in Copenhagen. Before the start of the World Cup, I bet my co-workers some 300 kroner and a crate of beer that Argentina would end up champions. They thought I was crazy. The majority of them had their bets on Holland, Germany or Brazil. I hadn´t been to Argentina since 1970 and I was missing it very much. Although what I was learning about the dictatorship was causing me a lot of pain, I couldn´t help feeling what I did, that longing as a child for Buenos Aires, for Chaco, the countryside, the rivers, San Lorenzo, our Spanish language, and so many other things. The longing for Argentinian things caused me a lot of emotion when I would see Kempes and the others on the Danish TV with the albiceleste [tr. note: blue and white] jersey. Much later, when I came to know about the manipulations of the game against Peru, I felt let down. I don´t like cheating. When the National Argentinian or Danish team loses, I get almost as sad as when San Lorenzo loses. Almost. Despite the deep distrust that nationalism and conservative speeches, filled with religious and patriotic references to divide the people, cause me, I am practically an unconditional supporter of CASLA, Det Danske Landshold, and la Selección [tr. note: The national teams of Denmark and Argentina.] Like you, I can applaud good play by the opponent; I don't hate anyone; I want to live a good game and a life that challenges me and teaches me all kinds of things But I want San Lorenzo and the national teams I've adopted as mine to win. A Danish journalist once asked me what I would do if Denmark and Argentina were facing each other in a World Cup. I said I would make a shirt, half and half, from the two teams' colors. The following year a gentleman gave me one like that. I'll use it someday, and amuse myself by rooting for both teams. Although I wish the U.S. National Team luck when they play, I would never be able to support them against Argentina or Denmark. Absurd things from my upbringing and the personal ties that I have with these countries, although I was born in New York.

Boca Jrs. borrowed the colors of the Swedish flag flying on a boat in the port of Buenos Aires. Any match between Denmark and Sweden is like one between River and Boca and because of that, also, I love having the Bosteros as our children. I like beating River, but not as much as beating Boca. Brazil is almost the same for me as Boca and Sweden, in soccer, because of their yellow shirts and blue pants. I wish that Argentina, San Lorenzo and Denmark could always play very well in their clásicos [translator's note: the name given to certain matches between two teams which are great rivals] and that they could always win. It's ridiculously childish, I know, but I can also say that I feel this kind of tribalism without rancor. I have dear Brazilian, Swedish, and Bostero friends. Brazil and Sweden are countries that have some of the most beautiful places in the world, and Boca has a lot of history and charm. It's the pure game that moves me. Like any child, I take the games very seriously sometimes, but without wanting to hurt anyone or wanting to be hurt myself. Also, I always want the All Blacks of New Zealand to win at rugby, even against the Pumas, but especially against Australia and England, but that's a subject for another day....

The Argentinian national anthem and almost all the others, except those without lyrics, like the one from Spain, all seem more or less terrible to me because of their words. The idea that a country is the one chosen by some god, the supposed value of dying while killing to access a blood-soaked glory, and the celebration of warmongering in general are just dangerous bullshit. I know that many Spaniards, Catalans, Basques and others don´t like the Spanish national anthem that much for what it reminds them of the Franco legacy, but as a musical theme I don't think it sounds all that bad. I love that Messi doesn´t sing the national anthem -- screw all those who criticise him for that -- but I want him to be world champion with the number 10 shirt from the national team.

After all, it seems to me we are creatures from an incomprehensible universe, united for the most part by our ignorance of infinite mysteries. We don´t belong to anybody, nor anywhere, but some of us are Cuervos forever. That way we fly.

When the generals sent all the Argentinian kids to invade Las Malvinas, the day after CASLA´s 74th birthday, I was beginning acting. I was in London where I had been sent to do my first screen test for a starring role in an American film. I hadn´t the slightest idea of what one should do in such a test and I didn´t get the job in that one or in the twenty-some other tests for important characters I did in the first years of my career as an actor. But I took it very seriously, and I did my job the best I could at that moment. It was fun and a total luxury to spend some days in London in a hotel room paid for by others while I rehearsed and shot the scenes for the test. I went to see Taxi Driver three times in a row one Sunday at a tiny little theatre in Soho. That's a brilliant film with extraordinary work by Robert De Niro. I had never seen it before and it really impressed me very much. I walked a lot around London, visiting a few of their parks, museums and pubs. In short, a lovely English adventure for me until I went out one morning very early and bought the paper and found posters near the kiosks calling Argentinians scoundrels and Nazis. War had broken out over the Malvinas. I bought all of the papers. The most right-wing or sensationalistic glorified Prime Minister Thatcher (who dramatically improved her lack of popularity with her forceful military response to the Argentine invasion) and showed a kind of desperation to provoke blind patriotism. Something that you always see in any country at the beginning of a war - especially a country that has stopped being a dominant empire, as was the case in Great Britain and as is beginning to occur with U.S. in the last 10 or 15 years in spite of its immense war arsenal.

In Argentina, many people, including those that were against the dictatorship, fell ill for a while with that thirst for war and the desire to snatch the islands back from the English by force instead of diplomacy and reason. The hatred toward the Argentinians in general was palpable in the streets of London that April in 1982, as well as the British delight at making war again in the world. "We're going to give a drubbing to those shitty sudacas." [tr. note: sudaca is a pejorative word for South Americans.] It bothered me a lot. And the use of the name "Falkland Islands" instead of what I'd learned in school in my childhood also f***ed me up. That´s why at that moment I loved "The Hand of God" in the 1986 World Cup (but not now because, as I say, I don´t like cheating) and even more Diego´s second goal against the English - the "cosmic kite" one. Ultimately, it´s not fulfilling, the negative emotional abstraction, that unloading of hostility, doesn´t add anything to your life. Savater was absolutely right when he wrote, "To be an internationalist is to be rationally convinced that the division between nations - which has nothing natural about it - does nothing but prevent human emancipation and that the national-patriotic myth is always used to legitimize the most abject and rapacious oligarchy in power."

© Viggo Mortensen and Fabián Casas.

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TRANSLATION: Guido's Latest Column at Perceval Press

Translation by Dom and ollie
Source: Perceval Press
Our thanks to Dom and ollie for their collaboration on this translation from Guido at Perceval.
To go on being great, one needs to play well. FC Barcelona and Real Madrid are playing well. In the final of Spain´s Super Cup, the best team in Formula 1-style lost against the best team in Rally Car style - barely. It can be a very interesting winter for this rivalry.

To go on being great, one needs to know how to lose with dignity and play a rather clean game, always respecting the opponent. Mourinho has shown no interest in these things, and seems to have infected with his poisonous behavior several of his players.

To go on being great, one needs to know how to win with dignity and play a rather clean game, always respecting the opponent. Several Barcelona players do not. Guardiola usually meets these standards of sportsmanship, but not always. He was a Barça player, and it´s understandable that sometimes he gets excited during and after matches against Real Madrid. But I do not think that Guardiola is, as Mourinho generally seems to be, a mercenary and a bitter man. I say this being a Real Madrid supporter.

To go on being great, it is not necessary to have a good sense of humor, nor take into account that, at the end, football is no more than a nice game - but it´s convenient for those who take part in the matches and for those of us who watch them. Mourinho has certainly not given any sign of being funny, nor feeling any love for the sport that has brought him so much money and fame.

The dynamics are set. It sells. It will continue to be so, Saint Pep versus Evil Mou, until one leaves or has to leave. Perhaps if Madrid loses too much this winter, it´s possible Mourinho will leave first. Neither the pride of the Portuguese nor the patience of the club´s president will stand it if Real Madrid is not champion of the League. If the culés * are champions again, I think Pep will move away to take a break or to find a new challenge.

[* That´s the way Barcelona's players are called, like the cuervos. From Wikipedia : « The top-row of Les Corts, Barcelona F.C. former stadium, was the origin of the nickname "culé", derived from the Catalan "cul "(English: arse), as the spectators at the first stadium, Camp de la Indústria, sat with their culs over the stand. »]

(PS : It has recently been published in the pro-Madrid daily newspaper Marca that I was an Hércules supporter. It's not true. Nor am I of Elche or Alcoyano, although I had the honor of meeting supporters of these 3 teams. I've also met many supporters of Barcelona, ​​Atletico de Madrid, Cadiz, Betis, Celta de Vigo, Espanyol, and several other Spanish teams, of many Argentinian and Danish teams, Paraguayan (especially Cerro Porteno), English, Norwegian, Chilean, Japanese Brazilians (mainly from Flamengo), Russian, Uruguayan, Californian, Mexican, Australian, etc.. etc., etc ... and have always enjoyed learning a little about their traditions and especial follies. But I want to make it quite clear : I´m a Cuervo, from San Lorenzo de Almagro. Among the Iberian teams, the one I like is Real Madrid, and I hope they'll be champions in spite of having a coach who makes me sick.)


© Perceval Press.

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Last edited: 11 December 2017 23:15:37