Friday, November 02, 2012

"A riot is the language of the unheard" at Cooper Union (Video)

Homage to Etel Adnan (Anthology)

at SPD

Does the Document Promise? (@ Academy of American Poets)

I would like the tense of the promise to be the tense of the poem I am dedicating to you, just as soon as I've written it

“Talking about my generation” (@ The New Museum)

“Talking about my generation”: Jill Johnston and the Critic as Subject

Movement Research in Residence

Cover Image: 
Elaine Summers, Ouverture, 2012. Photo: Sarah Holcman
Critical Correspondence is an online publication by Movement Research. For this program, Critical Correspondence coeditors Aaron Mattocks and Marissa Perel honor the celebrated writer and critic Jill Johnston, whose experimental and personal voice communicated the culture of the interdisciplinary 1960s art scene. In light of Johnston’s innovative contributions to the form, this conversation considers contemporary criticism and the writer as subject. Speakers include David Velasco (editor of and Claudia La Rocco (founder of The event culminates as Movement Research artists perform readings of reviews on dance and performance.
Thom Donovan
Ariel Goldberg
Cassie Petersen
Christine Shan Shan Hou

You Make Me Want to Shout

Carry the discourse
This is already a dance
The camera sweeps us up
Into time and we kiss
Here’s another kiss
Room swimming with visions
Of you and you and you
I just want to see all my friends at once
The camera swoons you are the glue
That touches everyone all at once
Essence of the social
You are the boundary of the true
Forms that separate work from life
I can’t hear these lyrics
Because you mean them to be mistakable
Is this what’s new?
New like a public dreaming
In a pop song is mistakable
Like some other form of public listening
You put your hand there
This place was replaceable
Because we were not
Utopia cannot be repeated
And other forms of joy
Suddenly free in this totally posed
Situation is that what you mean?
You make me want to shout
Utopia is what happens
When our friends are here
And no one’s looking
How to capture this on camera
When the club is real
When how we dance is news to me
You make me sing
I am at the end of all
Evening circulating
An evental thing to share

Like everyone was innocent
Vulnerable to the true
It’s all so simple
A sudden charisma overtakes you
Be my dawn
I don’t know joy
But that we are alive
When we do the same thing
Without repetition
In this dance you make me sweat
You make me want to shout
This is where dreams end and the social begins
In this dance shared like all dance ever was

Utopian like that scene
In Charles Atlas’ Hail the New Puritan
When Michael Clark sails down into the club
And flirts with the first person he sees
Then slaps someone else’s ass
Then dances with another
Then reclines into someone else’s arms
Takes a puff from their cigarette
Then dances with yet another
Then takes something else offered him
Snorts it then rises to the bar to buy someone a drink
Then hands them their drink
Then dances with someone on the dance floor
Then joins the DJ and performers on stage
Then climbs down and dances again with a small group

I am at the end of evening
The beginning of
A dance with you
Begins with us
So we wear this banner being alive
So the camera comes out
Where we can see it plainly
Where we can see it in this moment
When we see ourselves being social
This is the unaffected interview
With all the people we ever knew
Answer these questions like the tape’s
Not even on
Still answer me like the tape’s
Not on
I move and we are not this movement
Against a wave of passion of night
Sing we are the beginning of something

And this is the kind of socialism
That your work always reminds me
Is the most alluring
To touch this togetherness
Always fleeing from us
Like that scene where Michael Clark
Sails down from the unseen entrance
Of a club…  all it takes is one person sublimely
To pass through the hands of all those others
Then they are like money
Then dance is like actual money
Social equivalence I have dreamt of
Body paint and food
PBS is my medium
Dictating to me the dying gasp
Of an aborted North American socialism
Mitt Romney I hope I never have to say your name
In a poem again to dance against empire
To value differently this gestus
Not just work or leisure.