Monthly Archives: August 2015


Literary Magazines’ Self-Retrospectives

Though I must own well over twenty thousands books, I’ve not until a decade ago collected anything to the extent of trying to possess everything within a certain category. Most of the books owned by me were obtained for a particular project–sometimes a work currently in progress, other times a project that I did in the past but about which I nonetheless maintain an active interest, and more often for one that I am planning to do in the future.

51PdbJMUTpL._AC_UL320_SR248,320_As my first national publication was in a literary quarterly that did not pay its authors, I’ve continue to contribute to such eleemosynary journals, thinking that the abundance, the independence, and possible quality of them is a true index of cultural opportunity in America and thus that my continuing contributions are necessary. (Not all their alumni are so nostalgic, needless to say.) While my library includes shelf upon shelf of such cultural journals, what I think is more significant is the collection I’ve made of the books in which such magazines select the best work to appear in their pages–what I call self-retrospectives. Though such books customarily appear in modest editions designed initially for the magazines’ loyal subscribers or as special issues celebrating decade(s)-long anniversaries, they ideally give its editors an opportunity to show, better than a single issue, how they want to be regarded by posterity.

Two things I like about cultural journals’ self-retrospectives as a subject for collecting are that no one else known to me is concentrating on them and that the number of them can’t be too enormous. I own perhaps two hundred fifty. One problem is that the category is so unfamiliar I customarily must explain it at least twice, even to a bookseller eager to unload his inventory. Incidentally, many literate people aren’t aware of these books, some either doubting their existence. The category of cultural magazines necessarily excludes commercial magazines.

Some of these retrospectives appear as a magazine is dying and perhaps dies once the retrospective appears, such as Between C and D (1988) and Edmund Carpenter and Marshall McLuhan’s Explorations in Communication (1960). My collection includes retrospective volumes from art magazines, such as Flash Art and Artforum, and music magazines such as Perspectives of New Music and High Fidelity. I have selections from political magazines, such as the socialist Voices of Dissent (1958), the pacifist Seeds of Liberation (1964), and the conservative Modern Age: The First Thirty-Five Years, a Selection (1988). Some magazines publish so little in their lifetimes that publishers are able to produce retrospective books containing everything appearing in their pages, such as New Individualist Review (1981) or Monk’s Pond: Thomas Merton’s Little Magazine (1989).

Since certain magazines have survived long enough to issue more than one retrospective, it is not surprising that I have several from Partisan Review, four from Saturday Review, two from Harper’s, two from the Nation, two from Antioch Review, three from The New Republic. I suppose that a sensitive scholar of cultural journals could do interesting critical analyses of how a single magazine’s self-retrospective in the 1990s differs from that done in the 1950s, say, and how such differences reflect the changing ambitions of its editors. Continue reading Literary Magazines’ Self-Retrospectives


A ‘Xerox Coup d’Etat’: Sophie Seita Interviews Kevin Killian about Editing Mirage and Mirage #4/Period[ical]

Edited by Kevin Killian between 1985 and 1989, the San Francisco little magazine Mirage ran for four issues; the last issue was guest-edited by Dodie Bellamy. Bellamy and Killian continued as co-editors, renaming the magazine Mirage #4/Period[ical], publishing 155 issues between 1992 and 2009. 

Sophie Seita: Can you tell me a bit about Mirage, how it began, why you started it, what you consider(ed) to be its intervention in or contribution to a then-contemporary discourse on feminism, queer politics, and theory?


Kevin Killian: Oh yes, it is a well-worn story by now. In the early ’80s there was a spate of New Narrative and gay writing and art magazines, among them Soup and Little Caesar and No Apologies, and I worked on the latter of which quite closely with its editor, the poet Bryan Monte, who now lives in Amsterdam where he runs the Amsterdam Quarterly. When Bryan began a MFA program at Brown, he left San Francisco, and took No Apologies with him. The materials I had left over, gathered for No Apologies, I used to start up a new magazine, Mirage, which was the name of our neighborhood bar in the Mission District of San Francisco.

SS: How would you describe the ‘materiality’ of Mirage, the processes of making and printing the magazine?

KK: Mirage, like No Apologies, started off as a perfect-bound magazine and would cost about $1000 an issue. That was a hefty sum for one man to raise in 1985 or 1986. I carried on like that for awhile until the fourth issue, the so called “Women’s Issue,” which grew so much my guest editor and I could not afford to print it, so we delayed publication for four years and finally caved in. My guest editor was having an intense relationship with a young man who owned his own Xerox machine and he offered to let her print it on that, so we did, “comb binding” each issue with his binding machine that punched nineteen rectangular holes in the paper and the covers. We didn’t call it “comb binding” back then, I can’t remember what the word was for it back then. But anyhow this system held up pretty well. The issue finally appeared, and Dodie Bellamy, my guest editor, wrote an introduction called “Four Years in the Making.”

For subsequent issues Dodie had the idea for her own feminist magazine which she called “Period[ical],” and the next issue was called Mirage #4/Period[ical] #1, and it became even more low rent, a Xeroxed twenty page monthly, stapled in the top left hand corner. From then on she was my co-editor. Somewhere in there we got married.

SS: If you had to characterize the magazine, or place it historically, what would you say, or how would you delimit its shape and scope and contents?

KK: Is “delimit” the act of removing limits from things, like lifting gates simultaneously in a corral, or opening doors in a boxcar? I don’t recognize the word. To characterize it I would say that it was a zine now, instead of a journal, and like all zines deliberately contingent and inarticulate, but interested in the very latest developments in art and poetry, and sexual transgression I guess. We published everything we wanted to. We would go to readings and ask people to let us print their poems in the very next issue (i.e., within a month). The novelty of this instant approach was something altogether new and appealing to writers and artists. It was rather punk you might say.

SS: Which magazines were you reading at the time of publishing Mirage? Did any magazines or other publications inspire you and Dodie to start the magazine? Would you see, for instance, Soup, HOW(ever), Chain, and Big Allis, somehow related to, or in conversation with Mirage or its later incarnation as Mirage #4/Period[ical]? I’m also particularly interested in your Women’s Issue… But perhaps you were also influenced by much earlier magazines, such as modernist magazines?


KK: The (affected?) punctuation of women’s journals like How(ever), which incidentally Dodie had a hand in designing,[1] and the Canadian—oops, now I’m forgetting the name, Sophie,[2] but it was even more goofy than How(ever)—inspired her to call her part of the thing “Period[ical].” The “period” was the idea of the KSW [Kootenay School of Writing in Vancouver, BC] poet Deanna Ferguson, always an iconoclast who asked her, “Dodie, you’re doing a zine that appears once a month, with a women’s slant? How about Period ha ha ha!” So “Period” it was, and the punctuation imps made it “Period[ical].” Yes, we were reading and participating in the other magazines of the period, though the ones you mention range widely and include some publications with much greater institutional support than ours. We patterned ourselves on the Spicer-run magazine Open Space, which was pre-planned to last only one calendar year (indeed the first issue of Mirage was called #0, to match up with Open Space #0, the “Prospectus Issue,” and our #0 was also our “Prospectus Issue,” and we appropriated the cover of Open Space #0 for our Mirage #0, a Bill Brodecky line drawing of George Stanley’s face, with the Duchampian legend, “This is not the cover of Open Space, this is a mask you can wear on your head” on it). Steve Clay and Rodney Phillips’ survey of earlier avant-garde poetry periodicals, A Secret Location on the Lower East Side: Adventures in Writing, 1960-1980: A Sourcebook of Information, credits Spicer and Fran Herndon, who edited J magazine, with beginning what they call the “mimeo revolution.” While Mirage started no revolutions, we were just one of many small publishing houses who did their best work after hours, the Xerox machine ablazing, and you might call it a Xerox coup d’etat.   We did feel we were seizing power from the corporation, therefore from the state.

SS: Would you say that Mirage was a coterie or a deliberately non-coterie magazine, or put more positively: a community magazine? If so, was this community or ‘groupness’ that the magazine might have established—or contributed to—or witnessed—conceived of more aesthetically or socially or both? In how far were your and Dodie’s friendships reflected in the editorial choices you made? Would you agree that—broadly speaking—many feminist and queer magazines from the ‘80s and ‘90s onwards attempted a greater degree of inclusivity, both in terms of the poets’ backgrounds but also in terms of aesthetics? Was there also a sense of paranoia or anxiety about this need for inclusivity?

KK: We were having a big debate about coterie at the time, for this was the period in which my life of Jack Spicer was rejected by Cal on the grounds that (according to one anonymous reader’s report) it would cater to, and only be bought by, a “coterie of California homosexuals,” which seemed so perverse an objection. If Spicer’s audience could be dismissed as a “coterie,” then long live coterie; by the mid ’90s Lytle Shaw was starting his dissertation on Frank O’Hara as a “coterie poet,” and once he started affirming it, we felt better about the word, much better. That said, we were indeed a community magazine, given out for free at readings or in our travels, and we wanted it to be a place where new poets could mingle with established ones, to break down those lines of age that continue to strangle poetry today.

For example, someone very close to me was excluded from a female poets’ group last summer, formed ad hoc to combat sexual violations within the poetry community, and the reason given was that she was then over 50. As one gets older one realizes that the prison house governing our lives separates us from kindergarten on, into separate cells of age, of “generation,” to divide us perhaps even more thoroughly than by class.

In response to “Would you agree that—broadly speaking—many feminist and queer magazines from the ‘80s and ‘90s onwards attempted a greater degree of inclusivity, both in terms of the poets’ backgrounds but also in terms of aesthetics?”:

Especially in California and especially in San Francisco, a greater inclusivity was managed by a general ignoring of aesthetics, and by and large of quality. Frankly we didn’t care whether a piece of work succeeded at all, much less having to be perfect, for SF is the land of mistakes and its art practice has always been about the contingent, the misbegotten, the experimental, the botched, the ephemeral and the freakish. We had a zine in which Barbara Guest could be found next to the poems of the school janitor. There was no shame in writing like either. Instead a vitality and a complex multivalence was born.

SS: Did you ever participate in a forum (or forum-like section) in a magazine (I’m thinking of HOW2, Raddle Moon, Chain, Poetics Journal, L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E, M/E/A/N/I/N/G—all of which featured such roundtables, forums, and symposia frequently)? I’d be interested to hear if you feel that such forums in a sense of solidarity among all or some participants, or whether such solidarity emerged rather from non-page-based practices and conversations. I’m also interested in establishing a lineage with earlier modernist magazines, which featured similar sections, in which editors posed questions about a magazine’s ‘project’ or ‘future’.

KK: In Mirage we did have some special issues which focused on one topic. We had one stunt, you might say, in which we mailed tons of people we wanted to write for us a Xerox of the then-rare Hotel Wentley Poems and asked them to think about it and write something about Wieners. We took a whole party of local writers to a revival of De Sica’s Terminal Station and asked them to talk about neo-realism and the Hollywood system. Not sure if this is what you have in mind. I’ll have to consult my CV to see which of the five journals above I participated in, and what I did for them. Dodie was usually asked to do everything.

SS: What were the contemporary responses to Mirage? Were there any reviews?

KK: I just remember Charles Bernstein saying that Mirage was the absolute low end of high art.

SS: What were your (and other poets’) connections with other collectives (literary/artistic and activist/political)? Did people think of themselves or others as ‘avant-garde’ in a self-consciously historical or academic way (thinking through the tradition of the historical avant-gardes), or would they have described their own or other people’s practice as ‘avant-garde’?

KK: We were in the New Narrative and as such, we were thought of as fellow travellers to all other collectives. Not for us the war on Language Poetry, or later Flarf, or whatever, upon which other poets sharpened their petards. Yes, we were in the avant-garde, but none of us were PhDs and I’m not sure about what “academic” means in terms of our thoughts about ourselves. We were outside of and opposed to the academy in general.

SS: Did you have launch parties for Mirage issues, and which readings did you go to? And how did (or did not!) these readings reflect a print-community made visible through live readings or parties or political meetings?

KK: Looking through my datebooks for the period I see that I would attend three or four readings a week, and as many art openings; it was also an intensely political period and there were other sorts of organizational meetings and demos to attend. Sometimes looking back I don’t know I got everything done, but one way was to skimp on my own writing. It took Dodie and me both many years to finish our second and third novels. I mean decades. Launch parties, none. Every reading was a launch for the latest issue of our zine which we would bundle up and take with us everywhere. We did attend the launch parties of others—a magazine like Poetics Journal, which might appear once a year. You know about the special issue of Aerial on Lyn Hejinian? It’s been in the works for over 15 years. But we ran every month, due to the luxury of being crumby.

SS: How important was it to poets, artists, and curators to involve the public? Did you see magazines (your own and those of others) as providing a public forum of sorts? Did magazines create their own public (inside and outside the publication)?

KK: I suppose we saw it as creating an audience from the public, or better yet, an assemblage, a funk-junk creation like the works of Bruce Conner or Jay DeFeo in San Francisco. We were one of the few zines for example to perform a lot of archival work. It wasn’t enough just to have men and women appearing together, or a wide racial panoply, or different ages, but we wanted to the living and the dead to appear in our pages, side by side, as though poetry was occurring in a séance.

What invigorating questions! Thank you, Sophie, for thinking of us for this.

[1] Dodie designed the HOW(ever) logo.

[2] SS: Do you mean (f.)lip? KK: Sophie, you are exactly right, I couldn’t remember the name of “f(lip)” or whatever it was. I have heard these forms of punctuation referred to as “post-structuralist” and that seems right.

IMG_0495Kevin Killian, one of the original “New Narrative” writers, has written three novels, Shy (1989), Arctic Summer (1997), and Spreadeagle (2012), a book of memoirs , and three books of stories. He has also written two books of poetry, Argento Series (2001), and Action Kylie (2008). A third appeared in February 2014—Tweaky Village, from Wonder Books. With Peter Gizzi he has edited My Vocabulary Did This To Me: The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer (2008)—for Wesleyan University Press. Wesleyan also brought out Killian and Lew Ellingham’s acclaimed biography of Spicer in 1998. For the San Francisco Poets Theater Killian has written forty-five plays, and the anthology he compiled with David Brazil—The Kenning Anthology of Poets Theater 1945-1985—has become the standard book on the subject. Recent projects include Tagged (2013), introduction by Rob Halpern, Killian’s intimate photographs of poets, artists, writers, musicians, filmmakers and intellectuals; and forthcoming, with Dodie Bellamy, The Nightboat Anthology of New Narrative Writing 1975-1995. He teaches writing to MFA students at California College of the Arts in San Francisco. (Pictured with Dodie Bellamy. Photo by Tariq Alvi.)
SoundEye Festival CorkSophie Seita works with poetry on the page, in performance, and in video. She is the author of Meat (Little Red Leaves, 2015), Fantasias in Counting (BlazeVOX Books, 2014), 12 Steps (Cambridge: Wide Range, 2012), and i mean i dislike that fate that i was made to where (Wonder, 2015, a translation from the German of Uljana Wolf). A full-length translation of Uljana Wolf’s selected poems, for which she received a PEN/Heim award, will be published by Belladonna in 2016. Her videos and other works have been exhibited and performed in the US, UK, Ireland and Germany.  She lives in New York, previously curated the simultaneous and live-streamed ‘unAmerican Activities Transatlantic Reading Series’ between London and New York, is a curator for the Segue Reading Series, and is currently finishing her PhD on avant-garde little magazines. (Photo by Trevor Joyce.)

The Perils and Pains of Short-Run Digital Printing: Contest Entries

I’m glad CLMP is making this forum available. I’d like to take this opportunity to gripe or grouse about organizations that run prize competitions for already-published books but have not quite moved all the way into the 21st century.

imagesTo wit: They usually (but not always) exclude self-published books. OK, we can argue that one either way. But how about the ones that say POD books are excluded unless they have a print run of 500 books? What are they smoking? The whole point of POD (when it means “publish on demand”) is to print only when you have a sale. But POD can also mean “print on demand,” otherwise known as short-run digital printing.

Mayapple Press does what most publishers do – we stock books, we fill bookstore orders with a decent discount and return privileges, we keep things in print, we don’t require authors to buy books, we provide royalty copies and sometimes money royalties, we help with publicity, etc., etc. What we DON’T do is print 500 books at a time unless the author wants to buy that many (we discourage that, because it’s not necessary) or unless some other contingency, such as the cost of color printing, makes it necessary/cost-effective. Our typical first run is 151 or higher. Our typical sales for a single-author poet would leave a lot of a 500-book run on the shelves and racking up tax bills. Only one of our poetry authors has exceeded 500 copies in print (most of which are sold).

Haven’t contest organizers ever heard of “just in time inventory”? It’s been good enough for most of American commerce for several decades. And doing things this way means I can keep books in print indefinitely – I can always print another 25 if the author needs books, even 10 years later.

I understand that some presses solve this problem by ignoring the requirement and entering the competitions anyway. While I understand this decision, I don’t like to do things that way.

I’ve had this conversation with someone at a prize competition more than once, and the person always said, “Sure, no problem.” But calling every time the issue comes up is tedious. It would be nice to have common sense begin to take hold. What does it take to get prize competition managers to be sensible about the economics of printing in the Computer Age?

Comments welcome.

maylogoJudith Kerman is the publisher and editor of Mayapple Press.