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Showing posts from 2012
Poem up at Fat City Review:

http://fatcityreview.com/bone-dance-paul-fauteux/

...where there are also other poems.  And art.  And interviews.  And prose.

Question One Part One

Question One Part One

Modernism is transnational in that the poetics of a given society matures as technological capability and cultural aesthetic preference allows it to mature.  My first point I consider to be fairly self-explanatory; the long epic poem of Homer was metered and rhymed so that it could be memorized.  It may have been impossible to expand upon (or even abandon) these conventions without the advent of the written word.  Similarly, the novel became possible at all when memorization was no longer a consideration and it could be printed.  To address my second point, the absence of rhyme in poetry or the acceptance of the novel as a legitimate literary genre fully infiltrate the academy when the aesthetic of a given society allows for such a thing.  With the advent of global communication, a product of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, of course various corners of the globe would arrive at these things in roughly the same cultural moment.  Modernism, then, is un…

Lit Pub recommendations

I've got a few recommendations up at The Lit Pub, by now.  If you haven't been, why not start with my page?

http://thelitpub.com/people/paul-fauteux/

New York City

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New York City My first trip to New York was not at all like the other road trips I have taken. During high school, I traveled by bus with a bunch of other high school students. It was miserable; there were drugs, boozing, and oral sex, at least one of which took place directly behind my seat while I was napping. Other kids were kicked out of the musical ensembles with which they were traveling in order to compete in whatever regional event happened to take place near an affordable beach or theme-park, but I wasn't. I was reading a book.
Pardon me, I digress. Most of my other road trips were by car, book in hand and my mother in the driver's seat, or book in duffel bag and I driving two or three hours with or without a few friends. My New York trip was by bus. My fellow passengers were tamer, and Jesse, the only woman with whom I have ever had a substantial relationship, was my very favorite bus-mate.
There is a paradox in all of this. Driving one's self acro…