Small Press: The Magazine of Independent Publishing; V. 3, N. 1; September/October 1985
R. R. Bowker, , 1985, Wraps, , , Good
122 pp. Wraps soiled and bumped. ''Our Second Anniversary Issue.'' Contents: Features: Books from small presses; Over there: Americans are still busy publishing in Paris by David Applefield; Confessions of a Frankfurt first-timer by Janja Stanich; In Toronto: The Canadian Booksellers Association Convention by Beverly Slopen; Land of Small Presses by Shane Cleary (In Ireland that's the only kind of publishing there is); In Stockhom: The Swedish Book Fair by Nadia Steinzor; Doing Business with mainland China: China books and periodicals by Marianne Yen; Cross-cultural communications by Joseph Barbato (dedicated to bringing out notable works in neglected languages); Funding a Latin American poetry project: A saga with two surprises by Frank Graziano; 'Reckless and Doomed': Johnathan Williams and Jargon by Michael McFew; plus the regular departments and reviews. Cover: Fritz Eichenberg, wood engraving based on E. A. Poe story.
Pieces of Soap “Performance and Reality”
And now it happens. Just now. The flamenco dancer is doing a particularly difficult riff. This murderous tango of a man whose body is one taut line of mood, who, touched at one end of that body should, by the laws of physics if not the conventions of his trade, like the strings on the musician’s guitar, vibrate at the other, but whose art it is to defy physics, to drive his feet like pistons withoutruffling a ruffle of his shirt, who does that, whose ruling second skin of costume, revealing still that inch and a half of scar, the material caught in it, in the scar , the magic show-biz gypsy latex, stuck there like the long, dark vertical of a behind snagged in the pants of a fat man rising from a chair on a hot day, does not, does not, display a single qualm of muscle, not one quiver, tremor, shiver, flutter, not one shake, not even his trousers which, snug as they are from mid-thigh to the small of the back, are cut like normal men’s beneath that and actually hang like a gaucho’s in a sort of flare below the knees, not even his damn trousers jump!