Al's words for Josh

Al wrote an homage to Josh Schuster, longtime Planning Committee member, that consisted of fragments from Josh's own emails, Tom Mandel's book Realism, and Wallace Stevens' The Man with the Blue Guitar.

This is the only thing as large as that. I regret I am not the physical giant to practice all I comprehend. Underground -- bus, facade, borizon -- burns with a realism you cannot go back on. -Mandel, Realism

Josh: Saturday Nov 11 1995:

The committee I'm on should make a list and contact local publications. On a cursory glance I can think of Poet's Attic, Xconnect, Painted Bride Quarterly, 6ix, and obviously other PA university journals. and we need not limit this to poetry. I wold definitely like to see Philly artists talk/give a slide show (and if possible we could reserve space on the walls for Penn student work). Then include Inquirer journalists, actors from local theater groups, films and film makers (a night for performance or film).

Perhaps one night per week, maybe fri., could be a versatile night of special topics/presentations.

Then when I fly off the budget handle I get these notions that we could make a small fund for 1-2 significant presenters.

Then Al reminds me: whose funds?

Then I become awfully ill and declare that we should present such a fund among the proposed budget. (say $200-300; we could always SAC it) -joshua

Reality authorizes my speech in speech. Each dimension iterates its two worlds. Sign here and the ink will fade in conditions of its own choosing, an icon overcome by the conditions of its control. -Mandel, Realism
Josh: Nov 15 1995:

Geez, guys. We need to be sure to reserve space on the second floor for a reading room.

The text guards the door to the reading room. Try as you will you will hear it all. Sorry, try as you will you will hear it fall. Try as you will you will hear it all. Before an object, something modern--a building, a person--one falters, sorry, one alters, one falters, wondering whether to look up at it or straight out from the shoulders. Evene the vaguest order is perfect as everyone knows. If you change me I begin to see without light. -Mandel, Realism
Nov 12, after midnight:

A random furniture claim, but could we procure a tv and vcr for either downstairs or upstairs (mobile if possible). we may be able to find both used for a total of under $150. I really think we should pursue film aspects, as Penn Film Society can't be any more awful. Plus we can watch our recorded readings as well as those on archives. Thus make our own taped readings archives as well. Film and video is seriously neglected on this campus and I think we should extend the House into this realm.

Continuing on to further media, I don't think we can find enough Penn acoustic players to perform on every Wed. night. So why not have some wed. nights as audio presentations of readings on casette or cd. Would love to hear the langpo's Live at the Ear Inn one night. I have Ginsburg's Holy Soul Jelly Roll. Al has an impressive amateur collection of readings on tape. This isn't really ambient music but since I despise mood music (I, like Cage, think that if you aren't listening to something, turn it off) why not expose the cafe to other listening options. I really encourage us to push beyond just writing events.



Do not speak to us about the greatness of poetry,
Of the torches wisping in the underground.

Of the structure of vaults upon a point of light.
There are no shadows in our sun,

Day is desire and night is sleep.
There are no shadows anywhere.

The earth, for us, is flat and bare.
There are no shadows. Poetry

Exceeding music must take the place
Of empty heaven and its hymns.

Ourselves in poetry must take their place
Of empty heaven and its hymns,

Ourselves in poetry must take their place,
Even in the chattering of your guitar.


A tune beyond us as we are,
Yet nothing changed by the blue guitar;

Ourselves in the tune as if in space,
Yet nothing changed, except the place

Of things as they are and only the place
As you play them, on the blue guitar,

Placed, so, beyond the compass of change,
Perceived in a final atmosphere;

For a moment final, in the way
The thinking of art seems final when

The thinking of god is smoky dew.
The tune is space. The blue guitar

Becomes the place of things as they are,
A composing of senses of the guitar.

Wallace Stevens, The Man With the Blue Guitar