Come, 2.0!

Posted by Lizzie on 04/14/09

(The lively Lambert Strether at Corrente Wire, my favorite political blog, shamed me by putting up this announcement when I’d forgotten to do it HERE. Sorry. My place, to paraphrase Margaret Schlegel, is with Facebook now. While I’ve got you, if you are so moved, watch an animation from a poem from “Check-In” at

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Cri de Coeur, With Occasional Poesie

Posted by Lizzie on 08/05/08

My deeply talented friend Laurel, whose books I am unashamed to unabashedly plug, has a hilarious defense of children’s literature, buffered by this hilarious smack at serious “poetry”*:

I find this “genre” terminology  particularly distasteful in light of all the terribly formulaic “literary” writing in the world.  How many MFA writers have published bad midlist “literary” novels about young self-aware singles struggling against the urban landscape and their own ennui?  How many literary magazines have a published a poem that goes something like…

Daybreak at (insert old european building or decaying American industrial structure)

The (insert birds or small animals) aren’t here today,
but  as the (insert weather system) rolls in,
I glance at my (insert body part)
And remember you saying once
That (insert wise or spare comment),
On a day much like this one.
(Insert refection or question)
I notice for the first time that my
(insert phsyical attribute of aforementioned bodypart)
has grown (insert emotion or insightful  description)
And as I turn and walk back along the
worn path to the (insert name business or car)
I see that the (insert animal from line 1)
has finally come, bearing (insert something small).
And I feel (insert transformative and/or static emotion).
I notice my hands are empty.

Laurel will be coming to guest on the blog (i.e., POST on it for the first time in centuries) on her book tour for her new work, Up and Down the Scratchy Mountain, and I think I am going to ask her to CONTINUE the venerable category of saucy Old Hag poetry.

* She can smack on it, she’s also a serious poet.

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Tea, Whatever

Posted by Lizzie on 05/04/07

timescouplets.gif I’ve been forgetting to link to these each Friday; here’s the latest. (Excerpt below.) Believe it or not, this is the SECOND round of light verse about the Queen I have been contracted to write in the past two days. I’m not even a royalist! I sided with Diana and everything!

Here you go:

Back in U.S., Queen Celebrates Ex-Colony

Hopper’s America, in Shadow and Light:
Sometimes You Can Go Home Again.

Confusion and Deception as a Royal Family Affair
In a New Space and Time, a Classic Story of Tragic Love,

Family Values, Betrayed….

That’s it–the rest is here.*

* For any new readers–this is where I arrange Friday Times‘ headlines in verse for New York magazine because I don’t know how to do anything else.

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Not Cheating, But Posting

Posted by Lizzie on

….away from you, where I try not to say “fuck” so much. But these are very good links and my Cowon X5 is great and I will never buy an iPod, never, so ever, as long as I live, except for the Shuffle I bought so I could jog with it, and I can’t use it because I DON’T UNDERSTAND ITUNES, why can’t I just use FOLDERS for God’s sake, I don’t want my music to shuffle I want to be able to DELETE it, how can I DELETE IT.

Anyway, these are fun poetry links, and paulmuldoonpaulmuldoonpaulmuldoon RINGTONES!

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Posted by Lizzie on 04/12/07

cicovsm.jpgThis just in: So, good news and bad news. On the plus side, we managed to sell out our print run in about a year and a half, which is nice. But unfortunately, fiscal considerations won’t allow our delightful press to reprint the book anytime soon, if ever. Nine copies left; reprint schemes welcome.

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Ducking at Birdsong, Elsewhere, etc.

Posted by Lizzie on 03/23/07

timescouplets.gifDue to various exigencies of life and our possession of something like 18 jobs of late, we think we have remembered to mention to approximately none of you that we have been doing these over here for the past few months or so–viz, fucking around with Friday’s Times headlines because God in his infinite wisdom did not see fit to give us actual skills of any kind. In any case, you’ll find today’s official poem by clicking here by five-ishy today, but today we had some overflow poetry that was too gnomic and plaintive to inflict on New York magazine’s online readership. Not too gnomic and plaintive to inflict on you, though, dear reader! We have no idea what it all means, but feel free to offer analysis. We just liked the ducking at birdsong thing.

A Relaxed Approach to Life, Up for Sale

Duty Wears on the Soul.
Citizen of the World,

You Can Call It the Little Easy,
A Road Trip Back to the Future,

New Coin of the Realm
When the Snow Begins to Fall

He May Not See It Stop.
Does Soprano Get Whacked? Does He Get a Banana Split?

Expert on Bird Talk,
When a Bird Sings an Aria, You’d Be Wise to Duck.

Walking Out to Sea
The Only Constant Is Change,

Lands You Can’t See in a Guidebook.
Who Else but an Old Buddy Can Tell How Lost You Are?

* Logo courtesy of Daily Intel. One hopes.

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[Your Joke Here; We’re Tired; This Was a Long Post]

Posted by Lizzie on 02/14/07


(Click to enlarge…and be enlightened!)

So the results of our first offical Old Hag Reader Can You Even Handle This Action Survey are in and….wow! You guys absolutely do not have enough to do. You should get on that. But we were unsurprised to find that, in planning the rest of our year, a) most of you wanted us to do reviews for which we do not get paid; 2) pretty much the same amount of you were perverts, lazy, in love with Leonardo Dicaprio, or poetry-seekers (hard to choose, right?); 3) Podcasts and Pride & Prejudice people insisted on being tediously alliterative, 4) almost the same amount of people wanted more real-world reviews as didn’t know who we are. That’s fine; the people who read the reviews don’t know who we are either.

Since you apparently have nothing better to do than hang around here and click on things, you won’t mind if we take these one by one.

1. Speedreaders
Coming; we have a few real-world reviews first and then it’s going to all happen for you.

2. Real-World Reviews
See “Speedreaders”

3. Podcasts
Coming; don’t care if you want ’em

4. Poetry
Incoming shortly; check out our porn haiku in the meantime.

5. More Leo fakeouts


Duh. Done. DIRTY LEO. Grrrrr.

6. Who is Old Hag?

7. Pride & Prejudice

Fucking done….most ardently!

8. Seriously, who is Old Hag?

9. We avoid working

10. Porn? No porn?
We’re the only pervert around here, sorry. But here’s that Old Hag/Young Woman picture all the rest of you are looking for.

11. More pics of adorable nephew (Write-In)
We’ll do you one better. Three things to note: a) This might take a sec to load; b) yes, that is Marketwatch; it’s never too early, and c) seriously, you might die. DIE!

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If you enjoyed this interlude, please figure out the HTML for the jump function?

Posted by Lizzie on 01/18/07

For reasons that may or may not ever become clear to you–not that we give a crap–we’re finally publishing a poem on our blog that also remains on permanent loan to our dearest friend Mr. Balk, as long as he wants it. (No, Alex did not make the poem up to make fun of us. He is much funnier than that.) We wrote this many years ago in college for a friend who was being dicked over by an evil, unkind mana 26-year-old. That man is now a dutiful, loving husband and father. See the power of poetry? Especially when it RHYMES?

There’s a jump in here for the old folks. Don’t jump, old folksThe "jump" function is missing from our WYSIWYG for some reason. You’re going to have to get THE WHOLE THING AT ONCE! (Rimshot! We love saying "Rimshot!".) If you are related to us, do not read past stanza 4. Everyone else–we don’t know why you even read this blog in the first place, so whatever.

Ballad Of The Love-Scorned Anywoman

Would it trouble you, at my behest,
to put a stuttering heart to rest?

This trouble’s neither great nor tall–
So look at me, at least, or call.

My number’s listed in the book,
and much is said with scattered look,

or not. Not operating, then
fling out that stevedore, and pen

a captive letter, deeply felt,
as lush and fired as African veldt.

God’s love, we never had a fight!
We Walked in Beauty like the Night!

or somesuch. As you used to say?
perhaps that was another day.

Perhaps you listed me along
with All Else In My Life That’s Wrong:

the idling sound that’s not quite sound,
the ruined roast, the basset hound

you wanted but never seemed to get.
And you had studied to be a vet!

Perhaps I’m left in flounced heap
with all else limitless and cheap.

Or backyard flung to sootwashed bin,
with other snot-strung cherubim.

But I digress, and I’m forlorn.
My hands are weeping, chewed-off, torn.

I’d send them to The One I Love,
If Hallmark made a helpful glove.

My needs are drippy, short and clear:
could you last lilt out, "My Dear?"

Can’t do? Be kind, if we’re to be free.
I sucked your dick; be nice to me.

Filed under: poesie, Sex-ish | Tags: | Comments (2)

Our Asberger’s needed a feeding

Posted by Lizzie on 01/16/07

It has been a long time, Slate. A long goddamned time! But finally, a goodie from Daniel Bosch:

Would this be ambience, or atmosphere?
I hadn’t expected such an emptiness!
An empty nest.
Do you open up before or after a good pandering?
Book, Web site, infomercial. Edginess must be catching.
So let me be the first to congratulate—
Too late.
What is it people seek in your utterances?
Other answers.
You knew Mozart. Before he decomposed—
He composed.
And Freud was your plumber. Conscious or unconscious?
Kein Anschluss.
But have you ever crossed over? You know, necrophilia?
Celebrities! They run to sarcasm.
Our chasm.
How do you do it? I’m already way off course.
Of course.

Read the rest. Also, try this Jennifer Clarvoe…from many years ago.


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