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Deviant Propulsion
Deviant Propulsion is dedicated to the elimination of fear. The title refers to the idea that those who are deviant propel the world forward at top speed. Delving into the center of the endless webs of repression against our bodies, desires, politics, and imaginations, are those whose actions and motion cut away at the systemic limitations of society. This collection of poems was written with the inspiration and work of these people in mind.
As a working class queer poet, Conrad has had to fight through different stratifications of oppression his entire life. His poems vibrate with the flamboyant desire that manifests itself in queer culture, where the right to act on basic desires can become a battleground, and everyday acts of love and devotion must be enacted as a political form of defiance. The poems that emerge from this life long struggle illustrate the sharp edge of that defiance and desire, where joy is closely linked to death. In a world ruled by those who govern with fear, and in a landscape barbed with those who are terrified of desire, moving at speed of deviants is the only way to transform potential into action, and desire into positive change.
As a working class queer poet, Conrad has had to fight through different stratifications of oppression his entire life. His poems vibrate with the flamboyant desire that manifests itself in queer culture, where the right to act on basic desires can become a battleground, and everyday acts of love and devotion must be enacted as a political form of defiance. The poems that emerge from this life long struggle illustrate the sharp edge of that defiance and desire, where joy is closely linked to death. In a world ruled by those who govern with fear, and in a landscape barbed with those who are terrified of desire, moving at speed of deviants is the only way to transform potential into action, and desire into positive change.
99 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2005
2 people are currently reading
275 people want to read
About the author
C.A. Conrad
45 books590 followersCAConrad’s childhood included selling cut flowers along the highway for his mother and helping her shoplift. He is the author of 9 books of poetry and essays the latest While Standing In Line For Death is forthcoming from Wave Books in September 2017. He is a Pew Fellow and has also received fellowships from Lannan Foundation, MacDowell Colony, Headlands Center for the Arts, Banff, RADAR, Flying Ojbect and Ucross. For his books, essays, and details on the documentary The Book of Conrad (Delinquent Films, 2016), please visit http://CAConrad.blogspot.com
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Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews
November 14, 2009
Reading from it in the tub: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaOwLp...
Dorothea Lasky's tub in her old apartment!
She's now happily married and living elsewhere!
YES I GAVE MYSELF 5 FUCKING STARS! If I don't LOVE my book then who the hell else will!? You can see sample poems and other things here: http://CAConrad.blogspot.com And in particular the "Dear Mr. President" poem here: http://thedearmrpresidentpoem.blogspo... and the "Celebrities I've Seen Off Stage" poem here: http://seenoffstage.blogspot.com/ and "Deviant Propulsion" title poem here: http://blessedarethedeviant.blogspot....
CAConrad
Dorothea Lasky's tub in her old apartment!
She's now happily married and living elsewhere!
YES I GAVE MYSELF 5 FUCKING STARS! If I don't LOVE my book then who the hell else will!? You can see sample poems and other things here: http://CAConrad.blogspot.com And in particular the "Dear Mr. President" poem here: http://thedearmrpresidentpoem.blogspo... and the "Celebrities I've Seen Off Stage" poem here: http://seenoffstage.blogspot.com/ and "Deviant Propulsion" title poem here: http://blessedarethedeviant.blogspot....
CAConrad
November 11, 2014
was probably going to be a 3 star until the last few poems happened.
----------------
evaporate again
i introduce the new hair
on my leg
to the rest of itself
we're so much
water we're clouds
when we die
i fill my mouth
on the rain
of your missing tongue
i will always drink from you
every year the night
Anne Sexton
killed herself
you said prayers
lit candles
i make space
between Neruda and Plat
where your book could have been
water has no memory
of creating your thighs
the florist preferred
funerals over
weddings
though i preferred
to marry you
with just a touch
of lipstick
death disappears
on the street
our old friend Kit
called me your name
instead of mine
why do i still smell of you?
i tell you now
i lied sometimes
because i loved you
i dreamt
the downpour
of your hands
hung as icicles
from my window
i dreamt
colors you chose
each morning
sent my arms
one direction
or another
i dreamt
one pair of wings
between us
we leaned
in the sky
you said
hold your
hand out for my
weight tonight for what
falls from me
my hand cupped could
hold what's left of you
i walk to Topeka
in my sleep
your face on every
roadsign
puddles you reflected
evaporate again
sun trapped in
watermelon rinds i eat
lights my head at night
each morning
light knows seeds
under sidewalks
in the world you left behind
umbrellas fill the gunrack
where your picture
used to hang
----------------
evaporate again
i introduce the new hair
on my leg
to the rest of itself
we're so much
water we're clouds
when we die
i fill my mouth
on the rain
of your missing tongue
i will always drink from you
every year the night
Anne Sexton
killed herself
you said prayers
lit candles
i make space
between Neruda and Plat
where your book could have been
water has no memory
of creating your thighs
the florist preferred
funerals over
weddings
though i preferred
to marry you
with just a touch
of lipstick
death disappears
on the street
our old friend Kit
called me your name
instead of mine
why do i still smell of you?
i tell you now
i lied sometimes
because i loved you
i dreamt
the downpour
of your hands
hung as icicles
from my window
i dreamt
colors you chose
each morning
sent my arms
one direction
or another
i dreamt
one pair of wings
between us
we leaned
in the sky
you said
hold your
hand out for my
weight tonight for what
falls from me
my hand cupped could
hold what's left of you
i walk to Topeka
in my sleep
your face on every
roadsign
puddles you reflected
evaporate again
sun trapped in
watermelon rinds i eat
lights my head at night
each morning
light knows seeds
under sidewalks
in the world you left behind
umbrellas fill the gunrack
where your picture
used to hang
February 21, 2020
CA's 2006 collection is full of fury and rage and comedy and sorrow and life and death. It's a whirlwind of a book (conversations, testimonies, tiny poems, prose poems), with perhaps the most fitting cover of all time. All hail CA.
Read
June 25, 2007CAConrad's poems vibrate with the flamboyant desire that manifests itself in queer culture, where the right to act on basic desires can become a battleground, and everyday acts of love and devotion must be enacted as a political form of defiance. The poems that emerge from this life long struggle illustrate the sharp edge of that defiance and desire, where joy is closely linked to death. In a world ruled by those who govern with fear, and in a landscape barbed with those who are terrified of desire, moving at speed of deviants is the only way to transform potential into action, and desire into positive change.
April 29, 2013
CAConrad is one of my favorite poets! For me he's like Eileen Myles in that I know I can invite basically anyone to a reading of his with utter confidence that they will have a good time and thank me for it. Same goes for his book. Read his blog: phillysound.blogspot.com.
August 17, 2008
I liked this a lot, but wished for a bit of a longer line sometimes. It's not much criticism, I know, but the poems often seemed unduly clipped--difficult to see my way toward breathing them out in a reading. I hope I get to hear them aloud some time.
July 2, 2008
Heard him read from this at a poetry reading in Brooklyn a couple of years ago and he blew me away. The other poets were good too, but I remember CA Conrad the best, especially when he read the poem for George Bush. My girlfriend took my copy and after we broke up I had to buy another one.
November 12, 2011
this book gave me the finger. if it had been a chicken finger i would have eaten it. chickens don't have fingers. they taste good dipped in bbq sauce. if you dipped this book in bbq sauce, it wouldn't taste any better, and it would be messy.
September 19, 2007
Totally. Brutally. Honest. Loving. Spiteful. Hilarious. FIVE STARS!!!
May 19, 2008
a friend took me to hear him give a poetry reading in San Fran a couple years ago, he's the real deal
June 4, 2008
Conrad's poem for Bush is one of the most beautiful I have ever read!
March 18, 2023
who gave / Love the / heart? fuck / the heart / i Love you / with all / my liver
November 27, 2008
Don't show your mother.
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews