Yesterday it was just raining rain; today it is raining books. I'm not talking a biblical deluge of newts or even your everyday downpour of frog-eyed toads. What I'm talking about is a rather small (and chalk-dry) cloudburst of calamari, specifically, Calamari Press. I just received (Thank you, Derek!) several titles from their catalogue, which are now elegantly(!) displayed on my countertop. If you like contemporary fiction, if you like contemplative poetry, if you like contempestuous art, and if you like even more a mix of these things or pieces of each of these things fashioned into a smart and surprising cocktail or cockatrice of words, chances are you'll like the work of Robert Lopez, Peter Markus, Miranda Mellis, John Olson and James Wagner, among others. As Peter Markus writes in THE SINGING FISH: The rain, when it drums down on the tops of our boy heads, the sound of it falling, it makes music in our ears. We lift our hands, our mouths, up to the sky. Like this, with our hands held high, our faces facing the rain, us brothers, we start to sing. We sing and we sing and we do not stop singing until the rain stops drumming down. When the rain stops drumming down, us brothers, we drop down, onto our hands and knees, down in mud, and we begin to eat. We eat until our bellies are big with mud. Let that sink into your pores. Or better yet, come in and have a look at it yourself. I promise I won't make you eat any mud.


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