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So Much, Selected Poems, Vols. 1 & 2
by Pat Nolan  
& receive
the thousand marvels of every moment
a tanka collection
as a BONUS

a $50 value!
(Sale ends 9/21/22)

To order directly from
Nualláin House, Publishers
Send check, money order (made payable to ‘Pat Nolan’) or cash
for the retail price of $16 per volume to

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The Blurbs of 2018

the thousand marvels of every moment, 
a tanka collection
by pat nolan
Fall 2018, 124 pages, $16

Tanka is the modern name for a short five line poem known throughout the history of Japanese literature as a waka.  The short poems of the thousand marvels of every moment are composed of five lines in two stanzas.  The first stanza balances on the second, sometimes precariously, to pose a distinguishing match. The break between stanzas acts as a gap for synaptic sparks to jump. It also emphasizes its call and response origins serving as a binary exchange of verbal energy.  The two last lines in these poems tend to resolve them either as parallel breaths or as a single run-on semantic declaration.

Praise for the thousand marvels of every moment

“Pointing at the moon, the finger of the poet directs the reader to the object at hand, whether it be battered wisteria, her long neck, the black cat, or the poet ‘right in the middle of scribble.’  Every day life heightened in the moment ‘not forever now/the cool green leaves’”  —Lucille Friesen, poet

“Pat Nolan’s new collection of short poems the thousand marvels of every moment is a late harvest wonder. Distilled in the key of tanka, these poems make sparks out of crumpled paper & ‘fine white rain.’ No better description of the book than from within: 

through the particle haze dance
joy and marvel of the mind”

—Eric Johnson, poet, master printer

“Pat Nolan explains, in introducing the thousand marvels of every moment that tanka historically originated in call and response agricultural chants in long ago Japan. In Nolan’s modern tanka-like poems, the echoing is within the self, or between the self and the immediate world: the yard, the kitchen, the coffee cup, the coastal hills. Words are precise and vivid. Dream transitions suggest feelings and insights. Points of view shift. In ‘TV on too loud again’ the opening stanza seems to be listening to the neighborhood from within Nolan’s house, but in the final lines reverse:

 I am a portrait in a window
the garden looks on into 

Processes of life are very subtle reverberations in this finely wrought collection of modern tanka.”
—Ann Erickson, poet, painter

“When I was a little kid, we had a summer cabin on an inlet of south Puget Sound. By a dirt path near our place was a salmonberry bush. It must have been the end of June when I found it because it was full of ripe yellow-orange berries. I harvested the bush in a frenzy, filling up a big bowl, and ate its sweet fruit on a sunny beach. It was my first wild berry feast. Pat Nolan’s new book of tanka, the thousand marvels of every moment, brought back this tasty memory. Reading his beautifully crafted little poems is like picking berries from a bush.”
—Norman Schaefer, poet, author of Fool’s Gold and Lower Putah Song


SO MUCH Selected Poems Volume I
Handwritten Typewriter 1969-1989
by Pat Nolan
Spring 2018, 176 pages, $16

The title of this volume of Pat Nolan’s selected poems, So Much, references the seminal (and most divisive) poem of modern American poetry by William Carlos Williams about a red wheelbarrow, chickens, and rain. The poems in this selection were actualized and finalized beyond their handwritten originals on a typewriter hence the designation of this twenty year span from 1969 to 1989 as Handwritten Typewriter. In memory of Ted Berrigan, adherent to Whitman’s maverick impulse and O’Hara’s Personism, under the guidance of Schuyler and Whalen, with a nod to early 20th Century French poets and the sages of the East, and esteem for Anselm Hollo and Alice Notley, Pat Nolan’s poems hit all the right post-Beat, California School of New York Poets, Pacific Rim demotic notational ephemerist notes.

Praise for Pat Nolan’s poetry:

“Pat Nolan is one of the poets, Ted Berrigan once said, that you have to always keep an eye on because he can do unexpected startling things that leave you eating his dust.”
— Andrei Codrescu, author of So Recently Rent A World: New and Selected Poems, 1968-2012.

“Descriptions of nature so translucent we can only marvel how he weaves us into them, onward, around that eternal share of misfortune, bitter realization, and expectations gone wrong. This is Nolan’s secret power.  He engages us in magical transformation and will not let us look away.”
— Maureen Owen, author of Erosion’s Pull and Edges of Water

“. . .reminded me of James Joyce in that brief moments can become long & engrossing & turn the page for you despite any wishes thoughts & warnings you may have about more . . . .”
—Keith Kumasen Abbott, author of Downstream From Tour Fishing In America, A Memoir.

“Reading a book of Pat Nolan poems, I tell myself to breathe, to be mindful, because everything is here, from the Zen moment that never ends to the surreal architecture we live within.” 
—Bart Schneider, author of Nameless Dame

More titles available from Nualláin House, Publishers


On The Road To Las Cruces
Being A Novel Account of the Last Day In the Life of
A Legendary Western Lawman 
by Pat Nolan 

November 2011 —$16—154 pages —paper—ISBN  9780984031016 

The Last Resort,  A Lee Malone Adventure by Pat Nolan
August 2012—$20—212 pages —PaperISBN 9780984031023

Hello Life, Poems by Gail King
December 2013—$16—64 pages—Paper —ISBN 9780984031030

Your Name Here, New Poems by Pat Nolan
November 2014 —$16 — 80 pages—paper—ISBN 9780984031009

Poetry For Sale Haikai no Renga (linked verse)
Keith Kumasen Abbott, Sandy Berrigan, Gloria Frym, Steven Lavoie,

Pat Nolan, Maureen Owen, Michael Sowl, John Veglia
October 2015—$16—152 pages —paper—ISBN 9780984031047

Exile In Paradise by Pat Nolan
November 2017—$16—100 pages—paper—ISBN 9780984031054

To place your order select How To Order from the menu bar

Limited Edition: Random Rocks

Random Rocks

Haikai No Renga

By The Miner School of Haikai Poets

randrksfcRandom Rocks is a limited edition haikai no renga (linked verse) published by Bamboo Leaf Studio in 2007.  The size of the edition was linked to the number of stanzas in a kasen, a standard renga length employed by Basho and his disciples, and in the memorializing of the 36 immortal poets of Japanese literature.  Random Rocks measures 5.5x 7 (14x17cm), is hand sewn in the Japanese side stitch style, bound in heavy green chiri paper, momogami binding strips and features Japanese silk screen end papers.  The edition was divided evenly among the four haikai poets to distribute as they saw fit.                                                                                        

The Miner School of Haikai Poets have engaged in the practice of haikai no renga over a period of thirty years, written primarily through the mail and more recently, email.  They are Pat Nolan, Keith Kumasen Abbott, Michael Sowl and Maureen Owen. The Miner School’s haikai have been published in numerous magazine including Hanging Loose, Exquisite Corpse, Jack’s Magazine, Big Bridge, and Simply Haiku as well as in limited edition chapbooks and broadsides from Empty Head Press, Bamboo Leaf Studio, and Tangram Press.  Their kasen, All Ears, was included in Saints Of Hysteria, an anthology celebrating collaboration, from Soft Skull Press (2007).   

One of the unique features of Miner School haikai is that it includes a running commentary by the authors on each of their own stanzas as well as a stab at their collaborators’ links.  It functions in a way similar to commentary provided as a special features audio track on a DVD.  The introductory essay to another kasen, Bamboo Greeting, published in Simply Haiku (2008), further details some of the unconventional methods practiced by The Miner School of Haikai Poets.  

Haikai no renga is a form of renga (Japanese linked verse) practiced by Basho (1644-1694) and his disciples.  It consists of a 17 syllable verse and a 14 syllable verse provided in turn by the poets engaged in the collaboration.  In linking verses, a 31 syllable poem is produced, the latter verse of which (the 17 or the 14 syllable) will go on to join the next in the sequence to form its own unique poem, and so on until the requisite number of stanzas has been achieved.  Renga sequences can number into the hundreds.  Basho favored the economy of 36 stanzas.  Renku is diminutive for haikai no renga also known as haikai.  The more renowned Japanese verse form, haiku, is derived from the practice of amassing numerous hokku to vie for the privilege of opening a moon-viewing-sake-sipping evening of friendly literary collaborations.   Renga itself is derived from the courtly form of poetry exchanged by the aristocracy as exemplified in Lady Murasaki’s 11th Century The Tale Of Genji.  The rules of the composition for renga and haikai no renga are complicated and arcane, but like those of chess or go can be captivating and stimulating.  

For more on the intriguing subject of Japanese Linked Verse, see Earl Miner’s Japanese Linked Poetry (Princeton, 1979), Hiroaki Sato’s One Hundred Frogs (Weatherhill, 1983), and Haruo Shirane’s Traces Of Dreams (Stanford, 1998). 

A pdf facsimile of RandomRocks 2007can be found here.





DICK LIT: Q&A with Pat Nolan

warning uspoet
Q: You’re known primarily for your poetry, why are you now writing fiction?

A:  Actually when I first thought to write, I wanted to write fiction.  Novels, short stories.

Q:  What turned you to poetry?

A:  A wider experience of reading, other than the best sellers on the paperback racks at the corner drug store and the science fiction shelf at the local library.  I came to reading late but once I did I was a voracious reader. By the time I graduated from high school I knew there was more to reading than just pop fiction.

Q:  Wasn’t your reading guided by what you were taught in the classroom?

A:  I was an indifferent student.  Most of my reading centered around what I discovered for myself.  While in the Navy I was lucky to have shipmates who were quite literate.  Everyone in my rating read. A couple of guys even had some college under their belts.  Paperbacks were a regular item of exchange, mostly westerns, crime fiction, smut.  Lady Chatterley’s Lover made the rounds.  For obvious reasons. And Miller’s Tropics.  I was into Kerouac then, and always on the lookout for more by him.  Someone suggested that I check out a bookstore in San Diego where my ship was stationed.  I’d never been to a bookstore before, a real bookstore that wasn’t a news stand or the book section in a department store.

Q:  I find that shocking.  How old were you then?

A:  Oh, eighteen, nineteen.  And I think I was a little intimidated by the place.  It was a small store front on a side street crammed to the rafters with books.  I’d never seen so many books outside of a library.  Anyway, I asked after any new Kerouac titles but they only had ones I’d already read.  The clerk showed me a book by someone he said was a friend of Kerouac’s.  It was A Coney Island Of The Mind by Lawrence Ferlinghetti.  Poetry.  I think I bought it just so I could get out of there and not feel like a complete idiot.

Q:  Did you start writing poetry then?

A:  Not really.  I mean, I’d already tried my hand at writing poems so I had a notion of what a poem was, a conventional Romantic notion, and it had to do with expressing emotions toward a loved one, usually an indifferent unresponsive young woman.  They were all very ardent.  No one ever saw them.  I wasn’t very serious about it, anyway.

Q:  You must have become serious eventually.

A:  Yes, eventually.  One thing leads to another.  I started including poetry in my reading .  I can’t say I got all that was going on.  It wasn’t like reading popular fiction.  But it was interesting, challenging.  I came across Don Allen’s New American Poetry.  That was a revelation.  And I started noting references to names of other poets and writers.  Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Pound, Williams.  So I began looking into those guys, and they led me to other writers and poets.  At one point all my reading was taken up with tracking down a wider variety of writers and finding out more about them, their writing.

Q:  Were you also writing poetry at this time?

A:  That kind of went hand in hand with my reading.  In order to understand what the poets were doing I had to try to replicate what they were doing in a kind of reverse engineering.  It’s not as easy as it sounds.  I was concentrating on contemporary American poets for the most part, and it was pretty much anything goes, or that’s what it seemed like.  Looking back, I can see that I was really just pissing in the wind.

Q:  Yet you were published in some pretty impressive magazines.  Rolling Stone, The Paris Review, Exquisite Corpse.  And in a number of anthologies.  Don’t you think you were doing something right?

A:  Well, thanks to the kindness of strangers and the indulgence of friends. Not without some trepidation on my part, I have to say.  Success tends to complicate things.

Q:  So after many years you’ve turned back to fiction.  Why?

A:  I never turned away from fiction.  It’s just that the learning curve with poetry is steeper and requires greater diligence.  Around the same time that I had my first book published and was invited to read at the Poetry Project in New York City, I had also written two novels, one of which remained in draft form, and the other as a final manuscript. That was the first version of the western.  Even though I was experiencing relative success as a poet, writing novels was never out as an option.  And novels are a different kind of challenge.  Physically, logistically, especially back when everything was written on a typewriter.  Large chunks of specific time are required.  I feel like I could probably write poetry on the run, but the writing of a novel, for me at least, requires consistency, more sit down time.  And back then, a lot of white out, scissors, glue.  The construction of a final draft was an engineering feat.   Sorting through the renumbered pages with whole blocks of writing crossed out and painstakingly stitching it all back together.  Just the thought of it makes me shudder.

Q: What became of those early novels?

A:  The western made the rounds of agents and publishers but no one was interested.  Thankfully.  And the first draft novel was recycled into a general idea for a story.  I kept the title and the locale.

Q:  One of your recently published novels, On The Road To Las Cruces, is a western.  Is this the same novel?

A:  It’s the same subject, but the narrative has changed considerably.  Even though I had put it aside, the story and the need to tell it stayed with me, and I would go back and rewrite parts or scribble in the margins my additions or redirections.  That went on for several years and finally computers caught up with me and I spent many hours transcribing my typewritten poetry manuscripts as computer documents.  I also transcribed my western which allowed me to incorporate some of the revisions I had arrived at.  And in the process of transcribing, I also rewrote.

Q:  Technology benefitted your processes, in other words.

A:  Technology always changes the way you do business.  Writing a novel is no different.  And as an added advantage, word processors allow, among other things, cut and paste techniques at one time available only to film editors.

Q:  Are you utilizing those tools the way they are in the cinema?

A:  In a way, yes, because cinema is a popular story telling art that uses narrative in interesting, innovative ways.  In doing so, certain idioms are coined, clichés generated.  Telling the story on the page can utilize these idioms, techniques, in similar ways since the reading audience and movie goers overlap and recognize the tropes.  I was particularly conscious of using cinematic techniques in the western, mainly because of the complexity of trying to tell the story on three different levels.  There’s the narrative that takes place in real time, the one that takes place in the recent past, and the narrative that’s as a result of introspection and  dialogue with a ghost.

Q:  Did you also use cinematic techniques in the novel you published last year, The Last Resort?

A:  The narrative in The Last Resort has a fairly straight forward first person camera eye chronology with an extended back story flash back that serves as the booster rocket into the wrap up.  There’s also the  cinematic technique of the cliffhanger, the Saturday matinee movie serial.  The chapters, which for the most part are all roughly the same length, end abruptly or as jump cuts.

Q:  You’ve subtitled the novel A Lee Malone Adventure

A:  Lee Malone is based on a character I created for a serial I wrote for a local weekly newspaper years ago about a supermodel sleuth.  I had started some preliminary chapters for another serial when the editorship changed hands and the newspaper was no longer interested in the material. These odds and ends of fiction were among the last to be transcribed as computer documents, and I didn’t pay that much attention to them until some years after that when I read a couple chapters to a few writers I know.  Their reaction told me that I might be on to something.  So I pursued it.

Q:  Your first person narrator is a woman.  Why a woman, and who is she?

A:  Lee Malone is a stereotypical beautiful woman, former international model circa 1985.  What makes her interesting is how she tries to circumvent that cliché and become an authentic person .  In the very limited realm of a not overly realistic genre storyline, of course.  The  protagonist for these kinds of escapades is usually a tough guy with a broken nose, a five o’clock shadow, and breath that can pickle squid.  I was after something different.

Q:  The Last Resort was published in 2012.  Why is the setting in 1985?  Why not a more contemporaneous time?

A:  I had started the early chapters in 1985.  And rather than go back and retool the time frame to something more current, I decided to stick with it and avoid as many anachronisms as possible.  No cell phones or internet back then so that allowed a slower unfolding of the plot and a more leisurely development of the back story on Lee Malone.

Q:  You portray Lee Malone as rather willful.

A:  She has a cocksureness instilled by her life of privilege as a beauty.  And she knows how to use her looks to get what she wants.  But there’s a down side, and that is that all men lust after her and most women hate her.  Her aloofness is also a tragic flaw.  Men are cowed by her imperiousness and women suspect her of treachery.  Consequently she is alone.

Q:  You’ve published two genre novels, one a western and the other a pot boiler.  Are you seeking a conventional audience as opposed to one that was primarily interested in your poetry?

A:  The interest in my poetry in a very qualified sense has always been limited.  I don’t expect that my novels will be read by many more people, conventional or otherwise.  Given that the novels are written by a poet, conventionality was never a consideration.  Other than to label them genre works. Also this imagined audience will undoubtedly encompass many who have read my poems. Anyway, the idea of an audience for my work is always problematic.  I don’t think that my subject matter and how I approach it has universal appeal.  What I write about and how I write might find more support among men than woman.   The western is about gun violence, and the pot boiler, as you characterize it, is about titillation.  These are two things that fascinate men, sex and death.

Q:  Are there more macho centric gender specific novels in your future?

A:  I’m currently working on two crime fiction novels and a series of short stories in the same genre.  They’re detective stories, dick lit, if you will. Dick signifying slang for detective, of course, not the male sexual organ. One is titled simply, A Detective Story, and the other is in between titles right now.

Q:  Why crime fiction, dick lit, rather than something more universal that appeals to everyone?

A:  Crime fiction actually has a universal appeal, at least since Poe, who is said to have pioneered the detective story.  It is essentially comedy, sometimes quite dark, and situational, often improbable.  I feel comfortable with the conventions of genre fiction.  One novel, a period piece set in the 40’s before the war, is an attempt to represent the kind of writing that was being published in the pulp magazines with a little twist of  French surrealism.  The other might be characterized, in an 8 second Mamet pitch, as young Philip Marlowe in the  21st century.

Q:  Let me see if I have that right, you’re writing genre novels in order to write about genre novels.  Would you call that meta-fiction?

A:  I might, but I don’t exactly know what that is.  My characters are fictional, there’s no pretense that they are anyone beyond the page, even if they represent figures in regional history or in the history of fiction.  Every time I sit down to write a poem I am writing the history of poetry. Not in any grand ultimate critique, but in the relationship between myself and poetry.   In the same way, when I sit down to write a novel I am writing the history of fiction.  I have a hyper awareness of what has been written and I naturally factor that into the process

Q:  You’re mimicking a style appropriate to the story you’re telling.  Is that how you approach writing all your novels?

A:  I don’t know.  I’ve only written two so far. But yes, there is an awareness of the genre that determines how, stylistically, it is written.  Writing novel scale fiction requires a degree of engineering, of being more than just a voice but a writer director producer set designer camera lights action.  I assume that anytime a story is told some kind of mimicry is going on.

Q:  For example.

A:  Um, for example, ok.  Well, after the first version of my western was rejected, I was still enjoying my readings in the history of the old Southwest.  This is a subject that had also fascinated me as a young reader.  The more I read, the more of a historical sense I got of the people, the actors upon whom western legends are based.  I read authors from that period, Owen Wister for instance, author of The Virginian, contemporary accounts by Charlie Siringo, and modern regional authors like J. Frank Dobie to get a sense of how the stories of that time were told.  In rewriting the western, I had those voices to accompany me in the telling of my story. Or stories, as there are four stories, told by different storytellers or story telling devices.  What I was after was an underlying tone, a lingering in the language from that time.  In doing so, I didn’t write a conventional western.  It is more matter of fact, laconic, about a subject that has been mined repeatedly.  I gave it a different spin.

Q:  You refer to your reading quite a bit.  How much of a role does reading play in your writing?

A:  Reading is the other side of the coin.  I spend as much time reading as I do writing, maybe more.  I don’t read much fiction though.  I read primarily to satisfy my curiosity about particular subjects.  Neuroscience or cosmology, the micro and the macro of it all.  Sociology, anthropology, history.  These are areas of scholarship that continue to interest me.  To speculate on any of these subjects is what engages the imagination for me.  Coming at it from another way, writing genre novels is a reaching back to the reading that I enjoyed so much when I was younger and inspired me to think I could be a writer, a time of innocence that existed before I stepped into the world of serious literature.

Q:  Now that you are heavily committed to novel pursuits, have you put aside writing poetry for the time being?  Or for good?

A:  Yes, for the good of poetry, I should actually stop, but no, that obsession continues unabated.  And it’s not like I put on a different hat when I sit down to do one or the other.   To paraphrase Philip Whalen, it is something I do all day, every day.  I give the novels the same attention and concentration I give to my poetry.  And the fact that I am primarily a poet simply means that I bring a peculiar sense of language to the table.  These novels might easily be considered very long prose poems, poems on an epic scale.

Based on an interview conducted by Suzanne Lang for A Novel Idea aired on KRCB FM (Rohnert Park, CA) February 13th, 2013; edited, condensed, with material added for continuity and coherence.