In Yiddish, khurbn is the word for 'total destruction, ' the word for what the English-speaking world calls the Jewish 'Holocaust' of World War II. This is the author's precisely personal, horrifying, tender, and structurally astute masterpiece, it is the great middle-length poem of our times.

A collection of poetry which contains the title poem, a celebration of poets and friends, and four other sections--Improvisations, Twentieth Century Unlimited, An Oracle for Delfi, and 14 Stations.

Vienna Blood & Other Poems is in some ways the most synthesizing of Jerome Rothenberg's recent collections, pulling together work from the 1970s that stands apart from Poland/1931 (1974) and A Seneca Journal (1978) yet at the same time continuing the enactment of past and present begun in those books. But where before he chose to restrict his exploration to ancestral Jewish and Amerindian poetries, Rothenberg now takes us on a series of broader journeys through the collapsed landscape of what he calls the 'new wilderness," evoked as place, as structure, as mind. Written both to be read quietly on the printed page and aloud in performance, the poems in Vienna Blood, though experimental and language-centered, are nevertheless the work of a poet who, by his own admission, is "crazy for content, make no mistake about it." As if to underscore this point, he has appended brief comments to most of the major sections of the book, in order, as he says, "to give it some context in the way of 'oral tradition' usually reserved for poetry readings, etc., a little of which I now commit to writing."

Jerome Rothenberg's Poland /1931, a continuing series of ancestral poems, has been appearing in installments over the course of five years, published in limited edition by various small presses.

A Paradise of Poets is Jerome Rothenberg's tenth book of poetry to be published by New Directions, beginning with his Poland/1931(1974). In considering the title of his newest collection, he says: "Writing poetry for me has always included an involvement with the life of poetry--& through that life an intensification, when it happened, of my involvement with the other life around me. In an earlier poem I spoke of this creating a paradise of poets ... I do not of course believe that such a paradise exists in any supernatural or mystical sense, but I have sometimes felt it come to life among my fellow poets and, even more, in writing--in the body of the poem." In Rothenberg's hands, the body of the poem is an extraordinarily malleable object. Collage, translation, even visual improvisation serve to open up his latest book to the presence of poets and artists he has known and to others, past and present, who he feels have somehow touched him, among them Nakahara Chuya, Jackson Mac Low, Pablo Picasso, Leonardo da Vinci, Federico Garcia Lorca, Kurt Schwitters, and Vitezslav Nezval. Kenneth Rexroth once commented: "Jerome Rothenberg is one of our truly great American poets who has returned U.S. poetry to the mainstream of international modern literature. No one has dug deeper into the roots of poetry." With A Paradise of Poets, it is clear that this evaluation is as fresh today as it was twenty-five years ago.

The key book by the internationally celebrated poet with the only Polish ghetto-hassidic-cowboy and Indian American comic voice (Robert Duncan) in history.

"I look for new forms and possibilities," writes Jerome Rothenberg in Poems for the Game of Silence, "but also for ways of presenting in my own language the oldest possibilities of poetry going back to the primitive and archaic cultures that have been opening up to us over the last hundred years." It is this combined sense of mystery and authenticity, in words and new structures that approach archetypal chant, that informs his poetry. First published in 1971, this volume brings together a selection of Rothenberg's early groundbreaking work: a wide range of experimental forms, both written and oral, set beside renderings of Native American, Australian, and other primitive songs, as well as the ancestral poems exploring his own origins that look forward to his later poetry.

Begins a series presenting collections of survey articles pivoting around the notion of computation. The inaugural topics include generalized rational approximation subject to linear constraints, matrix exponential approximations in the numerical solution of differential equations, unbounded fan-in circuits, and fixpoint semantics for a Petri net model of definite clause logic programs. Each article is self-contained and all assume a high sophistication in mathematics. Future volumes may focus on a special subfield such as computational graph theory, approximation, or computability. Annotation copyright by Book News, Inc., Portland, OR

Gary Snyder's second collection, Myths & Texts, was originally published in 1960 by Totem Press. It is now reissued by New Directions in this completely revised format, with an introduction by the author.

Only a pataphysician nurtured lovingly on surrealist excess could have come up with The Blue Flowers, Queneau's 1964 novel. At his death in 1976, Raymond Queneau was one of France's most eminent men of letters––novelist, poet, essayist, editor, scientist, mathematician, and, more to the point, pataphysician. And only a pataphysician nurtured lovingly on surrealist excess could have come up with The Blue Flowers, Queneau's 1964 novel, now reissued as a New Directions Paperbook. To a pataphysician all things are equal, there is no improvement or progress in the human condition, and a "message" is an invention of the benighted reader, certainly not the author or his perplexing creations––the sweet, fennel-drinking Cidrolin and the rampaging Duke d'Auge. History is mostly what the duke rampages through––700 years of it at 175-year clips. He refuses to crusade, clobbers his king with the "in" toy of 1439––the cannon––dabbles in alchemy, and decides that those musty caves down at Altamira need a bit of sprucing up. Meanwhile, Cidrolin in the 1960s lolls on his barge moored along the Seine, sips essence of fennel, and ineffectually tries to catch the graffitist who nightly defiles his fence. But mostly he naps. Is it just a coincidence that the duke appears only when Cidrolin is dozing? And vice versa? In the tradition of Villon and Céline, Queneau attempted to bring the language of the French streets into common literary usage, and his mad word-plays, bad puns, bawdy jokes, and anachronistic wackiness have been kept amazingly and glitteringly intact by the incomparable translator Barbara Wright.