by Phil Cohen, PM Press.

Reviewed by A. Iwasa

Archivist and memoirist, Phil Cohen, who had been active in the London underground scene from 1965-’78 examines what it even means to be an archivist, and the importance of intention when recording the past so its lessons are accessible to future generations.  Cohen was not professionally trained as an archivist or a historian, which makes these lessons so much more valuable:  they were learned doing the work.

Cohen diligently end noted sources so you can follow up on the various threads of debate on issues regarding the larger questions of subjects from traditional archiving’s defenders and opponents.

Cohen was trained as an anthropologist, which he acknowledges had its downsides, but at least fieldwork was present tense and gave him insight into what people remember, a form of archiving in and of itself.

Coming out in 2018, all of these debates have the extra layers of digital culture and the alt-right, and the acknowledgement that archiving takes resources and to avoid making it activism.

Cohen also goes back to previous generations of radicals like Antonio Gramsci and Guild Socialists, and looks to the past lessons they could act on like moots, debate assemblies from mediaeval times really bringing to life the intergenerational dialectic.

A little humor also sneaks in early when Cohen quotes a primary school student who thinks Noah’s Ark was an archive.  But he doesn’t leave it nestled between dictionary definitions and Adorno and Foucault quotes, Cohen goes on to draw the parallels between an ark and an archive before starting to delve in depth to the pros and cons of archiving.  By cons I mean he doesn’t shy away from some of the worst examples such as a British colonial archive in Hanslope Park which had been kept secret because of the brutal acts it recorded.

Again and again theoretical questions about neutrality and archiving to resist change are interwoven with the practical applications with concrete examples like the Benjamin’s Arcades Project, archiving 19th century Paris, or the opening of the East German secret police, Stasi, archives.

I’m not sure if it’s meant to be funny, but writing about the risk of an archive “becoming a prop in the psychodrama of the collector’s secret passion” was a little too easy for me to relate to.  A similar barb about some 1960s memoirs as “a never-coming-of-age story” as Cohen steers the discussion towards counter culture along with many others had me cackling like a mad man, at myself as much as anything else, through much of the text.  To be clear, this isn’t pure fawning about the past.  Cohen is willing to question if it’s relevant now, even as just a cautionary tale.

Questions about navigating the tension between radical Leftism and the counter culture are explored, with Cohen essentially having had feet in both worlds as a squatter.  He even excerpts from a novel about a squat called 144 Piccadilly!  Cohen also archived mainstream and tabloid coverage of the squats, and made a point of displaying it at a space called May Day Rooms rather than a more conventional venue as to keep it in the broader context of 1960s radicalism.

Cohen questions if the Left even has a future, as he tries to situate the questions left over from the 1960s to this day, before writing about oral traditions and burying or burning possessions instead of archiving or distributing them, and different ways of dealing with the emotions connected to death.

Cohen is on rapid fire going from concept to concept, but it’s methodical.  Ways of interpreting history are examined next.  Is it an inheritance?  A progression?  In turn, the industries that emerge around all these things from nostalgia to bereavement are also mentioned, systematically looking at things from the conventional, Left or Right, and various factions within.

In fact, here I want to change gears a bit as a reviewer, since this is the sort of text, dense in a good way with at least one noteworthy things consistently in every paragraph.  As an ex-participant in the Infoshop Movement, still experimenting with collective living, I think this book should be recommended reading for everyone involved in a radical library or bookstore, and every radical librarian, museum and bookstore worker trying to figure out how to make their volunteer spaces or workplaces relevant to social change.

It’s not that I think Cohen answers all the big questions of building and maintaining a worthwhile archive, I do think he’s asking the questions in a more comprehensive way than I’ve seen elsewhere.  This can easily serve as the basis for an ongoing conversation with plenty of suggestions of other things to read and watch to advance this dialogue.

Plus aside from the meticulous end noting, frequently with multiple sources cited, there’s a hefty further reading list for those who really want to get into it.

Also, this text is fairly short, but I still ended up taking three different sets of notes.  One for this review, another to read list, then a set of notes for my own wingnut obsessions I don’t feel like writing about here.  I find that remarkable! 

Perhaps most importantly, to be clear, Cohen was a participant in the New Left era still writing in 2018 so I don’t think I can emphasize enough the value in such a long view of both struggling for social change, and how to archive that history in a meaningful way.  As Cohen writes in the text, “Manifestos have only tried to change the world; the task for the Living Archivist is to interpret them, to provide the resources which will help us decide if they are genuinely performative or merely acts of wish fulfilment.”

For those who didn’t catch the reference, Cohen was essentially doing a Marxist headstand, which I think was spot on.  For every Old and New Left barb or twist that I caught, I’m sure there was another that I missed because I’m not English and was born in 1980.

But that’s part of the genius of this book.  I think that and other such lines are a perfect use of Marxian dialectics as a tool to understand how archives can be build, radical and relevant, rather than simply looking at the Old and New Lefts with religious reverence alone.

I think this is the clincher:  if the Old and New Lefts were all that, we’d be living in some sort of Socialist Utopia right now, rather than the fast track for Dystopian Nightmares that would make Orwell and company spin in their graves.  But if we look soberly and systematically at the Old and New Left’s triumphs and defeats, alongside other sources maybe was can get it right rather than just looking cool as we go flying over a cliff.

Cohen’s book strikes me as nothing short of one account of a Love affair with practical knowledge.  Anarchival, to use his word!

For more info, please check:  https://philcohenworks.com/

Welcome to a fresh month of Synchronized Chaos!

First of all, Synchronized Chaos stands with all those affected by the recent earthquakes in Turkiye and Syria. We encourage all who are able to contribute to the relief efforts, which you may do through the Red Crescent or other worthy organizations.

There is a virtual literary benefit reading hosted through Words Without Borders on Thursday March 9th at 1pm EST.

This online fundraiser with contemporary international authors and translators aims to raise funds to aid relief efforts and demonstrate solidarity with the Syrian, Turkish, and Kurdish people affected by the disaster.

Organized by Words Without Borders and hosted by author Merve Emre (writer and scholar, Turkey/USA), the fundraiser will feature Laila Lalami (novelist and essayist, Morocco/USA), Orhan Pamuk (novelist and essayist, Turkey), Maureen Freely (translator from Turkish, USA), Sema Kaygusuz (novelist and playwright, Turkey), Nick Glastonbury (translator from Turkish and Kurdish, USA), Elif Shafak (novelist and essayist, Turkey/UK), Bachtyar Ali (novelist, Iraq), Kareem Abdulrahman (translator from Kurdish, UK), and others to be confirmed.

Please join us online (Zoom) on Thursday, March 9th, at 1 pm/New York, 6 pm/London, 8 pm/Gaziantep & Aleppo.

Also, please come out to Synchronized Chaos Magazine’s in-person event, held during the Association of Writing Programs’ conference, Thursday March 9th at 6pm at Ada’s Technical Books in Seattle.

During the pandemic many of us came to miss browsing in bookstores and libraries. The experience of scanning and flipping through books that we wouldn’t ordinarily order for ourselves, but which catch our eye and we find ourselves fingering, flipping, reading, and then checking out and buying.

This reading creates an ‘audible browsing’ experience by presenting readers who are published authors in a variety of genres. This includes mystery, romance, poetry, memoir, drama, literary and international fiction.

Also, our friend and collaborator Rui Carvalho reminds us about our Nature Writing Contest for 2022.

This is an invitation to submit poems and short stories related to trees, water, and nature conservation between now and the April 1st, 2023 deadline. More information and submission instructions here.

In this issue we see pieces where people grapple with their self-concepts. Some people search their souls for deeper understanding, others focus entirely outside themselves, and still others process their thoughts and emotions through interacting with the outside world.

Chimezie Ihekuna kicks us off with song lyrics about claiming one’s selfhood and confidence.

In Brian Michael Barbeito’s lush, detailed poems, narrators lose themselves within elemental wildness. He also contributes immersive photographs that aim to capture the spirit and feel of locales, focusing on the observed and hiding the observer.

Bill Tope’s prose poem also takes readers up and out of themselves and out into a richly imagined nostalgic fishing trip with his grandmother.

Channie Greenberg’s artistic renderings of flowers capture their exuberance, in work that takes a turn towards abstract expression. Claudio Parentela highlights the details of slightly comedic scenes through color and black and white renditions.

Mesfakus Salahin evokes a love that pulls the speaker out of his own life into union with nature and his beloved.

Sandro Piedrahita’s story explores how one might atone for a heinous crime, through shifting one’s focus away from selfishness towards humble service to others for its own sake.

Sayani Mukherjee’s poem describes an intense spiritual quest and how her faith survives her search and questioning.

Z.I. Mahmud’s essay highlights the role of philosophers who were both spiritual mystics and humanists in shaping Indian culture. They were able to both address and transcend the human condition.

Gail Thomas highlights how various iconic songs have helped her to process her grief, explaining how music can be at once personal and universal. J.J. Campbell, a writer and caregiver, speaks to many universal human griefs and emotions: loneliness, lost love, aging, and tradition.

Doug Hawley handles common human experiences – surviving the natural elements, braving the dating world, aging and illness – through humor. Noah Berlatsky spoofs self-help culture through an elaborately constructed re-envisioning of Jordan Peterson’s advice to men.

L. Wayne Russell speaks of pursuing and finding art and inspiration above all else, whatever his human circumstances.

Daniel De Culla sends up a fanciful poem about shapeshifting: a poet with a hat that changes into a whimsical pumpkin.

Mark Young cleverly amuses us with “mail deliveries” that involve linguistic wordplay while Grant Guy breaks poetry down into its essential elements to explore what those elements are.

Vernon Frazer connects a lot of words and ideas together to experiment with meaning and thought. J.D. Nelson invites us to experience words and punctuation in fragments and ponder their possible meanings.

J.K. Durick evokes how life’s experiences can play with our senses of time and space.

John Grey creates humorous character sketches of people and relationships with generosity of spirit.

John Culp conveys the joy of reaching full intellectual and emotional understanding with another person, being fully and mutually seen and heard without either person having to lose themselves in the relationship.

Itzel Perez-Alarcon points out how the childish games that people play with each other can recall memories that undermine our sense of self.

Bilatu Abdullahi renders the loneliness, rage and grief of a spurned lover, who could be a person, a country, or the earth itself. Maurizio Brancaleoni speculates on whether humanity will be able to do enough to ameliorate the destruction of endangered species and disempowered humans.

Mahbub laments the natural and human tragedies of our current world, but then points to our heritage of honoring love between people to suggest that we may yet make it forward.

Christopher Bernard remembers his partner of many years through an elegant meditation on an empty table setting. Emina Delilovic-Kevric speaks to family love that perseveres after wartime, even in the face of losses.

In his thoughtful poem, Faroq Faisal quickly reminds us that we are mortal.

Some contributors take the focus off of themselves by writing about a highly researched topic.

Terry Trowbridge stares intently at a single jalapeno, discovering the mysteries of the universe in a pepper. Corey Cook highlights one intense image, of a tiny bird or a candle flame, and calls us to leave our own psyches and meditate on that.

Russell Streur explores the intimate relationship between poetry and pottery in Japan a few centuries in the past.

Masharipova Bakhor Ixtiyor provides an overview of the bakery products of Uzbekistan, while Kojamuratova Aygul urges Uzbekistan’s criminal justice system to distinguish between one-time and repeat offenders for public safety.

Taylor Dibbert’s poetic speaker steps beyond his own psyche in a simpler way: love and gratitude for his faithful dog.

We hope you enjoy this issue’s depth, joy, grief, thought, and nuance.

Shakhimardan Creeks

 This beautiful, peaceful place, called the Switzerland of Uzbekistan, is located in Fergana district, Fergana region.  I live here now.  Fresh air, tall and majestic mountains like the sky, streams flowing as clear as the sky, white clouds floating over your head, in a word, a real work of art.  A real view of nature that has not yet been touched by human hands.  If I talk about people, they are very polite, kind, hospitable and sincere people.  Let’s not forget a very big definition, the people of Shakhimardan are real hardworking people.

    Cozy houses have been built in the lap of the high mountains.  These houses are not luxurious, but they are houses with a different kind of love.  Apples are ripe right now.  It is obvious only to the person who eats how sweet and beautiful apples ripened in this fresh air.  Shakhimardon is a real jewel of Uzbekistan.  It’s hard to reach a destination.  The reason is that it is possible to enter the territory of Uzbekistan after passing through the territory of neighboring Kyrgyzstan.Two streams flow through this village.  One is AKSOY and one is KOKSOY.  It’s the same as a twin, but one is white water and the other is dark blue water.  Look what a miracle.  The water flow is also great.  Hitting from stone to stone, it fascinates with its noise.  If you drink it, it is healing, if you wash your face, it is healing. 

Regardless of the season of the year, the temperature of the water in the stream is the same as the melting of the ice.  In fact, this is how the snow in the mountains of Shakhimardan melts and turns into a stream.  The same snow water but two different colors in two streams.  This is a masterful line of nature.  Bathing in the water of this stream even in the hottest part of summer is a real feat.  Ice cold water freezes your body in one go.  You can have a good time on the banks of the river.  I saw a lot of guests and tourists who appreciated their lives.  You will not be able to fall in love with the sound of the river. 

Everyone who comes to Shakhimardan will not leave without seeing the Blue Lake.  This is also a real miracle.  After climbing a few passes and crossing many roads, one can see the real beauty.  This lake is surrounded by mountains on all four sides.  It surrounds the lake like a guard that can protect it.  This point helps to forget even the highest fatigue of a person in one pass.  Neither sorrow nor sadness comes to mind in front of this beauty.  Just enjoy watching. Places where your heart rests and your soul rests.  The coolness that hits your face while sailing on the ships is relaxing.  You will be relieved by shouting out loud. 

The sound of your pounding from mountain to mountain echoes very loudly. I already liked this village.  There is no desire to leave, no opportunity to stay.  The field of herbs here is useful herbs, and the meat of the sheep and lambs that eat them is as tasty as herbs.  Fresh air is a cure, water is a cure, herbs are a cure, like a hospital where there is only cure for a person, but the doctor is nature.  If you hug the trees, they won’t fit in your arms.  Strong trees, as tall as the sky.  Finally tall trees.  Fruit trees are also tall.  The soil is stony, but only rural farmers know how to grow crops.

Travel gives knowledge to a person.  I became aware of our distant history from here.  Several centuries ago, women covered their faces with burqas.  At the time of transition from era to era, Hamza Khakimzada Niyazi came to the village of Shakhimardan and told women to throw away the burqa covering their faces on March 8.  It empowers women that women also have the right to live freely.  13 women throw this Paranji in Shakhimardon and many events take place on that day.  Some of the women are killed by their own husbands.  There is a museum called Niyazi in Hamza Khakimza, which talks about this.  This man has done many great things in our history.  He opened schools to teach children to read and write.  He also made a great contribution to Uzbek art.  He taught women about freedom and that they too are human. 

But it is a pity that this great man’s life ended in the village of Shakhimardan.  The representative of our great history, who came here to share knowledge and enlightenment, was thrown into the precipice lying in the majestic mountains of Shakhimardan by a storm of stones saying, “He is leading our women astray and showing them a bad path.”  will do.  Shakhimardan is the place where historical Hamza Khakimzoda Niazi reached and ended.  Of course, this was several centuries ago.  It is a historical, beautiful and healing village. 

There is a place called Archa Mountain.  You will go out towards the top of a high mountain, you will be accompanied by firs, in front of tall firs, a person will become a small creature.  At every step, springs and flowers offer themselves to you.  There are many very useful products.  Cumin, cumin, deer grass, that’s all I know.  But real Shakhimardan adds 10, 15 to it.  The chill of summer is also wonderful.  In the morning, the sun shines, and in the afternoon, a dark cloud comes and suddenly it rains and rains.  It is interesting that the snow on the top of the mountain does not melt in winter and summer.  We used to sing this song when I was young.  He said, “The snow does not melt in the mountains of Shakhimardan. If I call him from behind, he will not look.”  Many years later, I live in the village where these songs were sung. Even if I leave here, I will still miss the village of Shakhimardan for many years…

red bull for dinner

prawn
pawn
peon


---


duck, duck, goose

wetlands
in my head


---


with me

is the dollar sign
scrambled, or


---


lake or blake

why can’t I be the borrowed
crumbs now?


---


gumbywood

eye / pro
you’ve


---


bio/graf

J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poems have appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of ten chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *Cinderella City* (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Nelson’s first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA.

Bare life

During the period of the spring German rains
My son and I are making a globe of cardboard  boxes
Today we have made a big one
We wrapped it with collage paper
And placed it in the middle of the studio apartment where we have lived
Mum, where is Dad, he asked 
Before I glued the last
Cut colours of the Balkan.


The vignette 

Dismembered atoms of my good husband 
Will never have a chance to be the perfect father.
Unlike me
And my atoms which even dismembered don't abandon this skin. 
In our studio apartment there is no single picture of a prevoius life
We only found pictures of grey autumn mountains in this residence
My son and I are like the walking vignettes among them
That boy Alfonse, is playing Nintendo with his father
We can hear them talking loudly and laughing
But, we comprehend only that they are laughing
Mum, why are those people laughing so loudly?
They are out of silence.
What if we borrow them?  
The white clouds

I wake up with the scent of the women
Who abandoned their homes
On the thresholds they left the traces of their blood
All clothes from their children, memories on their first cry
While the sounds of the Muslim's call to prayer and church bells echoed in the background
My body is filled with memories
While the children's heads are being lost in the high grass
Of the uncut graves
This is the place where my brother fell for the first time
This is the place where my father's soul moved to the better place
At one time this was her house, says my husband while staring 
At the debris I am drawing on a sheet of paper in the refugee camp
Draw the white clouds where your memories live
Says the life teacher


Emina Đelilović-Kevrić (Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina) After studying  the b/h/s (bosnian/croatian/serbian) language and literature at the Philoshopical Faculty in Zenica she got her master's degree on the subject „Memory construction in the South Slavic interlinear community: typical models of the war camp experience in literature“.  She is the author of the poetry collection „ This time without history“ and the short stories collection „ Erased lives“.  Her collection of poems „ My son and I“  is awarded by the  Publishing Foundation of Bosnia and Herzegovina in 2021. In 2022 she won the second place in the international literature competition „ Isnam Taljić“. She is the winner of the second award for the best short story of the regional literature competition "Zija Dizdarević“  2022, and she won the first place on international literature competition „Nastavi priču“. 2023. she won a third place on international poetry competition „Ossi di Seppia“ Italy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
naked and smiling at me
 
back are the days
of sitting in waiting
rooms and dreaming
of the hot blonde
receptionist being
naked and smiling
at me
 
this is the normal
of a few years ago
 
hopefully, the poems
won't be far behind
--------------------------------------------------
old traditions should be let go
 
the fucking groundhog
said there would be
six more weeks of
winter
 
less than two weeks
later and it will be
seventy degrees
tomorrow
 
i think there always
comes a time when
old traditions should
be let go
 
i'd much rather lean
on science than shadows
 
and people dressed like
it is still the 1800's
---------------------------------------------------
fish tank
 
staring at a fish tank
in the waiting room
of a dentist office
 
it nearly takes up
the entire wall
 
i guess a portion of
what my mother will
be paying today will
go to food for the fish
 
or maybe one of those
plastic castles from
some pirate adventure
------------------------------------------------------
safe to assume
 
heard from
an old lover
last night
 
she responded
to a message
i sent her
a year ago
 
i guess it is
safe to assume
she isn't missing
me that much
at all
 
of course,
i responded
immediately
-----------------------------------------------------
new enemies
 
old friends often
becomes new enemies
in this crazy world
 
lack of communication
or greed or just good ole
time can do such things
 
i quit trying to hold on
years ago now
 
i never was any good at
making friends
 
and that certainly hasn't
got much better with age
 
so fuck it
 
live and let live
 
we all end up in
the same place

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know where all the bodies are buried. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Yellow Mama and Terror House Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Human Life

Human life is epic, 
Every event that happens in life is a reservoir of poetry.  
Life is like a single candle, 
You never know when it will go out.  
One day you have to leave like the selfish.