Back in the fall of 2000 we invited nine poets to "read through" their relationship to a modernist poet. They talked and read their own and that modernist's poems. Each presented for 20 minutes. We recorded the events (three nights) and made audio recordings available (then in RealAudio format). In the past few months one of our digital editors, the masterful Mike Van Helder, organized all this material, converted the streaming RealAudio files into downloadable mp3s, made the links really easy to use, and copied the poem files onto the PennSound author page of each of the nine poets.The newly designed "Nine Poets Read Themselves through Modernism" page is here: LINK
Lyn Hejinian on Stein
Ron Silliman on Williams
Joan Retallack on Stein, Wittgenstein and Cage
Charles Bernstein on Benjamin
Rachel Blau DuPlessis on Woolf
Erica Hunt on Beckett and Baldwin
Jena Osman on Reznikoff
Bob Perelman on Zukofsky
Rae Armantrout on Dickinson
The idea for the project was Bob Perelman's. Kerry Sherin Wright and I hosted and introduced.
"I teach horizontally, meaning that while I might begin with a fixed idea of what I'm going to teach that day, I let it drift rhizomatically way off topic, often pulling it back when it gets too far. I rely on non-fixed materials to teach this way; the whole world is at my fingertips. Should I go off on a tangent about John and Rauschenberg and their love relationship as expressed in Rauschenberg's bed, an image of that bed is always a click away. From there, we can head anywhere into the non-fixed universe, be it film, text or sound. And of course, that always takes us elsewhere. As Cage says, 'We are getting nowhere fast.'" 
that anyone has yet got the imaginative measure of that terrifying day six years ago. Certainly our Tolstoy has not crawled out of the rubble. The closest we have, Don DeLillo, succeeded as an essayist-journalist ("In the Ruins of the Future: Reflections on Terror and Loss in the Shadow of September,” Harper’s, December 2001) but, to my mind, failed as a novelist ("Falling Man"). One reason, perhaps, is that the remembered emotion was instantly buried under a pile of cultural junk.' - Tod Gitlin in his review of Susan Faludi's The Terror Dream (written for 
