Dani Spinosa and Derek Beaulieu : Notes on Visual Poetries in Canada

 

 

 

 

Derek: I think it’s worth noting, briefly, to start, that it seems to me that within Canada - historically and in the present day - the term “Concrete poetry” has remained the favoured term over the more internationally-prevalent “Visual Poetry.” Maybe because of historically important figures looming over our poetics, or perhaps it’s because of a relative isolation from European trends … but one way or the other, i tend to lean into “Concrete Poetry”, a term which, i feel, connects me to a dialogue with my poetic elders.

Perhaps the contemporary use of that term is due to the fact that many of the poetic elders within Canada are still with us, still creating, and still inspiring.

Dani: Yeah, that’s interesting! I definitely feel like across Canada we used the term “Concrete” longer and more broadly than in many other places, perhaps especially in more academic circles. I am thinking especially of the 2018 Kanada Koncrete conference in Ottawa that we both attended. But, I do think that as our field explodes into more various forms, formats, and voices (and as the looming presence of those “historically important figures” you point to recedes slightly), I am seeing more and more use of the terms “Visual Poetry” and “Vispo.” I am very curious about where you draw the lines between (and/or around) those categories.

Derek: I don’t know that my categorical lines are particularly clear or concise, but i tend to think that letterform/typographically informed work (that may, say, work in the vein of gomringer, de campos, nichol, etc.) is “concrete” while work that includes drawing, collage, photography moves towards “visual poetry” (as a term “vispo” tends to give me hives ;) ) but i still think of all of “this” work produced in Canada as “concrete” (i interviewed Darren Wershler ages back on this, and i think he fell in the same general thinking). But these are more personal categories than academically supported differentiations. Do you think that “concrete” still serves?

All of that said, to me what is really inherently involved in concrete poetry in Canada is supportive small press activity, and on-going engagement and support of poetic precedent (like keeping Eric Schmaltz editing Judith Copithorne’s Another Order: Selected Works, or bill bissett’s breth / th treez of lunaria: seektid rare n nu pomes n drawings 1957-2019 or my co-editing of volumes by bpnichol, John Riddell, and bill bissett) which has allowed for poets to have both mentorship and space to explore.

Dani: Yes, there certainly is a lot of looking back to look forward in the world of Canadian visual poetry, owing a little to how rich the history has been and a little, I think, to how separate we are geographically and so find a closeness in conversation. I am often struck by non-Canadians who enjoy visual poetries of all kinds who say things like “You are so lucky, there is so much good/interesting/varied visual poetry coming out of Canada.” And I guess I did not realize how unique that was, globally, to be a part of such a rich conversation. But we do indeed have a rich history of this kind of visually experimental work across this country, and it’s been marked by a great, punky DIY attitude. I have been thinking about this as we started putting this conversation together and then was struck by this passage from an email in my inbox from jwcurry publicizing the launch of LMNTS: fractionating 6 decades of canadian extralinearature (2025):

Canada is a peculiarly rich country in terms of its proclivities toward contrariness. in literature/writing in particular, there exists a massive body of work that goes "beyond the standard" in terms of the forms of its delivery. from the mid-196os onward, sound, concrete & visual poetries, nonlinear narratives, lettriste graphics, paintings & collage, & other forms of language given multidimensional forms begin to proliferate. despite the paucity of potential for publication, sheer determination has insisted a most fulsome body of work accrued over the decades that is all but unknown, given presence more often than not by those producing it: far from getting paid advances for their work, these were those having to pay for the privilege of doing the work & getting it out there in the first place.

I love this idea that the field (I hesitate to say “industry” but also dislike “field” for its academic-ness) is marked by its “sheer determination” and that against all odds, it keeps proliferating and growing and evolving and being truly delightful in the process.

Derek: That “great, punky, DIY” attitude - I don’t know if this is artistically in response to the long shadow that the US casts over Canadian culture and arts, or if it’s a remnant of 1960s/70s (say 1967 - 1976) governmental artistic funding and the long echo of how that funding - which brought small presses and magazines to the fore - continues through the students and “grand-students” of the folks who benefitted from that largesse … but i agree with you, there is an ongoing proliferation of concrete/visual poetry. I’ve rarely found magazines or journals who are averse to publishing concrete, and many presses are open as well - it feels fully a part of the poetic conversation, even if rarely seen for larger prizes, reviews, etc. Where, and from whom, do you draw inspiration?

Dani: I absolutely love the idea that the nationalistic impetus that pushed for all that government arts funding has had this, as you say, “long echo” of small press engagement. I hope that we have the sense to continue (increase???) funding for these types of activities. I suppose one might suspect that more government funding for the arts would produce more, say, nationalistic, traditional, and perhaps conservative publications, but that has absolutely not been the case. We have seen a real eruption of the experimental, the radical, and the unabashedly political throughout small press of all kinds but perhaps especially in the visually experimental. And I have seen the same thing you’re seeing; that concrete/visual works are a part of the poetic conversation and published in journals/presses/venues that are not specifically visual or even experimental all the time. One of my very first visual poems that I published in a journal was published in Canadian Literature of all places! I draw inspiration from, gosh, everything. Right now, I am particularly inspired by, rereading, and loving Robin Richardson’s Try Not to Get Too Attached (Book*hug, 2019) which I think is so brilliant. What about you? Where is your inspiration coming from lately?

Derek: I have been following my reading for the most part these days – (re)discovering older voices and some of the nooks and crannies that i had forgotten or not known but also enjoying the work of “newer” poets like Kevin Stebner, Astra Papachristodoulou (UK). So that, but also a lot of comics (particularly 1950s Uncle Scrooge), oh and the work of Douglas Kearney (US). My reading and writing are pretty entwined, and I am between writing projects and so am mostly returning to the loam, the fertilizer, as I await another crop to break through the soil.

To return to the venues for concrete and visual poetry in Canada for a moment though; while i have found that journals, magazines and small presses - whether that be micropress or smaller independent presses - are for the most part open to concrete and visual work, Canadian prize culture has not been. I think that the only time that a book of concrete poetry won the Governor-General’s Award, for instance, was in 1970 with bpNichol. And even then, he won for 4 small press books (the last time any small press book received that award), one of which was The Cosmic Chef Glee & Perloo Memorial Society Under the Direction of Captain Poetry Presents: An Evening of Concrete which was an anthology which he edited. So perhaps because concrete in Canada has worked below the radar of what Charles Bernstein would call “official verse culture” there has been a freedom to play and explore.

Dani: Absolutely true. The larger prizes do typically favour lyric, narrative, free verse, text-based poetry. Even the smaller prizes, like the bpNichol Chapbook Award (administered by Meet the Presses) is not often awarded to a visual poet, though some recent winning chapbooks are quite visual (if not purely “visual poetry). I am thinking here especially of Matthew James Weigel’s really excellent It Was Treaty/It Was Me (published by Vallum) which won the award in 2021, which is not fully “vispo” but is very much visually innovative. It’s worth noting that the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia recently instituted (in 2023) the very cool Ellemeno Visual Literature Prize which describes itself as “an annual celebration of creative cross-pollination between the literary arts and the visual arts” and which promises to continue celebrating visual works of all kinds!

Derek: If the prizes focus on lyric and narrative work, in what ways could visual poets look to understand the impact or success of their work? What makes a “successful” concrete / visual poem?

Dani: I think the answer that visual poetries have chosen in Canada is to turn to other, more community-based or practice-driven metrics to understand the impact or “success” of our work. We know that experimental and visual work is never going to get the same kind of mainstream, institutional validation, or even financial viability of other genres/forms. So, success in visual and concrete poetry often comes from resonance within small press communities, invitations to exhibit or publish, peer recognition, and audience engagement, that sort of thing. I feel like I’m always quoting that Billy Collins quip that “the trouble with poetry is / that it encourages the writing of more poetry” and I think that is the biggest metric by which we can understand success in terms of visual poetries in Canada; how does it continue to encourage more (and more varied) visual work? That and, like, can you make enough money selling that chap or collecting donations at a reading to write another chapbook.

There are also a number of excellent medium-sized presses publishing visual poetries collections that will always be benchmarks for impactful, engaging visual works here in Canada: Coach House Books, Book*hug, House of Anansi, Invisible Publishing, Talonbooks, and Assembly Press to name a few. The venues for publishing this kind of work seem to be multiplying! Why do you think that is? What’s been changing that makes publishing a visual/concrete collection more possible (publishable? sellable?) than it was before? Or am I thinking too wishfully here?

Derek: Historically it seems that concrete and visual poetry in Canada was limited to a few presses: Coach House Press, Talonbooks, Underwhich Editions, The Mercury Press, Longspoon, alongside micro-press publishers like grOnk, 1cent, etc. I don’t know that the proliferation of presses open to this of work has increased due to financial reasons (that is, I don't think books are selling better than they did). But I do suspect that many of the presses that you listed are now edited by folks who grew up and became authors because of the early publishing efforts of the historical presses. Due to the publishing records of the 1960s, 70s, 80s, and the adventuresome work that readers could find, today’s publishers entered the field with a much broader view of what poetry could be – and we now see that reflected in the publishing mandates of an increasing number of presses.

Dani: It’s me, so obviously I’m going to end up asking this question, but I’m curious how you see digital technologies playing in this shift. Do you think the increased openness to visual poetries in Canada is also tied to how digital tools (things like design software, social media, even digital publishing platforms) have made it easier (and maybe more enticing?) to work visually? Are we entering a new era of digital-concrete hybridity?

Derek: That is such a great question. I do think that the way people read has changed: digital tools, phones, tablets, etc. - and that is generating a new awareness / openness for multigenre writing, for typographically driven work, for visual poetry … and that offers new spaces and audiences for poets to explore. Yeah!

Dani: Absolutely! And maybe that’s where we can end; with this sense of continued and expanding possibility. Canadian visual and concrete poetry has always thrived at the edges, and the proliferation of digital tools, small/indie presses, and cross-disciplinary experimentation means those edges are only getting wider and more porous. If, as we’ve kind of been suggesting throughout this, visual poetry in Canada has been shaped by a spirit of contrariness, community, and DIY determination, then the current moment feels like an invitation to carry that legacy forward with new tools, new voices, and new readers ready to engage.

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Dani Spinosa is a poet, scholar, educator, writer, and a trained full-stack developer. She is an adjunct professor, a software developer at Hatch Coding, a digital and creative project manager, a co-founding editor of Gap Riot Press, President of the feminist literary journal, Canthius, the Managing Editor of the Electronic Literature Directory, and the author of two books: OO: Typewriter Poems (Invisible Publishing, 2020) and Anarchists in the Academy (U of Alberta Press, 2018). She has published several chapbooks of poetry and several more peer-reviewed journal articles on poetry. She lives in beautiful Wasaga Beach, Ontario. 

Dr. Derek Beaulieu is the author/editor of over twenty-five collections of poetry, prose, and criticism. His most recent volume of poetry, Surface Tension, was published by Toronto’s Coach House Books and his Do It Wrong is forthcoming from Assembly Press (2026). Beaulieu has received the Queen Elizabeth II Platinum Jubilee Medal for his dedication to Albertan literature. He is the only graduate from the University of Calgary’s Department of English to receive the Faculty of Arts ‘Celebrated Alumni Award’ and the only graduate in creative writing to receive Roehampton University’s Chancellor’s Alumni Award. Beaulieu has served as Poet Laureate of both Calgary and Banff and is the Director of Literary Arts at Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity.

 

Astra Papachristodoulou : SQUARE IN SHAPE BUT NOT IN FORM

Derek Beaulieu, Surface Tension, Coach House Books, $23.95
ISBN 9781552454503
Sacha Archer, cellsea, Timglaset, €12.00
ISBN 9789198725766 

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There’s something very pleasing about small square books. Some of the most prized possessions in my bookshelves are Bob Cobbing’s collection of Selected Poems (Bill Jubobe, Kob Bok, Bob Jubile), with the first book in the bundle, Bill Jubobe, produced beautifully by Coach House Books in 1976. Before I even opened Derek Beaulieu’s Surface Tension (which was published by the same press, 50-ish years later) I knew from the shape and distinctive two-toned cover design that this book was either somehow linked to the Cobbing bundle or that it served as a homage to the distinctive poet of the British Poetry Revival.

Surface Tension is a collection of expansive, symmetrically perfect, and ‘palindromic’ poems, as Beaulieu calls them in the book, which vibrates both nostalgia and inventiveness. The book opens with a series of cursive Letraset concrete poems that subtly occupy the centre of each page. The balanced position of the mirrored letters is very enjoyable to the eye, especially to someone like me who finds pleasure in symmetrical arrangements (see extract from the ‘Kursiv’ section, for instance). As the book progresses, the Letraset poems become more and more unstable: the visual poems are ‘photocopy manipulated, chance-based’, as the poet writes, to appear stretched, fatigued and overwrung. An inkeous metamorphosis takes place: the neat concrete poems gradually erupt onto the page with the letters undergoing expansion – as you flick through the pages, the poems appear scanned and digitally stretched to remind us of the growing effects of technology upon us all. The poem is changed upon coming into contact with the photocopier, just like the poet (or humans, more widely) whose lives are continuously being transformed in technologically and Capitalist-driven Western societies. This approach seems to be very much influenced by Bob Cobbing, whose photocopier poems of the 80s-90s constituted a new poetics and exemplified avant-gardist practice as a breaking out of conventional forms.  

For those familiar with Beaulieu’s work already, Letraset, the dry-transfer lettering product that revolutionised graphic design in the 1960s, is a recurring material and approach in this poet’s work (see his Les Figues Press collection, Kern, for example). This intensely physical letter transferring technique which involves scratching off individual letters onto a surface to assemble messages, enhances the industrial dimension of the concrete poems; remnants of a tool once used in advertising—an essentially capitalist enabler—now adorns poetry assemblages. Due to the limitation in buying new packs of Letraset, poets working with this material must rely in old second-hand stock, which is often ‘less-than-perfect’, with some letters being more intact than others. This adds a charm to poems like the ones seen in Surface Tension that showcase typographic materials that were once customary and have now been replaced by more advanced tools. Beaulieu is a poet of our times – his work is not afraid to take risks and echoes what Cobbing called the “need for the awareness and action of taking it all that one step further”.

Like Surface Tension, Sacha Archer’s Cellsea also experiments with typography and the concrete form in interesting ways. Beautifully produced by Malmö-based publisher Timglaset, Cellsea is a square publication with two covers and can be read in two directions. This stylistic choice alone creates a flow that is replicated in the poems—each rubber stamp poem takes you out to sea, the letters pulsate in a way to awaken the imagination. The book opens with a quote from Jacques-Yves Cousteau which partly reads, “I held onto a rock and closed my eyes. This was the punishment of the sea,” which made me think of poems as waves – waves that, depending on the weather intensity, reveal a blanket of new rocks, cells and other wonders for us to discover upon searching; each poem carries meaning which awaits to be uncovered.

Each section (each half is divided in three sections) opens with the words ‘inhalation’, ‘exhalation’ and ‘return’, enhancing the idea of reading visual poetry as an act of meditation and discovery. For some, this sounds like a familiar experience when encountering good poetry, although others may not naturally agree with the meditative and healing effects of poetry reading and making. As a reader, I understood these words to be instructions from the poet, and enjoyed each suggested pause which, in my opinion, was well positioned in the book.

The first few concrete poems in Cellsea are small and contained, and are coloured in a mixture of blue, green and black inks (see poem ‘Phase 5’, for example). As the reader turns each page, the poems expand, with the letters stretching out and claiming the whiteness of the page – it should be noted that the poems eventually become monochrome – another technique indicative of movement and progression. In the poem ‘13^th Position’ for example, the letters ‘U’, ‘E’ and ‘R’ (amongst other letters) seem to have escaped their contained space, thus creating a visually satisfying buzz on the page. Repetition seems important for concrete poems such as these ones – in the same way that a coastal landscape is adorned with patterns and colours, these poems also have their own unique rhythm and standing.

Archer’s choice to handstamp the letters in Cellsea reveal another layer that makes this visual poetry book so fascinating; stamping is an act that predisposes physical force, and in a way points to the violence of the wave-like poems. In the same way an inked stamp leaves a footprint when it comes in contact with the page, a sea wave alters the coastal landscape one cell at a time. Archer’s letters are swept away by ocean storm – this, to me, alludes to the power of language to change the world.

Unique in its use of movement, typography and approach to book design, Cellsea offers a meditative yet unpredictable energy, capturing the turmoil and, simultaneously, the beauty of temporal spaces. Archer’s concrete poems are visual masterpieces and Timglaset did a brilliant job in presenting them in the best possible way.

 

 

 

 

Astra Papachristodoulou is a poet and artist from Greece with a PhD in Creative Writing from the University of Surrey. She was recently awarded a Fleck Fellowship from Banff Centre for Creativity, and her poems have appeared in numerous UK and international magazines including Buzdokuz, Resurgence & Ecologist and BeeCraft. Her poetry publications include Selected Variations for Bees, Stargazing and Constellations (all from Guillemot Press).

bonnyCD : Notes toward a Tower Husky

 

 

 

 

And the Calgary Tower sticks up in the sky / Like a giant fist raised up with all its might / And the Calgary Tower is shining in the night / Like the mast of a ghost ship / On its inaugural flight
          —Rae Spoon, “My Heart is a Piece of Garbage. Fight Seagulls! Fight!!”

I’m thinking about an essay I wrote for a literary textiles call. It was a bit too, well, rigorous, I think, for the “cross-stitching the word cunt is emancipatory” kind of poem-y stuff the open call actually wanted.

Thinking about how if Derek takes this piece, it’ll be the second time I’ve written a piece for him that describes a failed earlier piece, two for two^[1].

The root-work for this second failed piece actually pokes at Derek’s own ethos, or at least one declaration of his work that I think, and hope, isn’t totally representative of his poetics^[2]. I think poets making big declarations know they shouldn’t be doing that. But how else to inveigle the grants bodies, the prestigious arts retreats and academic teaching positions.

When I was dating more often, before caregiving and my own unwellness had stripped the screw of my ambition for the foreseeable future, it was usually people with BFAs that would approach me before I approached them. Something about me being a writer that cannot be subsumed, a little cute bezoar for the literary community. Too mad, too mad. These partners and dates and flings and glancing encounters, thinking me an artist-writer, not a writer like they imagined writers were [insufferable, bourgeois, dumb, constantly inspired (not compelled but inspired), typewriter-owning, who knows].

One of these partners told me about a class they took with Derek at (the then named) ACAD. They said they stopped their own writing, and their own zine-making, after that course. They asked if all of CanLit was like Derek.^[3] They asked me who it was who read CanLit,^[4] “other than you, I mean.” And then they got afraid, they were worried I felt implicated (I wasn’t quite sure in what). And I’ve never been a part of this world, really, not a Toronto person, I’ll never be nominated and then have to sigh and very visibly withdraw from the Gillers, I’ll never write something that’s so nationalist and species-death affirming that I have to worry about a wide audience of practitioners who are also my friends who are collaborators in the ugly, evil sense of the word.

I don’t think I could compose something that a city like Calgary would willingly project along the neck of the Calgary Tower; I preferred the original branding, Husky Tower. It’s a funnier name, whether or not you deliberately misread the context of husky.

I liked that the relationship to our province’s extractionist death-doula JOI was visible in the naming. “Professional Writers” very loudly trucking in dissent, trading in revolutionary jargon while tweeting out affirmations of the Booker prize winner’s speech, no longer the Man Booker^[5], because the new billionaires are humble, “ethical” billionaires.^[6]

Our billionaires are more ethical than your billionaires. Our Jim Ball-Silly Atwood Gibson money is fine, his whole fraud thing is fine; of course fraud is fine to a community of writer-investors being ground to apolitical impotence in the prestige-MLM.

Petroliana logos are part of an age of visuality that had actual design sensibility. I feel myself beginning to fetishize advertising as Derek does, too. I like Husky a lot, but I love Black Cat cigarettes. 

I made this rug—or these rugs, depending on the velocity of what I do here, the energy I can spare after working while unable to work, caregiving while absolutely deprived of self-care in any sense of the term—with a tufting gun.

I made a Black Cat bootleg rug for my dad by hand when I was younger. I hooked half in a hoop on a ferry ride from NL to NS, to attend poetry weekend, with a St. John’s poet, Clay Everest, who was a great travel companion. The second half I hooked in the rain on the return trip, while Clay took a leg of driving.

I tufted a bootleg Harley Davidson rug for my dad with my ex (the one who took a class with Derek and then stopped writing). Ex afraid they had implicated me with a tradition that Derek is really only abstractly tied to, is in some ways a gracious facilitator for but not so much a practitioner of in the main.

I think about that “failed” lit textiles essay I wrote. That then, I characterized the tufted rug boom (now over I hope, or disappeared from my algorithms at least) as pathetic, a way to strip rug making of everything that mattered: lanolin on your hands, real wool and less acrylics, the migration, the convoy, that, like the best poems [long-poems], could not be accelerated or finished on a whim. That you had to have an idea, and hold onto it as it changed, you had to work with the work you’d put in. ‘The Rug’ exceeded ‘The Poem,’ in that it was much more difficult to undo, to hide the scaffolding. That choice was permanent, in other words, actual choice.

Thinking I’m too tired now. My pain too high most days to hook by hand. Thinking now of the tufting gun less as a cheat, and more as a crutch, in the sense that a crutch keeps you on your feet; what a curious derogatory connotation it’s acquired^[7]. It’s an accessibility tool.

An accessibility tool though the tufting gun is destructive. And it’s heavy. It hurts the parts of my back where my angel wings would sprout were I really a part of visible cherishable CanLit. Thinking about how I don’t call it carving, but I am learning to shave the rugs.

Shave because that’s not sculptural like carve. Akin to ~TransFem~ upkeep, shaving. Let all the ugly out. Let all the unnerving charm out. Beveled buzz buzz. Canterbury Tales audiobook in the ear buds, the razor shave done but the ears compensated, tinnitus amok, the ground floor signal completely unreal, everything sound shorn paper for fifteen minutes until I acclimatize to quiet again.

Ears undone, and wingmount so fucking tired, but my hands are okay somehow with the machines, guns and razors. Machines making rug more like my brain, my genderbad body. Not a cheat but a crutch.^[8] Some sad cyberpunk, this vision.

Maybe it’s the farm in me, that a rattling machine, the clunking music of a PTO Tractor or the numbness bestowed by ride-on mower’s steering wheel or the care-demanding danger of welding torches, maybe it’s that nasty tactile work in me that makes light work of this machine, somehow lighter even than the handheld hook.

Gord Downie held onto Man Machine Poem as a thought, it changed as he held onto it. From a song title on the 2012 record Now For Plan A, then the 2016 album with the song’s name for its title entire.

This ‘short thought’ over a thousand words already, yeesh.^[9]

Downie was an Aquarius too. I don’t believe in that. But I believe in that.

Revise: Them. Machine. Poem.

Me, a them like me, citing alsoquarius Downey, CanLit PopPoet laureate.

Me holding onto that essay, holding onto that anger and that work I did. Onto the gun for dear life.

Thinking now, less to make a rug of moat or bailey, but what’s in front of me: Oubliette.

But I’m not the whole way down there, not yet.

 

 

---

^[1] Derek and I chatted about this piece actually, but he doesn’t publish work that talks about his own work at The Minute Review, which makes a certain sort of sense! Shout out to Minute, though.
^[2] Re: advertising, poetry and velocity, enticement
^[3] A funny position, given Derek is part of CanLit in an entrenched way, but is especially not representative if sampled for a cross-section.
^[4] Two of them were reading or had read Karen Solie’s The Road in is not the Same Road Out. I wonder how that got into the BFA baddies ecosystem.
^[5] Of course the Gillers dropped Scotia Bank as a name but not a sponsor.
^[6] Where oh where is my ethical billionaire handout?
^[7] It’s not new news that we hate disabled people, but it is hard to see it baked into the language.
^[8] I wonder if Derek is too tired to lift the lid of a flatbed scanner somedays. Too weary to peel and apply Letraset, precious and non-renewable as oil, some days. I wonder this and am not being facetious. I wonder this potently enough to footnote it. I wonder if Derek winces from the first-name basis I’m bullying into this review, having met IRL just the once. I wonder if he knows this is a barbed kinship I feel, gratitude for his outsider work, his being in Alberta, however difficult I am as a mad poet.
^[9] Footnotes are free from word-count. Footnotes are free from immediate recognizability, from commercial palatability. I love footnotes. So crunchy, so texty. They’re fun to write and leave. I wonder if the 1K outpaced the footnote after I added the bit about shaving.

 

 

 

 

 

bonnyCD works and lives on treaty 7 territory in rural Alberta. They also publish as Benjamin C. Dugdale. Their most recent book of vampires, femboy hooters employees, and hot-tub cum-whorl monsters, The Repoetic: After Saint-Pol-Roux, is available from Gordon Hill Press.