New Star Blogs

The Party, I Guess :: George Bowering Book Launch


Bowering launch party posterPlease join us in East Van­cou­ver to cel­e­brate the launch of George Bow­er­ing’s new book of poetry, The World, I Guess.

The World, I Guess is the 36th book of poetry from Canada’s inau­gural Poet Lau­re­ate and 2x Gov­er­nor General’s Award win­ner; it demon­strates a com­mand of a broad poetic range, a catholic range of inter­ests, and echoes of a life­time of read­ing and learn­ing from Pound, Williams, Stan­ley, and others.

You can read Frank Davey’s review here.

Book Launches of the Near Future :: Tim Conley’s Dance Moves


Please join us, lit­er­ary afi­ciona­dos of the Out East, to cel­e­brate the release of Dance Moves of the Near Future by Tim Con­ley. We have four pre-apocalyptic events planned in the Golden Horse­shoe and environs:

***Please note: Due to a burst pipe at the Nia­gara Artists Cen­ter, the St. Catharines event has been resched­uled from June 5th to June 19th.***

June 13th, TORONTO

ft. Louis Cabri
Hosted by Adam Seelig
The Cen­tral, 603 Markham St., 6:30 pm
Read­ings, free food, cash bar, books pro­vided by Apollinaire’s Book­shoppe
(Tell Face­book you’re com­ing!)


ft. The Nia­gara String Band
Hosted by Jon Eben Field
Nia­gara Artists Cen­tre, 354 St. Paul Street, 7:00 pm
Read­ings, cash bar, books for sale

June 26th, KINGSTON

A Novel Idea, 156 Princess St., 7:00 pm
Read­ings, food & booze & books

June 28th, MONTREAL

Librairie Le port de tête, 262 Avenue du Mont-Royal E, 6:30 pm

The “Event Horizon Before an Orgasm” :: Donato Mancini News + Events


The cover for LoitersackDonato Mancini, the hard­est work­ing loi­ter­sack in poetry, fresh off suc­cess­ful events in DC and NYC, is enroute to Seat­tle to speak to a class at Seat­tle Uni­ver­sity and read at a book launch:

Sat­ur­day May 23, gallery 1412, with Sarah Dowl­ing and Maged Zaher (fb link)

It appears peo­ple are wrap­ping their heads around his sin­gu­lar brand of poetry, poet­ics, the­ory, the­ory the­atre, and laugh par­ti­cles, as reports back from the swirling deeps of Loi­ter­sack are uni­formly glow­ing (and at times a touch baffled).

You can view “ABATTLEHORSEANUDEWOMANANDANANECDOTE” from Loi­ter­sack in its 20-page entirety at (the sadly–now-defunct–but-still-available) Lemon­hound. Jonathan Ball at the Win­nipeg Free Press cel­e­brated National Poetry Month with Loi­ter­sack and books by Kathryn Mock­ler, Gre­gory Betts, Mad­hur Anand, and Damian Rogers. The gang at CV2 said Loi­ter­sack “is like jump­ing into a pond of poetic intrigue. … The effect is just as per­plex­ing and just as thrilling as sit­ting down with the work of a well-loved scholar. The best part of Loi­ter­sack is that Donato Mancini makes it fun.” At City I Am, Kevin Spenst talks to Lucie Kra­j­cová about his new book Jab­ber­ing With Bing Bong and the wealth of poetic tal­ent in Van­cou­ver, and sin­gles out Mancini and Loi­ter­sack as “a work that com­bines humour and a hell of a lot of think­ing.

And finally, in advance of his appear­ance with Steve Zul­tan­ski at the Poetry Project last Mon­day, Har­riet excerpted a few chunks of a long, fas­ci­nat­ing, oft-hilarious inter­view with Mancini by E Mar­tin Nolan at the Puri­tan, enti­tled “Put on Your Neg­a­tive Capa­bil­ity Hel­met and Go with It,” in which they dis­cuss Wal­ter Ben­jamin, the shared lan­guage of aes­thetic appre­ci­a­tion and condo mar­ket­ing, “musi­cal archi­tec­ture,” the poetic influ­ence of The Exor­cist, the “event hori­zon before an orgasm,” and so, so much more. Before you decamp from what­ever “vor­tex of gen­tri­fi­ca­tion” you call home this May Two-Four week­end, we highly rec­om­mend load­ing it on your intel­li­gent tele­phone or print­ing it out and tuck­ing it in your box of Lucky Lager for an engross­ing, head-spinning read.

Newest and Newer New Star Books


New Star Books Fall 2015 CatalogueToday we loose upon you George Bow­er­ing’s new book of poetry, The World, I Guess, and Tim Con­ley’s hilar­i­ous and unset­tling short story col­lec­tion, Dance Moves of the Near Future. Look for both at fine pur­vey­ors of printed paper and, for Dance Moves of the Near Future, pix­els: it’s avail­able as an ebook from Kobo and BitLit.

Besides danc­ing, our near future includes three awe­some new books: check out our Fall 2015 Cat­a­logue for details on Twenty Seven Stings by Julie Emer­son & Rox­anna Bikado­roff, Clean Sails by Gus­tave Morin, and Soviet Prince­ton by Jon Bartlett & Rika Rueb­saat.

The cover image is a detail from one of the last pho­tos Peter Cul­ley posted to his blog, Mosses from an Old Manse.

Peter Culley, Pleasure Poet


1851_commercial_jl_13Because he lived there for a while, Peter Cul­ley would usu­ally end up back at 1851 Adanac Street at some point when­ever he was in Van­cou­ver. And because I hap­pened to be there one night for a party at Lisa Robert­son and Dan Farrell’s place after a Koote­nay School of Writ­ing event some time in the early 1990s, we hap­pened to meet. Some­one said some­thing about the music, music was some­thing that Peter hap­pened to know quite a lot about, I liked that he talked about Funken­t­elechy vs. the Placebo Syn­drome as if was uncon­tro­ver­sially capital-A Art, we got onto some­thing else, and the con­ver­sa­tion and friend­ship went from there, episodic but con­tin­u­ous, until last week.

Not just our musi­cal tastes, but a cer­tain oth­er­ness too that we must have sensed in one another brought us together. Just the fact of it; our oth­er­nesses were of a dif­fer­ent order. His was expressed in an unease in Van­cou­ver (that never left him) and the KSW writ­ing scene, and grew out of his working-class, Army brat, Nanaimo-Harewood back­ground, which seemed to make him feel more of an out­sider in Van­cou­ver than being a poet and intel­lec­tual ever did in South Wellington.

I had read and been thrilled by his two 1980s chap­books, Fruit Dots and Nat­ural His­tory, and so I was a bit of a fan too that night. (A long time later Cul­ley allowed that he had been embar­rassed by my praise and hadn’t felt able to tell me then that “he hadn’t writ­ten a word” of the poem I was rav­ing about, Fruit Dots, that the entire thing had been com­posed of phrases lifted from a 19th cen­tury botany text. Well, Miles Davis didn’t write most of the songs on those LPs either.)

Culley’s poems, which counted on the reader’s sheer plea­sure in the text for their effect, stood out against the Spar­tan archi­tec­ture of much of the work issu­ing from the poetic avant-garde whose Van­cou­ver out­post KSW was, and it felt like a guilty plea­sure. The room that Cul­ley gave in his poetry for plea­sure, and for the plea­sures afforded by an “older” poetry, had a par­al­lel in the way another poet in the room, Lisa Robert­son, infused her own work with beauty and the per­sonal. Both writ­ers were bend­ing if not break­ing club­house rules; I won­der if that was an ele­ment in the improb­a­bly sol­i­dar­ity between these two rather dif­fer­ent writ­ers. In any case, over the years Robert­son proved one of Peter Culley’s best read­ers (a new essay, “Inter­val, Diastem: Pol­i­tics of Style in Peter Culley’s Park­way,” can be read in Toward. Some. Air., edited by Fred Wah and Amy De’Ath, from Banff Cen­tre Press).

Peter Cul­ley emerged from, instead of into, the West Coast lit­er­ary main­stream, in the early 1980s. Jack Hod­gins had been a high school teacher, and early men­tor; Mina Totino the painter and Kevin Davies the poet were class­mates. His elders saw Culley’s promise and his first book was named Twenty-One in part because that’s what he was when Oolichan Books issued it. Cul­ley later more or less dis­owned that book, not because of any bad pub­lish­ing expe­ri­ence, but because even as it was going to the printer his poetry was turn­ing away from the first-person I of those poems to the cam­era I at the cen­tre of all his later work.

Cul­ley moved to Van­cou­ver with Kevin Davies in the late 1970s where they encoun­tered Gerry Gilbert and through him gen­er­ally fell in with what their Island pre­cep­tors would have thought of as a very bad crowd, pre­sum­ably their pur­pose in mov­ing to Van­cou­ver in the first place. That Prince George poetry con­fer­ence with Robert Cree­ley in 1981 was another big thing. Cul­ley started asso­ci­at­ing with the Koote­nay School of Writ­ing (behind another impor­tant con­fer­ence in 1985) and its Art­s­peak off­shoot (at first), and the con­stel­la­tion of artists, writ­ers, teach­ers, pub­lish­ers and cura­tors that thrived in those spaces.

Susan Lord and Lary Brem­ner pub­lished chap­books, Nat­ural His­tory and Fruit Dots, which I encoun­tered at Octo­pus East on Com­mer­cial Drive. Steven Forth was set to launch his new press, Leech Books, with The Cli­max For­est, Peter’s new book and his first since Twenty-One fif­teen years ear­lier. This would have been in 1995; some­thing shifted in the world; after only a few boxes of The Cli­max For­est were shipped the rest of the stock went into stor­age in an indus­trial park near the Fraser River. A dis­tri­b­u­tion deal with New Star got a few more car­tons into the world before one day the calls for more books from stor­age went unanswered.

The expe­ri­ence seemed to dispirit Cul­ley; so did, over the years, the drip, drip of rejec­tion let­ters from arts coun­cils; so did the news. The Simp­sons helped. For long stretches Peter wrote lit­tle or no poetry, turn­ing to art essays (the fine arts juries didn’t have the same prob­lem rec­og­niz­ing him as a writer) on, among oth­ers, Clau­dia Hart, Stan Dou­glas, Kelly Wood, Car­rie Walker, Roy Arden, and Mark Soo, maybe the last piece of writ­ing he com­pleted. For a while he was on PW’s ros­ter of anony­mous review­ers, cor­re­spond­ing to a period of renewed inter­est in the great Cham. It’s entirely pos­si­ble that in his life­time Cul­ley was cited as often as “Pub­lish­ers Weekly” as under his own name.

Peter lis­tened to a lot of music, seem­ingly able to lis­ten to it in a lot less time than it takes to per­form, as if he could lis­ten to it in com­pressed for­mat too, even as he was watch­ing every inter­est­ing movie ever made, usu­ally for the third or fourth time, hang­ing out with grand­chil­dren, rear­rang­ing objects in the house, walk­ing Shasta, or hav­ing vis­i­tors, which he was con­stantly. He trav­elled, when he could.

And he read. His library made you want to spend weeks in it; the fact that he had a good idea of what was in each of those books more so. If he needed some­thing he’d call Daphne, who worked at the uni­ver­sity library, and she’d usu­ally have it when she got home around five. This was before the Internet.

Ham­mer­town, when it came out in 2002, reprinted (slightly revised and reordered) the final sec­tion of The Cli­max For­est, the begin­ning of his long-term “Ham­mer­town” project that he com­pleted in 2013 with Park­way. The new book also con­tained a suite of six poems, “Snake Eyes”, into which he inter­po­lated a sequence of small black and white pho­tographs. Peter had always been tak­ing pic­tures, I real­ized one day; so unob­tru­sively that it had taken me years to notice. He’d always been inter­ested in the work his artist-friends were doing, and in fine art pho­tog­ra­phy gen­er­ally; W.G. Sebald was a thing; what might hap­pen if he were to drop a few pho­tos into his poems, not to illus­trate them as such but to stand as parts of the poem itself? In time he would dis­pense with the poem part.

Peter’s prac­tice of keep­ing the peo­ple (just) out­side the frame of his pho­tos, which might be seen as an aes­thetic move, was for him pri­mar­ily social and polit­i­cal, and reflected an essen­tial respect for fam­ily, friends, neigh­bours, class mates, sol­i­dar­i­ties incul­cated in him long before I met him. His class con­scious­ness was instinc­tive, and not ever in his inter­ac­tions with his South Welling­ton and Nanaimo neigh­bours did I detect con­de­scen­sion on anyone’s part. Peter’s occu­pa­tion and eru­di­tion didn’t seem any more remark­able to his neigh­bours as far as I could tell than if he had been a welder, let­ter car­rier, school­teacher, a clerk at the Co-op, or unem­ployed. His make-up included a con­trar­ian streak, and he could present him­self as a bloody-minded Tory, foil, or goad, to my own dour Marx­ist pro­cliv­i­ties. But at home he was what I would call a staunch Tommy Dou­glas CCFer.

An invi­ta­tion from Reid Sheir to write an exhi­bi­tion cat­a­logue essay for a show at Pre­sen­ta­tion House Gallery in 2009 changed Culley’s life in an unex­pected way. One result was To The Dogs, a book pub­lished by Arse­nal Pulp Press. Another, much more sig­nif­i­cant result was Culley’s deci­sion to acquire Shasta, brindled star of count­less Cul­leys, a kind of Cata­houla hound they found on Used Nanaimo. From a cat per­son to a dog per­son: there are few big­ger life changes.

Peter was pleased by the pop­u­lar­ity of his pho­tos but the con­trast between his recep­tion through­out his work­ing life as a writer, where he was a truly rare and remark­able tal­ent, and now as an artist must have baf­fled him, and is surely a the­sis topic for a doc­toral can­di­date in sociology.

But those shows at Charles H. Scott Gallery in Van­cou­ver and the Nanaimo Art Gallery did more than grat­ify. Many more peo­ple responded to those shows, and to his stream of pho­tos on Mosses From an Old Manse (and Face­book) than read his, or almost anyone’s for that mat­ter, poetry books. Every artist feeds on that response, which is called “val­i­da­tion”, and in Peter it fed an appetite for try­ing out new things.

He had the guilty plea­sure of see­ing peo­ples’ faces drop when he told them that the Ham­mer­town project was fin­ished with Park­way, while leav­ing hang­ing whether he was work­ing on any­thing at all. In fact Peter in the last few years had entered a new phase of cre­ative energy, much of it flow­ing into a col­lab­o­ra­tion with Vancouver-based visual artist Elisa Fer­rari. An early shoot from this col­lab­o­ra­tion appears in TCR 3.23, Spring 2014. The abrupt inter­rup­tion of their col­lab­o­ra­tion is one of the more keenly felt losses result­ing from Peter’s much too early departure.

[ The Cas­ca­dia Poetry Fes­ti­val, held in Nanaimo just three weeks after his pass­ing, opened with a trib­ute to Peter Cul­ley. You can watch it here. ]

Revised June 5, 2015.


A Sisyphean Task: On The Myth of the Death of Newspapers


Cover of Greatly ExaggeratedThings that are eas­ier to do than burst­ing The Myth of the Death of News­pa­pers include con­vinc­ing peo­ple there’s a brew­ery in City Hall, afford­ing a house in Van­cou­ver, and win­ning the Stan­ley Cup. But that’s exactly what Marc Edge attempts to do, as well as sketch a his­tory of news­pa­pers and their own­ers’ recent efforts at “finan­cial­iza­tion,” in the heav­ily researched and highly read­able Greatly Exag­ger­ated: The Myth of the Death of News­pa­pers. And he’s mak­ing some headway:

An early review from Char­lie Smith at the Geor­gia Straight called it “thor­oughly researched,” “provoca­tive,” and “enter­tain­ing,” and said “For any­one con­cerned about where [the con­cen­tra­tion of media own­er­ship] might lead, Greatly Exag­ger­ated offers a use­ful road map.” (Full review here.)

Marc made a few media appear­ances, includ­ing a TV spot on BC 1 that, some­what implau­si­bly, isn’t online (did it really hap­pen?); an inter­view with Joseph Planta at The Com­men­tary; a call-in seg­ment on CBC Radio Van­cou­ver (auto-playing audio link here); and an inter­view with World News Pub­lish­ing Focus.

Scott R. Maier picked up the story via Marc’s aca­d­e­mic paper based on the same research (“News­pa­pers’ Annual Reports Show Chains Prof­itable,” in News­pa­per Research Jour­nal, Vol. 35, No. 4), and ran with it at the Euro­pean Jour­nal­ism Obser­va­tory (always so much more enlight­ened, those Europeans…).

And finally, Rick Edmonds came away from the annual News­pa­per Asso­ci­a­tion of America’s Medi­aX­change con­fer­ence with the belief, par­tially inspired by Marc’s study, that although the indus­try has “a lot of work to do,” it’s “not any­where near dead as doom­say­ers had pre­dicted five years ago”: At Naa’s Nashville extrav­a­ganza, tough issues sur­face through the glitz |

So at least some wonks seem cau­tiously hereti­cal. You can flirt with these blas­phe­mous ideas in print, or buy the ebook, or use the print book to get a free ebook via the BitLit mobile app. (Irony duly noted.)

Indigena Awarded :: Annharte wins Blue Metropolis First Peoples Literary Prize


Marie "Annharte Baker"Con­grat­u­la­tions to Marie “Annharte” Baker, win­ner of the inau­gural Blue Metrop­o­lis First Peo­ples Lit­er­ary Prize!

The Blue Metrop­o­lis Inter­na­tional Lit­er­ary Fes­ti­val (April 20 — 26 in Mon­treal) is hon­our­ing Annharte for Indi­gena Awry, her 2012 poetry col­lec­tion. Con­grat­u­la­tions also to the other lit­er­ary win­ners at this year’s fes­ti­val:  Nancy Hus­ton (Grand Prize), Junot Díaz (Azul Prize), and Gene Luen Yang (Words to Change Prize).

Annharte will be appear­ing at a half-dozen read­ings and events, includ­ing Poetry at the Zen Cen­tre on April 24th, with Marie Howe, Don McKay, Jer­amy Dodds, Paul Weigel, and Carmine Starnino; an awards cer­e­mony on April 25th, when she’ll receive her $5,000 prize and be inter­viewed on stage by Taia­iake Alfred; and, on April 26, a dis­cus­sion with Lee Mar­a­cle (Celia’s Song) about indige­nous women and ter­ri­tory in their books.

You can find details about all her events here.

Blue Met sent Annharte to the Hay Fes­ti­val Carta­gena de Indias this past Jan­u­ary as part of the Open Win­dow on Canada pro­gram, which also fea­tured Steven Pinker, Réal God­bout, and Kim Thúy (win­ner of Canada Reads 2015). She par­tic­i­pated in a poetry read­ing and a panel dis­cus­sion on indige­nous cul­tures and cre­ative lan­guage with authors from Colom­bia and Spain.

Indi­gena Awry was recently reviewed in Cana­dian Lit­er­a­ture, where Lor­raine Weir said it is “darker and tougher than [Annharte’s pre­vi­ous books], sat­u­rated with rejec­tion of ‘hon­est Injun’ clichés and of ageist and sex­ist stereo­types from set­tler culture.”

If the poems of Indi­gena Awry con­sti­tute the writer’s act of both wit­ness­ing the sus­tained impact of col­o­niza­tion, par­tic­u­larly on urban Indige­nous women, and repu­di­at­ing its effects, they are also char­ac­ter­ized by a fero­cious hope in the future…  In this tough-minded, some­times funny, and fre­quently elo­quent book, five cen­turies have dis­tilled rage into incan­des­cence. … Annharte’s work ranges from dub to lyric, from spo­ken word to elegy, from col­lo­quial humour to jagged irony in which the ’exper­i­men­tal’ is never sep­a­rate from a pas­sion­ate rejec­tion of white bour­geois aes­thet­ics. In this, Annharte is closer to Skeena Reece and Rebecca Bel­more in her craft­ing of an “enemy lan­guage” to do the work of resurgence.

Read the rest of the review here; you can pre­view all of Indi­gena Awry here and buy it here.

West of Charles St. :: George Stanley at Johns Hopkins


North of California St. coverGeorge Stan­ley vis­its the East coast of his nation of ori­gin next month to take part in the Poetry at Hop­kins Eng­lish read­ing series at Johns Hop­kins Uni­ver­sity in Bal­ti­more. Stan­ley and Kevin Kil­lian, the San Francisco-based poet, nov­el­ist, play­wright, art critic, and scholar, will be read­ing on April 3rd and “In Con­ver­sa­tion” on April 4th. The events are co-sponsored by JHU’s Pro­gram in Women, Gen­der and Sex­u­al­ity; all the details are avail­able here.

Stanley’s most recent book, North of Cal­i­for­nia St., was recently high­lighted by George Fether­ling in the Van­cou­ver Sun as one of “Three BC col­lec­tions that stand out.” Says Fether­ling: “North of Cal­i­for­nia St. is a rich selec­tion … with an inci­sive intro­duc­tion by the poet Sharon The­sen. His poems are often like slide shows, kalei­do­scopic and dis­con­tin­u­ous … At times he rises to great beauty.”

More reviews/response to North of Cal­i­for­nia St. are col­lected else­where on this blog, includ­ing the lament (from the intro­duc­tion to 2003’s A Tall, Seri­ous Girl) that “Stanley’s work has been, in effect, excluded from the canon of ‘van­guard’ Amer­i­can poetry, and from the odd process by which the poems of a small per­cent­age of poets become acces­si­ble in the wider world of class­rooms and far-flung lit­er­ary scenes.” Here’s hop­ing this appear­ance at such an august insti­tu­tion some 4,000 km away goes some small dis­tance to cor­rect­ing the oversight.

Donato Mancini in America


The cover for LoitersackDonato Mancini is tak­ing his sin­gu­lar brand of poetry, poet­ics, the­ory, the­ory the­ater, and laugh­ter par­ti­cles south of the bor­der at the end of this month. He’ll be read­ing from and dis­cussing his new book Loi­ter­sack, but in fact has an even newer book out just this week: snow­line (eth press, 2015) col­lects 40 trans­la­tions of “Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?,” that (600-year-) old ches­nut from François Vil­lon, into a hand­some lit­tle book that includes orig­i­nal illus­tra­tions by Donato.

But back to Loi­ter­sack news. Catch Donato at the fol­low­ing engagements:

Feb. 27, Oak­land: La Com­mune Presents: Brian Ang, Donato Mancini, Anne Les­ley Sel­cer. A read­ing and release of ARMED CELL 8 (ed. Brian Ang), Loi­ter­sack by Donato Mancini, and Mul­ti­ple Bippes (CUE, 2014, ed. Donato Mancini). See the FB event page here.

March 1, Port­land: Donato Mancini and Paul Maziar read­ing for the Spare Room read­ing series at Mother Foucault’s Book­shop, 523 SE Mor­ri­son St., 7pm.

March 2, Olympia: Read­ing and poet­ics talk at Ever­green State Col­lege, TESC, Sem­i­nar II D1105, 5:30 — 7pm.

Donato has also con­firmed an event at St. Mark’s in NYC for early May — details TK

Galiano Literary Festival, ft. Graeme Truelove (and many more)


Galiano Lit Fest poster

The Galiano Lit­er­ary Fes­ti­val runs from Feb. 20th to Feb. 22nd at the spec­tac­u­lar Galiano Ocean­front Inn, on Galiano Island in BC’s Sal­ish Sea, and fea­tures work­shops, panel dis­cus­sions, and read­ings from a raft of fan­tas­tic authors from BC and across the coun­try (even as far away as Ottawa…).

On Sun­day, Feb. 22nd, Graeme Tru­elove will read from Svend Robin­son: A Life in Pol­i­tics, from, accord­ing to the fes­ti­val sched­ule, 10:45am to 11:45pm. Either that’s a typo or he’s going to read the entire book. (If the for­mer, you can snag a copy from the festival’s host, Galiano Island Books.) Svend Robin­son: A Life in Pol­i­tics is Graeme’s first book, and received glow­ing praise upon its Fall 2013 release.

Graeme Truelove. Photo: Janine Bell

Graeme Tru­elove. Photo: Janine Bell

Among the other offer­ings from the fes­ti­val are work­shops by Audrey Thomas and Bill Gas­ton; a panel dis­cus­sion with Arno Kopecky, Chris Cza­jkowski, & Eliz­a­beth May; and read­ings by John Vail­lant, Arleen Pare, Michael Christie, Theodora Arm­strong, and of course George Bow­er­ing, who will be read­ing from Mir­ror on the Floor at 2pm on the Sat­ur­day — but if you but­ton­hole him in the pub later maybe you can tease out a stanza or two from The World, I Guess, his forth­com­ing book of poems. (Just don’t tell him we sent you.)

Tick­ets are avail­able for indi­vid­ual events, or attend the entire she­bang, includ­ing the Fri­day wel­come recep­tion and two lunches, for only $150. Reg­is­tra­tion details here.