For
the first two years in Santa Fe, I worked from home for the Internet
Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers, the organization that
effectively runs the Internet. I loved the job but went slightly stir
crazy working from home for two years. I decided to take a writing class
at the local community college last spring, mostly to meet people.
By
chance, I found an amazing class taught by poet Barbara Rockman.
One day she told us about one of the poems she found in the latest
Copper Canyon Catalog, “I Hate to See the Trees Leaf Out” by David
Budbill where he expresses sadness in seeing winter change to spring: “the summer glut of green” and “all that lovely, empty
bareness” gone.
chance, I found an amazing class taught by poet Barbara Rockman.
One day she told us about one of the poems she found in the latest
Copper Canyon Catalog, “I Hate to See the Trees Leaf Out” by David
Budbill where he expresses sadness in seeing winter change to spring: “the summer glut of green” and “all that lovely, empty
bareness” gone.
I missed getting the Copper Canyon
catalog. TMI: but it was good bathroom reading not to mention brilliantly designed, showcasing
the book covers, a quote from the poet and a sample poem. It's almost its own chapbook and has led me to
purchase many books from Copper Canyon.
catalog. TMI: but it was good bathroom reading not to mention brilliantly designed, showcasing
the book covers, a quote from the poet and a sample poem. It's almost its own chapbook and has led me to
purchase many books from Copper Canyon.
So
I wrote to them and asked to get back on their mailing list. They said
they’d put me there but months went by and nothing. I had to harass
them twice but it was worth it.
I wrote to them and asked to get back on their mailing list. They said
they’d put me there but months went by and nothing. I had to harass
them twice but it was worth it.
Some books I'm going to get:
NatalieDiaz—When My Brother was an Aztec: Natalie is a Native American writer from the Mojave tribe, recently interviewed on PBS; and she visited the Institute of American Indian Arts on September
27 for a lunch reading and discussion with the students. I was lucky enough to attend. She talked about preserving her language and modern tribal issues. She had an interestingly breathy and confident reading voice and she read many poems I loved, including one Halloween altercation with a white kid and another poem about menstruation. She took us through some writing exercises and I turned
out a little prose piece in the style of Donald Barthelme about the
color green. I think I was subliminally influenced by my favorite short story, "The Emerald."
Marvin Bell's book Vertigo: The Living Dead Man Poems also looks good…and Copper Canyon always publishes good Asian poets past and present like Zen writer Cold Mountain and Poems of the Masters: China's Classic Anthology of T'ang and Sung Dynasty Verse.
At Sarah Lawrence College I had the good fortune of studying wi
th poet Jean Valentine. I'm glad to see she has a recent book called Break the Glass. She was very kind to me and I enjoy reading her enigmatic poems. The quote in the catalog calls it her "dreamlike syntax."
th poet Jean Valentine. I'm glad to see she has a recent book called Break the Glass. She was very kind to me and I enjoy reading her enigmatic poems. The quote in the catalog calls it her "dreamlike syntax."And Chris Abani's poetry in Santificum, Renewal really appeals to me. In his quote he says, "You are not a wise person expounding to people. You are just a person on a journey…"
They say you cannot say this in a poem.
They say you cannot say love and mean anything.
They say you cannot say soul and approach heaven.
But the sun is no fool, I tell you.
It will rise for nothing less.
They say you cannot say love and mean anything.
They say you cannot say soul and approach heaven.
But the sun is no fool, I tell you.
It will rise for nothing less.
There were also many poems I liked in the catalog including "Maine Seafood Company" by the Dickmans (Michael and Matthew) about a lobster boil:
Things don't feel too bad
And then they do
And then they don't
And then they do
And then they don't
The astute description of loneliness in "Projection" by Lidija Dimkovska:
…But I know that you know how your palms itch when you're alone,
…
to have your arms not merge into the day
but be signs by the road
and to have nobody, Laurie, nobody travel
down your roads.
…
to have your arms not merge into the day
but be signs by the road
and to have nobody, Laurie, nobody travel
down your roads.
The heartbreaking reverse in "Mother’s Night" by David Wagoner
(related to Porter? probably not)
(related to Porter? probably not)
…She's coming back,
her arms full of the flowers I gave her once
a year in April, and she's asking me
to put them back on the stems in the greenhouses
they came from, to let them shrink away from the light.
her arms full of the flowers I gave her once
a year in April, and she's asking me
to put them back on the stems in the greenhouses
they came from, to let them shrink away from the light.
Or of grief "In February" by Michael McGriff:
Her son's been dead
nearly a year, and yesterday
while driving to the feed store
she braked suddenly
and threw her arm
across the rib cage
of his absence.
while driving to the feed store
she braked suddenly
and threw her arm
across the rib cage
of his absence.
Or another view of grief in "Hospital Parking Lot, April" by Laura Kasischke
…The rage
of fruit trees in April, and your car, which I parked in a shadow before you died, decorated now with feathers.
and unrecognizable
with the windows unrolled
and the headlights on
and the engine still running
in the Parking Space of the Sun.
of fruit trees in April, and your car, which I parked in a shadow before you died, decorated now with feathers.
and unrecognizable
with the windows unrolled
and the headlights on
and the engine still running
in the Parking Space of the Sun.
Compact wisdom in "Oyster Shell" by Sung Po-jen
neither should you give birth to pearl
they won't guard your life
they won't guard your life
The frightening poem "Scarecrow on Fire" by Dean Young:
Maybe poems are made of breath, the way water,
cajoled to boil, says, This is my soul, freed.
cajoled to boil, says, This is my soul, freed.
C.D. Wright poem is perfect in its entirety:
After that, was the bowling alley integrated.
After that, it burned.
After that, we tried to integrate the lunch counter at Harmon's.
What happened.
They tore out the lunch counter.
After that, it burned.
After that, we tried to integrate the lunch counter at Harmon's.
What happened.
They tore out the lunch counter.
Chase Twichell manifesto in "Solo:"
I've always been alone, and that knowledge
has been like a sheet of cold glass
between me and the world
Matthew Zapruder nonsensical but subliminally meaningful "Erstwhile Harbinger Auspices:"
Today it's completely
transparent, a vase. Inside it
flowers flower. Thus
a little death scent. I have
no master but always wonder,
what is making my master sad?
Maybe I do not know him.
transparent, a vase. Inside it
flowers flower. Thus
a little death scent. I have
no master but always wonder,
what is making my master sad?
Maybe I do not know him.
The in-memoriam section give us "Green Apples" by Ruth Stone who died in 2011:
The green apples fell on the sloping roof
And rattled down.
The wind was shaking me all night long;
Shaking me in my sleep
Like the definition of love
And rattled down.
The wind was shaking me all night long;
Shaking me in my sleep
Like the definition of love
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