Reinventing the Life of a Poet in the Modern World

Category: Books to Read (Page 2 of 14)

Poems About Music

SpellSince I spent the early part of the year writing poems from songs (and really enjoying it) I was interested in what other poets had done with their inspirations and found a few anthologies with music poems in them. 

Unlike poems about movies (a relatively new technology), poems about music go way back into the centuries all the way to Homer. Like they did for movies, Everyman’s Library has published Music’s Spell, poems about music and musicians. If you’re looking for more contemporary poems, this might not be the book because it's heavily weighted toward historical poems mixed with some contemporary ones.

Some other highlights:

"Music" by Anna Akhmatova whose Lyn Coffin translation ends with:

“And she sang like the first storm heaven gave,
Or as if flowers were having their say.”

"The Flute" by Andre Chenier about a music teacher and the Lloyd Alexander translation ends with:

“With my young fingers in his knowing hands, again
And yet again he guided them until they could,
Of their own will, draw music from a tube of wood.”

"From Fruit-Gathering" by Rabindranath Tagore which ends:

“The flute steals his smile from my friend’s lips
and spreads it over my life.”

"The Tongues of Violins" by Walt Whitman:

The tongues of violins!
(I think O tongues, ye tell this heart, that cannot tell itself;
This brooding, yearning heart, that cannot tell itself.)

From "Gerog Trakl’s Trumpets:"

“Dancers rise from a black wall–
Scarlet flags, laughter, madness, trumpets.”

From Hamlet by William Shakespeare which ends:

“Call me what instrument you will,
though you can fret me,
yet you cannot play upon me.”

From Walt Whitman's "Proud Music of the Storm" which ends:

Give me to hold all sounds, (I, madly struggling, cry,)
Fill me with all the voices of the universe,
Endow me with their throbbings—Nature's also,
The tempests, waters, winds—operas and chants—marches and dances,
Utter—pour in—for I would take them all.

"The Solitary Reaper" by William Wordsworth that ends:

“The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.”

From "Don Juan" by Lord Byron:

“The devil hath not, in all his quiver’s choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.”

And “The Singing Lesson” by David Wagoner which ends:

“If you have learned, with labor and luck, the measures
You were meant to complete,
You may find yourself before an audience
Singing into the light,
Transforming the air you breathe—that malleable wreckage,
That graveyard of shouts,
That inexhaustible pool of chatter and whimpers—
Into deathless music.”

FunnyI actually got the idea to look for music poems from another anthology, Seriously Funny, Poems about Love, Death, Religion, Art, Politics, Sex, and Everything Else edited by Barbara Hamby and David Kirby, which Billy Collins recommended in his Masterclass. There was a definite style of poem in this anthology, long-lined narratives at the expense of short, funny pieces. And I'm sure reading a book full of long-lined poems crammed with odd details influenced a recent Rockford Files poem I finished last week. But strangely there were more unfunny poems in the anthology than funny ones, although there were some interesting music poems sprinkled in:

WojahnThen there's Mystery Train by David Wojahn with its famous sequence of rock poems. My well-read friend Sherry, seeing I was writing pop-culture poems in graduate school, recommended the book to me when we were both at Sarah Lawrence in the mid-1990s.

The middle sequence contains 35 poems on various rock history milestones: James Brown at the Apollo and on tour, a poem about the car Hank Williams died in, Jerry Lee Lewis’ scandalous marriage to Myra Gale Brown ( I was surprised to relearn her name today since she’s always credited as “underage cousin” even on Jerry Lee Lewis' Wikipedia page and even in this poem she gets no name), Ritchie Valens before his plane crash, the Beatles in Hamburg in 1961, a poem about the song “Surfin’ Bird,” Janis Joplin leaving Port Arthur in 1964, Dick Clark hiding his real age, Elvis shooting the TV while watching Robert Goulet, the last days of Brian Jones by his swimming pool, Altamont, listening to The Rolling Stones and  Creedence Clearwater Revival in Vietnam (and The Doors during the making of Apocalypse Now), John Berryman listening to Robert Johnson, the “Exile on Main Street” Rolling Stones tour, Nixon naming Elvis an Honorary Federal Narcotics Agent, Malcolm McLaren signing the Sex Pistols, Elvis in Las Vegas, drunken bar parodies of Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley's tour, Brian Wilson’s sandbox, Lisa Marie Presley, Bo Diddley, Roy Orbison’s comeback tour, and TNT Colorizing the movie A Hard Day’s Night.

The problem with re-reading all these poems these days is that the subjects seem too obvious now and over-visited. And the poems all sound the same for the most part. There's not much variation in the form, tone or point-of-view. Some exceptions are:

  • "Buddy Holly Watching Rebel Without a Cause, Lubbock, Texas, 1956" (a poem which was also in our movie anthology)
  • "W.C.W. Watching Presley’s Second Appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show”: Mercy Hospital, Newark, 1956"
  • "Woody Guthrie Visited by Bob Dylan: Brooklyn State Hospital, New York, 1961"
  • "Delmore Schwartz at the First Performance of the Velvet Underground, New York, 1966" and another poem directly following about Lou Reed at Delmore Schwartz’s wake.
  • "History Being Made: Melcher Production Studios, Los Angeles, 1968" about Charles Manson
  • The Assassination of John Lennon As Depicted by the Madame Tussaud Was Museum, Niagara Falls, Ontario, 1987"

SweetAnd then lastly, the anthology Sweet Nothings, An Anthology of Rock and Roll in American Poetry edited by Jim Elledge which like the unfunny-funny poetry anthology above it has a lot of poems only tangentially referencing rock songs (and some not even). But there were still some good exceptions:

  • David Trinidad's "Meet the Supremes" (a list of an ode to all girl groups)
  • Kay Murphy's "Eighties Meditation"
  • Jim Elledge's "Strangers: An Essay" (about Jim Morrison's grave at Père Lachaise)
  • Dorothy Barresi's "The Back-Up Singer" and "Nine of Clubs, Cleveland, Ohio"
  • Christopher Gilbert's "Time with Stevie Wonder in It"
  • Sydney Lea's "The One White Face in the Place"
  • Michael Waters' "Christ at the Apollo, 1962"
  • Frank O'Hara's "The Day Lady Died" (probably the most famous poem about popular music)
  • Mark Defoe's "Dream Lover"
  • William Matthew's prose poem "The Penalty for Bigamy Is Two Wives"
  • Ronald Wallace's "Sound Systems"
  • Lisel Mueller's "The Deaf Dancing to Rock"
  • Thom Gunn's "The Victim" (about the death of Nancy Spungen)
  • Joseph Hutchinson's "Joni Mitchell"
  • Katharyn Howd Machan's "In 1969"
  • Robert Long's "What's So Funny 'bout Peace, Love and Understanding"
  • Dana Gioia's "Cruising with the Beach Boys"
  • Gary Soto's "Heaven"
  • Albert Goldbarth's "People Are Dropping Out of Our Lives"
  • David Bottoms' "Homage to Lester Flatt"
  • David Wojahn's "Buddy Holly" (much better than the Mystery Train poems, IMHO)
  • Van K. Brock's "Sphynx"
  • Richard Speakes' "Patsy Cline"
  • Richard Blessing's "Elegy for Elvis"

Larry Levis' "Decrescendo" with the line:

"The man on sax & the other on piano never had to argue
Their point, for their point was time itself"

James Seay's "Johnny B. Goode" with the lines:

"though I could probably write one of those pop-culture essays
on its All-American iconography,
the railroad running through the promise-land"

Michael Loden's "Tumbling Dice" with the line:

"is 'Ooo Baby Baby'
still the melting point of ice?"

 

And I must mention to end, surprisingly none of these anthologies included my favorite music poem, "Serenade" by Billy Collins. 

 

Poems About Movies

Reel-verseRecently I received two books of poetry about movies. The first was a gift called Reel Verse, Poems About Movies, an anthology by Everyman's Library. There are so many good poems in this one and I found quite a few online.

Some of my favorites were poems about racism and segregation in movie theaters: Ellen Byrant Voight's "At the Movie House: Virginia, 1956," a similar poem by Elizabeth Alexander called "Early Cinema," and a very chilling poem about the movie Birth of a Nation called "Meanwhile" by Martha Collins where she traces the damage this infamous 1915 movie did to real people, including an increase in lynchings, torture and the rebirth of the KKK.

Denise Duhamel's great poem "An Unmarried Woman" about the movie of the name and how it's seen viewed through the lens of two young girls: "This was just marriage, we guessed, sipping our frappes."

Amy Gerstler has a great poem called "The Bride Goes Wild" about love and sex that is basically just movie titles strung together. Ron Koertge's "Aubade" is about Bette Davis movies. "Janet Leigh is Afraid of Jazz" is a great Noir poem by Marsha De La O. 

Sonia Greenfield does a funny role-reversal in the poem "Celebrity Stalking" where Meryl Streep and George Clooney are stalking the poet for poetry. And Gregory Djanikian's got an empowering poem called "Movie Extras"  and Vijay Seshardri's "Script Meeting" was a tour de force about special effects. Paul Muldoon has poem about young boys accidentally watching a romantic film called "The Weepies" and Carol Muske-Dukes talks about watching her actor-husband get murdered repeatedly in her poem "Unsent Letter #4." 

Patricia Spears Jones has some good lines in a poem about the movie Hud (which I haven't even seen):

"Where else can a man be a jerk
and still make a woman's heart ache?

We want more.
More of his cool, patrician inspection
of the very core of our lusting selves.

Oh for a day to be Patricia Neal
warming up her whiskey voice
just so she can tell Paul Newman
where to go and how fast to get there.

For now, the jerk stands bare chested
literate, tasty."

There's a whole chapter on auteurs. Highlights are:

I took the term "field of music" for my NaPoWriMo 2022 project from Elena Karina Byrne's "Easy Rider."

Other good ones were David Wojahn's "Buddy Holly Watching Rebel Without a Cause," "At the Film Society" by Stephen Dunn and one of my favorites, "Voice Over" by Geoffrey O'Brien about a tough, fall guy getting his revenge.

When-pilotless-plane-arrives-cefolaThe second book was the new chapbook from Ann Cefola called When the Pilotless Plane Arrives available on Trainwreck Press.

This is an amazing little set of ars poetica poems culled from the material of old movies, like Bette Davis' Now Voyager or the somewhat newer Close Encounters of the Third Kind plus Universal's suite of horror movies. Some of your favorite b-movies might be here: This Island Earth, Dr. Cyclops, The Monster and the Girl aka D.O.A., King Kong Escapes, The Mole People, The Bride of Frankenstein, House of Horrors, The Leech Woman, The Mummy's Hand, Dead Man's Eyes, Calling Dr. Death, House of Frankenstein, The Mummy and The Invisible Man.

Each poem extrapolates a delightful and non-obvious lesson about writing from the serepentine plots of these movies. And that lesson might be four lines or four words. 

A longer example from "First Draft in a Drawer" (after Now Voyager, 1942):

….proving an initial
draft needs care, questions asked by a skilled
professional, exposure to revered poets,
the wide Atlantic, salt air, and above all,
proscribed love, to risk its truest self.

Or this more brief lesson from "You're Getting Sleepy, Sleepy…" (after Calling Dr. Death, 1943):

"cross out articles, finish off adjectives with a pillow"

In some poems, Cefola addresses the poet directly: "You too, poet" or "poet, you maybe be irritable as that scientist." In the last poem she brings it all together, the connecting fiber between the poet and the scientist gone mad,  in the poem "Propulsion" (after Close Encounters of the Third Kind, 1977):

It's always been this way. A tuning fork for the world. I just.
Want to know. You enter the sparkling city and—know.
You had already been taken long ago.

The Essay Project: The Beat Poets

CorsoThe student who contributed this essay to our class forgot to note the author so I had to look that up, “Variations on a Generation” by Gregory Corso and as far as I can tell it's from The Portable Beat Reader edited by Ann Charters. This is another good example of how an essay could be historical, instead of simply a craft essay or personal opinion about some aspect of poetry. 

Corso starts by defining writers who are members of a group as if to say the better talents belong to groups (which would leave out Emily Dickinson among plenty of other excellent loners): “every man works better when he has companions working in the same line, and yielding the stimulus of suggestion, comparison, emulation,” what Corso calls clusters joined by “geological location” or “philosophical sympathies” like the transcendentalists who were joined both geologically and philosophically. His other examples are “local-color realists…born between 1849 and 1851” or “experimental modernists…born in the decade between 1879 and 1888.” These “clusters or constellations” occur in all the arts.

(This might be a good time to note The New Yorker recently had a good article on the drawbacks of thinking in terms of generations…but that's a digression.)

Anyway, we're used to thinking along this generations line so Corso explains F. Scott Fitzgerald’s definition of the Lost Generation, a “reaction against the fathers which seems to occur about three times in a century…distinguished by a set of ideas inherited …from the madmen and the outlaws of the generation before.”

This is a helpful definition, Corso says, when considering the Beats  and their “intricate web of perceptions, judgements, feelings, and aspirations…the shared experience for the Beat writers was historical and political, based on the tumultuous changes of their times.”

Corso lists the good and the bad as influences here: anti-Communist hysteria, the Cold War, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Arthur Rimbaud and Dylan Thomas.

He traces the word “beat” in etymological detail, coming out of  Jazz and meaning 'down and out' from 'dead beat' or beat-up or streetwise. The genesis of the word started in 1944 and traveled from Herbert Huncke to William Burroughs to Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, who saw in the word as a “melancholy sneer” like “solitary Bartlebies” (from Herman Melville’s short story "Bartleby, the Scrivener"), the “archetypical American non-conformist.”

Ginsberg’s friend Lucien Carr said, “maybe it was term we just sold ourselves. It was trying to look at the world in a new light, trying to look at the world in a way that gave it some meaning. Trying to find values…that were valid.”

[A generic enough a statement to stick to any rebellious manifesto.]

The term “Beat Generation” was coined in 1948 when bop music writer John Clellon Holmes wrote a piece appreciating the stories of junkies and the new consciousness, furtiveness and the “weariness with all the forms”….and the movement had “the subversive attraction of an image that just might contain a concept, with the added mystery of being hard to define….a vision and not an idea.” Holmes saw Jack Cassidy as the central figure after the publication of his novel Go. Then an article by Gilbert Millstein appeared in 1952 in The New York Times' Sunday Times, which officially launched the term.

Early works of note were:

  • Chandler Brossard's Who Walk in Darkness
  • George Mandel's Flee the Angry Strangers
  • Jack Kerouac's Jazz of the Beat Generation and On the Road which followed Allen Ginsberg’s censorship trial in San Francisco for Howl and Other Poems

Kerouac was dubbed the spokesman by this time and in 1958, Esquire Magazine published “The Philosophy of the Beat Generation.” 

The Beat poets are often conflated with the San Francisco Renaissance writers but were only associated to them via Allen Ginsberg who had moved from New York to California. The West Coast group was already a community by 1954 and contained a loose group of poets including Kenneth Rexroth, Kenneth Patchen, Robert Duncan, William Everson, Henry Miller, Anaïs Nin, Philip Lamentia, Jack Spicer, Robin Blaser, Weldon Keys and Gary Snyder.

It was at the event "Six Poets at the Six Gallery” in 1955 where the poem "Howl" was unveiled.

According to Michael McClure: “we saw that the art of poetry was essentially dead—killed by war, by academies, by neglect, by lack of love, and by disinterest. We knew we could bring it back to life…We wanted voice and we wanted vision."

The West Coast poets tended to revolve around presses: Unitide Press, Equinox Press, the Pocket Poets Series from Lawrence Ferlinghetti's City Lights Bookstore that published "Howl" which was seized by San Francisco customs officers and the press was charged with “publishing and selling an obscene book. But that just led to national attention and big sales.

Meanwhile, the word Beat came to be associated with the milieux of bop music, drugs, hipsters, the new kids of rock ‘n’ roll and soon it just became synonym for bohemian rebellion. Other terms in early competition were 'hip generation' (Norman Mailer), “the subterraneans” (Allen Ginsberg), “bop generation” (Jack Kerouac). A San Francisco Chronicle columnist coined the word “beatnik” as a condescending term in Look Magazine in 1958 when he referred to the “250 bearded cats.”

There was plenty of criticism for the poets in the US and the UK. Poet George Barker wrote a poem called “Circular from America” where he said, “Mill of no mind…1/2 and idea to a hundred pages….For laboring through/Prose that takes ages/Just to announce/That Gods and Men/Ought all to study/The Book of Zen.”

Ouch.

They were seen as “an amusing phenomenon" in the English magazine X although the UK had its own Kitchen-Sink Writers or “Angry Young Men,” a group that included John Osborne, Colin Wilson, John Wain and John Braine.

Conservatives in the encyclopedia The Americana suggested in 1958 that these writers were simply “self-conscious delinquents, addicted to…jazz, dope and the lunatic fringe of sex and literature, received attention out of all proportion to its significance…”

McClure insisted “at the deepest level that a barrier had been broken, that a human voice and body had been hurled against the harsh wall of America and its supporting armies and naives and academies and institutions and ownership systems and power-support bases.”

In 1958 Jack Kerouac published The Dharma Bums which was based on the poet Gary Snyder’s life and values and which became “a blueprint for hippie culture a decade later.”

Corso says,

“Like the work of the radical writers of the 1930s (but without their specific political agenda), Beat poetry and fiction was an alternative literature by writers who were sweeping in their condemnation of their country’s underlying social, sexual, political, and religious values…Earlier modernist poets like Ezra Pound or Lost Generation writers like Ernest Hemingway had attacked the system from the safeguard of their life abroad as expatriates, but the Beat Generation writers protested their country’s excesses on the front lines.”

William Burroughs understood the threat to conservatives as "much more serious…say, than the Communist party…you can’t tell anybody anything he doesn’t know already. The alienation, the restlessness, the dissatisfaction were already there waiting when Kerouac pointed out the road….Art tells us what we know and don’t know that we know.”

The important works:

  • Lawrence Ferlinghetti's Pictures of the Gone World (1955)
  • Allen Ginsberg's Howl and Other Poems (1956)
  • Jack Kerouac's On the Road (1957)
  • Kerouac's The Dharma Bums (1958)
  • John Clellon Holmes' Go (1958)
  • John Clellon Holmes' The Horn (1958)
  • Lawrence Ferlinghetti's Coney Island of the Mind (1958)
  • Gregory Corso's Bomb (1958) [writer including himself in the history there]
  • Michael McClure's Peyote Poem (1958)
  • John Wieners' The Hotel Wentley Poems (1958)
  • Diana DiPrima's The Kind of Bird Flies Backwards (1958)
  • William Burroughs' Junky (1958)
  • William Burroughs' Naked Lunch (1958)
  • Gary Snyder's Riprap (1958)
  • Kerouac's Doctor Sax (1959)
  • Kerouac's Mexico City Blues (1959)
  • Philip Whalen's Self-Portrait from Another Direction (1959)
  • Gary Snyder's Myths & Texts (1960)
  • Philip Whalen's Like I Say (1960)
  • Ginsberg's "Kaddish" (1961)
  • Kerouac's Book of Dreams (1961)
  • Michael McClure's Dark Brown (1961)
  • Diana DiPrima's Dinners and Nightmares (1961)
  • LeRoi Jones' Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note (1961)

According to Corso, “the Beat Generation did less well for its women. Reflecting the sexism of the times, the women mostly stayed on the sidelines as girlfriends and wives.” This group was more about “male bonding.” It’s experimentation involved what Gregory Corso called, “bop prosody, surreal-real images, jumps, beats, cool measures, long rapid vowels, long long lines, and the main content, soul…the brash assertiveness of the postwar years.”

JuliemaryWhen I met Julie Wiskirchen at Sarah Lawrence in the mid-1990s, the first thing she invited me to join was a Guggenheim event in Manhattan to see an Allen Ginsberg reading. In my memory Ginsberg sang, "Don't smoke, don't smoke….the government dope. Smoke weed!" But this is the full text of the piece proving my memory is not very good….but in any case Julie and I have been lifelongs every since.

New Year, New Attitude, Olivia Gatwood and Joan Didion

RupalOk, let’s get started. We have a lot to get to. First off, happy 2022. New year, new adventure.

I received a Masterclass subscription for Christmas and I started right away with Ru Paul. I felt he would be the best person to help me reorient myself to the new year. His talk was about recalibrating the self at the deepest level.

The class was not about drag, per se, other than his famous quip, “We’re all born naked, the rest is drag.” It was mostly about tuning your frequency to what people see. Not suprisingly he recommended meditation for this and talked about cycles of cynicism that stall in bitterness, how the ego co-opts joy. He talked about his cultural lighthouses (Monty Python being a surprising one). In the second half, he also gave red-carpet and makeup tips (which are always mesmerizing to watch). For example, he says if you want more money wear a suit. Full stop. I don’t need any more money, so I won’t be buying new suits. But I appreciate the spirit in which that advice was given. He talked about your life’s work being to communicate yourself, but lest we fall into an ego-hole, he also talks about paying it forward and serving others. (“It doesn’t work if we’re all solo agents”). He tells you how to talk to your inner kid.

CornellwestThen I watched the Cornell West Mastercalls which completely turned me inside out. West’s suggestion that we could see differently, act courageously and feel deeply was the invitation I needed to sign up in the first place). Ostensibly this class was an introduction to Philosophy, what does it mean to be human, etc.? Surprisingly he talked a lot about love and music. He asked us to, like Socrates, question our presuppositions. We can’t live without them, he says, but we need to question them with humility. We need to learn how to die. That was a big one. He talks about moving from being an observer to being a participant. He talked about pity versus compassion and he inspired me to read Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh to learn the difference.

I really needed to hear his message about leaving “a bit of heaven” behind “in a world run by the hounds of hell,” to stay out there in the thick of it, even though things are really awful right now. After all, if the cracked vessel Cornell West can move ahead in the world with a positive attitude, what the hell is wrong with me?

He said that no matter how bad things are, love, joy, holiness and the sublime are still happening. (and I have to remind myslef, still happening on the internet). Both Ru Paul and Cornell West helped me reorient myself to 2022, not just in spite of recent anxieties but a lifelong one as well. 

So how do these Masterclasses relate to writing? Well, these talks were both about what you choose to pay attention to and that's what writing is all about at its deepest level too.

That said, I’m excited about two new projects this year, an online poem about my grandfather and a more traditionally conceived Katharine Hepburn epic. NaPoWriMo 2022 is also coming up in April. I’ll only be doing two more years of NaPoWriMo and then I’ll have reached my goal of 300 poems. I haven't decided if I'll follow the prompts one last time or pick another theme.

DidionI was very sad about the news that Joan Didion had passed away. Didion is my favorite writerly model for many reasons. After moving to Los Angeles many years ago Sherry, a friend from Sarah Lawrence College recommended Joan Didion as the best writer about LA (or California, I can’t remember exactly what she said). But yes, she is. I checked out every Joan Didion book from the Redondo Beach library. Although she was not a probable writer for me to love as a John-Wayne loving, glamourous, Hollywood insider. My favorite books of hers were Where I’m From (which helped me think about my own family history in a critical way) and The Year of Magical Thinking (which made me soberly approach my own magical thinking).

Didion also helped me think about Los Angeles in a new way. She talked about America and the cult of exclusion (class, race, etc.)…she understood intelligentsia and she understood California and she was a long-time New York City resident. She could credibly make the case for a west coast intellectualism. And yet no one seemed more included, seemed more a part of the upper crust of that culture than did Joan Didion…and yet she called it out anyway, which is remarkable.

Some interesting tributes online:

Joan Didion and the Voice of America: This piece talks about her connection to Normal Mailer and V.S. Naipaul’s pessimism-as-style, how that was always misread as white-woman fragility. The article also focuses on her important writings about race and how she typed out Hemmingway’s sentences to learn the craft of the sentence. The article also mentions “her ability to combine the specific and the sweeping in a single paragraph.” Apparently the writer is working on a Fall 2022 exhibit on Didion at the Hammer Museum. I look forward to that.

Joan Didion’s California: This article talks about “the foundational mythologies of California” and “Didion’s generational ties with the state…her mercurial and melodious sentences…her signature lilt…her own indelible, intruding, and exacting subjectivity…the routine admission of her presence across all her writings…her deep displays of sentimentality” and how “no one who enunciates the moods of this place [California] quite like Didion does….to write hard about the places we love and has permitted us to be a little glamourous while we do it.”

What Joan Didion Saw:  “Didion was a pattern-seeker” this article says, she found “the markers pointing out how the whole thing worked….through her efforts, the craft of journalism changed…her ominous, valley-flat style…[working] in the danger zone between sensibility and objectivity: to be receptive to a passing feeling, a change in cast, and then to bear down, with unsparing rigor, in the work of understanding why.” The article explains her “flash cuts”…her “restless mind” and quotes Didion to say, “In retrospect, we know how to write when we begin. What we learn from doing it is what writing was for.” Didion teaches us “how to put together a paragraph, whether to add the ‘the’ or not…what to do with those sentences, how to turn the craft of storytelling away from shared delusion, is the effort of a life.”

Nobody Wrote Sentences like her: According to Didion, “to shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence, as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning of the object photographed.” This article talks about her “incisive, steely prose,” the piercing restraint … palpable down to the grammar, which she called “a piano I play by ear.” The article also mentions her musicality, “controlled and concise sentences,” how she deconstructed mythologies including the California dream, the myth of New York City, her disillusionment, her economy, her questioning of the self, her sarcasm and irony, her understatement and the enigmatic way she could convey a mood.

There are two Library of America editions available:

The 60s/70s Joan Didion

The 80s/90s Joan Didion

And a book about her writing style, Joan Didion: Substance and Style by Kalthleen Vandenberg 

Dunne-didionDidon’s husband writer John Gregory Dunne was no slouch about writing about Los Angeles himself. And their movies are worth checking out. A particular favorite of mine from my college Al Pacino obsession is The Panic in Needle Park

Didion taught me there was a way to speak as the self in a self-obsessed time, how you can be hard on yourself or ambivalent about yourself without letting yourself either disappear or take over the message. Not that I ever get there, but she’s the writer I most wanted to be like, the reality of her suffering, the mythology of her seemingly enchanted life, the hard, slogging work…all of it.

 

PartyA  friend of mine in Albuquerque recently told me about the book of poetry Life of the Party by Olivia Gatwood because it’s a book about violence against woman (which we were talking about at dinner one night) and because Gatwood is an Albuquerque poet.

There are some really good poems in the book but it was honestly a hard read for me. Very hard. I could only read a few poems A WEEK because I felt the author put herself in dangerous situations and then felt traumatized by them. She did things for men long past when she could (and should) have easily stopped. Dare I even say it, she felt like a doormat complaining about being a doormat.

But I then felt a lot of guilt over blaming the victim (because some crappy things happened to her). Her lack of boundaries frustrated me (granted, I have too many probably) but many of her conclusions were a bridge too far for me.

But that said there were some great poems: “Girl,” “Ode to Pink,” “Ode to the Women on Long Island” (a particularly memorable one  I recommended to Monsieur Big Bang for a character of a show he's working on), “Sound Bites While We Ponder Death."

Over Christmas I discussed the book with friends at a dinner party and how I was struggling over how to verbalize my frustration with Gatwood’s lack of boundaries. My friend who recommended the book, her significant other gently said to me, “maybe her definition of love is very different from yours.” And I was like, oh yeah; that would explain it pretty much. 

Talking about books with other people is a good thing.

Digital Literature: Historical Perspective & More Examples

NmrIn one of my final posts of the year, I wanted to check in one last time with a bunch of thoughts about digital lit. This past year I cracked the gargantuan New Media Reader textbook (this thing: it will take me years to finish it!) and I’ve continued working on my own digital lit projects.

The introductory chapter itself was blowing up my head, “Inventing the Medium” but Janet H. Murray and it was basically a review of the history that got us to this point.

She talks about technology’s “breathless pace of change” and “braided interplay of inventions mid-century” (1950s/60s). She believes new media solved the issue of “linear media’s failure to capture structures of thought.” I would agree that linear media has limitations but we’re finding now that digital media is also struggling to keep us from a new kind of madness and that when Murray extols the new “consciousness reforming itself” we can now see that this is not always in positive ways.

She says the “shelf of Knowledge exploded.”  Unfortunately, so did the shelf of false knowledge, (oh yes, the earth is flat again), to which Murray says this might speak more to the gaps between technical prowess and social development.

Digital tools have also increased, she admits, weapons acceleration, “killing someone as a way of information processing” in a deadly proliferation of creation and destruction. But Murray ultimately has (or had, this book is from 2003) faith in the same progress that led us to the atomic bomb. We are smart enough to find a way out.

And here is where I found the essay pretty illuminating. She divides us into two camps: the engineer and the humanist. This demarcation pretty much can be applied to any argument you’re having with someone over technology. (Oh well, you’re just a humanist!) But seriously, it shows us the roots of all the enthusiasms and resistances. And I have great sympathy for both sides, being in a humanist avocation and having an engineering vocation.

According to Murray, the humanist is worried the technological changes will lead to cultural confusion and existential befuddlement. The engineer would say we just need to invent the proper fix or instrument to solve any problem that comes up. The answer, for them, is problem-solving systematically.

To which the humanist (in me) might argue there are a lot fewer people thinking systematically these days.And when Murray speaks of the failed promises of print, I can’t help but think of the failed promises of the internet.

Murray invokes Hitler when she talks about the trajectory of unchecked rationalism (it would be most efficient to eliminate people draining the system, the elderly, religions we don’t like, etc.) but unchecked irrationalism is also horrifying she says. Humanists the see limitations of systemized thinking and the ultimate unknowability of life, its absurdities, suffering, longing, and needs. Engineers are solutions-based but often blind to the sufferings their solutions can inflict.

Murray says digital artists are interested in the exploratory processes of the mind. And personally, I find this to be a very, very interesting idea but I just wonder if we're in a better place than after 25 years of tinkering with mental processing.

New media artists are attracted to random combinations, the arbitrary nature of stories, choice and the garden of forking paths. Murray says in this way, we have “outgrown the garments of print” (and yet books, to a lesser degree than before, still thrive). She points to the failures of newspapers and their slowness to recover from inacurate news (Paul McCartney is dead, Ernest Hemmingway is dead, Dewey won) and yet I can’t help but think about the statistic that false news travels on the internet 10-20 times faster than the truth

She takes us through a historical tour of the decades.

In the 1950s we saw quantitative data manipulation, artificial intelligence, databases, networks, multi-user terminals, the first formulated idea for the internet and hypertext as a term was coined, early ideas about networking that would one day transform institutions. In fact, she says, many of the ideas ended in the 1960s, but machines were too slow and those ideas didn’t get far at the time, only becoming realized in the 1980s and 90s.

The 1980s and 90s brought us personal computers, word processing software, storyspace, hypercard, video games, immersive worlds, cooperative programming, easier user interfaces, the second self, projected consciousness, an online community and complex social relationships. By the end of 1990s digital media had swallowed entertainment and education.

And by now, banking, commerce and almost everything else.

So here we are today with some great muti-media experiences, and yet corporations still have too much power over consumers and we suffer under the illusion of choice. We are more alienated from the real world and the damage humanists predicted is not just a dark fantasy anymore. We have seen an increase in surveillance, exhibitionism, stalking, threats to our productivity, shared hallucinations, disorienting data overload and Murray does admit this was all predicted by the post-modernists who “no longer believed anything [previously] asserted.”

We’re also now experiencing the death of expertise (unintended consequence of DIY and self-help).

Murray describes computer scientists as having an “exhilarating earnestness” while learning about “active construction of meaning” while at the same time humanists were celebrating deconstruction and the unraveling of meaning. Humanists have been exploring fragmentation, distrust of the imagination and a “loss of faith in the great meta-narratives,” a distrust of endings. They revel in the middle.

But there is something to be said for the potato root system, of a growth with no beginning or end, as long as it’s ultimately digestible (to stay in the metaphor). Digital media has also given us new avenues for whimsey and all the “good” kinds of communication and expression.”

And it bears a reminder, this is a 2003 book. Murray made grand predictions about how new media would resist commodification (it didn’t), that we would not crushed by our own knowledge (we did become crushed by our inability to parse the good versus the bad knowledge), and that our machines would not become our Gods (uh…yeah), and that new media would somehow miraculously escape ideologies (about that…).

10 Finds This Year:

So all my angst aside, I’m keeping-on with exploring digital media and some of it is delightful.

I’m still seeing some  problems with accessing digital works. A lot of these older sites were not build as https, today’s secure protocols, and the authors have not upgraded them for usability. This is not unusual. It’s so much work to launch a project as it is and then by the time you move on to your next project, there’s no time to continually return to older ones and update all your old stuff. It makes the pieces highly perishable and costly, especially considering the time involved in making them.

  1. Hobo Lobo of Hamlin: http://hobolobo.net/
    Not a secure site but a lovely interactive illustration. It doesn’t work so well on iPad (no audio) or mobile. The technical considerations section of the About page is a meta-must read: http://hobolobo.net/what-is-this-thing#q  (look for “bringing a linear story alive”).

    Hobo

  2. High Muck a Muck: a digital poem with maps: www.highmuckamuck.ca
  3. Hunt for the Gay Planet was a hilarious Twine HTML branching story, very funny. Unfortunately it’s been taken down but you can still watch the video capture on ELO: https://collection.eliterature.org/3/videos/hunt-for-the-gay-planet-video.mp4. There is something organically funny about the branching story form, just like there is with the haiku form.
  4. The Struggle Continues: https://collection.eliterature.org/3/videos/the-struggle-continues-video.mp4 Another Young Hae Chang Heavy Industries video poem with music. It’s funny with some subversive politics.
  5. Tatuaje is a short detective novel – what was interesting to me were the spaces for artifacts, photos, chats, maps, email archives, and scrolling text: http://tatuaje.centroculturadigital.mx/ (It’s in Spanish but you can interact with it if you don't speak Spanish).
  6. Letters from the Archiverse is audio-visual word art. It’s also not available anywhere but in video format: https://collection.eliterature.org/3/videos/letters-from-the-archiverse-video.mp4 Words as material.
  7. Loss, Undersea is a video that scrolls down a screen of visuals as a person goes through their day making choices. Great graphics regardless of the interactivity. Only the Flash version is available (who has that anymore?) but you can still watch a video capture: https://collection.eliterature.org/3/videos/loss-undersea-video.mp4

    Loss

  8. Thoughts Go is a short audio visual Flash poem preserved as a video: https://collection.eliterature.org/3/videos/thoughts-go-video.mp4
  9. Umbrales is a spotlight and reveal interactive poem. Watch the video https://collection.eliterature.org/3/videos/umbrales-video.mp4 or visit the EN or ES site http://www.umbrales.mx/
  10. VeloCity is a Flash video of word animation. See the video capture: https://collection.eliterature.org/3/videos/velocity-video.mp4

Also interesting:

https://breathe-story.com/ You have to read this short story on your phone. It doesn’t work well for ipad or computer because it uses your GPS location to build suspense into the story. It was short and too much of a sketch than a finished piece. Plus the GPS insertions were more unintentionally funny than suspenseful. (Even my dog Franz was captured in the first screenshot part of the story).

Screenshot_20210805-191726 Screenshot_20210805-191726 Screenshot_20210805-191726

The Essay Project: The Contemporary Poets

PoulinThe next essay is from editor A. Poulin Jr. talking about "Contemporary American Poetry" (soon he would have a 1991 anthology of the stuff, my copy looks like this) in a piece called Contemporary American Poetry: The Radical Tradition.

And this is a good time to stop and reflect on the quite significant narcissism of those early 20th century poets labelling themselves 'modernists,' thinking the word modern would always apply to them and somehow defy the march of time. Similarly, post post-modernism (which technically could mean anything in the future) poets subsequently understood the problem and started labeling themselves 'Contemporary' like they were doubling down on a delusion. Their 'contemporary' poems are now 60 years old and as far from contemporary as poems could possibly be. I wouldn’t be surprised if poets now start calling themselves the Right-Nows. It's a straight line for there to here, narcissistically speaking,

In any case, we’re all soon Long-Agos, as are those modernists and contemporaries. But this little essay of self-congratulations actually has some interesting things in it. It attempts to define this body of “contemporary” poetry as poets writing since 1945 up to the current year (1980).

Poulin starts by exploring how all generations tend to rebel against previous ones, the previous generation's  “essential beliefs….its excesses, principle atrophied into prejudice….petrified into cliché…[and] tyranny” but Poulin maintains that “the revolution doesn’t always realize a clean break….the blood, the genes remain, camouflaged by a radical façade.”

He then talks about what revolution these poets represent, their ceasing to believe the “orthodoxy of T.S. Eliot and the New Critics.”

And at this spot of the essay I have a crazy bit of marginalia right here talking about prescriptive craft advice and how it somehow corresponds to diet advice and how that makes us all fat” and I read it today thinking well maybe that’s true in some weird way, but what the hell does it have to do with this essay? Who was this person?

There is one word in this essay that is probably my least favorite essay word in these academic essays: unquestionable (unquestionably, kin to undeniably). A few sentences later there a phrase that something “is simply untenable.” All of a group, those words. Nothing is unquestionable.

He then lists the cast of New Critics,

Allen Tate
John Crowe Ramson
William Epson,

those poets who were an addendum to modernism and enforcers of Eliot's ideas, those "who transformed the experiments…into a legislative critical system…the New Critics…no longer regarded as sacred commandments”).

He lists the influences of the new poets, but during the entire essay fails to name the women who probably had more influence on experimental contemporary poetry than anyone else: Emily Dickinson and Gertrude Stein, a good example of how important women were marginalized during this period of mythmaking about contemporary poetry. Poulin credits the French and Spanish surrealists as influences, Neruda and Vallejo and the popular arts (singling out Lana Turner, Joan Baez and Bob Dylan).

Like the Modernists before them of these “contemporary” poets, Poulin says, read the English Metaphysical poets and John Crowe Ransom…and that "the most adequate and convincing poetry” for them “accommodates mixed feelings, clashing ideas and incongruous images.”

Where they parted with the Modernists was regarding intimacy, the personal revelation, removing “artistic distance between the poets and their subjects, the poets and their poems.” Contemporary poets use persona and sometimes other formal devices but focus on “individual personality” and “intimate experiences” in disagreement with T.S. Eliot who claims that “poetry was an escape from personality.”

Contemporary poets incorporate “biographical details” and make the speaker, the “I”, themselves…writing “as if that reader were a confessor, psychiatrist, intimate friend, or lover.” In fact, a lot of these poets are interested in exploring the borders and depths of the Freudian subconscious and multidimensional personality….the self’s discovery of the outer world…sexual honesty…personal illness, madness, failure and self-destruction” And here he says something about the “near hysteria of Sylvia Plath.”

Oy.

But this part is good: “…the requirements of technique and craftsmanship raise…questions about just how personal and immediate a poet can be…any poem is a fabrication and takes time and calculation to complete. Like any other art… [it] is selective, calculated, and public gesture, a formal utterance for which the poet selects a language and voice, even if they are approximate to his or her own as the poet can manage.”

Poulin also discusses irony and paradox and raises the issue of irony's problematic distance: “Irony may thwart much genuine emotion, its absence also makes genuine emotion virtually impossible.”

How’s that for a paradox?

Poulin shows how irony helps in certain cases, like for Plath and O’Hara, to “temper the intensity of suffering by undercutting the vehement…” Camp irony can find a sense of humor in Plath’s suicide or O’Hara’s descriptions of emptiness and decadence. “…[where] laughter camouflages horror."

I would also argue that irony done well can express its very own deep-seated emotion, like hidden Easter Eggs, to reward the most engaged and patient readers. But that this technique wasn't being used as much with this set of poets, more so a technique used with later Generation X and Millennial poets.

Poulin talks about levels of ambiguity where reader interpretations are encouraged (Ashbery), where punctuation and pronouns are manipulated (Merwin and Berryman). Metapoetry is discussed, and allusions after "The Waste Land." 

These poets, Poulin says, are not as interested in mythology in the classical sense. They are not likely to allude to ancient Greek poets. They are having a contemporary experience and are concerned with their own survival, not mythmaking except for “the suffering, middle-aged, white ‘human American man’…[the idea that] I am my own myth.”

Poulin then categorizes these poets as decedents of the Puritans or Whitman, basically pessimists and optimists.

The Puritans (ex: Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton) are descendants of the fall of Adam, they see “humans as essentially corrupt, limited spiritually and physically and deteriorating. There poems tend to be “complex, emblematic, and metaphysical.” The Puritan poet is threatened by madness and…tempted to self-destruction.”

The Whitmans (ex: Allen Ginsberg, Louis Simpson, David Ignatow) “assert the holiness of Adamic self…a holy universe.” These poets are “often scornful of intellectualization” and believe in the “self’s limitless potential for transcendence.” There poems are often “open, loose product of emotion rather than of intellect or conspicuous craftsmanship, its language…more recognizably ‘American.’”

That’s a pretty good distinction. Poulin then lists poets inspired by the French symbolists, Chinese and Japanese poetry (Gary Snyder, W. S. Merwin, James Wright), the Spanish Surrealists (Philip Levine and Robert Bly), those who experimented with the prose poem as action painting or verbal jazz (John Ashbery, Lawrence Ferlinghetti).

He admits there was an “obsession with originality” and that

“each age discovers or fabricates one or two all-encompassing metaphors for the quality of human experience that it confronts or seeks. It was T. S. Eliot, of course, who fabricated the first encompassing metaphor for the twentieth century: the waste land was the image of human spiritual and cultural sterility…a powerful mise en scene of the modern situation, to a large extent its characters were composite ghosts, unreal men and women in an unreal city…Eliot set the scene, but contemporary poets have peopled that waste land, mostly with their individual selves.”

And they’ve done it with language, “by making poetry out of the full range of everyday speech—including obscenity, vulgarity, and slang.”

These poets are also very political and create a poetry that “responds directly” to the “broad spectrum of everyday political realities.”

Then he drops this bomb: “the political tradition was all but ignored during the first half of the century” completely ignoring the group of socialist poets of the 1920s and 1930s who wrote extensively about social conditions during the depression and against the Spanish Civil War, many of whom were blacklisted to such an extent they now literally don’t exist in the minds of New Critics and contemporary poets. There’s a whole book about this historical blacklisting called Revolutionary Memory by Gary Nelson.

Poulin talks about the “imagination of commitment” which he classifies into three groups. The first is the sociopolitical consciousness and nuclear holocaust. He lists the poets that deal with this:

  • “Nick and the Candlestick” Plath
  • “Advice to a Prophet” Wilbur
  • “After Experience Taught Me” Snodgrass
  • “Vapor Trail” and “Reflected in the Frog Pond” Kinnell
  • “Vapor Trails” Snyder
  • “At the Bomb Testing Site” Stafford

The second is historical events, personages:

  • “Eisenhower’s Visit to Franco” Wright
  • “Night, Death, Mississippi” Hayden

More specifically, the Vietnam War poets. Poulin says it is interesting that “despite the fact that many of today’s poets were active participants in World War II—or perhaps because they were—the experience did not seem to grip their imaginations as much as the conflict in Vietnam did.” He says not since World War I has there been so many poems about a single event.

He lists a few World War II poems here for contrast:

  • “On the Eye of an SS Officer” Wilber
  • “The Death of a Ball Turret Gunner” Jarrell
  • “The Heroes” Simpson

The Vietnam poems he lists are:

  • “Counting Small-Boned Bodies” Bly
  • “The Altars in the Street” Levertov
  •  “The Asians Dying” Merwin
  • “Wichita Vortex Sutra” Ginsberg

This raises questions, Poulin says, about where poetry leaves off and propaganda begins and can propaganda poetry be any good. He also notes that all the poets writing about Vietnam were noncombatants and had never “been in the embattled country in contrast to “Wilfred Owen’s poems in the trenches.”

These poets experience only “the removed reality of the media…atrocities were not witnessed, but were ‘viewed’” and that their poems deal more with “the perpetrators of war” and “the language of war” and “the policy of war.”

The third group involves sexual politics and explorations of sexuality from poets like Adrienne Rich, James Wright, Gary Snyder, Robert Duncan, Robert Bly and Anne Sexton writing a celebration of her uterus.

Poulin then talks about the ecological poems of Gary Snyder and John Logan and the meta-poetries:

  • “Leaving the Atocha Station” Ashberry
  • “Fresh Air” Koch
  • “Riprap” Snyder
  • “The Language” Creely
  • “Single Vison” Kunitz

He ends talking about spirituality in poems:

  • “The Sleep Child” Dickey
  • “A Dubious Night” Wilbur
  • “Sometime During Eternity” Ferlinghetti
  • “I Am Waiting” Ferlinghetti
  • “Wales Visitation” Ginsberg
  • “Mary’s Song” Sylvia Plath”
  • "Lemuel’s Blessing” Merwin

All in all this is a good summary of this group (which we totally need because the moniker is so unhelpful). Here's the big list I compiled from the essay:

  • Sylvia Plath
  • Anne Sexton
  • Adrienne Rich
  • Maxine Kumin
  • Denise Levertov
  • Robert Lowell
  • Robert Bly
  • James Wright
  • M.S. Merwin
  • Galway Kinnell
  • John Logan
  • Allen Ginsberg
  • Louis Simpson
  • Richard Hugo
  • Robert Duncan
  • W. D. Snodgrass
  • John Ashbery
  • James Merrill
  • Robert Creely
  • Richard Wilbur
  • Kenneth Koch
  • Stanley Kunitz
  • Donald Hall
  • James Dickey

Books About Identity

ChenchenI picked up Chen Chen’s book When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities because of the Cher reference in it. But this book did not disappoint. Every poem was a dream. It’s one of those books you enjoying so much you slow down in order to be able to be with it longer. Every poem was an experiment of some kind but with an emotional quality that didn’t feel cold.

Self-Portrait As So Much Potential” starts us off by introducing us to how the poet sees himself and what his mother wanted him to be. Chen Chen writes delicious lines like “I’m a rusty yawn in a rumored year. I’m an arctic attic./Come amble & ampersand.” It’s a scat skirting around the emotion of being a disappointment as a gay son. Experiment that are touching makes these very engaging pieces. “In the Hospital” is another good mom poem.

Chen Chen does a kind of spiritual questing here with a kick of humor, like in “I’m Not a Religious Person But.”

And then there are moving love poems like “Summer Was Forever” and the questioning “Elegy

And the sheer scope of his identity poems: “I am making my loneliness small” from the poem “West of Schenectady” and “my hands/have turned out to be no bee,/all bumble,” from “How I Became Sagacious.”

His experiments are even somehow holistic as in “Please Take Off Your Shoes Before Entering Do Not Disturb.”

And that’s all just in section one! I’ve check-marked almost every poem in this book as a favorite. So from here let me just list the favorites of the favorites:

The lovely ode “To the Guanacos at the Syracuse Zoo” ends with “But isn’t this/how it happens?Aren’t all great/love stories, at their core,/great mistakes?”

Elegy for My Sadness” hit a heartbreaking home-run with its conflation of Frenchness and depression and I’m sure I will be coming back to this poem many times.

Kafka’s Axe & Michael’s Vest” covers the idea of silence. A few of his poems reference Paul Celan and asks the question on all of our minds, “What does it mean, to sing in the language of those/who have killed your mother,/would kill her again?” and the tough question “Are we even built for peace?”

We get more of his struggles with his family in “Chapter VIII” when he says “I tried to ask my parents to leave the room,/but not my life. It was very hard. Because the room was the size/of my life.”

And the love poem which is the ode “For I Will Consider My Boyfriend Jeffrey” – “For he looks happy & doesn’t know I’m looking & that makes his happiness free.”

NotebooksLikewise I bought the chapbook Notebooks from Mystery School by Margaret McCarthy because of her Cher poem in it and the interesting thing about reading this collection was how I had misjudged the Cher poem out of context of the rest of the chapbook. I had read her poem, “Thirteen Ways of Looking At Cher,” which is a poem about aging and the transformations we perform in order to avoid aging’s abuse, as sort of dismissive and a critique of maybe what not to do, how not to age like Cher, but the lines were opaque so I wasn’t sure about that.

I was off the mark in any case. This poems are gritty and unapologetic about identity with poems like “Slut” and the free use of words like “crone” and hints at black-sheep arguments with her family. In hindsight I don’t feel McCarthy was invoking Cher as anything less than a admiring curiosity and that the reference to Cher’s “raven heart” was a reference to a “shaman heart” who illustrates that matter can match spirit (we're only as old as we feel).

IvorThe New Yorker had a good essay recently called "In The Wars, The Strange Case of Ivor Gurney" by Anthony Lane which was about Kate Kennedy’s biography Dweller in Shadows: A Life of Ivor Gurney.

This is an interesting piece because Gurney was a private and not an officer like some other famous World War I poets (Wilfred Owen for example). His poems are right in the trenches. He was also an accomplished composer.

The article raises questions about the border between sanity and genius. When discussing his orchestral work “Gloucestershire Rhapsody” the reviewer says, “We are at the core of the Gurney conundrum: where does musical ingenuity end and mental volatility begin? So many of his songs are like interrupted idylls, wrong-footing us with their surprising harmonic shifts, as if we had tripped from grass into brambles. Should we revere such an instinct for the unforeseen, or pity the anxious sorrow that lies beneath?”

Lane then talks about Gurney's poems and that “a reading of ‘Sweller in Shadows’ compels you to ask: Gurney was no Modernist, but by what token do we treat his thronging, darting effusions as testaments to an inward disarray, while the laying down of fragments, in the hands of T.S. Eliot, is viewed as a strategy of great deliberation and cunning?”

The article excerpts from his poems “To His Love” and “The Not-Returning.”

More New Mexico Poems From Our Guy

SingingI've read one other Jimmy Santiago Baca book before, seen him read live at CNM, am a big fan of his biopic. But I hadn't really had an a-ha moment with his poems yet.

Part of this had to do with when I read what I read. Timing is important. I had meant for this book to be included in the New Mexico set I recently blogged about. But I didn't finish it in time. But when you think about New Mexico poets (and poets writing about New Mexico), Jimmy Santiago Baca is a big deal. He's one of the most successful exports we have in poetry. And I don't think I appreciated his scope and vision until I read this collected set, which ranges from his first prison writings through his greatest hits.

Years ago I did a review of an anthology of poems about sex that were surprisingly unsexy in hindsight. Although duly noted everyone wants something different in their sex poems. But I was also disappointed in Erica Jong's collected poems (and what was sexier to passionate teen girls in the 1980s than 1970s Eric Jong novels?). 

Anyway, this is all to say there are some prison letter poems that begin this anthology in "Excerpts from the Mariposa Letters" that are crazy, NSW sexy. Probably because they were part of prison letters and no-holds-barred desire. The fact that Jimmy Santiago Baca can merge ideas of lustiness and the New Mexico landscape is also appreciated. If you're at all squeamish about explicitness, skip this section. But if not, here's my dogeared copy.

This poet has been through a lot, and he's particularly good at investigating his own hardness and anger. "Looking" is a good example of this: "I feel something in me/move–/one movement in particular/crawls out of the dark in me,/a dead hand on bloody drugged knuckles/unfolding/coming to life." 

A good example of the landscape/love intersect is the poem "My Heart" – "A hungry river basin/at the wind's edge/my desires sleep/like hot sunstones,/until the rain/awakes them." He's very good at creating a very particular physicality for emotions like this example are these excerpts from "The Dark Side,"

"My soul
falls like a black oak tree cracked by an ice storm.
It stares up with a skull's nightmare grimace
of cruel suffering on its frozen face.
….
I draw the curtains of my life shut,
a silent stranger to myself
chewing on the maddening, shredded remnants of my heart.
Accepting it as part of me, loving it,
not afraid of feeling its pain, understanding
how I always contradict myself,
I succumb to passion,
even indifference,
roar my loss and abandonment,
bell-bellow my cathedral soul…"

Wow. "Bell-bellow my cathedral soul." Good stuff. He's also good at this sort of purgatory of feeling, like in these lines from "Your Letter Slips Through the Opening in My Heart," 

"I pause home again: you are not here.
I pick warm left over words from your letter,
like last crumbs scraped from the dinner table,
place them in a tattered cloth
and fold in in my coat pocket.

I turn and close the paper, shut the envelope,
and walk down a dark hallway,
past sleeping rooms and down endless stairs
until my feet pause, and I stand staring at your address."

There are lots of New Mexico moments, "In the Foothills" which starts at the Sangre de Cristo Mountains,  Sandia poems like in "It's an Easy Morning" where he is "exhorting me to write/as real as the sand my feet print."

There are poems that are full life sweeps, like "With Paz By the Fire Last Night" and "Set This Book on Fire!" that trace his experiences as a reader and writer and issues of class in academia. 

JsbThere are also some great social justice poems here, full Ginsberg-like sprays of issues of the day and the suffering caused by those in power. "With My Massive Soul I Open" is a good example and the long poem "This Disgusting War!"  

The long poem "Rita Falling from the Sky" is another good example of the literal trek for justice.  It's also full of horny toads, coyotes, weather, cacti, agave hearts, chili powder, cedar, juniper, cottonwoods, sage, mesquite, tortilla, corn, beans, maize, quelites, an exploration of what thirst for truth/thirst for water is. 

There's also a moving poem about a transvestite  prostitute in "Smoking Mirrors" created for a project with James Drake's photography.

The long poems in the back are all impressive, the life-sweep of "Julia," the elegiac "Singing at the Gates," the final moment with "Against Despair," a beautiful poem about enduring the attacks against your poetic and spiritual voice. A perfect ending to the collection. Watch Zach Czaia read the poem along with a great introduction as part of his Poetry Lockdown series.

  

Books of Therapy and New Mexico

CelanI read Poems of Paul Celan as part of an email inquiry last year. Celan is one of Germany’s most famous poets today, although he was controversial when he was alive due to ongoing post-Holocaust anti-Semitism. Both of Celan's parents were murdered by Nazis and Celan’s very cryptic poems have often been read as a way of his dealing with his tragic losses. This collection, translated by Michael Hamburger, is a great meditation on the translation process itself and the relationship between translator and poet, and the challenge of trying to move these more obscure poems into English.

Some highlights:

from "The Years From You to Me"

"Your hair waves once more when I weep. With the blue of your eyes

you lay the table of love: a bed between summer and autumn.
We drink what somebody brewed, neither I nor you nor a third:
we lap up some empty and last thing.

We watch ourselves in the deep sea’s mirrors and faster pass food to the other:

the night is the night, it begins with the morning,
beside you it lays me down."

Here's the full link to the poem "Assisi."

From “Below”

“And the too much of my speaking:
heaped up round the little
crystal dressed in the style of your silence.”

From “Zurich, The Stork Inn”

“I know,
I know and you know, we knew,
we did not know, we
went there, after all, and not there
and at times when
only the void stood between us we got
all the way to each other.”

And this unnamed one:

“It is NO LONGER
this
heaviness
lowered at times with you
into the hour. It is
another.

It is the weight holding back the void
that would
accompany you."

Like you, it has no name. Perhaps
you two are one and the same. Perhaps
one day you also will call me so.

Celan is arrestingly cryptic. Hamburger describes it as a case of "minimal words, halting speech rhythms, the bare bones…”

 The autobiographical final poem is heartbreaking.  The final essay, "On Translating Celan," is probably the best thing I’ve read yet on translating.

DuendeDuende de Burque by Manuel Gonzalez, the former Albuquerque poet laureate, is also a book of of therapeutic poems intended to dispel the pressures of trauma, in this case incarceration. Much of Gonzalez's project in this book is explaining his methods of teaching prison inmates to use poetry as a way of exploring their inner lives.

Moving from the Celan book to this one felt a bit like whip lash. Celan's project uses harrowing, difficult and destabilizing language in order to confront the propaganda and lies of the Holocaust. Gonzalez instead works through trauma with a much more straightforward language, similar to journaling and direct self-expression. This poetry is not for everybody. This book was difficult for me in its own way due the juxtaposition between cryptic obliqueness to saying-exactly-what-you-mean sincerity.

Neither strategy is right or wrong, just different people living different lives in different times turning to poetry for different projects.

This book is emotional and psychological writing that is less about experimental craft than it is about locating an alternate self and having the courage to communicate it.  Poems in the book take on toxic masculinity and misogyny, and American and Spanish colonization. His generous spirit is very moving. There’s also a great local fragrance about the book and his take on Burqueneos he knows, including his departed musician-father who died before he could know him. There’s also a rich alchemy of Catholicism, Buddhism and mysticism.

There is a bit of language experimentation too, like the wordplay of “Sacred Sweat.” I liked his interludes and introductions describing the ABQ poetry community, the group poems and the workshop prompt at the end. Overall a very magnanimous impulse from this poet. 

EmptyDifferent yet again is The Definition of Empty by New Mexico state senator Bill O’Neill who  spent time in the past working with similar New Mexico communities as Gonzalez but on the side of the juvenile parole board. Also noteworthy, Gonzalez is an Hispanic slam poet and O'Neill is a white transplant state senator.

O'Neill does a good job trying to check his white, male privilege and constantly recalibrates to speak from his own experience. You could say O’Neill works around the issue of appropriating stories as they say like a politician. 

But this is nonetheless an interesting book about New Mexico and the issues that result from New Mexican culture and class structures with a blend of cynicism and hope, Poems touch on what O'Neill calls “an unvisited life” (“Castillo”), the lure of substance abuse (“Cruzita”), and the hypocrisy of the liberal elite in Santa Fe (“Hope House Denied: Unwelcome in Santa Fe”).

There’s a great poem about white privilege called “Hitch-Hiking at 28” where the character hitchhikes with a “strong belief” he's “walking into anything [he] wanted” and another poem called “Suspended from Sumer Prep School” which describes his own permanent file of misconduct.

O'Neill attempts to ID himself in the lives of the incarcerated, finding poignant details in lives of struggle and confusion. He even questions his own role in trying to improve the world, (“Easter Weekend”). 

BurnBurn Lake by Carrie Fountain, an older book on southern New Mexico recently given to me by my friend Mikaela, is a good book about a childhood and family life growing up in Las Cruces.

Fountain explores childhood in poems like this one about walking through an indoor mall, “Heaven,” mother-daughter poems like “If Your Mother Was to Tell Your Life Story” and “Mother and Daughter at the Mesilla Valley Mall."

What I didn’t expect and really loved were the historical poems like “El Camino Real” where  somewhere in the middle of a breakup/landscape poem, here comes Columbus; or we follow the Coronado Expedition looking for the mysterious lost ocean in the desert of New Mexico in “The Coast.” The book ends on a modern trek of kids to get cokes that reference historical treks in "El Camino Real 3." 

There's also this perfect poem called “Want.” 

And another great poem called “Purple Heart” about kids causing a break down in a teacher:

….this is the way
the violent gets you: not by coming
for you, but by leaving you behind.”

And this poem about the drownings of two grade school brothers in “Rio Grande”

"….The river
is filling with water from far away,
cold water from the Rockies, the snows
melting, falling, simple, pulled
down the continent like a zipper.”

DharmaHere is an even older book I found at the bookstore in Las Vegas, New Mexico, Poetry from the Fields of Dharma by Thomas Reidy. This is a local Santa Fe book so if you live here you know what that means, every poem is centered on the page and an amateurish feel to the production. It feels very local but that never means it can’t be good. 

There also is a plethora of Buddhist/Zen-inspired, retired-boomer Santa Fe poets. Like…a lot. But I keep picking them up because once in a while that particular brand of New Mexico Zen will bloom out of some unsuspecting self-obsession. In any case Thomas Reidy, an architect/builder, does a much better than average job at turning on his guru poet with the requisite modesty, and not just lip-service to humility:

“I will walk with you/for I have fallen enough to know that my perfect self/is dust.”

Here’s a perfect example of his practice in practice from the poem "Rude Attitude"

"Here’s the deal:
Commenting on life
as it appears to you
changes the experience for everyone;
observing the same events
in sacred silence
changes only yourself.
If you can life with the consequent responsibility,
say what you want."

Here’s another from "The Anchor"

“Soul is the true seeker
in the ocean of love and mercy.
Mind is the sea anchor
filled with the tides of karma.
The master changes the anchor
to a sieve.”

There are also plenty of love poems here for his painter wife Noel Hudson, who illustrates the book. Some are very moving and some are a little over the top. But a bit of schmaltz is worth it for moments like this from “The Gift,”

“As I diminish/so does it grow/until, beloved,/I am not separate from any other/and I learn/that what I sought/was surrender itself.”

How often do we most fear what we most want? From “Silence,”

“Nothing is more eloquent/than/the silence of the beloved” 

I don't think he's referencing a chatty-Kathy here. I think he means that eloquent silence of speechlessness.

A Book About the Spanish Flu

KyrieI was talking to my book club peeps about Covid and the 1918 Spanish Flu (err…Kansas Flu) and how undocumented that bit of history was in terms of monuments. We were talking specifically about the World War I parade in Philadelphia that killed so many people. My friend Sherry mentioned the book Kyrie by Ellen Bryant Voigt (1996) as a good book (if not monument) of poems about the Spanish Flu.

While I was in the thick of my own Covid-related family event I was unable to read them. But in January I picked the book back up and finished it. It’s a “must read” for pandemic poetry, depicting the wartime and rural devastations to small American towns.

A beautiful prologue follows the march of time with weeds and bushes and trees overtaking a place where people once lived:

“And who can tell us where there was an orchard,
where a swing, where the smokehouse stood?”

These are some heart wrenching poems about family members burying loved ones literally hours before succumbing themselves. There's one really pertinent one about a teacher dealing with sick, coughing children and how she couldn’t touch them when they cried. There’s another metaphorical one about how the flu spread all over the world,

“the sickness was more like brushfire in a clearing,
everyone beating the brush with coats and hands,
meanwhile the forest around us up in flames.
What was it like? I was small, I was sick,
I can’t remember much—go study the graves.”

There’s also a good one about a man who planned his own services as he waited to die, another about pure senselessness of the disease:

“The family next door was never struck
But we lost three—was that God’s will? And which
Were chosen for its purpose, us or them?

The Gospel says there is no us and them.
Science says there is no moral lesson.
The photo album says, who are these people?

After the paw withdraws, the world
hums again, making its golden honey.”

Another follows a soldier in the war who returns home:

“Say he lived through one war but not the other.”

And a view from the undertaker,

“Have you ever heard a dead man sigh?
A privilege, that conversation.”

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2024 Big Bang Poetry

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑