I've just posted a recent interview with poet Tom Crawford.
This interview talks about the importance of birds, meditation in poetry, the use of place, accentuating the ordinary and the inspirational hunch that begins a poem.
Category: Poets in Action (Page 14 of 14)
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
In graduate school it was one of our more sinister pastimes to mock celebrity poems. Part envy, part smug critique, it all started with folk singer Jewel when she published A Night without Armor in 1998. Here's a sample:
I Miss Your Touch
I miss your touch
all taciturn
like the slow migration of birds
nesting momentarily
upon my breast
then lifting
silver and quick–
sabotaging the landscape
with their absence
my skin silent without
their song
a thirsty pool of patient flesh
She gets the juicy word taciturn in there but then leaves it alone to defend itself against the word all. Amazingly, people are still making fun of Jewel poems these many years later…like this piece from Funny or Die: Was This Poem Written by Jewel or Charles Manson: http://www.funnyordie.com/articles/3e2e0d2765/was-this-poem-written-by-jewel-or-charles-manson?playlist=featured_pictures_and_words
To be honest, I never read her entire book. But that didn't stop me from buying Beau Sia's spoof in 1998, A Night Without Armor II. It's well-maintained inanity. Some examples:
love poem
I want
you
now.
do not think
about this.
we are in love.
if we die
tonight,
we
might as well
be having
the greatest sex
of our lives.
with each other of course.
I don't suppose raindrops
only one girl I kissed
did not love the rain
they were all still crazy
though.
that's why
poems about the rain
work so well
on a woman's thighs.
we all aspire to learn
more
about clouds.
After Sia's book, I sought out celebrity poetry. I waited a long time for the score of getting Suzanne Somers' 1974 book Touch Me off eBay. The book has no table of contents or even page numbers and there are 23 poems broken across 4 or 5 sections. Every other poem is also facing a black and white, soft-focus photo of Somers looking peaceful or contemplative. Poems are titled "Organic Girl" and "Houseplants" and "Last Night it Was Right." Some examples:
Lies
I have lied to you
A thousand times
Reshaped the truth
To keep you close
And avoid hurting you.
But I always lied with words.
Last night I lied to you
In silence
With my hands, my mouth, my caress
The worst lie of all.
And now I know something is over.
Because before
I only lied with words.
No!
I don't give you time
Because you're a cliche
I meet a thousand times a day.
There's no need to talk.
I know you're handsome
And successful
And extremely good in bed.
But really there's nothing to say,
Only a kind of game to play.
Only a tedious cliche
I meet a thousand times a day.
And I always forget your name.
The absolute worst was in Jimmy Stewart's book, Jimmy Stewart and His Poems from 1989. I found this at a garage sale and couldn't resist the self-satisfied stare of Stewart from the book cover. It's a mere four poems covering 31 pages, each poem prefaced with long passages explaining the context of each poem. Indulgent much? Some examples:
from The Aberdares!
The North Pole's rather chilly.
Those who've been there all will tell
There's lots of snow and lots of ice
And lots of wind as well.
An iceberg's really never warm
And takes a while to melt.
A snowball's not the hottest thing
That I have ever felt.
from I'm a Movie Camera
I'm a movie camera. Instamatic is my name.
I'm Eastman's latest model,
Super 8's my claim to fame.
I was on a shelf in Westwood
when an actor purchased me
And took me home to 918 in Hills the Beverly.
from Beau
He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all…
Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn to bite me.
Bite me indeed.
I know what you're thinking and no: there is no indication on the cover or inside that these were written for children.
But I'm done goofing on bad poetry. I've decided it's a psychological sink hole. You feel superior for a little while but then you end up feeling inferior deep down where you don't want to admit it. Who am I to begrudge another person's poetic journey? Snob it up at your own risk, I say. You might be reincarnated as someone who dresses up in kabuki makeup and writes such things as "Lick it up."
Besides, there are amazing celebrity "poems" out there. Many poets were once transformed by Bob Dylan or now Lucinda Williams. Joni Mitchell changed the way I write. "The Last Time I Saw Richard" is one of the few "poems" I've ever memorized. And Leonard Cohen…wow. What these writers can do is make up for a lot of dreck in the world, some of it most likely mine in all those petty previous lives.
Big Bang Poetry now has a weekly newsletter! Sign up and get the weekly digest with a few extra snacks for thought! http://eepurl.com/o5xoX
You can also like us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Big-Bang-Poetry/412648322111786
What a thrill it was for me to be able to attend the welcoming ceremony for new students at the Institute for American Indian Arts in Santa Fe on August 16th. Teachers, students and staff all gave very emotional speeches welcoming and inspiring the new art students and it was hard not to be moved, even if you are someone like me, not Native American but with a somewhat fractured cultural identity that includes both Mexican and Native American culture…a long story that involves where both of my parents grew up, but one that might explain my being such a visceral fan of Joy Harjo. (A quote from Harjo closes out my wedding program!) So it was doubly thrilling that she would be at the welcoming ceremony as the keynote speaker. She just has this energy that is hard to describe. I felt similarly about Alice Walker when I saw her read in New York City. They're both very demure I guess which is an energy that jazzes me up.
Harjo said two things I found interesting. One, she talked about the value of failure, saying this was primarily what her memoir Crazy Brave is about. The book talks about her early struggles and mistakes from early childhood up through attending IAIA as a high school student (saying the school saved her life) and early relationship abuses. The book talks briefly but emotionally about how writing poetry saved her soul, but the book does not give us a happily-ever-after ending, on purpose I think, to illustrate the value of struggle through failure.
Failure is something I feel poets fear to such a great extent it keeps them from forming close relationships with one another. Because any other poet's success ultimately reflects back on another poet's failure. And so mutual encouragement is virtually nonexistent. If a poet can't be actually discouraging, he can be silent.
Failure in poetry has many levels: the failure of the respect in both the culture and academia, the failure of sales, the failure of the individual poet (before and after publishing), the failure of an individual poem. It's a sad state. And the paradigm has to change, maybe by reinterpreting failure.
Failure, as Harjo says, teaches you everything. You learn more from failure than from success.
Taking on my first book project, I feel at peace with its failure because this practice teaches me the entire road map of assembling a book. And inside that cloud of failure lies either the secret to success or the path to the next enlightened failure.
Secondly, Harjo also implored students (and aren't we all students?) to ask for help. Another difficult thing for poets because we believe ourselves to be the magic, embodied kernel of all enlightened thoughts (even when we pretend to question ourselves). To admit we need help is to admit we are not ordained by God to speak the truth.
Can we accept the idea that each of our poems is a community project and that maybe we didn't build that business by ourselves?
So I've just started my job at IAIA which, for those who don't know, is an arts college specializing in contemporary Native American and Native Alaskan arts, including 2D, 3D, photography, ceramics, jewelry, new media, etc. I went to their museum Sunday near the Santa Fe plaza and saw the most awesome things.
Anyway, the office they've given me has a book shelf and I noticed two student poetry anthologies sitting there. I borrowed them for a weekend and had a good time reading recent student poetry.
The first anthology I read was from the 2007-2008 school year and called Radical Enjambment, Neo-Modern Literature from IAIA. I loved the poems from Ungelbah Daniel-Davila, once called "Bench Seats" about a difficult relationship with great lines like
I keep you in the back of my throat
like words I used to know
and
digging in the dirt for every piece I've lost.
"Last Dance" is another good one, a repetitive frolicking incantation of lines like:
Dance me out of bed.
Dance me into the triangle of light…
Dance me out of my skin.
Daniel-Davila also has two prose poems in there I like, "Sex in the Soda Shop," a pop culture piece, and "Birthday," a really amazing break-up monologue by a tormented older narrator and his young carefree girlfriend that is both raw and funny.
Monte J. Little has a poem called "Willing to Remove My Hands From my Eyes," an almost surreal meditation ending with the decisive line I can see what to hold true which creates a very pleasant counterpoint.
Anna Nelson has "Exeunt, For My Daddy," a very powerful and direct father tribute to an absentee father. Nathan Romero has "Afternoon Delight," a very funny bit of gossip in verse,
how do I put this/delicately…/well/she must've been getting/her grass trimmed for free"
…
you know/I'm not one to talk"
Finally, Sinte Jackson Torrez has "Infinite Now," a meditation on the pace of today and a rush to exist.
Birds and Other Omens is the anthology from 2011/2012. Autumn Gomez has a good one called "Everywhere is War," similar to "Infinite Now" and its take on the chaos and insanity of modern life, closing on the powerful image:
"Let me tell you that you are dripping candle wax/from your mouth and neck."
She also has once called "Treaties" about a relationship. Her finales are great:
"My hair grew out and I stood up,/wanted to play in the dirt/force mud down your throat.
Another Anna Gomez one is "Petrology." I love how she attacks relationships and existing with emotions with an with almost riot grrrl anger:
"My stomach is filled with rocks.
I have to spit them
when you are not looking."
My last favorite is from Anna Nelson, back in this edition with "Plains," a poem that plays on identity, reality and mythology during a highway trip following the Indian rodeo circuit:
"somewhere between Casper and Cheyenne
that your heart was assailed by my many arrows
me in my buckskin dress and single black braid
straight down my back
you leaning on the jukebox
looking like yoakam"
Over the weekend I was checking out the hours of my local bookstore and I noticed on their homepage that Joy Harjo has a memoir out called Crazy Brave. In fact, I had just missed her reading at the bookstore this weekend. Fudge!
I love Joy Harjo. I don't know when I first heard about her but I have her book of poems The Woman Who Fell From the Sky and I went to see her one-woman show in Los Angeles a few years ago at The Autry Museum, Wings of Night Sky, Wings of Morning Light. I felt like crying through the whole show I was so moved. Afterwards I asked her to sign my book and my husband talked to her about Muskogee history. I felt like an oddball fan the whole time.
The memoir is published by Norton (which is big and impressive). My husband and I went to the bookstore this morning and I saw the memoir but I talked myself out of buying it…although I kept looking at it longingly and pathetically. My birthday is next week and my husband surprised me by just buying me a copy when he checked out. He said it was an early present to launch birthday week.
I was so tickled! Going to start reading it today.
Last night I attended a reading in Santa Fe for Red Mountain Press, a micro-press focusing on poetry and memoirs of poets. The reading took place at my neighborhood performance space and was very well organized (poets introduced each other in a smooth-moving chain) and all was very pleasant except for the loudly hissing speakers.
Marc Talpert read from his book Altogether Ernest, a book written from the point-of-view of a 14-year old boy.
http://marc-talbert.com
Elizabeth Raby read a very funny passage from an upcoming memoir tentatively titled Ransomed Voices from the Emily Dickinson quote,
"Silence is all we dread. There's ransom in a voice."
http://vacpoetry.org/raby.htm
Gary Worth Moody read from his book Hazards of Grace. His poems included one about his father's death and about suffragette Inez Milholland. http://garyworthmoody.com
Donald Levering read some poems from an upcoming book and included topics about summertime repaving of roads, a few odes to the elements and a poem about the Sardine Queen's Ball.
http://www.donaldlevering.com/
Wayne Lee read some funny poems from his book Doggerel & Caterwauls including one about friends, one about rapatronic photography, and a funny new "found" psalm about baseball.
http://www.wayneleepoet.com/
Robyn Covelli read poems of a kind of unique surreal
clarity, including one called "Define What is Broken"
and one about Pagosa Springs in Colorado.
Susan Gardner ended the night with her delicate presentation of some new poems about the fires of New Mexico and another titled "Physics of the Iris."
http://susangardner.org/
To find their books: http://redmountainpress.us/
