Reinventing the Life of a Poet in the Modern World

Tag: Rumi

Conspicuous Poetry Consumption: More Poetry Cards

20200605_191755_1591406275811_1593294942100001I’m currently working on a poetry project with playing cards, a regular poker-card sized deck. I come from a big poker playing family. Unfortunately, I am hopelessly terrible at poker and have lingering PTSD from these family games. Not only were they ruthless players but I was completely unable to see the patterns in poker hands, even with the cheat sheets my father created for me. I have a poker blindness it turns out. But I love the feel of a card deck in my hands, the very tactile slipperiness and the sound of a shuffling deck. I love to see some talented shuffler at work. I even liked building houses of cards. And as an extension of that, card designs is also fun and culturally interesting to me.

While trying to explain my own project to a friend of mine, I went through my house and realized I had quite a collection of cards, especially when I dug through the game closet. I had a book about Apache poker cards, a deck of historical Spanish playing cards (the real Wild West cards) purchased 20200605_192157_1591406517947_1593294982202from Bent's Fort, Phoenix cards (supposedly they tell you your past life), I Ching cards, cards from the games Masterpiece, Killing Dr. Lucky, 25 Outlaws (those cards were designed by Dave Mathews interestingly), Go Fish Modern Art cards, Agatha Christie game cards and some cards from a
game called Art Shark.

To help explain my project I also went online to find other existing card sets and purchased two additional decks plus another interesting poetry game. 

20200719_182218Divining Poets: Emily Dickinson

In a 1-card instruction, David Trinidad writes about the magic 8-ball quality of Emily Dickinson’s poetry. He created a 78-card tarot-like deck of big cards you can use for 1 to 4 card divination spreads. I’m pretty ‘eh’ about divinations only because a bad or good read can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I mean, I’m skittish and superstitious enough as it is. And what good does it do you to know what’s coming up?

Anyway, I tried it out and each card has 1-2 lines of a Dickinson quatrain on its face. One drawback of the cards is the fact that there’s no attribution to the lines, so if you liked some you don’t have a clue (other than a google search) as to which Dickinson poem to seek out. The largeness of the cards was also a big unwieldy.

I pulled three cards and here were the results: 20200725_094726

One question I asked was about a sort of screwball endeavor and should I continue with it:

"Passenger – of  Infinity –"

(great.)

The second question was about guidance for a current project not going well:

            "Those not live yet
            Who doubt to live again —"

(I have no idea what that means.)

The third question was open ended, “tell me something about life?”

            "Many Things – are fruitless –
            ‘Tis a Baffling Earth –"

(snark!)

20200729_190313Rumi cards

These are very narrow cards that work similarly to the Dickinson deck, as divination. Created by Eryk Hanut and Michele Wetherbee, they have simple to complex spreads, using Rumi verse as life guidance. The set also comes with a somewhat big book (for card sets anyway) on the history of Rumi, divinations and how their project started.

I did the simplest spread of three cards.

The spread was as follows: First card (what brought on the situation), second card (what is the current situation) and third card (what will happen or “how to deal with it.” I love the double meaning of deal there, as a coping strategy and being dealt cards.) I can tell you I never "dealt well" with the poker cards I was dealt. Anyway,

The cards are coded into six families. The three I pulled were red (love), eggplant (ordeal), green (reward). 20200729_190427

  1. “You are the divine calendar
    where all destinies are written:
    the ocean of mercy where
    all faults are washed clean.”
  1. “Say with each breath
    ‘Make me humbler,
    make me humbler;’
    When you are
    small as an atom,
    you will know his glory.”
  2. “A swan beats its wings with joy;
    ‘Rain, pour on!
    God has lifted my soul
    from the water.’”

Moving on…

20200725_095233Paint Chip Poetry

This looked intriguing!

Some issues: it was hard to get the paint chips out while they were still in the box and yet pouring them out of the box felt like a potential nightmare. Also, they’re ordered in perfect color-wheel order. Playing with them messes that up. Not for OCD people. It bothered me and I’m not OCD. Also, there weren’t enough prompt cards.

Each paint chip has a corresponding word. The basic idea is that you pull 12 color chips and a prompt and write a poem using some or all of the paint chip's colors or words.

The first spread I sent to my friend Christopher. We’re doing a cross-writing project similar to what Wordsworth and Coleridge did. He wanted to write a new poem and asked for prompts. This box seemed a pretty handy prompt generator. We'll see what he comes up with. Here were my chips, prompt and the resulting poem.

20200725_095857Watermelon Mountain

                    Traveling
to Watermelon Mountain is to go
to the bottom of the sea after all
the blue has been washed away.
Coral fish skeletons swim around
mesas and settle in buttes.

                    I came to find
my grandmother’s hydrangeas
growing like a fence along the dirt road,
rustling like mystic royalty or a memory
of lavender blowing in the dust.

                    Euphoria is colorless
here, a breeze from the West
waffling around you, dappled
sunlight after the day’s spartan
monsoon.

                    The key is catching up
with the zephyr. The key is often surprising
Like every first kiss. You come upon it
and stop to say hello like an inchworm
considering the cottonwood leaf
with his many feet.

Poetry in the World

DylantArticles At-Large

I'm still reading New Yorkers. Years ago my friend also started sending me The Altantic and like the other magazine, I'm really behind. Here are the poetry related articles I've come across…

The Last Rock-Star Poet by James Parker (about Dylan Thomas)

BishoplowellThe Poet Laureate of Englishness/A Poet for the Age of Brexit by Adam Kirsch (about A.E. Housman)

The Odyssey and the Other: What the epic can teach about encounters with strangers abroad and at Home

Encrypted: Translators confront the supreme enigma of Stephane Mallarme’s poetry

Tragic Muses: What Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell taught each other about turning pain into art

And I’ve been holding on to this gem of an article from Atlas Obscura for years: An Algorithmic Investigation of the Highfalutin “Poet Voice’ by Cara Giaimo. The author ponders the poetry reading and the sound of that wacky performance voice, “a slow, lilting delivery like a very boring ocean.” She opposes this to the similarly stilted NPR voice or Podcast voice.

Poems at Large

BirchboxMy monthly Birchbox subscription comes with five beauty product samples in a box with a card of instructions on how to use them all (because the bottle brandings are so Spartan and useless). There were poems in two of my recent boxes.

One box came with a special card inside. The card’s cover says “This is not a beauty box.” Except it totally is. The first inside page goes on to explain the company has learned that the world of beauty “is not simple” because their customers previously felt “overlooked by the entire industry because beauty isn’t their top priority” because they have kids and jobs and such.  And then page two goes on to say the usual “you deserve time to take care of you, you, you.” It’s an annoying message because it completely contradicts the message on page one. Then, on the back is a poem called “You: A Poem” about how “This is for You./The best of you…” including all the synonyms of your feelings the marketing companies want you to associate with their product: joy, perfection, power, lovable, kick ass, essentially the “you, you always wanted to be.” The poem states, “You may be out of moisturizer,/but you’re not out of time” and “Because the best of you,/requires a little time, with you.” The poem ends with, “(For once it’s all about you)” (no end period).

SummitThere are some superfluous commas hanging around this poem…and a TON of narcissism, a vice marketing is enabling us with at every corner and intersection. "Have it YOUR way."

Which makes the reference to “for once” a bit absurd. It’s always about you, that's why the poem has been added to my Birchbox. And that’s why we’re collectively losing our minds and killing each other out here.

Ok. Part of this is the Narcissism summit talking. Sounds True hosted a 10-day Understanding Narcissism conference, a 20+ hour conference on all aspects of cultural Narcissism. It was really great.

LikethisInside another one of the recent boxes was a perfume sample of Like This (subtitled LEtat d’Orange and Immortal Ginger is also part of the label so I was pretty confused about what the title of the product really was) created by actress Tilda Swinton.

Anyway, the card containing the sample says the perfume was inspired by the poet Rumi with no explanation.

So I went online and found this page where the description of the perfume elaborates:

Etat Libre d’Orange launches a new fragrance in March 2010, second celebrity perfume in a row, this time inspired by the English actress Tilda Swinton. Her favorite scent is the scent of home, so she wanted a fragrance that will be a magical potion with that kind of smell. Mathilde Bijaoui created for her a composition of yellow tangerine, ginger, pumpkin, immortelle, Moroccan neroli, Grass rose, vetiver, heliotrope and musk.

"I have always located my favourite fragrances at the doorways of kitchens, in the heart of a greenhouse, at the bottom of a garden. Scent means place to me : place and state of mind – even state of grace. Certainly state of ease. My favourite smells are the smells of home, the experience of the reliable recognisable after the exotic adventure: the regular – natural – turn of the seasons, simplicity and softness after the duck and dive of definition in the wide, wide world.

When Mathilde Bijaoui first asked me what my own favourite scent in a bottle might contain, I described a magic potion that I could carry with me wherever I went that would hold for me the fragrance – the spirit – of home. The warm ginger of new baking on a wood table, the immortelle of a fresh spring afternoon, the lazy sunshine of my grandfather's summer greenhouse, woodsmoke and the whisky peat of the Scottish Highlands after rain. I told her about a bottle of spirit, something very simple, to me : something almost indescribable, so personal it should be. The miracle is that Mathilde made it.

The great Sufi poet Rumi wrote:

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God’s fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

TsThis is possibly my favourite poem of all time.

It restores me like the smoke/rain/gingerbread/ greenhouse my scent-sense is fed by. It is a poem about simplicity, about human-scaled miracles. About trust. About home.

In my fantasy there is a lost chapter of Alice in Wonderland – after the drink saying Drink Me, after the cake pleading Eat Me – where the adventuring, alien, Alice, way down the rabbit hole, far from the familiar and maybe somewhat homesick – comes upon a modest glass with a ginger stem reaching down into a pale golden scent that humbly suggests : Like This…"

Tilda Swinton

Here is the Rumi poem in its entirety:

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what 'spirit' is,
or what 'God’s fragrance' means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means
to 'die for love,' point
here.

If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.

Like this.

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?

Huuuuu.

How did Jacob’s sight return?

Huuuu.

A little wind cleans the eyes.

Like this.

When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he’ll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us

Like this.

And I loved this New Yorker cartoon and have kept it for a while and I'm ready to throw it out now:

Cartoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

"They rifled through our drawers, ransacked our closets, and completely redeveloped the central character in Carltron’s novel.”

 

And finally, a Tom Jones poem my friend Julie sent me a while ago because we're always on the lookout for pop-culture poetry, "Because I cannot remember my first kiss" by Roger Bonair-Agard.

But who doesn't remember their first kiss?

Moment of Craft Fridays: Doing it Like Hart Crane

HartWell, turns out the book from 1937, Hart Crane, The Life of an American Poet by Philip Horton, was a regular page-turner. I read it in four days and loved how Horton gave Crane's life-events an evenly-spread psychological context, something I'm missing from the more recent poet biographies (Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay by Nancy Milford, for example). Which reminds me, Edna was only given a throw-off mention in Crane's biography (on one page as "that girl poet") when in fact she was in her prime contemporaneous with Crane in New York City, although she swam in different circles.

Otherwise the biography was pretty open about Crane's life, including his  sexuality (although the author treated it, albeit sympathetically, as a mental disorder). Much theory was made over Crane's dramatic childhood and his relationship to his work. Horton provided a very strong defense of the more difficult aspects of Crane's poetry, aligning him more with T. S. Eliot in spirit and technique, as opposed to the other famous writers of the Lost Generation, his contributions including:

  • his revival of Elizabethan blank verse
  • his use of unusual words
  • his incorporation of complex machinery and mechanical activities of his time, the industrial age, (the spiritual values of airplanes, subways and skyscrapers), and understanding these developments as both oppressive and corrupting versus freeing and enlightening.

Interestingly, Hart Crane wrote a poem to Emily Dickinson and among his more popular poems were excerpts from his opus "The Bridge" (compared by Horton to T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" as a great epic about America) and his Voyages poems. In Hart Crane's life, he only published two books White Buildings (1926) and The Bridge (1930) before he committed suicide in 1932 by jumping off a steamship sailing from Mexico to New York. His body was never found.

Craft talk in the book

Quote from his letters:

"I can say that the problem of form becomes harder and harder for me every day. I am not at all satisfied with anything I have thus far done, mere shadowings, and too slight to satisfy me. I have never, so far, been able to present a vital, living, tangible–a positive emotion to my satisfaction. For as soon as I attempt such an act I either grow obvious or ordinary, and abandon the thing at the second line. Oh! it is hard. One must be drenched in words, literally soaked with them to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment."

"Let us invent an idiom for the proper transportation of jazz into words! Something clean, sparkling, elusive!"

"One works and works over it to finish and organize it perfectly–but fundamentally that doesn't affect one's way of saying it."

Horton discussing the poem "Faustus and Helen:"

"Technically, it showed important extensions of craftsmanship: the long rhythmical lines approximating the pentameter without, however, committing themselves to any distinct pattern; the enrichment of language and music fused by syntax and assonance into an idiom unmistakably his own–these things brought him a sense of power and confidence….a milestone for him, making the step from minor to major intention. It's subject matter indicated an expansion of consciousness, a shift of interest from the particular to the universal. He had achieved at least  a partial realization of his long-standing desire to write of the 'eternal verities'…to ally his work firmly with tradition and still to express fully the spirit of his own times."

Horton talking about Crane's circle of literary friends:

"For almost a year the four met [Hart Crane, Gorham Munson, Jean Toomer and Waldo Frank] frequently, tacitly recognizing a kind of spiritual brotherhood that bound them together in a unit distinct from other factions of the artistic world. Their catch words were 'the new slope of consciousness,' the superior logic of metaphor,' 'noumenal knowledge,' the interior rapports' of unanimisme, the doctrine of Jules Romains."

Horton talking about Crane's use of words:

"His attitude towards language was much like that of a painter to his pigments. He gloried in words aside from their meaning as things in themselves, prizing their weight, density, color, and sound; and gloated over the subtle multiplicity of their associations."

"Crane appears to have built up his poems in blocks of language which were cemented into coherent aesthetic form by the ductile stuff of complex associations, metaphors, sound, color, and so forth. This would account for the juggling about of lines from one context to another with what seems to have been a kind of creative opportunism. Actually he was doing no more than the painter or sculptor who strives for what has been called 'significant form.' His enthusiastic study of modern painting was having its own influence…he considered [his poems] not as vehicles of thought so much as bodies of the impalpable substance of language to be molded into aesthetically self-sufficient and complete units….Crane intended these poems not as descriptions of experience that could be read about, but as immediate experiences that the reader could have…The reader was not necessarily expected to derive any more rational meaning from these poems that from those state of consciousness, experienced by everyone at the same time, which forever elude the conclusive grasp of reasonable understanding and expression."

For Horton, this is why Crane can be classified as a mystical poet, for his search of the elusive consciousness.

Speaking of mystic poets and that which "forever elude the conclusive grasp of reasonable understanding and expression," I went to my local Santa Fe performance space last night to see the documentary Rumi, Returning. It was an awful mess. A room full of baby boomers grunting over Rumi poetry, so many of them the theater ran out of chairs and one elderly lady tried to sit on my lap (not kidding). The film was convoluted, pompous and looked like something shot in the 1980s, complete with bad sound, camera jumps and travel footage of Turkey overused in all the wrong places.

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