Summer is careening to an end, and if your house is anything like mine, you're cramming in all the goofing off you've been meaning to do* but have been too busy to get to. Ah, life!
***
Linguistic thought from two days at the local Six Flags: Am I the last person who thinks that not all s-words are interchangeable with the word "stuff"? Corollary: am I the only adult who looks at the prominent "No Profanity" signs around the park and doesn't think "What the bleep do they mean by 'profanity'"? Essay question: Does "public place" equate to "freedom to drop the f-bomb"?
***
I picked up John Updike's last book of poems at the library tonight, thumbed through it for about 4 minutes, concluded I'd derived all the value I was likely to derive from it, put it back where I found it, and moved on. How haughty is that for an amateur?
***
In a fortunate act, I happened to grab Bias and Do You Speak American during a single library visit last week. You can agree with disagree with Goldberg (I'm about 70/30 agreed with a touch of "All right, already!"), but when you consider the idea that subtleties of word choice and sentence construction are are least as influential as blatant acts of opinion-pushing alongside the truism that language is influenced by evolutions in opinion and societal norms, you have a terribly interesting future to consider as linguaphile. And as a consumer of news media, but you're not going to find any chatter on that subject within these walls.
***
Catching up on August bloggings, I was happy to scroll past the recognizable presence of Joel Lewis on Silliman's Blog. Lewis was an early participant in the Spoken Word Series, generous not only just in being there, but in advice and in bringing wine and traditional treats for the audience. He's got a gift that is rare even among the artists I follow, in that he's equally compelling talking about baseball or about mythology. Or the mythology of baseball.
***
Back on swearing at Six Flags, after receiving a minor earful from a young lady (19? 20?) for suggesting that some colloquialisms are inappropriate in line for a water slide with the under-10 crowd, I naturally ran into said young lady throughout the day. And here's the thing: she was perfectly pleasant and friendly the whole time. She just didn't care much for me objecting to her expletives. And when I moved through the pain of being though a fuddy-duddy (though this I surely am), all I could think was that there had to be better words than the ones she was deploying repeatedly (though certainly with versatility).
***
Which leads me back to a comment from a non-poet and infrequent reader of poetry, upon hearing me read a Frank Steele poem: "That doesn't sound like poetry." What does poetry sound like, anyway? Like language unfettered by any rules at all? Like the prosey observations of Updike? Like text with new words invented for new and perfect purposes? Like Joel Lewis' "I bought my language/at a flea market/and the small talk here//on Paterson Plank Road/is a conception vessel/for native inertia".
***
Hmm...
* - yes, I know that's a line from Calvin and Hobbes. But thanks for asking!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Saturday, August 08, 2009
In Which Poetry's Obituary Appears Someplace New
I read Parade Magazine. All right? We past that now? OK, then.
From this weekend's edition:
Q Why are my tax dollars going to pay a poet laureate when nobody reads poetry?
A “It is difficult/to get the news from poems/yet men die miserably every day/for lack/of what is found there,” wrote the great American poet William Carlos Williams. (We hope you’ll look him up!) While it’s true that not many people read poetry, they’d probably get a lot out of it if they gave it a try. The current U.S. Poet Laureate, Californian Kay Ryan, earns all of $35,000. But fret not: Her stipend is funded from a private endowment, not tax revenues.
Don't know which I find more ridiculous, the question itself or that Parade magazine was perceived to be the appropriate reference. But in any event, let the record show that not only is poetry not dead, but no fewer than three coworkers have approached me in the past two months when they found out I was active in the poetry community to - get this - talk about poetry. We have a little book club in the office which this week has selected an anthology and asked that each attendee read aloud a poem from the book and explain why they like or dislike it. 'Nuff said.
I grow weary of people who don't know where to look for poetry telling me they can't find it. It makes me want to link to the quote that goes something like "It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt", but I can't locate a trustworthy attribution anywhere.
But please: that I can't find it in a 3-minute search doesn't mean it can't be found.
And it doesn't mean it's wrong.
From this weekend's edition:
Q Why are my tax dollars going to pay a poet laureate when nobody reads poetry?
A “It is difficult/to get the news from poems/yet men die miserably every day/for lack/of what is found there,” wrote the great American poet William Carlos Williams. (We hope you’ll look him up!) While it’s true that not many people read poetry, they’d probably get a lot out of it if they gave it a try. The current U.S. Poet Laureate, Californian Kay Ryan, earns all of $35,000. But fret not: Her stipend is funded from a private endowment, not tax revenues.
Don't know which I find more ridiculous, the question itself or that Parade magazine was perceived to be the appropriate reference. But in any event, let the record show that not only is poetry not dead, but no fewer than three coworkers have approached me in the past two months when they found out I was active in the poetry community to - get this - talk about poetry. We have a little book club in the office which this week has selected an anthology and asked that each attendee read aloud a poem from the book and explain why they like or dislike it. 'Nuff said.
I grow weary of people who don't know where to look for poetry telling me they can't find it. It makes me want to link to the quote that goes something like "It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt", but I can't locate a trustworthy attribution anywhere.
But please: that I can't find it in a 3-minute search doesn't mean it can't be found.
And it doesn't mean it's wrong.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
What Makes it Poetry (part 2)?
Continuing the thought....
Ron Silliman adds: "What I find most appalling about William Shatner’s presentation of Sarah Palin Verbatim is not the implicit satire of poetry that it is, but rather that it is so much better than the poetry, say, we find on Prairie Home Companion. The inchoate argle-bargle of Alaska’s former governor, simply as found language, is more open-ended – and at times more evocative – than the very best “Good Poems” Lake Woebegon has to offer."
Diane Lockward reports that at her recent Rotary Club talk, "Someone else asked me for a definition of poetry. A trick question! I used Stafford's definition: an artistic arrangement of words on the page. Music came in again. And some of the special techniques of poetry. Line breaks. Stanzas instead of paragraphs." (Stafford said "A poem is anything said in such a way or put on the page in such a way as to invite the hearer or reader a certain kind of attention. The kind of attention that is invited will appear—sort of—in what follows."
Ted Burke's opinion is that "Poetry is what ever gets you to the next page", that "part of what makes poetry interesting is not just the actual verse interesting (and less interesting) poets produce, but also their rationale as to why they concern themselves with making words do oddly rhythmic things."
A few minute with iGoogle reveal hundreds of other thoughts. A few of these I find easily rejectable (the worst offender being to first define "poet", then any art the "poet" produces is a poem - complete nonsense). Irrespective of whether one likes or dislikes a poem, there are a couple of things (and to my mind, only a couple) that require something to be considered a poem:
- Awareness of language. I don't care what they are, but there need to signs of be conscious of word choice, or if narrative is not germane to the piece, signs of awareness of language in the linguistic choices made, whether for the page, the ear or the eye.
- Awareness of form. Whether you follow or challenge, conform or avoid, you have to know the rules to break them. The way the poem appears in its fixed form has to reflect an awareness that position of every letter or word or sign is important.
- Presence of metaphor (or simile). If you're reporting the news, that's prose. If you're extrapolating the news from a dropped nickel or looking through the footage of the explosion to see a mantis on the sill, that's poetry.
Most notable omission comparing my list to others? "Significance of content" is purely a multiplier in my mind. Writing about an important subject no more ensures poetry than does the importance of selecting a life partner make every date a proposal.
Obviously much more on this subject than I can produce in this small space. But thinking about this has got me questioning my own work, too. Maybe that's where I take this next...
Friday, July 31, 2009
What makes it poetry?
From Bob and Margery:
Sarah Palin was a source of found poetry during her Vice Presidential campaign. Now, her farewell speech as she stepped down from the office of Alaska Governor on Sunday has been dubbed a poem by Conan O’Brien and read in Beat fashion, with bass and bongo backup, by William Shatner on the Tonight Show.
The question arises: Where does the poetry come from? Is it in Palin’s writing or Shatner’s reading? As a humorist, O’Brien recognized the natural images, wandering line, moments of obscurity and slightly skewed word usages in Palin’s speech as indicators that “it’s a poem, it was always meant to be a poem.” And Shatner’s hammy, Beatific performance pours her words into an ironic jazz poetry mold that makes it seem as if that was her intent. But who, really, makes this a poem, good or bad? Palin, who wrote the words? O’Brien, who called it a poem? Shatner, who performed it as a poem? Or your Poetry Guide, who transcribed Shatner’s reading with line breaks that make it look like a poem?
Interesting question. I don't accept intent as sufficient for a poem, and I find delivery to be an exciting but nonessential part of the poetry experience - the wasabi to poesushi, as it were. I always come back to the same thing: The conscious selection and informed deployment of poetic device.
But now that I see it in writing, I think I need an hour or two to work out exactly what I mean by that. Again. But one hint: there's actually no poetry here. Parody, perhaps. Some G-O-Peeved people, maybe. Funny as banana slippers, no doubt. But no poetry.
Let me ruminate. See you later.
Sarah Palin was a source of found poetry during her Vice Presidential campaign. Now, her farewell speech as she stepped down from the office of Alaska Governor on Sunday has been dubbed a poem by Conan O’Brien and read in Beat fashion, with bass and bongo backup, by William Shatner on the Tonight Show.
The question arises: Where does the poetry come from? Is it in Palin’s writing or Shatner’s reading? As a humorist, O’Brien recognized the natural images, wandering line, moments of obscurity and slightly skewed word usages in Palin’s speech as indicators that “it’s a poem, it was always meant to be a poem.” And Shatner’s hammy, Beatific performance pours her words into an ironic jazz poetry mold that makes it seem as if that was her intent. But who, really, makes this a poem, good or bad? Palin, who wrote the words? O’Brien, who called it a poem? Shatner, who performed it as a poem? Or your Poetry Guide, who transcribed Shatner’s reading with line breaks that make it look like a poem?
Interesting question. I don't accept intent as sufficient for a poem, and I find delivery to be an exciting but nonessential part of the poetry experience - the wasabi to poesushi, as it were. I always come back to the same thing: The conscious selection and informed deployment of poetic device.
But now that I see it in writing, I think I need an hour or two to work out exactly what I mean by that. Again. But one hint: there's actually no poetry here. Parody, perhaps. Some G-O-Peeved people, maybe. Funny as banana slippers, no doubt. But no poetry.
Let me ruminate. See you later.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Good folks, folk music?
Though it's been less barren this year, summer is traditionally a desert in the plenty of NJ poetry, but always a great time for music - you can catch a free show by a quality artist just about every night - it's even easier if you like amateur Sinatra impersonators.
We're long-time Tom Chapin fans in our house, and had the chance to catch him recently at the Gazebo in Florham Park, where my wife made a gift to me of a Chapin's latest album, an adult music collection (he seems to alternate between children's and grownup recordings, though his bigger accomplishments seem to be on the kids' end). I noticed on the new disc a poem of Edward Arlington Robinson's newly set to music. First of all, how great is it that the works of a good American poet are still alive enough to find some music (recall that Robinson died in 1935). And another pleasing note is that the album's title is "Let the Bad Times Roll"; could there be a better place for a Robinson poem to live?
I wonder if there's a natural affinity between gloomy poems and folk performers? Certainly folk music tends toward the darkness in life, as does the poetry that comes to many people's mind when they think of poetry. But is thematic alignment enough? Clearly not, or we'd all be tralala-ing along with the words of Charles Bukowski. In the case of "The Sheaves" (the poem on Chapin's new album), there's the traditional musicality of long iambic lines which support the migration to folk performance.
So if there's a structural element to a poem that makes it suitable for setting to music, is there a difference between a poem and a lyric? I remember perusing mimeographs of Billy Joel lyrics in 8th grade English in an attempt to answer that question, but for me, it's an easy distinction: a lyric, even a rambly folk lyric, contains a repeated chorus a poem's not likely to have (which is why I consider Joel a talented writer, not a poet. Sorry, Mr. Conley). In Chapin's version of The Sheaves, he doesn't create that kind of repetition, so I'll keep thinking about it as a poem set to music. I like it, and I'll request it at his concerts, but it's not "a song" as such.
I also find interesting that the folk-music-is-gloomy theme seems to run counter to the attitude of the performers; Tom Chapin and his band are some of the most genuinely funny and friendly people I've ever met from the stage. Poets, on the other hand, seem to bring their gloominess into audience interactions more frequently. But you knew that already, I'm guessing.
Anyway, this discovery has made me curious to dust off my Robinson (and not just to relive the time my ability to quote "Richard Cory" won my boss at the time a bet). More on that later, maybe. Depending on how gloomy I feel.
Meanwhile, go take in the next concert in your town's park. That's the stuff of summer. No gloominess permitted.
We're long-time Tom Chapin fans in our house, and had the chance to catch him recently at the Gazebo in Florham Park, where my wife made a gift to me of a Chapin's latest album, an adult music collection (he seems to alternate between children's and grownup recordings, though his bigger accomplishments seem to be on the kids' end). I noticed on the new disc a poem of Edward Arlington Robinson's newly set to music. First of all, how great is it that the works of a good American poet are still alive enough to find some music (recall that Robinson died in 1935). And another pleasing note is that the album's title is "Let the Bad Times Roll"; could there be a better place for a Robinson poem to live?
I wonder if there's a natural affinity between gloomy poems and folk performers? Certainly folk music tends toward the darkness in life, as does the poetry that comes to many people's mind when they think of poetry. But is thematic alignment enough? Clearly not, or we'd all be tralala-ing along with the words of Charles Bukowski. In the case of "The Sheaves" (the poem on Chapin's new album), there's the traditional musicality of long iambic lines which support the migration to folk performance.
So if there's a structural element to a poem that makes it suitable for setting to music, is there a difference between a poem and a lyric? I remember perusing mimeographs of Billy Joel lyrics in 8th grade English in an attempt to answer that question, but for me, it's an easy distinction: a lyric, even a rambly folk lyric, contains a repeated chorus a poem's not likely to have (which is why I consider Joel a talented writer, not a poet. Sorry, Mr. Conley). In Chapin's version of The Sheaves, he doesn't create that kind of repetition, so I'll keep thinking about it as a poem set to music. I like it, and I'll request it at his concerts, but it's not "a song" as such.
I also find interesting that the folk-music-is-gloomy theme seems to run counter to the attitude of the performers; Tom Chapin and his band are some of the most genuinely funny and friendly people I've ever met from the stage. Poets, on the other hand, seem to bring their gloominess into audience interactions more frequently. But you knew that already, I'm guessing.
Anyway, this discovery has made me curious to dust off my Robinson (and not just to relive the time my ability to quote "Richard Cory" won my boss at the time a bet). More on that later, maybe. Depending on how gloomy I feel.
Meanwhile, go take in the next concert in your town's park. That's the stuff of summer. No gloominess permitted.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Busy Week Bits
Ugh. Busy week. Lots of goodness. Here's a little of it:
- FIOS has added a local NJ channel, which I didn't think much of until I flipped to it tonight and saw the 2009 Poetry Out Loud NJ finals (which beat the heck out of watching the Mets lose again). I expected performance quality, since that's the direction young poets lean, but I was also impressed with the variety of their selections. When it was happening, I somehow missed that Maria Gillan was one of the judges; where was my head? The proceedings were dedicated to Bill Higginson (1938-2008).
- Been reading Dusk Recitals - The Growing Years, Fred McBagonluri's novel set in Ghana in the 1980s. Been such a busy year, I'd forgotten how important it is to let your readings take you completely out of yourself to permit room for new words to grow. It had been weeks and weeks since I completed a draft; thank goodness THAT drought's over.
- According to the Poets Market emailing list, I might be interested in Horticulture Magazine, because "We know that you're passionate about poetry. But if you're like many of us you have more than one interest." Umm, no. I'm sure it's a fine magazine. Not gonna find one in my house.
- My department held a community service day today; about 40 of us spent five hours at the Community Food Bank of NJ - marvelous place with great people doing the work of the angels, and they let us help for a little while.
New season at DeBaun and a couple other personal events are in the planning horizon. More soonish!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Sometimes, you just want a cheeseburger
I am an extremely adventurous eater. When I travelled in Japan, I frequently didn't know what I had eaten until I asked my host at the end of the meal. I frequently make menu selections by looking for things I've never had in that particular combination before. My mother-in-law has remarked more than once that she loves cooking for me because she can experiment and she knows I'll eat it. With that in mind, please know that there are days when what I want more than anything is a McDonald's cheeseburger. And here's the thing: When that's what I want, a perfect teriyaki salmon over field greens doesn't appeal to me at all.
On another note, Megan Fox recently had this to say about the new Transformers movie: "People are well aware that this is not a movie about acting. And once you realize that, it becomes almost fun because you can be in the moment and go 'All right, I know that when he calls Action!, I'm either going to be running, or screaming, or both."
What do these things have to do with each other? Put these notions together with the last post's ideas of a "range" of poetry: The ideas is that there is room in any artistic field for output that has selective, or opportunistic appeal, and if you know that's what you're after, there's nothing wrong with that - provided you're aware where you are in the range. Two of my favorite movies are Singin' in the Rain and Twelve Angry Men. I don't fool myself that they are equivalent artistic achievements, but when I want "Make 'em Laugh", "I want another vote" won't do.
Norman Mclean similarly observed in an NPR interview that as a teacher, he always taught Shakespeare every year to make sure that he stayed calibrated (my word); it was OK to teach a "second- or third- or fourth-rater" as long as you knew that's what you were teaching, and teaching Shakespeare kept that in perspective.
The concept of accessibility as a scale of expected audience effort seems to me to apply easily to food and movies, as well. And it doesn't mean any of them are just bad (aside from Howard the Duck). But as it applies to poetry, I think it continues to mean that it's OK to be Eve Merriam as long as you don't think you're Louis Zukofsky.
Or to be yourself, whoever that is, in verse, as long as you know who that is, and who it is that is interested in what you have to say.
On another note, Megan Fox recently had this to say about the new Transformers movie: "People are well aware that this is not a movie about acting. And once you realize that, it becomes almost fun because you can be in the moment and go 'All right, I know that when he calls Action!, I'm either going to be running, or screaming, or both."
What do these things have to do with each other? Put these notions together with the last post's ideas of a "range" of poetry: The ideas is that there is room in any artistic field for output that has selective, or opportunistic appeal, and if you know that's what you're after, there's nothing wrong with that - provided you're aware where you are in the range. Two of my favorite movies are Singin' in the Rain and Twelve Angry Men. I don't fool myself that they are equivalent artistic achievements, but when I want "Make 'em Laugh", "I want another vote" won't do.
Norman Mclean similarly observed in an NPR interview that as a teacher, he always taught Shakespeare every year to make sure that he stayed calibrated (my word); it was OK to teach a "second- or third- or fourth-rater" as long as you knew that's what you were teaching, and teaching Shakespeare kept that in perspective.
The concept of accessibility as a scale of expected audience effort seems to me to apply easily to food and movies, as well. And it doesn't mean any of them are just bad (aside from Howard the Duck). But as it applies to poetry, I think it continues to mean that it's OK to be Eve Merriam as long as you don't think you're Louis Zukofsky.
Or to be yourself, whoever that is, in verse, as long as you know who that is, and who it is that is interested in what you have to say.
Friday, July 10, 2009
The Surface Roughness of Poetry
Before I went on vacation, I was working with my teammates at work on finalizing a paper for the upcoming Materials and Processes for Medical Devices conference sponsored by ASM International. It has since occurred to me, perhaps as side-effect of eight days of brain purge plus a rapid reimmersion into the business of engineering, that a technical conference is not a bad analog for understanding the idea of "accessibility" in poetry (and the powerful opinions people have about it. Stay with me for a bit.
The argument for accessibility is captured most famously, I think, in Billy Collins' introduction to the Best America Poetry 2006 (which is discussed at some length in this post at Silliman's Blog). There are many arguments made in that post and its comments, but Ron's premise is twofold: "Accessibility" is really just an oversimplification of "understanding in context", and any selection of poems claiming to be representative of American Poetry which only includes poems whose Accessibility Quotient* (thesis complexity x rereading loops**) is toward the low end exclude a great deal of people who otherwise should fit under that title. It focuses on an audience less likely to choose to invest the time in understanding more than the topmost of any number of layers of understanding.
But here's the deal: that applies to any writer in any field.
Here's why this occurred to me now, in the context of writing a technical paper: Without giving too much away before the conference, I can say that one of the core ideas of my team's paper can be described in at least two ways: "changing the texture of a plastic part" and "selecting and validating a means for imparting a surface of controlled and reliable roughness and designing a method for characterizing that surface." You can read the abstract for more details, but trust me, both statements are accurate. You ask: who cares?
Well, one statement is understandable immediately without and need of deep understanding of surface engineering. The other doesn't necessarily say a lot more, but what it says it says with precision and a level of insight that is more meaningful to one skilled in the practice of surface engineering or interested enough to want to acquire that additional meaning. The abstract (link above) and the paper (which you'll have to attend the conference or purchase the proceedings to see!) are increasingly precise and convey additional understanding.
Let's flip that around. If I were to provide the complete paper to someone with no interest in understanding surface engineering, that would be pointless - for me and for them. We wrote that paper for an audience with that particular interest. That doesn't imply that other presentations of the subject are simpler or that we expect a different experience or education level in some potential readers - just that we expect that the conference attendees and other readers are willing to put the effort into getting the most out of what we wrote.
But to present a universal collection of treatises on surface engineering, if one's purpose were not just to introduce the subject, neither just to advance its leading edges, I think it would be necessary to anticipate a range of audiences possible and makes sure there were entry points across that entire range.
This, of course, is the problem with collections of poems, technical papers, baseball cards, or anything else. They are not universal, and to claim that they are is foolishness. It is more foolish still to dismiss ranges of practice outside the scope of one's own collection. From the perspective of the skilled practitioners, it runs the risk of causing potential followers to lose interest for lack of a way to latch on; for the entry-level user, it conveys a sort of willful ignorance - an attitude of "what I don't understand is unimportant".
Now, you may accuse me of just committing another elaborate riff on my old position that every act of writing assumes something about a potential audience (explicitly or implicitly), and that's fair to a point. But when you're making categorizing declarations about writing, in an act of explanation, teaching, or preserving, it's much more difficult to claim ignorance of the need for a target student, current or future.
Which brings me back to "accessibility". It's not so much "simplicity" as it is a set of assumptions about the ambition of the potential audience. Did that take me too long to say?
What, therefore, have I assumed about you?
* - yes, I just made that up.
** - the number of times that later context enhances an earlier word or phrase and makes you want to go back up in the poem.
The argument for accessibility is captured most famously, I think, in Billy Collins' introduction to the Best America Poetry 2006 (which is discussed at some length in this post at Silliman's Blog). There are many arguments made in that post and its comments, but Ron's premise is twofold: "Accessibility" is really just an oversimplification of "understanding in context", and any selection of poems claiming to be representative of American Poetry which only includes poems whose Accessibility Quotient* (thesis complexity x rereading loops**) is toward the low end exclude a great deal of people who otherwise should fit under that title. It focuses on an audience less likely to choose to invest the time in understanding more than the topmost of any number of layers of understanding.
But here's the deal: that applies to any writer in any field.
Here's why this occurred to me now, in the context of writing a technical paper: Without giving too much away before the conference, I can say that one of the core ideas of my team's paper can be described in at least two ways: "changing the texture of a plastic part" and "selecting and validating a means for imparting a surface of controlled and reliable roughness and designing a method for characterizing that surface." You can read the abstract for more details, but trust me, both statements are accurate. You ask: who cares?
Well, one statement is understandable immediately without and need of deep understanding of surface engineering. The other doesn't necessarily say a lot more, but what it says it says with precision and a level of insight that is more meaningful to one skilled in the practice of surface engineering or interested enough to want to acquire that additional meaning. The abstract (link above) and the paper (which you'll have to attend the conference or purchase the proceedings to see!) are increasingly precise and convey additional understanding.
Let's flip that around. If I were to provide the complete paper to someone with no interest in understanding surface engineering, that would be pointless - for me and for them. We wrote that paper for an audience with that particular interest. That doesn't imply that other presentations of the subject are simpler or that we expect a different experience or education level in some potential readers - just that we expect that the conference attendees and other readers are willing to put the effort into getting the most out of what we wrote.
But to present a universal collection of treatises on surface engineering, if one's purpose were not just to introduce the subject, neither just to advance its leading edges, I think it would be necessary to anticipate a range of audiences possible and makes sure there were entry points across that entire range.
This, of course, is the problem with collections of poems, technical papers, baseball cards, or anything else. They are not universal, and to claim that they are is foolishness. It is more foolish still to dismiss ranges of practice outside the scope of one's own collection. From the perspective of the skilled practitioners, it runs the risk of causing potential followers to lose interest for lack of a way to latch on; for the entry-level user, it conveys a sort of willful ignorance - an attitude of "what I don't understand is unimportant".
Now, you may accuse me of just committing another elaborate riff on my old position that every act of writing assumes something about a potential audience (explicitly or implicitly), and that's fair to a point. But when you're making categorizing declarations about writing, in an act of explanation, teaching, or preserving, it's much more difficult to claim ignorance of the need for a target student, current or future.
Which brings me back to "accessibility". It's not so much "simplicity" as it is a set of assumptions about the ambition of the potential audience. Did that take me too long to say?
What, therefore, have I assumed about you?
* - yes, I just made that up.
** - the number of times that later context enhances an earlier word or phrase and makes you want to go back up in the poem.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Truth: Writers Don't Write
Via Wil Wheaton:
Ask a writer what she values most in her creative life, and she is likely to respond, "Time to write." Not many of us have the luxury of writing full- time; we have spouses, families, day jobs. To the people closest to the writer, "writing time" may seem like so much self-indulgence: Why should we get to sit around thinking all day? Normal people don't require hour after continuous hour of solitude and silence. Normal people can be flexible.
And yet, we writers tell our friends and children, there is nothing more sacrosanct, more vital to our intellectual and emotional well-being, than writing time. But we writers have a secret.
We don't spend much time writing."
In his article at the Los Angeles Times, J. Robert Lennon goes on to talk at some length about his writing routine, with great precision and great humor. His basic point is that it focused writing time rarely is, although any moment of any day can turn into a writing moment (hence those T-shirts that read "I'm blogging this"). I think most poets have the added complication that our "routines" are more likely to be crammed in among other priorities closer to the base of Maslow's hierarchy than poetry. I don't really have a routine - I'm more of a streak-writer* - but if I did, it would be close to this:
* - in the baseball sense, not the nude sense.
Ask a writer what she values most in her creative life, and she is likely to respond, "Time to write." Not many of us have the luxury of writing full- time; we have spouses, families, day jobs. To the people closest to the writer, "writing time" may seem like so much self-indulgence: Why should we get to sit around thinking all day? Normal people don't require hour after continuous hour of solitude and silence. Normal people can be flexible.
And yet, we writers tell our friends and children, there is nothing more sacrosanct, more vital to our intellectual and emotional well-being, than writing time. But we writers have a secret.
We don't spend much time writing."
In his article at the Los Angeles Times, J. Robert Lennon goes on to talk at some length about his writing routine, with great precision and great humor. His basic point is that it focused writing time rarely is, although any moment of any day can turn into a writing moment (hence those T-shirts that read "I'm blogging this"). I think most poets have the added complication that our "routines" are more likely to be crammed in among other priorities closer to the base of Maslow's hierarchy than poetry. I don't really have a routine - I'm more of a streak-writer* - but if I did, it would be close to this:
- Complete the workday, begin drive home
- Dictate ideas into recorder OR refine idea from previous session.
- Get home, spend a couple hours with the family (dinner, homework, Disney Sorry)
- (after lullabies) Turn on the Mets, begin transcribing recordings
- move the laundry to the drier, reread last few transcriptions
- Bring some Tostitos upstairs, extract something from the transcripts to work on
- Iterate Mets - extraction loop until awakening to Twilight Zone reruns.
There are variants depending on whether I'm a submitting mode or a project/manuscript cycle, but this is the basic idea - writing time is after the "making a living" and blended with the "keeping the house". that's not a complaint, it's just an observation, and one which you'd think would make me want to focus more during the time I have available to write.
Operative phrase there is "want to". This post has so far taken me about 45 minutes to draft. Since I started, I looked up three games at BoardGame Geek, scanned the TV listings for M*A*S*H episodes, changed positions on the couch twice, located a journal I'm debating submitting to in Poet's Market, gotten a big glass of seltzer, and written these 331 words. Such is the life.
But in the end, I think adherence to a routine, or even having a routine, is less important than just committing to doing something with your writing every day. Just sorting my portfolio on the new computed had value, in that as I looked at each poem, I had a chance to decide if I still felt it was "done". That reminder of what was good in my own writing became a great filter for newer works in progress.
It's good to laugh at ourselves and the quirks of our "process". And essential to keep working while we laugh.
* - in the baseball sense, not the nude sense.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Poets and Fathers and Kids, oh my!
On days designated for nostalgia, poets (and omphaloskeptics) tend to dig a little deeper into our own navels for things to say that convey The Great Truths (tm) with Great Meaning. Of course, that's usually when we are at our pedantic worst - sentimental and craftless, caring more for what we have to say than how we have to say it.
Edward Byrne has avoided this trap with his poem "Florida Drought: A Remembrance" in which he tackles Father's Day in the forward-looking direction with a recollected moment with his son. While it's always difficult to deal with a sentimental moment in a poem, Byrne remembers to focus on the moment and let the meaning come on its own. My favorite lines are the last:
Somehow, I will always remember that night
how palm trees already were slipping to silver
under a cast of pale moonlight as a few full
sails still labored across the windswept bay.
I think the reverse direction - considering our own fathers - is even harder to treat successfully in a poem. Partially, that's because so many poets have had terrible relationships with their fathers and try every year to rewrite "Daddy" (please stop it, by the way), but more because so many of us seem to think that our regrets of incomplete relationships with the men we came to tolerate so late in their lives are unique (hint: they're not). When my father died I, like everyone else with a pen and a Norton Anthology, wrote my way through understanding his loss. Most of what came out of that was dreck, though some was passable. More interesting was discovering that I knew my father better than I thought, that the Venn diagram I carried in my mind actually had more than gender and golf in the center. So much so that I felt comfortable trying to create a portrait of sorts:
Of course, the mere fact of spending a few minutes on my father's memory is a discredit to it, as anyone who knew him will confirm. So while there is still time to go bowl a couple lines with my girls today and grab a nice sushi dinner, I will leave you, my six loyal readers, to your own remembrances and observations. But if you are fans of poetry or the late Ernie Vincenti, make sure to connect those observations to the present, and make sure you add a little value to today.
Happy Father's Day to all.
Edward Byrne has avoided this trap with his poem "Florida Drought: A Remembrance" in which he tackles Father's Day in the forward-looking direction with a recollected moment with his son. While it's always difficult to deal with a sentimental moment in a poem, Byrne remembers to focus on the moment and let the meaning come on its own. My favorite lines are the last:
Somehow, I will always remember that night
how palm trees already were slipping to silver
under a cast of pale moonlight as a few full
sails still labored across the windswept bay.
I think the reverse direction - considering our own fathers - is even harder to treat successfully in a poem. Partially, that's because so many poets have had terrible relationships with their fathers and try every year to rewrite "Daddy" (please stop it, by the way), but more because so many of us seem to think that our regrets of incomplete relationships with the men we came to tolerate so late in their lives are unique (hint: they're not). When my father died I, like everyone else with a pen and a Norton Anthology, wrote my way through understanding his loss. Most of what came out of that was dreck, though some was passable. More interesting was discovering that I knew my father better than I thought, that the Venn diagram I carried in my mind actually had more than gender and golf in the center. So much so that I felt comfortable trying to create a portrait of sorts:
Of course, the mere fact of spending a few minutes on my father's memory is a discredit to it, as anyone who knew him will confirm. So while there is still time to go bowl a couple lines with my girls today and grab a nice sushi dinner, I will leave you, my six loyal readers, to your own remembrances and observations. But if you are fans of poetry or the late Ernie Vincenti, make sure to connect those observations to the present, and make sure you add a little value to today.
Happy Father's Day to all.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Opening Up About Opens
Though my six loyal readers are split nealty into three groups who won't be able to use this advice (accomplished poets who know better; non-poet poetry fans who don't need it, my mother), I want to capture a few thoughts on approaching open mic readings that might be useful to someone when this page turns up in a Google search*.
First, credentials and disclaimer: I've been participating in open mic readings for more than 15 years, and regularly hosting them since 2002. I have seen opens ranging from surprisingly good to unreportably bad, and received enough feedback from our featured poets in the Spoken Word Series to believe that some of this is applicable everywhere. Also, we have a small open with a number of regulars who've been with us for 5+ years, and some of my comments come from comparing the good habits of my long-timers to some other poets I've come across over the years.
Assumptions: venue is general-audience, 2 short poems or 1 long (5 minute max),
First, credentials and disclaimer: I've been participating in open mic readings for more than 15 years, and regularly hosting them since 2002. I have seen opens ranging from surprisingly good to unreportably bad, and received enough feedback from our featured poets in the Spoken Word Series to believe that some of this is applicable everywhere. Also, we have a small open with a number of regulars who've been with us for 5+ years, and some of my comments come from comparing the good habits of my long-timers to some other poets I've come across over the years.
Assumptions: venue is general-audience, 2 short poems or 1 long (5 minute max),
- Pick your poems before you set foot in the venue. You should have decided what you're going to read before the event begins. Experienced amateurs can narrow down to a handful and make the final call based on the setting, the mood, and the readers that precede, but even in that case you should be picking from no more than 5 poems.
- Start with the title plus 10 words. All poems have a history. Many poems, especially by amateurs, have the same history. Most poems don't benefit from having their history recited immediately before they're presented. Aside: I know many people like to hear a little about a poem before the poem. I do, too, to an extent. But when the length of the intro approaches the length of the poem, you've presented too much. Far too much.
- Avoid research projects. It's very easy to get caught up on the significance of our special projects, especially when longpoems or poems sequences are in progress. And you shouldn't be bashful or embarrassed about talking about those projects if asked, but until you're asked a simple "this is from a series of poems about yakkity yak yak" is adequate. If it's an obscure subject, leave it obscure, don't use an open mic for a history lesson.
- Don't give a geometry lesson. If your poem has a structure on the page that is essential to its understanding, think very hard about presenting it at all; but if you really feel the need, please don't, don't, DON'T explain the shapes and spacings on the page before you present the poem.
- Respect the other readers. This has a lot of other rules rolled up into it: don't fiddle with your papers while others are reading, pay attention with eyes and body to other readers, stay to the end of the open no matter where on the list your turn falls.... if you want to understand poet etiquette, pay attention to how a featured reader behaves when he or she is not reading.
Yes, there's a story behind each of these rules, and some other rules that I'm sitting on for volume 2. While you're waiting for that, here's another remnant from a defunct journal; today it's The Ogalala Review, and the excerpt is from Michael Foster's "Seven Love Poems"
1.
Between the peachtrees,
out of a ruined sleep,
wild strawberries grow.
4.
This morning I watched you beside the fish pond
until you stood. Your reflection was riddled
with golden arrows.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Is that an echo? (an echo?) (an echo?)
Seems every time I accumulate a little material and a plan for a series of postings, my schedule comes and piddles all over my plans. Ah well; let's try this again.
Received a lovely email from an artist I've mentioned a number of times in this space. I'll withhold names (I figure if she wanted her reply to be public, she'd have replied publicly), but I will say that it's someone I have a ton of respect for, so seeing her name at the top of my inbox was a boost to say the least. And it's someone important not only to me, but to my kids as well, so not only do I get a little validation of this space and a chance to correspond with someone I admire, but I get a couple "cool dad" points, besides.
Writer's Digest has released its annual 101 Best Website for Writers. One of them is a Flash stopwatch. Please, WD, you've got to do better than this. I accept that the poetry forums that also made the list are appropriate for most of WD's readers (though they're not really useful for anyone who has read much contemporary poetry from non-vanity publishers or taken even one serious class), but a stopwatch and a tagline like "Have trouble getting motivated? Use this free online countdown clock to get your rear in gear"? Ugh.
By contrast, AAP has launched a Poetry Resources for Teens page, with writing resources, "Poems Teens Like" etc. Not surprisingly, when AAP says "teen", they seem to be thinking about the the 6 months leading up to the 20th birthday; the references are pretty sophisticated (most seem to be links to content already on the site for adults), but I'll happily share this with my daughter with the expectation that she'll be looking for help in understanding. Better to stretch her than to expose her to online fluff that lacks an awareness of the art.
A stopwatch? Really?
Should hear from the chapbook contest within 3 weeks. As always, I hold back the name until the results are known. And as is typical for me, I decided to enter this one 60% based on the magazine, 40% based on the judge. More soonish.
Still waiting on one confirmation before I announce the next season at DeBaun. I really think we're again setting a new standard for diversity in style, content and experience.
And now, from the parcel o' the past as promised, here are the closing lines of Florence McGinn's "New Jersey", from the long-defunct New Jersey Review of Literature.
Ocean currents and salt marshes
raise the call of seasons as the damp sand
drag of horseshoe crabs, mating eager
and belly heavy with eggs, beckons
gray waves of sandpipers, screeching
shifts of gulls, and the hunting silence of cranes.
And always, the moving headlights
of motored commuters, glare and dim
on travel's liquid currents to curtained,
softly glowing windows of home
Received a lovely email from an artist I've mentioned a number of times in this space. I'll withhold names (I figure if she wanted her reply to be public, she'd have replied publicly), but I will say that it's someone I have a ton of respect for, so seeing her name at the top of my inbox was a boost to say the least. And it's someone important not only to me, but to my kids as well, so not only do I get a little validation of this space and a chance to correspond with someone I admire, but I get a couple "cool dad" points, besides.
Writer's Digest has released its annual 101 Best Website for Writers. One of them is a Flash stopwatch. Please, WD, you've got to do better than this. I accept that the poetry forums that also made the list are appropriate for most of WD's readers (though they're not really useful for anyone who has read much contemporary poetry from non-vanity publishers or taken even one serious class), but a stopwatch and a tagline like "Have trouble getting motivated? Use this free online countdown clock to get your rear in gear"? Ugh.
By contrast, AAP has launched a Poetry Resources for Teens page, with writing resources, "Poems Teens Like" etc. Not surprisingly, when AAP says "teen", they seem to be thinking about the the 6 months leading up to the 20th birthday; the references are pretty sophisticated (most seem to be links to content already on the site for adults), but I'll happily share this with my daughter with the expectation that she'll be looking for help in understanding. Better to stretch her than to expose her to online fluff that lacks an awareness of the art.
A stopwatch? Really?
Should hear from the chapbook contest within 3 weeks. As always, I hold back the name until the results are known. And as is typical for me, I decided to enter this one 60% based on the magazine, 40% based on the judge. More soonish.
Still waiting on one confirmation before I announce the next season at DeBaun. I really think we're again setting a new standard for diversity in style, content and experience.
And now, from the parcel o' the past as promised, here are the closing lines of Florence McGinn's "New Jersey", from the long-defunct New Jersey Review of Literature.
Ocean currents and salt marshes
raise the call of seasons as the damp sand
drag of horseshoe crabs, mating eager
and belly heavy with eggs, beckons
gray waves of sandpipers, screeching
shifts of gulls, and the hunting silence of cranes.
And always, the moving headlights
of motored commuters, glare and dim
on travel's liquid currents to curtained,
softly glowing windows of home
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Reliving Learnings
Due to furniture arrival and subsequent rearrangement of the living room, I had the opportunity (read: "spousal mandate") this week to purge the contents of a cabinet in which I had stashed, apparently, the first 15 years of my writing hobby/career, dating back to college.
Oh my. Among the debris:
Oh my. Among the debris:
- two stacks of the Stevens literary magazine as it was under my leadership. Not terrible, if one accepts a 20-year-old worldview. We completely ignored the guidance of our faculty advisor, and it shows.
- my journals and some poem fragments from college through 3 years after. Who the heck was I?
- journals I collected during my early years of research. Most of which were completely inappropriate for me, but which are great reads now.
Also in that cabinet were 15 years (give or take) of Writer's Digest which, if I pile all together, will contain 206 tips to spark your creativity, 93 ways to get an agent interested in your work, 178 tips for more believable characters, 909 "best websites for writers" (and a few priceless articles on "How To Use The World Wide Web"), as many as 4 feature articles on poetry, and all that. I remember why I stopped taking the magazine; I loved the columnists for their style and their other works (Nancy Kress, J. Michael Straczynski....), but one 4-year cycle of tips is plenty to pay for. And good heavens Bob Bly is prolific - you don't appreciate it until you leaf through a couple years of magazines in an afternoon.
Some wonderful discoveries in that cabinet - I didn't even recall I owned a copy of Kenneth Rexroth's Love Poems from the Japanese. I think I'll start there and give some of my rediscoveries a victory lap:
I shall hide myself
within the moon of the spring night
after I have dared to reveal
my love to you
-- Chino Masako
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Time for Carving
A Pact
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman --
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
who has had a pig-headed father;
I am old enough now to make friends.
It was you that broke the new wood
now is a time for carving.
We have one sap and one root --
let there be commerce between us.
This is a very old poem; I penned it more than 15 years ago. I was tempted to neaten it up, to apply the style I've developed in those intervening years (repair those enjambments!), but I don't think that would be true to the memory of my father on his birthday. This is something we had. It was uniquely ours. It served us well at that time, and I choose to remember it today as it was, to remember the sap and root we shared, the (quite literal) commerce between us.
Sorry, this poem has been deleted.....
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman --
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
who has had a pig-headed father;
I am old enough now to make friends.
It was you that broke the new wood
now is a time for carving.
We have one sap and one root --
let there be commerce between us.
(Ezra Pound, Personae, 1926; from the Poetry Speaks desk calendar)
My father would have been 68 this week. As I continue to refine and resubmit (and refine and resubmit and refine and resubmit) my first manuscript, a collection of poems spoken from me to my children, I can't help from time to time being reminded of my relationship with my own father. I think our trajectory was fairly typical: From me wanting to be him, to me wanting to be anything but him, to me slowly realizing that I had become him. This poem, coincidentally appearing yesterday in the Poetry Speaks calendar, carries the same feeling that I recall having when I realized that Dad was the person in the world I was most like - however we'd come to be that way.
Our differences were fairly obvious. He never really thought much of my poetry hobby, he enjoyed hearing my play my accordion when I was competing but I don't know that he was all that interested when I stopped, he was pleased at my success as an engineer - but I think that was largely because he always regretted not becoming one himself. On the other hand, there were similarities that emerged unprompted in my adulthood, ranging from the silly similarities in our bowling styles to our shared ability to predict very early in the hand the one card that would sink our opponent in a game of pinochle. There were a couple of defining moments in our relationship as adults, and I realized at some point that we had become friends.
One of the ways that we were most similar was a (healthy) preoccupation with family and legacy, with planning and providing for the generation that would follow us. This, with its dialects of finance and probability, of complex decisions reduced to the objectivity of mathematics, was channel of communication that was always open for us, and frequently as good as a private Esperanto, as we went back and forth with terms - linguistic and statistical - that only we, among everyone in the room/house/family, really understood.
This is a very old poem; I penned it more than 15 years ago. I was tempted to neaten it up, to apply the style I've developed in those intervening years (repair those enjambments!), but I don't think that would be true to the memory of my father on his birthday. This is something we had. It was uniquely ours. It served us well at that time, and I choose to remember it today as it was, to remember the sap and root we shared, the (quite literal) commerce between us.
Sorry, this poem has been deleted.....
There will be time for carving soon enough. Happy Birthday, Dad.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Interlude: The Metsiness of Picking our Heroes
That's Rusty Staub, Phil Pepe, and me. I'm the one who doesn't look like he's been part of professional sports for forty years.
For those of us who were Mets fans in the 70s, it's sort of a credentialing process to list all the horribly lopsided trades that define the beginning of the dozen years of downtime that ended only as the bad boys of the 1986 World Champion team began to arrive. I did eventually adopt Steve Henderson's batting stance in pepper games, though I never stopped rooting for Tom Seaver, even against my Mets. But I never warmed up to Mickey Lolich. No, he didn't pitch all that badly in the hour-and-a-half he was a Met, but he came in exchange for Rusty Staub.
I can't tell you exactly why, but I've always been partial to The Big Orange. I think it's because he was a very good player at a time very good players were understood to make a difference in team's fortunes. We're completely star-driven in sports today. I don't know that a Rusty Staub would receive the same respect in today's baseball.
My favorite story of my own rooting for Rusty Staub was very late in his career, in a long (16-inning?) game, when he was pressed into service as an outfielder (once a good defensive RF, Staub was at this point a pinch-hitter and occasional 1B). With no one left on the bench, the Mets switching positions after every batter to keep Rusty and his limited range in whichever outfield position was less likely to be hit to. Naturally, therefore, Rusty got to make great catch* late in the game - which the Mets did, of course, win. Everybody in my dorm who had their windows or dorms open that afternoon knew something great must have happened somewhere when Rusty caught that ball. There's a reprint of a columnists' take on that game here.
Another reason I'm a fan of Staub's is that he became what his teams needed when they needed it. When he came back to the mets for the end of his career, he made himself a premier pinch-hitter and mentor. I wouldn't mind if I could look back over my career - as an engineer, a husband, a project manager, a father - and have someone say about me that I became what I needed to be when it was needed.
Who knows exactly why our heroes are our heroes? For whatever it means, Rusty Staub is one of mine.
Which is why I've gotten so adrenalized and tongue-tied the two times I've met him that I could barely speak... but that's a story for a different time.
* - I imagine it was great - all the reports at the time seemed to think that, but I was listening on the radio.
For those of us who were Mets fans in the 70s, it's sort of a credentialing process to list all the horribly lopsided trades that define the beginning of the dozen years of downtime that ended only as the bad boys of the 1986 World Champion team began to arrive. I did eventually adopt Steve Henderson's batting stance in pepper games, though I never stopped rooting for Tom Seaver, even against my Mets. But I never warmed up to Mickey Lolich. No, he didn't pitch all that badly in the hour-and-a-half he was a Met, but he came in exchange for Rusty Staub.
I can't tell you exactly why, but I've always been partial to The Big Orange. I think it's because he was a very good player at a time very good players were understood to make a difference in team's fortunes. We're completely star-driven in sports today. I don't know that a Rusty Staub would receive the same respect in today's baseball.
My favorite story of my own rooting for Rusty Staub was very late in his career, in a long (16-inning?) game, when he was pressed into service as an outfielder (once a good defensive RF, Staub was at this point a pinch-hitter and occasional 1B). With no one left on the bench, the Mets switching positions after every batter to keep Rusty and his limited range in whichever outfield position was less likely to be hit to. Naturally, therefore, Rusty got to make great catch* late in the game - which the Mets did, of course, win. Everybody in my dorm who had their windows or dorms open that afternoon knew something great must have happened somewhere when Rusty caught that ball. There's a reprint of a columnists' take on that game here.
Another reason I'm a fan of Staub's is that he became what his teams needed when they needed it. When he came back to the mets for the end of his career, he made himself a premier pinch-hitter and mentor. I wouldn't mind if I could look back over my career - as an engineer, a husband, a project manager, a father - and have someone say about me that I became what I needed to be when it was needed.
Who knows exactly why our heroes are our heroes? For whatever it means, Rusty Staub is one of mine.
Which is why I've gotten so adrenalized and tongue-tied the two times I've met him that I could barely speak... but that's a story for a different time.
* - I imagine it was great - all the reports at the time seemed to think that, but I was listening on the radio.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Contribute Your Instrument
"I regard myself as a beautiful musical instrument, and my role is to contribute that instrument to scripts worthy of it," [Ed Asner] says, sounding -- briefly -- almost peaceful. "And hopefully the music we play will be about decent human beings fighting against disease, fighting against corruption, fighting for the truth. and fighting for a day when all our jails are empty, and all our schools are full."
From an interview with Stephen Whitty. Whitty is one of four reasons I continue to receive the Star-Ledger at my house. I know I could read it online; that's OK for the dailies, but for Sunday features, there's nothing like newspaper. Even without James Brady.
(PS: Yes, I think Asner's loopy in real life. Yes, I think he's right about his art.)
From an interview with Stephen Whitty. Whitty is one of four reasons I continue to receive the Star-Ledger at my house. I know I could read it online; that's OK for the dailies, but for Sunday features, there's nothing like newspaper. Even without James Brady.
(PS: Yes, I think Asner's loopy in real life. Yes, I think he's right about his art.)
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Portrait of Life as Rob Petrie's Ottoman
Ugh. Terrible how life sometimes chooses to remind us that it is in charge. My streak of 6 weeks of 3+ posts per week came to a crashing halt in May. I could have predicted it, could have warned of it in this space but I remained optimistic.
Won't let that happen again.
News from around this vicinity:
Won't let that happen again.
News from around this vicinity:
- Great time at the Project Management Institute of New Jersey's annual symposium. Made to feel enormously welcome by audience and staff. The proceedings, including my presentation, are now available for your perusal in the chapter presentation archive.
- My town now has a poet laureate. And a fine one, at that.
- It's recital season for my kids. I am a lucky, lucky man.
- My Linked-In profile is currently 90% technologist colleagues, 9.8% artists, 0.2% other. That makes a great deal of sense, actually.
- The Spoken Word Series survived the downturn and will return for a 9th season. More on that in a few weeks.
- The New York Mets are a downturn all their own. And yet I watch and I watch and I watch.
- To the Ones is out there again. Didn't I say I was done with that? Are we ever really "done with that?"
Let's see if I can get back here before the end of the month with at least a few of the bullets my internal editor got to before I could post them. Early line in Vegas is 12:5 against.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Some Stuff I Thought About Once
Cleaning out my draft blogs folder, I've been finding it interesting what I seem to have found interesting enough to start writing about... but not interesting enough to finish the thought.
Among the incompletenesses I've accumulated over the past few years:
Among the incompletenesses I've accumulated over the past few years:
- Acrostics as a natural form for the poet with a technical education
- Homage poems after works by poets you see at the right, including Agodon, Lockward, and Pereira.
- A Top-10 list of Top-10 lists
- A discussion of the (first) cancer story line in Funky Winkerbean
- An observation that some of the subplots in my favorite works of speculative fiction are eerily close to reality today, and what genius that suggests in those writers
Also about a half-dozen Mets references, half that many Jets references, a couple medical device insights, and one insight about abominable snowmen.
Of course, the single obvious conclusions from this mishmosh is...
What, no accordion?
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Boldly Go to the Cosmetics Counter
Have you seen the new Star Trek colognes?
Yes I want some.
No I don't care what it says about me.
Seriously, how can you not want a cologne called "Red Shirt" with the tagline, "Because tomorrow may never come."?
Confidential to Staten Island: Thanks for the tip. It'll be 29 years in September.
Yes I want some.
No I don't care what it says about me.
Seriously, how can you not want a cologne called "Red Shirt" with the tagline, "Because tomorrow may never come."?
Confidential to Staten Island: Thanks for the tip. It'll be 29 years in September.
Friday, May 08, 2009
A From-the-Public Service Announcement on the NJ Gubernatorial
I know I don't usually get political here, but.....
Dear Competing Candidates: I will be voting in the NJ Republican gubernatorial primary. I have been attempting to sort through your respective credentials as available in the objective data of the public record so as to make an intelligent choice, representing the best potential for New Jersey.
But.
As of this moment, I have decided that the next one of you whose auto-dialing computers leaves a prerecorded three-minute diatribe about the other's shortcomings will officially be scratched from any future consideration on my part.
And.
Should the other of you follow up with a message of similar slant at any time between now and the primary, you will also be scratched from my personal slate.
So.
Please provide me with evidence of your qualifications. And let me decide. And be quiet until the debate. Please?
Dear Competing Candidates: I will be voting in the NJ Republican gubernatorial primary. I have been attempting to sort through your respective credentials as available in the objective data of the public record so as to make an intelligent choice, representing the best potential for New Jersey.
But.
As of this moment, I have decided that the next one of you whose auto-dialing computers leaves a prerecorded three-minute diatribe about the other's shortcomings will officially be scratched from any future consideration on my part.
And.
Should the other of you follow up with a message of similar slant at any time between now and the primary, you will also be scratched from my personal slate.
So.
Please provide me with evidence of your qualifications. And let me decide. And be quiet until the debate. Please?
Thursday, May 07, 2009
A Public Service Announcement on the H1N1
There are some scary elements of the current H1N1 virus scare. To take your mind off them, check out an engineer's take, and a preview of Alert Level 11. And if you live in the US and want to know what's really going on, there's really only one reliable source. Promise me you won't watch the 11-o'clock news for your H1N1 udpate. Please? Promise me?
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Maybits (not Maybin)
Got to 12 posts in April. That's not bad. I wanted to reach my best best monthly total ever (14), and I even had three posts worked up that are still sitting in Drafts, but I didn't want to lower my already-low standards just to hit the number. But I'm spending more time with the words than I have the past year. That's good.
***
Want to have some fun? Try to borrow a supermarket hand-basket for a couple of days. Convince the store manager you're serious. What a great way to spend a Friday evening. Aside: Kudos to store managers like the one at my local Kings who actually took me seriously and tried to, creatively, help me out. Ultimately he couldn't help let me borrow one when I asked because his inventory was too low - because too many people take them without asking. And people wonder why my indignation levels are high sometimes: Nothing punishes you like following the rules when the rules are not generally followed.
***
Why did I need a handbasket? As a prop for this, of course.
***
Many NatPoWriMo participants are in the process of weeding their 30 drafts to the useful few. I didn't write daily in April (and won't in May - such is the schedule), but I completed 3 drafts over the past month, one of which has already been read aloud to strangers. So I got that going for me.
***
FYI, Maybin = Cameron Maybin, my Fantasy Baseball team's future starting CF. If he could just get his Ks down under 3 a game.....
***
Want to have some fun? Try to borrow a supermarket hand-basket for a couple of days. Convince the store manager you're serious. What a great way to spend a Friday evening. Aside: Kudos to store managers like the one at my local Kings who actually took me seriously and tried to, creatively, help me out. Ultimately he couldn't help let me borrow one when I asked because his inventory was too low - because too many people take them without asking. And people wonder why my indignation levels are high sometimes: Nothing punishes you like following the rules when the rules are not generally followed.
***
Why did I need a handbasket? As a prop for this, of course.
***
Many NatPoWriMo participants are in the process of weeding their 30 drafts to the useful few. I didn't write daily in April (and won't in May - such is the schedule), but I completed 3 drafts over the past month, one of which has already been read aloud to strangers. So I got that going for me.
***
FYI, Maybin = Cameron Maybin, my Fantasy Baseball team's future starting CF. If he could just get his Ks down under 3 a game.....
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Poetry Near Princeton
A great day in West Windsor, despite the heat. So many good poets in the audience! So many good moments....
... hearing Maria Gillan tell favorite and new stories about her life and her work...
... reading a poem about my daughter, which I've read in public before, and having the reactions of the audience make it a completely new experience...
... hearing people react with that strange unexpected recognition ("Oh, you're David Vincenti!")
... seeing a Met hat so close to Phillie country...
Unfortunately, the poet who conceived the event was (severely!) under the weather and unable to attend, so here's a poem from Catherine Magia, with my thanks for a terrific afternoon:
ECLIPSE
Somehow we had missed the eclipse
Slow thickening of shadow
Celestial molasses careening across
Smooth white dough, darkening and sweetening
To watch the moon close in my imagination
Curved silver eye; blinking, blinded, and reemerging
A survivor of the sky
A narrowing shutter unable to resist light
I don’t remember the sleeping,
Only the stirring, your isolated movements
How you position your body like a mummy’s
Indifferent as wood, unable to slumber with anyone touching
I dreamed of standing at the doorway
Perpendicular to the moon, elliptical light trickling
Through my bones, the momentary flickering
Of the earth’s silhouette, for a minute, swaying together
Like trees in the wind, an unlikely pair
It will be years before this happens again.
Go here to hear her read it.
... hearing Maria Gillan tell favorite and new stories about her life and her work...
... reading a poem about my daughter, which I've read in public before, and having the reactions of the audience make it a completely new experience...
... hearing people react with that strange unexpected recognition ("Oh, you're David Vincenti!")
... seeing a Met hat so close to Phillie country...
Unfortunately, the poet who conceived the event was (severely!) under the weather and unable to attend, so here's a poem from Catherine Magia, with my thanks for a terrific afternoon:
ECLIPSE
Somehow we had missed the eclipse
Slow thickening of shadow
Celestial molasses careening across
Smooth white dough, darkening and sweetening
To watch the moon close in my imagination
Curved silver eye; blinking, blinded, and reemerging
A survivor of the sky
A narrowing shutter unable to resist light
I don’t remember the sleeping,
Only the stirring, your isolated movements
How you position your body like a mummy’s
Indifferent as wood, unable to slumber with anyone touching
I dreamed of standing at the doorway
Perpendicular to the moon, elliptical light trickling
Through my bones, the momentary flickering
Of the earth’s silhouette, for a minute, swaying together
Like trees in the wind, an unlikely pair
It will be years before this happens again.
Go here to hear her read it.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Me A Poet
First the OSSP*: If you're thinking about coming to hear Maria Gillan and me read in the West Windsor Arts Council's Spring Poetry Awakening tomorrow, you can find directions here; it's not far from Princeton, NJ.
While preparing myself to read tomorrow, and to share the bill with one of my favorite poets, I happened to notice Bob and Margery at About.com reporting that Lulu has taken over the domain Poetry.com and that Watermark Media, they of the International Poetry Library and their regular Parade Magazine advertising , are out of business. This is interesting - an online version of Lulu's print service. I've been looking very hard at Lulu as an open of for the first manuscript... but more on that another in a week or two. Or eight.
For the record, I got over thinking ILP and its ilk were a scam a while ago. Sure, they extracted money from people who didn't know how pobiz works, but that was kind of the point. These folks were people who derived great joy from having a nice gold-edged book with their poem in it, who wouldn't care about any difference (if they noticed one) between a book from CavanKerry Press and one from Kinko's. When they stopped delivering those books because of poor cash flow, that became a different story, of course. It's not all that different from the people I used to see in my bowling league with the special bionic elbow contraption and the special spray for their sliding shoe, and the special glove with the Power-Angle Palm(tm). I know all that stuff was worthless and affected their score not an iota. But it made them happy and made them feel "like a bowler". If that's all they wanted, not to score better or be part of a better team, who am I, even as a reasonably accomplished bowler, to put them down?
There's a little buzz at Publisher's Weekly about Lulu and Poetry.com, which may interest you (and give you a brief insight into one of those bowlers - I mean, poets - I just talked about).
It's also telling that Lulu is aware that much of what they print is bad. But that awareness is part of what makes them legitimate. I have seen a couple of very nice self-published products this year. Given where the "real" presses endowments are going to be over the next two years, it's an option that more poets without bionic elbows may be considering.
Thus endeth the only comparison of poetry and bowling you will encounter today.
See you tomorrow?
*OSSP - Obligatory Shameless Self-Promotion
While preparing myself to read tomorrow, and to share the bill with one of my favorite poets, I happened to notice Bob and Margery at About.com reporting that Lulu has taken over the domain Poetry.com and that Watermark Media, they of the International Poetry Library and their regular Parade Magazine advertising , are out of business. This is interesting - an online version of Lulu's print service. I've been looking very hard at Lulu as an open of for the first manuscript... but more on that another in a week or two. Or eight.
For the record, I got over thinking ILP and its ilk were a scam a while ago. Sure, they extracted money from people who didn't know how pobiz works, but that was kind of the point. These folks were people who derived great joy from having a nice gold-edged book with their poem in it, who wouldn't care about any difference (if they noticed one) between a book from CavanKerry Press and one from Kinko's. When they stopped delivering those books because of poor cash flow, that became a different story, of course. It's not all that different from the people I used to see in my bowling league with the special bionic elbow contraption and the special spray for their sliding shoe, and the special glove with the Power-Angle Palm(tm). I know all that stuff was worthless and affected their score not an iota. But it made them happy and made them feel "like a bowler". If that's all they wanted, not to score better or be part of a better team, who am I, even as a reasonably accomplished bowler, to put them down?
There's a little buzz at Publisher's Weekly about Lulu and Poetry.com, which may interest you (and give you a brief insight into one of those bowlers - I mean, poets - I just talked about).
It's also telling that Lulu is aware that much of what they print is bad. But that awareness is part of what makes them legitimate. I have seen a couple of very nice self-published products this year. Given where the "real" presses endowments are going to be over the next two years, it's an option that more poets without bionic elbows may be considering.
Thus endeth the only comparison of poetry and bowling you will encounter today.
See you tomorrow?
*OSSP - Obligatory Shameless Self-Promotion
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Confession
Kelli is much more thorough about her confessions, but every now and then an amateur can get a few things out in the open, right? So here goes:
I confess I purchased Valzhyna Mort's Factory of Tears entirely because she appeared on the cover of Poets and Writers with her accordion. Her ACCORDION!
I confess that I then dropped the book onto a pile and neglected to so much as crack the spine for months, reading more than a dozen other books before so much as taking the Copper Canyon reply card out of its original location.
And finally, I confess that upon reading the first two lines of "Music of Locusts", I resolved to finish the book before I read even the back of a cereal box:
what I wouldn't give
to be a small freckle on the wind's nose
Most of the poems have the Belarusian on the left face. And I confess, using the names in the dedications to sound out the phonetics of that alphabet and hearing those few words of Belarusian I can work out in my head is bonus fun for me in this book.
Here's the poem "Teacher", in its English entirety (the all-lowercase look is from the original):
if you are going to be my teacher
you will have to become a tiger
so that you can bite my head off
and i'd have to follow you everywhere
trying very hard to get my head back
Good stuff. Recommended.
Also good stuff, and since I mentioned her today, Kelli posted some good learnings she recently acquired on presenting your own work in public. Also recommended.
I confess I purchased Valzhyna Mort's Factory of Tears entirely because she appeared on the cover of Poets and Writers with her accordion. Her ACCORDION!
I confess that I then dropped the book onto a pile and neglected to so much as crack the spine for months, reading more than a dozen other books before so much as taking the Copper Canyon reply card out of its original location.
And finally, I confess that upon reading the first two lines of "Music of Locusts", I resolved to finish the book before I read even the back of a cereal box:
what I wouldn't give
to be a small freckle on the wind's nose
Most of the poems have the Belarusian on the left face. And I confess, using the names in the dedications to sound out the phonetics of that alphabet and hearing those few words of Belarusian I can work out in my head is bonus fun for me in this book.
Here's the poem "Teacher", in its English entirety (the all-lowercase look is from the original):
if you are going to be my teacher
you will have to become a tiger
so that you can bite my head off
and i'd have to follow you everywhere
trying very hard to get my head back
Good stuff. Recommended.
Also good stuff, and since I mentioned her today, Kelli posted some good learnings she recently acquired on presenting your own work in public. Also recommended.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Some Time With Where Time Goes
This evening I was in the audience at County College of Morris for a reading from Sander Zulauf's new collection Where Time Goes (Dryad Press, 2008). I've been sitting with my copy since last year's Dodge festival, waiting for an overlap between his reading schedule and a night I could finagle to be free, and how lucky for me that tonight was that night.
Sandy read with a jazz trio, perfect for the tone of his poems (especially when they broke into "Inchworm"!). I wish I could recreate the mood of it here - the humor and nostalgia of both the poems and the songs, the warmth of the room (a wide white space with students' art projects behind the performers). I'm hopeful that bootleg DVDs of the event will be available someday, but for now, I leave you with the last few lines of my favorite poem in the collection, "Uncertainty", a kind of meditation on the observer-effect measurement disturbance frequently bundled with the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle with tribute to physicist-poet Natalia Zaretsky (who also wrote about it):
(I) wondered whether God is
Uncertain about us,
Whether everybody
Who looks at God
And claims to see God
Changes God
Makes God
Uncertain
To everyone else.
Sandy read with a jazz trio, perfect for the tone of his poems (especially when they broke into "Inchworm"!). I wish I could recreate the mood of it here - the humor and nostalgia of both the poems and the songs, the warmth of the room (a wide white space with students' art projects behind the performers). I'm hopeful that bootleg DVDs of the event will be available someday, but for now, I leave you with the last few lines of my favorite poem in the collection, "Uncertainty", a kind of meditation on the observer-effect measurement disturbance frequently bundled with the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle with tribute to physicist-poet Natalia Zaretsky (who also wrote about it):
(I) wondered whether God is
Uncertain about us,
Whether everybody
Who looks at God
And claims to see God
Changes God
Makes God
Uncertain
To everyone else.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Cleaning Under The Couch
Preparing for Sunday's reading, and using the opportunity to do some overdue file cleanup, I've been sorting through a large (virtual) pile of writings that at one time or another I've regarded as "complete", and am fascinated to be rediscovering some of my own work. It's been interesting to me to become reacquainted with works that have been off my mind long enough to have somehow acquired some newness. Not always a good thing, of course, as without the benefit of "the moment" some of the works I thought were refined enough to be called a complete poem are a bit lifeless, pedestrian even. Worse, though, is finding something that I obviously though was a good idea, but not good enough to imbue the draft with craft. But those moments are a gift of sorts, as they remind me that it's not practical to expect myself to be objective about my own work, especially too close to its birth.
But there have also been moments where I find something I don't remember writing, at least not in that "final" form, and I see something I can see my handiwork in - or better, something that has potential but I didn't have the chops to do right when I started it, but feel like I have enough tools in the box to be able to finish today. That's probably the most exciting moment.
So I'm sorting into three piles:
But there have also been moments where I find something I don't remember writing, at least not in that "final" form, and I see something I can see my handiwork in - or better, something that has potential but I didn't have the chops to do right when I started it, but feel like I have enough tools in the box to be able to finish today. That's probably the most exciting moment.
So I'm sorting into three piles:
- Completed Writings - works that have been published or have had credible independent review (not that your opinion isn't important, Mom), plus some that I'm confident about. This is about half the work so far.
- Writings to Revise - works that have something interesting -a couple of interesting lines, a good idea poorly executed (which in my case usually means it's too long). This is about a third of the work.
- Old Writings - works that appeared in those early, forgettable, Poet's-Market-big-white-circle journals and are OK enough, but aren't interesting enough for immediate investment and which I wouldn't include in a submission package today. Some of these are candidates for the Revise pile, when it gets low enough. About a sixth of the work is in this bucket so far, but I have a feeling the remainder of the pile, which I've been slow in purging, is mostly headed for this category.
We'll see where it all winds up, but it's a good learning for me. Sharpening both my lens and my scalpel.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Don't Tell Me You Can't
I don't talk about the day job much, and I'm not going to start now, but for the next few minutes you need to know this: A substantial fraction of my career has been spent in roles designed to dealing with situations that begin: "We may have a problem here..."
Thirty-nine years ago today, Apollo 13 ended its mission by splashing down into the Pacific Ocean. If you've somehow avoided the movie for the last 15 years, this was a moon mission on which an oxygen tank exploded, and a series of improbable improvisations were employed to deliver the three astronauts home against incredible odds. It's one of those movies I'll stop to watch whenever it's on, and one I frequently throw into the DVD player. The story is a perennial reminder that just about anything is possible if you just "Work the problem". It's a tale I feel a particular kinship with. Because I'm an engineer, because it appeals to my problem-management-professional resume, and because I'm a poet.
Hmm? How's that?
The premise - assessing, deciding to, then doing - applies when there is no problem, too. If you have the tools and the desire, you can. Two areas where defeatism irks me greatly are poetry and music. Too often I hear people talk about how they "can't understand" poetry. Or when I produce my accordion, how they "could never" learn an instrument "at this age". Ugh. I had the good fortune one year to play alongside a 73-year-old man who had been playing the accordion for all of 2 years when he joined our accordion orchestra. He wasn't the most natural talent in the room, and he wasn't be best musician. But he was good - certainly good enough to hang with the rest of us amateurs - and he had by far the most joy in his playing.
Maybe it's not a direct analogy to writing poetry, but maybe it is. Maybe the energy that we B- poets bring to the band serves a purpose, feeds the soloists, keeps the literary tune lively, danceable, entertaining. One thing I'm sure we bring is a bit of knowledge, a bit of appreciation and a bit of dedication to the craft. Desire. An amateur's analysis, but a wealth of reading to inform our writing.
I don't know. Maybe it's a thin analogy, and maybe I'm too worked up about wanting to give accordion lessons again. But I see it this way: You can choose not to go the moon. You can choose not to get home. But if you want to do both, you may need help, but with that help will get you there and back.
PS: Three guesses who my hero in the movie version of Apollo 13 is. Hint: There's not even a close second.
Thirty-nine years ago today, Apollo 13 ended its mission by splashing down into the Pacific Ocean. If you've somehow avoided the movie for the last 15 years, this was a moon mission on which an oxygen tank exploded, and a series of improbable improvisations were employed to deliver the three astronauts home against incredible odds. It's one of those movies I'll stop to watch whenever it's on, and one I frequently throw into the DVD player. The story is a perennial reminder that just about anything is possible if you just "Work the problem". It's a tale I feel a particular kinship with. Because I'm an engineer, because it appeals to my problem-management-professional resume, and because I'm a poet.
Hmm? How's that?
The premise - assessing, deciding to, then doing - applies when there is no problem, too. If you have the tools and the desire, you can. Two areas where defeatism irks me greatly are poetry and music. Too often I hear people talk about how they "can't understand" poetry. Or when I produce my accordion, how they "could never" learn an instrument "at this age". Ugh. I had the good fortune one year to play alongside a 73-year-old man who had been playing the accordion for all of 2 years when he joined our accordion orchestra. He wasn't the most natural talent in the room, and he wasn't be best musician. But he was good - certainly good enough to hang with the rest of us amateurs - and he had by far the most joy in his playing.
Maybe it's not a direct analogy to writing poetry, but maybe it is. Maybe the energy that we B- poets bring to the band serves a purpose, feeds the soloists, keeps the literary tune lively, danceable, entertaining. One thing I'm sure we bring is a bit of knowledge, a bit of appreciation and a bit of dedication to the craft. Desire. An amateur's analysis, but a wealth of reading to inform our writing.
I don't know. Maybe it's a thin analogy, and maybe I'm too worked up about wanting to give accordion lessons again. But I see it this way: You can choose not to go the moon. You can choose not to get home. But if you want to do both, you may need help, but with that help will get you there and back.
PS: Three guesses who my hero in the movie version of Apollo 13 is. Hint: There's not even a close second.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Wishing you a Joyous Easter...
... and suggesting to you that now is just as good a time to make resolutions as January 1 was; maybe better. Do it for the holiday. Or for spring. Or for NatPoMo. But whatever's on your mind today, make it new. Yourself, too.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Things I've Been Doing Instead of Finishing My Taxes...
(1) Relentlessly refining for my PMINJ presentation in a few weeks. Check out the complete list of speakers who have been signed up; I'm in pretty good company!
(2) Flipping channels. There are some movies I'll always stop and watch, and I keep discovering new things to distract myself with.
(3) Organizing my material for the Spring Poetry Awakening. There's a pretty nice article about the event at CentralJersey.com; guess it pays to have that website, after all.
(4) Paying way more attention to my fantasy baseball team than is justified in April. But you can't blame me for being excited about picking Daniel Murphy, can you, Mets fans?
(5) Working on the day job. Catching up on my [redacted][redacted][redacted][redacted][redacted][redacted].
Eh, there's still time. What's on ESPN Classic right now?
(2) Flipping channels. There are some movies I'll always stop and watch, and I keep discovering new things to distract myself with.
(3) Organizing my material for the Spring Poetry Awakening. There's a pretty nice article about the event at CentralJersey.com; guess it pays to have that website, after all.
(4) Paying way more attention to my fantasy baseball team than is justified in April. But you can't blame me for being excited about picking Daniel Murphy, can you, Mets fans?
(5) Working on the day job. Catching up on my [redacted][redacted][redacted][redacted][redacted][redacted].
Eh, there's still time. What's on ESPN Classic right now?
Friday, April 10, 2009
National Whattity Month?
Thank goodness for the lovely invitation I received to read for the West Windsor Poets and Poems event this month. Otherwise, this April like the last several, would be consumed by other activity.
I'm not complaining, mind you. Taxes are predictable, my upcoming PMI-NJ talk bodes to be great fun and a great experience, and mid-year events for work are generally my own doing. But I do have a bit of jealousy when I click through Shanna's PAD, or Kelli's, or anyone's. I've avoided going to Poetic Asides because I know I'm not going to do anything with them. That's whining of course. What am I actually doing with my poetry this month?
Well, sorting through my old and current projects for the West Windsor reading, and having not done so in quite a while, I'm pulling some "finished" work for editing, discovering some unfinished scraps, rejecting some work I used to think was done... I think this is a fairly usual routine for the amateur, no?
Also, I'm forming more specific opinions about my manuscript, and I have made a couple of key decisions about it.
But I won't have time to do anything with them until after the 4th of May, also known as National Tardiness Month. I'll tell you about them then.
I'm not complaining, mind you. Taxes are predictable, my upcoming PMI-NJ talk bodes to be great fun and a great experience, and mid-year events for work are generally my own doing. But I do have a bit of jealousy when I click through Shanna's PAD, or Kelli's, or anyone's. I've avoided going to Poetic Asides because I know I'm not going to do anything with them. That's whining of course. What am I actually doing with my poetry this month?
Well, sorting through my old and current projects for the West Windsor reading, and having not done so in quite a while, I'm pulling some "finished" work for editing, discovering some unfinished scraps, rejecting some work I used to think was done... I think this is a fairly usual routine for the amateur, no?
Also, I'm forming more specific opinions about my manuscript, and I have made a couple of key decisions about it.
But I won't have time to do anything with them until after the 4th of May, also known as National Tardiness Month. I'll tell you about them then.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Rothenberg and Tobin
Through Silliman's Blog, I found Jerome Rothenberg's online presence this weekend; a delight to find. Primarily, for me, to see the way Rothenberg excerpts from his own prolific output into discrete and digestible nuggets. I know I'm not up to that challenge.
Also found the poems Rothenberg wrote in response to visual art by Nancy Tobin for the last installment of the Visible Word, an ambitious project the Spoken Word Series hasn't mounted in a few years. If you read these poems and check out the visual artistry behind them, I think you'll agree that's a shame.
Also found the poems Rothenberg wrote in response to visual art by Nancy Tobin for the last installment of the Visible Word, an ambitious project the Spoken Word Series hasn't mounted in a few years. If you read these poems and check out the visual artistry behind them, I think you'll agree that's a shame.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Witte and Kelley in Hoboken
Come to Hoboken this Sunday to catch the NatPoMo action of George Witte and Tina Kelley at Symposia Bookstore at 3PM.
Not sure you can fit this into your schedule?
Go here. And here.
OK then. See you there.
Not sure you can fit this into your schedule?
Go here. And here.
OK then. See you there.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Bleating
Old favorite James Lileks is part of the new newspaper generation over at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Star-Tribune. Check out this bit, remember this is off a daily newspaper's website and done by newspaper staffers, then forget that and laugh at Mr. Lileks. He comes on about 2/3 of the way through. News of the rough time the Red River is giving North Dakotans precedes the lightness.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Mark Your Calendar....
Just got the official information...
West Windsor Arts Council (WWAC) presents Spring Poetry Awakening featuring performances by Maria Mazziotti Gillan and David Vincenti, as well as open reading, Sunday, April 26, 3:00-5:00 p.m., at West Windsor Branch of the Mercer County Library System, 333 North Post Road, West Windsor. Information: (609) 919-1982. On the Web: www.westwindsorarts.org. Free to the public, contributions welcome.
Prior to the reading, cultivate your poetic license. Gillan will lead a poetry workshop from 12:30 pm to 2:00 at Grover’s Mill Café, 295 Princeton – Hightstown Rd. West Windsor, NJ 08540 (near McCaffreys Mall at Southfield Rd.). Because spaces will be limited, those planning to attend are encouraged to pre-register at www.westwindsorarts.com. $15 and $10 for WWAC members.
West Windsor Arts Council (WWAC) presents Spring Poetry Awakening featuring performances by Maria Mazziotti Gillan and David Vincenti, as well as open reading, Sunday, April 26, 3:00-5:00 p.m., at West Windsor Branch of the Mercer County Library System, 333 North Post Road, West Windsor. Information: (609) 919-1982. On the Web: www.westwindsorarts.org. Free to the public, contributions welcome.
Prior to the reading, cultivate your poetic license. Gillan will lead a poetry workshop from 12:30 pm to 2:00 at Grover’s Mill Café, 295 Princeton – Hightstown Rd. West Windsor, NJ 08540 (near McCaffreys Mall at Southfield Rd.). Because spaces will be limited, those planning to attend are encouraged to pre-register at www.westwindsorarts.com. $15 and $10 for WWAC members.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Getting a little deeper
It being Billy Collins' birthday, The Writer's Almanac featured a poem by His Laureateness today. Introduction to Poetry is a poem I use in my workshops with kids, but not, I think, Collins' finest.
Here's one I prefer, from the same book:
Walking Across the Atlantic
I wait for then holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping onto the first wave.
Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.
But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feed appearing, disappearing.
Collins has said before that he feels he's at his best when he "has nothing to say", and I think comparing this poem to Intro demonstrates that. Atlantic is to me much more imaginative; I think Intro is funny, for sure, but the point is made early, and it could end either sooner or later to greater effect.
And a minor complaint to the Almanac: Old poems have been featured quite a bit, lately, and repeat poems at that. Aren't there any recent poets and poems worth presenting? Or even just newer work from the old favorites would be nice: this effort from Collins is circa 1988; I think he's published 6 books since then.
Here's one I prefer, from the same book:
Walking Across the Atlantic
I wait for then holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping onto the first wave.
Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.
But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feed appearing, disappearing.
Collins has said before that he feels he's at his best when he "has nothing to say", and I think comparing this poem to Intro demonstrates that. Atlantic is to me much more imaginative; I think Intro is funny, for sure, but the point is made early, and it could end either sooner or later to greater effect.
And a minor complaint to the Almanac: Old poems have been featured quite a bit, lately, and repeat poems at that. Aren't there any recent poets and poems worth presenting? Or even just newer work from the old favorites would be nice: this effort from Collins is circa 1988; I think he's published 6 books since then.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Composition Class
And then there's one more route by which a never-to-be-seen-again work can find its way into my archive pile: Exercises.
I will give myself an assignment once in a while, or take it from one of my friends and resources to the right, and I sometimes get a finished poem from it. Most times, though, I get something of interest, something that has a useful extractable nugget, something that I want to pull out and show someone as an exhibit (the same way I show them the parts of the basement that my cousins and I constructed ourselves: to say, "See? I can sorta do this!").
Actually, the basement is the right analogy here. I wanted to do the work myself because I wanted to know how to do it, to know I could do it, and to have a deeper appreciation for the folks who should do it (because they possess a proficiency I do not). For example, while I still dismiss much of the performance art most people mean when they say "spoken word" (rhymed whining is still whining, after all), having attempted to write in that sing-song, erratic-beat format gave me a much better sense for how hard it is for the ones who do it well to do it well.
So part of my pile is devoted to these failed experiments and horizon-stretchers. And no, it's not likely you'll ever see one unless you engage me in a discussion of how to incorporate metallurgical terms into a villanelle.
It's not pretty, but I can sorta do it.
I will give myself an assignment once in a while, or take it from one of my friends and resources to the right, and I sometimes get a finished poem from it. Most times, though, I get something of interest, something that has a useful extractable nugget, something that I want to pull out and show someone as an exhibit (the same way I show them the parts of the basement that my cousins and I constructed ourselves: to say, "See? I can sorta do this!").
Actually, the basement is the right analogy here. I wanted to do the work myself because I wanted to know how to do it, to know I could do it, and to have a deeper appreciation for the folks who should do it (because they possess a proficiency I do not). For example, while I still dismiss much of the performance art most people mean when they say "spoken word" (rhymed whining is still whining, after all), having attempted to write in that sing-song, erratic-beat format gave me a much better sense for how hard it is for the ones who do it well to do it well.
So part of my pile is devoted to these failed experiments and horizon-stretchers. And no, it's not likely you'll ever see one unless you engage me in a discussion of how to incorporate metallurgical terms into a villanelle.
It's not pretty, but I can sorta do it.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
A Needed in a Hatestack
It seemed like a pretty straightforward question: "Daddy? Have you ever written something you kinda hated, that wasn't really any good, but you couldn't bring yourself to through it away?"
Well, of course. That was easy.
That was Monday. Since then, I've been asking myself why I would be hanging onto something I hate. It seemed so obvious to me that I wouldn't throw away something I'd written, but I couldn't articulate why. I mean, don't we all hang onto every word we apply to the page? But why?
I think there are a few reasons I keep the words. Not only the raw efforts in my notebook or on my microcassettes, where deleting is actually more work than keeping, but also the hardcopies of the distilled drafts that failed in the middle of the seventh line. First, there's plain stubbornness: I started this, I can finish it. This is thought is usually wrong, but even knowing that, it's hard to overcome it once it has occurred to me.
Sometimes I've grown attached to a line or phrase and really want to make it work. Or salvage it from the dullness to which I've anchored it and build a new poem around it.
But most frequently, I think, I'm enamored with the character I've created. I'm primarily a purveyor of narrative, and when I create a narrator I feel an emotional need to let that narrator find his or her own way out of the poem. This fails when I've stuck them in the wrong poem.
I explained this to my daughter with the example from my poem "Legacies" (Outerbridge, 1994). It started as a solemn story about a man at his father's wake - first telling stories, then recollecting in silence, then interacting with sisters. Each time the piece died (no pun intended) early on, long before I'd started to see where I wanted to go. In a later rewriting, though, (5th or 6th as I recall) I twisted it into something a little more lighthearted, and then the idea had legs enough to ride to completion. I don't recall if the twist was a conscious rework or a spontaneous reimagining, but the piece worked well enough, whichever it was.
Do you hang onto your failures? How do you break them open to find the spec of gemstone within?
Well, of course. That was easy.
That was Monday. Since then, I've been asking myself why I would be hanging onto something I hate. It seemed so obvious to me that I wouldn't throw away something I'd written, but I couldn't articulate why. I mean, don't we all hang onto every word we apply to the page? But why?
I think there are a few reasons I keep the words. Not only the raw efforts in my notebook or on my microcassettes, where deleting is actually more work than keeping, but also the hardcopies of the distilled drafts that failed in the middle of the seventh line. First, there's plain stubbornness: I started this, I can finish it. This is thought is usually wrong, but even knowing that, it's hard to overcome it once it has occurred to me.
Sometimes I've grown attached to a line or phrase and really want to make it work. Or salvage it from the dullness to which I've anchored it and build a new poem around it.
But most frequently, I think, I'm enamored with the character I've created. I'm primarily a purveyor of narrative, and when I create a narrator I feel an emotional need to let that narrator find his or her own way out of the poem. This fails when I've stuck them in the wrong poem.
I explained this to my daughter with the example from my poem "Legacies" (Outerbridge, 1994). It started as a solemn story about a man at his father's wake - first telling stories, then recollecting in silence, then interacting with sisters. Each time the piece died (no pun intended) early on, long before I'd started to see where I wanted to go. In a later rewriting, though, (5th or 6th as I recall) I twisted it into something a little more lighthearted, and then the idea had legs enough to ride to completion. I don't recall if the twist was a conscious rework or a spontaneous reimagining, but the piece worked well enough, whichever it was.
Do you hang onto your failures? How do you break them open to find the spec of gemstone within?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Saint Patbits Day
Shamrock: "A plant with trifoliate leaves, used (according to a late tradition) by St. Patrick to illustrate the doctrine of the Trinity, and hence adopted as the national emblem of Ireland; a spray or leaf of this plant." (courtesy the OED Word of the Day).
***
"Well, then. Now. I'll begin at the beginnin'. A fine soft day in the spring, it was, when the train pulled into Castletown, three hours late as usual, and himself got off. He didn't have the look of an American tourist at all about him. Not a camera on him; what was worse, not even a fishin' rod." (courtesy of John Ford's most excellent The Quiet Man. Did you know it's based on a story by Maurice Walsh?
***
"In the Middle Ages, beer (which is made from cereal grain) was one of the safest, most nutritious everyday drinks for northern Europeans - since grapes don't grow in the colder climate, and water was often polluted.
Occasionally, a batch would go bad, and people would blame the devil for the problem. To keep the demons away, brewers would place religious statues in their brew house, and ask the local priest to bless a new batch" (courtesy The Little Black Book, Six-minute reflections on the weekly Gospels of Lent 2009)
***
"May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand." (an old Irish blessing)
***
Happy Saint Patrick's Day.
***
"Well, then. Now. I'll begin at the beginnin'. A fine soft day in the spring, it was, when the train pulled into Castletown, three hours late as usual, and himself got off. He didn't have the look of an American tourist at all about him. Not a camera on him; what was worse, not even a fishin' rod." (courtesy of John Ford's most excellent The Quiet Man. Did you know it's based on a story by Maurice Walsh?
***
"In the Middle Ages, beer (which is made from cereal grain) was one of the safest, most nutritious everyday drinks for northern Europeans - since grapes don't grow in the colder climate, and water was often polluted.
Occasionally, a batch would go bad, and people would blame the devil for the problem. To keep the demons away, brewers would place religious statues in their brew house, and ask the local priest to bless a new batch" (courtesy The Little Black Book, Six-minute reflections on the weekly Gospels of Lent 2009)
***
"May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand." (an old Irish blessing)
***
Happy Saint Patrick's Day.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Poetry TV from Massachusetts
I was very happy to come across the website for HCAM, Hopkinton's Television Station. It seems to be a community access station a smallish (pop. 15,000) town in eastern Massachusetts. Amazingly, it carries two programs devoted to poetry and related perfoermance art:
Poetry in Motion is an interview format hosted by Elizabeth Lund. The website states that Poetry in Motion is a half-hour show designed for people who think "I love poetry," or "I hate poetry," or "I just don't get it." Elizabeth is a talented poet, critic, and essayist, and one of the early talent-donors in the life of the Spoken Word Series. I owe a big step in my own development as a writer to her working with me from her former position as Poetry Editor at the Christian science Monitor. There are two old episodes available on the site.
Wake Up and Smell the Poetry captures local open mic event that includes poetry of many sorts and original music hosted by Cheryl Perrault. There are several events available on the website.
Both programs are aired frequently on local TV; I didn't see a way to stream the channel on the website, but it seems both programs' pages are updated about monthly.
Check 'em out!
Poetry in Motion is an interview format hosted by Elizabeth Lund. The website states that Poetry in Motion is a half-hour show designed for people who think "I love poetry," or "I hate poetry," or "I just don't get it." Elizabeth is a talented poet, critic, and essayist, and one of the early talent-donors in the life of the Spoken Word Series. I owe a big step in my own development as a writer to her working with me from her former position as Poetry Editor at the Christian science Monitor. There are two old episodes available on the site.
Wake Up and Smell the Poetry captures local open mic event that includes poetry of many sorts and original music hosted by Cheryl Perrault. There are several events available on the website.
Both programs are aired frequently on local TV; I didn't see a way to stream the channel on the website, but it seems both programs' pages are updated about monthly.
Check 'em out!
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Respectful Misapplication?
What exactly do people who don't write poetry or read poetry think they mean when they say "poetry"?
In yesterday's Star-Ledger, there's a review by Bradley Bambarger in which the word "poet" appears 3 times: in the headline, in a prominent caption, and in the first paragraph; twice it appears in the phrase "avant-Americana poet". To get something out of the way, it's a fine review, well-written and multidimensional. But in assuming that the use of the word poet is a nod to an excellent use of language, then combining with the phrase "avant-Americana" (which means what, pushing the bounds of folk music?), I lose touch with my definition of the word "poet". I think of a poet as someone who works language the way a carpenter works wood: to produce objects of great beauty in which there is clear evidence of an awareness and style on the part of the practitioner.
I read an excerpt lyric, and tried to apply my definition of "poet". Here are the lines quoted in the review: "I can't stay here to hold your hand / I've been away for so long, I've lost my taste for home / That's a dirty final feeling, to be dangling from the ceiling / From when the roof came crashing down ... The next time you say forever, I'm going to punch you in the face."
Unexpected? Clearly. Powerful application of language? You bet. Make me want hear the song to hear how these challenging lyrics are applied to melody? Absolutely. Poetic? Not by my definition. I'm not even sure how "avant" this is, especially as poetry. Dark, confessional, narrative poetry of this sort is hardly at the forefront of art. I'll trust Bambarger on the Americana reference; I'm not a scholar there.
Pursuing my confusion, I turned as I usually do to the dictionaries at hand for specificity and clarity. In the Random House definition set available at Dictionary.com, aside from the obvious "a person who composes poetry", we find the following definition of "poet": "a person who has the gift of poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression".
OK. Interesting. Now "poet" applies to a way of thinking and away of expressing that thinking together. But the definition is still recursive: it requires the word "poetic". I'll spare you all the lists and links, but RH @ Dictionary.com lets us down there again: in 10 definitions, the only one that excises the word "poet" uses instead the phrase "literature in verse form".
What do we mean by poet? More importantly, what do persons who neither practice nor read poetry mean by poet? People tend, I think, to apply the word as compliment ("poetry in motion", "that was pure poetry"), but I bet the same people couldn't define the term in a way that didn't require the wrinkling of their noses or the use of a grade-school rhyme to complete their definition.
Here's what I think I mean when I say poet: An artist who, using language as their primary medium, applies verbal, visual, or aural effects to evoke impact beyond simple comprehension of the receiver. There are a number of ways this can evidence itself, of course, from Poetry Out Loud to VizPo, from Andrew Motion to Ron Silliman. It's a wide enough net to include Charles Bukowski (barely, I think), Amiri Baraka, and (depending on who you listen to) Billy Collins, but it lets out great songwriters for whom music is the medium, and it lets out those who practice rhyme and meter in the style of their 11th grade English teachers without trying to find something more in it than ABBA BCCB.
What do you think? Am I myopic? Off-base? Compulsive? Trying to apply engineering precision to language again? Wouldn't be the first time on that last one.
I just think the title should mean something. And after one morning's research, I can't satisfy myself that it does.
In yesterday's Star-Ledger, there's a review by Bradley Bambarger in which the word "poet" appears 3 times: in the headline, in a prominent caption, and in the first paragraph; twice it appears in the phrase "avant-Americana poet". To get something out of the way, it's a fine review, well-written and multidimensional. But in assuming that the use of the word poet is a nod to an excellent use of language, then combining with the phrase "avant-Americana" (which means what, pushing the bounds of folk music?), I lose touch with my definition of the word "poet". I think of a poet as someone who works language the way a carpenter works wood: to produce objects of great beauty in which there is clear evidence of an awareness and style on the part of the practitioner.
I read an excerpt lyric, and tried to apply my definition of "poet". Here are the lines quoted in the review: "I can't stay here to hold your hand / I've been away for so long, I've lost my taste for home / That's a dirty final feeling, to be dangling from the ceiling / From when the roof came crashing down ... The next time you say forever, I'm going to punch you in the face."
Unexpected? Clearly. Powerful application of language? You bet. Make me want hear the song to hear how these challenging lyrics are applied to melody? Absolutely. Poetic? Not by my definition. I'm not even sure how "avant" this is, especially as poetry. Dark, confessional, narrative poetry of this sort is hardly at the forefront of art. I'll trust Bambarger on the Americana reference; I'm not a scholar there.
Pursuing my confusion, I turned as I usually do to the dictionaries at hand for specificity and clarity. In the Random House definition set available at Dictionary.com, aside from the obvious "a person who composes poetry", we find the following definition of "poet": "a person who has the gift of poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression".
OK. Interesting. Now "poet" applies to a way of thinking and away of expressing that thinking together. But the definition is still recursive: it requires the word "poetic". I'll spare you all the lists and links, but RH @ Dictionary.com lets us down there again: in 10 definitions, the only one that excises the word "poet" uses instead the phrase "literature in verse form".
What do we mean by poet? More importantly, what do persons who neither practice nor read poetry mean by poet? People tend, I think, to apply the word as compliment ("poetry in motion", "that was pure poetry"), but I bet the same people couldn't define the term in a way that didn't require the wrinkling of their noses or the use of a grade-school rhyme to complete their definition.
Here's what I think I mean when I say poet: An artist who, using language as their primary medium, applies verbal, visual, or aural effects to evoke impact beyond simple comprehension of the receiver. There are a number of ways this can evidence itself, of course, from Poetry Out Loud to VizPo, from Andrew Motion to Ron Silliman. It's a wide enough net to include Charles Bukowski (barely, I think), Amiri Baraka, and (depending on who you listen to) Billy Collins, but it lets out great songwriters for whom music is the medium, and it lets out those who practice rhyme and meter in the style of their 11th grade English teachers without trying to find something more in it than ABBA BCCB.
What do you think? Am I myopic? Off-base? Compulsive? Trying to apply engineering precision to language again? Wouldn't be the first time on that last one.
I just think the title should mean something. And after one morning's research, I can't satisfy myself that it does.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
A Busy Week for Holiday Collectors
Did you eat your cubic radishes today? Tuesday's date, 3/3/09, defines it as Square Root Day - one of 9 such dates every century (or 12 such dates this millenium, depending on how you define it. If you still know where your slide rule is (which I do) I'm sure you celebrated it quite heartily.
And if you also scored well on the verbal, you'll be equally interested in National Grammar Day, which I will observe by carrying a red pen visibly in my shirt pocket all day. Actually, I do that every work day.
And if you also scored well on the verbal, you'll be equally interested in National Grammar Day, which I will observe by carrying a red pen visibly in my shirt pocket all day. Actually, I do that every work day.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Indoctrinations
This weekend I took my daughter to her first poetry reading. I have always felt quite blessed to have so many generous and talented poets so near to my New Jersey home, and sure enough, Diane Lockward gave a rather interestingly purposed reading in one of our local libraries this past Saturday.
The "interesting purpose" had to do with the origin of the reading: four students at Caldwell College, as an alternative to writing a research paper, worked with Diane to design, publicize, and host a reading of her works that they had a hand in selecting and ordering for her. It's a terrific idea, and with Diane's teacher's demeanor, it came off quite well. It was for the students - by their own admission at the reading - their first contact with contemporary poetry, at least that they could recall. If one has to come to the art late, one could do much worse than to start with "Linguini".
Of course, the more important first contact was happening next to me in the audience. I'll spare you the fatherly nonsense; all you need to know is that she loved the event. I don't need to know if it was the friendliness of the crowd (which included NJ Po-Sceners Charlotte Mandel, Jessica De Koninck and Anthony Buccino, among others I'm sure I'm forgetting as I type this), the access to the art, the grown-up feeling about the event, or something that her middle-aged Dad wouldn't understand anyway (that infinitely-large and growing category). I'm just grateful for the chance to offer poetry to her this way.
As I learn more about myself and the legacy I covet, I suspect this past Saturday afternoon will become more important to me. I can only hope she begins to feel the same someday.
The "interesting purpose" had to do with the origin of the reading: four students at Caldwell College, as an alternative to writing a research paper, worked with Diane to design, publicize, and host a reading of her works that they had a hand in selecting and ordering for her. It's a terrific idea, and with Diane's teacher's demeanor, it came off quite well. It was for the students - by their own admission at the reading - their first contact with contemporary poetry, at least that they could recall. If one has to come to the art late, one could do much worse than to start with "Linguini".
Of course, the more important first contact was happening next to me in the audience. I'll spare you the fatherly nonsense; all you need to know is that she loved the event. I don't need to know if it was the friendliness of the crowd (which included NJ Po-Sceners Charlotte Mandel, Jessica De Koninck and Anthony Buccino, among others I'm sure I'm forgetting as I type this), the access to the art, the grown-up feeling about the event, or something that her middle-aged Dad wouldn't understand anyway (that infinitely-large and growing category). I'm just grateful for the chance to offer poetry to her this way.
As I learn more about myself and the legacy I covet, I suspect this past Saturday afternoon will become more important to me. I can only hope she begins to feel the same someday.
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