Returning a Draft

I poked at drafts from Steve and Jeannine this week. Only seemed fair to offer them a shot at a brandy new one of my own.

{Sorry, this poem has been deleted}

Jetsam

Haven't had much time for this little space recently - and still don't - but here are some thoughts for very late on a weeknight, removed from my brain that I might make room for sleep.

(1) Very interesting looking event this Sunday in Cranford, NJ: Deborah LaVeglia, Joe Weil, John McDermott & the CHS Madrigal Singers from 1-4 PM at the Cranford Public Library. This is the kind of ambitious event I aspire to design for my own poetry series. Excellent poets, music. This event also includes visual art - we've linked to the visual arts (and will again on May 6), but the verbal presentation of poetry really does best, I think, when another aural medium complements it. Things to think about for future seasons.

(2) Jilly linkes to an article on the latest posthumous Bukowski that contains the following thought:

He knew that life was in the doing, not the laurels, which he said he didn’t care about. Good thing, because he wasn’t going to get any from the American literary elite who also have no use for e.e. cummings, Edward Arlington Robinson, Edna St. Vincent Millay and several other poets who are an ongoing source of inspiration for those of us who do not look to the critics for permission to be moved.

OK, not in it for the attaboys. That's great. But am I the only person who detects a great deal more poetic effort (craft, word choice, form or conscious anarchy, etc.) in those other poets than in Bukowski? I think Bukowski is a much better and more enjoyable read than cummings, but I think cummings took more care in the selection and placement of words on the page. That article then goes on:

The list of poets I recommend to aspirants starts with William Carlos Williams. Then come the other untouchables. But Bukowski is not far down on the list. I can think of no writer a young poet should more often read to see writing as risk, as consent to following one’s leadings regardless of caliber.

Oh, no. That doesn't really suggest write what you feel no matter how good it is, does it? Please, PLEASE someone correct what simply MUST be a misinterpretation on my part. I also hate the word "untouchables" to discuss great poets, but that's picky, and for another time.

(3) Maureen has posted a review of Debra Galant's book Rattled. Ms. Galant is a bit famous in the crowded suburban stripe that stretches west from Newark, NJ for the local news and commentary site The Barista of Bloomfield Avenue. The Newark mayoral race promises to be quite entertaining this year; if you're interested in the local politics version of Jon Stewart, go bookmark the Barista.

(4) And finally, Writer's Digest had an article on ordering a poetry manuscript this month that contains quotes from many excellent poets (I was pleasantly surprised to see one of the great ladies of NJ poetry therein: Maria Mazziotti Gillan), yet still managed to be completely without a non-obvious suggestion. I'm beginning to think compiling a book is like hitting a baseball - either you can or you can't. And coaches can only help those who have proven they can.

My big dilemma now is deciding whether I'm a can or a can't.

Ahh, nothing like a good spleen venting. (That's right, this was nothing like a good spleen venting). But now to sleep....

Believe...

I believe that no one is spared
the darkness,
and no one gets all of it.

from "What I Believe" by Michael Blumenthal
in Poems to Live By In Uncertain Times, edited by Joan Murray.

You could hypnotize yourself with this stanza, no?

Upcoming Readings

If you're in the northeast US, please take note of three places I'll be visible in the next few months:

Tomorrow night, I'll be at Saint Catherine's in Ringwood, NJ. I was one of the judges of their annual poetry contest, and will be participating in the poetry reading to celebrate that contest. It's part of a large community arts festival; well worth stopping by.

Later this month (March 22 to be precise) I'll be reading in the Wednesday Night Poetry Series in Bethel, CT.

And in May, I'll be representing the Edison Literary Review at the annual Celebration of New Jersey Literary Journals in West Caldwell on May 21 (details forthcoming).

For reminders of these and other NJ and DV events, sign up for my emailing list.

Aphorisms for Caregivers

Somewhat at random:

• The patient who has lost all language still speaks her own pain fluently.
• In the doorway to the hospital, you are just the second domino.
• Confidence is trust in things promised. It is not the absence of questions.

Be back soon.

Reduction to Practice

Well, my application is in for the New Jersey Writer's Project. My thanks to those who let me use their names as reference, and to anyone who wants to direct a little mojo my way (hint, hint).

Coincidentally, the latest Teaching Artist Journal arrived last week. I haven't completed it yet - always takes me a few weeks to nibble and digest, nibble and digest. This issue seems to have play and the application of play as its theme. A good subject, as TAs need to use fun as a motivator, at least at start. In "In Search of Serious Play", David Wallace makes the point that the rules of play have to be firm and clear yet enticing. Its a good article, but it trips over one of my peeves in the following excerpt:

"Virtually every form of play has rules of some sort - consider how many rules there are in baseball, chess, and other favorite pasttimes, In our lessons, two or three simple rules can provide structure for creative exploration."

I know what he's saying (and the rest of the article says it well), but the use of these examples seems to me to be missing the point a little. Sure these are complicated games, but they can be simplified in practice to be much less intimidating. It's not so much the rules of chess, for example, but the execution of its strategy that is daunting. Yet chess strategy 101 can be boiled down to three rules: 1. Take the center. 2. Make his king move. 3. Follow his king. Why can't we reduce our teaching of writing that way?

At the last Warren County Poetry Festival, Peter gave a great exercise, which (If I may simplify) was to answer three seemingly unrelated questions and put those answers into a poem. The reason it worked was because it provided specific, short, actionable steps. It turned "Write a poem" (cue scary music) into "Fill in the blank".

The article does go on to talk about ways to playfully but seriously engage students as a TA. But I fear that examples like this do an inustice to the things the engage in comparison. Baseball need not be more complicated than running, readiness, and the happiness of getting a hit. Chess, like creative writing, can be allowed to feel intimidating, or it can be presented in a way that makes it inviting, attaches to it some manageable goals, and welcomes play.

{Sorry, connection problems, links to come later}

Confidential to Woodhaven

My Goddaughter became a teenager this month and, as is typical for me, I completely failed to set aside the time to recognize her. 'Course, from her perspective, I'm just a scary loud guy she sees on holidays sometimes, so I'm sure that's not a big deal to her.

Anyway, the idea that she was acually becoming a young woman struck me hard last year. Here's what that blow drove out of me.

{sorry, this poem has been deleted}

Happy (Belated) Birthday, E.

Teachers and Teaching

I attended a terrific workshop for the New Jersey Artists-In-Education Program. Heard a little about what some local schools would like to do with their artists and got a great tour of the application from the woman who coordinates the artist end. The more I learn, the more I like; it's a wonderful way to ingrain the arts in education.

That insinutation of the arts is clearly called out in the application which, in addition to requiring applying artists to demonstrate they can create a cohesive crescendo of an arts experience, asks us to define what the "lasting impact" of our residencies with the kids we will teach. An excellent idea - it's one thing to immerse students in art, it's quite another to do it with a purpose and a plan.

Another thing our applications get graded on is the quality of the experience we design for the teachers of the students we propose to teach. This is both for their professional development and to make deeper and more permanent the connection with the curriculum. Remind teachers of how the arts can reach them. What they're capable of - the arts as well as the teachers.

This application process has made me take a serious look at what I consider unique about my artistry, what I consoder worth passing on. I'm quite hopeful I can become part of the program and make it work with the other obligations in my life, but even if that doesn't work out, I've learned an awful lot about myself, and about a small group of people who use a little bit of state money in an absolutely amazing way. I'll gladly settle for that.

Be Someone's Valentine

Well, it's that time of year. Ted Kooser is recommending poems that compare romance with rocks. Kay Jewelers is once again stating for the record that love begins at 1.25 carats ("like" starts at 0.75; less than that is schoolyard flirtation). Love is in the air. (Note: The link isn't to the Staten Island Club's performance of that song. Sorry.)

The particulars of Valentine's Day in my house are, quite romantic -- in that "It's OK, I'll get milk on my way home" sort of way (Writer's Blog archives, February 2004) -- but there's no need to rehash all that here.

But It's nearly impossible to find, let alone to write a decent love poem anymore. It's all glurge and dirge - sickly sweet and slow and almost always with word "above" at the end of the penultimate line. Slate's annual effort is not quite in that mold, however, and Kelli includes today a David Lehman effort that includes baseball references, which makes me think of Mike Fleming's "Rookie":

I was good -- damn good. I could bat for power
and for average, my arm was strong and true,
my glove as quick as a bullfrog's tongue. Hours
in the cage, days on the grass -- oh, I knew
I was good, all right.

It's a love poem. Really. I'm pretty sure, anyway. Go read it and find out for yourself. And as a quick aside, Mike's wife Meg Kearney, who directs the Solstice Creative Writing Programs at Pine Manor College, has updated her appearances list and will be making the rounds quite widely in the coming months. Oh, you lucky New Englanders.

Snowy Bits and Frozen Pieces

If you're reading this from somewhere on the east coast of the US, you're probably doing so to avoid dragging yourself into the driveway to start the chore of digging and salting your way to the street. So in the spirit of friendship, I offer the following useful distractions to proliferate your procrastinative efforts:

Jody Porter dropped me a note last week about Zafusy, an experimental poetry zine with links to blogs and and journals friendly to that poetic persuasion and not all well-known. I found it very different from my usual suspects, and anyplace you can find a poem inspired by a quark is OK with me. I recommend a visit.

Practicing a rather different poetics is Lily Literary Review, a newish zine more frequently published but in the same vein as Branches, with visual and literary artwork selected to be in each other's presence on the (web) page.

Are you watching the Olympics? The winter games holds less of interest to me than the summer games; I think Olympic track and field and gymnastics present the best individual sports efforts that don't involve steroids or a players' union. But there are still sports worth watching - luge and downhill skiing for fans of speed, figure skating for fans of grace, and more. Give NBC's coverage a chance.

And I wanted to close tonight with something snowy. Frost seemed too obvious; this does too, frankly, so I'm off now to find a suitably underpublicized poem with snow as its central image to post tomorrow. Any suggestions?

from Snow Day by Billy Collins

In a while, I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch
sending a cold shower down on us both.

But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.

Upping the Beat

This weekend, I got an anonymous email (or rather, an anonymous comment on a post deep in the archive) profanely and morosely accusing this little space of being dark and depressing. So I'm going to forgo my usual Monday morning dissertation on the decay of earth's orbit and our eventual immolation in the unforgiving sun in an effort to be a little more upbeat.

The search for tools to supplement my poetry workshop design led me to some pretty neat books this weekend. I'd never seen The Daily Spark series - 180 exercies (one per school day) on subjects ranging from SAT prep to poetry. The poetry one is actually quite varied, using excerpts from O'Hara, Creeley, Wordsworth, Auden, and many others. The company has many other teaching aids, including an SAT vocabulary novel series. Sounded pretty dry until I saw first title was "Vampire Dreams".

I feel bad that Seattle didn't acquit themselves well yesterday, but I was glad to see The Bus rumble down the field for a few series. I hope he sticks to his retirement plan. He's one of the good guys in sports.

Fascinating gentleman stopped by my series yesterday to tell stories from his upcoming memoir on life in the army in the 1950s in the Germanies. Had some great tales.

Senryu For My Mother
the doctor replied:
true, but your swelled heart holds room
for this device, too.

Quoting Everybody

Working on my application, which requires the creation of a cohesive 4-day creative writing curriculum, in my case, for 4th-6th graders, since I've selected them as my target audience. But what should the point of the lesson be? I'm looking back over the respondents to Here Comes Everybody's question 7: "How would you explain what poem is to my 7-year-old?". That audience is a little young, but many of the answers are insightful and applicable to my quest: Some of the answers (excerpted):

Ed Foster: "When my son was that age or slightly older I had him write poems. I suppose that writing them is the best way for a child to understand what they are."

Josh Corey: "It’s like that game where you repeat a word until it makes no sense. Do that with four or five words in a row. Now make a sentence out of them. Repeat until it’s a poem. "

Christine Hume: I’d read your seven year old some poetry and let the child explain what it is to me."

Connie Deanovich: "I would say words have secrets and special powers. I would smile and wait for the child to smile back or to smirk. Then I’d say it is a poet’s job to discover these secrets and powers. I’d say a poet is like a honeybee except instead of going from flower to flower the poet goes from word to word to get what she needs. The bee makes honey and the poet makes poems."

And finally,

Donald Revell: "A poem is something made of words that you enjoy."

If I can get that one across, maybe they won't hate the things when they get to high school.

As an aside, I think many poets' answers to this question are needlessly complicated. While I don't believe in dumbing things down for children, I think it's necessary to put explanations in the context of an experience set they can understand and are willing to take in. I don't think everyone understands that.

Back in the Swing of Things

Yes, yes, I know. Lots of excuses, many of them real, and some of them good. But in the interest of space, I'll just pretend you already know them. K? Moving on...

Giving Life to Words was, if I do say so myself, a huge success. We were fortunate to land three outstanding instructors, and the friends of the Spoken Word Series came through with referrals. We had 16 people attend, all told. I haven't surveyed them for specific feedback yet, but I'm quite confident we have a solid foundation to build on. Thanks again to Ed Romond, Faith Vicinanza and George Witte, upon whose craft was built a terrific afternoon.

Been writing more than usual lately, aided by a pretty aggressive travel schedule (lots of time on the train and at the airport). I've slipped back into inspiration-mode, where I wait for a good idea instead of writing myself into a good idea. But since I've stuck to my reading resolutions, I've found inspiration often enough. Don't ask about the other resolutions, by the way.

The local WB affiliate ran the first television ad for my Mets last night. For crying out loud, it's January. I'm just not ready for the boys yet, no matter how excited I am about our prospects. Which I am.

Speaking of TV, we still don't watch a lot, but we've got some new favorites. You can keep your Survivor: Minneapolis, and American Simon-Worshipping Masochists, but we're absolutely stuck on Dancing with the Stars and Skating with Celebrities. So call me shallow. It's OK. I know it.

And finally, I'm going to make the deadline this year, I swear (at myself, that is. For motivation). Wish me luck if you believe in such things, and feel free to offer to proofread my application. Fortune does favor the well-prepared after all.

Another Review Review

The local paper ran a series of short reviews on Sunday, one of which happened to be for Come On In, a posthumous collection assembled from Charles Bukowski's archives. I'm not a Bukowski scholar, but I am a bit sensitive to falsely (or underinformed) positive reviews, and I fear this column-third from the Sunday Star-Ledger may just meet the requirements.

Two comments in particular make me question not the reviewer's affection for Bukowski's poems, but his ability to place them in a context that lends credibility to those comments. First: "In a world of fakes and frauds, he was the voice you could trust -- a Howard Stern of poetry." I don't get this. I'm not a Stern fan, but I understand that Stern's self-proclaimed purpose is the pushing of boundaries, the introduction of subjects that force people to think about things they'd not otherwise think about. Is that really Bukowski's raison d'etre? Honesty, clarity, these I get. But I don't understand how the deliberately contrived (though honest within the contrivance) Stern is a useful comparison for Bukowski's work.

Which raises the issue of the other comment I have trouble with: "In today's environment of willful poetic obscurity and theoretical nonsense, this is refreshing and charming." This contradicts the Stern parallel for me, since "refreshing and charming" runs counter to what I understand Stern to be all about. I see the utility of the parallel from the reviewer's perspective -- "poetic obscurity" practiced by "fakes and frauds", but this statement lives in ignorance of "today's environment" of poetry, especially egregious with Billy Collins on the best seller list and especially egregious in a Dodge Festival year. This statement signals to me that this is a reviewer not in touch enough with the subject about which he writes to have anything useful to say on the subject. At least to me.

This is not to say my paper ran a poor review (if I can find it online, I'll update with a link). It's well-written, excerpts the book reasonably, and uses references that will clearly help most readers decide if they'd like to read the latest Bukowski collection. It also strikes me, however, as the impression of someone with a bias against and no real interest in poetry, someone for whom "simplicity" is both expected and considered the ultimate act of rebellion. But I suppose that is the audience of a newspaper, after all.

Come One! Come Some!

NJ Area only need complete this post: I'm very happy to say we only have a few spots left in the first possibly-annual-if-interest-stays-this-high Workshop Day at The Center for the Performing Arts at DeBaun Auditorium. Giving Life to Words comprises three separate sessions on Penning, Performing, and Publishing your writing. You can find more information on the teachers, as well on upcoming events in the Spoken Word and other performing arts at DeBaun.org, or you can contact yours truly with questions.

I sincerely hope to see you there. And you can count hearing how the day went right here.

Pieces and Bits, January Style

Penned a first draft yesterday that I'm really excited about. Which means it's probably total salmon, so I offer you the following fragments instead.

• Maureen is back from the New Year's break and asks what's so special about the rain in your town.
• Wiley assesses the public interest in writers.
• If you saw this week's According to Jim, you've seen a small piece of my future. Aside from the bit part in the film and the grown-up but still-groovy Greg Brady, of course. Wait, maybe "bit part" isn't the best way to put that....
• I'm just scratching the surface of the whole James Frey thing, but I have to say up front that I don't regard "emotional truth" as having higher rank than "police records" in a work of non-fiction. While I am sympathetic to the opinion that anything stated from recollection has some fiction in it by definition (as stated in this interview), some things are not subject to fictionalization. Even if that is a word.
• Everyone in my house is filling in boxes. I guess we resisted the craze as long as we could. We've done about 100 of them, leaving 6,670,903,752,021,072,936,860 to go. But that doesn't account for symmetries, so it's not as bad as it looks.

Time: Is It On Our Side?

Josh Corey articulates something today that helps me understand better the tend toward complexity that he and others prefer. He says: "I've sometimes made a fetish out of difficulty, but difficulty is not the point: the point is that the poem has something in or about it that makes me experience the time of reading more vividly." His point is that good prose makes you lose yourself, often for hours at a time, giving yourself over completely to the story. A good poem, in this comparison, would make you more keenly aware of every second, calling you back completely to the moment of the poem, or the phrase, or the word.

Ron Silliman has said that he finds it difficult to get all the way through a book of poems, especially if they are compelling. Without meaning to compare myself to either Ron or Josh, I've experienced the same thing -- good poetry doesn't become the vortex that good prose is. As an example: Against recommendations, I started Disclosure after dinner one Sunday and put it down when I finished it, having not gotten out of my chair at all for several hours. I recently read Meg Kearney's The Secret of Me, a novel in verse (much shorter than the Crichton book, to be sure), and it took me a week; I kept stopping and rereading - going over poems and paying attention to different things, one time the story, one time the form, one time the word selection, and so on.

Josh adds: "Image-production is the poetic mode most readily assimilated by narration/timeless reading; that's why I've gone over the course of my short career from being highly enamored with images and imagisms toward a more suspicious stance." If I understand this correctly, he's saying image-rich poetry is toward that time-capturing prosey mode. Poem sparse in images and deep in language, reference, difficulty(?!), etc., keeps you in that reading moment.

Hmm. Have to process this a little more, but I feel a seedling of understanding inside me. Of course, that could be the orange pit just swallowed, too. More to come, by the way, on Meg's terrific book. Hopefully soon.

Hearing from No One

(Image borrowed from Lost and Found).

"Publishing... is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo."*

Don Marquis was talking about a book of poems. Matt Milligan is talking about webcomics. Either might as well be talking about a blog - this one or any.

Periodically, debate kicks up about why we blog and why we write poems. Is it for an audience, is it for ourselves, is it for posterity, etc. I have always been skeptical of people who say they do not write "for other people"; though most writers (myself included) will downplay the need for feedback, the truth is that readers are part of the future we envision for our writings. With that in mind, this has been a very good week here at The Wurst.

In addition to the acceptance I talked about yesterday (always a happy event), I received several casual comments from people that indicated they'd been recently been by. They should know who they are, and may recognize themselves in this paragraph. Though none dropped any Blogger aliases in the comment field, it was clear from the specificity of their references that they'd read a recent post, and that some piece of that post had stayed with them.

I will not speak for those poets (and bloggers) who claim they populate these screens from purely intrinsic motivation. If you believe that about yourselves, great. Let me admit here to my own shallowness, then. It is my firm and ardent hope that some of the words that flow from my six-finger typing find their way to people and make them laugh. Or think. Or remember something that makes them happy. And hearing from three such people in one day is better than hitting a number. That bit of nourishment will last me for months.

*corrected

Confidential to Yonkers: Get well, soon, buddy. I need you here to put me back in my place after all this positive feedback.

"Love" Into Lips!

Criminy*, I just live for chances to write a title line like that.

Anyway, I just got heard from editor and poet Laura Boss that my poem "Another Love Poem I Can Never Show My Wife" will be in the next issue of Lips Poetry Magazine. Laura is one of the most affable and involved people I've met since trotting into the writing community, and as such she has seen and heard the work of some 7,357,201 poets (give or take). Having her decide to include one of my efforts is really gratifying.

Thanks, Laura!

The Official Repository of Obsolete Interjections informs me that my usual spelling of "crimony" is incorrect. I'm grateful for the correction.

Key Year-to-Date Accomplishment

It's never too early to celebrate success. So far this year, I have committed the day's date to paper 6 times without once writing "2005".

I did, however, write "1995" once...