Resolution: Be a poet.

Before the sadly-no-longer-ageless Dick Clark takes custody of my television and I set my alarm for 11:40 so I can be awake for the annual commemoration, it seems appropriate to take a minute to think upon the year ending this evening.

In terms of my own writing, this was the year I finally pulled the trigger on my chapbook. Is there anything to add to that? The first time I submitted it was a little over 6 years before it finally saw the printer. It was a full-length manuscript then; it contained 55 poems of which about 18 survived the revision and resubmission process into the final cut. Into the mix were folded silent rejections, quiet encouragement, generous advice, familial patience, and finally, sufficient prodding. With a little help from a great designer, the thing in my head finally became a thing in my hand.

The first public viewing of the final product was in July. There, and in the couple of times since that I've taken it to the podium, I've been a little surprised at the positive reception; don't know why, except that having labored on it for so long, I'm fearful about the value of that labor.

And then earlier this month I receive an email from a poet of some renown, all of whose books are on my shelf, someone I've spent more than a little effort emulating, saying he wanted to get a copy of the book. I read the email to my wife. Twice.

And then, a poem from the book appeared at Your Daily Poem, and comments about the poem showed up in my box and on the poems' YDP page. A request to reprint. Invitation to promote the book. Hmm.

I've always felt blessed that so many terrific poets have let me run in their company over the years, and yet always been a little (OK, more than a little) self-conscious to have them introduce me as "also a poet" to their friends. I'm an engineer. A father. An educator. Sure, I write, but that's not what I really am, is it?

Kelli Agodon reprinted this week a list of common traits of successful artists. Her post is worth reading, and the primary trait was that art is the core of their lives. I have never really accepted that about myself. But as Kelli says, "you want to be known as a writer, not someone people run away from because they see your book peeking out of your shirt pocket."

Whatever else I might think, I realize that statement is true for me.

So here's my resolution for the year. I'm going to stop avoiding the word "poet" when I'm chatting with people, especially ones I'm just getting to know. I'm going to talk about the book like I'm proud of it, which I am. I'm going to be a poet when I'm working, when I'm bowling, and when I'm picking up the groceries. With my kids and with my mother. Watching football. And when I'm writing. Which I will do - because that's what I do.

Yeah, I'll waive my hands at losing weight and organizing my closets and not procrastinating, but this is my for-real and for-true resolution: I will be a poet.

Shouldn't be so hard, should it?

Happy New Year. See you back here in January.

The Christmas Poem, 2010

If it is true that we write to find out what is on our minds, it's pretty clear where my head has been at this month.

Of Readings and Readings

What makes a good poetry reading? I heard two rules suggested in my visit to the Wednesday Night Poetry Series last week: A crowd that listens and asks good questions, and an open in which everyone participates. I'll add a qualifer to the second: an open in which everyone who participates does so without self-promotion. I don't think it's necessary everyone in attendance read (in fact, I frequently repeat the line that great writing requires great audiences, too, not just other poets waiting for their turn at the microphone). But the WNPS crowd is genuinely a great audience - in the open presenting their own work, readings of classic poems, discoveries from newly uncovered books, etc. and paying such close attention to my invited reading that they were able to teach me something about my own presentation, noticing the musical modes I prefer and making observations about my delivery that surprised me. A great time.

And Sunday in Hoboken, my small but dedicated band of regulars gave a DeBaun and Symposia welcome to Joe Traum, who gave us the gift of some insight into his writing and editing process, as well as some entertaining excerpts from Waking Up. We don't turn out people by the dozen, but our audience contains some great listeners and the ends of our features almost always turn into Q&A.

Which, by the way, is a planned and eagerly anticipated part of the WNPS series, as well. There's something to this.....

Joe Traum in Hoboken

It's a nice windy day in Hoboken, perfect for stopping in out of the Washington Street wind tunnel to hear Novelist Joe Traum read from his new book "Waking Up". We'll see you there!

Beginning to look a little like Christmas

With Thanksgiving officially past (as measured in leftovers processed), thoughts turn to holiday tasks. These include mining of family conversations for gift ideas, mulling the possibility of holiday cookies before settling on pfefferneuse and whatever the kids want me to help with (and staying out of the way of the real bakers who us my kitchen as Bake Station Zebra), and the sifting of notes for the annual Christmas poem.

Christmas poses a particular challenge for me. I choose to recognize the holiday with a poem each year, but I don't want to simply contribute to the relentless dreck that passes for art and entertainment every December. As much as I love A Christmas Carol, and for every gem of an interpretation (Alistair Sim, Albert Finney, Kermit the Frog), there are a hundred craptacular ones in sitcom episodes and TV movies. And don't even try to count the Wonderful Life knockoffs.

What pains me is that the horrid imitations have turned people off the originals. So I am further pained if my effort doesn't add something to the literature of the season. While I'm not always successful, the goal has be that it must work as a poem first, not just be "Christmassy".

With one exception, I find that my success is inversely proportional to the length of the final poem. I need to learn to recognize that signal; if I'm having trouble telling the story or getting to the point, there's probably something flawed in the concept. That's true even when it's not Christmas, of course.

It's against policy to talk about a poem in progress - a policy I think most poets stick to - but I can say I'm weaving together present and past, as the holidays lead us to do. Don't know if this will be the last idea I work up (I usually complete 2-3 unrelated drafts before selecting one to refine), bit it seems to have a bit of life to it.

We'll see. Until then --

Thankfulosity

I'm thankful for my family in all our loud, busy, need-to-clean-the-living-room-again cacophony. Despite the appalling lack of testosterone.

I'm thankful for the great poets in my life, for their eagerness to teach, and their willingness to welcome.

I'm thankful for being looked on as the kind of man people can approach in moments of need and say "I could really use your help".

I'm thankful for having a good job doing work I love for a company whose products help people lead healthy lives.

I'm thankful for a Jets season that seems to be leading to a productive end, though I haven't started planning the playoff watching party just yet.

I'm thankful for the time I'll spend with Albert Finney, Jimmy Stewart, Burl Ives, Joel Grey, and Peter Ustinov in December.

And I'm thankful for you, my six loyal readers, for letting me spend a little time with you during the past year.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

Rediscovering My Moss-Covered Three-Handled Family Gredunza

There are many great things about being a parent: the opportunity to teach, seeing your children gain knowledge and confidence and independence, boarding the plane first. Among my favorite is the rediscovery of things I loved as a kid. Today's rediscovery was The Cat in the Hat.

I think many people recall Dr. Seuss fondly, no? And I'm not aware of a person who doesn't get the reference when I say "I do not like that, Sam I Am" (usually right before I try something and discover I like it). But this morning I had the chance to listen to the cat voiced by someone who isn't familiar with the story, who doesn't hear the voice of Allen Sherman in his head while reading, who isn't contaminated by an image of Mike Meyers. And let me tell you, it was remarkable to hear someone discover the story, to encounter the words fresh and repeat and repeat and repeat them just to hear them again.

This is a reminder for me of the casual disdain some artists have for the work that's preceded them. Well, maybe disdain is a harsh word; call it a lack of respect. I think poets are more guilty of this than practitioners of other art forms because technique is - to some - less obvious in poetry than in visual or performance arts. The old-fashioned Broadway musical is sometimes mentioned in the discussion of current shows, or at least the great performers they showcased. Most people can appreciate paintings because they're aware they can't produce similar results with their own brushes and bottles.

But for some reason, it seems hard for some people to pull down their Nortons and reinhabit the old works without mild derision; indifference at best. I haven't recently come across a person (teachers excepted) who thinks of EA Robinson the same way I do. I know the works well, I'm not surprised by the twists, but I read and reread the works to appreciate and relearn the art of the set up, the musicality of his language, the way the rhythms set up the pause before the punch. There's brilliance there, even if the poems belong to the past.

Have you read The Cat in the Hat lately? This is a book that works on at least 4 levels. The language is musical and repetitive and great for an early reader. The story is colorful and loud and funny for a young reader not struggling with words to enjoy reading many times. The artwork complements the story marvelously, and is itself a multilayered experience. And for seasoned readers - and hammy performance parents such as I am - the joy of reading the book aloud to an appreciative audience is almost unmatched.

I think there's something to be learned from that. Something we can think about in our poems. The great works work on the page, in the hear, and in the mouth. They look different from different perspectives, mean different things at each reading and for each reader. Which teaches us: Consider musicality. Consider meaning. Permit ambiguity. Let there be fun.

Let the cat in when your mother is out.

An Arty Weekend in Hoboken

If you're loitering between the tunnels this weekend, please stop into the Monroe Arts Center on Saturday for an all-afternoon coffeehouse with short features throughout the day by Siobhan Barry, Wafa Al-Rimawi, Joel Allegretti, Sharon Lynn Griffiths, and Mark Brunetti; there will be some terrific musical performances also. This is all part of the Hoboken Artists' Studio Tour weekend, and highlights the new home of The Theater Company at Monroe Arts Center. First performance is at noon, and the day runs until 5PM.

Come back tomorrow to Symposia Bookstore to hear David Messineo and Tony Gruenewald in the November installment of the Spoken Word Series at 3PM. Tony is appearing with us for the first time, and series veteran David will be presenting something series fans haven't seen from him in past appearances, tailored to go with the tone of his latest book, Formal.

Monroe Center is at 720 Monroe Street, Symposia is at 510 Washington Street, and I hope to see you there!

Things Good Poker Players Know That Many Poets Ought to Learn

I enjoy the game of poker. I enjoy the math, the interplay among the participants, the drama of watching a good game from the sidelines. It occurs to me that much of what attracts me to the game is similar - if not spot-on - to what attracts me to poetry. See if you agree with these principles and how they apply to both poetry and poker. You may need to interchange the word "hand" with the word "poem" once in a while....

• With very, very rare exceptions, every hand/poem is improvable. You may be holding a great poem in your hands. You may consider it done and it may be excellent, publishable, and memorable. It may be "the nuts". But there may be something else you find, learn or discover later that would improve it. You may not ever find that something, and you may not need it to be successful, but be open to it if it comes along.
• If you want people around you to take action based on what you hold, it's important what they think of you. It's of course possible to construct a great hand with limited input from other players/poets and limited history of poker/poetry. However, your decisions and your ability to influence people into action are drastically improved if you understand how things work and some of your shared history. At minimum, you need to understand the rules. Bluff all you want, but there are rules.
• While people may make their decisions based on their opinions of you, there will be times when your only and best influence is to show your cards. Therefore, no matter how effective you are at the rest of the game ("being a poet"), you simply must have the ability to know when you've built a good hand (written a good poem).
• It is possible - and probably necessary for most people - to combine competitiveness and social behavior. There are certainly Hellmuthian examples of poets being jerks and still being respected for their objectively and genuinely great poems, but you're more likely to get help on the way to Ledererian greatness - purposefully in the form of teaching and subtly in the form of noticing other people's habits - if your default mode is participating, learning, and listening. NOTE: Hellmuth doesn't seem to really be a jerk. Does that matter?
• Playing with the cover of anonymity (online) can help you hone skills, develop a sense of what's important to you in the game, and learn some of the rules. However, a skilled player/poet with live experience of actual poker/poetry events will detect in seconds if that (individual effort) is your only experience. And if your goal in that meeting is to impress that skilled player/poet and impose your will in some way (win money, gain respect, acquire feedback), it will not end well for you. You must understand the universe to chart your way to the stars.
• In any large gathering/tournament, there will be participants who will not pay much attention to anything but their own business, who will neither learn nor teach, and who are likely to leave early without having much impact on the rest of the people gathered, though they may have fun, contribute, and enjoy themselves. There is nothing harsh or disrespectful about saying this. It is helpful to recognize the ones who respect the game/art, for those are the ones from whom you can learn.

Think I'm way off? Go try the Poker Professor's "Poker and Zen" first; this little list may seem like the nuts (instead of being "just plain nuts") after that.

Another Obseration from the Second String

In my last entry, I articulated something I hope is not heresy: we're not all great poets, and it's hard to agree what "great" is. Just last month, in a poetry forum I follow, a couple of the poets were wondering what people found so great about Robert Frost. Personally, I think that's a silly question (there are those who think Frost wasn't a great poet? Really?), but I'll entertain the argument. There are, however, poets who can claim to be competent, good even, without a compelling argument available to promote them as great.

Like me, for example.

Now be advised this is not a hook dropped into the community pool in search of praise. But there are a few things I think are necessary (though perhaps not sufficient) conditions for greatness; let me present them along with why I say, with comfort and self-respect, that I don't meet them.
Great artists expand the art. The great poets add new things to their form or bring their form to new applications. They integrate other fields and disciplines and create links among their art and other areas of knowledge not obviously connected. This can be in an individual poem or artwork, a particular body of work, or a career of artistic reaching. Frost added conversational language; Williams added minimalist jazz; etc.

Great poets push an envelope. There's great safety in operating where other artists operate and where opinion of one's work is fairly well assured. Most sitcoms come to the air because of this principle. However, the most interesting and memorable work is that which surprises us, which takes us away from the safe and the known and still entertains us. Of course, there is risk there, because sometimes you stray so far from the known that you lose the audience you are trying to bring. And to know where you start to lose people, to know where that limit is you have to accept that you will breach that line sometimes. My favorite examples here are Family Guy and Pearls Before Swine. Both show great awareness of their forms and history and challenge that form and history all the time. They both are occasionally offensive and frequently brilliant.

Great poets create audiences. I expect some challenge on this one, but I'm not necessarily talking about popularity here. Many artists believe that they create for creation's sake, and are not concerned with reaching an audience. I think that's bunk. While an artist may not be concerned about the quantity of fellow appreciators of that art, they surely believe that fellow appreciators exist and that their artistic wants are not met through conventional artistry. When Pound integrated Chinese characters into the cantos, it wasn't to convince people to study Chinese, or as some sort of barrier to force the casual reader away, it was with the expectation that some readers would want to and be able to "get it", either through prior knowledge or understanding from within the poem, and would appreciate the poems more for it. While this work may not satisfy the conventional fan, these artists make fans of people who weren't fans before - fans of work that may not have existed before. The avant (post-avant?) of any art form operates with the confidence that there is an avant audience waiting for their output.

I think one needs to meet at least two of these criteria to even be considered for greatness. As for my small contributions to the universe of poetry? Well, I dabble in expanding the art sometimes through incorporation of concepts and language from the world of science and engineering. Maybe one day one or two of my poems in that vein will be thought of as great. But I don't live in that space, nor do I seek to bring people into it with me. As for the other two? Not really. My internal editor is set in a very consciously limiting way; there are boundaries I do not care to flirt with except in my journal and writing exercises. More on the what and why of my self-limitation another time.

Again - you don't need to be great to be good, to have an audience, to contribute to the art. We on the B-list can actually better appreciate who we are and what we offer by understanding the A-list and what the members of that list do that we don't. This helps us stay centered on what we can do well without deluding ourselves about things we can't. It helps us focus on connecting with our audience without the false impression that we're blazing new trails for them. I think this is a good thing.

Are we all striving for greatness? Maybe. But being a serious student of the art requires one to know where greatness begins, and where you're standing at the moment.

A Writing Lesson from Rusty Staub

"He was never a great player, but hit for a good average and good power, and had a strong arm from right field."

Rusty Staub has been my favorite baseball player for as long as I can remember. He played for my father's team and was a dynamic player for them at two formative moments in my life: When I was becoming old enough and aware enough of the team to root for real and not just because rooting earned me a cookie, and again when I began accumulating my own money to spend on tickets. The line above is from his official website, so it must be description of himself that approves of.

I've met Rusty twice, and you wouldn't think from the way people treat him that he "was never... great". He surely made the most of "very good"; he played for 23 years, and was good in every role he had, at first, in right, DHing, or coming off the bench late in the game. He hit .279 for his career (which you may remember was approaching its peak around the same time as the "Year of the Pitcher"), and belted 292 career home runs. I suppose those aren't great numbers. But they were number I could root for. Numbers suggesting accomplishments that were important to me individually, and over a career.

Put your seat belt on; here comes the turn toward poetry.

I'm missing Dodge this year (first time since 1998), in part because of a confluence of busyness at work and home, and in part because of a nasty cold that's just kicking my tuchus mercilessly, so all I've seen is the Thursday night simulcast, where the 24 "featured" poets (though they don't call them anything like that anymore) each read for 4-5 minutes (or in Rita Dove's case, 9). As they paraded by in these short stints, I was wondering which of them I'd call "great", if any. It's not terribly relevant which ones I think compete for the title; the point is simply that (no offense to anyone....), it's probably not all of them.

Forgive me, oh gods of parity and you literarical correctness wonks, but that's the truth. Not everyone who speaks a line of verse during the 2010 Dodge Festival is a great poet. And if I were to name one or two that I think are truly great, I could find 10 people outside the NJPAC right now to disagree. And that's OK.

We don't all need to be great to contribute something to the art. But to contribute, we need to be aware that we are not all great. That the last poem I wrote is probably not "The Man With The Blue Guitar" that the last book I read is probably not Paterson. But there may be some artistic merit in them if we permit them to fill their role - in our own portfolios first, then in our writing communities, then amid the clutter and cacophony that is contemporary poetry.

Heresy? I don't know. Cop-out? Hardly. I listen to Amiri Baraka and read the analyses of Ron Silliman and know immediately where my part-time hobbyism leaves me in the pantheon. But I don't stop writing. I have an audience in mind, an emergence of a style, and an approach I don't see many other poets using. There's something there to contribute. Someone to contribute it to.

My poems, maybe, are the literary equivalent of a good right-handed stick off the bench. Rusty batted lefty; there's room for me on the team.

Know me, know The Mets

I am a fan of the New York Mets. Even now, with respectability the only goal remaining for the year, I continue to root. I received the requisite training for this during my formative years of fandom. Playing in the street all those summers ago, I modeled my windup after Craig Swan, my right handed stance after Steve Henderson, from the left after Rusty Staub.

As it says somewhere on this page, I also root for the Yankees. You don't need to believe this, but it's the truth. It was much easier to hold this position before interleague play, but even nowadays, I support the pinstripes 156 games a year. When the chips are down, though, such as during the 2000 World Series, or back when I traded my Reggie for a Nino and a Mike and future considerations, the Metsies are my men.

That doesn't mean that I disrespect the Yankees even when I'm turning them off to watch the orange and blue. It would be ignorant of a baseball fan not to recognize the gifts the players on the Yankees have. I learned this attitude from my father.

Not the trading away of the Hall of Famer for two cards and a stick of stale gum. That he'd have though was ridiculous. And not just because of the legacy of the Seaver trade.

Anyway, here at the end of the season, I still want to know how the Metropolitans did, and I'm interested in seeing the young kids get their ABs because I'll be back next year to watch them again, because my father came back every year for them, too.

What does this have to do with poetry? Not a lot, I suppose, except for those poems where the Mets and baseball feature prominently. Or maybe in more places than that. Being a fan, coming back when you think there's more to see or to learn or to accomplish, the wanting others to succeed, these are attitudes that tend to pervade one's approach to life and writing.

I learned that from my father, too.

Back to poetry after the end of the season.

In which the author refuses to let the Blogger monthly counter indicate a completely delinquent September

Confluence: Start of the school year, end of the fiscal year, start of some new teaching projects, ramp up of the drive to book reading events in the coming year, start of the DeBaun calendar (including rework of the schedule because we completely goofed on October).....

.... and one very nice, interesting thing. Started up a lunchtime writer's group in my office. Shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose, to find 15 energetic writers on a corporate campus, but I admit I didn't expect to find quite so much enthusiasm. Not just poets in the group, so I suggested a prompt I thought would be adaptable to any style: Start a poem or a paragraph with "Now that I can....". It would (IMHO) go against spirit of a new group to tell you much more, but I'll say that it worked pretty darned well.

For our next meeting, we've taken prompts in advance, giving ourselves a month to work on them. I'll be curious to see how well the variety works among forms in that case; I suspect that time favors the prosers. What do you think?

***

I'll be using the Facebook page to keep track of reading dates in the coming months, and all the DeBaun date are up to date there, so please head over there and "Like" my author page if you're interested.

And with any luck, I'll not be absent from here for the next month in the process.....

Delete Your Darlings

Read over your compositions, and wherever you meet with a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out. - Samuel Johnson
(courtesy iGoogle Quotes of the Day)
****

Best. Advice. Ever.

This was the hardest thing for me to accept as I entered the home stretch with "To The Ones...". On an intellectual level, I realized that I wasn't objective about some parts of the manuscript. A lot of that's because there are scenes in there derived from real-life experiences with my kids, and it's hard to separate neutral-to-negative comments about the associated writings from neutral-to-negative comments about the events and kids themselves. Of course, that's complete nonsense, which I know - on one level.

I had some great and generously honest feedback on my manuscript that left me with two choice: reject the consistent feedback of poets I admire and defend my personal position on poems I'd been close to for years, or accept that maybe - just maybe - I might not be seeing those poems clearly.

You'll have to read the book for yourself and tell me whether I was successful in processing the feedback, but my clear intent was to listen.

I've also passed Johnson's advice along to other writers; usually I add "because those are the parts you're not objective about". Aside from "Read, read, read", I think it's the best guidance a writer can take to heart.

What's your favorite bit of advice?

Appearing in the Rutherford Red Wheelbarrow 3....

Very pleased to announce I'll have two poems in THE RUTHERFORD RED WHEELBARROW 3. Take a look at the company I'm keeping in this issue. My thanks to the editors for permitting me entry to this prestigious club!

*****************

The Rutherford Red Wheelbarrow No. 3
ISBN 978-0-557-58376-8
Paperback: 232, Price: $15
Red Wheelbarrow Poets, August 2010
http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/the-rutherford-red-wheelbarrow-no-3/12206587

Masthead:
Editor: Jim Klein
Managing Editor: Mark Fogarty
Managing Editor: Sondra Singer Beaulieu
Designer: Claudia Serea
Editor Advisor: John Barrale
Editor Advisor: Céline Beaulieu
Editor Advisor: George DeGregorio

Contributors (in alphabetical order):
John Barrale
Céline Beaulieu
Sondra Singer Beaulieu
Marian Calabro
Teresa Carson
George DeGregorio
Gil Fagiani
Jane Fisher
Mark Fogarty
Elissa Gordon
Max Greenberg
Roxanne Hoffman
Pamela Hughes
Josh Humphrey
Gail King
Jim Klein
Melanie Klein
Janet Kolstein
Joel Lewis
Maria Lisella
Pete Loria
Zorida Mohammed
Michael O'Brien
Moira O'Brien
Tony Puma
Gabriella Radujko
Susan Rappaport
Susanna Rich
Dan Saxon
Claudia Serea
Ed Smith
Rosemarie S. Sprouls
Anna Toher
John J. Trause
Miyuki Tsurumaki
David Vincenti
B.J. Ward
Dorinda Wegener
Don Zirilli
Sander Zulauf

Procurement details to follow....

Saturday Rounds

Finally, an appropriate piece about the death of publishing, by The Morning News's Non-Expert.

******

Via Diane Lockward, a new online anthology, with the pleasant surprise of work from old favorite Joseph Bruchac and the promise of more from other terrific poets soon.

******

Fascinating debate raging on the New-Poetry mailing list about Robert Frost, the gyst of which seems to be that he wasn't genuine in the character his poems suggested. Or that his poems are too cliche or out of touch to be meaningful today. I think there have been so many Frost imitators that we lose sight of what Frost was when his work was new, and I still think he's among the best ways to introduce poetry to kids. A short side thread wanted to compare Frost to Williams and to Stevens, which is - in my opinion - like comparing (in no particular order) spaghetti with sushi with hot dogs. Sure, they're all food, but what does the comparison get you?

******

Note to Monopoly fans: If you fancy yourself a serious player (which I do) and you allow yourself to join a game using a Disney(tm) Princess Junior game set (which I did), you should expect to lose to the youngest player by 4x the starting bankroll (which.... no comment).

Hey, buddy, can you spare a workshop idea?

I have an ongoing relationship with dandelions. The first poem I ever had accepted for print by someone who wasn't also grading my term papers was called "Dandelion". It was a lovely bit of syrup and I remember fondly the poem and the time in my evolution as a writer it represents (my "early Crayola" period). When I first started shopping around to lead poetry workshops with kids, that poem was one I turned to as an example - it was simple, suitable for audiences as young as 3rd grade, not entirely awful, and contained a few teachable elements - but I never thought of it having much use for workshops with adults, or even older kids.

This month (well, next month, actually), I'll be looking for ideas to jump start a new writers' group, and I like the idea of starting with a workshop based on dandelion poems. It's subject matter everyone can attach to, both visually and metaphorically, yet have a range of reactions to on either axis. That's key for me, because this group will contain writers at levels ranging from accomplished to novice.

The old blogroll will serve me well in this case; starting right at the top with Adele Kenny, there are a dozen good ideas easily accessible (in the IT sense, not the New Formalist or any other "school" sense). But I'm open to suggestions, too.

Do you have any workshop ideas that you've seen work with a widely divergent audience?

Don't even think of talking here

Ron Silliman has turned off the comments stream for his blog because he chooses to no longer moderate the vitriol. Somehow, some people have interpreted this as an offense against readers who do not favor L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry. I'm not sure how anyone can reach this conclusion.

A number of people calling into sports shows I follow have lamented that "because of steroids", Alex Rodriguez' 600th home run is meaningless. Really? While I understand people's disappointment in tarnished heroes, I don't know how, at least if you're not a Yankee-hater, you dismiss the accomplishment.

Wil Wheaton is attending a gaming convention this weekend and has decided to execute a Howiemandelic maneuver and not shake hands with people during the covention as a way to avoid illness. This has some people offended, and they've made that known in his comments stream.

Common thread here seems to be to find a way to subtract from the importance you assign to persons of accomplishment who do somehow not permit us to apply our values to their work. Or maybe that without the direct link we want to a person with talents we recognize, we choose instead to have no links at all. I don't get this at all.

It's not that we can't feel loss, even deprivation at something taken away. But how does it subtract from the pleasure of experiencing the artistic product to have diminished respect for the artist? I'd have to delete half my playlist if perfect respect for the performer were a requirement for enjoying the music. The message is "I am not interested in your talent of you don't deliver it to me in the way I choose."

In the specifics of Silliman's comment stream, my question is: if you have something to say in response to one of his posts, why is the only place you can say it on his website? If you object to the elimination of his comment thread, isn't that the same thing as resenting losing a forum for your own words? Does he have an obligation to provide not only his time and energy, but also an audience for his readers?

That's the question. What's the answer?

Ta daa!

Well, I suppose it's official now. I've sold copies of my chapook, and not to people with whom I share a maternal grandparent. It was a quite an odd experience in the end - trusting the nice manager at Borders, seeing the books with the Borders price tags on them (I saved one!). But it was a terrific night - first time I've heard a full set from Barbara Crooker, who was just tremendous, and her incredible energy and broad artistry were an interesting balance for my pensive positions, or so we heard from a number of audience members.

The audience included some students of a Stevens classmate; she's left engineering behind and now leverages her technical skills as a high school science teacher, and she introduced some of her former students to the poetry scene with our little event. It's always nice to be able to show people that you can be a good scientist or engineer and still take an interest in the arts. And a great gift to spend a few minutes with someone who knew you when, and has the time and inclination to give you a few minutes today.

The DVP audience is quite a friendly crowd, some poets I know well, some less well, and it was a joy to be able to offer To the Ones there for the first time.

Extending the good feeling and the reach of our corner of the PoBiz, Barbara's "Patty's Charcoal Drive-In" was featured on YDP this week, as were poems by Diane Lockward and Scott Summers.

Up next, taking the book where the book wants to go.....