Showing posts with label Poetry Magazine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry Magazine. Show all posts

4.29.2017

Confessional blog post # 341


Greetings, fellow moles.  I've lost the habit of conversational blogging.  The old Brown University Library (the Rock) was my Alexandria, my table-talk slab : now I'm way out here in the high lonesome, like a rolling stump (off Highway 61).

Apparently we inhabit these digital knowledge-canals.  Robots remember things for us, bots remind us, etc.  I've gone out of fashion (about 10 years ago) as bloggentator (aka Mr. Potato-head).

Poetry shivers in the frisson of its immediacy, its grasp of The Cool - the shimmer of This, your slangy Now.  Behind lurks the power of the Word Itself - like an Old Master, like Big Daddy, with the moneybags (Universities Bank Here).  It Can Help You.  But the kids are nervous : that's how it goes (swimmingly).  The Academy of American Poets invites you to become an Associate Member (tote bag to follow); Poetry magazine hits monthly, like velvet lightning.  Jimi Hendrix reads us!

(It is really good, btw - especially the issue I was in, sometime last year.  Tonic verbs, with scattering of playdough... what is poetry, btw?)

I've lost, as I say, the hobbit of consternation.  Out of the gloop.

Still try to read books, now & then.  People may get the idea I've retreated into some kind of bizarre eccentric personal hut.  As John Keats once averred, "I am picked up and sorted to a pip.  My imagination is a monastery, and I am its monk."

Yet my day is very scheduled (horae) - what with family industries, managing various major national crises, reading parts of a book or mag, and writing my Answer-To-Dante Poem...

As a matter of fact my personal mental space is so "Middle American" it's become exotic to many.  Recently I was subjected to a biting, sarcastic FB attack, by the accomplished young poet Phillip B. Williams - I guess because he felt I was some kind of Neanderthal.  Probably a generational thing (young guy knifes geezer).  You have to wear a digital sign on your head now to explain what appropriate medicines you are currently on in order to make you immune to the wrong purifications.

Am in the middle of this volume, American Covenant.  By another Philip - Philip Gorski (Princeton UP, 2017).  See, I can still find scholarly tomes!  This is a good one.

Do you know the difference between despotism, liberalism and republicanism?  Are you aware of the "civic religion" of These States?  Are you conscious of its binding presence in American history, and in your daily life?

It's a kind of hagiography, or demonology - from John Winthrop through Hannah Arendt, H.L. Mencken, W.E.B. Du Bois, John Dewey, Reinhold Niebuhr, Martin Luther King, Lincoln, the Federalists, Roger Williams, many another.  Along the road you receive a blast of enlightening rational political science, theology, sociology... sorting to a pip the various strains of religious nationalism, radical secularism, libertarianism, neo-liberalism, democratic republicanism, etc etc - aside from the special orthodoxies of the Two Major Parties - which have framed the debate about American life since the Primal Dawn of Roger Williams' Canoe.  Umpt to Trump.

Gorski is searching for the spiritual-intellectual common ground : the forces moving American history.  I'm finding (right now) his commentary on Hannah Arendt quite stimulating : her concept of the "public happiness" - as she describes the revolutionary origins of the United States - having to do with a very concrete experience of democratic participation, a path to finding oneself-as-citizen, something wider and more liberating than oneself-as-private (economic) individual.  She gets at the root of the necessity for self-government, popular sovereignty : that we become content, energized, & deeply happy, as we engage with our neighbors on a basis of equality and justice.  Thus she redefines (or rediscovers) the Founders' meaning of "pursuit of happiness" : it's a public, civic thing.  So she asserts the authority of the forum, the commonweal, as a counterweight to merely private interest, the seductions of predatory Mammon (pure money).  Reading Gorski's interpretation I was reminded of my halcyon days with the VISTA program (established by JFK - the domestic Peace Corps) so long ago : community organizing for civic engagement, empowerment (by the scruffiest neighborhoods).

There are many sorts of poetry.  I'm following up some very ingrown toenails of personal obsessions, with me since the early 1970s (that's almost 50 years ago).  Problems with Shakespeare, Bible, Nabokov, Mandelstam, Akhmatova, Hart Crane... Pound, Dante, Stevens, Eliot, et al...  - what to do with the Epic Poem?

I am aware that just because they are old obsessions doesn't mean they are interesting.  Coolness is a kind of polish - lemon wax.  You have to be able to speak to the moment... perhaps I've lost my touch, my Lemon Pledge (if I ever had it).

Too late now, I guess.  I'm an inveterate Blog Monster.

9.29.2016

Ravenna Diagram surfaces

In today's mail I received contributor's copies of the October issue of Poetry magazine.  At the youngish age of 64, this is my first appearance in that venerable & jazzy mag.  Editor Don Share took one poem, called "Cedar Replica" - an excerpt from the endless milk train, Ravenna Diagram.  I'm very glad to have one boxcar of it in Poetry - & grateful for that editor's generosity, his attentive reading.  In a few weeks, the first volume of RD, which includes this poem, will be available in book form.

p.s. I was especially taken with the cover image, by Marion Kadi (titled "Mille et Une Nuits").  It seems to echo slightly these lines from the 5th stanza of "Cedar Replica" :

Your icon, buried in the garden,
sank like a thousand ships
into the grass...


10.09.2015

October through a giant copper beech

The day approacheth, just a few weeks from now - I must be leaving ye old Providence, heading west to Minneapolis.  Walking around this windy overcast morning - gray skies, gray hair, gray world - thinking of the bark on a great gray beech tree, & the gray stone of churchyards, & the grey-eyed wisdom of Athena-Sophia (you might say)... all these sempiternal things (you might say)... & of Jasper Johns' gray series, & of the strange old gray painter crouched in a gray streetcorner, in Antonioni's Ravenna film, Deserto Rosso (was it Dante?)... & so all these grays blended on this gray day, as I remembered Edwin Honig, who had so much to do with my poetry life here in Providence... & Edwin's terrific short poem "November through a Giant Copper Beech" (you can find it in at least one of the editions of the Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry).

Edwin's poem is about passing things, & things that are steadfast through time...

I got into a college (Brown) on the strength of some high school poems.  & stuck around here, writing on & off, for 45 years.  I just learned a few days ago that a poem of mine has been accepted for publication in that venerable American institution, Poetry magazine.  So maybe something at least has come of it all - so many wayward years in Roger's city-state, his "refuge for troubled conscience"!

PUMPKIN MAN
                                   in memory E.H.

This windy gray October day,
fat robin camouflaged
(hoodie?) in dogwood’s
rusty green... & then the great gray

beech I passed this morning (Slater
& Lincoln).  Elephantine,
primordial, in motion
still (old pre-Socratic critter)...

Edwin’s tree, his 100-branching
crown – the graying King
of Gray, still whistling
to Even Dove, down never-dying

Dolphin Way (led by leaping sparks
into Ravenna).  O patient
rude dream-sponge – intent
to wrestle safety shroud across stark

span! – your International Pumpkin Man
lit from within (warm
orange flame)... No harm
shall come to thee, my child – listen!

In a corner of a lumber yard
one sharp-eyed old saint
(framed by gray paint
cans, wagon) waves palm upward

toward the dark sheep-door, just
over his shoulder – where
one candle shivers fire.
An endless jet, he whispers.  Trust.

10.9.15

Beech tree on Slater Ave., Providence

2.19.2009

Something new in Lanthanum. I wonder if anybody will get it...

I'm setting my face like flint and writing everything possible against the messages in this month's Poetry Magazine... from one end of cute & flavorful lyrics (they are pretty good, actually, for the most part) to the other end of stylish anti-manifestos... What the heck, they've rejected my poems 3 times in the last 6 months - my poems, which are pure plumbline(!!!)

5.12.2006

I didn't post the previous G. Hill excerpt in order to illustrate a "best poet" argument. I was noting what was for me a moment of curious relevance or synchronicity to a contemporary headline - an interesting occurrence in political poetry.

The GH poems in Poetry are distinct & various. There's a beautiful short poem called "On Seeing the Wind at Hope Mansell". There are others that reminded me (slightly) of R. Lowell's blank-verse "fourteeners".

10.26.2005

This I like.


*


The new issue of Poetry arrived yesterday, always some kind of education.

The poetry in it, some of it quite sharp & talented. Makes me feel like a slowpoke yokel. The feeling, reading it, of an oscillation - between bright devotion to brilliant language & inventive, clever thought, on one hand, and then, on the other hand, an impression of spoiled green suburban rich kids & preppies, showing off their pseudo-experience, pseudo-profundity, pseudo-sophistication.

Poems on meditative themes : bats. wildflowers. so serious, so careful, so polished. "Life, friends, is boring."

Mr. Bones, you juss jealous maybe.

Kind of skimmed the essay by Mary Karr, on being a poet/neo-Catholic, may read it later. But I really liked the Milosz poem she quotes at the end.

10.04.2005

I like quite a bit of the new Poetry issue. Don't have it in front of me, so can't say what.

the Don Paterson "aphorisms" - clever, but tending toward the painfully sour.

enjoyed Garry Wills essay on translation of Grks & Rmns.

liked some of the poems -

Amit Majmudar (featured poet) : have to say I skimmed them. didn't like much.

Patty Seyburn - FUNNY - but unfortunately the 1st 2-3 stanzas were the best.

Mike White - haven't read yet

Rachel Hadas - a very nice poem, though I feel like the set-up has been done before (the plot). Liked it though

Gillian Allnutt - very interesting, impressive, terse. Unusual phonics, syntax shifts. but a little derivative (Celan, G. Hill)

Wilmer Mills - I think I liked this one a lot but can't remember it now (read them last night). (helpful, aren't I??)

John Surowiecki - OK, maybe a little facile

Frederick Feirstein - nice : but kind of a genre poem. You have to do something very unusual with this for it not to sound like previous poems

Elise Partridge - original, confident, unusual. sets up situation & plays with it -very accomplished, quick. Too bad both poems have exactly same structure (imperative address to poems' protagonists at the conclusion)

Robert Wrigley - funny! good poem. again, though, it weakens toward the end, sort of fizzles

Robin Ekiss - haven't read yet. (sorry, bored with any titles that go : " [fill in the blank] In Love"

Mark Halliday - this guy has his chops down COLD. rueful fun - pieces of fluff

JD Whitney - haven't read yet

Daisy Fried - review of Camille Paglia's book of poetry crit. Nicely done, funny.

Garry Wills - worth re-reading

******

are we in a sort of Jazz Age??? the period style is witty, clever, comic, light, sharp, hard, ironic, anti-ironic ironic.

younger readers perhaps don't realize - or they realize much better than we old-timers do - how different this sounds from 25 yrs ago. the days of the wistful-stentorian laid-back free-verse rambles.

I know, I'm way behind the times. this probably started happening about 20 yrs ago, right???

6.28.2005

Enjoying some things in the annual "humor" issue of Poetry. Report by poet Kay Ryan on her trek to AWP conference. Somebody's limerick poem on the world's religious sects. Great little poem for children by Richard Wilbur, about those words which have other words inside them (like uncle in unclear).

Puts the blogging in a different perspective. Feel shriven today, like an old bloggarrulous crackerbarrel crackpot. Guess I should read more magazines. You can talk about poetry in the abstract only for so long (I think I should go in the Guinness for that). Those who want to be serious poetry critics have their work cut out for them : so much poetry today is seriously un-serious (witty). Verbal feuerwerkerei. Have to sift through the pretentiously tasteless & the sleekly facile, the Alexandrian slosh of the iron-browed Goliath.