 Kim Addonizio: 04.24.06-04.28.06Thursday 04.27.06 I checked out the article yesterday’s commenter recommended (online at rocksaltplum.com). Think I'll leave alone The State of Contemporary Poetry, except for any previous comments. Or, maybe not. Qualification: I suppose I meant really, in my previous post, that poetry has been hijacked sometimes by the intellectualizers. And just as much by sappy emotionalists (probably not a word—what word do I want?) Though I have always sort of wanted to write an Emotionalist Manifesto. “Since feeling is first,” etc.—But then I immediately know that’s not it. It’s like the New Age—I hate the New Age. I hate its language. But really, I believe in balance, harmony, wholeness, flow (why do those words sound so insipid lined up together?). So, I hate the “This happened to me and it’s my expression so it’s all brave and beautiful” line, and I do not want to practice therapy without a license, and have found myself in that discomfiting position several times. . . . Yet I also want to honor the impulse ("honor the impulse?" gag) that is attempting expression in art. Well, that’s balance: emotion and intellect. Too much of one or the other is a dead end. I think I’ve pretty much offered this rather obvious idea already. But I guess I harp on it here precisely because of the professionalism of a lot of poets or would-be poets, running to get their MFAs so they can teach, or wanting a book because they need it for tenure. What happened to writing poems out of inner necessity? That’s the only kind of writing I value (and I want it to be good) (and I’m not saying mine is, btw; I’m doing the best I can, and I’m trying to learn more & get better) (the best definition of a poet I ever heard is “language master” and I don’t have the hubris to think that applies to me)—Nothing wrong with teaching, we’ve all got to make a living, life is hard all over etc. But still. It is hard to be a poet in this oppressive & spiritually deadening culture. (How many obvious ideas will this post contain?). And, dare I say it after the comment on intellectuals, this anti-intellectual culture. (Apparently I have a few more o.i.’s to, ah, share.) Do we need more poets to be critics, as someone suggested? Personally I think we need more poets to be poets. Though we certainly need better critics than yahoos (here I paused and reviewed a few candidates for this noun, like c.p., fucktard, and asshat, but then I thought, oh, no, this is kind of a prestigious site, and they won’t like that) like (and then I thought, as I usually do, oh well, fuck it, this is why I'm not in academia) William Logan. (And if you want to know what I really think, check out my own blog.) On this note, I seem to have run out of steam for today. CommentsOn 04.27.06 Gina Marie wrote: “What happened to writing poems out of inner necessity?” This is a great comment, because you are right. I have always said to myself, don’t become an academic because you’ll lose yourself to it. As a student at a major university, I am surrounded by academics (teaching to pay bills, not because of the undeniable passion) and poets (writing to get their book published, not because of inner necessity). I think it becomes clear when a poet makes that transition to academia. I think there is something in the poetry that dies. I can’t explain it, because I am not a critic, but as a reader of poetry, I can tell. Fortunately, the poets/teachers here seem to not have lost that “inner necessity” yet. Maybe that’s why I’ve gained such a genuine appreciation for poetry, because it was introduced to me by a poet/academic who hadn’t lost himself… yet. Thanks, Kim! On 04.27.06 Dr. Brownenose wrote: Dear Kim, I am a small animal trainer, and I know what you mean about On 04.27.06 Len wrote: I don't know how difficult it is to be a poet in this "spirtually deadening culture." That strikes me as a bit of a cop out. Milosz was previously mentioned. If he wasn't a poet born of an oppressive and spiritually deadening culture then certainly Brodsky and Akhmatova were. Perhaps it's just difficult to be a *good* poet. In which case, I know the feeling. But I think I understand what you mean about culture and academics, and my point would be that good poets exist in spite of them. Academia's threat is to turn poetry into a standardized form. Rather than the popular sonnet or ballad form of yesterday, poets are now trying to write in an academic style that often says so much without saying anything at all. The question becomes: Is this academia's fault or the poets'? On 04.28.06 agnes wrote: I like this Emotionalist Manifesto idea, because the thing I like most about your work is your urgency. It's more than just a "fuck it" sort of thing (which implies more of a basic irreverence)-- it's your ability to capture something that feels like a message pounded out on a typewriter, in a basement, politically and emotionally ablaze. Most poets really lack that sense for me, as a reader. Two notable exceptions are you and (your friend?) Dorianne Laux. I think maybe that's why people like your red dress poem so much. You aren't apologizing for your urgency. |
 Kim Addonizio's poetry has been called "gritty," but it might be more accurate to say she sees humanity everywhere, even in the darkest corners of the world. In "The Call," for instance, she writes about a phone sex operator walking around her apartment, checking on her sleeping child, talking to a male customer. She cannot see that he’s a paraplegic, "turning his wheelchair right, / left, right. A tube runs down / his pants leg. Sometimes / he thinks he feels something . . . " She is the author of four poetry collections: The Philosopher's Club, Jimmy & Rita, Tell Me, and What Is This Thing Called Love. She recently published her first novel, Little Beauties. She has a spoken word/music CD, Swearing, Smoking, Drinking, & Kissing, with Susan Browne. Her work has been recognized with a Guggenheim Fellowship, two NEA Fellowships, and other honors. |
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On 04.27.06 Michelle wrote:
Kim,
Check out the Terrance Hayes poem on Poetry Daily today. It renewed my faith this mucky April hour in why poems at all. A beauty. It cuts through.
Wisteria--lots of it hangs over my brother's grave this time of year. So luscious and aromatic. Watch out for the Godzilla bees, though. They will drink and drink!
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