2008 September : Harriet the Blog : The Poetry Foundation

Archive for September, 2008

Last night, riding the #14 bus home from a press screening of the teen virginity burlesque “Sex Drive,” I thought about the poetics of evasion. How trying not to say something directly often creates more meaning (and wonderfully weird language) than just saying it outright. It’s poetics 101 for the most part, but I’m always up for a refresher course.
So, for example, at its most direct, something like “Sex Drive” would just be two awkward minutes of coitus filmed in a gaudy rumpus room. But that will not do. To make a movie, even a middling one, the basic core of teen sex must be artfully dodged, right?
Right.

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09.25.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (3)

Wanda Coleman

BUKOWSKI VS. THOMAS

The writing giants of the 20th Century, largely male, seemed disproportionately to be alcoholics and substance abusers (Fitzgerald, Kerouac, etc.)—men seeking easy, if not permanent, access to The Muse. I haven’t heard the phrase “a man who can hold his liquor,” said with admiration lately—testimony to campaigns against drunk drivers and the more health-conscious media? Given that I had just broken up with an alcoholic, and had left South Central L.A. for 1970s Hollywood, it was odd that I should find myself at The Bridge the unforgettable evening of a drunken duel. It was taking place between two hardcore bards, Venice Beat John Thomas vs. “Meat poet” and novelist Charles “Hank” Bukowski, drink-for-drink, poem-for-poem. Thomas had been mentoring me informally. The Bridge was a counterculture hang owned by Peter, a German tool-and-dye maker, and pal of Bukowski’s. I called myself studying “the dirty old man” from a safe distance—the only female and Black in the room. Thomas outweighed the nasal-voiced Bukowski by 100 pounds, and read his poems with stentorian basso gusto. Hank’s poems were better, but Thomas’ presentation blew them out of one’s ears. Nevertheless, Hank persisted, leaning forward, making hawklike swooping motions at Thomas, the shot glasses repeatedly refilled. An hour and half later, it seemed a Mexican standoff when, mid-syllable, Thomas went blotto, liquefied, and spilled onto the floor to be drug toes-up from the room. Bukowski read and drank on to cheers, laughter and applause, then moseyed away as if made of sponge.

09.25.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (2)

Javier Huerta

[priv-uh-lij, priv-lij]

I had the privilege of speaking to “underprivileged” high school students in El Paso’s lower valley last Friday. My Arte Publico Press contact—when I asked what I was supposed to talk about—said that I should just read my poems and share my “personal story,” The librarians and counselors who invited me to speak hoped students would connect with my “personal story” and be able to envision themselves succeeding academically despite their economic and language barriers. I wanted to say, please let’s not talk academic success until I pass my qualifying exams; I wanted to say, I really didn’t have it all that bad. What goes unnoticed, or at least unremarked, is how my personal story of underprivilege has afforded me certain privileges.
“Privilege” is used too often as an accusation. For example, when someone disagrees with us on an issue like politics and poetry, we tend to say something about how the other person’s privileged situation blinds him or her to the political nature of language. This type of charge is meant not to further debate but to end it. It should be added to the official list of logical fallacies. Call it ad privilegium. Those accused of “privilege” tend to take offense and deny the charge by citing some distant ancestor who may have had it rough at one point or another. Neither the accuser nor the accused admit their privileged status. “Privilege” is a dirty word, and no one wants to claim it.

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09.24.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (5)

Wanda Coleman

THE REAL TRICKLE TRICKLING DOWN

I’ve always heard it said that Americans have to be fairly satisfied with their lot in general before they support the fine arts, especially dance and poetry. When economic times are particularly rough (think WPA), the presumably suffering artist suffers all the more. As Wall Street currently quakes, and the banking and mortgage giants tumble, it’s a highly speculative sport to avoid being taken down in the collapse or being blackened with dust. Is this a residual of 9/11? Oddly occurring on the eve of the event? Is poetry and art doomed to irrelevance at moments like this (think Katrina-Rita)? Readings on the responses of artists and writers to Hiroshima-Nagasaki, as the true doomsday mechanism was announced, come to mind (think mass destruction). If a culture can be buoyed up by its artists, is it truly saved? I’m prompted to ask following an irksome incident that occurred last week when appearances by Ralph Angel and me, on behalf of the Poetry Society of America, were canceled suddenly by a SoCal radio station known for its strident support of the arts. We were iced in deference to ongoing urgent coverage of the housing and mortgage loan crises.

09.24.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (5)

Forrest Gander

The Lives of Others

Javier Huerta’s excellent post on privilege and the bilingual pun (above) prompts me to share this note. On Monday, I received an email from KL, someone I know who teaches at a detention facility in Virginia, asking me to translate something that a girl in her class had written in Spanish. KL teaches high school-age children who are waiting for a court hearing or sentencing; they are usually incarcerated at the facility for just a few days or a few weeks. Obviously, it’s a difficult environment for learning.
Lisa%20Abbot%20Canfield.jpg
Collage/Painting by Lisa Abbott-Canfield

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09.23.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (2)

Lavinia Greenlaw

Lo Fi

bishop%20house%20light%20fitting%202.jpg
Al night by the rosë, rosë,
Al night bi the rose I lay,
Dorst Ich nought the rosë stele,
And yet I bar the flour away.
Anon (14th century)

09.23.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (2)

Forrest Gander

Anniversary of Pablo Neruda’s Death

Today is the anniversary of Pablo Neruda’s death in 1973. In homage, I’m posting this poem, “Ode with a Lament.”* Written in the early thirties in Spain, it probably alludes to Neruda’s daughter Malva who was born with hydrocephaly and Down’s syndrome. I find the last stanza particularly moving in its depiction of the emotionally vulnerable girl killing ants and crying, her abecedary on fire because she will never learn to read.
Culhane%2C%20andland.jpg
Drawing by Douglas Culhane

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09.23.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (12)

Wanda Coleman

A RETRO ROGUE RECOLLECTION

Among the character-building chores my parents assigned me (I spent prom night doing the ironing), I look back on “watering the lawn” with a relaxed fondness. Mother’s childhood gardens, the talk of Hennessey, Oklahoma in the 1930s—she wanted me to know how to weed, plant bulbs, and learn what she knew of “reading the weather.” Her knowledge of that ancient craft, vital to the farming livelihoods of my great-grandfather and granddad, was dimming swiftly under the lights of Los Angeles. I’ve retained little of their gift, no more than a good barometer might tell. Oddly, in adulthood, I’ve noticed the unusually deep, calming effect water has on me, particularly when I’m hosing down the backyard. I fall into a reverie, images and ideas flood in on me. Similarly, after an intense period of writing poems, I often “water” my senses with the works of other poets, no matter how good or bad. Beyond influence, this kind of reading nourishes. Excellent poets move me to strive for higher writing ground. The terribly bad poets, particularly those who cannot “lock” their language, invite me into their poems as doctor, scavenger, or conjure woman—either role remarkably calming, as I play in the earthy richness.

09.22.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (2)

Don Share

Pompeii and Circumstance

OK, who saw the letter to the editor in the October issue of Harper’s about Charles Bernstein’s poem, “Pompeii?” And who gets to put the iron in irony?

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09.20.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (22)

Forrest Gander

Singer-Songwriters and Poetry

Any of us can get into a good fight arguing over singer-songwriters whose poetic lyrics we champion. And some singers, Leonard Cohen or David Berman (of The Silver Jews) for instance, publish books of their own poetry. In the seventies, a number of singer-songwriters made references to poets: Bob Dylan to Dante, Verlaine & Rimbaud, Patti Smith to Rimbaud, Lou Reed to Delmore Schwartz, and, um, Aerosmith quoted from “Hamlet.” But who are some of the younger singer-songwriters referencing poems by other poets? (Steve Burt, who will know them all, is limited to two responses).
For two of the best, click continue reading this entry, below.

Palace Music Bonus Disc

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09.20.08 PERMALINK | COMMENTS (25)

Archive for September, 2008

Travis Nichols

Jim Morrison Poetry Burlesque

Wanda Coleman

BUKOWSKI VS. THOMAS

Javier Huerta

[priv-uh-lij, priv-lij]

Wanda Coleman

THE REAL TRICKLE TRICKLING DOWN

Forrest Gander

The Lives of Others

Lavinia Greenlaw

Lo Fi

Forrest Gander

Anniversary of Pablo Neruda’s Death

Wanda Coleman

A RETRO ROGUE RECOLLECTION

Don Share

Pompeii and Circumstance

Forrest Gander

Singer-Songwriters and Poetry

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