Occasionally, when we admire a thing – a particular pastime, say – we claim there’s a certain “poetry” to it. If the thing’s a moving body then we might call it “poetry in motion.” For example, we sometimes claim there’s a certain “poetry” to baseball. Or we describe one of its players as “poetry in motion.” But what exactly do we mean by “poetry” in these boasts? In the former, we probably mean “elegance”; in the latter, something made elegant through its mastery of a certain set of rules, through the nimbleness of its follow through. In general, we probably just mean formal poetry. Bear with me here.

Countee Cullen
In a recent blog for Lemon Hound on Claude McKay, one topic that came up was the importance of the trochaic undercurrent in McKay’s famous sonnet “If We Must Die.” I wrote that the power of this rhythm for McKay is no surprise in the context of African American poetics, since the trochaic meter has been established as a powerful alternative to iambic meter in some centrally influential African American poems of the twentieth century.
Vanessa Place and Robert Fitterman have a new collaborative book due out from the fashionistas at Ugly Duckling Presse this May called Notes on Conceptualisms.
To celebrate the book’s launch, they’re hosting an evening of performances at The Kitchen in NYC tomorrow night, an event featuring “an array of conceptualists: Jen Bervin, Nada Gordon, Kim Rosenfield, Steve Zultanski, and Lytle Shaw.”
What is conceptual poetry you ask?
Well, if you can’t make it to the Kitchen tomorrow to find out first-hand, here’s a little video tutorial that might help.
Though, personally, I think this video is more instructive.
Or is that more Flarf? It can be a little confusing sometimes.
In response to Travis’s last post, Iain says: “I’d be very interested in a poll that asked people what stereotypes they associate with poetry and poets.”
So would we. So let’s ask that question far and wide:
What stereotypes do you associate with poetry and poets?
I was there at the Six Gallery in San Francisco where Allen Ginsberg read Howl for the first time. (I suggested the venue.)
Poetry is in trouble. At least according to the NEA and Newsweek.
“In 2008, just 8.3 percent of adults had read any poetry in the preceding 12 months,” Marc Bain writes in an online article this week, citing January’s NEA report “Reading on the Rise.”
“That figure was 12.1 percent in 2002, and in 1992, it was 17.1 percent, meaning the number of people reading poetry has decreased by approximately half over the past 16 years.”
The NEA report showed fiction readership on the rise, a fact met with general enthusiasm among literary types, but poetry readership in the dumps:
“Almost as an afterthought, the report also noted that the number of adults reading poetry had continued to decline, bringing poetry’s readership to its lowest point in at least 16 years.”
Is it because contemporary poetry is exceptionally bad?
Is it because advocacy organizations aren’t doing their jobs?
Is it because critcs aren’t doing theirs?
Is it because the public just doesn’t get it?
Is it because teachers haven’t read their Kenneth Koch?
The whole article, and a few answers, can be found here.
I am on my way to Oxford, Mississippi where I will be reading on Friday. I’ve never been to Mississippi before, and though all sorts of poems and stories and songs come to mind when I think of Mississippi, because I realize it will be springtime in the South and because I love springtime in the South (the pear trees, the cherries, the forsythia, oh my!), I am thinking, most often, about the poem “My Mississippi Spring.”

In last week’s “Ideas” section of the Boston Globe (a section which, btw, is alone worth the price of that excellent newspaper), I came across two references to poetry. One, not surprisingly, had absolutely nothing to do with poetry. It appeared in a review of a biography of novelist Don Barthelme, whom I recall playing in the creative writing band when I was a grad student at U of Houston. The headline dubbed Don a “poet” (”new biography shows Barthelme as prankster, poet, pioneer”) though there was not a single word in the review about him ever writing poetry.

Some folks didn’t care for our recent commemoration of the centennial of Futurism – like we were endorsing it somehow, sheesh! Well, it’s time to celebrate yet another birthday.
Here’s Christian Morgenstern’s (1871-1914) “Fisches Nachtgesang,” or, “Fish’s Night Song.”

It’s one more example of American parochialism that nowhere in Bartlett’s Quotations is a line of this poem reproduced.
Thom Donovan
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Fred Moten
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Sina Queyras
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Cathy Halley
Michael Marcinkowski
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Don Share
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