Poetry at its very core is language. That is the craft side of the equation. As far as content goes, however, poetry is fiction, or at least has some fictional elements. Poetry can relate true events well enough, but in figurative language (metaphor, simile, etc.) comes hyperbole and exaggeration, and therefore, fiction. So if poetry is fiction, and for the purposes of what I want to discuss here it is, then some further discussion is needed regarding my decision to use footnotes in my new book, Hobble Creek Almanac.
Footnotes are usually reserved for documents which use source work and are trying to establish a quality of verisimilitude, factual reliability, and credence. As such, poetry usually relies upon the epigraph to provide source and lineage for the content or ideas within the poem. And while some poets have begun to use a notes page to provide further explanation and clarification for their poems, few indeed, have been meticulous as T.S. Eliot was with his notes for "The Wasteland," and even then, his footnotes were authentic. My purpose is to follow in the path of writers of prose fiction who have employed fictitious footnotes and quotes to help round out the fullness of their stories. We see examples of this in epistolary novels and more recently, Tim O'Brien's In the Lake of the Woods, where he does a phenomenal job at blurring the line between fact and fiction, indeed causing the reader to question such distinctions.
In my book, I use footnotes, quotes, and epigraphs in much the same way. First and foremost is my need to tell real stories, events which really happened. I felt I owed it to the reader to provide the basis for my poems, or at the very least, the appearance for a basis. There is a certain confidence in citation, especially when discussing events from 150 years ago. Do I expect my readers to look up those citations? Perhaps, but they will be disappointed if they look all of them up because not all of my footnotes are real. So why have false footnotes in a manuscript? Why worry about such things in a book of poetry? Well, continuity for one. I like the idea of consistency, and if footnotes serve to bolster the confidence the reader has in what they are reading, then they will, in the case of persona poems, help to make that persona appear all the more real. As with any such things, there is a delineation between the poems where I am supposedly presenting history and persona, and the section of the book where I want people to hear my narrator's voice. The absence of footnotes in that section highlights the difference.
Quotes are another means, especially in poetry, where the poet attempts to provide a provenance to the reader, saying in essence, "Here is where this poem comes from." Quotes used as epigraphs are an admission of influence. Some poets love them and some poets hate them. I love them, and possibly other poets hate them for the same reason I am unable to comprehend notes pages at the end of a manuscript: If I can't figure something out from the reading of the poem that was essential, then why wasn't it better communicated in the poem? Accordingly, I have quoted people and poems legitimately, and I have made up some entirely. Again, it is a matter of creating as complete a picture I want to create for the reader. This is part of the art of my book, to present a unified image for the reader and not worry whether every word is accurate or historically absolute. After all, I am creating fiction. What does it really matter that I have cited books which do not exist, or created quotes where none existed before, or even created people altogether in order to "quote" them? In the end, the book works as art or it does not. How I got there should be of paramount concern to me, but not all that important to the reader.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Time Away from Writing: How to spend your down time
I can't tell you when I wrote my last poem (well, not off the top of my head). I can tell you I have tinkered with a few things here and there over the past few months, and I think there was a two day period where three small poems came out from me---one the result of an opening line given to me by Jeff Newberry. But it has literally been 8 months or more where I have put any effort into writing a new poem. Oh, I have put in a considerable amount of time proofing poems and preparing manuscripts for publication, but nothing new. And I am perfectly happy with that.
I have talked about it before, how I fall into shallow slumps of non-writing after I finish a manuscript, and that I never really start to write again until I genuinely panic about not writing. In short, I need to freak out about not being a poet any more before my mind kick-starts me back into writing.So what do I do until that happens? How do I fill the void? Well, I already mentioned the proofing and tinkering thing, so I thin I should tell you about the other stuff I do.
1. I spend a lot of time on Facebook. I probably spend too much time on Facebook, but I would be doing that even if I was writing, so that really doesn't count.
2. I prepare for my next year's teaching assignment. I am going to be reading this summer, and I am going to be re-reading books as well.Nothing new or earth shattering there, right?
3. To tell the truth, I really have been spending the majority of my time not writing by not worrying about whether I should write. I have learned my lesson from previous freak-outs---something else I have already talked about. Still, it's true. I am not writing and I am not worried about not writing.
So let's review:
Don't freak out.
I have talked about it before, how I fall into shallow slumps of non-writing after I finish a manuscript, and that I never really start to write again until I genuinely panic about not writing. In short, I need to freak out about not being a poet any more before my mind kick-starts me back into writing.So what do I do until that happens? How do I fill the void? Well, I already mentioned the proofing and tinkering thing, so I thin I should tell you about the other stuff I do.
1. I spend a lot of time on Facebook. I probably spend too much time on Facebook, but I would be doing that even if I was writing, so that really doesn't count.
2. I prepare for my next year's teaching assignment. I am going to be reading this summer, and I am going to be re-reading books as well.Nothing new or earth shattering there, right?
3. To tell the truth, I really have been spending the majority of my time not writing by not worrying about whether I should write. I have learned my lesson from previous freak-outs---something else I have already talked about. Still, it's true. I am not writing and I am not worried about not writing.
So let's review:
Don't freak out.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
What's in a name? and other perfunctory facts about Sailing This Nameless Ship.
My first thought was to name this new book of mine, The Telemachy. I wanted a more direct reference to the son who goes in search of his father, but I wanted my telemachy to be an American story, a son who was an unwilling searcher looking for a father. So the title floated to American Telemachy. This of course mimics my own history, but it did not quite fit my needs for the manuscript. Then, while re-reading Rober Fagles' (pronounced 'Fails') translation of The Odyssey, I stumbled upon one of the other, minor things Telemachus longs for. he wanted to be Jason, sailing the Argo, living out adventures. Then it struck me that the Greeks were fond of naming their ships, but I could not find a name for the ship Telemachus sailed on while searching for his father. With a little more thought, I had my thread of continuity, a title for my manuscript, and a hold over for this blog.
Now, I mentioned that I based this manuscript on a lot of my own personal history, but here are a few things for you to chew on and hopefully fuel your anticipation to read the entire book:
1. The catalyst for the book is W.S. Merwin's book, The Shadow of Sirius.
In his book, he has a poem called "Just This" which blew my socks off. I imagined an entire book of poems called "Just This" which would assume a question was asked and the responder initially had one thing to say, but ended up having a coda type of refrain titles "and this." The idea was to tell a history with no objective clues to help discern the order of the poems. All of the core poems , and most of the other poems in the book began with "Just This" as the title and the "and this" coda. They evolved, but that's where they had their start.
2. Most of the core poems were written between the end of November, 2008 and the end of February, 2009.
Many of the poems were initially drafted while walking to school. This can explain why so many of the poems are short. I wrote poems for the manuscript almost every single day in those three months. I was writing at such a rate I was afraid I was going to skip over something, so I did something I hardly ever do. I turned off my filter and just recorded everything.
3. This manuscript is a departure from my usual writing in more ways than subject matter and voice.
Where most of my poetry about Springville is a landscape of place, I have tried to make this book about emotional landscape. I still use a narrator based upon me, as I have used my personal experiences as subject matter, but I have restructured the narrative and my perception of audience. Another major departure is the very structure of the poems I have written. I also have purposely put into place an audience. In this manuscript I speak one of several specific people. My father, my wife, my life-long friends, are all people I address these poems to at various points.
4. The book itself (meaning the writing of the book) has taken on an entirely new level of irony in my life.
While I have had a difficult relationship with my father, and one could easily say it is still strained, it wasn't until after I had finished drafting the poems for this book and was working on the order of the specific poems I found out the man who I have known as my father all my life is in most likelihood not my biological father. I only learned of this after my mother died. So this book, where a reluctant son searches for a father who seemingly doesn't want to be found is actually about just that.
Now, I mentioned that I based this manuscript on a lot of my own personal history, but here are a few things for you to chew on and hopefully fuel your anticipation to read the entire book:
1. The catalyst for the book is W.S. Merwin's book, The Shadow of Sirius.
In his book, he has a poem called "Just This" which blew my socks off. I imagined an entire book of poems called "Just This" which would assume a question was asked and the responder initially had one thing to say, but ended up having a coda type of refrain titles "and this." The idea was to tell a history with no objective clues to help discern the order of the poems. All of the core poems , and most of the other poems in the book began with "Just This" as the title and the "and this" coda. They evolved, but that's where they had their start.
2. Most of the core poems were written between the end of November, 2008 and the end of February, 2009.
Many of the poems were initially drafted while walking to school. This can explain why so many of the poems are short. I wrote poems for the manuscript almost every single day in those three months. I was writing at such a rate I was afraid I was going to skip over something, so I did something I hardly ever do. I turned off my filter and just recorded everything.
3. This manuscript is a departure from my usual writing in more ways than subject matter and voice.
Where most of my poetry about Springville is a landscape of place, I have tried to make this book about emotional landscape. I still use a narrator based upon me, as I have used my personal experiences as subject matter, but I have restructured the narrative and my perception of audience. Another major departure is the very structure of the poems I have written. I also have purposely put into place an audience. In this manuscript I speak one of several specific people. My father, my wife, my life-long friends, are all people I address these poems to at various points.
4. The book itself (meaning the writing of the book) has taken on an entirely new level of irony in my life.
While I have had a difficult relationship with my father, and one could easily say it is still strained, it wasn't until after I had finished drafting the poems for this book and was working on the order of the specific poems I found out the man who I have known as my father all my life is in most likelihood not my biological father. I only learned of this after my mother died. So this book, where a reluctant son searches for a father who seemingly doesn't want to be found is actually about just that.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
And the Hits Just Keep on Comin'
You know that Jay-Z is one wise man. If I got 99 problems, books getting published ain't one of them, because BlazeVox informed me over the weekend it wants to go ahead with a print edition of my book, Sailing This Nameless Ship, as opposed to releasing it as an e-book. Now, I was thrilled with the e-book format because I looked at it as an opportunity to get my feet wet and used to the world of e-books and electronic publishing. However, I am a little taken back at the confidence Geoffrey Gatza has that my book is worth the money and time involved in publishing and promoting a paper edition of my book of poems.
So begins more frequent updates and discussions of all that is related to putting out a book. I hope you are willing to come along on this ride with me. I will be sure to update you on a regular basis about all of the juicy bits and frustrations associated with this sort of venture.
Talk to you very soon.
So begins more frequent updates and discussions of all that is related to putting out a book. I hope you are willing to come along on this ride with me. I will be sure to update you on a regular basis about all of the juicy bits and frustrations associated with this sort of venture.
Talk to you very soon.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Seven Reasons to buy my new book!
1. The book is on the cutting edge forefront of the 19th Century-Mormon Pioneer-Rural/Pastoral/Agrarian-Landscape-Elegiac Poetry. 'Nuff said, right? I mean, who wouldn't want to get in on this action?
2. Buying poetry boosts your serotonin levels.
3. It's poetry you can show your grandmother without worrying about so-called naughty words causing any level of consternation or apoplexy. (We'll leave that for the next book, Sailing This Nameless Ship.)
4. Let's show those guys at Farrar, Strauss & Giroux a thing or two about where real poetry comes from!
5. Let this be one of three books of poetry you buy this year not written by Mary Oliver.
6. Two Words: "Hipster Irony."
7. It's cheaper than a trip to Disneyland.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
The waiting . . .
This specific time many of you are familiar with is full of ritual for me. Number one on my list is to pretend I have dozens of other writing related issues to tend to as not to appear too desperate. With that in mind, please have patience while I talk about other things which I will treat with much more seriousness than they are worth.
I just signed the contract for my poem, "Ode to Pablo Neruda," to be included in the 99 Poems for the 99 Percent anthology. No links yet, because I seriously don't know where anything is on the net and I don't feel like searching for it right now. This is my very first anthologized poem and I very happy for that. Not just because this is my first anthologized poem, but because I really like that particular poem.
My poem, "Poem for David Lee, Three Sisters Mountain," just finished its tenure over at Heron Tree. It is an integral part of my book, Hobble Creek Almanac, but it appears under a different title over at Heron Tree for clarity. The original context of the poem is set and the title, "Eastern Pretty Skies" is a very natural title. With this book, I really feel like I am getting closer to the kind of poetry I am meant to write as my life's work, and this poem in particular is a really good representation of that writing. I am hoping to have at least one more Springville book in me, so I can have a trilogy, a long sequence of poems about one specific place.
I continue to work with BlazeVox Press towards getting my manuscript, Sailing This Nameless Ship, ready for publication as part of their Kindle Editions. I am perfectly happy seeing this book as an e-book. To be honest, there was a really long period (the majority of these poems were written in 2008-2009) where I never thought they would ever see the light of day. To have this outlet be such a great press is a wonderful option. I can see no downside to having my feet trenched in both the print and electronic worlds of publishing. Right now it's all about the proofing and aesthetics. It keeps me somewhat busy.
And just last night, I got back into the submission game, sending out three new poems. It's not my usual voice, but what I am beginning to see is some real joy from taking little side roads off the beaten path of my usual voice. Every now and then I begin to think I can't write like other poets (read: I can't write in the currently popular vernacular) and that holds me back in some ways. Well the truth is I can write those kinds of poems, and while I enjoy reading them, I don't really writing them en masse. Don't get me wrong. I am not claiming the high road here. I don't think myself above such writing, just different, and it is nice to see I am writing different poetry as a matter of choice rather than out of not being able to write those kinds of poems.
As you can see, if you have been able to read through all of that bragging, I have been quite fortunate of late. It feels nice to be here, and it's this I need to build on to negate those times when I feel frustrated and just a little out of sorts about my life as a poet.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Think Positive
I have been doing a lot of proofreading which makes me think of what Kelli said recently on her blog.
I have been looking around and I am reminded that while I do not save my rejections in a drawer like some of the people she mentions, I do not dwell upon them in any negative way. I submit and I happily accept whatever comes my way. But right now I would like to build a little bit on what she spoke of. I would like to talk about the successes we have versus the successes we perceive.
If you have been a follower of my blog, you know pessimism comes naturally to me. Well, not today, and not for a while. Why? Because I have been confronted with the reality that I have been quite successful as a poet as of late, and what's more, the evidence of that success trumps anything I might feel about my success.
As I write this, I have two, yes two, books going through the final stages of being proofed and readied for publication. The first book is Hobble Creek Almanac, soon to be out from Aldrich Press. The second is my book, Sailing This Nameless Ship, which is being released by BlazeVox and their Kindle Editions series.
Now I haven't written much poetry for the past several months, nor have I even tried to submit poetry for even longer than that, yet on Sunday, a poem of mine will appear in Heron Tree, and soon, five of my poems from Hobble Creek Almanac, will be appearing in Weber-The Contemporary West. Now, I could concentrate on all of the places my poetry has not appeared, or wonder why some poets are seemingly showered in praise while my work goes mostly unnoticed. However, I will not do either, because if I was to do those things I would be ignoring the fact that in three short years time (2011-2013) I will have had a chapbook and three full length manuscripts of poetry published. That's a number I never thought I would see. That's a number I find astonishing. It's the sort of number that flies in the face of anything I could attempt to label as failure.
What I keep thinking, what stays with my thoughts is as I look back over this past week or so is this sort of thing doesn't happen to me. I am still a little overwhelmed at the thought of refuting my own narrative regarding my efforts as a poet. I keep thinking about all of the things I think of as hallmarks for success, all of the things which are happening for me, and all I can wonder is how did I build a gap so wide. And that's what it is. It's a cognitive dissonance I am just now beginning to resolve. Why? Regardless of my pessimism, I have found editors who not only publish my work, but have thought enough of it to merit multiple publications of manuscripts. Now I may still want to break into specific markets, but as for reaching an audience, it is absolutely clear I have achieved a great deal of success.
The writer, right or wrong, always writes. And though it will most likely take a while, I am learning how to see my successes for what they are, and see through the transparency of my failures, knowing neither one defines me as a writer.
I have been looking around and I am reminded that while I do not save my rejections in a drawer like some of the people she mentions, I do not dwell upon them in any negative way. I submit and I happily accept whatever comes my way. But right now I would like to build a little bit on what she spoke of. I would like to talk about the successes we have versus the successes we perceive.
If you have been a follower of my blog, you know pessimism comes naturally to me. Well, not today, and not for a while. Why? Because I have been confronted with the reality that I have been quite successful as a poet as of late, and what's more, the evidence of that success trumps anything I might feel about my success.
As I write this, I have two, yes two, books going through the final stages of being proofed and readied for publication. The first book is Hobble Creek Almanac, soon to be out from Aldrich Press. The second is my book, Sailing This Nameless Ship, which is being released by BlazeVox and their Kindle Editions series.
Now I haven't written much poetry for the past several months, nor have I even tried to submit poetry for even longer than that, yet on Sunday, a poem of mine will appear in Heron Tree, and soon, five of my poems from Hobble Creek Almanac, will be appearing in Weber-The Contemporary West. Now, I could concentrate on all of the places my poetry has not appeared, or wonder why some poets are seemingly showered in praise while my work goes mostly unnoticed. However, I will not do either, because if I was to do those things I would be ignoring the fact that in three short years time (2011-2013) I will have had a chapbook and three full length manuscripts of poetry published. That's a number I never thought I would see. That's a number I find astonishing. It's the sort of number that flies in the face of anything I could attempt to label as failure.
What I keep thinking, what stays with my thoughts is as I look back over this past week or so is this sort of thing doesn't happen to me. I am still a little overwhelmed at the thought of refuting my own narrative regarding my efforts as a poet. I keep thinking about all of the things I think of as hallmarks for success, all of the things which are happening for me, and all I can wonder is how did I build a gap so wide. And that's what it is. It's a cognitive dissonance I am just now beginning to resolve. Why? Regardless of my pessimism, I have found editors who not only publish my work, but have thought enough of it to merit multiple publications of manuscripts. Now I may still want to break into specific markets, but as for reaching an audience, it is absolutely clear I have achieved a great deal of success.
The writer, right or wrong, always writes. And though it will most likely take a while, I am learning how to see my successes for what they are, and see through the transparency of my failures, knowing neither one defines me as a writer.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Welcome to the Suck
For those of you who hang on, visit regularly, or only check in once in a great while, I thought I would give you an update as to my teaching schedule for next year. As most of you know I am high school teacher, and I teach at a small high school in rural Nevada. This year I have been teaching history and drama. Well, next year I am being given an almost entirely different schedule. I am going to be teaching two drama classes (we had 47 kids sign up for the class) and an eclectic set of English classes.
I will be once again teaching senior English. I will also be teaching the 9-10 Honors English class, and the 11-12 Honors English class. While part of me is flattered because it is the general consensus I have been rather successful teaching senior English, I am not looking forward to the sheer amount of work I can expect as a result of teaching these classes (3 regular senior English and the 2 honors sections).
I have a pretty good structure for the regular senior English class, and I am trying something entirely new for the honors sections. Senior English is British lit in these parts, and while I have that down, I am taking it upon myself to re-create the honors English courses to try and instill academic rigor which has been lacking---even two years ago, when I taught it for the firs time. What is of crtical importance is students be rid of the notion the honors class in this town is a free ride for the 'well-behaved' kids. While that is an honorable goal to give well-behaved kids a class in which they can pursue their studies, an honors curriculum it does not make.
To that end, tomorrow I have the honor of informing the prospective honors students of what will be expected of them. My 9-10 students they will be reading The Great Gatsby over the summer (complete with exam in the first week of class); reading three other novels within the first 9 weeks of class; writing four papers in each semester (2 literary analysis and 2 expository). Units in poetry and drama will follow, with a major independent research project to cap off the year. My 11-12 students will be required to read The Odyssey over the summer (complete wit an exam in the first week of class), immediately read Beowulf in its entirety and embark upon a greatly expanded reading curriculum for British Lit, complete with a schedule of four longer papers throughout each semester. Each class will also be required to complete weekly write-ups and class discussions on current issues.
* * *
What this means to you, and most of the writers I share the internets with is this: You may, if it suits you, add my name to the list of high school English teachers you blame for sending high school students to college unprepared for the basics of the composition classes you teach. I will be trying my best to teach them the basics of writing a decent paper, but I really have never liked my chances of being successful. Oh, a few students learn and adapt their writing patterns to be in line with standards and expectations, but the vast majority fall under one of two categories---well, those who go to college. Category One consists of students who already know enough to make a good pass at college writing and I feel helpless in my attempts to get them to be better writers. Category Two consists of the students who need to learn how to be better writers but for whatever reason, lack the ability to adapt their writing, and I feel helpless in my attempts to get them to be better writers.
Yes, that's about it. I have found the writers who are a joy to teach are the ones who already know how to write, and I can do very little for them. The students who need the help are infinitely frustrating because I see in them the ability to write better, but they either choose to do nothing or simply cannot do anything to be better writers.
I know how frustrating it is for college instructors, as I see many of their/your complaints on blogs and Facebook, citing the stunning depths of ignorance students are seemingly willing to sink. I know what it's like to waffle between being infuriated at the student because of this willingness and being infuriated at the teacher because part of you refuses to believe anyone would willingly be that ignorant. I don't know what to say except to apologize in advance and offer myself as sacrifice to the writing gods. Well, actually, I would like you to consider what actors students can be. They have for years been honing their performance, and you should never underestimate their willingness to try and not be held accountable for something you require of them.
And of course this includes throwing their high school teachers under the bus to give the impression they have never heard of a thesis statement or plagiarism.
I will be once again teaching senior English. I will also be teaching the 9-10 Honors English class, and the 11-12 Honors English class. While part of me is flattered because it is the general consensus I have been rather successful teaching senior English, I am not looking forward to the sheer amount of work I can expect as a result of teaching these classes (3 regular senior English and the 2 honors sections).
I have a pretty good structure for the regular senior English class, and I am trying something entirely new for the honors sections. Senior English is British lit in these parts, and while I have that down, I am taking it upon myself to re-create the honors English courses to try and instill academic rigor which has been lacking---even two years ago, when I taught it for the firs time. What is of crtical importance is students be rid of the notion the honors class in this town is a free ride for the 'well-behaved' kids. While that is an honorable goal to give well-behaved kids a class in which they can pursue their studies, an honors curriculum it does not make.
To that end, tomorrow I have the honor of informing the prospective honors students of what will be expected of them. My 9-10 students they will be reading The Great Gatsby over the summer (complete with exam in the first week of class); reading three other novels within the first 9 weeks of class; writing four papers in each semester (2 literary analysis and 2 expository). Units in poetry and drama will follow, with a major independent research project to cap off the year. My 11-12 students will be required to read The Odyssey over the summer (complete wit an exam in the first week of class), immediately read Beowulf in its entirety and embark upon a greatly expanded reading curriculum for British Lit, complete with a schedule of four longer papers throughout each semester. Each class will also be required to complete weekly write-ups and class discussions on current issues.
* * *
What this means to you, and most of the writers I share the internets with is this: You may, if it suits you, add my name to the list of high school English teachers you blame for sending high school students to college unprepared for the basics of the composition classes you teach. I will be trying my best to teach them the basics of writing a decent paper, but I really have never liked my chances of being successful. Oh, a few students learn and adapt their writing patterns to be in line with standards and expectations, but the vast majority fall under one of two categories---well, those who go to college. Category One consists of students who already know enough to make a good pass at college writing and I feel helpless in my attempts to get them to be better writers. Category Two consists of the students who need to learn how to be better writers but for whatever reason, lack the ability to adapt their writing, and I feel helpless in my attempts to get them to be better writers.
Yes, that's about it. I have found the writers who are a joy to teach are the ones who already know how to write, and I can do very little for them. The students who need the help are infinitely frustrating because I see in them the ability to write better, but they either choose to do nothing or simply cannot do anything to be better writers.
I know how frustrating it is for college instructors, as I see many of their/your complaints on blogs and Facebook, citing the stunning depths of ignorance students are seemingly willing to sink. I know what it's like to waffle between being infuriated at the student because of this willingness and being infuriated at the teacher because part of you refuses to believe anyone would willingly be that ignorant. I don't know what to say except to apologize in advance and offer myself as sacrifice to the writing gods. Well, actually, I would like you to consider what actors students can be. They have for years been honing their performance, and you should never underestimate their willingness to try and not be held accountable for something you require of them.
And of course this includes throwing their high school teachers under the bus to give the impression they have never heard of a thesis statement or plagiarism.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Sudden Burst of words
These beautiful days are lost, buried
in the dark, fertile earth along side
the bones of our ancestors. Peel back
the sky's black curtain, revealing
the watercolor smudges of everything
which remains: The holy and profane,
the dark and the terrible, storm and peace.
in the dark, fertile earth along side
the bones of our ancestors. Peel back
the sky's black curtain, revealing
the watercolor smudges of everything
which remains: The holy and profane,
the dark and the terrible, storm and peace.
Monday, April 22, 2013
NaPoWriMo
It has been years since I tried writing a poem a day for NaPoWriMo. This isn't a confession because I don't feel guilty about it in the slightest. I am proud of my past efforts and I am thrilled to see so many people attempt to write a poem a day for an entire month. And it isn't like there hasn't been a whole lot of material /fodder/pop culture happenings to inspire poetry, but this isn't my yea . . . again.
I am coming down off the tail end of completing a manuscript which hopefully will be out in the world by summer, and I am not writing poems. I haven't written a poem in months. Still not a confession---just a statement. This is just my pattern. I write steadily until I have a project in mind, then everything turns to that project. After I turn my writing attentions to that project, everything else dies. I write and write and re-write and write more towards that one thing. After it's over, I have no writing energy left. I literally have to re-learn how to write poems of a different voice, subject matter, and/or reflection. It happens every time. What has taken me years to learn is to ignore this particular kind of emptiness and silence.
I used to panic. I used to scare myself into writing terrible poems because I thought if I didn't keep writing I would lose what little talent I had and I would never write another good poem. I am not saying my "good" poems are really that great. I am just saying my poems during those times were/are particularly bad. Well, it has finally started to stick. I have learned to accept the fact I am not a consistent writer of poems. I do not write on a steady schedule. I am not an aggregate poet, in that I have a batting average when it comes to poems. I love all my finished poems even if editors hate them all. I have come to accept that I have forgotten how to write new poems, and it will be some time before that happens.
What's more, with every passing day I am learning to live with the sort of poet I am and the kind of poet I will never be. Rather than going into any of that, I will simply provide you a poem to read. It's a poem I like, which means it's good enough to share.
Spring rain---
This cold morning
lasting forever
I am coming down off the tail end of completing a manuscript which hopefully will be out in the world by summer, and I am not writing poems. I haven't written a poem in months. Still not a confession---just a statement. This is just my pattern. I write steadily until I have a project in mind, then everything turns to that project. After I turn my writing attentions to that project, everything else dies. I write and write and re-write and write more towards that one thing. After it's over, I have no writing energy left. I literally have to re-learn how to write poems of a different voice, subject matter, and/or reflection. It happens every time. What has taken me years to learn is to ignore this particular kind of emptiness and silence.
I used to panic. I used to scare myself into writing terrible poems because I thought if I didn't keep writing I would lose what little talent I had and I would never write another good poem. I am not saying my "good" poems are really that great. I am just saying my poems during those times were/are particularly bad. Well, it has finally started to stick. I have learned to accept the fact I am not a consistent writer of poems. I do not write on a steady schedule. I am not an aggregate poet, in that I have a batting average when it comes to poems. I love all my finished poems even if editors hate them all. I have come to accept that I have forgotten how to write new poems, and it will be some time before that happens.
What's more, with every passing day I am learning to live with the sort of poet I am and the kind of poet I will never be. Rather than going into any of that, I will simply provide you a poem to read. It's a poem I like, which means it's good enough to share.
Spring rain---
This cold morning
lasting forever
Friday, April 19, 2013
Book Review: Shaindel Beers The Children's War and Other Poems
The Children's War and Other Poems
Shaindel Beers
72 pp., Salt Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-84471-930-3
$15.95
Having read Shaindel Beers' first book of poetry and identified with it on a personal level, I was excited to read this book. From the moment I heard the title, I knew I was in for something special and meaningful. The title certainly is up-front and honest. There is no subterfuge. The world Beers brings forth in this book is daunting and relentless . . . and worth every minute you spend engaged in it.
72 pp., Salt Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-84471-930-3
$15.95
Having read Shaindel Beers' first book of poetry and identified with it on a personal level, I was excited to read this book. From the moment I heard the title, I knew I was in for something special and meaningful. The title certainly is up-front and honest. There is no subterfuge. The world Beers brings forth in this book is daunting and relentless . . . and worth every minute you spend engaged in it.
Beginning with stunning first person narratives of war and
violence, Shaindel Beers begins to discuss the things we know of but would much
rather forget. That in itself is an easy
statement to make, because we would all rather forget about war and violence,
but there is a deeper indictment going on here.
The unsettling truth these poems begin to reveal is that we would much
rather forget the violence, pretending it doesn’t exist, than actually doing
something to stop it. This is a bitter
pill to take, but swallow it we must. At
times we would like to believe we are as impotent as the children as they
recount their tales, but in the backs of our minds always lingers the truth
that we are not only culpable for the violence, we remain ever capable to make
the world a better place yet unwilling on so many levels.
Walking into the title poem, Beers gives us little respite from
the heartbreak, but one kindness she bestows is breaking the poem into smaller,
separate sections. In this we are able
to take on manageable fragments, digest as we like the compelling stories and
images. Slowly, the poems begin to
expand in scope and emotional landscape.
With each passing section, a larger picture is formed and the reader can’t
help but be drawn into a higher level of consciousness, more in tune with the
larger world.
One such passage, the opening lines from “After Martija’s
Watercolor, Croatia” gives us this:
There are things that can happen that you can’t draw.
A soldier ripping off a baby’s diaper and slamming him
into the wall because it will be easier if the baby
cannot cry. Your mother without a head. You paint splotches.
Of course the shock is intentional. To hide this sort of thing from the reader
might let us get away clean. Like any
responsible artist, Beers knows some things are absolutes.
In the second, longer section, we are graduated to the more
complex understandings of war, violence and pain. It is a testament to Beers’ ability to know
where that line is because I will be honest and tell you it took me going back
into the book to realize that divide. It
is this second section which begins anew, serves to show in some ways how
pervasive the epidemic of violence has become— how much of the culture of war
we have internalized into our own lives.
Here there are poems which highlight the war each of us wages with other
people, our lives, our past, and families.
My favorite poem from this section is probably a strange
choice. “Dark-haired girl in the park—” shies away from the weightier structure
of most the other poems and presents a war of almost the mildest sort, the
conflict between parent and child as the child comes of age. Using that struggle, we see there is some
necessity in struggle. A young girl sees
herself as a sexual being much to the dismay of her parents. Her need to tear herself away from them is
not based in hatred, but rather the need to be desired. The girl is young, innocent to what may
result in her defiance. We are reminded
that for many of us, especially in the privileged first world, our first
struggles are mild in comparison to the reality most children in the world
face. We look back to our adolescence
with nostalgia, a sweetened pain which is often savored. Most of the world’s children are not so lucky.
Most of the world’s children could teach
us all about real pain and suffering.
Ultimately this is an important book on many levels. The Children’s War and Other Poems is a sharp
departure from Shaindel’s first book, A Brief History of Time. I do not like making comparisons between two
different works of art so I will simply restate this book is a bold and
sobering step away from her first book.
The Children's War and Other Poems carries with it a wonderful voice, weighty ideas, and an unflinching
eye for our darker expressions. It is a book which you will want to return to again and again.
her first book.
her first book.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Book Review: Jeff Newberry's Brackish
Brackish
Jeff Newberry
101 pp., Aldrich Press
ISBN: 978-0615705637
$14
Opening up Jeff Newberry’s first book of poems, Brackish, is a daunting task if all you
are looking for is a casual glance at contemporary poetry. Newberry both draws you into the biography of
a young boy and that of a small, factory town seemingly on the verge of
collapse. It is the poet’s ability to
demonstrate how he draws on the peculiarity of family and ride the fine line between
sorrow and acceptance which makes this collection of poetry work, and in
working, the thing which allows us to see far more than we thought possible.
The book opens with a section of poems which defines both
place and character—that of the narrator.
In this first section, titled ‘His Father’s Son,’ Newberry lays out for
the reader what it is to come of age in a small Florida community past its
prime. Here there is no Southern,
Capote-like reminiscence, no nostalgia for a bygone age. These first poems set the stage for an
unflinching look at the world as it really was.
Take the opening lines to “The Butcher’s Son”:
The Butcher’s son stays out late
because the butcher’s dead—
five years tonight.
There is no softening, no holding back. The world is alive and moves on, with or
without us. This section also provides a
series of portraits of the father which defy easy explanation. They contradict in the best way poems can by
being both specific to the narrator’s world and yet immediately recognizable to
the reader.
After establishing a presence in the first section, most
poets would transition to other themes and other venues, but Jeff, in his later
sections, takes on the difficult task of staying with the same ideas and themes of his
first section, reinforcing in the reader’s mind how important place can be in
the development of the individual psyche.
Here is where Jeff Newberry shines for me as a poet. He writes poetry in such a way I almost
immediately forget he is a poet writing poetry.
I start reading and his poems become a natural, vibrant part of the
whole. I forget about the technical aspects of poetry and I am swept up into
the moment of reading for the sake of reading.
Newberry’s poems take on a narrative quality in the later
sections of his book, and begin to weave tales and stories, of which I can only
hope some are true and others are complete fabrications. Drawing on the power of Richard Hugo,
Newberry begins to write poems for specific places and towns, helping us to
define another generic part of the map we make of the world. At the center of this new map is the poet’s
home town, Port St. Joe, but we are audience to many other specific
places. The book ends with a section
called, ‘Autobiography,’ and if we are to believe any of it, we must accept
everything. There is no middle ground
for this, our journey into the world Brackish
creates. Take these beautiful lines from
this last section about coming home:
Each time I crest the Apalachicola
causeway, bay oysters sing
in a blistered hymn, promise
me if I plunge my palms
deep into the surf, edge fingers
down deep through sand & scallop,
I’ll find a pearl left just for me.
It’s the beguiling song of nostalgia which always comes up
short. Even while singing of his home
and early life, Newberry is compelled to reveal the empty promises of those
places we have left. The reader knows of
such promises already, and knows there are no easy answers. In this, the poet adds to our understanding.
You should go buy Brackish. It is a lovely book and deserves your
patronage.
Book Review: Collin Kelley's Render
Render
Collin Kelley
76 pp., Sibling Rivalry Press
ISBN: 978-1-937420-34-5
$14.95
Collin Kelley’s latest collection, Render, is a masterful stroke of both political and socially
relevant poems, where the poet uses his own life as a pop-culture touchstone
for his generation’s most meaningful, shared experiences. Among the plethora of significant events hit
upon in this book are: First love, parents, infidelity, nostalgia, the movies,
sexual icons of puberty, post-puberty, and the inherent confusion which lies
within. And while I would say most people will find something to love within
these pages, this book speaks directly to anyone who is part of the generation
born between the late 1960’s up through 1974.
One poem after another breaks
through the barrier of fuzzy memory and brings the reader immediately into the
world of the poet. Each poem strengthens
its grip upon the reader and will not let go.
These poems will stay with you long after you have finished the book.
Collin Kelley is a genius when it comes to confession. He teases you with brilliant titles and
amazing opening lines. Once he has you
hooked, he delivers sucker punches and body blows like a prize fighter. What is amazing is even after you are
dumbstruck by a series of poems, your first instinct will be to read another
poem, and another.
Using the disillusion (and seeming dissolution) of the
American Family, Collin Kelly presents a world so many of us from his
generation know all too well. We are the
Post Atomic Age children, born of parents who participated or did not
participate in the counter-culture of the 1960’s. We are the first artificial, non-organic
generation, and Kelley drives that point home by exposing the hidden narrative
of his own family in some strange quiet crisis.
It’s difficult for me to choose any one poem to demonstrate
the building of this narrative. I can
tell you there are no weak poems here, no filler. Each and every poem is essential and I cannot
imagine the book any other way than how Collin has constructed it. Each poem captures with exacting precision
not only the poet’s memory, the thing he must share, but the details of the
world at large, making each accessible in the best way possible. I do not mean accessible as in simple,
because there will never be anything simple about Collin’s poetry. No, accessible in the way everyone can relate
to the stories he tells, because we all have memories tied to the events Collin
ties his memories to.
When Collin talks about his summer at the movies while his
mother is having an affair, I immediately remember my adolescent movie
experiences, but also the dysfunction of my own parents’ marriage. When he talks about the Bicentennial in his
poem, “Freedom Train,” it’s his details which jar a thousand memories loose
from my past, causing me to wonder why I have lost so many. When Collin talks about his early sexual
encounters, especially with those boys who feel shame for their behavior, I am
reminded of my own fumbled experiences early in my adolescence.
Collin Kelley succeeds with his poems because he is willing
to face the truth of his past, confront the seeds which were sewn, resulting in
the person he is today. He succeeds
because he does this when so many of us are too afraid to do these things for ourselves. But even more so, Render is a tremendous book
because it does not condemn in its confession.
It lays out the reality of the world without trying to make anyone feel
guilty for their past. It allows us to
take from it and only wants us to share.
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