== == ==

2010-04-05T19:23:00.001-05:00

Shared Reading?

2009-11-29T20:49:00.006-06:00

For anyone who'd like to join in, I have a six month plan to move through Carolyn Forché's anthology Against Forgetting. I know many of you are already familiar with this stuff, and many of you are busy! But I'm always salivating for more poetry conversation, and with this book especially it would be helpful to pair reading with discussion.

I'm also thinking of taking Anne Carson's Eros, the Bittersweet and C. D. Wright's Cooling Time with me to Japan... these are the kind of meaty books that would benefit from the focus the airplane and being surrounded by a foreign language provides. At least that's what I'm hoping, since I haven't made much progress with either on American soil! I also like the idea of reading them at the same time; both are prose-on-poetry. So anyone who might like to attack one/both of these over winter break and then chat it up is very welcome to join me.

Only a little bit is left of the semester now! Best of luck to all during this final push.

2009-11-26T23:02:00.003-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving, ladies.

Mine is, of course, tomorrow, given the nature of the teaching profession + traveling, and mine, also, is the last poultry-laden one--at least for my plate. I'm transferring back to my vegetarian ways, which seems so very meek compared to the culinary appetites of the rest, but I have a mild dairy addiction and a love of wool and honey, which will keep me forever from crossing the boundaries to veganism.

Despite this, I cannot help but poke and prod at my little turkey-carcass, which is currently brining in the refrigerator I dis-assembled for holiday purposes. I'm feeling a bit accomplished, as if I could flex a little and a word or too might pop out of that tattoo.

I wanted to send a quick note of thanks for this Tuesday evening's Thai get-together. I hope we can find spaces of time to see each other more often; I'm becoming more energized and less frustrated with my over-exertion and am finally ready to put down the knitting needles (most of the time) and the cookbooks and thrust myself right back into academic life. Watch out, chapbook.

After the turkey, the editing. (And I brought along three manuscripts: Colleen's, Kevin's, Jasmin's plus any stray poems from us second years I neglected.) But mostly, the chapbook. I'm here, in Michigan: what better place to finish than in the place it began?

xo

september readings

2009-08-26T17:06:00.000-05:00

2: The Works @ Bryant Lake Bowl @ 7 pm ($6-$10)

11: Poets John Koethe and Joanna Rawson, 7:30 @ Common Good Books

11: Beloved on Earth: 150 Poems of Grief & Gratitude, 7 pm @ Loft

13: MFA program launch @ 7pm @ University Club of St Paul

18: John Minczeski publication reading, Loft @ 7 pm

22: Novelist and short story writer Jim Shepard, 7:30 pm, Coffman Theatre

23: Red Dragonfly Press poets, 7 pm @ Loft

29: Kate Greenstreet & Norma Cole, 7:30 pm @ Micawber’s

30: Maxine Hong Kingston @ Ted Mann, 7:30 pm

Responsible Traits

2009-08-09T23:28:00.006-05:00

I finished Kimiko Hahn's Narrow Road to the Interior on the megabus from Maryland to NYC. It was a good ride! My favorite poems/portions seem to fall at the beginning and end of the book, "Utica Station" and "Shelling" especially.

However I did ultimately decide not to assign this book in Intermediate Poetry. As a contemporary zuihitsu it aims for an improvisational feel, folding in emails, notes for course proposals, and other almost informal journal/diary elements with writing that we'd consider "poetic" in traditional ways. As a reader I enjoyed the variety of forms, but as a teacher I was concerned that undergraduate students could misinterpret Hahn's aims and use that misinterpretation as an excuse for slacking in their assignments. I'm always striving to get my students to reflect more upon their writing, and they seem to have enough clever arguments against revision ("First thought, best thought") without adding fuel to the fire. Have any of you had similar experiences?

Yet as a graduate student / developing writer I really appreciated the moments when Hahn pulls back the curtain and speaks frankly about her process and consideration of forms. Here's a great conversation-starter on prose poems:

Paragraphs absorb the emotionality differently than lineated poems. When I tried rendering a few scribbled paragraphs into conventional poems they did not work; there was an over-sentimentality that was not evident in paragraphs. It wasn't that the feeling was camouflaged, more, there was an absorption, an acceptance of emotion that the verse could not bear.

Those lines come from "Pulse and Impulse." But it was a different line from this work, a single sentence, that has had a powerful influence on my own thoughts about poetry lately:

Intuition, like subjectivity, is not treated as a valid, responsible trait.

This idea of subjectivity as a responsible trait has triggered a return to my old considerations of the role of the "I" in poetry. I've begun to wonder if poetry itself has a responsibility towards The Self, the subjective "I." In this way Hahn's writing has pointed towards a gap in my own, a responsibility I may have neglected... These thoughts are sure to influence the next few poems I write, I'm interested to see what will come of it!

I also enjoyed Hahn's loose tankas immensely, and it was in these that I could feel Bashō's presence the most. Here is a portion of "Wellfleet, Late Summer":

2
By the outdoor shower, the pine drop their needles in the sandy soil. By morning we find them in our double bed.

5
Rain a third day. We'll still walk at low tide to look for moving things. I can stop thinking about my daughter for a second.

9
When he picks a conch out of the bay it furls back inside. Who wouldn't?

17
Rolls of waves off Wellfleet. This could be Maui. I could be my mother.

19
At the beach I avoid the blankets of squalling children but miss my own.

25
Lying together on a towel, the sand flies bite us till we return to the rented bungalow. What strange foreplay!

33
Returning with bagels and the news, a cicada has fastened onto the screen door--a broach for a daughter I think I don't think enough of.

I love how thoughts of children continuously invade upon the scene of romantic seclusion / natural beauty, and the irony of feeling the daughter is not thought of often enough when she seems continuously present. But the exclamation about foreplay is so essentially Bashō to me, good stuff!

cited: Kahn, Kimiko. Narrow Road to the Interior. New York: Norton, 2006. 50, 62.

Right in the Nick of Time...

2009-07-28T13:37:00.010-05:00

Did I read Rita Dove's Thomas and Beulah while it was still July? You'd better believe it! Am I bicycling all the way to Saint Paul tomorrow because I didn't finish my grant application soon enough to put it in the mail? Yes indeedy.

Deadlines are marvelous, magical things, even when we're late or miss them entirely. It's wonderful to have something asked of you... but attach it to a specific date and the whole feeling's electrified. You will get SOMETHING done one way or another, even if it's not the thing you originally intended.

I believe it was at our very first poetry group meeting in McC's old apartment (sniff!) that I mentioned wanting to read Rita Dove's Thomas and Beulah. I'm glad I waited. This book, like The Pillow Book is of a stripe best read apart from the semester frenzy. It requires attention yes, but also patience, as you sort through the timeline in the back and try to fit all the pieces together.

The book is structured around the lives of Dove's maternal grandparents, or so the web tells me. It's organized into two sections: Mandolin, which conveys Thomas' experiences; and Canary in Bloom which provides Beulah's. There is a note in the beginning which specifies that the poems should be read in order as they are meant to tell two sides of a story. I've chosen a poem about work from each section to share here.

From Mandolin:

The Zeppelin Factory

The zeppelin factory
needed workers, all right--
but, standing in the cage
of the whale's belly, sparks
flying off the joints and noise thundering,
Thomas wanted to sit
right down and cry.

That spring the third
largest airship was dubbed
the biggest joke
in town, though they all
turned out for the launch.
Wind caught,
"The Akron" floated
out of control,

three men in tow--
one dropped
to safety, one
hung on but the third,
muscles and adrenalin
failing, fell
clawing
six hundred feet.

Thomas at night
in the vacant lot:
     Here I am, intact
     and faint-hearted.

Thomas hiding
his heart with his hat
at the football game, eyeing
the Goodyear blimp overhead:
     Big boy I know
     you're in there.

From Canary in Bloom:

Headdress

The hat on the table
in the dining room
is no pet trained
to sit still. Three
pearl-tipped spears and Beulah
maneuvering her shadow
to the floor. The hat
is cold. The hat
wants more.

(The customer will be
generous when satisfied
beyond belief. Spangled
tulle, then, in green
and gold and sherry.)

Beulah
would have settled
for less. She doesn't
pray when she's
terrified, sometimes, in-
side her skin like
today, humming
through a mouthful of pins.

Finished it's a mountain
on a dish, a capitol
poised on a littered shore.
The brim believes
in itself, its
double rose and feathers
ashiver. Extravagance
redeems. O
intimate parasol
that teaches to walk
with grace along beauty's seam.

Mostly I'm interested in hearing what others think. It's late and my brain-functioning is starting to slow. But one of the things that strikes me here and in all the poems is the progression of images. Instead of slipping into a scene by giving us the gradual zoom-in or zoom-out, Dove's movement is rapid and wildly unpredictable. She shoots around so much that it's often not until I've read through a poem 2/3 times, revisited what may have come before/after, and checked the chronology that I'm able to get a picture of the complete composition. This speaks to the complexity of her representations, and the good news is that they always pay off in the end.

I'm really interested in hearing what Molly and McC think, as they each have written about family before the program and during. Maybe Molly's post will have more about the dynamic between the lovers themselves, as my selections here don't speak to that. But this is certainly a compelling collection and I'm sure I'll have more to reflect upon it post-deadline!

cited: Dove, Rita. Thomas and Beulah. Pittsburgh: Carnegie-Mellon University Press, 1986.

2009-07-04T13:39:00.001-05:00

Happy 4th, everyone!

This month, Meryl and I are going to read Thomas and Beulah by Rita Dove. Please feel free to read along, comment / post, etc. Also please feel free to comment on our Pillow Book entries--just because we've finished the book ourselves doesn't mean the conversation is over.

Pillow Book, Part II

2009-06-21T23:00:00.002-05:00

I love the things I find when searching for images. For example, 6.5 stitches (a person I "follow" on her blog / Ravelry / Flickr) has an entry regarding integrating pieces from The Pillow Book and fiber in this post, something I think Maria would enjoy. She links to this website, which I have found compelling and makes me want this Friday's plane to take me deep into the pages I've been reading.

I also love associating books with particular periods of time or geographical locations--I'll forever associate reading Daniel Quinn's Ishmael with the redwood forests of California. And now, The Pillow Book will be linked to reading by lamplight in a rainy tent while camping and reading at the kitchen table while watching rain fall on the back patio in New Jersey.

The process of reading The Pillow Book was a bit cumbersome: the main text occupies the center, followed by nearly six hundred footnotes, as well as several appendices, which contain lists and maps and the like. Some footnotes are worth the trip: I especially loved #34 for the story of the Weaver and the Herdsman and the stars in the sky, #131 which told me the mandarin duck is the traditional symbol of conjugal love, #281 which explained that "demons had straw coats that made them invisible," and on. Some of the less useful notes would direct me to moments of obviousness or perhaps would go on about the court gossip (which Meryl liked) and didn't compel me.

I read with a pen, and often I found myself writing in the margins: "vanity" or "false modesty." I imagined Shonagon as the court tease, and indeed, this culture was lenient on promiscuity, with rules about sneaking away in the dawn, with poems and puns and letters and cherry blossom branches and code. The speaker does not often show patience--making lists of hateful things, or using the word "distasteful," or reciting people behaving not according to court rules and rankings.

Sometimes we'd get narrative, realization of her voice and how she must seem: "But I really must stop writing this kind of thing. If I were still young enough, I might risk the consequence of putting down such impieties, but at my present stage of life I should be less flippant" (21. A Preacher Ought to Be Good-Looking, pg. 53). Later, in 86, she ends, "But it is most unattractive to blow my own trumpet like this" (151). I am not certain how much awareness she had of a readership, but I do know the expectation of her role as poet is high, particularly due to her family tree. How often do we wish to bury an early draft, or edit what we write in blogs / writing notebooks, thinking others may actually care, point to gaffs, stumblings? How often are we simply having conversations with ourselves?

I laughed aloud at section 27, which was titled "Trees," in which Shonagon writes, "I realize that it is not a specific tree, but I must mention the name 'parasite tree' since I find it so moving" (65). I write in the margin: "Shonagon herself a kind of parasite." This is how she lives, off the whims of those ranked above her, entertaining herself by coquetry and delight (or distaste) in the world around her.

I especially loved her lists: Elegant things (duck eggs, wisteria blossoms), Herbs and Shrubs (wood-sorrel, shepherd's purse, a lawn of grass), Poetic Subjects (arrowroot, water oats, flat river-boats), Embarrassing Things (a man recites his own poems--not especially good ones--and tells one about the praise they have received--most embarrassing), Things That Lose by Being Painted (pinks), Things That Gain by Being Painted (pines, cranes and deer), Things That Give a Clean Feeling (an earthen cup, a new metal bowl, a rush mat, the play of light), Things That Give an Unclean Feeling (white snivel, and children who sniffle as they walk), Squalid Things (the back of a piece of embroidery), etc.

Some of the values resonate: celebrating gorgeous handwriting, the pleasure of collaboration, the desire to communicate in verse, the value put on poetry memorization, the appreciation of seasons.

I am not sure if Tale of the Genji is high on my reading list, given that I suspect this first novel will reflect more of court life than observation; instead, I would like to read more early Chinese and Japanese poetry. I'd like to see what I can learn about its history; I loved what Colleen C brought to Maria's at our end-of-the-year gathering, so I'd like to read more of this economical, muscular work. I'm also curious to read more of what came before Kimiko Hahn's collection of zhuitsu, in order to more fully appreciate it.

What is everyone reading right now? Anyone care to suggest something to read collectively for July? Something you might be considering for your thesis book list but aren't sure just yet? This has eased a little of my school withdrawal. :)

Occasions for Writing Poems: The Pillow Book

2009-06-21T15:30:00.003-05:00

I finished The Pillow Book yesterday before bed, and it was really lovely. This passage especially suited my summertime mood and the humid weather (that has thankfully lifted since):

During the hot months it is a great delight to sit on the veranda, enjoying the cool of the evening and observing how the outlines of objects gradually become blurred (Shōnagon 200).

This is definitely a book of careful observations. It doesn't surprise me that Molly felt most connected with the lists of things from the natural world. That's one of the aspects of Shōnagon as a "character" that interest me... she is the sort of woman who keenly feels the difference between "the moist, gentle wind" of the Third Month and "the cool, rainy wind in the Eighth and Ninth Months" (Shōnagon 193). That's not a distinction I personally can relate to, but I enjoy becoming immersed in a voice that does.

Shōnagon's certainly not always likable... she can be snobby and at times cruel. One of the more hilarious moments for me is in her list of "Unsuitable Things" where she bemoans the elegant effect falling snow can give to simple houses that don't deserve it:

Snow on the houses of common people. This is especially regrettable when the moonlight shines down on it (Shōnagon 71).

I must confess that my primary interest lies more in these aspects of character... and especially relationships. I found the courtroom and bedroom politics fascinating! I wish I could appreciate the plum blossoms and the child eating strawberries half as much as the lover sneaking away with dawn's dew... but it just doesn't hold the same appeal! The observations and images leant the book beauty, the gossip kept me reading :)

I usually do remember books pretty accurately, which is why The Tale of Genji's disappearance from the memory banks is particularly disturbing. But I guess I didn't connect with the book too powerfully in my younger years. Maybe someday I'll return to it... but for now I'm pretty excited about reading Basho alongside Kimiko Hahn's Narrow Road to the Interior: Poems. And since we might be doing Hahn as a group when it's Molly's turn to host, Matsuo Basho's Narrow Road to the Interior: And Other Writings going to occupy my next "Japanese literature slot" when I've sifted through some more Woolf and tattoo research books...

Here's one last quote to leave us all with:

When I woke up late at night, the moonlight was pouring in through the window and shining on the bed-clothes of all the other people in the room. Its clear white brillance moved me greatly. It is on such occasions that people write poems (Shōnagon 213).

cited: Shōnagon, Sei. The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon. Trans. Ivan Morris. New York: Columbia University Press, 1991.

Pillow Book, Part 1

2009-06-18T21:47:00.004-05:00

I haven't had the chance to keep up with our schedule, but I'm determined to complete the book this weekend. After my second round of the flu, a rained out camping experience, and, now, daytime baby-sitting of my two nephews halfway across the country, I've mainly kept my reading restricted to escape.

Nonetheless, I have gotten through a large portion of The Pillow Book to have some concept of what is in store. Patterns have begun to emerge, and I have a few thoughts / questions for you, Meryl, and anyone else who happens upon this book and this blog at the same time:

- First, I must say, I love the idea of reading along with someone else. It forces me to look quite a bit closer, to read with a pen in hand (which I always want to do, but simultaneously feel shy about doing so--I encourage my students to write tons in their own books, to have conversations with the text, but then I don't do so myself, often because I know I'm going to end up giving the book away, but if it's to my friends, perhaps they'd be entertained at my outraged marginalia), to wonder what someone else might consider in a particular instance or moment within the narrative.

- That said, I know I need to read The Tale of the Genji. (Do I hear Genji read along...?)

- Meryl, you mentioned not being able to recall much about the above mentioned novel... I am the same with books too, even my favorites. I've begun to write a little bit after each book I read on Good Reads, partly to assert ownership over my reading experience, but also because a certain number of stars doesn't tell me the why of the experience. I love that I can't remember, in some ways, because re-reading a book that was once a favorite can be like reading it for the first time, but I must also add that I've recently begun to take fish oil to help with my memory issues. :) It goes beyond reading... (And I'm the same with movies as you, M: for instance, with the Harry Potter books, I'd forget the plot details, but as soon as a film adaptation was made, I'd recall the basic structure, which kind of ruined the tradition of re-reading the string just before the next book came out.)

- You wrote in your email about translation, how the Genet was gorgeous as a result (I agree; I don't think I would have ordinarily loved that book as much if it weren't for the talent of the translator--unless, of course, I could successfully read it in the original), and I think it's interesting to read Ivan Morris' introductory essay where he mentions adjusting the language as the repetition doesn't work as well in translation, but I kept thinking, "Oh, another delightful thing, or oh, another unpleasant thing." The language isn't singing, and with the translator introduction and notes, I get the impression that he has approached this more as a compelling historical document than a piece of poetry in prose.

- My favorites are the lists.

- I loved reading this while camping. Saturday was awful, as far as camping goes--it rained just before the sun came up and continued on through the entire day and into the night. (A little storm is one thing, but constant rain is pretty impressive!) There was a moment when Ryan was napping with the dogs in the tent, Angie had gone to seek drier ground in her shelter tent, and the two boys had gone into town in search of hot cocoa mix and mint Schnapps. I was left alone in our muddier shelter tent with the ice fishing heater (it was in the 50s, and we were all wearing these bizarre layers of clothing cobbled together from knapsacks and trunk storage), the pages of The Pillow Book damp and curling, my hands in fingerless gloves, my feet bouncing on the damp ground, and it was a perfect escape. I felt fully lost in the world of proper layered dress (plum and white), of monthly festivals, of speaking behind a screen, of lovers leaving by the moonlight, of poetry recitation.

I suppose for questions:

- Do you find the "character" of Sei Shonagon appealing? It seems strangely to judge her as if she were fictional, but thus far, she doesn't feel terribly dynamic, and part of that comes with translation, part of that comes with the function of the diary format, part of that comes with the reader-writer relationship. It seems the concerns are so overly focused on proper behavior, though I don't live in a world where proper behavior matters so much--at home, it's just me and my husband and two dogs and two cats. I just have to make sure those five are fed and walked, and we're in pretty good shape. I probably wear white after Labor Day, though, depending on laundry day status, I'm pretty careful about that whole brown-black-navy thing. But my concerns are not her concerns, and I suppose, truly, that's more of a cultural / time gap than anything else.

- As I said before, I enjoy the lists the most, particularly the ones in which Shonagon explores the natural world. This partly comes from my location while reading (camping with the rain pattering on the roof), but it's mostly because I am most interested in specificity, and to be more specific (ha.), it's the language and symbolism of the natural world that interest me the most. My question would then be: what about you? Which parts draw you in the most? (The least?)

And to all: this, of course, isn't all addressed to Meryl and if you are reading this post in the future, feel free to respond as well. I love the idea of community reading, of the conversations that follow.

Pillow Book Read-Along

2009-06-05T16:31:00.003-05:00

Meryl and I are reading Ivan Morris' translation of The Pillow Book this month, and I thought I'd send a little note out to see if anyone else would like to join us. I know the first date is tomorrow, but I'm camping this weekend, and Meryl and her husband are headed to the Apostle Islands until Thursday, so we won't be able to start the conversation until nearly a week from now anyway. I like the idea of reading a book collectively, slowly, discussing it. Like school without all the complications.

Part One: Sections 1-55... read by Saturday June 6
Part Two: Sections 55-116... read by Saturday June 13th
Part Three: Sections 116-185... read by Saturday June 20th

2009-05-27T15:09:00.002-05:00

As some of you already know, I took a letterpress course this past weekend at the Minnesota Center for the Book Arts, and I've come away thoroughly enamored. I've even begun the frustrating and arduous search for my own platen press (oh, if only a Vandercook were even remotely realistic...) I thought it would be lovely, once I get one, once I get the swing of it, if we put together broadsides of our own poems, maybe had them at those readings we talk about having one day...

I look forward to Friday's field trip to Crystal Caves. Don't forget to bring a cave poem! I have to remember which one of those poetry books I found mine in... this one book a day thing has been a bit interesting, mostly ridiculous as I try to keep up with everything else, but good for me in that I've discovered new voices, and now I have a stack of books I'd like to pass along to you all--books I know I won't re-read or revisit, and you can then feel free to pass them along also.

xo

Collaborative Projects

2009-05-08T23:51:00.002-05:00

I've recently finished reading Nice Hat. Thanks. as well as Exquisite Politics, both books published by two poets in collaboration. It's interesting to "hear" the ways the collaboration might be obvious or not. I think Denise Duhamel and Maureen Seaton were more successful in creating something of a singular voice in their exercises--I don't feel a shift as I move from line to line as much (though I do, at times) as I did with the other collaboration.

I've decided to spend a little time this may learning more about collaborative projects, and I started before Maria even had us "staring something," but mainly in reaction to that first AWP panel on 7 Poets, 4 Days, 1 Book. The panel itself felt fairly flat, but the project intrigues me. And I know so many professors (and others) keep insisting that this is the time for us to make contacts, that we will eventually promote one another's careers in editing together, publishing for one another, buying each other's work, attending readings, and on. I wonder if this isn't also the best time to experiment in more formal collaboration? I'd be interested to hear what you all think.

One last thing: I posted a few pictures over on my solo blog from MD's last class and the last Dislocate reading. You know, if you're curious.

xo

Rachel Zucker on the "I" in Poetry

2009-04-27T16:37:00.002-05:00

Just read this essay to procrastinate further on end-of-semester work. But it was worth it! Funny and insightful. Rachel Zucker invents these "ality" and "istic" terms to cover a diverse range of orientations around selfhood in poetry. Here's a piece:

There needs to be risk. Confessionalistic poetry is more risky than Autobiographicality. Autobiographicality, no matter how disturbing in content, is always the story of a life, of what happened, of circumstance and event. Confessionalistic poetry is the splitting open of self, a minor chord before and without resolution. A shopping list read aloud, even with gusto, with style, is not Confessionalistic, even if you intend to buy parmesan, pull-ups, and heroin. The risk in a poem that relies heavily on Autobiographicality is usually a risk of content. Privacy, reputation, and decency, may all be risked by the Autobiographicalistic poet. But the Confessionalistic poet risks more; she is willing to undermine the boundaries of self. Often, she is writing at the frayed edge of the genre in the busy interstitial space between neurons.

Molly and I heard Rachel Zucker speak at AWP with D. A. Powell, Carl Phillips and others on "Beyond the Song of Oneself: The Intersection of the Personal and the Public in Poetry." It was my favorite panel!

2009-04-21T15:08:00.003-05:00

Check it out: PotLatch Poetry

From the website:

PotLatch Poetry promotes a gift and exchange economy surrounding poetry books, chapbooks, journals and ephemera: a revolving bookshelf, moving material through the hands of writers across the world.

PotLatch is concerned with the inherent limitations of a regionalized, institutionalized, capitalized or otherwise constrained exchange of literature. It exists to enliven and expand a spirit of trading and gifting.

Every item on PotLatch is either for free or trade.

We hope you find what you're looking for, and share what you have!

First Books 3/26/09

2009-03-28T16:43:00.008-05:00

A reading and panel discussion regarding one's first literary publication, with Salvatore Scibona, novel, The End (Graywolf Press) nominated for the National Book Award; Nicole Johns, memoir, Purge: Rehab Diaries (Seal Press); and Kao Kalia Yang, memoir, The Latehomecomer (Coffee House Press) nominated for a Minnesota Book Award.

It was a nice evening, well-attended by prospective students and the local literary community. I was the only program poet there... and tired and stressed and generally not in good form. When it came time for Q & A I slurred a question about poetry publishing that included the phrase "Gray House." Oh dear.

The readings were fantastic. I've heard parts of The Latehomecomer before, and this different excerpt did not disappoint. Kao Kalia Yang has a high-pitched voice that contributes to her memoir's urgent tone. It's always nice to get more exposure to the work of recent program grads, and Nicole Johns' work was excellent. Salvatore Scibona's novel was lively and inventive, his demeanor charming and funny.

The panel discussion wasn't too relevant to poetry publishing, about literary agents and decisions on the numbers of copies to print. The response to my question was basically that since poetry is "protected" from the marketplace there are generally less unknown factors: print-runs will always be small. But the comments about author-promotion apply to poets very much. The panelists emphasized forming relationships with people in the literary community: your fellow students will one day be running journals and reading series... keep in touch for your book tour! "Web-Presence" is also important, and they seemed to think we should be cultivating that nebulous entity now... which probably means I should stop avoiding those social networking sites, ugh! Author websites were also mentioned, but that's a step I personally don't feel the need to take until one has a book to sell. Unless of course you have a super-dope project like CAM!!!

Edit: on the subject of author websites, I've added links to the three readers. They certainly represent a diverse range of styles/approaches.

2009-03-27T01:55:00.002-05:00

Just a quick question: Anyone interested in the Bly Conference? It's $25 for students until the end of this month.

power politics

2009-03-24T20:16:00.003-05:00

Plath: me too, me too. When I first read The Bell Jar, I felt intimate with Sylvia. It was something about the body, merging with an(other) abject current, and there finding a voice. Now I sometimes wonder if I read Plath's death into her writing - and feel guilty that my reader's tooth/claw might have preyed upon her actual turmoil. But in whatever scorched earth, the ecstasy of Plath's language - its own carnival - disarms. So: maybe violence doesn't thrive here after all, even that which I fear in myself-as-reader. Plath's generous tumult seems to generate more of itself, with or without me.

Which is why I have to share this section of a four part poem by Adrienne Rich, "For Ethel Rosenberg," which features in an anthology I'm reading for my nuclear study, Atomic Ghost: Poets Respond to the Nuclear Age.

But first, a slightly sheepish plug for Fission Kitchen, where I'm studying nuclear power, from bombs to bulbs, from light to might: Visit http://fissionkitchen.tumblr.com to learn more and take a short, anonymous nuclear survey.

iv.
Why do I even want to call her up
to console my pain (she feels no pain at all)
why do I wish to put such questions

to ease myself (she feels no pain at all
she finally burned to death like so many)
why all this exercise of hindsight?

since if I imagine her at all
I have to imagine first
the pain inflicted on her by women

her mother testifies against her
her sister-in-law testifies against her
and how she sees it

not the impersonal forces
not the historical reasons
why they might have hated her strength

If I have held her at arm's length till now
if I have believed it was
my loyalty, my punishment at stake

if I dare imagine her surviving
I must be fair to what she must have lived through
I must allow her to be at last

political in her ways not in mine...

(1980)

plath / hughes

2009-03-23T19:50:00.010-05:00

I was thirteen when I first read The Bell Jar.

I grew up in Chattanooga, went to an arts and sciences magnet school (where a second language was learned from kindergarten on, where theatre and art were a regular part of the curriculum, and dissections of nurse sharks occurred in the parking lot) and we had summer reading lists. I think The Bell Jar was one of the options for freshmen, though I could be wrong. Did those list-makers know, when they put together that list, how much angst they were encouraging in their students? I had moved by the time I spotted it on the list, but being the reader that I am, I asked a friend to save her copy of the list (which includes all the grades' assignments) so I wouldn't miss out.

And I fell in love.

And I expanded to Anne Sexton and read Girl, Interrupted in the summer sun (while my mother changed a flat--I remember sitting on a park bench in downtown Appleton while my father looked on; gender roles in our house were always a little muddy).

When I was fifteen, I photocopied pictures from Plath's biographies and put them up my bedroom wall, which was entirely made of cork and tucked away in the basement.

And when I started my undergraduate career here at the U of MN, Frieda Hughes came to what was then called The Hungry Mind bookstore (later Ruminator, and after expanding to a second store in the Open Book, it folded), located on Grand just next to Macalaster. I made my friend Jesse come with me; this was my first "author event." (I was nineteen.) Hughes was touring to promote her own book of poetry, Wooroloo, and I sat, rapt, and guiltily kept thinking: This is the daughter of Sylvia Plath, this is the daughter of Sylvia Plath.

And, as you may have already heard, the son of Sylvia Plath committed suicide last week.

These kinds of things always rock me a bit, the early losses of people whose lives have always been in my periphery. (A side note: I'd been going through a Natasha Richardson marathon last week--Gothic and Evening and The Handmaid's Tale--and then.)

So my question to all of you, I suppose, is this: who is it for you? Maybe it was in high school, maybe some other time, but who moved you in such ways, in the days before poetry became a daily part of your life? Who began to open up those doors for you? Plath started it for me, and Sharon Olds really cemented it, among others, but I'm curious as to your beginnings.

Grading Poetry Portfolios

2009-03-15T15:26:00.003-05:00

Are pedagogy posts allowed? I wish I wasn't thinking about teaching over break, but I just handed back a stack of poetry portfolios on Friday and it's taken this long to catch up on lost sleep. So my mind hasn't had much of a chance yet to turn to other things, but now I'll get the grading out of my system and move on!

This was my first experience using a rubric to grade creative work, and I have to admit I was surprised about how well it turned out. There were a couple portfolios that didn't seem as well served by the categories, but for the vast majority of them I felt like I was giving more detailed feedback than I would have been with solely a paragraph of comments. I had room to type a little over 100 words to each student, and the grid freed me to discuss specifics in that space.

There is a companion sheet to this rubric that specifies what each category means (ex: within rhythm they're asked to think about their line breaks, stanzas, and punctuation) that I handed out on the first day. Then of the 3-4 poems that were required I asked that at least one be dramatically rethought and approached an entirely different way through revision, while all must employ basic nuance-based editing.

I have overcome my resistance to rubrics and will definitely be using them in the future! Where do you all weigh in?

april events / deadlines

2009-03-13T21:49:00.006-05:00

Events:
- 4/2: John Graber will read from his collection of poems Thanksgiving Dawn at Best of Times Bookstore in Red Wing at 7 pm.
- 4/14: Bill Holm (with Robert Bly, hosted by Fred Child) tribute produced by MPR at Fitzgerald Theatre at 7:30 pm. Tickets are $25, with proceeds going to a Bill Holm fund for authors, artists, and community programs. Tickets available on 3/18 by calling 651-290-1221
- 4/16: Free Verse at the Walker. Discussion of collaborative artists' books. 7 pm.
- 4/17: Tina Chang and Ravi Shankar, editors of Language for a New Century. Reading and discussion. 7 pm at The Loft.
- 4/21: Sandra Cisneros at Talking Volumes.
- 4/28: St Paul Poets. With readings by Naomi Cohn, Jim Heynen, Leslie Adrienne Miller, John Minczeski, and Mary Jo Thomps

Deadlines:
- 4/6: Gesell Summer Residency at the Anderson Center for two week residency in July 2009. Cover letter stating intended creativing work project. Selected by CW faculty. Due 222 Lind by 4 pm.

Also: Graywolf is celebrating spring cleaning with a free book giveaway until the end of March on their website. More information here.

Also always, please leave comments on this post so I can add more deadlines and events!

Dislocate Reading

2009-03-12T01:34:00.005-05:00

The reading was lovely and full; I really admire Morgan and Amy Mae and Shantha's work a great deal, and it was nice to hear it. I'd also read Laura Flynn's Swallow the Ocean in the autumn; it's always good to hear work out loud.

The next reading is in April with Wang Ping. I'll have to do an April events / deadlines post fairly soon, as that month is sure to be busy!

See the rest of the photos here.

PS: Also, apologies if I am absent from Maria's class tomorrow. I am now officially a juror, and this case could go into next week. I can't believe the amount of nuttiness this semester: snowstorms and poetry festivals, sick professors and AWP.

J=O=H=N C=A=Y=L=E=Y

2009-03-07T12:31:00.002-06:00

This past Thursday Maria Damon's seminar on Bodies + Knowing attended a conversation between John Cayley and Rita Raley (a former professor of mine, actually, back in the fall of 1999 when I was an undergraduate here--I remember Freida Hughes, the daughter of Plath and Ted Hughes, had done a reading of her own work at what was then the Hungry Mind [later Ruminator, and then, sadly, it closed, my favorite bookstore of all time]--and I told Raley and she told me about another poetry something, to which I somehow replied that "poetry wasn't really my thing"--funny how things work out) in the e-poetry series. All of us minus CAM attended, laptops open (minus my own, whose battery did completely die on me yesterday and the plug-in is feisty, so I believe I might be in the market for a new laptop--drat), listening to song and distorted language, an eerie experience with the lights shut in a small fusty university room.

Different moments of the presentation, I think, both repelled and interested us--or at least, for me, I felt both reactions, sometimes simultaneously. I curled in on myself, feeling protective of books as books, as two covers, pages in between, curious about how technology can serve the written word, but very taken with the book as an object, and much more interested in the book as a work of art than the book as a technological experience.

However, I had never encountered "the cave" before, which just adds a bit to my lack of awareness in technology--the program medical students used and have abandoned for better, stronger, faster (my husband informs me that our very university has developed the cave in new technology--I'm wanting for synonyms here--which does not require the 8x8 room but can be projected nearly anywhere)--and Cayley simulated an undergraduate program using the cave as a surface on which to write, a three dimensional experience that would have been pretty amazing with those trick glasses, the strange cacophony around us, etc. I wasn't entirely interested in what was written though, and I think that is for two reasons--one, I was too distracted by the program itself, and two, the writing itself was not terribly compelling.

However, I was thinking about what other poets could do with a room like that, could do with a space, a kind of performance of their own work. I know I'd be interested to see what certain classmates of mine might do with it, but I'm trying to think of those big name poets, who might be able to do something truly interesting with the cave's parameters. The poet would have to be incredibly aware of timing and space, something I believe is lacking in my own work. This, to me, indicates where I ought to turn--what poets, then, might you hire for the cave? Living or dead, no limit, collaboration considered as well.

Louise Gluck: Edelstein-Keller Lecture

2009-03-06T01:45:00.009-06:00

I have selected four favorites to post above and dedicate them to each of you in (lastname) alphabetical order: Amanda, ColleenC, Meryl, ColleenM.

xo

And all so-called decent photos are here.

A Post! A Post! My blogdom for a post!

2009-03-05T19:48:00.003-06:00

Lunch yesterday with Louise Gluck ruled for the following reasons:

1. Vegan food was scarce, so I was only eating fruit. Gluck was also only eating fruit, which means we had some small thing in common.

2. We talked about her recent poem in the New Yorker and how willing folks were to (mis)read autobiography into it ("I didn't know your father drank!") as well as to approach it as a short story.

3. Gluck spoke of the value reading prose, especially fiction in manuscript form, has had for her in helping to structure a book of poems. She also mentioned the merit of murder mysteries, or any other guilty pleasure, in giving the conscious mind a rest and allowing the subconscious to replenish itself.

4. Allowing for differences in process, she didn't put much stock into a nun-like renouncing of distractions in favor of rigid writing schedules. Gluck said she's found it impossible to force herself to write, and has gotten used to long periods of silence followed by periods of intense productivity. This is what she believes has made it possible for each of her books to have unique aims instead of working in the same vein as the last.

5. Finally, as Amanda commented on earlier, Gluck spoke of alternating between horizontal and vertical tonal shapes in her books, finding her newest project (_The Village Life_, coming this fall) to be more landscape-oriented and to call for a flatter language.

book arts

2009-03-03T18:36:00.005-06:00

In MDB's poetry workshop this past semester we gave presentations on elements from the outside world that drew us as writers. I spoke of photography, and Colleen C gave a presentation on Chicago art, which included Brian Dettmer, I believe. I had discovered him only a few months earlier, and his work is always so surprising and gorgeous to me. I've always loved the idea of altered texts, of creating artwork from the book as object, and have been enamoured especially with the talent of broadside artists.

This is why I am so excited to be taking a letterpress course with Scott King at Red Dragonfly. The Anderson Arts Center is really such a wonderful organization, and it's lovely to have this place so nearby. In fact, this collective out to mark July 11th on their calendar in hopes of a Red Wing field trip; this is the summer celebration of the arts, where you can tour the studios of the artists-in-residence, purchase some of their work, enjoy music, and lie in the sprawling lawn amongst the sculptures.

I've included some images and links here that intrigue me as well as two events at the bottom that are book and art related. I feel that Colleen C is more of an expert on this subject and hope she'll post / comment some on this topic.

In the meanwhile, who else is going to see Louise Gluck? Anyone going to the lunch? I teach at 12:20, so I'll be able to sit in on nineteen minutes of the lunch, but I will be photographing the reception and reading / lecture, as I did for Junot Diaz, so that evens things out a little.

Jacquline Rush Lee

Cara Barer

Brian Dettmer: Book Autopsies

Walker Arts Center: Text/Message. December 19 2009 - April 19 2009.
While literature is often a point of departure, artists’ books often bear little resemblance to conventional volumes. Many are sculptural, multidimensional, or made of material other than paper—some have no pages at all. Over the past three decades, the Walker has amassed a significant collection of books by artists, now numbering some 2,000 objects. Many of these are housed in the Walker’s library, where they have long been an insider favorite. Staff and visitors conducting research cannot help but be drawn in by librarian Rosemary Furtak’s enthusiasm for the eclectic collection, which has been steadily growing under her watch since the early 1980s. The library, says Furtak, “tries to have books by all artists represented in our permanent collection who have made books.” She is also “constantly trying to balance the need for new titles with an attempt to acquire out-of-print material that might represent a significant period or style of bookmaking.” Examples include books by Surrealists and Futurists, elegant tomes conceived by artists such as Robert Motherwell and Ellsworth Kelly, conceptual projects by Lawrence Weiner, humorously subversive books by Karen Finley, Mike Kelley, and Paul McCarthy, and rare illustrated editions such as Salavdor Dali’s take on Alice in Wonderland. Usually accessible to the public only by appointment, these items are now brought together in a major exhibition.

Co-organized by Furtak and Walker curator Siri Engberg, the show highlights this important trove of material, which is supplemented with pieces from the museum’s collection. Showcasing examples from a broad range of artistic movements, the books and book-based works on view come from some of the most recognizable names in contemporary art as well as lesser known artists. The process of selecting the works in Text/Messages: Books by Artists was a fascinating endeavor for the curators, who found the premise of the exhibition to be an ideal opportunity to explore many areas within the Walker’s collections. Even in today’s digital age, artists’ continued engagement with books—as medium, material, and subject—is evidence, say Engberg and Furtak, that this is an area of artistic invention alive with ideas and possibilities.

Minnesota Center for the Book Arts: Reflections. March 20 - May 3 2009.
Text + Image: Collaborative Broadsides from the MCBA Archives
March 20 – May 3; Open Book Lobby Gallery
Text + Image presents an historic format for the pairing of writing and art -- the collaborative broadside. Words, phrases, verses and stanzas are paired with drawings, calligraphy, illuminations and symbolic imagery in over 20 contemporary works.

march events / deadlines

2009-03-01T21:42:00.003-06:00

March Events:
- 3/11: Dislocate reading at Magers + Quinn
- 3/11: MDB reading at The Loft
- 3/18 + 3/19: Martin Espada at Hamline
- 3/25: St Paul Poets
- 3/26: First Books at McNamara

March Deadlines:
- 3/13: Academy of American Poets: James Wright Prize for Poetry.
- 3/20: BreadLoaf application deadline.
- 3/27: Artwords: Writing at the Weisman.
- 3/27: Gesell Awards in Fiction, Poetry and Creative Nonfiction.
- 3/30: Marcella Debourg Fellowship.
- 3/30 Finishing Line Press Women's Voices chapbook deadline.

a few from _playing the black piano_

2009-03-01T15:19:00.003-06:00

Icelandic Recycling on a Summer Night
for Wincie

Toward midnight, the sky pinks up.
The low cloud at the bottom of Tindastoll
turns the color of wild grapes.
Inside four women sit around a table,
oblivious to natural phenomena,
folding plastic bags
into neat white triangles.
"Ever so much nicer to store!"
They are performing women's work:
tidying up the garbage
until it looks like modern sculpture.
They have seen it all before:
midnight sun, revolution, disease, chaos.
Their female wisdom comprehends
there is nothing to be done about chaos,
except bring order and harmony
to plastic bags as if they were
wandering children needing to be tucked
in neatly for the long night.

------

Capitalist Music on Luoshi Road--Wuhan 1992

At the Sunday street market, three shabby men, the Music Torture Orchestra, move from peddler to peddler. The erhu player scratches out a tune that sounds like Grand Old Opry. The young one sings in a harsh falsetto clacking his two loud sticks to keep time. The wizened old man on a crutch holds out his palm till money crosses it.

At the feel of a few jiao, the music stops in midstroke. Crutch hops to the next peddler with newly empty palm, and the tune resumes until more jiao appear. The peddlers pay up grudgingly so that real customers can come spend. The music production racket moves on.

A hundred peddlers at their Sunday stalls in earshot. Sometimes the trio gets out only a few scratchy bars, only a few stick clacks, before the bought silence. Sometimes a stubborn peddler makes them finish a whole verse. Maybe he likes this free market music better than haggling over cabbages or reed brooms.

This backward jukebox disappears down the street, diminuendo poco a poco, crutch hopping from stall to stall like a human metronome.

------

The Sea Eats What it Pleases

If you turn your back to the ocean
Do you think the tide will not find you
If it decides to rise a little higher
Than usual, to swallow an extra helping
Of gravel, to suck on your bones to clean
Its palate? The sea eats what it pleases
Whether you face it or give it your back.
No use having opinions about this.
But the sea does not hate you, or imagine
That you have wounded it with your avarice.
You cannot blaspheme the honor of water
Or insult the tide for tasting of salt.
Only humans, so newly risen from fish,
Imagine drowning each other for reasons.

------

It's always curious when one person plucks out a few poems from a collection, deems it somehow representative. I may have turned one away from Bill Holm, may have alerted another to something radiant. (Meaning, my choice of, as it's all up to Bill Holm's words to push either way. I may have created a collision, or perhaps highlighted the "wrong" poems.) MDB said he was surpised at which poem of his Garrison Keillor selected for his Writer's Almanac, as was my friend Greg Watson (though pleased at being selected at all). For my book club, which consists of a high school English teacher, a friend who works with computers, and an entomologist, I selected Good Poems for its readability; many of my favorite poets appeared there (Maxine Kumin standing out in memory the best, also Joyce Sutphen and probably Adrienne Rich) but certainly not my favorite poems by these authors--and as we paged through the anthology, discussing favorites and why, I found myself wanting to create a companion anthology, one that highlights better samples from those writers.

I found reading this book this weekend haunting, especially with the large number of references to the poet's grave, the poet's mortality, living after loved ones are gone. The last:

Letting Go of What Cannot be Held Back

Let go of the dead now.
The rope in the water,
the cleat on the cliff,
do them no good anymore.
Let them fall, sink, go away,
become invisible as they tried
so hard to do in their own dying.
We needed to bother them
with what we called help.
We were the needy ones.
The dying do their own work with
tidiness, just the right speed,
sometimes even a little
satisfaction. So quiet down.
Let them go. Practice
your own song. Now.

Bill Holm, 1943-2009

2009-02-27T15:14:00.006-06:00

Photo: Brian Peterson, Star Tribune

This image is gorgeous, I think. What a beautiful portrait and the colors, so rich, the backdrop so important to what I've learned was key in Bill Holm's work, that sense of place and culture.

I picked up his book Playing the Black Piano on a trip to the Minnesota Center for the Book Arts, curious of what else Eireann's publisher has put out.

There are many tributes up on the internet:

- Star Tribune

Holm wrote his drafts in longhand on yellow note pads, and because Buchwald could not decipher his handwriting, he hired a typist to transcribe them. "I would give him written comments, and he would give his rebuttal. He was never tactful, but that's all right," Buchwald said. "He was forthright. He never turned down a comment or suggestion that he felt might genuinely help the book along."

Holm taught for 27 years at Southwest Minnesota State University at Marshall. "Boxelder Bug Variations" came about because of an assignment he gave his students, who complained that they had nothing to write about, out there on the prairie. "He told them, 'That's ridiculous! You can write about anything!'" Buchwald said. "A boxelder bug was crawling across his desk, and he said, 'You can write about this!' And he gave them that assignment. And then he gave it to himself."

- Marshall Independent

While Holm wrote his works, it was often Sandy Mosch, a long-time SMSU administrative assistant in the English department, who typed them because Holm did not use a computer.

Mosch said she typed Holm's books and poems for many years.

"He wrote them in longhand," she said.

- MPR

Holm was an occasional guest on A Prairie Home Companion radio show on American Public Media. The program's host, Garrison Keillor, called Holm a great man.

"And unlike most great men, he really looked like one. 6 foot 8 inches, big frame, and a big white beard and a shock of white hair, a booming voice, so he loomed over you like a prophet and a preacher, which is what he was," said Keillor.

"I wish I'd been there to catch him as he fell," Keillor continued. "I hope his Icelandic ancestors are waiting to welcome him to their rocky corner of heaven. I hope his piano goes to someone who will love it as much as he did. I hope that people all across Minnesota will pick up one of his books and see what the man had to say."

- Guernica

And:

2009-02-26T13:36:00.002-06:00

ArtWords 2009 Application: due March 27th, noon. I think one of us should win it, don't you?

awp: chicago, february 2009

2009-02-26T00:15:00.005-06:00

1: Dean Young, Ravi Shankar, Tony Barnstone + Nathalie Handal, Annie Finch
2: K Silem Mohammad, Cole Swensen, Brenda Hillman, Forrest Gander
3: Major Jackson, Paul Muldoon, Marie Ponsot, Valzhyna Mort
4: Marilynne Robinson, Bharati Mukherjee, Alex Lemon, Eireann Lorsung
5: Nick Flynn, Carolyn Forche, Honor Moore, Donald Hall
6: Carolyn Forche + Donald Hall, Rachel Zucker, Carl Philips, Erin Belieu
7: Tony Hoagland, Marie Howe, Victoria Redel, Elise Paschen

The facts: my first year among many firsts this year--first year in an MFA program, first year working on a literary magazine, first year as a reliant wife. Chicago, only five or six hours away from home, a flat drive from here to there, an abundance of folks to meet up with.

The highlights: shall I even say it? Being called "her Molly" by Carolyn Forche and the reminder to send more poems, the star struck feeling of glimpsing those poets I adore, being introduced to still more I ought to be aware of, the heavy books I anticipate reading, seeing old friends (hello Eireann, Betsy!) the meals with good friends (thanks, Colleen, Bart, Amanda, Brian, Meryl, Sheena) and good conversation. The wonder of the city and the silent shudder of the L train by my room, reminding me of nights in Winona as my husband worked on his own Master's degree.

The lowlights: in the dim, that overwhelming-ness--the nights, trying to fall asleep, with that awful whir in my mind. It would take an hour or so from the light's click to my own release, so much was weighing on my mind--transfering from thoughts on panels to thoughts on the semester (to thoughts on the unkemptness of my home).

Next year: Denver? I say yes. This year, bring the husband, rent a car, spend an extra day in Ft Collins (a little windpowered brewery we adore), and hope that dear friends come as well.

xo

2009-02-24T22:47:00.002-06:00

Life Above the Permafrost
- Alice Fulton

All winter the trees tossed in their coma.
Beneath them fields unrolled
like a pallet. Snow came,
the universal donor, the connective
in all the ready metaphors:
sky coarse as hotel linen,
bedsheets the half-white of rice
paper. That kinship.

Prone as the land,
I wanted each day to start
the way the body starts in sleep: a reflex
of sun, mimosa explosions. Not
the window's slow tap of sky,
light rising like sap
in maples, and even the maples
warted with sparrows
too frigid to fly South.
Those trees needed wild flamingos, at least,
to break their drowse.

In bed, my nails raked
the chenille spread, its whitework
like a mulch of snow. Snug as a corm
in its coldframe, the heart
shied from my five-fingered tongs.

Now there are parasol garnishes
on the rum drinks of summer, Adirondack
chairs with wind in the slats. Your arms band
me like a migratory bird. I think,
this must be life
above the permafrost. The raised candle-
wicking of the quilt
cornrows our skin. Our fingers braid
like aerial roots.

You make me want
to stop tending relics in my head,
that well-stocked potter's field:
just listen to the insects'
adenoidal plainsong all day long,
enamored of the keynote, the tonic.

(from Dance Script With Electric Ballerina, 1983)