DEAR POE-ETTES,
Tuesday August 17, 2010 6:40 am, The Ville
I see in this morning’s New York Times that Clint Eastwood has a new film “Hereafter” about to be shown at the New York Film Festival. In the film Eastwood tackles issues of death, near-death, and the so-called afterlife—a timely topic for many of us. For me in particular because I was going to recommend to you all this past week Helen Vendler’s newest book Last Looks, Last Books by Princeton University Press. I cannot recommend it strongly enough to poets interested in poetry.
The “last looks” part of the book refers to a supposed tradition of the Irish who, near death, go out amongst their favorite fields, etc. to get a last peek before they die. A kind of meet your maker. As in: this is who I was, this is who I am, this is the who who will shortly never be.
The “last books” part refers to poets who through their written work express their ideas, feelings, and general sentiments about their last looks. That is, what they say about death and how they try to make sense of their “passing” into whatever happens when we die. To say afterlife is to already have begged the question.
This grand dame of American letters at Harvard—she is as great one; Wikipedia reminds us that in 2004 the National Endowment for the Humanities selected her for the Jefferson Lecture, the highest honor for achievement in the humanities the United States government gives out—tackles the last books of Wallace Stevens, Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell, Elizabeth Bishop, and James Merrill, five of my favorites. I mean how much has been said about Plath’s handing of her humanity and what death would do to enhance it.
Vendler says that poets—who work outside religious traditions such as Christianity and others religions which have packaged ideas about death and how to handle it in life—in effect have to create their own idioms and rituals through their making of poems. And those words are not icing on a cake, but a way a person/poet can pass into an unknown that is unimaginable, (or is it?) territory, a switch in consciousness, the off-switch. I could say more, let me just say I recommend it highly.
And, by the bye, I just got a note from Amazon that her Dickinson: Selected Poems and Commentaries which was scheduled to come out in September will be out next week. I cannot wait to see her take on Emily. I recommend this as well, one grand dame examining the work of another American great. This is fireside reading.
W/r/t the first book of hers I mentioned here on last looks, I was reminded of a piece that Peter Brown wrote in The New York Review of Books in 2008 “The Private Art of Early Christians” reviewing an exhibition at the Kimball Art Museum in Fort Worth, Texas. It made me want to live in Fort Worth for a day to see it. The exhibit lasted from November 2007 to March 2008.
Why I bring this piece up is that Brown points to the earliest remnants of Christian art from private homes which tell stories about life and dialectically death. There was a rather “secular” [not a word I use, not one that fits into my ideology, but I use it here because of this context] view of life and death. That is, the art did not reflect the theology and selling of Jesus as personal savior, especially when you die. See the Vendler connection? Poets do not sell anything, they try to figure out human dilemmas for the community, for the great collective.
Brown says one of the most “touching” pieces in the collection—and he sold me on it— was one “of the gold glass pieces (catalog pages 192–193) [showing] a classical shepherd surrounded by his sheep. Around the edge is written, “(Be) the pride of your friends. Drink. May you live! [in Greek] May you live! [added in Latin, just to be sure!]” A collective mentality, a carpe diem. Imagine being the pride of your friends, someone people have something nice to say about—and not after you die!
That is, there was a modestly human basis to the art that grew out of experience, not a superimposed theology as we think of today. Important Catholic art historians put a religious spin on every social event they examined in art, a woman praying had to be the first nun, a woman and child eating a picnic lunch had to be Many and Jesus with the Eucharist.
When my aunt died a few weeks ago and I went to Staten Island to attend her wake and funeral, at the funeral mass the priest said that through Jesus she will live forever, that she has been resurrected, that she had not died in Jesus. I thought: what a religion, you think he might have thrown her a few more months while she was alive! That I’d sign up for for it has a very human grounding.
Brown says in the Fort Worth exhibition, “Two rooms later, in the last part of the exhibition, [as the centuries have moved on] we see the ultimate symbol of Christ’s power at its fullest development—a fragment of the Cross itself placed in a cross of gold studded with gems, given to Rome by the emperor Justin II sometime between 568 and 574 (catalog pages 283–285; see illustration on page 49 of this article). Glowing in the dark with barbaric splendor, this was still a Cross of victory. As the inscription made clear, this was the Cross on which Christ had “subdued [death] the enemy of mankind.” It was also a Cross calculated to keep human enemies (of which there were all too many by that time) away from the walls of Rome.”
Here we have the superimposition of a Christian poetry if you will on life, dictating how things go down in death and who is big enough to handle that death—there is only one. How does that help people make sense of their life and death in human terms, terms that can be understood by others.
There is more I can say about this but you can see how Brown’s piece, the exhibit actually, fits in nicely with Vendler’s analysis of the poetic works of human beings through poetry trying to figure out how to be “victorious” in death, how to subdue it, and if not that, whatever. I have written any number or poems on death and life, all my poems reflecting the theology of Dennis Sullivan, with a foundation that I always hope others will see as valuable for them, in that they can develop a theology, a poetry that reflects their experience.
And to extend the analysis, how does poetry keep the enemies of self away from self so that one can achieve some level of peace of mind. This is what poetic consciousness does for me, a state of mind that is both creative and gratitudinously peaceful. How’s that for a start on a way to beat death? Poetic consciousness leads us out on a high note. For all the Snow Man Wallace Stevens is, I do not think he is bummed out, just weighed down by reality, but a reality that when understood brings a certain joy, one that helps face death sanely.
Finally, and to go back to Vendler again, her first subject in the last look books is Stevens, in particular his “The Plain Sense of Things,” pointing to Stevens saying that in a certain situation he is having a hard time picking an adjective to describe it—see the first line second stanza—to say what he wants to say “after the leaves have fallen,” hen one realizes that one’s time has come..
Here is his poem below. It is beautiful. I throw these things out today for your poetic enjoyment. Plus anyone who would like me to send them, via e-mail, a copy of the Brown piece—I do subscribe to The New York Review of Books, in print and online, my longest continuous subscription, over 30 years—I will be happy to do so.
Peace,
Dennis
================
Wallace Stevens (1879 –1955)
THE PLAIN SENSE OF THINGS
After the leaves have fallen, we return
To a plain sense of things. It is as if
We had come to an end of the imagination,
Inanimate in an inert savoir.
It is difficult even to choose the adjective
For this blank cold, this sadness without cause.
The great structure has become a minor house.
No turban walks across the lessened floors.
The greenhouse never so badly needed paint.
The chimney is fifty years old and slants to one side.
A fantastic effort has failed, a repetition
In a repetitiousness of men and flies.
Yet the absence of the imagination had
Itself to be imagined. The great pond,
The plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves,
Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silence
Of a sort, silence of a rat come out to see,
The great pond and its waste of the lilies, all this
Had to be imagined as an inevitable knowledge,
Required, as necessity requires.
Some of Us
Dennis Sullivan, Beverly Osborne, Tom Corrado, Edie Abrams, Art Willis, Alan Casline (all seated); Paul Amidon, Mike Burke, Tim Verhaegen, Mark O'Brien, Barbara Vink, Philomena Moriarty
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
THE STALWART FOUR
The meeting three weeks ago, a tumultuous blend of blather, multiple conversations, and performances, was attended by fourteen poets and combatants. Apparently quite a few people got their fill at that one, because a total of four poets, a record low as far as I can tell, showed up for tonight’s session. Maybe it was the summer doldrums, level of humidity, position of the stars, or possibly that not much writing has been done of late, but there was discussion time aplenty and we made the most of it. Still, it came as a surprise, left us wondering if there was some cosmic reason for the empty chairs, a reason that might be grasped if we tried hard enough. We didn’t come up with one. We gave up looking after a minute or two and moved on to the poems.
My offering was “Reunion,” a short poem that Dennis felt was one of my better efforts as far as rhythm is concerned. Cathy thought it had a depressing quality, since the reunion referred to is one that occurs after death. Ann liked it because it was “more obscure” than most of my stuff, and provokes thought by being so. I stumbled into the rhythm by accident, but did hope to provoke thought by the subject matter.
Dennis gave us “The Nature of Native Land.” A short period of silence followed, then he tossed out the clue that the poem was about the nature of personality. Cathy said “It’s too deep for me.” Dennis gave us some background material to the effect that each person has a native land that is their real self, from which personality develops. The poem, he explained, expresses a theory of personality. There was a brief discussion of the line “when the snow turns cold,” but nothing was resolved about how the snow is before it turns cold. I think it’s a thought-provoking line (among others). The poem was written at 1:08 a.m., when deep thoughts are bound to be out on the ether of the universe. I’ll have to try staying up later and see what happens.
Ann’s poem “Cardinal Flowers” generated much discussion, some of which might actually prove useful when considering revisions. The basic idea of commenting on these endangered flowers in conjunction with several problems facing present-day Catholic religious leaders is a creative one, but several parts of the poem would benefit from clarification. The ending lines are strong and need little change (I won’t give it away). I expect a very good poem to emerge from all this.
In the discussion of this poem, Dennis noted that Ann has a feeling for the subjects she writes about, and also worked into his commentary the following observations that I personally was unaware of: (1) A poet should never give the reader a choice, (2) The preposition is a late manifestation of the language, and (3) The pluperfect tense is valueless in poetry. Good thing I showed up for this meeting. Who knows if I’m guilty of any of these?
Cathy brought “Strange Taste,” a reflective work I felt could be made longer, although I couldn’t explain how. The feeling she wants to express is already there, but might be strengthened with more elaboration. Since I couldn’t offer any specific suggestions, however, maybe it would be better not to tinker with it. Nobody else recommended tinkering with it.
After grilling the poems, we sailed off into the wild blue of non-literary current events before gaveling out early. A bit of musing on the idea of Tom writing a few blog postings occurred, but since Tom’s current residence is half way to Idaho the chance of it happening is slim. Cathy brought the book Edie made from poems and photos of Cathy’s birthday party, a professional-looking hardcover volume only talent could produce. Top-notch job, Edie.
There are poets lurking around the area, and somebody besides tonight’s stalwart four must be doing some writing. Bring some to the next meeting. If only three show up next time, I’ll take the other two to dinner and write a piece of pure drivel about the missing poets.
-Stoneman Amidon
My offering was “Reunion,” a short poem that Dennis felt was one of my better efforts as far as rhythm is concerned. Cathy thought it had a depressing quality, since the reunion referred to is one that occurs after death. Ann liked it because it was “more obscure” than most of my stuff, and provokes thought by being so. I stumbled into the rhythm by accident, but did hope to provoke thought by the subject matter.
Dennis gave us “The Nature of Native Land.” A short period of silence followed, then he tossed out the clue that the poem was about the nature of personality. Cathy said “It’s too deep for me.” Dennis gave us some background material to the effect that each person has a native land that is their real self, from which personality develops. The poem, he explained, expresses a theory of personality. There was a brief discussion of the line “when the snow turns cold,” but nothing was resolved about how the snow is before it turns cold. I think it’s a thought-provoking line (among others). The poem was written at 1:08 a.m., when deep thoughts are bound to be out on the ether of the universe. I’ll have to try staying up later and see what happens.
Ann’s poem “Cardinal Flowers” generated much discussion, some of which might actually prove useful when considering revisions. The basic idea of commenting on these endangered flowers in conjunction with several problems facing present-day Catholic religious leaders is a creative one, but several parts of the poem would benefit from clarification. The ending lines are strong and need little change (I won’t give it away). I expect a very good poem to emerge from all this.
In the discussion of this poem, Dennis noted that Ann has a feeling for the subjects she writes about, and also worked into his commentary the following observations that I personally was unaware of: (1) A poet should never give the reader a choice, (2) The preposition is a late manifestation of the language, and (3) The pluperfect tense is valueless in poetry. Good thing I showed up for this meeting. Who knows if I’m guilty of any of these?
Cathy brought “Strange Taste,” a reflective work I felt could be made longer, although I couldn’t explain how. The feeling she wants to express is already there, but might be strengthened with more elaboration. Since I couldn’t offer any specific suggestions, however, maybe it would be better not to tinker with it. Nobody else recommended tinkering with it.
After grilling the poems, we sailed off into the wild blue of non-literary current events before gaveling out early. A bit of musing on the idea of Tom writing a few blog postings occurred, but since Tom’s current residence is half way to Idaho the chance of it happening is slim. Cathy brought the book Edie made from poems and photos of Cathy’s birthday party, a professional-looking hardcover volume only talent could produce. Top-notch job, Edie.
There are poets lurking around the area, and somebody besides tonight’s stalwart four must be doing some writing. Bring some to the next meeting. If only three show up next time, I’ll take the other two to dinner and write a piece of pure drivel about the missing poets.
-Stoneman Amidon
Friday, July 30, 2010
"Bring It On"
That's Alan's response to one of the questions we thrashed about last night at 5th Thursday. The thrashing began with the question "who validates your work?" and proceeded at a goodly pace to cover "who is your audience" and the value of feedback. Paul "Stone Man" Amidon assured us that he considers our critisms despite his deameanor. Larry contributed a surprising (to me, at least) twist with an elitist approach to support groups. Who can participate, whose opinions do you value and who deserves your respect? We talked about re-writes and the question of when it ceases to be your own poem, how hard it is to critique without intruding yourself into the work. Mark talked about not getting enough feedback, which is where Alan remarked "bring it on". Both welcome negative criticism. We refered frequently to "drivel". We talked a bit about EOTNP - yes, we used personalities for examples, so if your ears were ringing, you should have been here - its format, its longevity, its mission. It was a good night. Where were you, Verhaegen?
A.T. I have just re-read Dennis post regarding the last regular meeting and found it very thoughtful. If you haven't read it, please do.
A.T. I have just re-read Dennis post regarding the last regular meeting and found it very thoughtful. If you haven't read it, please do.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thoughts from Dennis re: last night
Dear Poe-ettes, who were at the session last nite.
gee, i was a bit taken aback by the sorta’ chaotic tenor of the evening. perhaps others feel the same way. people were talking over each other, interrupting, etc. i could hardly keep my thoughts straight.
i certainly require greater concentration to hear what people are saying and i suppose others do as well. true?
i was appreciative of larry’s question re: my poem, what the philosophical context for it was/is. we rarely ask those kinds of questions—or perhaps we do and i miss them myself—but they require the person asked to reflect on the psychological context from which she or he is operating. everything i read, well, that kind of stuff is asked and answered all the time.
perhaps contributing to the non-sense last nite was that we did not have sheets in front of us to concentrate on, what we were listening to, what with the broken copy machine.
if i were serious about my poetry, if i might put it that way, i would want, for example, questions raised about the rhythm or tempo of my work, about the philosophical [ars poetica] constructs on which it is based, and how my choice of words is related to such constructs.
i do not find statements such i don’t like this or i do like that, without some construct to hold on to, very helpful. poetry in its own right is a lot more complex than a salad or ice cream flavor. it involves ultimately the body and soul of humankind.
there was some discussion of rules-no rules in poetry recently but one rule to be discussed might be the tempo of the verse we project/read and to what extent that rhythm is true to our soul.
but, if one has not paid much attention to that, i might imagine issues of rhythm would be regarded as non-essential. i use rhythm/tempo as just one example off the top of my head. and i am indeed quite willing to accept john cage’s definition of rhythm as anarchic.
for those with an interest in my poem last nite and wishing to see it on paper, i have attached it—farewell never farewell. it does raise a question about time once again, and the nature and quality of light that burns within each of us and the extent to which that light touches the common weal, that is, deals with constructs that are greater than the kind of picture-taking film we just purchased at the drug store—what i have recently described to someone as Facebook poetry or a poetic fetish.
as wallace stevens says ad infinitum, the imagination must be grounded in a reality in order to fly, shine, whatever the imagination does. well i throw this out because, if that grounding is weak, what can the imagination do, how much juice will it have to light up the world? thus, how do we see the imagination’s role in artistic endeavors such as in what we do, write poetry? stevens said the poet lends his or her imagination to the species.
and what is that ground, grounding, in which that imagination flourishes, or never gets off the ground as one alternative dysfunction?!?!
thus i have also attached a second poem dedicated to stéfane mallarmé, about such grounding, what he called the native land, what existed in us before the settlers of pleasantry showed up to colonize “the native” and thus mess with the experience, and consequent words, flowing from the source of us.
Mallarmé, whose work i love and have been reading over the past year, of which i have a wonderful translation if anyone is interested—the notes and commentary are outstanding. yet, if you would like a peek at who he is, i send this wikipedia URL http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stéphane_Mallarmé
he and another symbolist, paul verlaine, are two poets worthy of a more than a peek and have many similarities that help with issues such as imagination and its role in the production of the written word through the symbolist heart.
the last poem i am sending is one i mentioned last nite, looking forward to winter. it does talk about how the disgruntled soul is sent to utopia’s room, the imagination, to find new grounding in which persistent troubles can be dissolved or at least given a context through which ease pain is eased and continuity fostered, personal continuity and that of the species—all species.
but maybe that is not the function of poetry for some; for me poetic consciousness is a palliative but more than that, maybe a touch of Keats’ Negative Capability, a being suspended in reality in which reaching for shore is seen as foolhardy. it is more that one is thankful to be in that gifted situation—cause for praise, no?
But if personality is a substance that prevails, as the poem the nature of native land says—it must otherwise we rather risk severe psychic disintegration—thus i like to stick a nail into reality, the air that is all about us and hang my plumage there.
it allows me to take a breather and fly anew. such is indeed the basis of economics, out of which our poetics emerges, thus the so many different poetic realities we hear every thursday we meet.
well, just a few notes re: poetry poets and poets to be.
La paz, amigas, amigos,
Dennis
gee, i was a bit taken aback by the sorta’ chaotic tenor of the evening. perhaps others feel the same way. people were talking over each other, interrupting, etc. i could hardly keep my thoughts straight.
i certainly require greater concentration to hear what people are saying and i suppose others do as well. true?
i was appreciative of larry’s question re: my poem, what the philosophical context for it was/is. we rarely ask those kinds of questions—or perhaps we do and i miss them myself—but they require the person asked to reflect on the psychological context from which she or he is operating. everything i read, well, that kind of stuff is asked and answered all the time.
perhaps contributing to the non-sense last nite was that we did not have sheets in front of us to concentrate on, what we were listening to, what with the broken copy machine.
if i were serious about my poetry, if i might put it that way, i would want, for example, questions raised about the rhythm or tempo of my work, about the philosophical [ars poetica] constructs on which it is based, and how my choice of words is related to such constructs.
i do not find statements such i don’t like this or i do like that, without some construct to hold on to, very helpful. poetry in its own right is a lot more complex than a salad or ice cream flavor. it involves ultimately the body and soul of humankind.
there was some discussion of rules-no rules in poetry recently but one rule to be discussed might be the tempo of the verse we project/read and to what extent that rhythm is true to our soul.
but, if one has not paid much attention to that, i might imagine issues of rhythm would be regarded as non-essential. i use rhythm/tempo as just one example off the top of my head. and i am indeed quite willing to accept john cage’s definition of rhythm as anarchic.
for those with an interest in my poem last nite and wishing to see it on paper, i have attached it—farewell never farewell. it does raise a question about time once again, and the nature and quality of light that burns within each of us and the extent to which that light touches the common weal, that is, deals with constructs that are greater than the kind of picture-taking film we just purchased at the drug store—what i have recently described to someone as Facebook poetry or a poetic fetish.
as wallace stevens says ad infinitum, the imagination must be grounded in a reality in order to fly, shine, whatever the imagination does. well i throw this out because, if that grounding is weak, what can the imagination do, how much juice will it have to light up the world? thus, how do we see the imagination’s role in artistic endeavors such as in what we do, write poetry? stevens said the poet lends his or her imagination to the species.
and what is that ground, grounding, in which that imagination flourishes, or never gets off the ground as one alternative dysfunction?!?!
thus i have also attached a second poem dedicated to stéfane mallarmé, about such grounding, what he called the native land, what existed in us before the settlers of pleasantry showed up to colonize “the native” and thus mess with the experience, and consequent words, flowing from the source of us.
Mallarmé, whose work i love and have been reading over the past year, of which i have a wonderful translation if anyone is interested—the notes and commentary are outstanding. yet, if you would like a peek at who he is, i send this wikipedia URL http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stéphane_Mallarmé
he and another symbolist, paul verlaine, are two poets worthy of a more than a peek and have many similarities that help with issues such as imagination and its role in the production of the written word through the symbolist heart.
the last poem i am sending is one i mentioned last nite, looking forward to winter. it does talk about how the disgruntled soul is sent to utopia’s room, the imagination, to find new grounding in which persistent troubles can be dissolved or at least given a context through which ease pain is eased and continuity fostered, personal continuity and that of the species—all species.
but maybe that is not the function of poetry for some; for me poetic consciousness is a palliative but more than that, maybe a touch of Keats’ Negative Capability, a being suspended in reality in which reaching for shore is seen as foolhardy. it is more that one is thankful to be in that gifted situation—cause for praise, no?
But if personality is a substance that prevails, as the poem the nature of native land says—it must otherwise we rather risk severe psychic disintegration—thus i like to stick a nail into reality, the air that is all about us and hang my plumage there.
it allows me to take a breather and fly anew. such is indeed the basis of economics, out of which our poetics emerges, thus the so many different poetic realities we hear every thursday we meet.
well, just a few notes re: poetry poets and poets to be.
La paz, amigas, amigos,
Dennis
General Rowdiness
Well, last night did not turn out as I expected. I imagined us subdued and quietly contemplating the life and times of our Professor Willis, who has had some unexpectedly bad health news. Instead we welcomed some entertaining guests who mistakenly thought they were coming to an open mic. A couple of them may have enjoyed themselves enough to become permanent players.
There was a big turnout - 15 in all - and it was also the first night of trying out our revised protocol, which allows for more talking. Talking was one thing not lacking and I took very few notes. Mary and A.C. and Jennifer all participated in the disussion. Tim did a little (very good) rapping to Dan's poem. Annie (A.C.) Everson performed. Susan waxed Romantic. Jim's title had no observable connection to his poem. Ann's damp fluff provoked the only dissension of the evening. Mark policed the room for scraps of Larry's orgasmic poem so small children would not find them in the morning.
I utilized the gavel several times, attempting to keep the side conversations under control, but there was an almost constant buzz except during the actual poem recitation - which turned out to be another problem, as the library copier was out of order, so no one was able to make our usual handout copies and we did not have vital visuals of the poems.
Speaking of visuals, picture Larry with the gavel next Thursday night, as we try out the 5th Thursday Poetry Discussion option. Bring a topic you would like to talk about or a question we can all offer an opinion on (!) and we'll see how the experiment goes. Larry is moderating. 6:30 start time. So-
All told, an unusual night. Fun and noisy, but licked with sorrow for our friend.
There was a big turnout - 15 in all - and it was also the first night of trying out our revised protocol, which allows for more talking. Talking was one thing not lacking and I took very few notes. Mary and A.C. and Jennifer all participated in the disussion. Tim did a little (very good) rapping to Dan's poem. Annie (A.C.) Everson performed. Susan waxed Romantic. Jim's title had no observable connection to his poem. Ann's damp fluff provoked the only dissension of the evening. Mark policed the room for scraps of Larry's orgasmic poem so small children would not find them in the morning.
I utilized the gavel several times, attempting to keep the side conversations under control, but there was an almost constant buzz except during the actual poem recitation - which turned out to be another problem, as the library copier was out of order, so no one was able to make our usual handout copies and we did not have vital visuals of the poems.
Speaking of visuals, picture Larry with the gavel next Thursday night, as we try out the 5th Thursday Poetry Discussion option. Bring a topic you would like to talk about or a question we can all offer an opinion on (!) and we'll see how the experiment goes. Larry is moderating. 6:30 start time. So-
All told, an unusual night. Fun and noisy, but licked with sorrow for our friend.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Fomenting Revolution
It appears that my blogging time, as well as my muse, has been slain by the demands of more plebian work. I was just too busy to blog the June 24 meeting notes, so I will incorporate them here.
Midway through last night's meeting, as we were struggling with unanswered questions over a poem, I was struck with the inspiration to abandon the RULES! After taking a quick survey, the group decided to suspend the protocol under which we have labored for umpteen years and try something new; namely, restoring the ability of the writer to respond to questions during the course of the discussion. I am feeling that this change will facilitate (stimulate?) conversation and the gavel will be employed with greater frequency, but I look forward to that. There will still be NO preamble allowed and this is being done on a trial basis. If it flops, it's over.
Paul reminded me that we have a fifth Thursday in July and we had vowed to begin discussion nights on such occasions. If you have ideas for discussion questions, please email them to me. I have started a list.
Alan mentioned that he is working on an Art Willis collection and an upcoming poetry day at the arboretum. Details will follow.
Moving on to actual poems. Ally joined us ready to do battle over war. I learned that the phrase "the dogs of war", which was the title of her poem, is a quote from Shakespeare. The poem strongly echoed the sentiments of most if not all of us - as Susan pointed out, poets are against war. However, some took issue with the generalities Cathy included, suggesting that they oversimplified the situation. Cathy, btw, expressed delight with the birthday book that Edie put together for her. She will bring it for show and tell.
Speaking of show and tell, Ann brought beets. Yep, chioggia beets. Alan, whose turn it was to do the second reading, was not happy with that one. Say key on jah. We all got to sample the shredded vegetable, which looks very similiar to a bermuda onion when sliced and tastes sweet and delicious. Ann's poem received very little critique because we were all busy chewing and discussing beets.
Alan's Molly Gregory was discussed a lot - portrait of a woman who was on the faculty of Black Mountain College, an experimental school begun in the 1920's (30's) and which died a dreadful death by mismanagement and bad press. The poem is part of a collection Alan is working on to present at a seminar later in the year. We found it confusing. Remarks were made that it was choppy and disjointed. I particularly felt that Alan was "telling" us things he should be "showing".
Dan wrote Painting a Poem, a lovely concept reflecting on making the transition between words and pictures. We suggested losing some of the "big" words such as verisimilitude and obliqueness, and changing some of the questions to statements to strenghten it. Susan asked for more specifics events to show the colors portraying the emotions. Dan has made great strides in the sophistication of his work since last year.
Clever Larry struck again with an ingenious portrayal of a man becoming a woman. It totally cracked me up . "The man waxed ashamed of his (hairy) chest and went to the beach in two pieces." Dedicated to Tim who was in P-Town for vacation.
Susan wrote Love Songs which we amended to Love Song, and she incorporated several of our revision suggestions to emerge with a totally kick-a poem about a man/woman relationship while the man is in prison. Lovely and sad.
Paul surprised us with a sarcastic rather than nostalgic piece called Repent, Ye Sinners. Larry expressed confusion about the first verse - I guess he is unfamiliar with "earthly disciplines". An amusing and satisfying poem.
Villanelles. They confuse me. 5 stanzas of 3 lines, 1 stanza of 4 lines with a complicated rhyme scheme which Jim Williams mastered while in traffic on I81 between Harrisburg and Scrotum (sic), PA. i don't think I will attempt one.
Here's the ketchup blog from June. (What is the matter with me? Just musing.) Because it was a small group, we let the conversation lead us in varying directions - covered kenning (I need to look that up, refers to changing words without changing meaning), Raintree County, Wallace Stevens, Sartre, suicide notes and other strange topics, all related to poetry.
Alan's Push a Blossom into the Green Fuse, a "take off" on Dylan Thomas, began the discussion of the kenning process. Alan, btw, had a successful performance at Cafe Lena last week, with several of us in attendance, although not me. Fearing the heat in the crowded upstairs venue kept me home. Not to worry tho, as Lena has finally acquired some a/c.
Larry's Allegory was another tickle-my-fancy as he described a yellow jacket "pacing like an innocent con in his cell on death row", then transporting the poor doomed creature in a dirty yogurt container to his grave - which, in turn, led to a debate over woodchucks vs. gophers not worthy of repeating here. Somehow Alice in Wonderland also became involved. I don't remember how.
People seem to be thinking war these days. Dan wrote about The Great War in dramatic detail. A few small suggestions were made regarding the use of capitals, keeping "creeping" instead of "slithering". Dan mentioned All Quiet on the Western Front which was one of my favorite books as a teen. I intend to re-read it now.
204 Boundary Avenue was almost a recap of Paul's early years. Beautiful memories of his grandmother's house; few improvements suggested as usual.
Missing Edie and some of the guys. Don't forget to send me topics and join us for the July 29 discussion, here at 6:30 p.m. Don't tell Larry yet, but I think I will ask him to moderate the discussion. Next regular meeting July 22. I might have a poem. Something that happened on the way home last night got me thinking about it.
AT (afterthought): Paul tells me his comments are still not getting through. My computer gurus are working on it again. Keep trying.
Midway through last night's meeting, as we were struggling with unanswered questions over a poem, I was struck with the inspiration to abandon the RULES! After taking a quick survey, the group decided to suspend the protocol under which we have labored for umpteen years and try something new; namely, restoring the ability of the writer to respond to questions during the course of the discussion. I am feeling that this change will facilitate (stimulate?) conversation and the gavel will be employed with greater frequency, but I look forward to that. There will still be NO preamble allowed and this is being done on a trial basis. If it flops, it's over.
Paul reminded me that we have a fifth Thursday in July and we had vowed to begin discussion nights on such occasions. If you have ideas for discussion questions, please email them to me. I have started a list.
Alan mentioned that he is working on an Art Willis collection and an upcoming poetry day at the arboretum. Details will follow.
Moving on to actual poems. Ally joined us ready to do battle over war. I learned that the phrase "the dogs of war", which was the title of her poem, is a quote from Shakespeare. The poem strongly echoed the sentiments of most if not all of us - as Susan pointed out, poets are against war. However, some took issue with the generalities Cathy included, suggesting that they oversimplified the situation. Cathy, btw, expressed delight with the birthday book that Edie put together for her. She will bring it for show and tell.
Speaking of show and tell, Ann brought beets. Yep, chioggia beets. Alan, whose turn it was to do the second reading, was not happy with that one. Say key on jah. We all got to sample the shredded vegetable, which looks very similiar to a bermuda onion when sliced and tastes sweet and delicious. Ann's poem received very little critique because we were all busy chewing and discussing beets.
Alan's Molly Gregory was discussed a lot - portrait of a woman who was on the faculty of Black Mountain College, an experimental school begun in the 1920's (30's) and which died a dreadful death by mismanagement and bad press. The poem is part of a collection Alan is working on to present at a seminar later in the year. We found it confusing. Remarks were made that it was choppy and disjointed. I particularly felt that Alan was "telling" us things he should be "showing".
Dan wrote Painting a Poem, a lovely concept reflecting on making the transition between words and pictures. We suggested losing some of the "big" words such as verisimilitude and obliqueness, and changing some of the questions to statements to strenghten it. Susan asked for more specifics events to show the colors portraying the emotions. Dan has made great strides in the sophistication of his work since last year.
Clever Larry struck again with an ingenious portrayal of a man becoming a woman. It totally cracked me up . "The man waxed ashamed of his (hairy) chest and went to the beach in two pieces." Dedicated to Tim who was in P-Town for vacation.
Susan wrote Love Songs which we amended to Love Song, and she incorporated several of our revision suggestions to emerge with a totally kick-a poem about a man/woman relationship while the man is in prison. Lovely and sad.
Paul surprised us with a sarcastic rather than nostalgic piece called Repent, Ye Sinners. Larry expressed confusion about the first verse - I guess he is unfamiliar with "earthly disciplines". An amusing and satisfying poem.
Villanelles. They confuse me. 5 stanzas of 3 lines, 1 stanza of 4 lines with a complicated rhyme scheme which Jim Williams mastered while in traffic on I81 between Harrisburg and Scrotum (sic), PA. i don't think I will attempt one.
Here's the ketchup blog from June. (What is the matter with me? Just musing.) Because it was a small group, we let the conversation lead us in varying directions - covered kenning (I need to look that up, refers to changing words without changing meaning), Raintree County, Wallace Stevens, Sartre, suicide notes and other strange topics, all related to poetry.
Alan's Push a Blossom into the Green Fuse, a "take off" on Dylan Thomas, began the discussion of the kenning process. Alan, btw, had a successful performance at Cafe Lena last week, with several of us in attendance, although not me. Fearing the heat in the crowded upstairs venue kept me home. Not to worry tho, as Lena has finally acquired some a/c.
Larry's Allegory was another tickle-my-fancy as he described a yellow jacket "pacing like an innocent con in his cell on death row", then transporting the poor doomed creature in a dirty yogurt container to his grave - which, in turn, led to a debate over woodchucks vs. gophers not worthy of repeating here. Somehow Alice in Wonderland also became involved. I don't remember how.
People seem to be thinking war these days. Dan wrote about The Great War in dramatic detail. A few small suggestions were made regarding the use of capitals, keeping "creeping" instead of "slithering". Dan mentioned All Quiet on the Western Front which was one of my favorite books as a teen. I intend to re-read it now.
204 Boundary Avenue was almost a recap of Paul's early years. Beautiful memories of his grandmother's house; few improvements suggested as usual.
Missing Edie and some of the guys. Don't forget to send me topics and join us for the July 29 discussion, here at 6:30 p.m. Don't tell Larry yet, but I think I will ask him to moderate the discussion. Next regular meeting July 22. I might have a poem. Something that happened on the way home last night got me thinking about it.
AT (afterthought): Paul tells me his comments are still not getting through. My computer gurus are working on it again. Keep trying.
Monday, June 21, 2010
From Dennis
DEAR POE-ETTES,
Just a reminder about upcoming two gigs, one a wee bit closer than the other.
First, the Bird is featuring at Café Lena, the first Wednesday of July, the 7th to be exact.
Those of us who have decided to go to support the Bird are planning to meet at the Parting Glass in Saratoga 4:30 or so for pre-prandials, wackles (that’s drinks), and some food. The PG is located at 40-42 Lake Avenue ~ Saratoga Springs, NY, Tel: (518) 583 - 1916
The CL gig starts at 7:30 I believe and sign-up begins circa 7. I think there is a three-dollar charge to get in. There are lots of readers in the summer and it sometimes gets hot in the queue but it all works (sweats) out. Great cookies for a buck and the coffee in the heat is aok too; during the break two of us head out and around the corner for a beverage.
Everybody is invited to the warm-up gig at the Parting Glass; we went last year and some of us had fun.
Let’s see the hands!!
Secondly, even though a further away, some of us are going to the Poets Forum run by the Academy of American Poets—see http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20218—on October 30th, of this year.
It is an all-day workshop beginning at 10 am where interested attendees can see, hear, interact with 15 or so of the very best poets in these United States. If you are interested in improving your work: (1) how to start a poem; (2) last lines; (3) the self in the poem, etc. etc. etc.
We take the train down in the morning, the 6 am I think it is ,and walk down to NYU or the New School, wherever it is held. Some of the members of the Third Saturday Poesy Café are planning to go.
Others in the Café are planning to go that morning to the city and have expressed interest in the Poets House in Battery Park, the area I used to go to to work in the great Washington Market as a 14-year old kid, from midnight until 7 in the morning with my grandfather. Then back on the SI Ferry. More than true. Here is the URL for that fine place: http://www.poetshouse.org/
In the afternoon—I think I have the schedule right and sit corrected in any case—we are going to the famed White Horse Tavern, a review of which can be found at this URL in New York Nightlife http://nymag.com/listings/bar/white_horse_tavern/ and a description of which can be found in wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_Horse_Tavern_(New_York_City).
We are planning to hit the Tavern circa 3 pm for the early shift. Noted writers and poets such as Dylan Thomas, Jimmy Baldwin, Norman Mailer, Jack Kerouac inter alios.
All poets in the Thursday group are invited. We have fun, nice train ride, good conversation (mostly), some exercise from the train to the forum, exercise to the tavern, exercise IN the tavern, exercise back to the train. We have gotten the past two years the 6:30 or so train back. Maybe this year the 8 pm or so. That TBD.
Thought some folks might be interested.
La paz,
Dennis
Just a reminder about upcoming two gigs, one a wee bit closer than the other.
First, the Bird is featuring at Café Lena, the first Wednesday of July, the 7th to be exact.
Those of us who have decided to go to support the Bird are planning to meet at the Parting Glass in Saratoga 4:30 or so for pre-prandials, wackles (that’s drinks), and some food. The PG is located at 40-42 Lake Avenue ~ Saratoga Springs, NY, Tel: (518) 583 - 1916
The CL gig starts at 7:30 I believe and sign-up begins circa 7. I think there is a three-dollar charge to get in. There are lots of readers in the summer and it sometimes gets hot in the queue but it all works (sweats) out. Great cookies for a buck and the coffee in the heat is aok too; during the break two of us head out and around the corner for a beverage.
Everybody is invited to the warm-up gig at the Parting Glass; we went last year and some of us had fun.
Let’s see the hands!!
Secondly, even though a further away, some of us are going to the Poets Forum run by the Academy of American Poets—see http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20218—on October 30th, of this year.
It is an all-day workshop beginning at 10 am where interested attendees can see, hear, interact with 15 or so of the very best poets in these United States. If you are interested in improving your work: (1) how to start a poem; (2) last lines; (3) the self in the poem, etc. etc. etc.
We take the train down in the morning, the 6 am I think it is ,and walk down to NYU or the New School, wherever it is held. Some of the members of the Third Saturday Poesy Café are planning to go.
Others in the Café are planning to go that morning to the city and have expressed interest in the Poets House in Battery Park, the area I used to go to to work in the great Washington Market as a 14-year old kid, from midnight until 7 in the morning with my grandfather. Then back on the SI Ferry. More than true. Here is the URL for that fine place: http://www.poetshouse.org/
In the afternoon—I think I have the schedule right and sit corrected in any case—we are going to the famed White Horse Tavern, a review of which can be found at this URL in New York Nightlife http://nymag.com/listings/bar/white_horse_tavern/ and a description of which can be found in wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_Horse_Tavern_(New_York_City).
We are planning to hit the Tavern circa 3 pm for the early shift. Noted writers and poets such as Dylan Thomas, Jimmy Baldwin, Norman Mailer, Jack Kerouac inter alios.
All poets in the Thursday group are invited. We have fun, nice train ride, good conversation (mostly), some exercise from the train to the forum, exercise to the tavern, exercise IN the tavern, exercise back to the train. We have gotten the past two years the 6:30 or so train back. Maybe this year the 8 pm or so. That TBD.
Thought some folks might be interested.
La paz,
Dennis
Friday, June 11, 2010
ars vocatus moriendi
Alan opened the meeting with a number poem called The Beauty Way which he had dedicated to Jim, the Math Guy. The theme was "beauty equates to math and harmony of nature" (per Larry). It began with some Navajo references to their way of life - mystic trails to another world, which Tim picked up on. Jim began to be a trifled riled over the unanswerable(?) question of which came first, math or science.
Jim then impressed us with The Suicide Note as Text: The Discourse of Last Recourse. "One does not perform a suicide, as one performs, say...a poetry reading." It was entertaining and clever and we learned one gross thing about suicide bombers which I will not repeat here. You can ask him.
Larry asked if his poem was a groaner. I didn't think so. The title Almost a Grand Union set the stage for his never-failing word play, with food and sex. Tim totally could hardly control himself and the rest of us chuckled.
Dan and Paul both brought us back to the sweeter side of life with Paul's recital of a School Concert and Dan's perfectly rhymed Christopher Robin's Prayer. Old Norman Rockwell raised his head - I've heard enough of this comparison, folks - again with regard to Paul's re-creation of a time and place. Alan deftly pointed out the emerging gang mentality, authority issues and ego submergence in Winnie the Pooh's crew. "Beware the Giants who linger here...Their waiting shadows, there and there..."
We got to vote on two versions of Mark's Seasoning poem. Picked the first person version with the second title. Another rhymer, perfect cadence and a lovely message. Larry asked what "salt of the earth" really meant and Mark looked it up on his IPad. Meaning: thoroughly good type of person.
Timmy's Questions provoked the most discussion of the evening, whether or not it successfully addressed the social conventions regarding mourning and why do people care so much what others think. It had several great verses, but to me, it missed the transition between the thoughts. Maybe too streamlined. Tim is committed to the poem and vowed to rework it.
The Purple Suit was an apt title for Ann's commentary on her relationship with her dad, which changed dramatically after her mother's death. I suggested portraying the change as happening more gradually and Ann seemed to agree. We talked at length and to no resolution about the role of the teeter totter. First, we had to describe a teeter totter for Larry.
I wrote a really stupid poem about my toe, which I am throwing away.
Alan will be performing at Cafe Lena on July 11 - sorry, July 7 at 7:30, preceded by group dinner at the Parting Glass, two great incentives for a Saratoga trip.
Afterthought - I just noticed a note I made regarding toilet seats having fewer germs than handles. You gotta watch those handles. And those automatic flushers.
Jim then impressed us with The Suicide Note as Text: The Discourse of Last Recourse. "One does not perform a suicide, as one performs, say...a poetry reading." It was entertaining and clever and we learned one gross thing about suicide bombers which I will not repeat here. You can ask him.
Larry asked if his poem was a groaner. I didn't think so. The title Almost a Grand Union set the stage for his never-failing word play, with food and sex. Tim totally could hardly control himself and the rest of us chuckled.
Dan and Paul both brought us back to the sweeter side of life with Paul's recital of a School Concert and Dan's perfectly rhymed Christopher Robin's Prayer. Old Norman Rockwell raised his head - I've heard enough of this comparison, folks - again with regard to Paul's re-creation of a time and place. Alan deftly pointed out the emerging gang mentality, authority issues and ego submergence in Winnie the Pooh's crew. "Beware the Giants who linger here...Their waiting shadows, there and there..."
We got to vote on two versions of Mark's Seasoning poem. Picked the first person version with the second title. Another rhymer, perfect cadence and a lovely message. Larry asked what "salt of the earth" really meant and Mark looked it up on his IPad. Meaning: thoroughly good type of person.
Timmy's Questions provoked the most discussion of the evening, whether or not it successfully addressed the social conventions regarding mourning and why do people care so much what others think. It had several great verses, but to me, it missed the transition between the thoughts. Maybe too streamlined. Tim is committed to the poem and vowed to rework it.
The Purple Suit was an apt title for Ann's commentary on her relationship with her dad, which changed dramatically after her mother's death. I suggested portraying the change as happening more gradually and Ann seemed to agree. We talked at length and to no resolution about the role of the teeter totter. First, we had to describe a teeter totter for Larry.
I wrote a really stupid poem about my toe, which I am throwing away.
Alan will be performing at Cafe Lena on July 11 - sorry, July 7 at 7:30, preceded by group dinner at the Parting Glass, two great incentives for a Saratoga trip.
Afterthought - I just noticed a note I made regarding toilet seats having fewer germs than handles. You gotta watch those handles. And those automatic flushers.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Plus Eight
Ann Lapinski, our newest poet, offered up some compliments last night on how much she had already learned by being part of the group. She performed at her first open mic last weekend and, although nervous, enjoyed it (photo compliments of The Verhaegen Studio). She brought a list poem of mouthwatering items she could no longer eat because they contain gluten, which led to an enlightening explanation of celiac disease. We talked about list poems and the necessity of using unique expressions.
Dennis impressed with The Parable of the Butterfly, which everyone liked a lot. Dan mentioned its lyric quality and Paul the "hindu meditative feeling". Dennis explained the word bodhisattva and kindly provided (me) with an About.com reference regarding Avalokiteshvara, the Buddhist God of Infinite Compassion, symbolically portrayed with 1000 arms. This god is venerated as the ideal of karuna, the willingness to bear the pain of others.
Tim (of Verhaegen Studios) had us all confused with Master, which Dennis referred to as a "complex psychological drama". Larry pointed out the negative connotations to the word master, which might have contributed to the confusion. Dennis suggested that Tim might benefit by reading the work of Rumi, who wrote poems of love and surrender.
We had a few suggestions for Paul as well. Several thought that some tightening here and there might be useful. We had to explain to Larry what Moving Up Day (the title of the poem) was. There was some discussion of the Norman Rockwell aspect of it, with me disagreeing with Tim's statement that Rockwell did not realistically portray American life.
Noname cracked me up as always with "...on the bumpy road to love Still..." which began with "men are just as jerky" (fill in the blank, I guess). Paul's Rockwellian portrait of life came to a crashing halt here with the white horse dropping large loads behind him. I loved Homo Pinball.
Dan wrote about a moving experience at the Viet Nam memorial, the smooth black wall, and the very personal feelings he felt there. I suggested reworking into consistent couplets. A number of opinions were expressed about separating the crucifixtion analogy into a different poem. Dan seemed determined to stir up some controversy tonight, emphatically putting forth the theory that that are no rules in poetry.
Edie was late, but she made it with a lovely little portrayal of Lucy and Lily intercepting her muse. We discussed enjambment (another subject that Dan brought up) and the use of singular or plural verbs with collective nouns, as in trio.
My Midnight on the Porch was a last minute 20-word, six-line poem, which actually inspired a good bit of dicussion. We talked about the definition of lost children, with Dennis pointing out the multiple levels involved in the poem, which was not meant to be rational, but to recognize an immediate feeling.
We added a couple of questions to the discussion list, one (from Dan!) about the weakness of gerunds as parts of speech. Paul informed us that there are only 4 months per year with a fifth Thursday and the next one is July.
FYI.
Obee is off on his Civil War journeys, Beach Boy is at the lake, Susan and Tom and Mr. Willis and Math Guy and Ally and The Bird were just plain missing. I am limping off on my sore foot for a weekend of introspection and solitude with my dog. I was up at 5 a.m. writing a poem about my toe.
Happy holiday.
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