from BLOCK ISLAND
It rang and rang generously welling up in me
pouring over my edges, rang and drifted off
drifting off if you pick up the phone
I will overflow and love you forever
tell you I’ll love you forever, friends
can do this, bear down on one another with emotion
and when it is too much the phone will
just ring and ring and ring and flatlined
by the woman I stood there thinking
how mean she was and how much I wanted her
not to be that way and how much my wanting
would never pick up and you once said I’m not
going to leave until we figure this out said
I won’t leave until we figure this out.
--Joshua Beckman
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Lazy Summer Chronicles, Installment 1
Woke up just before ten. Showered, got coffee.
Did dishes. Biked to campus, dropped off paperwork. Biked home. Flat tire halfway home. Large sliver of glass in rear tire.
Fixed tire. Watched first 20 minutes of "The Lonely Guy." Laughed.
Went to Safeway. Bought: yogurt, tortillas, fruit juices, one cantaloupe, pita, hummus, paper towels.
Came home. Ate bean burrito. Developed heartburn as a result.
Lay on couch. Read a Joshua Beckman book.
Revised Ms. #1 for the trillionth time.
Felt sleepy.
Did dishes. Biked to campus, dropped off paperwork. Biked home. Flat tire halfway home. Large sliver of glass in rear tire.
Fixed tire. Watched first 20 minutes of "The Lonely Guy." Laughed.
Went to Safeway. Bought: yogurt, tortillas, fruit juices, one cantaloupe, pita, hummus, paper towels.
Came home. Ate bean burrito. Developed heartburn as a result.
Lay on couch. Read a Joshua Beckman book.
Revised Ms. #1 for the trillionth time.
Felt sleepy.
Friday, August 26, 2005
My Mom Is Cuter Than You
I really don't mind being written about, pro or con, but I just wish that my supporters/detrctors would take care to write prose that makes some sort of sense:
It's the quarrying I quarrel with with Tony, and the polishing. He objects to my suggesting his "planks" need "sanding" (as opposed to some lesser poet's fabricated fibreglass board needing waxing — do I smell an MFA?) when what I mean to suggest is that one can not have one without the other, real marble hand-selected AND (imagine this as google search) real, educated (in the small-e James Baldwin sense) hand-polishing. Why? Well, in order to produce the "masterpiece", the fine art object instilling shock 'n' awe upon its host so that he frees the slave who produced it.
It's the quarrying I quarrel with with Tony, and the polishing. He objects to my suggesting his "planks" need "sanding" (as opposed to some lesser poet's fabricated fibreglass board needing waxing — do I smell an MFA?) when what I mean to suggest is that one can not have one without the other, real marble hand-selected AND (imagine this as google search) real, educated (in the small-e James Baldwin sense) hand-polishing. Why? Well, in order to produce the "masterpiece", the fine art object instilling shock 'n' awe upon its host so that he frees the slave who produced it.
Received
Charlie Jensen's very thoughtful comments on my current ms. Thanks Charlie! I owe you one or two.
I am very excited. He was able to reaffirm my enthusiasm for the good parts, and my suspicions for the not as good parts.
Now if I can just get David to do that collage, and just convince someone to publish it...
I am very excited. He was able to reaffirm my enthusiasm for the good parts, and my suspicions for the not as good parts.
Now if I can just get David to do that collage, and just convince someone to publish it...
Dance Music
Good morning!
Please direct your attention to Poetry Less Than Daily to read the winning poems from yesterday's contest. Thanks for playing, everyone.
*
For the record, I celebrated Andy Mister Day by drinking beer and watching a gangster movie.
Please direct your attention to Poetry Less Than Daily to read the winning poems from yesterday's contest. Thanks for playing, everyone.
*
For the record, I celebrated Andy Mister Day by drinking beer and watching a gangster movie.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
And the winner is...
Actually, I'd like to note a few things.
I received a modest number of submssions.
Most were from white males over the age of 30. Is this my demographic?
One was from a female, under 30.
Heterosexuals outnumbered homosexuals by 2 to 1.
One poet submitted twice.
I actually enjoyed reading every submission! That's gotta be some kind of first. But, seriously, there were no stinkers in the bunch! The poems I found least aesthetically compatible with my own idea of "interesting poetry" were also the youngest poets. Coincidence? I don't know. But I liked those poems too!
The most "lightweight" but most amusing poem came from a Professor of Spanish.
I've decided to award publication to two poets, as I liked two poems especially much. I have declared a tie.
So the winners are Andy Carter of Emporia, Kansas and David Shapiro of NYC.
Congratulations!
Go to Poetry Less Than Daily tomorrow to see the winning poems.
Thanks for playing!
I received a modest number of submssions.
Most were from white males over the age of 30. Is this my demographic?
One was from a female, under 30.
Heterosexuals outnumbered homosexuals by 2 to 1.
One poet submitted twice.
I actually enjoyed reading every submission! That's gotta be some kind of first. But, seriously, there were no stinkers in the bunch! The poems I found least aesthetically compatible with my own idea of "interesting poetry" were also the youngest poets. Coincidence? I don't know. But I liked those poems too!
The most "lightweight" but most amusing poem came from a Professor of Spanish.
I've decided to award publication to two poets, as I liked two poems especially much. I have declared a tie.
So the winners are Andy Carter of Emporia, Kansas and David Shapiro of NYC.
Congratulations!
Go to Poetry Less Than Daily tomorrow to see the winning poems.
Thanks for playing!
August 25th is Andy Mister Day!
Celebrate in an appropriate fashion.
The first person to correctly guess how I will celebrate will receive, in the mail, a special selection of (non-nude) photographs.
Hint: it involves two activities. Andy Mister, his girlfriend, and Harry Dean Stanton are prohibited from participating.
*
Oh yeah, unrelated: What's Kasey Mohammad's email address?
The first person to correctly guess how I will celebrate will receive, in the mail, a special selection of (non-nude) photographs.
Hint: it involves two activities. Andy Mister, his girlfriend, and Harry Dean Stanton are prohibited from participating.
*
Oh yeah, unrelated: What's Kasey Mohammad's email address?
Questionable Activities
1. "Borrowed" Snuggle fabric softener sheet from neighbor.
2. Sent a new batch of Wintered poems to ZYZZYVA.
3. Used my Visa to make my Mastercard payment.
4. Considered soliciting pics of New Sincerists in their underwear for my new Naked Poets blog.
2. Sent a new batch of Wintered poems to ZYZZYVA.
3. Used my Visa to make my Mastercard payment.
4. Considered soliciting pics of New Sincerists in their underwear for my new Naked Poets blog.
Poetry Less Than Daily Contest STILL OPEN!
Lissen up, peeps:
If you're on the east coast, or in any time zone east of here and you think the contest is closed or is closing soon, fret not! There's still time! Contest will close at 5 pm, Pacicific Daylight Time. That's 8 pm to the NY folks.
So far, I've only received five submissions. Two from the same poet. So come on! Send those poems in! If responses remains this slow, I'll have to dissertate or something.
If you're on the east coast, or in any time zone east of here and you think the contest is closed or is closing soon, fret not! There's still time! Contest will close at 5 pm, Pacicific Daylight Time. That's 8 pm to the NY folks.
So far, I've only received five submissions. Two from the same poet. So come on! Send those poems in! If responses remains this slow, I'll have to dissertate or something.
Bits & Pieces
This morning I managed to shave my head without shaving off part of my left eyebrow. First time in a long time! I did nick the skin behind my left ear, however.
*
Finally got Limewire. Haven't had much luck downloading anything though. Stupid dial-up.
*
Andy Larsen, Liquor Store employee, family man, and former lead singer and guitarist for the terrible Eugene band "Blasphemous Abnormality" recorded a homemade solo disc a few years ago. I've begun listening to it and it's strangely growing on me. I don't have the actual disk, though, so I don't know the names of the songs. They're on my iTunes as "andy1," "andy2," etc. "andy3" is a pretty good track.
*
I was gonna post a photograph of a New Sincerist in his or her undies on here. I decided against it. If you would like to protest my decision, fill the comment box.
*
In other local music news, try really hard if you can to find music by Ezra Holbrook and Lael Alderman/Lael Leroy. Two dynamite artists who got fucked over by the corporate music goons in the late nineties. I still listen to their gorgeous records. We should start a revival. If you want a disk, send me postage and I'll make you a CD. Offer limited (at this time) to the first five respondents.
*
No exciting coffee girl news today.
*
The Tiny is f'ing great! Get it!
*
Call for poems! Send me one poem of yours (published or unpublished) to the Gmail account. Do it today. You have until 5 pm. The best poem (or the one I like best, at least) will go up on Poetry Less Than Daily.
*
Speaking of Less Than Daily, a new poem by Maggie Nelson is up. The poem was originally published in The Tiny.
*
Finally got Limewire. Haven't had much luck downloading anything though. Stupid dial-up.
*
Andy Larsen, Liquor Store employee, family man, and former lead singer and guitarist for the terrible Eugene band "Blasphemous Abnormality" recorded a homemade solo disc a few years ago. I've begun listening to it and it's strangely growing on me. I don't have the actual disk, though, so I don't know the names of the songs. They're on my iTunes as "andy1," "andy2," etc. "andy3" is a pretty good track.
*
I was gonna post a photograph of a New Sincerist in his or her undies on here. I decided against it. If you would like to protest my decision, fill the comment box.
*
In other local music news, try really hard if you can to find music by Ezra Holbrook and Lael Alderman/Lael Leroy. Two dynamite artists who got fucked over by the corporate music goons in the late nineties. I still listen to their gorgeous records. We should start a revival. If you want a disk, send me postage and I'll make you a CD. Offer limited (at this time) to the first five respondents.
*
No exciting coffee girl news today.
*
The Tiny is f'ing great! Get it!
*
Call for poems! Send me one poem of yours (published or unpublished) to the Gmail account. Do it today. You have until 5 pm. The best poem (or the one I like best, at least) will go up on Poetry Less Than Daily.
*
Speaking of Less Than Daily, a new poem by Maggie Nelson is up. The poem was originally published in The Tiny.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
August 24th is also Ron Padgett Day!
A Brief Correspondence Course
When I close a letter
with “Cordially,” I
blush with shame.
It sounds insincere.
But when a letter
comes to me
with that same closing,
I glow with warmth.
I smile. I think
this person is cordial,
although until
a few moments ago
I had never heard
of him. In fact he is
a wild palooka in a half-
lit office, his
hair crazed with
enterprise, large
rubber mice
in the corridor.
Sincerely,
Ron Padgett
When I close a letter
with “Cordially,” I
blush with shame.
It sounds insincere.
But when a letter
comes to me
with that same closing,
I glow with warmth.
I smile. I think
this person is cordial,
although until
a few moments ago
I had never heard
of him. In fact he is
a wild palooka in a half-
lit office, his
hair crazed with
enterprise, large
rubber mice
in the corridor.
Sincerely,
Ron Padgett
August 24th is Clark Coolidge Day!
Tossed Elegy
Corso an entry word
I saw his hand come up
flash in the LowerEast trouble wards
being the constant sifter
in wait for hallows
and shares in the Shelley vasts
a seat on couches in hamlets
so torn and well read
plastered with eligibility badges
and do you get what my poems know?
graspable but it’s pure
the glow of clown
the last of the mistreated edgers
gone-to-meeting horribles
to get you in bed I’ll get you in my poems
ripeskate? I don’t know the codes
there are no codes
where I land
in roostabout escapade
I find taste dull
the poem on the ceiling
shown different every day
9/11/01
Corso an entry word
I saw his hand come up
flash in the LowerEast trouble wards
being the constant sifter
in wait for hallows
and shares in the Shelley vasts
a seat on couches in hamlets
so torn and well read
plastered with eligibility badges
and do you get what my poems know?
graspable but it’s pure
the glow of clown
the last of the mistreated edgers
gone-to-meeting horribles
to get you in bed I’ll get you in my poems
ripeskate? I don’t know the codes
there are no codes
where I land
in roostabout escapade
I find taste dull
the poem on the ceiling
shown different every day
9/11/01
August 24th is Clark Coolidge Day!
A city where everything is patched, where eye wanders
glowing over remnant, and where the vents of parsimony chew.
Nothing ever brighter than blackness in motion.
Nothing more telling you than the storms of broken time.
(from The Crystal Text, p. 122)
glowing over remnant, and where the vents of parsimony chew.
Nothing ever brighter than blackness in motion.
Nothing more telling you than the storms of broken time.
(from The Crystal Text, p. 122)
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Church of Ceravolo is now in session.
CROSS FIRE
This is the second day without anyone.
I am chinning against a dark sky
to strengthen my arms.
A picture of everyone I love passes thru me.
No clear light streams thru this cell.
There’s no dawn.
What have I gained
by lying in this abyss,
waiting for the masonry
to show a little slit
for my soul to get through?
This is the second day without anyone.
I am chinning against a dark sky
to strengthen my arms.
A picture of everyone I love passes thru me.
No clear light streams thru this cell.
There’s no dawn.
What have I gained
by lying in this abyss,
waiting for the masonry
to show a little slit
for my soul to get through?
Uh Oh!
Kent Johnson has just informed me that HE is the REAL founder of the New Sincerity.
Guys & girls, hand in your letter jackets.
Guys & girls, hand in your letter jackets.
Neil Aitken
has a summary and overview of the documents of the New Sincerity (which is really an old idea, which means we should maybe now be the New New Sincerity, or maybe "La Nueva Sinceridad").
*
Starting a literary movement has greatly increased my Xicanismo.
*
Starting a literary movement has greatly increased my Xicanismo.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Ginger on the NS
I think Ginger's bullet points are brilliant. A great, great, "interpretation" of the New Sincerity's goals.
Response to Seth Abramson
I'm really sort of overwhelmed by the attention the NS is getting. I had no intention of setting blogland abuzz.
You asked what the NS was doing to make weak writers stronger. We are not doing anything to make weak writers stronger. I teach college students composition and literature. In my capacity as a writing instructor, I suppose I'm making weak writers stronger, or trying, but that's separate from the NS.
We're just writing poems. And reading them. And talking about them. We aren't interested in a revolution. People die in revolutions. No more dying.
I am not interested in posterity--we all know how canons get made. I don't think poetic "worth," whatever that is, has much to do with it. I believe that the individual poets writing poems will continue to write poems that speak to themselves and their friends, and whatever audience outside their immediate circle that deems them worthy of reading. When we're dead, someone will pick our bones. Our poetry may survive or it may not. Not my concern right now. This doesn't mean we're not ambitious. It means we're not deluded by aspirations of greatness.
To speak of a poetics of humility (something I sketched some notes toward here a while back) while one finds himself a central figure in a movement he didn't really mean to create seems a little odd. Hard to be humble when everyone is talking about you. In any case, as I've stated many times before, we're not coming to your house, knocking on your door, asking to be lodged, or proclaiming victory in an imaginary war.
We're simply writing poems and writing about poems that we like, here and now. I don't pooh-pooh any particular school or movement, or dismiss any poet out of hand. If others do, then they'll have to deal with that in a way appropriate for them. Though we all wear NS jackets, they are individually tailored.
The genesis of the New Sincerity was a discussion that Andrew Mister and I had about the fact that so much of what is being written by younger poets is boring--it's sterile. There are a lot of talented writers out there, employing every tool in the traditional and avant-garde toolbox, who aren't afraid of anything except coming across as real, flawed, lovely, human beings. So much "new" poetry mightily tries to ironize itself out of feeling. After a little while, this lack of affect becomes boring.
This is why I initially made the now semi-famous (and I truly don't know why) proclamation that most contemporary poetry is boring. It is. But that's always been the case. Most new movies are boring. Most new music is boring. I guess I should add "to me." However, there is still a lot of good stuff out there. One of the central tenets of the New Sincerity is that we focus on work we enjoy rather than dismiss work we don't care for. Parallel, not perpendicular.
You asked what the NS was doing to make weak writers stronger. We are not doing anything to make weak writers stronger. I teach college students composition and literature. In my capacity as a writing instructor, I suppose I'm making weak writers stronger, or trying, but that's separate from the NS.
We're just writing poems. And reading them. And talking about them. We aren't interested in a revolution. People die in revolutions. No more dying.
I am not interested in posterity--we all know how canons get made. I don't think poetic "worth," whatever that is, has much to do with it. I believe that the individual poets writing poems will continue to write poems that speak to themselves and their friends, and whatever audience outside their immediate circle that deems them worthy of reading. When we're dead, someone will pick our bones. Our poetry may survive or it may not. Not my concern right now. This doesn't mean we're not ambitious. It means we're not deluded by aspirations of greatness.
To speak of a poetics of humility (something I sketched some notes toward here a while back) while one finds himself a central figure in a movement he didn't really mean to create seems a little odd. Hard to be humble when everyone is talking about you. In any case, as I've stated many times before, we're not coming to your house, knocking on your door, asking to be lodged, or proclaiming victory in an imaginary war.
We're simply writing poems and writing about poems that we like, here and now. I don't pooh-pooh any particular school or movement, or dismiss any poet out of hand. If others do, then they'll have to deal with that in a way appropriate for them. Though we all wear NS jackets, they are individually tailored.
The genesis of the New Sincerity was a discussion that Andrew Mister and I had about the fact that so much of what is being written by younger poets is boring--it's sterile. There are a lot of talented writers out there, employing every tool in the traditional and avant-garde toolbox, who aren't afraid of anything except coming across as real, flawed, lovely, human beings. So much "new" poetry mightily tries to ironize itself out of feeling. After a little while, this lack of affect becomes boring.
This is why I initially made the now semi-famous (and I truly don't know why) proclamation that most contemporary poetry is boring. It is. But that's always been the case. Most new movies are boring. Most new music is boring. I guess I should add "to me." However, there is still a lot of good stuff out there. One of the central tenets of the New Sincerity is that we focus on work we enjoy rather than dismiss work we don't care for. Parallel, not perpendicular.
Sunday Afternoon
Gorgeous day. Heat finally subsided. 75F and a light breeze. Sun is not too hot. Chasing tigers in red weather.
*
Harrassed by ECE girls about my television viewing habits. It's hard to write poems when you're watching The Surreal Life.
*
The lyrics of Stephen Patrick Morrissey are often sexually ambiguous. Careful use of pronouns.
*
In Hebrew, it is very difficult (if not impossible) to be sexually ambiguous.
*
What's the danger (if any) of a straight man writing sexually ambiguous poems? Is this allowed?
*
Read Joe Massey's Minima St. today and loved it. Then I read Eureka Slough again and the forthcoming Bramble. I tried to write a blurb for the last.
*
Have been revisiting some of my older pre-millenium poems, my Tony Juvenalia, if you will. Sent a few to Joe. Some of it's not as bad as I remember. Some is definitely as bad as I remember.
*
Spent last Thursday and Friday in the woods, in the foothills of the Cascades, in the small (nearly ghost-) town that my parents call home. I golfed, met the frog you see below, walked through the woods with my dad and looked at the wildlife. I took photographs of my folks' FIVE refrigerators.
*
Feeling lonely lately, but not sad, not discontent really. It's a strange feeling, it's not a sadness, not a darkness.
*
I want to lose another 30 lbs. That would put me at the weight I was when I was discharged from the Navy, eleven years ago. I was 22 years old and in love with a girl who broke my heart. Now she's married and lives in San Francisco.
*
Sharing space on my nearest bookshelf:
Sexual Personae (Camille Paglia)
Holler If You Hear Me (Michael Eric Dyson)
The Odyssey (Trans. Fagles & Knox)
The Norton Anthology of Postmodern American Poetry (Ed. Paul Hoover)
The New Rhetoric (Perelman & Olbrechts-Tyteca)
Truth and Method (Hans-Georg Gadamer)
The Realm of Rhetoric (Chaim Perelman)
Modern Dogma and the Rhetoric of Assent (Wayne Booth)
On Violence (Hannah Arendt)
The Human Condition (Hannah Arendt)
The Philosophy of Rhetoric (I.A. Richards)
*
Harrassed by ECE girls about my television viewing habits. It's hard to write poems when you're watching The Surreal Life.
*
The lyrics of Stephen Patrick Morrissey are often sexually ambiguous. Careful use of pronouns.
*
In Hebrew, it is very difficult (if not impossible) to be sexually ambiguous.
*
What's the danger (if any) of a straight man writing sexually ambiguous poems? Is this allowed?
*
Read Joe Massey's Minima St. today and loved it. Then I read Eureka Slough again and the forthcoming Bramble. I tried to write a blurb for the last.
*
Have been revisiting some of my older pre-millenium poems, my Tony Juvenalia, if you will. Sent a few to Joe. Some of it's not as bad as I remember. Some is definitely as bad as I remember.
*
Spent last Thursday and Friday in the woods, in the foothills of the Cascades, in the small (nearly ghost-) town that my parents call home. I golfed, met the frog you see below, walked through the woods with my dad and looked at the wildlife. I took photographs of my folks' FIVE refrigerators.
*
Feeling lonely lately, but not sad, not discontent really. It's a strange feeling, it's not a sadness, not a darkness.
*
I want to lose another 30 lbs. That would put me at the weight I was when I was discharged from the Navy, eleven years ago. I was 22 years old and in love with a girl who broke my heart. Now she's married and lives in San Francisco.
*
Sharing space on my nearest bookshelf:
Sexual Personae (Camille Paglia)
Holler If You Hear Me (Michael Eric Dyson)
The Odyssey (Trans. Fagles & Knox)
The Norton Anthology of Postmodern American Poetry (Ed. Paul Hoover)
The New Rhetoric (Perelman & Olbrechts-Tyteca)
Truth and Method (Hans-Georg Gadamer)
The Realm of Rhetoric (Chaim Perelman)
Modern Dogma and the Rhetoric of Assent (Wayne Booth)
On Violence (Hannah Arendt)
The Human Condition (Hannah Arendt)
The Philosophy of Rhetoric (I.A. Richards)
Friday, August 19, 2005
Jose Gamez. December 24, 1981
The man could make a mean clam chowder and perfectly round tortillas. He also drank Oly from 11 oz. Stubbies. Sincere!
My New Pal, The Frog
A very sincere frog. Capable of giving warts. Can act as a familiar. My brother, remembering certain culinary proclivities of my parents in the late 70s and early 80s, saw this photo and remarked, "You should have stuck a trident in him and ate his legs." Good times.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Response to Steve Mueske's Thought on NS
I've said it before, and I'll say it again--the New Sincerity (I hesitate to call it a "school" or a "movement" though I don't know what else to call it--as soon as Joe Massey began writing manifestoes, it took on a bit of a life of its own) is an idea invented by Andrew Mister and me. And we didn't even "invent" the idea--we decided that we would try to write poetry that we wanted to read, as it seemed to Mr. that most contemporary poetry is BORING.
We still believe that, but it's hardly a radical position. It's Sturgeon's Law. The only thing that has made us stand out is our public "outing" of ourselves as New Sincerists. It's a rather interesting phenomenon.
To the person who claims that making manifestoes in this day and age is morally indefensible, I saw "Pshaw!" or perhaps "Pbbbt!" If you read Joe Massey's manifestoes and various statements about the New Sincerity, you'll see that he says again and again that we are not a club. "If you feel it, you're in" he says.
I agree. As I've said in many a comment box before, we do not run perpendicular to other poets or poetries, we run parallel.
We still believe that, but it's hardly a radical position. It's Sturgeon's Law. The only thing that has made us stand out is our public "outing" of ourselves as New Sincerists. It's a rather interesting phenomenon.
To the person who claims that making manifestoes in this day and age is morally indefensible, I saw "Pshaw!" or perhaps "Pbbbt!" If you read Joe Massey's manifestoes and various statements about the New Sincerity, you'll see that he says again and again that we are not a club. "If you feel it, you're in" he says.
I agree. As I've said in many a comment box before, we do not run perpendicular to other poets or poetries, we run parallel.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Wanted!
Some examples of non-provocative utterance. (Excepted are those utterances that are not intended for others--a private diary, for example...and utterances that are manifestations of mental disorder, the verbal tics of a Tourettes sufferer, the lunatics who sleep in the alley by the halfway house/free clinic down the street who wake me up every morning with insane ranting--no, scratch that last one. I yell at them to shut up, so their behavior, intentional or not, IS provocative.)
I DO watch a lot of gangster movies and I do sometimes talk to graduate students, but I don't think I'm being naive here--almost all utterance IS communication. And ALL communication is provocative, to varying degrees.
Help me out here.
I DO watch a lot of gangster movies and I do sometimes talk to graduate students, but I don't think I'm being naive here--almost all utterance IS communication. And ALL communication is provocative, to varying degrees.
Help me out here.
Bits
In the mail today: Green-Enveloped package of goodies from my sweetie. A card with both Morrissey and Frank Black. And some leaves. And a legal pad letter. And a marvelous CD. Thank you!!!
*
Does anyone want to publish the poems that Little Emerson rejected? Backchannel me. Or fill the comment box. I don't care. Wait, I mean, I do care...
*
Does anyone want to publish the poems that Little Emerson rejected? Backchannel me. Or fill the comment box. I don't care. Wait, I mean, I do care...
Rodney at Kasey's Blog
Poet's names.
*
Rodney is changing the pronunciation of his name.
*
I've always pronounced "Roethke" as "RET-key." Others?
*
John Koethe pronounces his last name like the girl's name often spelled "Katie."
*
Nobody ever had a problem pronouncing my name growing up, so I got upset when other people mispronounced by maternal grandmother's name (and the name of all her children, save my mother--whose maiden name was "Jaurique" which I still don't know how to pronounce, but my mom says "HOAR-uh--GHEE"), "Gamez."
Gamez is a rare name, much less common than "Gomez." It is pronounced thusly, "GAH-muhss" (where the "uh" is my weak attempt at reproducing a vowel that is approximately a half-length schwa). It is not pronounced GAH-MEZ (spondee), or (this is the worst) guh-MEZZ (iamb). It is a trochee. The "Z" in Spanish is like an "S."
*
Rodney is changing the pronunciation of his name.
*
I've always pronounced "Roethke" as "RET-key." Others?
*
John Koethe pronounces his last name like the girl's name often spelled "Katie."
*
Nobody ever had a problem pronouncing my name growing up, so I got upset when other people mispronounced by maternal grandmother's name (and the name of all her children, save my mother--whose maiden name was "Jaurique" which I still don't know how to pronounce, but my mom says "HOAR-uh--GHEE"), "Gamez."
Gamez is a rare name, much less common than "Gomez." It is pronounced thusly, "GAH-muhss" (where the "uh" is my weak attempt at reproducing a vowel that is approximately a half-length schwa). It is not pronounced GAH-MEZ (spondee), or (this is the worst) guh-MEZZ (iamb). It is a trochee. The "Z" in Spanish is like an "S."
WTF! or "Hooray for the Blog-readers"
Since that last post, less than an hour ago, I've had 98 more hits. That's roughly 40% of the average days hits in an hour.
And C. Dale, you are definitely not chopped liver. You're more like foie gras with shaved black truffles.
And C. Dale, you are definitely not chopped liver. You're more like foie gras with shaved black truffles.
Weird...
Only 68 hits so far today. That's about 50% of the usual by this time. Did everyone take a holiday?
I have hit a new low!
What do I do for fun on an August afternoon? I go to Safeway. Yep. Pretty sad.
I have other options, it’s true. I can watch television, but I do enough of that. I could start drinking early, but if I do that, sans companions, I’ll end up watching television.
I could work on the dissertation, but that’s not fun. I could read for pleasure, but that’s also not very pleasurable these days.
What’s left?
Safeway. I could go the ECE again, but I was there already today and I really don’t need any more caffeine.
I’m broke, but I can walk around Safeway, pretending to shop, and pondering the Big Questions, like
“Is honey the only product that normally comes in bear-shaped containers?”
I have other options, it’s true. I can watch television, but I do enough of that. I could start drinking early, but if I do that, sans companions, I’ll end up watching television.
I could work on the dissertation, but that’s not fun. I could read for pleasure, but that’s also not very pleasurable these days.
What’s left?
Safeway. I could go the ECE again, but I was there already today and I really don’t need any more caffeine.
I’m broke, but I can walk around Safeway, pretending to shop, and pondering the Big Questions, like
“Is honey the only product that normally comes in bear-shaped containers?”
I tied the record @ Little Emerson
"Palmeira, Spain, 18 August 2005
Dear Tony,
Join the party. Your poems "On the Prospect of MC, et al., have been
rejected by at least two Little Emerson editors. Since you had
actually tied the record of acceptance at four votes on the poem "On
this one, Then that one" I had actually hoped the last editor would
have given you the elusive "fiver" that no one has managed to get thus
far. (The last editor response to your work came in last night,
apparently after I harangued the shop for editorial slowness in
responding. You might have seen it in Little Emerson.) So as you can
see our different approaches to "sincerity" make for a hard go.
I had high hopes for your poems and their tremendous energy and
originality but only four of nine eds agreed. Their comments below.
You have tied the record.
Thanks a lot for playing along. Keep making that music.
Yours,
Alberto
*
Some editor's comments:
1. These are charming--I'll say yes to all.
2. I can't accept these either.
3. My response to these is no.
4. I will say "yes" to On This One... though I did like Natural History up to a point. Something in me profoundly dislikes the discussion of an iPOD in a poem. Something in me cannot begin to agree with the banality of technology.
5. I'm saying YES to one of these poems. These poems read like the work of Anthony Robinson. I really hope that my awareness of this fact didn't affect my readings. This is strong, lovely work. I would like to see "Day After Tax Day" published in Little Emerson.
6. Not sure how much it matters to you at this point, but I think I should mention that I recognize the author of these poems, not because I know him or his work--I don't--but because I read his blog and I recognize themes, places, phrases he's written before, personhood. I find it a comfort, actually, that in all this anonymity there is something recognizably authorial here in this poetry filled with such quirky subjectivity that I can name the poet in the poetry. That's part of what makes it so good. He's doing his own thing. I guess I'm not that interested, ultimately, in poetry without poets. OR editing without editors: I feel I've been a careful, objective, appreciative reader of this poetry, so I don't think it matters much that I've discovered the author. Please forward my comments to Tony.
I like and recommend publication of "On the Prospect of MC," "On this One, Then That One," and "Day After Tax Day." As for "A Natural History," I feel it's somehow lacking sincerity, even as the feeling is there.
7. On This One, Then That One
Yes. Good, good, good! Great observations, melancholy and energy, propulsive and explosive language. The others, no. On the Prospect of MC in a Not-Quite-Suggestive Pose No. While there were a couple of lines in the middle that drew me, it's not enough I'm afraid. A Natural History No. For me, the poem loses energy towards the end. Day After Tax Day No. Not enough happens in the poem.
8. prospect of MC:no.
a natural history: no.
on this one: no.
day after tax day: no.
9. No.
Dear Tony,
Join the party. Your poems "On the Prospect of MC, et al., have been
rejected by at least two Little Emerson editors. Since you had
actually tied the record of acceptance at four votes on the poem "On
this one, Then that one" I had actually hoped the last editor would
have given you the elusive "fiver" that no one has managed to get thus
far. (The last editor response to your work came in last night,
apparently after I harangued the shop for editorial slowness in
responding. You might have seen it in Little Emerson.) So as you can
see our different approaches to "sincerity" make for a hard go.
I had high hopes for your poems and their tremendous energy and
originality but only four of nine eds agreed. Their comments below.
You have tied the record.
Thanks a lot for playing along. Keep making that music.
Yours,
Alberto
*
Some editor's comments:
1. These are charming--I'll say yes to all.
2. I can't accept these either.
3. My response to these is no.
4. I will say "yes" to On This One... though I did like Natural History up to a point. Something in me profoundly dislikes the discussion of an iPOD in a poem. Something in me cannot begin to agree with the banality of technology.
5. I'm saying YES to one of these poems. These poems read like the work of Anthony Robinson. I really hope that my awareness of this fact didn't affect my readings. This is strong, lovely work. I would like to see "Day After Tax Day" published in Little Emerson.
6. Not sure how much it matters to you at this point, but I think I should mention that I recognize the author of these poems, not because I know him or his work--I don't--but because I read his blog and I recognize themes, places, phrases he's written before, personhood. I find it a comfort, actually, that in all this anonymity there is something recognizably authorial here in this poetry filled with such quirky subjectivity that I can name the poet in the poetry. That's part of what makes it so good. He's doing his own thing. I guess I'm not that interested, ultimately, in poetry without poets. OR editing without editors: I feel I've been a careful, objective, appreciative reader of this poetry, so I don't think it matters much that I've discovered the author. Please forward my comments to Tony.
I like and recommend publication of "On the Prospect of MC," "On this One, Then That One," and "Day After Tax Day." As for "A Natural History," I feel it's somehow lacking sincerity, even as the feeling is there.
7. On This One, Then That One
Yes. Good, good, good! Great observations, melancholy and energy, propulsive and explosive language. The others, no. On the Prospect of MC in a Not-Quite-Suggestive Pose No. While there were a couple of lines in the middle that drew me, it's not enough I'm afraid. A Natural History No. For me, the poem loses energy towards the end. Day After Tax Day No. Not enough happens in the poem.
8. prospect of MC:no.
a natural history: no.
on this one: no.
day after tax day: no.
9. No.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Question for the Million Poet
Doesn't [x] (where [x] stands for any utterer) always write to provoke a reaction?
Anyone who writes for the public, or any audience beyond him or herself, wishes for feedback, right?
*
I can only assume that J. is referring to Ron's slight swipe at "NY School"-influenced poetries. But that's kinda silly. Ron's take on The Tiny, by the way, is a little different than mine. But I'll share that later. For now, I'm glad that Gina's & Gabi's hard work is getting noticed.
*
Hmm...Ron NEVER wrote a thing about _The Canary_, also a very good, intelligent journal.
Anyone who writes for the public, or any audience beyond him or herself, wishes for feedback, right?
*
I can only assume that J. is referring to Ron's slight swipe at "NY School"-influenced poetries. But that's kinda silly. Ron's take on The Tiny, by the way, is a little different than mine. But I'll share that later. For now, I'm glad that Gina's & Gabi's hard work is getting noticed.
*
Hmm...Ron NEVER wrote a thing about _The Canary_, also a very good, intelligent journal.
Some More Notes on the NS
We're here, some of us are queer, and we aren't going anywhere.
The New Sincerity had its genesis in December of 2004. It began when I met Andrew Mister in San Francisco's Tenderloin district and proceeded to drink him under the table. He lost concentration during our last couple of rounds as he was trying to chat up a girl at the bar. I maintained focus on drinking my beer and whiskey. A photo-documentary of this event lives in the archives. After drinking, I had Thai food at a nearby all-night eatery. I left Andrew at the bar.
We talked a lot of shit about poetry we didn't like between drinks. We also sang David Bowie's "Life on Mars," though we couldn't remember all the lyrics. We watched a drag show. We almost broke a table. We also talked about what we wanted in contemporary poetry. Frank O'Hara said that only a few poets were more interesting than the movies. We believe that only a few poets are more interesting than David Bowie. At least right now. We're hoping to pull a few more New Sincerists out of the closet, those who are afraid of losing post-avant cred, or appearing too sentimental. Sentimental means "relating to sentiment." Sentiment means "feeling." We feel, dig?
Before our drinking battle, we exchanged manuscripts. The next morning, hung over and sipping Emergen-C, we read the poems and discovered that each of us was the other's favorite new poet. We seemed to see eye to eye on matters poetical. We wrote the sorts of poems that we wanted to read. We continued our correspondence and friendship. We began to notice other poets who seemed to want the same things from contemporary poetry--Joseph Massey, Charlie Jensen, Reb Livingston, Gina Myers, Laurel Snyder. Jeff Bahr, though not a New Sincerist, photoshopped a NS teeshirt on himself. Josh Hanson criticized us. Lots of other people just don't care. So it goes.
The New Sincerity went public in the late spring and early summer of 2005. I began writing little blips about it on my blog. In early July of 2005, Joe Massey wrote a controversial manifesto. Since then, not a day in the blogosphere goes by without a mention of the NS. I like this. It means people are paying attention. Not everyone agrees with us and that is okay. There are a number of skeptics. That too is okay.
We are not going anywhere. But we promise not to take over your town.
The New Sincerity had its genesis in December of 2004. It began when I met Andrew Mister in San Francisco's Tenderloin district and proceeded to drink him under the table. He lost concentration during our last couple of rounds as he was trying to chat up a girl at the bar. I maintained focus on drinking my beer and whiskey. A photo-documentary of this event lives in the archives. After drinking, I had Thai food at a nearby all-night eatery. I left Andrew at the bar.
We talked a lot of shit about poetry we didn't like between drinks. We also sang David Bowie's "Life on Mars," though we couldn't remember all the lyrics. We watched a drag show. We almost broke a table. We also talked about what we wanted in contemporary poetry. Frank O'Hara said that only a few poets were more interesting than the movies. We believe that only a few poets are more interesting than David Bowie. At least right now. We're hoping to pull a few more New Sincerists out of the closet, those who are afraid of losing post-avant cred, or appearing too sentimental. Sentimental means "relating to sentiment." Sentiment means "feeling." We feel, dig?
Before our drinking battle, we exchanged manuscripts. The next morning, hung over and sipping Emergen-C, we read the poems and discovered that each of us was the other's favorite new poet. We seemed to see eye to eye on matters poetical. We wrote the sorts of poems that we wanted to read. We continued our correspondence and friendship. We began to notice other poets who seemed to want the same things from contemporary poetry--Joseph Massey, Charlie Jensen, Reb Livingston, Gina Myers, Laurel Snyder. Jeff Bahr, though not a New Sincerist, photoshopped a NS teeshirt on himself. Josh Hanson criticized us. Lots of other people just don't care. So it goes.
The New Sincerity went public in the late spring and early summer of 2005. I began writing little blips about it on my blog. In early July of 2005, Joe Massey wrote a controversial manifesto. Since then, not a day in the blogosphere goes by without a mention of the NS. I like this. It means people are paying attention. Not everyone agrees with us and that is okay. There are a number of skeptics. That too is okay.
We are not going anywhere. But we promise not to take over your town.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Sunday, August 14, 2005
On the "random" JC
Welcome to the Church of JC (Joseph Ceravolo). Today’s sermon concerns the first section of Ceravolo’s poem “Ho Ho Ho Caribou.”
Ho Ho Ho Caribou
for Rosemary
I
Leaped at the caribou.
My son looked at the caribou.
The kangaroo leaped on the
fruit tree. I am a white
man and my children
are hungry
which is like paradise.
The doll is sleeping.
It lay down to creep into
the plate.
It was clean and flying.
*
The dedication provides context. Though the first-time reader may not know that “Rosemary” refers to Ceravolo’s wife, he or she probably instinctually knows that poets usually dedicate poems to people close to themselves. The absence of a surname also indicates an intimate level of familiarity. “Familiar” is an apt word here—the poem is about Ceravolo’s family. Or the family in general and the father/husband’s role within the family.
*
And what of the title? Like much in Ceravolo, I would guess that the title was initially a phrase chosen for its aural effects. The long vowels lend a certain languidity to the phrase, slow down the pronunciation, almost force a speaker to linger on the words. Try to say it fast. This “training” of the tongue and eye is instructive, as the whole poem (and Ceravolo’s work in general) deserves a reading that lingers on the small bits, the phrasings, not just the semantic effects, but the aural/oral ones as well. Ceravolo’s playfulness peeks through in the title as well, “Ho ho ho,” probably makes many readers think of gangsta rap, but as this poem predates NWA, Slick Rick, and Ice-T, we must not get anachronistic on its ass. “Ho ho ho” is what Santa Claus says. And what guides Santa’s sleigh? Reindoor, aka caribou.
*
The poem’s first section sets the scene and reveals its method. The first line is a verb phrase missing a subject. Who leaped at the caribou? The Roman numeral “I” that precedes the first line provides a plausible explanation, though I think no explanation is needed. The important act here is the leaping; the poem begins already in motion. Some Greek or Roman guy, Horace, maybe, or Aristotle, or both recommended beginning poems in the middle of the action. They got this idea from an older blind Greek fellow. More verb phrases follow: “My son looked at the caribou,” “the kangaroo leaped on the / fruit tree.” A lot is going on here. The first person (second, if we count Rosemary) we encounter is the speaker’s son, looking at the caribou that is, ostensibly, the inspiration for the poem. The kangaroo, an aural cousin of the caribou replicates the action in the initial line, with more specificity. We have a subject (the kangaroo) and object (the fruit tree) and an action (leaping). The emphasis on motion, the in medias res (we now return to your regularly scheduled program, already in progress), is important here because Ceravolo, while always lyrical, always concerned with sounds, is very often a narrative poet. He establishes that he is writing a narrative poem by beginning with a quick succession of actions, actions already in motion. While the pure lyric poem meditates (on a dot, rather than in a line, to be Tralfamadorian about it) on a moment, or an emotional situation (looking at London sleeping from Westminster bridge brings a minor epiphany to Will Wordsworth). A narrative poem unfolds over time—motion, physical motion, a journey, is one of the most common ways a narrative unfolds. Maybe the only way. As I Lay Dying is a lyrical narrative.
*
Having established the narrative, the speaker introduces himself. The poignancy of the phrase “I am a white / man and my children /are hungry” is tempered by socio-economic and racial considerations. How important is it that the speaker is a white man? Why are his children hungry? Before we can fully consider what (if any) social commentary lurks in this phrase, the speaker informs us that this, his situation (being white and poor) “is like paradise.” The family situation. The family stranded figuratively (and maybe literally) in a desert place that is not entirely a desert place (fruit trees). The presence of the “white man” as central figure in the family drama. The confusion of the elements, the leaps in imagery (and the actual “leaping” in the poem), set the scene. A white man with hungry children in a wild, dangerous place that is also paradise. Familial love creates a paradise that transcends the less than idyllic (but more than a little whimsical) landscape in which Ceravolo has placed our family.
*
The final lines in the stanza:
operate primarily on an aural level. Consonant + “l” sounds prevail: “sleeping,” “plate,” “clean,” “flying.” Rhyme: “sleeping,” & “creep.” Assonance: long “e” sounds. The “pitch” of the language here is turned a notch higher (if my ear is tuned correctly) than what comes before. This is a tonal shift brought about not only by apparently discontinuous imagery, but by the texture of the language itself. Note that I say “apparently.” The sleeping doll replaces the earlier non-image of “my son.” The doll, the son, lay down, and creeps into the plate. Once again, we have a verb phrase, this time a more complex construction. The doll sleeps, lays down, and creeps. Into a plate. Because it’s hungry. “It” in the last line can refer to the doll or the plate. If the plate is clean, it is empty. It may have once contained food (clean your plate!), or not. That it is flying is consistent with the other actions reported so far: looking, leaping, creeping, sleeping. These words also recall a sort of Edenic setting. Paradise, right? Crawling, creeping things. Birds of the air. Beasts of the field. Fruit trees.
*
It is one thing to say that you don’t like the poetry of Joe Ceravolo. It is quite another to say that you don’t understand it, or don’t “get” it. Emotionally, his tone is very steady, and much of the time he works with narrative that is at least as “understandable” as any Faulkner novel.
Ho Ho Ho Caribou
for Rosemary
I
Leaped at the caribou.
My son looked at the caribou.
The kangaroo leaped on the
fruit tree. I am a white
man and my children
are hungry
which is like paradise.
The doll is sleeping.
It lay down to creep into
the plate.
It was clean and flying.
*
The dedication provides context. Though the first-time reader may not know that “Rosemary” refers to Ceravolo’s wife, he or she probably instinctually knows that poets usually dedicate poems to people close to themselves. The absence of a surname also indicates an intimate level of familiarity. “Familiar” is an apt word here—the poem is about Ceravolo’s family. Or the family in general and the father/husband’s role within the family.
*
And what of the title? Like much in Ceravolo, I would guess that the title was initially a phrase chosen for its aural effects. The long vowels lend a certain languidity to the phrase, slow down the pronunciation, almost force a speaker to linger on the words. Try to say it fast. This “training” of the tongue and eye is instructive, as the whole poem (and Ceravolo’s work in general) deserves a reading that lingers on the small bits, the phrasings, not just the semantic effects, but the aural/oral ones as well. Ceravolo’s playfulness peeks through in the title as well, “Ho ho ho,” probably makes many readers think of gangsta rap, but as this poem predates NWA, Slick Rick, and Ice-T, we must not get anachronistic on its ass. “Ho ho ho” is what Santa Claus says. And what guides Santa’s sleigh? Reindoor, aka caribou.
*
The poem’s first section sets the scene and reveals its method. The first line is a verb phrase missing a subject. Who leaped at the caribou? The Roman numeral “I” that precedes the first line provides a plausible explanation, though I think no explanation is needed. The important act here is the leaping; the poem begins already in motion. Some Greek or Roman guy, Horace, maybe, or Aristotle, or both recommended beginning poems in the middle of the action. They got this idea from an older blind Greek fellow. More verb phrases follow: “My son looked at the caribou,” “the kangaroo leaped on the / fruit tree.” A lot is going on here. The first person (second, if we count Rosemary) we encounter is the speaker’s son, looking at the caribou that is, ostensibly, the inspiration for the poem. The kangaroo, an aural cousin of the caribou replicates the action in the initial line, with more specificity. We have a subject (the kangaroo) and object (the fruit tree) and an action (leaping). The emphasis on motion, the in medias res (we now return to your regularly scheduled program, already in progress), is important here because Ceravolo, while always lyrical, always concerned with sounds, is very often a narrative poet. He establishes that he is writing a narrative poem by beginning with a quick succession of actions, actions already in motion. While the pure lyric poem meditates (on a dot, rather than in a line, to be Tralfamadorian about it) on a moment, or an emotional situation (looking at London sleeping from Westminster bridge brings a minor epiphany to Will Wordsworth). A narrative poem unfolds over time—motion, physical motion, a journey, is one of the most common ways a narrative unfolds. Maybe the only way. As I Lay Dying is a lyrical narrative.
*
Having established the narrative, the speaker introduces himself. The poignancy of the phrase “I am a white / man and my children /are hungry” is tempered by socio-economic and racial considerations. How important is it that the speaker is a white man? Why are his children hungry? Before we can fully consider what (if any) social commentary lurks in this phrase, the speaker informs us that this, his situation (being white and poor) “is like paradise.” The family situation. The family stranded figuratively (and maybe literally) in a desert place that is not entirely a desert place (fruit trees). The presence of the “white man” as central figure in the family drama. The confusion of the elements, the leaps in imagery (and the actual “leaping” in the poem), set the scene. A white man with hungry children in a wild, dangerous place that is also paradise. Familial love creates a paradise that transcends the less than idyllic (but more than a little whimsical) landscape in which Ceravolo has placed our family.
*
The final lines in the stanza:
The doll is sleeping.
It lay down to creep into
the plate.
It was clean and flying.
operate primarily on an aural level. Consonant + “l” sounds prevail: “sleeping,” “plate,” “clean,” “flying.” Rhyme: “sleeping,” & “creep.” Assonance: long “e” sounds. The “pitch” of the language here is turned a notch higher (if my ear is tuned correctly) than what comes before. This is a tonal shift brought about not only by apparently discontinuous imagery, but by the texture of the language itself. Note that I say “apparently.” The sleeping doll replaces the earlier non-image of “my son.” The doll, the son, lay down, and creeps into the plate. Once again, we have a verb phrase, this time a more complex construction. The doll sleeps, lays down, and creeps. Into a plate. Because it’s hungry. “It” in the last line can refer to the doll or the plate. If the plate is clean, it is empty. It may have once contained food (clean your plate!), or not. That it is flying is consistent with the other actions reported so far: looking, leaping, creeping, sleeping. These words also recall a sort of Edenic setting. Paradise, right? Crawling, creeping things. Birds of the air. Beasts of the field. Fruit trees.
*
It is one thing to say that you don’t like the poetry of Joe Ceravolo. It is quite another to say that you don’t understand it, or don’t “get” it. Emotionally, his tone is very steady, and much of the time he works with narrative that is at least as “understandable” as any Faulkner novel.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Saturday Alone Again
Thanks to Joe and Anne, James Joyce's dirty love letters. If you are a New Sincerist, or love a New Sincerist, or sleep with a New Sincerist, you owe it to yourself to see JJ at his most sincere.
*
Today, my favorite coffee girl, the one whose name is dangerously close to the name of my ex-gf, asked me why, when I drink iced coffee, i require four shots of espresso, but only three when it's hot. I didn't have an answer, but upon leaving the Evil Coffee Emporium, one occurred to me. Back in my younger days, I drank two or more pots of coffee daily. I was something of a fiend. By my late twenties, I had graduated to a four shot Americano in a 16 oz. cup. My poor stomach lining could take no more. I began to notice, however, that I would never finish the full 16 oz. My drink would invariably go cold at the two-thirds mark. So I switched to taking three shots in a 12 oz. cup. This was a waste of a shot, as ECE baristas can pull shots in twos, but not threes. Occasionally, a sharp ECE espresso-puller will ask me if I want the extra shot, and I always take it. When drinking espresso over ice, however, I always take four shots, as I have no problem with keeping it the right temperature. I always finish my iced drink much more quickly than the hot one. Thanks, cute coffee girl!
*
I am declaring today Official Librarian Poet Day. Please pay your regards to Andy Carter, Aaron Tieger, and Jess Mynes.
*
In the mail today: contributor's copies of Quarterly West, featuring poems by two people who have been associated with the New Sincerity: Yours Truly and Charlie Jensen. (Hot poems, by the way, Charlie.)
*
I made the back cover of the new ZYZZYVA again. I think this is the fourth time. My contribution? The terse, pithy, "It is raining in Eugene."
*
Yesterday, I think a beer serving lass flirted with me. She asked me for gum, which I happened to have, and then said, "I love you." But this was after she had spent the previous hour shooting glances at me as I sat on a high stool and enjoyed beer.
Ladies--there isn't enough Tony for everyone.
*
Lately, I've read some very good poetry in manuscript from: Erica Bernheim, Aaron Tieger, and Joe Massey. Keep it coming, friends.
*
In the "to read" pile: Quarterly West, Carve #6, Ange Mlinko's Starred Wire, Ted Mathys's Forge.
*
Today, my favorite coffee girl, the one whose name is dangerously close to the name of my ex-gf, asked me why, when I drink iced coffee, i require four shots of espresso, but only three when it's hot. I didn't have an answer, but upon leaving the Evil Coffee Emporium, one occurred to me. Back in my younger days, I drank two or more pots of coffee daily. I was something of a fiend. By my late twenties, I had graduated to a four shot Americano in a 16 oz. cup. My poor stomach lining could take no more. I began to notice, however, that I would never finish the full 16 oz. My drink would invariably go cold at the two-thirds mark. So I switched to taking three shots in a 12 oz. cup. This was a waste of a shot, as ECE baristas can pull shots in twos, but not threes. Occasionally, a sharp ECE espresso-puller will ask me if I want the extra shot, and I always take it. When drinking espresso over ice, however, I always take four shots, as I have no problem with keeping it the right temperature. I always finish my iced drink much more quickly than the hot one. Thanks, cute coffee girl!
*
I am declaring today Official Librarian Poet Day. Please pay your regards to Andy Carter, Aaron Tieger, and Jess Mynes.
*
In the mail today: contributor's copies of Quarterly West, featuring poems by two people who have been associated with the New Sincerity: Yours Truly and Charlie Jensen. (Hot poems, by the way, Charlie.)
*
I made the back cover of the new ZYZZYVA again. I think this is the fourth time. My contribution? The terse, pithy, "It is raining in Eugene."
*
Yesterday, I think a beer serving lass flirted with me. She asked me for gum, which I happened to have, and then said, "I love you." But this was after she had spent the previous hour shooting glances at me as I sat on a high stool and enjoyed beer.
Ladies--there isn't enough Tony for everyone.
*
Lately, I've read some very good poetry in manuscript from: Erica Bernheim, Aaron Tieger, and Joe Massey. Keep it coming, friends.
*
In the "to read" pile: Quarterly West, Carve #6, Ange Mlinko's Starred Wire, Ted Mathys's Forge.
Friday, August 12, 2005
bah humbug
"Dear Anthony Robinson,
Thank you very much for submitting your manuscript
"lucky error" to us. We have read your work
with interest but we are unable to offer publication
to you in our upcoming list.
I wish you success with your current manuscript and
sincerely hope that you will think of us again in the
future."
Thank you very much for submitting your manuscript
"lucky error" to us. We have read your work
with interest but we are unable to offer publication
to you in our upcoming list.
I wish you success with your current manuscript and
sincerely hope that you will think of us again in the
future."
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Poem-like Substance for David Shapiro
Apology for What I Cannot Keep Afloat
because it’s raining again & the photographs are tinctured
each this blue this disc hanging bright in the tree at dusk
a love poem is like a war or a cartoon or a love beveled
each importance is difficult work & we fly above all & twitch
poems about wars incite warriors, poems about love induce frottage
these truths hard against the sky when I’ve opened every window
the house alone for wielding a fig, a brief history of what
you mean to be alone some more & then a bat flies through it
almost hovering you didn’t see it move or can’t awake be sung alive
the longest continuous stars the eyes of boys yet summertime
flings open shutters & take cameras for windy rides uptown
the chemistry window & the physics window long leg porthole
a modicum of civility injects itself into the military gloss
the night alone above a clouded milkyway of shrapnel to keep
not writing about death to keep the ear canal clean free of blood
today I hurt the feelings of friends whom I love I can’t keep
these fingers shut these dark circles my failures make us concentric
because it’s raining again & the photographs are tinctured
each this blue this disc hanging bright in the tree at dusk
a love poem is like a war or a cartoon or a love beveled
each importance is difficult work & we fly above all & twitch
poems about wars incite warriors, poems about love induce frottage
these truths hard against the sky when I’ve opened every window
the house alone for wielding a fig, a brief history of what
you mean to be alone some more & then a bat flies through it
almost hovering you didn’t see it move or can’t awake be sung alive
the longest continuous stars the eyes of boys yet summertime
flings open shutters & take cameras for windy rides uptown
the chemistry window & the physics window long leg porthole
a modicum of civility injects itself into the military gloss
the night alone above a clouded milkyway of shrapnel to keep
not writing about death to keep the ear canal clean free of blood
today I hurt the feelings of friends whom I love I can’t keep
these fingers shut these dark circles my failures make us concentric
More Spiders of the New Sincerity
This handsome devil lives directly above the front door of my brother's house.
This Just in From Laurel Snyder
Poem without italics
--for Tony and The New Sincerity
You have to leave your italics at the boat house, have
to ask the dark-haired girl in the boat to step ashore
and walk with you— a ways. She’s wearing a skirt.
When she says no, you have to be able—to ask
her again. The boat house is peeling. That’s all right.
Really, that’s ok. The boat house has a purpose.
It’s about rain on the blacktop, honestly. It’s about you.
Yes, you. Rain on the porch roof. Rain says, “Will you come
outside a minute? I have something important to say.”
You have to be able to quote Springsteen and mean it.
The wind does whisper, and you can’t edit everything.
Cliché’s abound on the good nights. There are good nights.
So you have to listen. Sex, and red wine, then a guitar.
Or the order is wrong, but that doesn’t matter as much as
I’m sorry. I should know better. I really should. Shame.
A peach. We were dancing once, and I was sweaty,
at the concert. When the song changed I put my
tongue in your mouth. It was hot. It makes me hot just—
I put my hand in my pocket. It’s a reflex. I can take it
Out again if I want to. No I can’t. Yes I can. You try!
There are things we aren’t allowed to say, so we say them.
Oh! Goddamn! Anything! With! Too! Much! Punctuation!
Means something to someone. What’s the worst you can do?
“Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain.”
All the words belong to someone else. We only borrow.
And the wrong words matter too. Like a game of hangman,
you’re only guessing, until you know what you want.
The wrong words help you. The letters rearrange. The same
letters over and over. Where will you put the stress? When
will you come out onto the porch? I love. There— now what?
--for Tony and The New Sincerity
You have to leave your italics at the boat house, have
to ask the dark-haired girl in the boat to step ashore
and walk with you— a ways. She’s wearing a skirt.
When she says no, you have to be able—to ask
her again. The boat house is peeling. That’s all right.
Really, that’s ok. The boat house has a purpose.
It’s about rain on the blacktop, honestly. It’s about you.
Yes, you. Rain on the porch roof. Rain says, “Will you come
outside a minute? I have something important to say.”
You have to be able to quote Springsteen and mean it.
The wind does whisper, and you can’t edit everything.
Cliché’s abound on the good nights. There are good nights.
So you have to listen. Sex, and red wine, then a guitar.
Or the order is wrong, but that doesn’t matter as much as
I’m sorry. I should know better. I really should. Shame.
A peach. We were dancing once, and I was sweaty,
at the concert. When the song changed I put my
tongue in your mouth. It was hot. It makes me hot just—
I put my hand in my pocket. It’s a reflex. I can take it
Out again if I want to. No I can’t. Yes I can. You try!
There are things we aren’t allowed to say, so we say them.
Oh! Goddamn! Anything! With! Too! Much! Punctuation!
Means something to someone. What’s the worst you can do?
“Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain.”
All the words belong to someone else. We only borrow.
And the wrong words matter too. Like a game of hangman,
you’re only guessing, until you know what you want.
The wrong words help you. The letters rearrange. The same
letters over and over. Where will you put the stress? When
will you come out onto the porch? I love. There— now what?
At the Break of Day
Drinking summer coffee and listening to Bonnie "Prince" Billy. Not GPM, but "Ease Down the Road."
A girl I was in love with lent me a BPB record some years ago. It wasn't until some years later that I actually began to fall in love with Will Oldham.
Even though I'm newly undepressed, newly alive it seems, melancholy music always works better for me than the happy kind.
Erica wants me to write a poem about grammar. I want to write a poem about what kind of underwear certain poets wear. I know one thing for sure: Andy Mister wears orange underwear.
A woman I admire writes to tell me that I remind her of Press-N-Seal. That makes me want to kiss her.
I sent Andy a "lyric essay" for a project he's working on. Speaking of, our joint chapbook "Here's to You" will be finished soon. We are seeking a publisher of fine chapbooks. Suggestions? Reply backchannel or in comment boxes.
Another woman I admire made me cry a couple days back. I made her cry too. We made each other cry and now we will not speak again. I wrote a whole book of poems mostly about her. And the book ends with a new woman. And it's early summer at the end of the book.
David Shapiro said that he sometimes worries about poems with women as subjects, and I used to but I don't. I also write love poems for men. Like the poem "Morning" from "Wintered."
Josh Rouse on the iTunes now. My iTunes cannot distinguish between Kate Bush, Tom Petty, and Uncle Tupelo. It is a very strange thing.
I want to dissertate today--I need to write about violence in The Sonnets. Anybody with any suggestions, please give me them. Pronto.
I wish Kent and Jimmy wouldn't fight. I wish people would get along. And then I'm reminded about the subject of my dissertation: community formation and inter- and intra-community violence, the rhetoric of violence, actual violence in po-communities. Ha!
"Keats and Yeats are on your side, but you lose, because Wilde is on mine."
It occurs to me that the Morrissey of "The Queen is Dead" is a shallow aesthete.
Kasey Mohammad's posts are always really interesting, but I often feel dumb reading them.
I never know what Josh Corey is talking about.
I always know what Tony Tost is talking about and I always seem to disagree, except about GPM, which is a great album.
A girl I was in love with lent me a BPB record some years ago. It wasn't until some years later that I actually began to fall in love with Will Oldham.
Even though I'm newly undepressed, newly alive it seems, melancholy music always works better for me than the happy kind.
Erica wants me to write a poem about grammar. I want to write a poem about what kind of underwear certain poets wear. I know one thing for sure: Andy Mister wears orange underwear.
A woman I admire writes to tell me that I remind her of Press-N-Seal. That makes me want to kiss her.
I sent Andy a "lyric essay" for a project he's working on. Speaking of, our joint chapbook "Here's to You" will be finished soon. We are seeking a publisher of fine chapbooks. Suggestions? Reply backchannel or in comment boxes.
Another woman I admire made me cry a couple days back. I made her cry too. We made each other cry and now we will not speak again. I wrote a whole book of poems mostly about her. And the book ends with a new woman. And it's early summer at the end of the book.
David Shapiro said that he sometimes worries about poems with women as subjects, and I used to but I don't. I also write love poems for men. Like the poem "Morning" from "Wintered."
Josh Rouse on the iTunes now. My iTunes cannot distinguish between Kate Bush, Tom Petty, and Uncle Tupelo. It is a very strange thing.
I want to dissertate today--I need to write about violence in The Sonnets. Anybody with any suggestions, please give me them. Pronto.
I wish Kent and Jimmy wouldn't fight. I wish people would get along. And then I'm reminded about the subject of my dissertation: community formation and inter- and intra-community violence, the rhetoric of violence, actual violence in po-communities. Ha!
"Keats and Yeats are on your side, but you lose, because Wilde is on mine."
It occurs to me that the Morrissey of "The Queen is Dead" is a shallow aesthete.
Kasey Mohammad's posts are always really interesting, but I often feel dumb reading them.
I never know what Josh Corey is talking about.
I always know what Tony Tost is talking about and I always seem to disagree, except about GPM, which is a great album.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Monday, August 08, 2005
Sunday, August 07, 2005
publication.rejection.orpheus
Rejection is life. Life is rejection.
*
As an editor, I write dozens of rejections in a month or two. As a "poet" I have received dozens. In the shoebox they go.
*
Is it healthy to want to write poetry with the chief goal of being published? I want to say no. But then I continue to send things out here and there, to send the book ms. out, to send things along when I'm solicited. And I wouldn't be an editor if I frowned upon the pursuit of publication. It's a very confusing place to be.
*
I have invited plenty of people to submit to The Canary. Some we accept, some we do not. An invitation to submit does not (or should not) imply imminent acceptance. The poet who thinks that is arrogant. An editor's job is to publish poetry she likes, poetry she believes in. If a good poet sends you subpar work, the best editorial move is to reject it.
*
Gabe Gudding invited me to submit to a journal he edited and then proceeded to reject me three times before finally taking some poems. Three times. I didn't take my toys and go home. I just sent better poems.
*
For those on the west coast, consider ZYZZYVA. Howard Junker usually responds within a week. Also consider Northwest Review. Response time is considerably slower, BUT it's a nifty magazine. So much of our slush pile is so horrible, if bloggers began submitting en masse, I'm pretty confident the quality of the slush would greatly increase.
*
I can understand labeling a poem "too intellectual," but, at the same time, I can also understand what a cop-out such a response is. WHAT makes the work "too intellectual"? What does that even mean? [Brian Draper voice here.] Sometimes we need to be careful about what we scribble on rejections.
*
Or "too intellectual" might be shorthand for "trying to prove how smart you are, or how much you've read." I reject those poems too. If one must wear one's heart or one's brain on one's sleeve, guess which sleeve this editor will prefer?
*
If you write poems about Orpheus, they had better be the best fucking Orpheus poems ever written. Otherwise, save a stamp.
*
As an editor, I write dozens of rejections in a month or two. As a "poet" I have received dozens. In the shoebox they go.
*
Is it healthy to want to write poetry with the chief goal of being published? I want to say no. But then I continue to send things out here and there, to send the book ms. out, to send things along when I'm solicited. And I wouldn't be an editor if I frowned upon the pursuit of publication. It's a very confusing place to be.
*
I have invited plenty of people to submit to The Canary. Some we accept, some we do not. An invitation to submit does not (or should not) imply imminent acceptance. The poet who thinks that is arrogant. An editor's job is to publish poetry she likes, poetry she believes in. If a good poet sends you subpar work, the best editorial move is to reject it.
*
Gabe Gudding invited me to submit to a journal he edited and then proceeded to reject me three times before finally taking some poems. Three times. I didn't take my toys and go home. I just sent better poems.
*
For those on the west coast, consider ZYZZYVA. Howard Junker usually responds within a week. Also consider Northwest Review. Response time is considerably slower, BUT it's a nifty magazine. So much of our slush pile is so horrible, if bloggers began submitting en masse, I'm pretty confident the quality of the slush would greatly increase.
*
I can understand labeling a poem "too intellectual," but, at the same time, I can also understand what a cop-out such a response is. WHAT makes the work "too intellectual"? What does that even mean? [Brian Draper voice here.] Sometimes we need to be careful about what we scribble on rejections.
*
Or "too intellectual" might be shorthand for "trying to prove how smart you are, or how much you've read." I reject those poems too. If one must wear one's heart or one's brain on one's sleeve, guess which sleeve this editor will prefer?
*
If you write poems about Orpheus, they had better be the best fucking Orpheus poems ever written. Otherwise, save a stamp.
Sightings
Gabe Gudding Interview.
*
A whole lot o' Massey writing on the New Sincerity lately.
*
Interview with the New Sincerity's own Breton, Joe Massey.
*
Required reading, all of the above. Well, I'm not going to require you to read anything really, and I mean...I can't really check to see if you've done your reading anyway, but if you're interested in what's new with the sincerity, check all of the above.
*
A whole lot o' Massey writing on the New Sincerity lately.
*
Interview with the New Sincerity's own Breton, Joe Massey.
*
Required reading, all of the above. Well, I'm not going to require you to read anything really, and I mean...I can't really check to see if you've done your reading anyway, but if you're interested in what's new with the sincerity, check all of the above.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Contest: Name The Official Spider of the New Sincerity
Use the comment boxes. Best name wins something.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
A Letter To Jess Mynes
Jess,
Thanks for reading my posts. I bear no responsibility for any injuries incurred by the head spinning.
I don't know how to measure intent. I do know, however, that in this po-world (which is and isn't the real world) one is expected to stake a claim. Those who do not are considered intellectually flabby, or not serious enough. Unfortunate, but true. This is why manifestoes get written, why wars get waged. The more marginalized one's chosen art is, the more tenaciously one clings to one's idea of that art. If you're going to care about poetry, you'd better care about it in the right way! The truth is, of course, that no one cares. I've noticed that since I have begun to "publicize" the new sincerity, I suddenly have a lot of new friends and nearly as many new detractors. Nothing's changed about who I am, what I do, my views on poetry, what foods I eat, who I fuck, etc. Simply by naming my practice, by appearing to have an aesthetic stance, I have invited both applause and derision. Those who claim that life is separate from poetry are not paying attention.
Those people who do want poetry--or who think they want poetry--often actually only want a preconceived notion of what a Poet is. I once gave a reading, along with several other good poets and one horrible poet who over-enunciated each word, used the "Poet Voice," packed every poem with references to Sarte and the Seine and his (the poet's) own cosmopolitan adventures, was deadly boring. had everything but the black beret. Point is this: he got a standing ovation from a whole row of "poetry lovers." I wanted to vomit. Instead, I just drank a beer and realized that that's what you do. Or what some people do. My version of that is "hey, look at me," I'm sincere! Which, as Jonathan Mayhew pointed out recently, comes off as just as much a construction as any other point of view, however legitimate it is. Even honesty is questioned, presumed to be ironic, in this day of wink and smile.
Deschutes is a brewery in Bend, Oregon. Their beers are excellent across the board, and widely available in the Wild West. Not a bad brew among them, but their Obsidian Stout is to die for. Or if I said things like "to die for," their Stout would be that.
What engages me about a poet like Coolidge is that his mastery of language extends far beyond jokery. cleverness, and even deep erudition. He knows how to work with the sounds of language so that they register an emotional timbre. I've never read anyone like him. In this, he comes the closest to music of any poet i know.
I'm going to post this "private" response on my blog. I look forward to hearing from you again.
Yrs,
Tony
Thanks for reading my posts. I bear no responsibility for any injuries incurred by the head spinning.
I don't know how to measure intent. I do know, however, that in this po-world (which is and isn't the real world) one is expected to stake a claim. Those who do not are considered intellectually flabby, or not serious enough. Unfortunate, but true. This is why manifestoes get written, why wars get waged. The more marginalized one's chosen art is, the more tenaciously one clings to one's idea of that art. If you're going to care about poetry, you'd better care about it in the right way! The truth is, of course, that no one cares. I've noticed that since I have begun to "publicize" the new sincerity, I suddenly have a lot of new friends and nearly as many new detractors. Nothing's changed about who I am, what I do, my views on poetry, what foods I eat, who I fuck, etc. Simply by naming my practice, by appearing to have an aesthetic stance, I have invited both applause and derision. Those who claim that life is separate from poetry are not paying attention.
Those people who do want poetry--or who think they want poetry--often actually only want a preconceived notion of what a Poet is. I once gave a reading, along with several other good poets and one horrible poet who over-enunciated each word, used the "Poet Voice," packed every poem with references to Sarte and the Seine and his (the poet's) own cosmopolitan adventures, was deadly boring. had everything but the black beret. Point is this: he got a standing ovation from a whole row of "poetry lovers." I wanted to vomit. Instead, I just drank a beer and realized that that's what you do. Or what some people do. My version of that is "hey, look at me," I'm sincere! Which, as Jonathan Mayhew pointed out recently, comes off as just as much a construction as any other point of view, however legitimate it is. Even honesty is questioned, presumed to be ironic, in this day of wink and smile.
Deschutes is a brewery in Bend, Oregon. Their beers are excellent across the board, and widely available in the Wild West. Not a bad brew among them, but their Obsidian Stout is to die for. Or if I said things like "to die for," their Stout would be that.
What engages me about a poet like Coolidge is that his mastery of language extends far beyond jokery. cleverness, and even deep erudition. He knows how to work with the sounds of language so that they register an emotional timbre. I've never read anyone like him. In this, he comes the closest to music of any poet i know.
I'm going to post this "private" response on my blog. I look forward to hearing from you again.
Yrs,
Tony
Quotidian
I get jealous when I read blogs of Manhattanites and Brooklynites that announce poetry readings. I am jealous because we don't have poetry readings out here in Oregon. We just have hippies.
*
This morning a crazed man, white hair, screaming, walking a bicycle, stared me down for half a block. As I approached, his scowl turned to a smile, and he laughed and patted me on the shoulder.
*
My back hurts.
*
The new issue of Octopus has been occupying me this morning. Check it out. Matt Hart talks about sincerity.
*
I am the happiest I've been in...well, since I can remember.
*
NP: St. Dominic's Preview.
*
Busy tracking references to violence in The Sonnets.
*
Send David Shapiro an email. He would probably appreciate it.
*
This morning a crazed man, white hair, screaming, walking a bicycle, stared me down for half a block. As I approached, his scowl turned to a smile, and he laughed and patted me on the shoulder.
*
My back hurts.
*
The new issue of Octopus has been occupying me this morning. Check it out. Matt Hart talks about sincerity.
*
I am the happiest I've been in...well, since I can remember.
*
NP: St. Dominic's Preview.
*
Busy tracking references to violence in The Sonnets.
*
Send David Shapiro an email. He would probably appreciate it.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Whitey Sin Exposed!
bobnewhartfan: do you think that a rejection of emotion in poetry is the rejection of the feminine?
GinaBird4: that's a tough one
GinaBird4: I would say no
GinaBird4: I think that emotion is usually tied to the idea of the feminine but I think that is false
GinaBird4: everyone experiences emotion
*
GinaBird4: what is scrapple?
bobnewhartfan: scrapple is stuff that ron silliman and joe massey eat.
bobnewhartfan: it's a philadelphia thing.
GinaBird4: I am e-mailing david shapiro right now
bobnewhartfan: it's like, random pig scraps pressed into a spam-like block and served for breakfast
GinaBird4: ew
bobnewhartfan: do you like carne asada burritos?
GinaBird4: I am kind of a vegetarian
GinaBird4: I was for 8 years until this past 4th of july
GinaBird4: I've never had a carne asada burrito
bobnewhartfan: yes, i know. then you had a cheeseburger
bobnewhartfan: i was a vegetarian for two years back in my idealistic early twenties
*
GinaBird4: I am listening to a mix andy made me--but I have no idea who it is that I am listening to right now
GinaBird4: he didn't give me the track listings
bobnewhartfan: ah. i made laura a mix
GinaBird4: nice
GinaBird4: I just read your post
bobnewhartfan: good! good work! read that post!
bobnewhartfan: did you make an insightful comment?
GinaBird4: not yet--I'm going to finish my letter to david first
GinaBird4: then I'll re-read it and make an insightful comment
GinaBird4: I feel like you say everything that needs to be said. The only response I can think of is "paddle, paddle"
bobnewhartfan: comment with a non sequitir if you have to
GinaBird4: It seems funny to me that one even has to be in the position to make a case for emotion. But if one needed to, then you have made the case for emotion. Of course there is emotional poetry out there. Of course we can write what we want. Of course we can be newly sincere.
bobnewhartfan: yes. that's what i'm talking about
GinaBird4: sweet
GinaBird4: I slightly changed it before I posted it
bobnewhartfan: so when someone like paisley rekdal makes her case, she's really making a case for "look at me!" she's really saying that she doensn't want to be unhip and all louise gluck and shit, but that she's also dissatisfied with sillimans and tosts. so are most of us. she couches her comments in lingo and rhetoric that makes it seem like she's fighting the small man's good fight, that she is the minority voice. actually, though, i think she's speaking for most of us.
GinaBird4: right
GinaBird4: because no one is using emotion the way she is using emotion
GinaBird4: you know, good...
bobnewhartfan: or, yeah...i mean it's tricky.
bobnewhartfan: have you read her poetry? it's standard SOQ. everyone is doing that.
GinaBird4: I was kidding with that comment
GinaBird4: I have read some of her poetry
bobnewhartfan: but she wants to appeal to those of us who may sit on the fence
GinaBird4: I think the fence is where it's at
GinaBird4: fuck SoQ and post-avants
GinaBird4: I'm hanging out with the birds on the fence
GinaBird4: and on the phone lines
bobnewhartfan: or those of us who are still young enough and hip enough to know that it's uncool to be SOQ (even if we are) and it's cool to be post-avant, but who also realize that the post-avant stuff that we see the most of (tost, silliman) is BORING.
bobnewhartfan: so we all want to be better post-avanters
GinaBird4: I recently was called post-avant by matt henriksen
GinaBird4: he called me the NEW post-avant
bobnewhartfan: paisley, slightly older than us, slightly more well-known, is fighting for her life.
bobnewhartfan: how do i position myself? it's product placement, yo.
GinaBird4: for real
GinaBird4: and fuck product placement
bobnewhartfan: i will come out and say this--we (you, me, andy) are also placing product in a way
GinaBird4: tost is so interested in defining himself through who he reads, etc
GinaBird4: well yeah
bobnewhartfan: we have given ourselves a label that says we are unsatisfied with both options out there.
GinaBird4: that's right
bobnewhartfan: (as if there were only two options, dig?)
GinaBird4: yeah
GinaBird4: I know
bobnewhartfan: we are complicit
bobnewhartfan: we are workin' for the man!
GinaBird4: aw
GinaBird4: but I think being newly sincere is the best place to be
bobnewhartfan: i don't really want to know what people read. unless it's cookbooks and entertainment magazines
GinaBird4: nice
bobnewhartfan: i'm interested in reading reviews of the new Bob Mould album, see?
bobnewhartfan: not so much in reading about Zukofsky and how he influences someone's poetics. hey, I read "A" and you know what?
GinaBird4: I have had this talk with Andy--I don't know if he has told you or not, but I'm always talking about hating "poets"
bobnewhartfan: it's fucking long. (A, that is)
GinaBird4: I'm more interested in dancing and having fun and drinking
GinaBird4: living life
bobnewhartfan: yes. I hate poets too. this is how Andy and I first met
bobnewhartfan: through a mutual hatred of "Poets." Capital P.
bobnewhartfan: maybe "hate" is a strong word....distaste.
GinaBird4: that's what I liked when you posted lists on your blog of sincere acts you did that day
GinaBird4: like eating burritos
bobnewhartfan: haha. I don't remember that.
GinaBird4: etc
bobnewhartfan: oh yeah! eating burritos is awesome!
GinaBird4: it was when Andy was first in Eugene
bobnewhartfan: I get Lorna Dee points every time I eat one.
GinaBird4: I know, I love eating burritos!
GinaBird4: hehe
bobnewhartfan: if I accumulate 100 points I can trade them in for a "raza way" sticker.
bobnewhartfan: everytime I listen to the lemonheads, though, I lose 3 points
GinaBird4: uhoh
bobnewhartfan: I'm listening to them right now. "Alison's starting to happen..."
bobnewhartfan: my burrito points are in the negative.
bobnewhartfan: so what I was saying about the new sincerity is that we are really majority folk
GinaBird4: you need more burritos!
GinaBird4: yes
bobnewhartfan: we are unexceptional
GinaBird4: but proud of it
bobnewhartfan: i need to eat a fat torta
bobnewhartfan: you ever eat tortas in Brooklyn?
GinaBird4: I haven't--there is a place that has good ones according to one gabriella torres
bobnewhartfan: oh yeah. tortas are the bomb. mad props to gabi
GinaBird4: this has been good talk--but I need to get the hell on out of here!
GinaBird4: before I burn this office down
bobnewhartfan: word up. i'm gonna post this on the blog, kay?
GinaBird4: ok
bobnewhartfan: later bird. sister in sincerity.
GinaBird4: just maybe not the part where I'm like fuck those bastards!
bobnewhartfan: which part is that?
GinaBird4: sister in sincerity for life yo
bobnewhartfan: later!
GinaBird4: bye
GinaBird4 signed off at 1:55:36 PM.
GinaBird4: that's a tough one
GinaBird4: I would say no
GinaBird4: I think that emotion is usually tied to the idea of the feminine but I think that is false
GinaBird4: everyone experiences emotion
*
GinaBird4: what is scrapple?
bobnewhartfan: scrapple is stuff that ron silliman and joe massey eat.
bobnewhartfan: it's a philadelphia thing.
GinaBird4: I am e-mailing david shapiro right now
bobnewhartfan: it's like, random pig scraps pressed into a spam-like block and served for breakfast
GinaBird4: ew
bobnewhartfan: do you like carne asada burritos?
GinaBird4: I am kind of a vegetarian
GinaBird4: I was for 8 years until this past 4th of july
GinaBird4: I've never had a carne asada burrito
bobnewhartfan: yes, i know. then you had a cheeseburger
bobnewhartfan: i was a vegetarian for two years back in my idealistic early twenties
*
GinaBird4: I am listening to a mix andy made me--but I have no idea who it is that I am listening to right now
GinaBird4: he didn't give me the track listings
bobnewhartfan: ah. i made laura a mix
GinaBird4: nice
GinaBird4: I just read your post
bobnewhartfan: good! good work! read that post!
bobnewhartfan: did you make an insightful comment?
GinaBird4: not yet--I'm going to finish my letter to david first
GinaBird4: then I'll re-read it and make an insightful comment
GinaBird4: I feel like you say everything that needs to be said. The only response I can think of is "paddle, paddle"
bobnewhartfan: comment with a non sequitir if you have to
GinaBird4: It seems funny to me that one even has to be in the position to make a case for emotion. But if one needed to, then you have made the case for emotion. Of course there is emotional poetry out there. Of course we can write what we want. Of course we can be newly sincere.
bobnewhartfan: yes. that's what i'm talking about
GinaBird4: sweet
GinaBird4: I slightly changed it before I posted it
bobnewhartfan: so when someone like paisley rekdal makes her case, she's really making a case for "look at me!" she's really saying that she doensn't want to be unhip and all louise gluck and shit, but that she's also dissatisfied with sillimans and tosts. so are most of us. she couches her comments in lingo and rhetoric that makes it seem like she's fighting the small man's good fight, that she is the minority voice. actually, though, i think she's speaking for most of us.
GinaBird4: right
GinaBird4: because no one is using emotion the way she is using emotion
GinaBird4: you know, good...
bobnewhartfan: or, yeah...i mean it's tricky.
bobnewhartfan: have you read her poetry? it's standard SOQ. everyone is doing that.
GinaBird4: I was kidding with that comment
GinaBird4: I have read some of her poetry
bobnewhartfan: but she wants to appeal to those of us who may sit on the fence
GinaBird4: I think the fence is where it's at
GinaBird4: fuck SoQ and post-avants
GinaBird4: I'm hanging out with the birds on the fence
GinaBird4: and on the phone lines
bobnewhartfan: or those of us who are still young enough and hip enough to know that it's uncool to be SOQ (even if we are) and it's cool to be post-avant, but who also realize that the post-avant stuff that we see the most of (tost, silliman) is BORING.
bobnewhartfan: so we all want to be better post-avanters
GinaBird4: I recently was called post-avant by matt henriksen
GinaBird4: he called me the NEW post-avant
bobnewhartfan: paisley, slightly older than us, slightly more well-known, is fighting for her life.
bobnewhartfan: how do i position myself? it's product placement, yo.
GinaBird4: for real
GinaBird4: and fuck product placement
bobnewhartfan: i will come out and say this--we (you, me, andy) are also placing product in a way
GinaBird4: tost is so interested in defining himself through who he reads, etc
GinaBird4: well yeah
bobnewhartfan: we have given ourselves a label that says we are unsatisfied with both options out there.
GinaBird4: that's right
bobnewhartfan: (as if there were only two options, dig?)
GinaBird4: yeah
GinaBird4: I know
bobnewhartfan: we are complicit
bobnewhartfan: we are workin' for the man!
GinaBird4: aw
GinaBird4: but I think being newly sincere is the best place to be
bobnewhartfan: i don't really want to know what people read. unless it's cookbooks and entertainment magazines
GinaBird4: nice
bobnewhartfan: i'm interested in reading reviews of the new Bob Mould album, see?
bobnewhartfan: not so much in reading about Zukofsky and how he influences someone's poetics. hey, I read "A" and you know what?
GinaBird4: I have had this talk with Andy--I don't know if he has told you or not, but I'm always talking about hating "poets"
bobnewhartfan: it's fucking long. (A, that is)
GinaBird4: I'm more interested in dancing and having fun and drinking
GinaBird4: living life
bobnewhartfan: yes. I hate poets too. this is how Andy and I first met
bobnewhartfan: through a mutual hatred of "Poets." Capital P.
bobnewhartfan: maybe "hate" is a strong word....distaste.
GinaBird4: that's what I liked when you posted lists on your blog of sincere acts you did that day
GinaBird4: like eating burritos
bobnewhartfan: haha. I don't remember that.
GinaBird4: etc
bobnewhartfan: oh yeah! eating burritos is awesome!
GinaBird4: it was when Andy was first in Eugene
bobnewhartfan: I get Lorna Dee points every time I eat one.
GinaBird4: I know, I love eating burritos!
GinaBird4: hehe
bobnewhartfan: if I accumulate 100 points I can trade them in for a "raza way" sticker.
bobnewhartfan: everytime I listen to the lemonheads, though, I lose 3 points
GinaBird4: uhoh
bobnewhartfan: I'm listening to them right now. "Alison's starting to happen..."
bobnewhartfan: my burrito points are in the negative.
bobnewhartfan: so what I was saying about the new sincerity is that we are really majority folk
GinaBird4: you need more burritos!
GinaBird4: yes
bobnewhartfan: we are unexceptional
GinaBird4: but proud of it
bobnewhartfan: i need to eat a fat torta
bobnewhartfan: you ever eat tortas in Brooklyn?
GinaBird4: I haven't--there is a place that has good ones according to one gabriella torres
bobnewhartfan: oh yeah. tortas are the bomb. mad props to gabi
GinaBird4: this has been good talk--but I need to get the hell on out of here!
GinaBird4: before I burn this office down
bobnewhartfan: word up. i'm gonna post this on the blog, kay?
GinaBird4: ok
bobnewhartfan: later bird. sister in sincerity.
GinaBird4: just maybe not the part where I'm like fuck those bastards!
bobnewhartfan: which part is that?
GinaBird4: sister in sincerity for life yo
bobnewhartfan: later!
GinaBird4: bye
GinaBird4 signed off at 1:55:36 PM.
Jeannine mentions a lecture given by Paisley Rekdal. I'll excerpt here:
*
My response:
Methinks Paisley doth protest too much. But not really. That is, her cheeky statement both resonates and points to the wider range of aesthetic and thematic possibility in poetry, poetries, that is already there. It’s a statement that seems pointed, but is actually diffuse. As soon as you say something like “emotion is not allowed in poetry” you can’t help but think of all the “emotional” poetry out there. We are swimming in it. Paddle, paddle.
*
The New Sincerity is a reaction against the sort of bloodless, soulless writing that seems to dominate the post-avant or non-SOQ po-land. Notice that I say “seems.” In this, it (the NS) continues to be tongue-in-cheek. What we really want is to maintain our indie hipster status and write poems that we like. We want Silliman to notice us, but we also want a wide readership. We want people to throw away their books by Jewel, and oh, say, Bruce Andrews, and instead read Andrew Mister, Joe Massey, Reb Livingston. And Wallace Stevens. We are aggressive self-promoters. But at least we're honest about it. And most of us did not accomplish what we wanted to in our twenties. We don't wish to have our manuscripts tossed in the wastebasket by those younger than us when we reach forty. The oldest of us are nearly 33.
*
The trouble with a lot of post-avant writing is that its practitioners seem to have forgotten that process is a means to an end. Too many seem too interested in the process. The end product in negligible, or if not negligible, so weighted with its own cleverness that any emotion remains latent or buried under big words, lofty ideas (that aren’t all that lofty), and so forth.
*
There's plenty of poetry in the so-called SOQ that is full of emotion, that is about emotion. So Rekdal seems to want to escape the SOQ, while rejecting what seems to be the dominant period style of those in the post-avant lineage.
I'd say it's not the dominant period style, however. It appears dominant at times because certain high profile bloggers make it seem so (Silliman, Tost). I know, for one, that I'm probably not going to be interested in Fascicle, for example, no matter how "good" it is at doing what it does because the sort of focus on poetics and theory and poetry that eschews emotion in favor of "intellect" and "experimentation" is a focus that doesn't excite me. It appealed to me more when I was a younger man, but as I get older and crankier, not so much. I don't know how Silliman does it!
*
Plenty of us "other" "younger" poets writing about emotion, plenty of us unwilling to ironize ourselves out of feeling. Missing a verb in that sentence.
*
To posit that "emotion"="feminine" is almost as ridiculous as suggesting that "Mexican-American"="tortilla-eatin' beaner."
*
The fact is, one CAN write a poem about whatever one wants.
Speaking of women poets, one of the lectures from the conference that has stuck in my mind was Paisley Redkal’s rather academic but fascinating delivery of a paper on the lyric I, anger as the “unacceptable” emotion in poems, how the recent rejection of emotion in poetry is actually a rejection of the feminine, how the reaction against “confession” in poems was likewise a reaction against poems about women’s lives, despite the fact that the first major confessional poets (Snodgrass, Lowell) were men. “You can write a poem about anything nowadays, except emotion” she said. “It doesn’t have to make sense, it’s all about wordplay and disguise, it highlights the intellect, it rejects those messy female “feelings.”
*
My response:
Methinks Paisley doth protest too much. But not really. That is, her cheeky statement both resonates and points to the wider range of aesthetic and thematic possibility in poetry, poetries, that is already there. It’s a statement that seems pointed, but is actually diffuse. As soon as you say something like “emotion is not allowed in poetry” you can’t help but think of all the “emotional” poetry out there. We are swimming in it. Paddle, paddle.
*
The New Sincerity is a reaction against the sort of bloodless, soulless writing that seems to dominate the post-avant or non-SOQ po-land. Notice that I say “seems.” In this, it (the NS) continues to be tongue-in-cheek. What we really want is to maintain our indie hipster status and write poems that we like. We want Silliman to notice us, but we also want a wide readership. We want people to throw away their books by Jewel, and oh, say, Bruce Andrews, and instead read Andrew Mister, Joe Massey, Reb Livingston. And Wallace Stevens. We are aggressive self-promoters. But at least we're honest about it. And most of us did not accomplish what we wanted to in our twenties. We don't wish to have our manuscripts tossed in the wastebasket by those younger than us when we reach forty. The oldest of us are nearly 33.
*
The trouble with a lot of post-avant writing is that its practitioners seem to have forgotten that process is a means to an end. Too many seem too interested in the process. The end product in negligible, or if not negligible, so weighted with its own cleverness that any emotion remains latent or buried under big words, lofty ideas (that aren’t all that lofty), and so forth.
*
There's plenty of poetry in the so-called SOQ that is full of emotion, that is about emotion. So Rekdal seems to want to escape the SOQ, while rejecting what seems to be the dominant period style of those in the post-avant lineage.
I'd say it's not the dominant period style, however. It appears dominant at times because certain high profile bloggers make it seem so (Silliman, Tost). I know, for one, that I'm probably not going to be interested in Fascicle, for example, no matter how "good" it is at doing what it does because the sort of focus on poetics and theory and poetry that eschews emotion in favor of "intellect" and "experimentation" is a focus that doesn't excite me. It appealed to me more when I was a younger man, but as I get older and crankier, not so much. I don't know how Silliman does it!
*
Plenty of us "other" "younger" poets writing about emotion, plenty of us unwilling to ironize ourselves out of feeling. Missing a verb in that sentence.
*
To posit that "emotion"="feminine" is almost as ridiculous as suggesting that "Mexican-American"="tortilla-eatin' beaner."
*
The fact is, one CAN write a poem about whatever one wants.
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