I search for a certain title this morning, and then

I find poems by this fellow: Matthew Zapruder. I came across his work while looking through the archives of Electronic Poetry Review (final issue in 2008, but the site is still up, thank God). Here's a link to some of Zapruder's poems. I find his work becomes meditative as I ride the trains of observations and questions that chug rhythmically through his poems. Check out "April Snow" and all of the poems at EPR. Then, head over to the Boston Review to read "Dream Job." Oh, and don't forget "Scarecrow."

David Orr reviews Robert Hass

I'm not terribly familiar with Orr's reviews or criticism--I just read his article "The Greatness Game" from the New York Times 19 Feb. 2009--but I've think I've found somebody that helps me fold my arms over my chest and turn my face into a wince. Don't misunderstand me; I enjoy his prose and the depth of the sources that influence his argument, but as that argument unfolds, I find myself a little frustrated.

In Orr's review of Hass's latest collection of new and published poems, The Apple Trees at Olema, Orr argues that Hass has written some great poems, but his newer work is reluctant to embrace the "kind of truth" found in earlier work.

Orr writes, "One might say that the problem with Hass’s career is that as he’s gotten older, his poems have been more willing to say 'blackberry, blackberry, blackberry' than to declare, 'There are limits to imagination.'" Fine. I get it. But, Orr, while trying to lessen the criticism with the standard empty rhetoric of "one might say," is still basically claiming that when a poet repeats the word "blackberry" three times it's convenient, but when a poet comments on the conception of imagination, great work is being done.

To this I say "phooey." A great poem doesn't need to embrace truth. It needs to embrace craft. Both would be great, but forced to choose, I'll take craft over truth. It's not that I don't believe that there is truth out there in the universe--call me naive, but I do--it's that I believe craft is where we're going to have the better arguments over greatness. What makes "blackberry, blackberry, blackberry" great? Me first. Then you.

So, why all of this talk about greatness? Underpinning this review is Orr's idea (discussed in more detail in "The Greatness Game") that poetry has become swallowed by a hollow careerism that has lessened the greatness of poetry. By arguing that Hass's newer work is somehow less focused on truth (grand claims?) than his earlier work, Orr further supports his ongoing argument that careerism is reducing the Greatness of contemporary poetry.

My face hurts.

Super-charged Block

A super-charged block of creative writing, that is.

Next week, I'll be part of a marathon of readers at Drexel University's Week of Writing. The marathon of readers begins on Monday at 11AM, and continues until 3PM. It starts again on Tuesday at 12:30, and continues until 3PM. That's over SIX HOURS of creative writing comin' your way.

Can you handle it?!

Here's the full schedule:

Monday, 5/17

11-11:20 Cassandra Hirsch
11:20-11:40 Michael Harris-Peyton; 1st. Poetry, Hon. Fiction
11:40-11:50 Ari Melman; 1st Op-Ed

Noon-12:15 Fred Siegel
12:15-12:20 Lauren Gatto; Hon. Poetry
12:20-12:35 Lisa Farley
12:35-12:50 Paula Marantz Cohen

1-1:05 Carolynn McCormack; Hon. Poetry
1:05-1:20 Marshall Warfield
1:20-1:35 Rachel Wenrick
1:35-1:50 Genevieve Betts

2-2:20 Anjana Santham; 2nd Humor, Hon. Non-Fiction & Op-Ed
2:20-2:35 Rebecca Ingalls
2:35-2:50 Miriam N. Kotzin

Tuesday, 5/18

12:30-12:40 Justin Gero; 1st Humor
12:40-12:55 Lynn Levin
12:55-1:10 Ali Rahman; Hon. Fiction
1:10-1:25 Stacey Ake
1:25-1:40 Valerie Fox
1:40-1:50 Steve Polz; 1st Non-fiction

2-2:20 Don Riggs
2:20-2:30 Maia Livengood; 2nd Non-fiction
2:30-2:45 Kathleen Volk Miller
2:45-3:00 Beth Thorpe

Here's the aforementioned "Super-charged" Block on Monday between 1 and 2:

1-1:05 Carolynn McCormack
1:05-1:20 Marshall Warfield
1:20-1:35 Rachel Wenrick
1:35-1:50 Genevieve Betts

Location: Mandell Theater Lobby in Drexel's MacAlister Hall, 33rd and Chestnut
The silliness of mixing metaphors (marathons, engine blocks) aside, this is going to be a great marathon of writers from Drexel. Don't miss it.

Best New Poets Open Competition for 2010

Kim Addonizio did a god job with the 2009 edition. What will 2010 bring? If you don't have a program or journal to recommend you, the open competition rules are here at bestnewpoets.blogspot.com/2010/03/2010-submissions.html

Hurry--the open competition ends May 20th.

Thinking about Criticism

From imdb's list of "memorable quotes" from Adaptation:

Charlie Kaufman: The only idea more overused than serial killers is multiple personality. On top of that, you explore the notion that cop and criminal are really two aspects of the same person. See every cop movie ever made for other examples of this.
Donald Kaufman: Mom called it "psychologically taut".

The Beauty that is Recordo Obscura

If it's on an album, and it's obscure, it's most likely at, or will be at, Recordo Obscura. Thanks goes to my brother for finding this site. I won't tell you the album from memory-lane that brought us to this site, but I will give you the link.

And just to keep this poetry related: check this out. Ted Hughes recorded an album based on poems from his books Wodwo and Crow.

Old, forgotten, obscure, weird, rare--thanks to Recordo Obscura, it's not forgotten.

New York Times Link Added

Is poetry a field? A profession? An art? Just what the hell is going on here?

Oh, that's right. I forgot about the New York Times. There's now a link to their articles on poetry--it's on the side of the page.

Congratulations to Terrance Hayes--there's a positive review (by Stephen Burt) of his latest, Lighthead.
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Four Poems from APR

I know it seems like post-city today. It is. I'm posting with abandon.

So, from the "why-didn't-I-get-to-this-sooner" department:

Go read the four poems up at the latest issue of APR. They're superb, and they are Jean Valentine's "The just-born rabbits", Matthew Lippman's "Marriage Pants" (hilarious), Stephen Dunn's "Promiscuity", and Robert Bly's "Nirmala's Music."

Great poems for spring. My brain leaks with joy.
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Rainy Days, and Now It's Raining Couplets.

It's been raining quite a bit here in the Philadelphia region. Here are "A Dozen Rainy-Day Couplets" by Kilian O'Donnell. Enjoy. And as always, thanks to Poetry Daily.
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Iambic Pentameter T-shirt

Had to show you this.








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Serendipity

I woke up yesterday morning feeling like I was stuck in a sit-up. It was like someone had put a belt around my chest and pulled like hell.

The muscles were knotted so hard that my ribs ached and standing up hurt.

My wife heard me gasping in the living room. She came down and rubbed my back and within a few minutes I could take breaths without much stabbing pain. Without much. It was a light stabbing.

She went back to bed. Something inside me told me to walk it off. I went for a walk.

It was 7AM. Gray skies. A light drizzle stuck to the world like water beading on a spider web. I took small steps on the sidewalk. I chose the flat streets. I thought to myself, "This is how I will walk when I am old." I am 35.

I heard the rapid knocks of a woodpecker and the caw of a crow. A few houses down, I stepped over a small pesticide caution sign: the word "pesticide" and the "prohibited" symbol placed over a baby and a dog. I was happy to reach the neighborhood park.

And there was the woodpecker. On the largest tree in the park--an oak--he looked for a good place to peck. For those of you who don't know what this looks like, let me explain. The woodpecker walks on trees the way anyone might walk down the sidewalk. He could be casual, he could be determined, but either way, it's simply one foot in front of the other.

What blows the mind is this: along that tree trunk the woodpecker goes sideways, left, right, up, down--it doesn't matter to the woodpecker. Other birds need branches to perch on. F that, says the woodpecker. I'm going to walk headfirst down the side of this tree. When the trunk leans over, I'm going to keep on walking--Yes, I'm now upside down. Suck it, hairless mammal.

It's a rough neighborhood.

The pain had mostly passed. I waited for the woodpecker to rap his face against the trunk, but he turned around and walked up into the higher branches out of sight. I turned and walked away in a remarkably plain fashion. The pain gone, I headed for home.

It's amazing what the body knows. Was it a yearning for endorphins? Cool air? A light workout to the diaphragm as I walked? Something to better circulate the blood? All I heard was, "take a walk."

This morning, the muscles are clenched again. Pained breathing. A belt around my chest. A light stabbing. Different advice this time: Drink some water.

I should go take another walk. What I really want is the woodpecker, the crow, rain misting onto my sweatshirt.
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The Post Where I Rave About My Writing Workshop

Let me begin earlier in the story.

Since last September I have been writing feverishly. My wife and I settled into a nice place with enough room for an office, and enough space for peace and quiet from the outside world. It's been an incredibly productive couple of months for me (haven't written this much since grad school). But I'm not just producing, I'm focusing, shaping, planning, more than ever before, and it's thanks to my writing workshop.

Over the past few months, Beth, Genevieve, and Josh have provided me with perhaps the best insight and advice I've ever received. Jammed poems flow again. Underdeveloped poems put on some weight and take on a swagger. That which is broken is repaired. The manuscript I'm working on is taking shape.

I know that not all workshops are great fits for everyone. I can't make this a post about how everyone should go join a workshop. There are some workshops that are just going to suck. See Don Colburn's poem "In the Workshop After I Read My Poem Aloud" for a comic look at this.

However, there may be a recipe for a workshop that's as productive as the one I'm in.

First, our goals are similar--we can pool wisdom and resources as we work toward those goals.

Our commitment is similar. Every week we show up and get the job done.

We pull our weight (okay, I'm always a few hours late with my submissions).

We support each other. Encouragement and advice come in equal parts, and as I mentioned before, we share resources, insights, and knowledge.

We trust each other. There are different styles at work here--and different genres too--but we trust each other to be intelligent, open-minded, careful readers. Furthermore, I'm taking risks that I wasn't willing to take before because I trust that my readers are there to help my work, push my work, and support me emotionally as I take risks.

On a side note: are we friends? Well, yes. We don't walk arm-in-arm down the sidewalk marveling at the blossoms, but we like and respect each other. In other words, I don't know if we're "I'll-help-you-move-the-body" friends, but some boxes of books? No problem. Is this an important ingredient? It might be.

Back to the ingredients. We're small. Yup, there's no way around this. We're not a movement, not a school, not a factory: we're a workshop.

Finally, this workshop "works" because all of the members would be fussing over their own writing even without the workshop. I moved, and I began writing daily. And, on my own, I was planning and shaping and focusing, but I wanted more. By the time the workshop began two months later, I was anxious for some feedback. I won't lie, the workshop keeps me writing when I don't feel motivated (once or twice over the past few months, and that's another great thing about workshops) but if we all lacked the individual drive this workshop would fall apart.

So to my gang, the band, the workshop, the cougars, the wildcats, the wolverines, whatever we're we're calling ourselves this week. My friends, thank you.
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