Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Writing with Another Writer

I was about to title this "workshopping vs. writing," but I felt the dichotomy rang false. These aren't two activities pitted against one another. They are both important--even to the seasoned writer. Established writers maintain long-distance correspondence with trusted readers for years. Perhaps what I actually want to discuss here is this: the benefit of writers getting together simply to be writing in the same space.

I have a short attention span, well, short-ish. I can be intensely focused, but I am easily distracted. However, when I write in the presence of someone else who is writing, I can focus for the better part of an hour (if not two or more). I have a few fond memories of this. The first, in high school: my friend and I used to sequester ourselves in his bedroom for hours to listen to music and write plays, poems, and whatever else interested us. In college (and I may be mis-remembering this a bit) I wrote once or twice with a girlfriend in the living room of her ground-floor apartment. In grad school I spent a whole evening in the sitting room of my fancy, turn-of-the-century apartment (a story for some other post) scribbling away with my roommate and a classmate. And, during the past year, on several afternoons, my workshopping buddies and I met at the Bean Exchange in Philly--not to discuss work--just to churn it out. So, please forgive the nostalgia. As I arrange a collaborative writing session with some writers I know, I have been thinking a lot about "writing with others."

Have you--oh my often ignored, but dedicated readers--written in the presence of others who are writing? Would you share an anecdote or two? Or, have you worked on a piece, collaboratively--in the same space--one writer's hands on the keyboard/paper, the other writer speaking? I don't think I'm romanticizing the value of this practice. While this practice may be more helpful for extroverted writers like myself, there must be benefits to any writer. No?

Monday, December 6, 2010

Custom made furniture by Craftwork in Philadelphia

I am using this post to celebrate Jayme Goukas and his woodworking abilities. Here's the story.

When my wife and I moved into our house a few months back we had a difficult time finding a simple corner television stand for our living room. Our place was built in the 40s, and although it's a three bedroom place, all of the rooms are sized for a simpler time--a time when we knew what was enough. Today's furniture is designed for humongous rooms. We searched and searched. In those rare cases when we did find a piece that was sized right, it was usually made of cancer-causing mdf, or it just looked like hell. I knew we had to get something custom-made.

At the recommendation of my brilliant brother, I contacted Jayme Goukas of Craftwork. A few emails went back-and-forth, and five weeks later a custom television cabinet was delivered. Yes, it was slightly more expensive than most (but not all) pieces we saw online or in-store, but it was worth it. I paid what I thought was a very fair price for expert craftsmanship, good materials, timely service, and a piece that exceeded my expectations for that pesky corner of my living room. In short, thanks to Goukas, I'm not sure I will ever buy a piece of store bought furniture again.

Okay, I'm afraid I might start sounding like a bourgeois prick. In short:
Custom-made stuff rocks.
Support local or regional artisans.
And when it comes to furniture or kitchens, make that artisan Jayme Goukas.

Oh, and yes, thanks for asking, the Superbowl and Oscars are at my house this year.


Monday, November 22, 2010

Lewis Lapham Explains the Essay

God, I love this man. Last month, Harper's said goodbye to the "Notebook" section of the magazine. Lapham wrote a farewell to the section and used that farewell to explain the power, and the beauty, and the importance of the essay as a form. "Figures of Speech" is a magnificent essay, and I thought I would share these insightful words that appear just after Lapham's opening paragraphs.

The names [of great essayists listed in a preceding paragraph] are representative, meant to suggest the range of expression and the wealth of possibility that I rope into a notion of the essay borrowed from Michel de Montaigne. The sixteenth-century French autobiographer, a contemporary of Shakespeare and Cervantes, derived the approach to his topics from the meaning of the word essai, from essayer (to try, to embark upon, to attempt), asking himself at the outset of his reflections, whether on cannibals or the custom of wearing clothes, “What do I know?” The question distinguishes the essay from the less adventurous forms of expository prose—the dissertation, the polemic, the article, the campaign speech, the tract, the op-ed, the arrest warrant, the hotel bill. Writers determined to render a judgment or swing an election, to cast a moneylender out of a temple or deliver a message to Garcia, begin the first paragraph knowing how, when, where, and why they intend to claim the privilege of the last word. Not so the essayist, even if what he or she is writing purports to be a history or a field report. Like Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, the essayist lights out for the territories, never sure of the next sentence until the words show up on the page.
(Lewis Lapham. Harpers. Nov. 2010. Page 9.)

This is just one of several beautiful insights Lapham has into essay writing. The problem is folks, I just can't simply copy the whole article in here. To read the rest of this online--to see what I mean by beautiful insights--go to Harper's website and subscribe. Seriously. Do it. I continue to believe that the best nonfiction writing in America is published in this magazine. God bless you, New Yorker and Atlantic Monthly, for doing what you do, but I need Harper's for its investigative journalism and its wisdom on the the intersection of America and the English language. One last note: I would like to think that Lapham's claims are the mark of all great writing. Need it be said? Yes. Great writing "lights out for the territories." Great writing seeks to discover.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Not Dead Yet

As the six or seven of you who read my blog know already, I am still alive. I am reading, watching, writing, and thinking--I just haven't really had the time to post like I used to. One thing, though: Tina Fey won the Mark Twain prize for American Humor. PBS broadcast the award show on Sunday night. I've been watching this award show almost since it began, and this year is tied with Carlin's year for my favorite. Fey is stellar. The show featured my favorite work of hers over the years--the sketches I never forgot. And, while not technically a roast, her friends delivered some good laughs. Betty White had some decent zingers. Carell and Baldwin had the funniest segments (although, it was funny to see the audience shocked and confused by Krakowski's "Muffin Top" number). Cheers to Fey. The whole episode is here. Baldwin's Twain is here. Fey's magnificent, sharp, and funny acceptance speech is here--Palin jokes and all.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

A recommendation...

The Radioactive Boy Scout. Damn, Ken Silverstein can craft narrative incredibly well. He's been writing for Harper's Magazine for a while, and this 2005 paperback shows why. In fact, my first encounter with this story was in one of the first issues of Harper's Magazine that I ever read--he expanded a 1998 article on boy scout David Hahn's misguided nuclear pursuits (peaceful ones) into an enthralling book. What I like about Silverstein's narratives (the ones that have appeared in Harper's over the years) is how clever they are at maintaining speed (even suspense) as he weaves in larger social, cultural, economic, and psychological forces affecting his subjects (and us). The same holds true for The Radioactive Boy Scout: as we are engrossed in the story of David Hahn's pursuit of a scaled-down model of a nuclear reactor in his shed (by the way, he got so close the EPA showed up to remove the radioactive materials), we see how there weren't enough forces to steer David in the right direction, and too many forces encouraging him in the wrong direction.

Monday, July 26, 2010

My Current Favorite Subway Advertisement

I would hate to answer "No" to the top question.


Just so there's no confusion: While this injury lawyer is insinuating that he will help you to win your case and make "money" happen, I find it far more amusing to believe that "it" refers to the previously questioned injury. Ah, pronouns and referents: what laughs you can create.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The S.S. United States


Oh the metaphors about this are just too easy!

Kidding aside, in my last post I linked (click on the word "that") to an article in Wikipedia about the Dead Media Project--"dead media" being the storage mediums that we no longer use, or use extremely rarely. That got me thinking about this post I meant to do a week ago.

I found these old photos of mine after hearing about the ship over the Independence Day weekend. The ship has been an object of Philadelphia pride for years--even though we don't exactly have the time or money to treat this object properly (I am still talking about the ship, not our sports teams). Recently, a financial donor came through with a generous donation to the conservancy trying to save the ship, and it looks like the current owner will sell it to the conservancy rather than a scrap yard. I think that is a good thing.

Back in '02 my brother took me to see it. It was a cold, gray day in December. We stood along Columbus Boulevard, the wind stinging our faces. I took a few photos. I remember the day fondly.

Kate Ferencz

The day of updates continues with this note about musician/singer/songwriter Kate Ferencz. About three months ago I saw her play a set of wild and inspired songs at the now closed Bubble House in West Philly. Ferencz plays piano, guitar, toy piano, cymbals, and of course her voice. I say "plays" because like any good instrumentalist she takes wild risks sometimes--risks that pay off. Think Dar Williams. Think Daniel Johnson. Enjoy. She also sells cassette tapes. I love that idea. Yes, yes I bought it, and it rocks.

Oswalt Follow Up:

I don't follow his twitter feed, but apparently, Oswalt just wrote this:

Just got my slip-cased Volume II of LAPHAM'S QUARTERLY and all the WordFinds are filled in! HIIITCHENS!

Memento: Evening with Patton Oswalt

A few months back, my brother took me to see Patton Oswalt at the Keswick (as you can see below). This is an amazing theatre in Glenside (just outside of Philly) and Oswalt killed. Really, every single person in the theatre died. Those lined up outside afterward for autographs were actually the walking dead--too awed by Oswalt to eat his brains. It was brilliant stuff. I think he has got to be the best comic today--especially for those of us who love language and feel just a bit on the outside of the popular culture around us.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Speaking of Painted Bride Events...

Katie Ford read at a PBQ sponsored reading a few months ago and I was impressed with poems from a chapbook, Storm. Ford lived in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, and the poems in this chapbook focus on the natural and emotional landscape of the city before, during, and after the hurricane. As the Gulf Coast is currently going through some more problems, I picked up the book again.

I'm still impressed. The book is haunting and brilliant, like a walk through a forest which holds you suspect. At first you feel like you have little business being there (and little sense of how to get out). Ford doesn't offer to make sense of Katrina, but through short poems that range from the creepy and surreal to the everyday language of the angered and confused man-on-the-street, she makes the realities of the storm and its aftermath take on mysterious and new shapes. I will be reading Ford's other books.

Now this colossal oil spill: who will write these poems? Who will add rhythm to these new stories?

Painted Bride Quarterly's Monthly Fiction Slam

If you haven't been to the Painted Bride Quarterly's monthly Fiction Slam at the Pen and Pencil, you must go to this party. On June 24th I got a chance to open the evening's contest, and I had a blast.

Here's the clip from Google Calendar. I hope to post some video soon. Next time, I'll actually post events like these BEFORE I do the event. Makes sense, no?

The opportunity to read at the event was a real treat. To Kathy Volk Miller and the rest of the crew at PBQ: thank you! You assembled the best audience ever. I had a great time.

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Painted Bride Quarterly will host an interactive slam at the Pen and Pencil Club (1522 Lattimer St., Phila) with special guest, Marshall Warfield, on Thurs, June 24th, at 7:30 p.m.

The rumors you've heard are true; it's too much fun for a Thursday in an alley! We'll provide writing implements and paper, you’ll have the fun. Think, "Whose Line is it Anyway?" crossed with Henry Rollins. Bring $1 bills for the poker round. (Really.) And come prepared for the final round, with prose or poetry you write in advance, using the words “plank," "curl" and "nutritious."

Want more info? Come out and play. We've said too much already. Hosted by Chris Brennan of the Daily News.

Recovering

The last few weeks have been busy ones for me, so I'm spending the day catching up. Apologies to my writing group. You have no doubt noticed that I'm doing this just a few minutes before the start of our meeting. The meeting I said I wouldn't be attending this morning. Enjoy the next few posts on what's happening--or what has been happening and is now over.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Summer Reading

Currently I'm reading two books. Let me talk about the collection of sports writing, first; I think that it's more likely to surprise people that I would be reading that. The book is compiled from Harper's long history, and it's entitled Rules of the Game. The essays of several great writers compose this book: there's work by George Plimpton, Tom Wolfe, Mark Twain, Lewis Lapham, and (this is a surprise) Shirley Jackson. Yes, Shirley "The Lottery" Jackson.

In Remembering Smell, Bonnie Blodgett tells the story of losing her sense of smell in a freak reaction to a nasal spray (Zicam, folks!). The writing is also quite good here as Blodgett has written about gardening and plants for years. It's a sad and fascinating book--one of those investigations where the writer looks at the scientific and magical aspects of something we can easily take for granted.


Friday, July 2, 2010

W. S. Merwin Appointed Poet Laureate


This Jeffrey Brown/PBS Newshour interview with Merwin (and bonus video of him reading four poems) is a sweet taste of Merwin's magnificent ability. I've already expressed, earlier on this blog, how much Merwin's work moves me. Go see for yourself. In a way, this is also a way of complimenting Brown on his ability to present poets so well.

For Merwin, every breath and syllable has weight. Listen carefully, or his poems will end before you realize what's happening.

Oh, and don't knock his beret. If anyone is allowed to wear a beret, its Merwin.

Monday, June 14, 2010

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."

Sunday, May 30, 2010

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.


Friday, May 14, 2010

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.







Wednesday, May 5, 2010

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".


Tuesday, May 4, 2010

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.


Tuesday, April 27, 2010

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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Monday, April 26, 2010

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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Thursday, April 22, 2010

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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Friday, April 9, 2010

The post where I rave about the Mad Poets Society

Last night, I had the pleasure of meeting Autumn Konopka, host of the Milkboy Acoustic Cafe Multi-Genre Series. Thursday nights are poetry nights at the Milkboy Coffeehouse in Bryn Mawr, and last night the audience was thoroughly entertained by Minna Duchovnay and John Yamrus. Duchovnay read contemplative poems with rich natural scenes (plus a few translations of a 16th century poet's musings on kissing--fun stuff), and Yamrus had the crowd laughing quite a few times with his sharp views on (just to name a few subjects) life, death, dogs and poetry. The open mike was short and sweet--Konopka runs a well-organized reading--and we voted anonymously for our favorite.

I am so glad I was there last night. So glad. You see this reading is one of a dozen venues where the Mad Poets Society holds readings and events. Under the direction of Eileen M. D'Angelo, the Mad Poets Society energizes poetry across the region. I went to see some live poetry, and I left high on the idea that poetry was alive and well--in my neighborhood. I felt like I was a student in Pittsburgh in the late 90s--where the poetry scene was so big, there seemed to be a reading--somewhere in the city--almost every night. It's true. It was wild. Last night, the feeling returned. Basically I realized that while the thirty plus colleges and universities in this area certainly keep poetry alive, the Mad Poets Society keeps poetry well. This underground power plant pumps juice into readings all across the area. Poetry for the people. God bless 'em.
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Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Hello to AWP in Denver


I just wanted to send good wishes to everyone I know at the AWP conference in Denver. If you get a chance, check out the round-table discussion on flash fiction on Friday at 10:30 in Room 303 of the Convention Center, Street Level. Professor Randall Brown, Director of the MFA program at Rosemont College is part of the panel. The saturnalia books table at the bookfair has some great titles. A few folks from Drexel are also at the conference. Please show some love to all of them, especially the folks representin' the Painted Bride Quarterly.
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Considering the Value of Negative Capability


Helping beginning poets to understand Keats's idea of "negative capability" seems to be a standard part of poetry instruction now, and thank god for that. To understand negative capability--to strive for this--means being able to do some things important to being a human being, not just a poet.

In Writing Poems (a damn fine book and topic for another post) two pages are spent on the topic. This might not seem like much, but for a book on poetry instruction, this is some good ink. These two pages seem to be enough to convey to beginning poets the idea that if they want to become better poets, in much of their work, as they work, they need to be able to remove preconceptions, assumptions, and judgments--especially if they want that work to move audiences.

And that's the kicker--negative capability means nothing to a beginning poet unless that beginning poet really wants to use language to connect to a larger world. When a poet empties out the self, the poet becomes a void which the world can enter. Poems written in this state are poems in which the speaker is open to the world, open enough to allow the whole world in, allow readers in. There's abundant generosity and empathy at work in negative capability. If poets aren't willing to develop those skills, they won't fully inhabit the power of a good poem, let alone a great poem.

They may still write some good poems--poems that cheer the tavern patrons, some funny poems, some political poems, perhaps even some poems capable of conveying complicated emotions--but those poems will be like windowless cells: completely contained spaces designed to trap meaning inside. There will be visitors who will stop by, visitors who "get it," but most of the world will be forever shut out.

It's scary and difficult to practice this skill. Everything about society--our religions, our studies, our survival--is based on interpretation and evaluation. We must know what things mean. Things must have a point. There has to be a system, a method, a logic. Why tell a story unless there is a lesson to be learned, unless there's a point, unless we know right from wrong and good from bad?

I'm supposed to let go of all that?

Yes. Yes. Yes.
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Saturday, March 20, 2010

Where Oh Where. . . Third and Last Post

I've been having conversations with several friends and colleagues and I've come to the conclusion that there is no right answer to the question of where I should send my work--the answer (as it always seems to be) is...

it depends.

It depends on whether or not I care about where I'm published, or if I want to be a apart of a certain journal's mission, or who else was published by a certain journal, it depends on how long I feel like waiting, it depends on whether I want to shoot for journals at the tippy-top, or journals that I frequently see listed on the acknowledgments page in books, etc. Hell, then there are the journals that, well, I just like the cut of their jib.

Yes, I don't know what that means.

The point is, researching journals, is only part of the problem--oddly, the smaller part. The bigger part is thinking about your work as a whole: realizing what's complete (or not), and realizing that your manuscript is complete (or not). Square that shit away, then submit like hell.

And to that end, I recommend newpages.

One great result of all this thinking about poetry and talking to friends about poetry, was that I was turned on to NewPages.com--thanks Henri. NewPages is a great resource for finding out about literary magazines, independent publishers, and independent bookstores--and hell, it's just fun to scroll through all of those pages about literary magazines and see who's out there. . .

Monday, February 15, 2010

Where Oh Where. . .Continued

Okay, here's a short list. More journals (and reasons why), soon.

AGNI
32 Poems
APR
Artful Dodge
Caketrain
Florida Review
Gettysburg Review
Many Mountains Moving
Painted Bride Quarterly
Prairie Schooner
Philadelphia Stories
River Styx
Sun Magazine
Tampa Review
Weave
Westbranch

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Where Oh Where. . .


What are the journals that should that matter to a poet who is sending out poems from a first book? I could ask what are the journals that matter, and I think it would be a similar list, but I want to be strategic about this process. To keep inundating Poetry and The New Yorker with my brilliance will get old for me--and I'm sure it won't make the poor readers there any happier either. Will I, at some point, figure out how to get into Poetry? Sure, but hinging a first book on poems appearing there is just stupid.

I guess this question could also be... "If I care about my craft, if I feel like I'm doing things in my poetry that are interesting, graceful, fun, noteworthy, perhaps even innovative, something I want noticed by those I respect, where do I send my work?

I've torn apart my MFA manuscript and I'm rethinking the whole damn thing. I mean this as no slight to my committee who invested hours into reading my drafts. I mean this as no slight to my former self who, according to my crude calculations put 160-200 hours into it. (Hmm. Perhaps I should have put 400-440 hours into it?) The point is: it's just not working, as a project, any more for me. I don't want to send it out and hope that some press, some where will publish it. The concepts and practices guiding the creation of that book have become refined in the four years since I've graduated; I'm calmer now, less spastic about the creation/revision/assemblage of poems. I can see those spasms at work in that book, and they undercut what I wanted to do/what I want to do. So, there's a new manuscript underway now--not to jinx anything--and as it comes together I wonder where I should start sending the poems that, now, I'm more certain will be a part of it.

This manuscript is probably about six to seven months from being in the final stages, but several of its poems are complete. So, the next post will discuss some possible journals; I like reading the Gettysburg Review, The Sun Magazine, and Witness (though I haven't read it since it moved)--and 32 Poems, is that enough? Probably not. I'll address first book prizes and awards in a future post.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Let's Be Paris

What a great line. Here's "Disgust" from Elizabeth Scanlon. So where is this smart funny poem? Well, it's in the latest issue of Ploughshares--the one edited by Tony Hoagland. Of course.

Persuasion

I'm concerned that Americans are no longer being taught about persuasion--what it is, how to see through it, etc.--at several points in their lives. I remember being taught about persuasive rhetorical strategies in elementary school, middle school, high school, and again in college (and I went to public school). Is it still like this for America's students? The PR agency Weber Shandwick has been running ads (thanks to Mom-101 for knowing the agency) for the corn syrup lobby for almost a year now, telling us that we shouldn't avoid the industrial garbage* known as high fructose corn syrup (Freeman's blog has links to the commercials). And, every afternoon on the El for the past six months, I've ben staring at Miracle Whip billboards that scream, "We Are Miracle Whip and We Will Not Tone It Down!" I'm not lying (see above). You can thank the mcgarybowen firm. I've seen both of these campaigns for a year now, and I thought everyone realized them for the massive failures that they are.

But, they are still around. So perhaps the campaigns are some type of insider joke--some way that the hip folks at the agencies could take some money from the corporate clients and get a good laugh--maybe even place a few wagers on how the ads would go over with America. David Cross has a good bit about a company that sells eggs using screaming electric guitars and lines like "These aren't your grandmother's eggs!!!!" These aren't stupid people at these firms. Perhaps some of them even know the Cross bit I reference.

Yes, the people at these firms are smart people. And they know what it took me too long to recognize: it's easy to manipulate large audiences if one carefully constructs the message and method of delivery. Miracle whip not boring? Corn syrup good for the body? How many 20-somethings can claim that they were formally instructed in the field of rhetoric multiple times in their educational careers?  That's why it's so easy.

*contains Mercury, folks! Yum!

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Mutter Museum Calendar


I just ordered the 2010 calendar from the Mutter Museum. I put it up over the weekend and it's bizarre and wonderful. The images are taken by professional photographers who get access to the collection of the museum of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia. The 2009 calendar had an image by William Wegman (no, his dog was not chewing on one of the bones). When I'm feeling stuck, these curious and well-composed images make for good inspiration. Here's the link to the Mutter Museum Store.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Breaking In

Over the weekend, I locked myself out of my house. The only way back in was to break something. Lucky for me, I left the garage open. So, after going down the list of options (windows, locks, doors, door frames), I decided upon the wall between the back of my garage and the powder room. Snow shovels can be remarkably sharp and drywall remarkably brittle. After a few minutes of hacking, I climbed through the hole. Hello, toilet. I never thought I would see you from this angle. I stood in the small bathroom. I looked out into the kitchen and dining room. Through the locked windows, the sun had entered. A cloud of dust and insulation moved slowly in the currents. It sparkled in the light.

Vera Pavlova

Here's some beautiful compression--every word matters in these poems (translations from Russian).

Friday, January 8, 2010

ABOPABOW returns from its leave

with a link to a great poem by Stacie Cassarino. ABOPABOW took a leave as the holidays came. I'm back, and so are the posts. So, if you haven't read "Spoon to the Sky" yet, make your trip on over to Poetry Daily and check it out. Cassarino has written a great poem that captures both the chill and the warmth of isolation (weird, yes; but trust me, there is warmth here) in one's life (self-imposed and otherwise). She's also used carefully placed unstressed syllables and consonant sounds to craft lines that feel like breathing in the winter chill--look at those h's and w's.