« February 2008 | Main | April 2008 »

Mar 30, 2008

Opening Day The Merkle Bonehead Play And NAPOWRIMO countdown

Get_image1Baseball_1

Mitts And Gloves

Bill Knott

For Tom Lux

The catcher holds a kangaroo fetus in his,
the firstbaseman's grips a portable hairblower,

but everyone else just stares into theirs
punching a fist into it, stumped

trying to come up with a proper occupant--
The pitcher for example thinks a good stout padlock would go

right in there, but the leftfielder,
perhaps influenced by his environment,

opts for a beercan. The shortstop
informative about the ratio of power to size,

says "Transistor. You know, radio." The
secondbaseman however he just stands and

grins and flapkacks his from hand to hand and back again,
secondbase dopey as always. Alas

cries the thirdbaseman, this void
of vacancy, pure-space beyond our defiant emptiness,--

abyss, haunted by the kiss of balls
we have not missed! Oh absence

delice…The rightfielder looks dis-
gusted at this, he just snorts, hawks, spits

into his and croaks Hey look: heck,
my chaw of tobac fits it perfeck.

The team goes mum, cowhided by
the rectitude of his position, the logic.

Only the centerfielder, who was going back
while this discussion was going on,

putting jets on his cleats to catch the proverbial
long one,

does he perhaps have a suggestion…?
As for the ball, off in mid air it dreamily

scratches its stiches and wonders
what it will look like tomorrow when it wakes up

and the doctor removes its bandages—

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Get_image from Four Poems for the St. Louis Sporting News
Jack Spicer

3

Pitchers are obviously not human. They have the ghosts of dead people in them. You wait there while they glower, put their hand to their mouths, fidget like puppets, while you're waiting to catch the ball.
You give them signs. They usually ignore them. A fast outside curve. High, naturally. And scientifically impossible. Where the batter either strikes out or he doesn't. You either catch it or you don't. You had called for an inside fast ball.
The runners on base either advance or they don't.
In any case
The ghosts of the dead people find it mighty amusing. The pitcher, in his sudden humaness looks toward the dugout in either agony or triumph. You, in either case, have a pair of hot hands.
Emotion
Being communicated
Stops
Even when the game isn't over.

4

God is a big white baseball that has nothing to do but go in a curve or a straight line. I studied geometry in highschool and know that this is true.
Given these facts the pitcher, the batter, and the catcher all look pretty silly. No Hail Marys
are going to get you out of a position with the bases loaded and no outs, or when you're 0 and 2, or when the ball bounces out to the screen wildly. Off seasons
I often thought of praying to him but could not stand the thought of that big, white, round, omnipotent bastard.
Yet he's there. As the game follows rules he makes them.
I know
I was not the only one who felt these things.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Pmlb22081530dt

From a letter by John Rawls to Owen Fiss on why baseball is the best sport.

Harvard University
Department of Philosophy
Emerson Hall
Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138
Saturday, April 18

First: the rules of the game are in equilibrium: that is, from the start, the diamond was made just the right size, the pitcher’s mound just the right distance from home plate, etc., and this makes possible the marvelous plays, such as the double play. The physical layout of the game is perfectly adjusted to the human skills it is meant to display and to call into graceful exercise. Whereas, basketball, e.g., is constantly (or was then) adjusting its rules to get them in balance.

Second: the game does not give unusua1 preference or advantage to special physical types, e.g., to tall men as in basketball. All sorts of abilities can find a place somewhere, the tall and the short etc. can enjoy the game together in different positions.

Third: the game uses all parts of the body: the arms to throw, the legs to run, and to swing the bat, etc.; per contra soccer where you can’t touch the ball. It calls upon speed, accuracy of throw, gifts of sight for batting, shrewdness for pitchers and catchers, etc. And there are all kinds of strategies.

Fourth: all plays of the game are open to view: the spectators and the players can see what is going on. Per contra football where it is hard to know what is happening in the battlefront along the line. Even the umpires can’t see it all, so there is lots of cheating etc. And in basketball, it is hard to know when to call a foul. There are close calls in baseball too, but the umps do very well on the whole, and these close calls arise from the marvelous timing built into the game and not from trying to police cheaters etc.

Fifth: baseball is the only game where scoring is not done with the ball, and this has the remarkable effect of concentrating the excitement of plays at different points of the field at the same time. Will the runner cross the plate before the fielder gets to the ball and throws it to home plate, and so on.

Finally, there is the factor of time, the use of which is a central part of any game. Baseball shares with tennis the idea that time never runs out, as it does in basketball and football and soccer. This means that there is always time for the losing side to make a comeback. The last of the ninth inning becomes one of the most potentially exciting parts of the game. And while the same sometimes happens in tennis also, it seems to happen less often. Cricket, much like baseball (and indeed I must correct my remark above that baseball is the only game where scoring is not done with the ball), does not have a time limit.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

0199210896baseballfinger1 On Poetry:

First umpire: “Some are balls and some are strikes, and I call them as they are.”
Second umpire: “Some are balls and some are strikes, and I call them as I see 'em.”
Third umpire: “Some are balls and some are strikes, but they ain’t nothin' ‘til I call 'em.”

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Url Bill Klem on Poetry:

"Fix your eye on the ball from the moment the pitcher holds it in his glove. Follow it as he throws to the plate and stay with it until the play is completed. Action takes place only where the ball goes."

"There are one-hundred fifty-four games in a season and you can find one-hundred fifty-four reasons why your team should have won every one of them."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Napowrimo1779469

 

 

I've finally gotten off the fence and decided to napowrimo again this year. Some participants last year actually did it again during the summer, which proves it is the online version of an intense writer's retreat inside your head.Jim


If anything, I have even less time this year, but . . .


Details to follow in the next post.


18volgaboatmen



Chaingang

Mar 29, 2008

Saturday Morning Vrzhutubin'

Zakir Hussain -- THE tabla player, and John McLauglin and Charles Lloyd:

Mar 25, 2008

Tuesday Wrap - Split this Rock, etc.

Logopoem I missed the Split This Rock Poetry Festival these past four days due to international intrigue.  Or something.

But STR got a lot of well-deserved coverage in lots of places. You can get the skinny here if you also missed it.  Word had been spreading for quite a while.

I'll be checking out the Split This Rock blog, which has some videos of readings and stuff up, and promises to put up more as they get them, which means I won't feel entirely left out, at least after the fact.

Poetrycleanses5_2 Vrzhu publisher Dan Vera showed up here in poetry and elsewhere in person. I'm hoping he'll report here on the festival as an observer, attendee, and participant.

Karren Alenier, aka The Dresser, has some reporting out on her blog here and here and here and here.

Having missed it I can still enjoy the Split This Rock issue of Beltway Poetry Quarterly -- including this brilliant poem by Naomi Ayala, one my big poetry crushes -- and this issue of the Beloit Poetry Journal.

Images

Browning

I look forward to hearing about Vrzhu author Kim Roberts' Harlem Renaissance in DC tour.

From the blog posts about the event -- of which I expect to see more and more of as folks report back on the festival -- it was by all accounts an exhilarating success.

I remain in awe of festival organizers and masterminds Melissa Tuckey and the inimitable Sarah Browning as well as the rest of the Split This Rock posse.

Splitthisrock

UPDATE (Dan here): I was able to get some nice video of Mark Doty and Galway Kinnell's reading.  I've posted it on YouTube and below.

The festival was a great success and the hope is to hold these every two years.

I got some video of Mark Doty's gorgeous reading on Saturday night.  Doty read a number of poems including Walt Whitman's "Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic A Voice."  But I was really stunned by his reading of an earlier poem of his titled "Charlie Howard's Descent" written after the killing of a gay boy in Maine.  The video is below.  Below are links from other videos I posted to Youtube.

Mark Doty reading Whitman:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7HgO3d3AmA

Galway Kinnell stunning reading Paul Celan's "Fugue of Death"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDpaNLaBt0I

Mar 22, 2008

GVSUNME rules! - Vrzhutoob Saturnday

A really special treat today on Uncle Vrzhuy's Whizzbang, kids.  The Grand Valley University New Music Ensemble from Allandale, Michigan.

The GVSU New Music Ensemble's version of Steve Reich's Music for 18 Musicians was the best (classical[ish]) cd of last year.  I urge you to go out and buy it. The GVSUNME is just the coolest thing ever.  While you're waiting for that cd, here's three things with Bill Ryan and the GVSUNME: a promo for the aforementioned cd, another Steve Reich piece, "Clapping;" and -- I'm really excited about this --absolutely the best version of John Cage's 4'33" I have ever heard. Or seen. With a guest violinst!




Mar 20, 2008

Daybook Entry - Wittgenstein

A poet’s words can pierce us. And that is of course causally connected with the use they have in our life. And it is also connected with the way in which, conformably to this use, we let our thoughts run up and down in the familiar surroundings of the words.

-Wittgenstein, Zettel 155

Is there a difference in meaning that can be explained and another that does not come out in an explanation?

-Wittgenstein, Zettel 156

Do not forget that a poem, even though it is composed in the language of information, is not used in the language-game of giving information.

-Wittgenstein, Zettel 160

There is a strong musical element in verbal language (a sigh, the intonation of voice in question, in an announcement, in longing, all the innumerable gestures made with the voice).

-Wittgenstein, Zettel 161

But they got their significance only from the surroundings: from the reading of this poem, from my familiarity with its language, with its meter and with innumerable associations.

-Wittgenstein, Zettel 170

Lambda Literary Award Poetry Finalists

The Lambda Literary Awards will be handed out soon. Here are the finalists in poetry:

Blackbird and Wolf, Henri Cole (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)
A Gathering of Matter/A Matter of Gathering, Dawn Lundy Martin (University of Georgia Press)
Otherwise Obedient, Carol Potter (Red Hen Press)
Fata Morgana, Reginald Shepherd (University of Pittsburgh)
The Second Person, C. Dale Young (Four Way Books)
Human Resources, Rachel Zolf (Coach House Books)

Congrats to all the nominees!

The Idea of A Solitary Reaper at Key West

I believe I’ve written here before about Wallace Stevens’ political poem The Idea of Order at Key West

Well, I’ve written about it somewhere – that the poem is a reply to Ramon Fernandez’s “Lettre ouverte à André Gide" in the Nouvelle Revue Francaise (“Judging that Marxism did not encompass reality (i.e., literature and art –ed.), nor all the possibilities of the mind, I wished to illumine that margin ignored by the revolutionists in their zeal for action.”) and that it even salvages Steven’s statement “Money is a kind of poetry” which otherwise would be something only an a-hole would say.38

And yes I know Stevens said that Ramon Fernandez was made up, wasn't anybody.  He was lying. Lying, lying, lying. He thought he could get away with that by thinking that HIS Ramon Fernandez was exactly like the historic French critic and Marxist/Fascist Fernandez.  But he can't. Not with me, no sir.  All poets lie. Get used to it.

But I believe I’ve stumbled on (oh, maybe everyone already knew this, I am so behind the curve usually) another source spring for The IofOatKW.

It’s Wordsworth’s The Solitary Reaper, which is also about hearing a solitary singer in a deserted scape.  I think there is also a tenuous link between them thematically.  Wordsworth can’t forget the song of the woman reaper, and for Wallace the song of the woman by the sea also imbeds it self, but in much wider area.

I’ve alternated stanzas below (and left out one of Wallace’s – did anyone ever call him Wally? – it’s appended at the end) and indicated some of the rhythmic and aural coincidences. Wordsworth’s is in rhymed tetrameter while Steven’s is varied along a pentameter base, with rhyme only for emphasis, and enjoyment. The Stevens stanzas are in italic.

The Solitary Reaper
William Wordsworth

The Idea of Order at Key West
Wallace Stevens

Farming Behold her, single in the field,   
Yon solitary Highland Lass!   
Reaping and singing by herself;   
Stop here, or gently pass!   
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,         
And sings a melancholy strain;   
O listen! for the Vale profound   
Is overflowing with the sound.

She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt   
More welcome notes to weary bands   
Of travellers in some shady haunt,   
Among Arabian sands:   
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard   
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,   
Breaking the silence of the seas   
Among the farthest Hebrides.   

The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—   
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow   
For old, unhappy, far-off things,   
And battles long ago:   
Or is it some more humble lay,   
Familiar matter of to-day?   
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,   
That has been, and may be again?   

Keywestfloridaposters789201 For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang   
As if her song could have no ending;   
I saw her singing at her work,   
And o'er the sickle bending;—   
I listen'd, motionless and still;   
And, as I mounted up the hill,   
The music in my heart I bore,   
Long after it was heard no more.   

It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.
(missing stanza here)
Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.

Appendix: missing stanza

Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As the night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.


Wordsworth 2696610

Mar 19, 2008

Daybook Entry - Allen Grossman

My common response to the readings I attend can be summarized in the question, Why do not these speakers, since they have taken upon themselves the privilege of poetry, speak in such a way as to disclose more of their humanity, not merely their pain and pleasure, though they speak with very little conviction of that, but also more of the antiquity, indeed, the profundity, of their minds and art?  I feel that in poetry today there has arisen a criterion, even among the reputed wild men of civilization, gentility; and I detest that gentility.

I feel it as a sense of internalized constraint. Gentility manifests itself as a set of rules defining what can and what cannot be said; and I believe these rules are internalized by the pets of our generation. They speak neither very loud nor very soft, nor very passionately nor with great sadness. This gentility has overtaken in particular the young. Though I do not entirely wish to account for it, I would like to tell you what I am listening for.

So far, I have proposed that it is among the obligations and privileges of the poetic speaker to speak words which avow his affiliation not merely with the mortal community but to the community of the dead, and beyond the dead, to the source of all persons. I hear nothing of that antiquity, which even you cannot deny pertains to every moment of both physical and cultural life.

At the same time, and this is another matter, I feel that the subjects of poetry have not changed with sufficient ingenuity and courage in accord with our changing sense of what constitutes truth about the social world.

Poets these days do not find poems the occasion for the amplification of consciousness with respect to language. They speak from a more restricted aspect of their being when they speak their poems that they do when they speak in social situations.

Allen Grossman

Mar 17, 2008

Contra Anthologies and News from the VRB!

NOTE: I'm posting this from a remote location, and so I have a lot of links and photos and diagrams and I can't include them at the moment.  I'll update this post next week to include more of the visual stuff to go along  with this big lump of text.  AND I should be able to get up the Vrzhu Research Bureau's recent product research in the realm of robopoetics, and unmanned poetry delivery apparatus.  Thanks for you patience! -

    Don Chiasson in the NYT this Sunday pans David Lehman's anthology Best American Neurotic -- sorry! -- Erotic Poems. Part of his attack is unfair since he namechecks W. H. Auden, who settled in, for a while, but is not, American. And he also briefly attacks anthologies (of one poem per poet) in general:

"single poems in anthologies  . . . cannot possibly convey a great writer’s force."

    Now, anthology bashing goes on around here all the time: in blogs, at conferences, on street corners and in pool halls. These rants fall into two camps. In the first, like Mr. Chiasson above, they assert that anthologies suck because they cannot represent, or they misrepresent, a poet's esse, his essential being qua poetry.  Thus, they perform a disservice to the poet and reader both. Anthologies lie.

    In the second camp, it is argued that anthologies are tools of repression, hiding and disappearing those disenfranchised poets or groups of poets that are excluded from them.  They present a history whitewashed of undesirables, poets who are effectively silenced because they cannot be heard. Anthologies are the Big Lie.

    I am sure both these positions have merit, but I have yet to see either of them argued 100% convincingly.  The problem with the first objection to anthologies -- that they misrepresent a writer -- is that it views poems in anthologies strictly from the point of view of the poet, and not from the reader's POV. Yes, this is a grave disservice to the poet, but from a reader's perspective, I suspect it matters little.

    The general reader, to the extent she still exists, differs from the more specialized poetry reader. The general reader is apt to be not only satisfied with a single poem by an author, but considers this one of the defining characteristics of being literate. The difference between the general reader and the more specialized poetry reader is that the former probably knows "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," "The Charge of the Light Brigade," Sandburg's "Fog" and perhaps a half dozen others ("Richard Corey," the beginnings of "Hiawatha" and "The Wasteland") and the latter is, of course, a poet.

    The General Reader, in general, is immune to the value in reading all the works of one author, and sees little advantage to reading an entire oeuvre, whether is it Dickens, or Hardy, or Pound.  This is not intended to denigrate the GR-- it is a perfectly defensible and reasonable position.  And, if we wished to be harsh and Draconian, why shouldn't a poet have to stand or fall on the basis of one poem? I'm pretty sure Frost would be able to endure having Stopping By, and nothing else, survive the ages. Unfair? Yes. Your point is . . .?

    On the other hand, the second objection to anthologies probably has, or had, some merit.  Most people in the U.S. are going to be exposed to poetry in school only through some kind of Norton-ish anthology. And such anthologies tend to the canonical in the worst sense.

    But for two reasons, I don't think this objection has a lot of purchase these days.  First, I can't think of a group, hitherto excluded from the canon, that does not now have at least one anthology of its own.  While ALL these anthologies can't be part of the curricula, they are available, and give all sorts of poets a chance to be heard.  Second, I'm not sure how to solve the problem of a student's first exposure to poetry being through something like a Norton.  You can't assign everything ever written.  And to replace Norton with an anthology of poets excluded from the Norton is to exchange one oppressive regime for another.  Surely that's not the gist of the objection, not that some are excluded, but that I'M excluded?

    Anyway, three more points in this review of a review.

    Mr. Chiasson doesn't like theme-based anthologies:

"Theme-based anthologies have the unintended effect of making poets seem trapped by their subjects: there is no more variation among poets in this book than there would be in a book called, for example, 'The Best American Patriotic Poems.'"

    There sure are a lot of theme-based anthologies out there, it's true. Like, for example, every single anthology ever collected, whether the theme is "best" or "dogs" or "English" or "15th century." Yup, all themes, and all trapping poets like flies in molasses.  Maybe he means some themes are worse about this than others, if the theme ends in -ic for example.

    Next point. What is the reviewer trying to say in this sentence?

"Lusty poems by straight men are, in our era, usually prone to failure — though a cat lover might appreciate the literary power, lost on me . . . "

    Is he saying that lusty poems about cats by "straight" (the quotes are everso needed) men can be appreciated by other "straight" men who love cats?  Men who love cats and the lusty poems they write? Lusty poems by straight men stink, but poems about catlove might have real power, though I wouldn't know because I'm not into that?  The "but" in the quoted sentence tasks me.  I cannot for the life of me parse it.

    Last point. This:

"The first is a sampler of faultless poems about sex by dead Americans like . . ."

And here are the first main definitions of the preposition "by:"

  1. Close to; next to.
  2. With the use or help of; the agency or action of.
  3. Up to and beyond; past.
  4. In the period of; during.
  5. With respect to.
  6. In the name of.

I tried substituting each of the above phrases for the word "by" in the sentence, and, I got to tell you, the results were pretty icky.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *   *

Among the vast holdings here in the Vrzhu Research Bureau are thousands of files from now defunct poetry organizations and poetry investigative groups.  The VRB is in the process of converting these files to indexed CD-ROMs to preserve what are already fragile and decaying documents that have been stored in damp basements, airless attics, and garages across the country for decades.

Although many of these files are of little interest to the non-professional archeopoetologist, there are occasionally findings that are certain to be of interest to general poetry aficionados (such as yourselves).

Here below we provide the extant remains of what appears to be a monograph from the legendary American Poetry Coalition.  The APC was the successor organization to the early 20th century ASPCA – The American Society for the Promulgation of Culture to Anybody.  Due to its acronymic similarity to another, more well-known, organization, the ASPCA suffered severely declining membership throughout the 1930’s and officially disbanded in late 1938.  Some members of the literary wing of the ASPCA formed the APC just prior to the US entry in World War II. 

There have always been persistent rumors that, after the war, the APC was funded by certain federal law organizations or intelligence gathering centers, or both.  Although the VBR is in not in a position to either confirm or deny these allegations (we merely spread them), the document below may shed some light on some of the APC’s more, shall we say, covert efforts.

Forensic evidence places the date of this monograph not earlier than 1957 and certainly no later than 1960, possibly early 1961.Mafia_meeting_arrests_1928

Monograph on the Nature and Operation of Poetry in the United States, with Addenda on its Infiltration of [illegible].
 
[page i]

Preface

There have been insistent allegations of the existence of poetry in the United States. There have also been denials.

The purposes of this monograph are threefold:

1.    to explain what poetry is
2.    to present the evidence indicating poetry does exist in the United States
3.    to describe how poetry operates.

Fortified with this knowledge, all persons charged with critical and cultural responsibilities should be in a better position to cope with poetry.

This monograph is written in two sections. The scope of the first [illegible section] and (d) basic current forms through which [illegible].

It will be [page ii] understood that poetry is a highly clandestine operation most difficult to penetrate by informants. Therefore this study was not limited to data secured from informants. It goes beyond this source to include all available material emanating from other cultural organizations and public sources, both in the United States and Europe.

[pages missing]

[page xiii] . . . -day poetry controls [illegible] to the extent that it dominates certain cultural operations wherever it can, pushing poems to the limit [illegible] would mean either [illegible] of a productive society upon which is feeds or a popular rising against it in a wave of indifference that would encompass the destruction of its elements.

B. Conclusions

    1.    Poetry is a [illegible] traditional combination of words and rhythm and pseudo-[illegible]. It imposes an invisible weight on communities, depending for its authority on the self-importance it inspires in its members through domineering control of local journals and “coffeehouses.”Jwshockoepoet

    2.    The most typical poetry figure is the poet. The power he commands is slight in comparison with the local Laureate (or “prizewinner”). The latter has risen from the ranks and enjoys a relationship to other poets like that of a feudal [illegible] to the local community is also one of prestige and power. He expects to be deferred to at readings and local ventures, from which he extracts a percentage of the credit or praise. He may be sought by non-poets for articles or interviews on cultural, political, or other matters, and for arbitration of “contests” though in doing so the winners become obligated, sometimes dangerously so, to the Laureate.

    3.    The basic and often only unit of poetry organization is the “school.” A school is usually geographic or local in nature. Members are admitted to it if they are acceptable to the local [illegible]. Prerequisites for admission include proof of capacity for lyric [illegible]; adherence to the traditional code of “Homerta,” i.e., silence in the presence of bad poems and dependence on “poetic justice,” an elaborate exchange of ritual praise or “blurbs;” and mentorship by [page xiv] someone already a poet.

    4.    The traditional poetry school is not a compact, centrally organized society or party such as the Communist Party, but a collection of poets autonomous in their own practices and loosely federated when federated at all. The pattern of connections among local “schools” depends chiefly upon the existing relationships between individual poets and prizewinners. Powerful poets meet occasionally to hold court or give readings, and they often defer to a poet of supreme prestige. The poetic system of administration is primitive. The leader is the one with the “psychological drop,” i.e., the one who inspires the greatest envy and [illegible].19601970djw02

    5.    Recently, poetry has been accentuated and has become better organized in Universities than it was formerly. The possibility exists that poetry has begun to achieve greater centralization and hegemony through the establishment of MFA programs and regional/local workshops and writing centers.

    6.    Poetry incursions have included [illegible].

    7.    Chief among poetry’s modus operandi are readings, open mics, workshops and many other [illegible] though persistent emphasis over many decades has been upon publication and the operation of journals and [illegible].

    8.    Poetry is distinguished from other arts and cultural activities by its traditional exclusiveness; close ties among its adherents; [page xv] its consistent modus operandi; the outstanding opaqueness of its elements, and the proclivity of small groups of its elements to claim tradition and authenticity over much larger numbers of other groups.

   9.    [illegible] . . . exists between [illegible] fails to indicate that [illegible] but this does not mean that Chicago, New York City or any other metropolitan center can be considered the “world headquarters” for poetry.

    10.    The [illegible] elements [illegible] has never been successfully accomplished. Reasons for failure have included: (1) the [illegible] . . . of others; (4) the traditional and consequently chiefly tacit and understood nature of poetry; (5) the institutional [illegible] i.e., as known practitioners are suppressed, new opportunities are favored by a conditioned public, especially its [illegible] elements and those are made vulnerable by adherence to [illegible] opportunities that enrich some poetry leaders and increase their power; and (8) the perennial problem faced by a literate public in attempting to prove that poetry either means something or has some individual or social use. Although poetry presents the ostensible appearance of a single, cohesive society, it has no written constitution, nor does it operate in formal fashion. Admission is by informal understanding, advancement is by prestige and [page xvi] self-imposition.

    11.    [illegible]

    12.    [illegible]

    13.    [illegible]  . . . exists as the most [illegible] and extensive [illegible]  ever to have been foisted and imposed upon the public.  To [illegible] represents the most deeply entrenched and [illegible] to have manifested itself in the [illegible]. This challenge extends [illegible] to all [illegible] in the United States.   

End.Poetrymeet

Mar 15, 2008

Saturday Morning Vzhutoons

Monday is, as we all know, is the feast day of St. Patrick (Padriac in Irish), the patron saint of Ireland.

Here's an authentic Irish toast:

Heaney_256

Toaster: Here's to the Council of Trent!

 

All: Here's to the Council of Trent!

Toaster: For putting the ban on the meat . . . !

All: For putting the ban on the meat . . .!

Toaster: . . . and not on the drink!

All: . . . and not on the drink!

All imbibe.

 















And now on with the show!







About VRZHU

Our Bloggers




PoetBlogs

Poetry Sites










I heart FeedBurner


Powered by Rollyo
Blog powered by TypePad
Member since 12/2006