Dickinson

Went to a discussion group last night where we discussed three poems by E. Dickinson. There was a nice-sized group there, not too big, not too small. There was a man there who was very adamant about getting to the actual concrete meanings of the poems. A few of us at a time tried to reiterate that everything was open to interpretation. Even if someone did claim to have a concrete meaning for her poems, it is still an interepretation. The only person who can prove anything is the poet herself. I know this all seems obvious, of course. But I admired the man’s passion in wanting to really really know the meaning behind his poems.

Passion is something lacking these days.

Bridges to Other Worlds Festival

What a weekend.

The festival itself: I thoroughly enjoyed myself and was pleased to see people outside the Chatham community come for the festival. I saw quite a few people that I had seen at poetry readings in Oakland, etc. It was nice to be in such an extensive literary enivronment with them. The visiting writers themselves were excellent contributors to the festival. Although Claudia Rankine wondered out-loud why she was even among all the other writers, I think she still brought an interesting aside into the festival. Sure, the majority of the writers have different cultural backgrounds, and those who didn’t were translators, she still had a role in the idea of “placement”. Talking with her, I learned that she had left Jamaica at a young age. I had read her book _Plot_ among other things we have read of hers in class, and in my opinion, they captured a heritage that seemed more American than Jamaican. And I believe she is aware of her placement and the elements that go along with being a Jamaican-American.

Of all the writers that visited, I felt that Naomi Shihab Nye was the most captivating. She captivated me in several different ways; ways that brought me in and ways that repelled me. Of all the writers, she was the one who I spoke with most (with the exception of Hass, for I was his host). Naomi, if you look at her, is very aesthetically pleasing. What I mean is, she is really peaceful looking. I watched her body language a lot during the panels. She was always smiling, nodding, and you can tell by the squinting of her eyes that she was a true listener. This really captivated me and assured me that she was a good person, like the person I believe she is through her writing. She is indeed a very passionate woman. When she speaks, you want to listen. She’s like the olive in her poem. You want to bring her presence to your lips as if it were something sacred and historically significant. Talking with her, like I said, was a great pleasure. But I do want to be honest in my response and my honesty, I believe, does not stem from any bias or “disagreement” with any particular idea. As we all should know, Naomi is very up-to-date with politics and is an avid supporter of Obama. I want to be honest and say that I think she was a little unprofessional in her freedom of speech. I was not offended. I am sort of up-to-date with politics, and I pay attention to both sides and dislike them equally. Even if I were an Obama supporter and agreed with what she said concerning the whole “McPain” ethic, I would have found her disrespectful in that respect. And don’t get me wrong. Of course politics are going to be brought up during a festival concerning the various bridges that were discussed. And of course a passionate woman is going to be passionate about how she feels. And I am probably one person out of a handfull that “disagreed” with her ideals during the festival.

So, this leads to something that this festival really taught me that I think will benefit me in the future for when I hopefully become a writer (of any sorts) myself: That the enjoyment and challenges you may receive from a writer’s work just may not reflect the ejoyment or challenges you may receive from them in person. Not to say that my experience with these writers necessarily serve as examples of this, but it made me realize that it is indeed something to keep in mind. Of all the writers I spoke with and observed, only two of them (Hass, Levitin) possessed somewhat pompous dispositions (not towards me, but in various instances that I had observed). And I’m supposing that it should be something expected. For those of you who don’t know, I was thrilled with Hass’ poetry and couldn’t wait to meet him and be his host. It was a very enjoyable experience. The first morning that I picked him up, I had also given Sara and Peter Cole a ride. As soon as Peter and Bob met, they became so entranced with one another, that it was like nothing existed outside them. They both sat in the back of my car talking about silm. I was of course very thrilled to have one of my favorite writers, a former poet-laureate, sitting in the back of my old car talking about the feminine form of ejaculation. A poem will be written, I promise! The next morning, it was just me and Bob (a name I can’t say without smiling) and we talked about music and I told him about some of my favorite contemporary composers, Alexandre Desplat and Yann Tiersen. He wrote their names down and I hope he enjoys them. I was thrilled to know that he knew of one of my favorite bands, Beirut.

I agree with Becky about how this festival really brought the Bridges class closer together. I enjoyed talking with Ernestia, she is so interesting, about Claudia Rankine only to have a conversation about the frustrating dance concerning the terms “black” and “African American”. I loved hearing about Amy Holwerda’s encounter with Hass early in the morning while he ate his cereal at the Gate House. I like that my friend Kevin, who I always drag to poetry readings and write poetry with, was able to have an extensive conversation alone with Derek Green about writing fiction (Kevin’s in the fiction track). And I would absolutely love to hear more stories and perspectives.

During the various readings and panels, I wrote down notes and ideas that popped into my head while listening. I am very critical when it comes to reading creative writing about nature. I am among the editorial staff of The Fourth River and come across a lot of poets who write poems that are pretty much lists of things happening in nature. The trees are doing this. The rhododendron is doing that. I also find it a bit cliche to write nature poems that seem apologetic towards nature…putting it up on a pedestal. I have nothing against glorifying nature, but the apology can be told only so many times. This is why I loved Hass’ poetry because it wasn’t always apologetic. It used nature in connecting ways that are different from other things I have read. He makes nature seem here in the present rather than an “other”…like a foreigner that we want to welcome in with open arms. So, I was a bit surprised by his keynote speech in the beginning. He was talking about the plastic in the ocean, which is a very sad thing. I did not disagree with what he was saying, but I was only taken aback because his talk didn’t necessarily emphasize what I liked about his writings concerning nature. Hass was definitely right when he said that there was something wrong with the American imagination.

Naomi said something that I loved. She said that when she is told a story, she tries to ask questions that the story doesn’t answer. She asks about the other side or the characters that are not too much revealed. I really admired her very precocious quality and I agree that those questions are indeed very appropriate for understanding a story…or for understanding anything, for that matter.

Claudia Rankine said “An image can outlast what it represents.” This reminded me of Hass’ book _Time and Materials_. Again and again, he is constantly giving us images that he attempts to represent through words with evident frustration. It almost seems to oppose what Claudia said. Hass seems to say through his poetry that a representation or meaning can outlast its image.

I was in Alexis Levitin’s craft course. Astrid Cabral came in eventually, as well, but she didn’t do a lot of talking. Levitin had some very interesting tidbit information on how to make a poem more powerful. He talked about how just one preposition within a poem can change the whole meaning of a poem. He renewed within me just how tricky language can be and how the layout of a poem can often speak louder than what the poem is trying to “tell”. It boggles me to think that these translators come up with just one poem out of the many that can be created. We saw in class how specific words or enjambment can change how we understand a poem. Then I thought about translation outside the realm of poetry. I thought about fiction, then, and how fiction so much depends on people’s dialogue and mannerisms. It must be so difficult to portray foreign mannerisms in a different language that may not be able to portray it in an equally rich manner. For instance, a lot of languages do not have a word for “home”. Weird, huh?

The festival was wonderful, though. But there was something I did hear among the readers. From what I heard from them, quite a few of them seemed a bit confused about what their roles were during the craft courses. Students were confused, as well. Some people submitted work and others didn’t think they had to. And if we had to, why didn’t we have to make copies if it were going to be a workshop of sorts? So, the communication revolving around what the writers had to do during their craft session was a bit confusing for them. Also, there wasn’t a lot of time alotted for questions after the panels. Everything was quite a rush. I agree again with Becky, that this could have been a four-day event. But I understand that the idea of that happening would not only be expensive but inconvenient for the busy writers (and students!).

And Astrid Cabral was insanely adorable!

Milosz

In the introduction of the nature section of this book, it is mentioned that the emotions of empathy and guilt are what we usually feel when we attempt to connect ourselves to nature. These emotions are indeed often felt within poetry and other writings, but it begs me to wonder why stop at just those emotions? Why not there be jealousy, wrath, anger, love, desire, and loneliness? In a lot of writing, writers often seem to constantly apologize with nature and attempt to gain its respect…or to achieve some other form of neutrality. I know about the innocence concept of nature; some philosopher that I forget said that nature doesn’t care. I remember Tempest Williams, in her book Refuge said something along those lines. This idea really has me going, though. If the image of a dog-earred textbook (Hass) can lead to a foray of ideas concerning the state of the planet, if the image of fishhouses (Bishop) can lead to the pursuit for knowledge of the beyond, then nature should be just as likely lead us to a mood/tone of happiness or contentment as well as to a state of hatred or despair.
            I really liked Robert Creeley’s poem “Like They Say” (18). The word “disturb” takes on so many meanings here. For such a small poem, it not only works with its words, but with its images. In the beginning, it is all image that I see clearly. Towards the end, the image turns to thought, which stills the image in my mind as if it is just a picture on a page…which thus leads me to the idea of the Bible and Genesis.
            I found it interesting when Mary Oliver in “The Kingfisher” (20) says “I don’t say he’s right. Neither/do I say he’s wrong.” In a lot of nature poetry, it often seems as though the poet is saying that “nature” is always right and that man needs to work his way around rather than through nature. So, I thought it was great to see a writer take notice that nature has its ugly, murderous, straight-edge moments. It is strange to think that as humans, we have this desire to separate right from wrong as if there were such things as black and white when it comes to being the extra-sensorial humans we are in this world. So it is odd to think that we can point fingers at each other—as humans, created by nature or whathaveyou—but allow nature to be innocent.
            I really love D.H. Lawrence’s poem “Mystic” (36). In this poem, he introduces another form of black and white that in my opinion smothers and humiliates our abilities to have amazing sensations arise out of us when we are exposed to such things as textbooks, fishhouses, and in this case, apples. If tempted enough, I can become outraged if someone considered my emotions concerning something considered “simple” to be superfluous.
            The poem “Destruction” (38) was very different from the rest of the poems, narrating a destruction that can occur within a home. But within all of the destruction is a paradoxical meeting. Kyger creates a home of a hippie/granola personality that only leads to the destruction of nature, for the bear literally consumes the lifestyle of this hippie, which may inevitably kill the bear. The poem seems to serve as a commentary on the destructive behavior of people who think they are not being destructive. As if the lifestyle of the hippie was some sort of lie, a little like Thoreau. But Thoreau of course didn’t have 35 pounds of granola or coffee. He had the Emersonian hospitality.  

Poem by Naomi Shihab Nye

Rebellion against the North Side

There will be no monograms on our skulls.
You who are training your daughters to check for the words
“Calvin Klein” before they look to see if there are pockets
are giving them no hands to put in those pockets.

You are giving them eyes that will find nothing solid in stones.
No comfort in rough land, nameless sheep trails.
No answers from things which do not speak.

Since when do children sketch dreams with price tags attached?
Don’t tell me they were born this way.
We were all born like empty fields.
What we are now shows what has been planted.

Will you remind them there were people
who hemmed their days with thick-spun wool
and wore them till they fell apart?

Think of darkness hugging the houses,
caring nothing for the material of our pajamas.
Think of the delicate mesh of neckbones
when you clasp the golden chains.
These words the world rains back and forth
are temporary as clouds.
Clouds? Tell your children to look up.
The sky is the only store worth shopping in
for anything as long as life.
*

Currently in love with the band Beirut. Listening to their album The Flying Club Cup.

From Samuel Hazo’s _Discovery_

Soldier’s Lot

Concealed, with net-webbed helmet
slouched unstrapped across his eye
and unslung rifle aimlessly canted
like a trophy on a cache of bullets
bandoleered in clips, he listened
cheek to stock until low ricochets
from snipers–penned by parapets
in bunkers camouflaged with bags
of sand–the sortilege of flags
evoked and quickened in his veins
the wild and restless blood of cain.
*

Last night, I dreamt that I lived at the top of a hill, and my only way to get down the hill to where everyone/everything else was, was by driving a car with no brakes.

somethingsomething

A faceless snake?

fenk-shen

…that woodcut, which still resides in the cathedral of Forli…is a print that is no longer ortlos (placeless)…but rather acts as a functional site, in this case bound to a single place and able to galvanize disparate local elements into a communal sense of ‘emplacement’.

The woodcut miraculously survived a fire, only Our Lady survived, that is. But this supposed miracle became a miracle within itself with the add-ins and alterations…the collage-like additions that take away its’ placement, but gives it a more elevated placement.

Philmosophy

I am bringing philmosophy back. It is not a group, but simply me talking about art and all kinds of weird stuff. In the past, it was a project for school, but I still have deep, passionate interests in the material and so therefore want to keep at it and have people engage in it. So, please join in discussion if you will!

Hass Excerpt

from State of the Planet

It must be a gift of evolution that humans
can’t sustain wonder. We’d never have gotten up
from our knees if we could. But soon enough
we’d have fashioned sexy little earrings from the feathers,
highlighted our cheekbones by rubbings from the rock,
and made a spear from the sinewey wood of the tree.
*

I love it when poets successfully use the idea or phrase “on [our, their, my, his, her] knees”. I love how this stanza alone seems to work for the rest of this poem (which is quite lengthy), which demonstrates this rising of man. And I love how Hass uses “wonder”, which in my mind is a compliment to man rather than a term that degenerates him. It is amazing to think…that it is perhaps true that animals do sustain their wonder or do not possess it at all. That they are simply driven by survival and instinct (which can often seem like wonder).

And as cheesy as this sounds, I am thankful to be human.

Response

Some brief thoughts on Hass’ _Time & Materials_.

I think that it is interesting how this book begins in January in Iowa and ends in September in Inverness. Both poems seem to concern persistence with or within time. In the poem “Iowa, January” there seems to be a conflict and in my mind I see it as a physical rubbing up against something. The “over and over” within the poem defends the idea of persistence. I picture a farmer awakening from his narrow dreams only to enter the cold, blustering furrow of the winter night.

            In the poem “September, Inverness”, there is another image of something rubbing up against something else: “…and the wind comes up,/And the surface of the water glitters hard against it.” But there is a seemingly intense difference between these two poems. “September, Inverness” gives us the action and the reaction, the rubbing and the glittering. There isn’t any “glittering” in “Iowa, January”. Instead, that action enters the mind as an afterthought of the poem. Another interesting aspect of these two poems is the settings. Iowa, being a state and Inverness being a city in Scotland, which is even more specific. This welcomes the idea of Hass’ narrowing in.

            The idea of narrowing in is especially present in one of my favorite poems, “Envy of Other People’s Poems”, in which Hass narrows in on a story of heroism and turns it into one of desperation. I love his idea of taking a burly hero (Odysseus) and humanizing him by turning him into a man who longs for simpler, more human thins. He seems desperate and almost hopeless, when our usual idea of Odysseus involves one of bravery and connivance. I really love the message instilled within this poem. That not only can desperation be buried beneath the cloak of bravery, but that the desperation is indeed more real than the bravery.

            Hass also does amazing things with language within his poetry. In his poem “The Problem of Describing Trees”, the poem can also concern the problem of describing language. In this poem, the relationship between man and nature is capitalized. The confusion, though, seems to stem from language and man’s abilities to label what something is and what it is doing. In this poem, Hass seems to allow man to be one of amazement and befuddlement to nature. It is biblical…to be able to label something in order to have dominance over it. Hass seems to take away that dominance with that last line: “The aspen doing something in the wind.”