From the Boston Globe, Tuesday August 29, 2003
Poetry red in tooth and claw
AGNIESZKA BISKUP
Poems are duking it out in a Darwinian sense on David Rea's website. He's designed a computer program that allows poems to evolve. Starting with 1,000 random words culled fro "Hamlet," "Beowulf," and the "Iliad," among others, his program randomly assembles them to create a short verse. If you visit his website (www.codeasart.com/poetry/darwin.html), you are given two of these verses and you choose the one you like best. The unpopular ones are killed off, but the poems with the most votes get to "breed" with each other, exchanging words like genes. Rea has also programmed in a mutation, where every new poem has a one-in-a-thousand chance of having a dropped or added word, or a word shifting its place. The resulting off-spring poems are once again put up and voted on, and so on and so forth. After enough generations, Rea says on his site, "we should eventually start to see interesting poems emerge." One recent survivor of this (un)natural selection was "Hellhound the beds though to/Puppeteer shout ho recesses now/For in the sphere it is cricket curfews/With therein of stolen." Charmingly incoherent as it is, it looks like poetry requires a creator.
Also, visit the message board which in some ways is as interesting as the poems.
Back to work.
slan,
j.c.
Friday, August 01, 2003
Thursday, July 31, 2003
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Gata has come home!
She told me--in Spanish--that she had spent two days and one night expanding her "ciudad muelle."
Gata f she-cat; low-hanging cloud; Madrid woman; (Mex) maid, servant girl; a gatas on all fours, on hands and knees
Thought you might like to know. Also...
soft:
blando adj bland, soft; indulgent; flabby; sensual; cowardly; (ojos {eyes}) tender
muelle adj soft, voluptuous
There is also "mullido adj soft, fluffy".
~
In honor of Mark's post about translation, and in honor of the la luna in Lorca's Bodas de Sangre, and in honor of the tides {see Saturday's post} here's a translation from Lorca's La suite de los espejos:
Reflection
Lady Moon.
(Has someone broken the quicksilver?)
No.
What child has lit
the lantern?
A mere butterfly’s enough
to put you out.
Quiet … but is it possible!
That firefly is the moon!
That glowworm!
~
Back to work.
slan,
j.c.
She told me--in Spanish--that she had spent two days and one night expanding her "ciudad muelle."
Gata f she-cat; low-hanging cloud; Madrid woman; (Mex) maid, servant girl; a gatas on all fours, on hands and knees
Thought you might like to know. Also...
soft:
blando adj bland, soft; indulgent; flabby; sensual; cowardly; (ojos {eyes}) tender
muelle adj soft, voluptuous
There is also "mullido adj soft, fluffy".
~
In honor of Mark's post about translation, and in honor of the la luna in Lorca's Bodas de Sangre, and in honor of the tides {see Saturday's post} here's a translation from Lorca's La suite de los espejos:
Reflection
Lady Moon.
(Has someone broken the quicksilver?)
No.
What child has lit
the lantern?
A mere butterfly’s enough
to put you out.
Quiet … but is it possible!
That firefly is the moon!
That glowworm!
~
Back to work.
slan,
j.c.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
Amanda has arrived in port.
~
I've gotten rid of only one of the Red Devil adverts above.
~
Solace for a poet after reading Plato's Republic X
Plotinus:
"We must bear in mind that the arts do not simply imitate the visible but go back to the reasons from which nature comes..."
~
"There's something unwholesome about flying a kite at night."
Marge Simpson
~
Visit the kids to read new poems.
~
I've been reading Hidden Injuries of Class which has inspired new thoughts about those questions I posed some weeks back.
~
For anyone interested in swimming in the Annisquam River this week. High tide can be found here. A time table for trains to Gloucester can be found here. I can be found by clicking above.
Swimming has also been known to occur at Half Moon Beach (see also: the cover of Butterick's Guide the Maximus Poems), Pavillion Beach, pools, & quarries.
"When it comes to quarries I'm known to swim."
~
Good luck to Jim & others playing Wiffleball{TM} in NYC tomorrow.
~
Good night!
Amanda is home!
slan,
j.c.
~
~
I've gotten rid of only one of the Red Devil adverts above.
~
Solace for a poet after reading Plato's Republic X
Plotinus:
"We must bear in mind that the arts do not simply imitate the visible but go back to the reasons from which nature comes..."
~
"There's something unwholesome about flying a kite at night."
Marge Simpson
~
Visit the kids to read new poems.
~
I've been reading Hidden Injuries of Class which has inspired new thoughts about those questions I posed some weeks back.
~
For anyone interested in swimming in the Annisquam River this week. High tide can be found here. A time table for trains to Gloucester can be found here. I can be found by clicking above.
Swimming has also been known to occur at Half Moon Beach (see also: the cover of Butterick's Guide the Maximus Poems), Pavillion Beach, pools, & quarries.
"When it comes to quarries I'm known to swim."
~
Good luck to Jim & others playing Wiffleball{TM} in NYC tomorrow.
~
Good night!
Amanda is home!
slan,
j.c.
~
Thursday, July 24, 2003
I had forgotten about my weblog for a few days. (My last post--as you can probably see--was :42:54 into Tuesday, nearly 60 hours ago.) In that time I have talked about the ghost city more than I have visited it. Perhaps there's a danger in that too. Thank you Gerrit, Mike, & Mark for returning me to thoughts of the soft city, as I look out of the school window & am mindful of topography & friendships just across the cut. The soft city is, perhaps, a form in my mind--one that takes on new contours in dreams--but it's marks are found in the buildings, on the land, in the people I encounter in the hard city. This is why I agree w/ Mark that the soft city does not die w/ us--at least not immediately, but perhaps not ever. Our marks remain along the paths we've traced. Poems are, of course, a mark we leave. One w/ special properties.
Talking w/ an other poet after John Wieners passed away, I declared, as if it needed stating, that I thought John's poetry would last, that it would be read for years. I based this on the fact that I've had great success teaching his poems to high schoolers. More success w/ his poems than w/ anyone else except perhaps Blake or Yeats. Why these poets? I'm not sure. Many poets & poems I love {or tho't kids wld like or have work'd for other teachers} haven't yet yielded powerful experiences in the classroom. But back the conversation w/ the poet, I was almost immediately embarrassed at what I'd said. **Of course** John will be remembered, read, etc. That's how I interpreted the look I received. It was not a harsh look. It was in fact quite sympathetic but suprised that such a thing even needed to be sd. Or perhaps I was projecting something, or merely misinterpreting the look & stance.
Whatever the case, I know that I see Boston & other locales differently--my soft city has been affected--by John's poems {how can I not think of "Billie" when I see a sign for Revere Beach!?!} & the stories Jim Dunn has told me about John. John in his life traced paths around the city that we too sometimes have traced, are tracing, and will trace. Sometimes a few steps. Sometimes we follow him--separated only by time {only?}--for entire city blocks, perhaps matching him turn for turn. & his is but one soft city though one many of us care about deeply--even if we never knew him well.
Thinking about John's Boston has not only sent my mind into speculation about the Boston of others--Gerrit, my grandparents, Amanda before I knew her & while I've know her, many of you including friends now elsewhere--but I'm also mindful of Ulysses. Is it a form of false consciousness for me to be moved by walking along Gardiner Street, retracing the path of Leopold & Stephen? Or to visit the land upon which Joyce set the nighttown episode {though what is on that land has been greatly changed? What I am *remembering* is a fiction? Or are Joyce's own tracings of this land first w/ his feet & eyes & then w/ his remembering mind *enough*? I don't want to dismiss this question by saying it doesn't matter, what I felt I felt & can not change, etc. I {like Mike C. in a different way} want to grapple w/ this. I'm not explaining myself well & must get around to eating sometime soon but I could perhaps put it this way:
I'm somewhat haunted at the moment by Mike County's question: "Why should the closing of a supermarket make the eyes water?" When the supermarket goes part of our physical connection--standing in that supermarket picking out foods for dinner as John may have done--is gone. The ground remains & we may recall the paths he traced while standing on the ground but the connection is less vivid; what we physically experience through our immediate senses is now less like what John may have sensed while on the spot.
{Such erasures often, however, give us imaginative space though. We can--as poets--imagine a link between what was & what is or respond to the change in some other imaginative manner. Yesterday Gerrit confirmed for me that the Gloucester "Green" so important to the early settlement is now the main rotatry in town--Grant Circle--& part of the state highway system making it in someway not quite Gloucester anymore {or at least not exclusively *Gloucester* since the land belongs to the state too}. Obviously the implications are quite interesting. One could construct a response (a poem, etc.?) on those grounds, so to speak.}
So back to the Joyce question {I need to eat so I won't even get into the interwoven tracings of the Wandering Rocks section of Ulysses!}: marks of Joyce's soft city--born from the hard city: the topography, buildings, etc.--can be found in _Ulysses_. Or to put it another way: Ulysses_ is constructed upon a soft city which is itself based upon the hard city {Dublin} that any of us might visit. There are remnants still of Joyce's soft city & *all* of Joyce's soft city was founded upon the *ground*, though buildings may be gone. We feel closer--is this false?--by waking upon that ground & better still visiting places which might bear a more physical resemblance to his hard city. Thereby we hope to reconstruct {& even experience ourselves!}--as best we can--Joyce's soft city. Out of the intersection--the meeting--of the created city/the creator's soft city/& our own encounter w/ the hard city perhaps a new soft city is born.
This is a form of intimacy, no? A connection we might make w/ someone we've never known. Perhaps this is a non-electronic ghost intimacy? but not entirely spectral because there is an aspect of the experience that is physical... {Also, Is the intimacy false because it is not quite physically true & somewhat *imagined*--an act of creation? I don't **at all** think so but I do want to avoid self-delusion.} To return to Mike's question: we are saddened--we feel a loss--when the possible {or actual} site of an experience of intimacy--a supermarket, say--is destroyed.
I could go on about how I have been overwhelmed w/ sadness while visiting certain places--churches, say--because of a sudden feeling of loss {not necessarily loss of a person--as in a cemetery--but loss of a former version of oneself/someone else {though this might be seen as a form of losing a person} or loss of hope, belief, beauty, etc.
Again, thank you--Gerrit, Mark, and Mike--for starting these thoughts.)
I started this long ago. Now I will eat.
slan,
j.c.
Talking w/ an other poet after John Wieners passed away, I declared, as if it needed stating, that I thought John's poetry would last, that it would be read for years. I based this on the fact that I've had great success teaching his poems to high schoolers. More success w/ his poems than w/ anyone else except perhaps Blake or Yeats. Why these poets? I'm not sure. Many poets & poems I love {or tho't kids wld like or have work'd for other teachers} haven't yet yielded powerful experiences in the classroom. But back the conversation w/ the poet, I was almost immediately embarrassed at what I'd said. **Of course** John will be remembered, read, etc. That's how I interpreted the look I received. It was not a harsh look. It was in fact quite sympathetic but suprised that such a thing even needed to be sd. Or perhaps I was projecting something, or merely misinterpreting the look & stance.
Whatever the case, I know that I see Boston & other locales differently--my soft city has been affected--by John's poems {how can I not think of "Billie" when I see a sign for Revere Beach!?!} & the stories Jim Dunn has told me about John. John in his life traced paths around the city that we too sometimes have traced, are tracing, and will trace. Sometimes a few steps. Sometimes we follow him--separated only by time {only?}--for entire city blocks, perhaps matching him turn for turn. & his is but one soft city though one many of us care about deeply--even if we never knew him well.
Thinking about John's Boston has not only sent my mind into speculation about the Boston of others--Gerrit, my grandparents, Amanda before I knew her & while I've know her, many of you including friends now elsewhere--but I'm also mindful of Ulysses. Is it a form of false consciousness for me to be moved by walking along Gardiner Street, retracing the path of Leopold & Stephen? Or to visit the land upon which Joyce set the nighttown episode {though what is on that land has been greatly changed? What I am *remembering* is a fiction? Or are Joyce's own tracings of this land first w/ his feet & eyes & then w/ his remembering mind *enough*? I don't want to dismiss this question by saying it doesn't matter, what I felt I felt & can not change, etc. I {like Mike C. in a different way} want to grapple w/ this. I'm not explaining myself well & must get around to eating sometime soon but I could perhaps put it this way:
I'm somewhat haunted at the moment by Mike County's question: "Why should the closing of a supermarket make the eyes water?" When the supermarket goes part of our physical connection--standing in that supermarket picking out foods for dinner as John may have done--is gone. The ground remains & we may recall the paths he traced while standing on the ground but the connection is less vivid; what we physically experience through our immediate senses is now less like what John may have sensed while on the spot.
{Such erasures often, however, give us imaginative space though. We can--as poets--imagine a link between what was & what is or respond to the change in some other imaginative manner. Yesterday Gerrit confirmed for me that the Gloucester "Green" so important to the early settlement is now the main rotatry in town--Grant Circle--& part of the state highway system making it in someway not quite Gloucester anymore {or at least not exclusively *Gloucester* since the land belongs to the state too}. Obviously the implications are quite interesting. One could construct a response (a poem, etc.?) on those grounds, so to speak.}
So back to the Joyce question {I need to eat so I won't even get into the interwoven tracings of the Wandering Rocks section of Ulysses!}: marks of Joyce's soft city--born from the hard city: the topography, buildings, etc.--can be found in _Ulysses_. Or to put it another way: Ulysses_ is constructed upon a soft city which is itself based upon the hard city {Dublin} that any of us might visit. There are remnants still of Joyce's soft city & *all* of Joyce's soft city was founded upon the *ground*, though buildings may be gone. We feel closer--is this false?--by waking upon that ground & better still visiting places which might bear a more physical resemblance to his hard city. Thereby we hope to reconstruct {& even experience ourselves!}--as best we can--Joyce's soft city. Out of the intersection--the meeting--of the created city/the creator's soft city/& our own encounter w/ the hard city perhaps a new soft city is born.
This is a form of intimacy, no? A connection we might make w/ someone we've never known. Perhaps this is a non-electronic ghost intimacy? but not entirely spectral because there is an aspect of the experience that is physical... {Also, Is the intimacy false because it is not quite physically true & somewhat *imagined*--an act of creation? I don't **at all** think so but I do want to avoid self-delusion.} To return to Mike's question: we are saddened--we feel a loss--when the possible {or actual} site of an experience of intimacy--a supermarket, say--is destroyed.
I could go on about how I have been overwhelmed w/ sadness while visiting certain places--churches, say--because of a sudden feeling of loss {not necessarily loss of a person--as in a cemetery--but loss of a former version of oneself/someone else {though this might be seen as a form of losing a person} or loss of hope, belief, beauty, etc.
Again, thank you--Gerrit, Mark, and Mike--for starting these thoughts.)
I started this long ago. Now I will eat.
slan,
j.c.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Speech at the intersection of soft cities--in my kitchen {& around the pool table} in Gloucester on Saturday at the Grand Cafe in Somerville on Sunday--has sated my desire to write more {for the time being} about Bodas de Sangre. The gossip/arts section of the ghost city's near daily newspaper got scooped by scuttlebutt in the soft city. In other words, the play was brilliant but I'm all talked out.
{Warning: sports content.}
More brilliance: Pedro (the other San Pietro) & co. beat the Jays 9-4 yesterday. Friend Ben got tix off ebay so I was able to be there to watch the boys in red hose finally give Sr. Martinez a bit of run support.
Tomorrow Glasgow Celtic plays Manchester United in Seattle. There are now **four** Celtic supporter clubs in the Boston area. {At last check only Ontario has more & now w/ a new club in Salem maybe we've equalled the northern bhoys too.} Why didn't they play here? {Or in Ontario.} Guess they're expanding their supporter base... Regardless, I'm excited football is back. The first match that counts {a Champions League qualifier against a Lithuanian team} is next week. Start singing...
well it's a grand ole team to play for/& it's a grand ole team to cheer/& if/you know/you're 'istory/it's enough to make a heart go/fuck-the-Rangers/we don't care what the animals say/what the hell do we care/for we always know/that there's gonna be a show/& the Glasgow Cel'ic will be there/will be there/will be here/there/& every fuckin' where/for the Glasgow Cel'ic will be there.
After the Red Sox game yesterday,
{Sports content ended...}
picked up books at the Book Annex:
*The Selected Poems of Paul Blackburn
*Sweeney Astray, Seamus Heaney
*The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson {Have three different selected poems but no collected; I'd been looking for a used copy in good shape for nearly a year}
*Mexican Poetry: An Anthology, ed. Paz, trans. Beckett {Yes, that Beckett! I found a copy in Northampton earlier this year but didn't buy it. Then later in the winter I wanted to read it. Ach!}
*Poems and Antipoems, Nicanor Parra
*The Complete Poems of Hugh MacDiarmid (Vol 1 & 2)
& there was more I wanted to buy but didn't. Fiscal restraint? Hardly.
~
I was very happy to read the poems Mark posted on his weblog. {See sidebar for link. Some time soon I'll have to memorize how many hyphens are on either side of the 0. Is it ten?} I was a bit depressed, for various reasons, & Mark's poems provided surprising beauty in the movement of the human mind. A kind of dance, no? What poetry does that few other things can. Thanks Mark.
~
Mike County is moving to Gloucester.
~
Excellent conversation at Patrick & Ariane Doud's house Saturday night between Patrick, Ariane, Mitch Highfill, Zac {no "h"} Martin, Gerrit Lansing, and this reporter. {Gowan Doud made a few good points too.} The wide ranging conversation had two tethers: the (a)morality of humor & forgotten/overlooked/underappreciated poets/writers of the 20th century. Comments?
I'm off to meet a friend at the train station...
slan,
j.c.
{Warning: sports content.}
More brilliance: Pedro (the other San Pietro) & co. beat the Jays 9-4 yesterday. Friend Ben got tix off ebay so I was able to be there to watch the boys in red hose finally give Sr. Martinez a bit of run support.
Tomorrow Glasgow Celtic plays Manchester United in Seattle. There are now **four** Celtic supporter clubs in the Boston area. {At last check only Ontario has more & now w/ a new club in Salem maybe we've equalled the northern bhoys too.} Why didn't they play here? {Or in Ontario.} Guess they're expanding their supporter base... Regardless, I'm excited football is back. The first match that counts {a Champions League qualifier against a Lithuanian team} is next week. Start singing...
well it's a grand ole team to play for/& it's a grand ole team to cheer/& if/you know/you're 'istory/it's enough to make a heart go/fuck-the-Rangers/we don't care what the animals say/what the hell do we care/for we always know/that there's gonna be a show/& the Glasgow Cel'ic will be there/will be there/will be here/there/& every fuckin' where/for the Glasgow Cel'ic will be there.
After the Red Sox game yesterday,
{Sports content ended...}
picked up books at the Book Annex:
*The Selected Poems of Paul Blackburn
*Sweeney Astray, Seamus Heaney
*The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson {Have three different selected poems but no collected; I'd been looking for a used copy in good shape for nearly a year}
*Mexican Poetry: An Anthology, ed. Paz, trans. Beckett {Yes, that Beckett! I found a copy in Northampton earlier this year but didn't buy it. Then later in the winter I wanted to read it. Ach!}
*Poems and Antipoems, Nicanor Parra
*The Complete Poems of Hugh MacDiarmid (Vol 1 & 2)
& there was more I wanted to buy but didn't. Fiscal restraint? Hardly.
~
I was very happy to read the poems Mark posted on his weblog. {See sidebar for link. Some time soon I'll have to memorize how many hyphens are on either side of the 0. Is it ten?} I was a bit depressed, for various reasons, & Mark's poems provided surprising beauty in the movement of the human mind. A kind of dance, no? What poetry does that few other things can. Thanks Mark.
~
Mike County is moving to Gloucester.
~
Excellent conversation at Patrick & Ariane Doud's house Saturday night between Patrick, Ariane, Mitch Highfill, Zac {no "h"} Martin, Gerrit Lansing, and this reporter. {Gowan Doud made a few good points too.} The wide ranging conversation had two tethers: the (a)morality of humor & forgotten/overlooked/underappreciated poets/writers of the 20th century. Comments?
I'm off to meet a friend at the train station...
slan,
j.c.
Friday, July 18, 2003
Went to see Bodas de Sangre {Blood Wedding} in Chelsea last night. Amazing. The play was held in Mary O'Malley Park which is on the Mystic River. In the park I watched three futbol matches. Teams played on large boundry-less fields, each trying to hit the truck of a tree (marked by clothes hanging on the boughs. A few players were skilled & fit. Most were one or the other. Few if any fouls were called. The game was mostly about flow, though once the ball got near the marked tree the defenses (often seven or so backs) fell into a tight zone formation, making it very difficult for the attackers to squeeze the ball through. The players w/ the ball came up w/ some pretty inventive--if not always successful--solutions. Oh, & I forgot to mention that the trees were not necessarily in a line. They were just at opposite ends of the three large naturally shaped fields.
From the park I also saw various large freight carrying vessels. I could also see the Back Bay skyline.
But the play! The play!
The production of Bodas de Sangre (performed in Spanish, tonight it was to be performed in English but because of the rain earlier today they decided to hold it inside & by the time I got to the theatre there were no more seats--alas) took place in three locations w/in the park: on an outdoor stage (not raised), under some trees down toward the dock, & on the dock (w/ the Tobin Bridge looming ominously above us not a quarter mile off).
More comments still to come.
{For those interested--& I highly recommend the experience even for those w/o much Spanish since the plot is quite simple--the last show is tomorrow night at 730. Check out this link.}
From the park I also saw various large freight carrying vessels. I could also see the Back Bay skyline.
But the play! The play!
The production of Bodas de Sangre (performed in Spanish, tonight it was to be performed in English but because of the rain earlier today they decided to hold it inside & by the time I got to the theatre there were no more seats--alas) took place in three locations w/in the park: on an outdoor stage (not raised), under some trees down toward the dock, & on the dock (w/ the Tobin Bridge looming ominously above us not a quarter mile off).
More comments still to come.
{For those interested--& I highly recommend the experience even for those w/o much Spanish since the plot is quite simple--the last show is tomorrow night at 730. Check out this link.}
Thursday, July 17, 2003
New on the blurb blog...
This Creeley blurb (of sorts) was sent in by Jim Dunn. Creeley wrote it in response to a war poem by Jim.
Thinking of your thoughtful poem, I loved the classic line from Blake -- "Fire delights in its form..." -- which years later a friend told me came from Blake's French Revolution and referred to the gathering mob. But fires are lovely in that dancing as you say. Energy doesn't know what it's doing -- but it is, as Blake again says, "eternal delight." I guess it's up to us to keep the occasions specific. Onward!
~
Long conversation w/ Patrick Doud, Ken Irby, Gerrit Lansing & Chuck Stein last night about weblogs (& the internet more generally). Sparked by Mark Lamoureux's comments about the ghost city and ghost intimacy which interested both Gerrit & me. At the end of the post (Saturday 7/12), Mark asks the key question: "As the ghost city grows, does the soft city {one's experience of the city} shrink? Anyone?"
For me, not yet. My "soft city" continues to expand here in Gloucester & even more so in the Boston-area {though that hasn't been *my* city for eight years}. I've been talking to my grandmother, who grew up in Somerville, about her soft Somerville & comparing it to mine. {Again I'm a visitor--though a frequent one--& she lived there.} Perkins Street is my next Somerville destination. I also plan to walk from my greatgrandparents' first house in West Somerville (shared by relatives) to the next house in East Somerville (shared by even more relatives after layoffs). Here's to soft cities! I want to hear (either in the ghost city or the hard city) about yours!
My ghost city has expanded too. I read weblogs & visit websites created by people whom I will never meet anywhere but in text. This ghost city, however, serves a specific function in my life. When I'm working at home or at school, it provides a quick escape up into the friendly observation tower of a ghost city. The computer screen is a window out from my classroom box or study box onto the ghost polis. I peer over the shoulder of friends typing on their keyboards at home & work. I read the *underground newspaper* of the *ghost city* over the shoulder of commuters, profs, hipsters, grandmothers, immigrants, tourists, etc. in the ghost subway. (Jim's recent astral projection review of the Silliman/Berger reading was not entirely unlike something from the dream newspaper in Ben Katchor's Julius Knipel comics.) But then I set this world aside & return to grading papers or reading Italo Calvino's _Invisible Cities_ or driving/walking through the hard city. There are other escapes from the boxes. Opening a window onto the ghost city is one.
If given the choice I'd still much rather talk--eat, drink, walk, throw a frisbee on the Cambridge Commons, watch kids play with a box of toys at Gerrit Lansing's house, marching w/ tens of thousands through the Back Bay, etc.--in the hard city, while contemplating my (& guessing or asking about your) soft city than peer into the ghost city from my window in the observation tower. But there is a risk of spending more time w/ the later than w/ the former.
The risk of ghost intimacy is less real to me. My soft city (cities) is (are) filled w/ people w/ whom I am intimate in one way or another. Growing & changing intimacies keep this port city interesting--but I am also lucky to have a measure of stability too. I'm very thankful for this. I wonder what others think about all this. Mark's question is a very important one; it cuts to the heart of the polis.
O.K. off to the library: {an integral part of my soft city.}
~
Oh before I forget...I plan to return to the class thread at some point but I first want to read _The Hidden Injuries of Class_ which I've just borrowed.
~
&...
Lorca's Blood Wedding/Bodas de Sangre Free!!!
I plan to go tonight (for the original Spanish) & tomorrow night (for the English translation). I'm very excited! {Many thanks to Aaron Tieger for mentioning Macbeth on the commons--which reminded me of Bodas de Sangre on the Chelsea Waterfront--otherwise I'd've forgotten.
Here's the information:
These free performances of Blood Wedding by Federico Garcia Lorca are July 11-19, at 7:30pm. The production is staged environmentally in three locations in Mary O'Malley Park, Commandant's Way, on the Chelsea Waterfront (Admiral's Hill). English performances are Fri. July 11, Wed. July 16, and Fri. July 18. Spanish performances are Sat. July 12, Thurs. July 17, and Sat. July 19. In case of rain performances will be moved indoors to the Chelsea Theatre Works, 189 Winnisimmet St., Chelsea Square. For more information email us or call 617-887-2336.
~
from Blood Wedding
“This character does not appear in the cast.”
slan,
j.c.
This Creeley blurb (of sorts) was sent in by Jim Dunn. Creeley wrote it in response to a war poem by Jim.
Thinking of your thoughtful poem, I loved the classic line from Blake -- "Fire delights in its form..." -- which years later a friend told me came from Blake's French Revolution and referred to the gathering mob. But fires are lovely in that dancing as you say. Energy doesn't know what it's doing -- but it is, as Blake again says, "eternal delight." I guess it's up to us to keep the occasions specific. Onward!
~
Long conversation w/ Patrick Doud, Ken Irby, Gerrit Lansing & Chuck Stein last night about weblogs (& the internet more generally). Sparked by Mark Lamoureux's comments about the ghost city and ghost intimacy which interested both Gerrit & me. At the end of the post (Saturday 7/12), Mark asks the key question: "As the ghost city grows, does the soft city {one's experience of the city} shrink? Anyone?"
For me, not yet. My "soft city" continues to expand here in Gloucester & even more so in the Boston-area {though that hasn't been *my* city for eight years}. I've been talking to my grandmother, who grew up in Somerville, about her soft Somerville & comparing it to mine. {Again I'm a visitor--though a frequent one--& she lived there.} Perkins Street is my next Somerville destination. I also plan to walk from my greatgrandparents' first house in West Somerville (shared by relatives) to the next house in East Somerville (shared by even more relatives after layoffs). Here's to soft cities! I want to hear (either in the ghost city or the hard city) about yours!
My ghost city has expanded too. I read weblogs & visit websites created by people whom I will never meet anywhere but in text. This ghost city, however, serves a specific function in my life. When I'm working at home or at school, it provides a quick escape up into the friendly observation tower of a ghost city. The computer screen is a window out from my classroom box or study box onto the ghost polis. I peer over the shoulder of friends typing on their keyboards at home & work. I read the *underground newspaper* of the *ghost city* over the shoulder of commuters, profs, hipsters, grandmothers, immigrants, tourists, etc. in the ghost subway. (Jim's recent astral projection review of the Silliman/Berger reading was not entirely unlike something from the dream newspaper in Ben Katchor's Julius Knipel comics.) But then I set this world aside & return to grading papers or reading Italo Calvino's _Invisible Cities_ or driving/walking through the hard city. There are other escapes from the boxes. Opening a window onto the ghost city is one.
If given the choice I'd still much rather talk--eat, drink, walk, throw a frisbee on the Cambridge Commons, watch kids play with a box of toys at Gerrit Lansing's house, marching w/ tens of thousands through the Back Bay, etc.--in the hard city, while contemplating my (& guessing or asking about your) soft city than peer into the ghost city from my window in the observation tower. But there is a risk of spending more time w/ the later than w/ the former.
The risk of ghost intimacy is less real to me. My soft city (cities) is (are) filled w/ people w/ whom I am intimate in one way or another. Growing & changing intimacies keep this port city interesting--but I am also lucky to have a measure of stability too. I'm very thankful for this. I wonder what others think about all this. Mark's question is a very important one; it cuts to the heart of the polis.
O.K. off to the library: {an integral part of my soft city.}
~
Oh before I forget...I plan to return to the class thread at some point but I first want to read _The Hidden Injuries of Class_ which I've just borrowed.
~
&...
Lorca's Blood Wedding/Bodas de Sangre Free!!!
I plan to go tonight (for the original Spanish) & tomorrow night (for the English translation). I'm very excited! {Many thanks to Aaron Tieger for mentioning Macbeth on the commons--which reminded me of Bodas de Sangre on the Chelsea Waterfront--otherwise I'd've forgotten.
Here's the information:
These free performances of Blood Wedding by Federico Garcia Lorca are July 11-19, at 7:30pm. The production is staged environmentally in three locations in Mary O'Malley Park, Commandant's Way, on the Chelsea Waterfront (Admiral's Hill). English performances are Fri. July 11, Wed. July 16, and Fri. July 18. Spanish performances are Sat. July 12, Thurs. July 17, and Sat. July 19. In case of rain performances will be moved indoors to the Chelsea Theatre Works, 189 Winnisimmet St., Chelsea Square. For more information email us or call 617-887-2336.
~
from Blood Wedding
“This character does not appear in the cast.”
slan,
j.c.
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
This from Mike County in response to my Creeley blurb blog request.
Creeley on Bill Berkon's Serenade:
"Serenade manages to make a track of immaculate clarity through all the too familiar fogs of habit and human illusion. With generous affection and unflagging wit Bill Berkson never misses a step-or the words that, again, say it all"
On Joe Lease's Human Rights:
"...is a remarkable accomplishment, telling a complex story of human rites and their often painful authority with a range of resources any poet would be blessed to command. This singular book marks the beginning of what promise to be in all senses a brilliant career."
On Blackburn's Selected:
"...was the city poet par excellence....the range and authority of his own gifts, both as poet and translator, claim a company with Olson's, Duncan's, Levertov's....the power of his heart yields to none."
On Whitman's Leaves of Grass:
"Some really fucking long lines here. I enjoyed it, but liked the film better. Very human."
Would that it were so--that blurbs were like this last one...even sometimes.
slan
Creeley on Bill Berkon's Serenade:
"Serenade manages to make a track of immaculate clarity through all the too familiar fogs of habit and human illusion. With generous affection and unflagging wit Bill Berkson never misses a step-or the words that, again, say it all"
On Joe Lease's Human Rights:
"...is a remarkable accomplishment, telling a complex story of human rites and their often painful authority with a range of resources any poet would be blessed to command. This singular book marks the beginning of what promise to be in all senses a brilliant career."
On Blackburn's Selected:
"...was the city poet par excellence....the range and authority of his own gifts, both as poet and translator, claim a company with Olson's, Duncan's, Levertov's....the power of his heart yields to none."
On Whitman's Leaves of Grass:
"Some really fucking long lines here. I enjoyed it, but liked the film better. Very human."
Would that it were so--that blurbs were like this last one...even sometimes.
slan
I read in the Globe yesterday that most Americans want unbiased reporting.
The Globe article also said that most Americans want patriotic reporting.
Hm.
~
More from Gloucester History:
Fear of the French (1692-style)
or "Spectral Marauders"
Ebenezer Babson & his family reported hearing strange noises. People seemed to be running through their house. No one was there.
Later, Babson saw two strange men leave his house and disappear into a cornfield. He heard the men say, "the man of the house is come now else we might have taken the house."
Later still, Babson (who, Pringle--a Gloucester historian--writes, "seems to have experienced a monopoly of these occurences in the town") saw two strangers who looked like Frenchmen. Then, he saw six. He caught up to two of them & tried to shoot them down. Mysteriously his weapon misfired. Then he saw three. Successfully one was surrounded {by whom???} but as B. approached the body disappeared.
Soon Babson was to hear frenchmen walking about the garrison & talking loudly in the swamp. He was also shot at.
Ipswich sent sixty men to Gloucester to help subdue the "spectral marauders." Six women were imprisoned.
When the hubbub died down in Gloucester (& elsewhere), the women were released. None had been killed.
Reverend John Emerson issued this statement; seems everyone could save face:
"All rational persons will be satisfied that Gloucester was not harmed for a fortnight altogether by real French and Indians, but that the devil and his angels were the cause of all that befel the town."
& now, 2003, the French are boogeymen again.
{Whereas the role of indigenous peoples as boogeymen in the euro-imagination as proceeded unceasingly since first contact.}
Source: Pringle's History of Gloucester
~
The Globe article also said that most Americans want patriotic reporting.
Hm.
~
More from Gloucester History:
Fear of the French (1692-style)
or "Spectral Marauders"
Ebenezer Babson & his family reported hearing strange noises. People seemed to be running through their house. No one was there.
Later, Babson saw two strange men leave his house and disappear into a cornfield. He heard the men say, "the man of the house is come now else we might have taken the house."
Later still, Babson (who, Pringle--a Gloucester historian--writes, "seems to have experienced a monopoly of these occurences in the town") saw two strangers who looked like Frenchmen. Then, he saw six. He caught up to two of them & tried to shoot them down. Mysteriously his weapon misfired. Then he saw three. Successfully one was surrounded {by whom???} but as B. approached the body disappeared.
Soon Babson was to hear frenchmen walking about the garrison & talking loudly in the swamp. He was also shot at.
Ipswich sent sixty men to Gloucester to help subdue the "spectral marauders." Six women were imprisoned.
When the hubbub died down in Gloucester (& elsewhere), the women were released. None had been killed.
Reverend John Emerson issued this statement; seems everyone could save face:
"All rational persons will be satisfied that Gloucester was not harmed for a fortnight altogether by real French and Indians, but that the devil and his angels were the cause of all that befel the town."
& now, 2003, the French are boogeymen again.
{Whereas the role of indigenous peoples as boogeymen in the euro-imagination as proceeded unceasingly since first contact.}
Source: Pringle's History of Gloucester
~
Friday, July 11, 2003
Brian Kim Stefans bringing up the point--a class one?--that time is precious & therefore "reading (not to mention writing) should not be a matter of indifference."
Amanda made a similar point in an essay she wrote some years back.
Creeley: "I write when no other act is possible." (which is often for some & seldom for others)
Amanda made a similar point in an essay she wrote some years back.
Creeley: "I write when no other act is possible." (which is often for some & seldom for others)
ac, acr
Bitter. Bitter. Bitter.
Sour. Sour. Sour.
I forgot to save a note I just wrote explaining my take on the five exerpts from the Stephen Dunn article. I'll try to recreate them quickly. {Why am I doing this? I realized {after a friend pointed it out to me} that the stats & quotations seemed sour & bitter w/o careful tho't or close reading. I was simply copying & pasting bits of info like a journalist. But like a bad op/ed writer I was structuring the stats & quotes to imply certain critiques w/o actually creating arguments to support those critiques.}
It seems to me that many of my favorite writers working in the 60s used "fable or parable" (& myth) in their work. And writers quite different from Dunn created "ingenious" responses to the limits of language. In other words I'm not sure poetry in the 60s was lacking in fable, parable, & ingenuity (unless perhaps he is referring to straight--single meaning--fable & parable as opposed to using motifs & language from fables & parables). Who is he talking about anyway?
As for surrealism & realism, I go w/ Ecclesiastes & the birds: "there is a time..." But what most upsets me about the second passage is Dunn mocking "the belief that rationality was the smoke screen of the powerful." We are living in a time in which "rationality" is defined by a few very powerful people. So, w/in the terms & conditions of debate created by the Bush administration & complicit media, arguments for war were seen as "rational" though when those same arguments were viewed outside the terms & conditions established by Bush, et al, they were clearly suspect. The fact that Dunn gave this talk a few months ago & made no mention of the state of language in our nation's politics is disturbing. Bush has after all been the prince of mannerless & graceless (i.e. bullying) language. But instead of taking that on Dunn wld rather take a swing at straw horses: the out-of-control 60s & the irrational 70s.
Dunn connects "grace" with "decorum" emphasizing connotations of "refinement" and "propriety". I prefer to connect "grace" with:
Seemingly effortless beauty or charm of movement, form, or proportion.
A disposition to be generous or helpful; goodwill.
Mercy; clemency.
A favor rendered by one who need not do so; indulgence.
A temporary immunity or exemption; a reprieve.
The grace I find in John Wiener's poems has nothing to w/ decorum, refinement, or propriety but everything to do w/ a seemingly effortless beauty and charm of utterance.
"An artist is a god of very small universes." Why very small? Why not very big? The sentence smacks of mediocrity.
Sleep in your house. Go to work. Come home. Occasionally go on vacation. Make observations along the way. (Wednesday at an awards ceremony for young poets at the Sawyer Free Library, a local poet (author of a number of books & winner of a National Endowment of the Arts grand) said that "observation, description, and classification" are the keys to good poetry. Hmm. I thought composition of language as sound, image, and idea had something to do w/ poetry.) & above all don't bother the powerful. They're doing important work.
As for the final quotation, I'm going to leave that alone except to say that I too like vigorous poetry & don't care for "sloppy" poetry. Though, judging by his own poems, I'd bet our assessments of what is limp & sloppy would be quite different. His poems are certainly careful. They are clear. They observe, describe, and classify. These are the virtues of a particular poetics. He won the Pulitzer after all.
I should say that I don't begrudge his success or stature. It's entirely predictable given social and cultural conditions. I do crave the opportunity to question him on missing specifics (what poets are you obliquely criticizing?) and his definition of various terms (grace, vigor, sloppiness, etc.).
Maybe he'll search for his name & find this site. Maybe he'll email. Please do! In the meantime, I'm interested in other responses.
While I'm at it, thanks Mick Carr for your response which for better or worse spurred this missive.
slan,
j.c.
Bitter. Bitter. Bitter.
Sour. Sour. Sour.
I forgot to save a note I just wrote explaining my take on the five exerpts from the Stephen Dunn article. I'll try to recreate them quickly. {Why am I doing this? I realized {after a friend pointed it out to me} that the stats & quotations seemed sour & bitter w/o careful tho't or close reading. I was simply copying & pasting bits of info like a journalist. But like a bad op/ed writer I was structuring the stats & quotes to imply certain critiques w/o actually creating arguments to support those critiques.}
It seems to me that many of my favorite writers working in the 60s used "fable or parable" (& myth) in their work. And writers quite different from Dunn created "ingenious" responses to the limits of language. In other words I'm not sure poetry in the 60s was lacking in fable, parable, & ingenuity (unless perhaps he is referring to straight--single meaning--fable & parable as opposed to using motifs & language from fables & parables). Who is he talking about anyway?
As for surrealism & realism, I go w/ Ecclesiastes & the birds: "there is a time..." But what most upsets me about the second passage is Dunn mocking "the belief that rationality was the smoke screen of the powerful." We are living in a time in which "rationality" is defined by a few very powerful people. So, w/in the terms & conditions of debate created by the Bush administration & complicit media, arguments for war were seen as "rational" though when those same arguments were viewed outside the terms & conditions established by Bush, et al, they were clearly suspect. The fact that Dunn gave this talk a few months ago & made no mention of the state of language in our nation's politics is disturbing. Bush has after all been the prince of mannerless & graceless (i.e. bullying) language. But instead of taking that on Dunn wld rather take a swing at straw horses: the out-of-control 60s & the irrational 70s.
Dunn connects "grace" with "decorum" emphasizing connotations of "refinement" and "propriety". I prefer to connect "grace" with:
Seemingly effortless beauty or charm of movement, form, or proportion.
A disposition to be generous or helpful; goodwill.
Mercy; clemency.
A favor rendered by one who need not do so; indulgence.
A temporary immunity or exemption; a reprieve.
The grace I find in John Wiener's poems has nothing to w/ decorum, refinement, or propriety but everything to do w/ a seemingly effortless beauty and charm of utterance.
"An artist is a god of very small universes." Why very small? Why not very big? The sentence smacks of mediocrity.
Sleep in your house. Go to work. Come home. Occasionally go on vacation. Make observations along the way. (Wednesday at an awards ceremony for young poets at the Sawyer Free Library, a local poet (author of a number of books & winner of a National Endowment of the Arts grand) said that "observation, description, and classification" are the keys to good poetry. Hmm. I thought composition of language as sound, image, and idea had something to do w/ poetry.) & above all don't bother the powerful. They're doing important work.
As for the final quotation, I'm going to leave that alone except to say that I too like vigorous poetry & don't care for "sloppy" poetry. Though, judging by his own poems, I'd bet our assessments of what is limp & sloppy would be quite different. His poems are certainly careful. They are clear. They observe, describe, and classify. These are the virtues of a particular poetics. He won the Pulitzer after all.
I should say that I don't begrudge his success or stature. It's entirely predictable given social and cultural conditions. I do crave the opportunity to question him on missing specifics (what poets are you obliquely criticizing?) and his definition of various terms (grace, vigor, sloppiness, etc.).
Maybe he'll search for his name & find this site. Maybe he'll email. Please do! In the meantime, I'm interested in other responses.
While I'm at it, thanks Mick Carr for your response which for better or worse spurred this missive.
slan,
j.c.
Thursday, July 10, 2003
I liked this from Jordan Davis, especially: "This whole conversation {and poetry criticism and/or critique in general--added by j.c.} would be much improved if we all concentrated a little more on what qualities we share with those we admire/attack, and whether we admire or loathe these qualities in ourselves."
"Amazon Sales Ranks" for some of the books I am reading or have read recently:
The Amerindian Coastline Poem, Fanny Howe N/A {But available for $134.88, though a note on the dealer, Book People, says their books tend to be overpriced.}
Hermetic Definition, H.D. 474,052
End to Torment, H.D. 287,495
The New American Poetry, ed. Allen 284,373
Selected Poems, Fanny Howe 279,000
Descent of Alette , Alice Notley 225,578
Dreamtigers, Jorge Luis Borges 80,724
Justine, Lawrence Durrell 64,176
Collected Stories, Isaac Babel 52,421
Collected Poems, Federico Garcia Lorca 32,101
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man , James Joyce (Penguin) 6,378 (Modern Library) 91,167 (Dover) 94,937
Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino 3,056
Amazon Sales Rank of Billy Collins' Salling Around the Room:
920 (up from 1,210)
While doing research for a letter I dug this up:
"Pulitzer Prize-winning poet discusses poetry, manners and grace" (UDaily {University of Delaware} March 7, 2003)
Some of the best moments from the article on Stephen Dunn's talk:
~~~
"In the ‘60s repression was a dirty word," he said, "but repression as we know it can be good for language. It makes us resort to fable or parable. We might have to be ingenious under its hold."
The 1970s could be summed up as a decade of "surrealism without vision and right-mindedness without reality," Dunn said. Poetry was affected by the belief that rationality was the smoke screen of the powerful, he said.
"We live in a graceless age, as well as an age without decorum," Dunn said. "The word is nearly unbearable, nearly dead. Its common day uses rarely compel us to honor its meaning. Our daily encounters and shows like Jerry Springer crave grace.
"An artist is a god of very small universes. True grace often comes from pen, brush, camera and body."
"We need to correct the lack of vigor in free verse," he said. "We do see a great deal of sloppy poetry which exists in a sloppy world. And this world gets crazier as the days go on."
~~~
Funny thing to say for a poet whose idea of formal rigor seems to be maintaining the same number of lines per stanza. To see for yourself go here. Why do I bother with such things?
Better get back to writing.
slan,
j.c.
The Amerindian Coastline Poem, Fanny Howe N/A {But available for $134.88, though a note on the dealer, Book People, says their books tend to be overpriced.}
Hermetic Definition, H.D. 474,052
End to Torment, H.D. 287,495
The New American Poetry, ed. Allen 284,373
Selected Poems, Fanny Howe 279,000
Descent of Alette , Alice Notley 225,578
Dreamtigers, Jorge Luis Borges 80,724
Justine, Lawrence Durrell 64,176
Collected Stories, Isaac Babel 52,421
Collected Poems, Federico Garcia Lorca 32,101
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man , James Joyce (Penguin) 6,378 (Modern Library) 91,167 (Dover) 94,937
Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino 3,056
Amazon Sales Rank of Billy Collins' Salling Around the Room:
920 (up from 1,210)
While doing research for a letter I dug this up:
"Pulitzer Prize-winning poet discusses poetry, manners and grace" (UDaily {University of Delaware} March 7, 2003)
Some of the best moments from the article on Stephen Dunn's talk:
~~~
"In the ‘60s repression was a dirty word," he said, "but repression as we know it can be good for language. It makes us resort to fable or parable. We might have to be ingenious under its hold."
The 1970s could be summed up as a decade of "surrealism without vision and right-mindedness without reality," Dunn said. Poetry was affected by the belief that rationality was the smoke screen of the powerful, he said.
"We live in a graceless age, as well as an age without decorum," Dunn said. "The word is nearly unbearable, nearly dead. Its common day uses rarely compel us to honor its meaning. Our daily encounters and shows like Jerry Springer crave grace.
"An artist is a god of very small universes. True grace often comes from pen, brush, camera and body."
"We need to correct the lack of vigor in free verse," he said. "We do see a great deal of sloppy poetry which exists in a sloppy world. And this world gets crazier as the days go on."
~~~
Funny thing to say for a poet whose idea of formal rigor seems to be maintaining the same number of lines per stanza. To see for yourself go here. Why do I bother with such things?
Better get back to writing.
slan,
j.c.
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
I've tried to clarify a few things {and fix a few errors} in the post on culture & class that I finished in the wee hours of Sunday morning but was only able to post yesterday.
I look forwarded to responses.
~
See "Robin (can't sleep poem)" on Yoo Doo Right. That's how to end a poem!
~
After discovering that each of three books I was reading Saturday were blurbed by Creeley I decided to make polisiseyes a blurb blog, perhaps for a day. So please send your Creeley blurbs {& others of particular interest} here.
~
File Under: Homeland Security
[4/16/1776]
"The selectment and two commissioned officers nearest the beacons [atop Governor's Hill] were to have charge of them, and, when an enemy's fleet was discovered, to fire thier alarm-guns, set the bells ringing, and cause the beacon to be fired with all expedition." Babson, _History of Gloucestser_
I look forwarded to responses.
~
See "Robin (can't sleep poem)" on Yoo Doo Right. That's how to end a poem!
~
After discovering that each of three books I was reading Saturday were blurbed by Creeley I decided to make polisiseyes a blurb blog, perhaps for a day. So please send your Creeley blurbs {& others of particular interest} here.
~
File Under: Homeland Security
[4/16/1776]
"The selectment and two commissioned officers nearest the beacons [atop Governor's Hill] were to have charge of them, and, when an enemy's fleet was discovered, to fire thier alarm-guns, set the bells ringing, and cause the beacon to be fired with all expedition." Babson, _History of Gloucestser_
Monday, July 07, 2003
Thanks to Jim Behrle's encouragement I'm attempting to repost my latest notes on class. Here's to the end of the big post error! {Interesting that the posts are considered big--as in amount of memory used{is memory the right word?}; the posts are not called "long" {the word traditionally {schmaditionally} used to describe a lot of writing}.
~~~~~~~
Culture & Class
{Yes, I've created a new topic before addressing the old ones.}
Why discuss class at all? Christina's email on class {see below} reminded me to consider class & the conditions for the production of {& engagement w/} poetry {having a room of one's own, time to write/read, etc.}. But for the moment I’ll postpone my $.02 re: poetry & class, & instead slide poetry & class into culture & class.
Culture--as a contributor to a high standard-of-living to use --needn't of course be high culture {Botticelli, modernist poetry, jazz, etc.} but merely a living one {including for example folk arts, cooking, etc.} Unfortunately, throughout the U.S., mass culture--which is essentially passive in nature--has for many, many years been a weed overrunning varied *local* cultural ecologies.
It is, of course, now a cliche to say that as a participant in U.S. mass culture, one consumes a lot & produces little {culturally}. {For this very reason kids forming bands & playing in U.U. basements continues to be a subversive act. Literally the underground!? This reminds me also of The Bookcellar readings of a few years ago. Grendel's too? The literal underground. Also, Descent of Alette} Since participating in culture {U.S. style} means consuming culture {films, CDs, Olive Garden cuisine, vacations in Rome, etc.} is one then culturally invisible {or perhaps drowning under the surface of the mainstream} if one cannot afford participation {i.e. consumption}? I guess what I'm saying is that if one buys {nyuk, nyuk} the notion that culture=consumption {of mass-cultural-good-&-services} then one's ability to participate in the culture is limited {or controlled/dictated} by one's income, and more generally, by the access one has to mass cultural products.
{Where cultural production is valued folk arts thrive. One then needs time & whatever raw materials--musical instruments, recipe ingredients, wool, etc.—are available to participate in/produce a living culture. Improvisation & hybridity often result. But that’s another post…}
Of course there are readymade cultural products for nearly all income & education (class?) levels & through them one can always {in a reasonably "well" functioning capitalist society*} participate {i.e. consume}, but this does not preclude cultural striving as a form of social class striving; meaning tho' there are cultural products made for all social classes in the U.S. {ah, capitalism!} our characteristic class striving--our belief that social ascension gives life direction & meaning {which impedes class consciousness but that's another topic, eh?}--leads, in some cases, to cultural striving as well. When cultural products are valued primarily as indicators of social class {often but not exclusively as masks covering one's actual social class w/ the trappings of a higher one}, cultural products that do not support striving may have no value all {since it is the cultural-consumption-as-mask not cultural-consumption-as-experience (i.e. art) that seems to matter}.
[*"'well' functioning" meaning only that someone/something (corporations {corpse} are things often have more rights than someones; here's to etymology!) wants to take money from every strata of society: thus the scare-quotes around "well."
{Straying from class but then returning…}
For USAmericans even when not particularly concerned w/ striving {some psychographic groups, advertisers tell us, are not concerned w/ striving} cultural consumption is still used as a sign/mask to indicated one’s desired identity: class identity, ethnic identity, sexual identity, religious identity, regional identity, etc. and/or the erasure/masking of any of these. {Christina mentioned poor chic in a recent email.} Again, the one implication is that culture-as-experience {art?} is less important than culture-as-sign/mask.
None of this is particularly new but I’d like to propose some implications for poetry.
Though it’s true that the consumption of avant art, like the consumption of any other product cultural or other, creates a mask/identity--{“Have you read the right poets?” “Robert Lowell’s not one of them,” to paraphrase the Silliman silliness}—poetry-as-experience must trump poetry-as-identity-mask {or social gesture, or …} or else poets are simply brand names like any other. Consumption of x brand names=x cultural identity. {Another post about poets-as-brand-names & one about the virtues of hybridity is coming on but those must wait.}
Reading--experiencing words on the page {or aloud} & making something of the experience—is encouraged by work that is not easily reduced. Work that is easily reduced {or which readers-as-non-experiencers have reduced despite the work’s complexity {see also: high school English teachers, my colleagues} more easily becomes a cultural product that can be worn as a mask. Inventive, imaginative work read by readers keen on experience creates a dynamic in which the cultural participant is no longer merely a consumer but has become a maker/producer {producing a meaning or reading}.
There are of course other ways of circumventing the culture=consumption equation. Folk arts are one. To return to the class issue, folk arts often have the additional benefit of practical use. Wear the clothes. Eat the cooking & baking. Sleep under the quilts. Put your O.E.D. inside the bookstand. {The commodification of folk arts must have something to do w/ a desire to escape culture-as-consumption by paradoxically buying & fetishizing an object produced w/in a culture-as-production/creation. {I’d like to go into distinctions between production & creation, but no time. It’s already 2:10. Ach. I’ve been writing this for days/daze…}}
This, of course, has class implications but not binding ones. In other words, it is often assumed {in, for examples, arguments on the poetics list} that working class poetry tends to be more narrative. Working folk don’t have time for that avant-crap is how the argument goes. But then someone else chimes in listing the many experimental/avant-garde poets who come from working class backgrounds.
In my case, culture-as-experience was not highly valued. My father had a favorite poem or two—usual ones like “The Raven” & later “Prufrock”—but he was not keen to find new ones or experience poetry. A book of Eliot’s poetry that I gave him after discovering his interest in “Prufrock”—discovered in a community college class he was taking—went unread. Culture-as-experience was more valued w/r/t rock music. He would often play us albums—most often the Beatles but sometimes Zepplin or Jethro Tull--& would call it cultural enrichment. We would be relatively quiet & still while taking ‘em in. I remember my father explaining satire to me before he played us “Happiness is a War Gun”. This sort of excitement about cultural experience was rare though. TV was ubiquitous & deadening. The ultimate vehicle for culture-as-{passive}-consumption. {Even movies were more exciting; though I saw few movies {no VCR} until I began sneaking into the theater at the mall.}
As for the culture of creation/production, my father sold his guitar in the middle of my childhood. Before I was born he’d been in bands; after I was born he usually just played around Christmas. Folk arts like cooking were mostly neglected in favor of Shake N Bake, pasta w/ sauce from a jar, etc.
My mother did crochet—culture-as-production—quite a bit. She also sewed us pants, shorts, etc. in the manner of the latest fashions. {Culture-as-production forced to mimic culture-as-consumption.} My paternal grandmother knit us sweaters that I was embarrassed to wear. After she died I wore them often. I remember making things—w/ shrink-a-dinks & other such mass marketed Do It {but not all of it} Yrself cultural products—while spending a few weeks with my maternal grandparents in the summer. We also picked berries & made things with them.
Making things always meant conforming to patterns, directions, and recipes. This was not fun although using my hands & then using/experiencing the product was far better than passive consumption.
Much of this is memorable because anomalous. The radio & TV beat the equation culture=consumption into my head. One or the other was nearly always on. I could go into how thoroughly I bought this equation {memories of pouring over the Sears Catalogue Wish Book w/ my younger brothers} but I’ll spare us. In h.s. the equation became clear & so as part of my burgeoning class consciousness, I became proud of, for example, the clothes my mother & grandmother had produced. I also started to write.
post-script:
Some of the most vital U.S.American cultural-products have come out of working class cultures. The culture=consumption equation has often created vibrant underground responses. One needn’t passively accept the dogma of passive consumption (see: the origins of hip hop & its blossoming in the late 80s & its survival as expression in misc. underground scenes today; see also punk music; see misc. imaginative uses of folk materials in rock music {Cat Power, etc.}) People struggle against the equation but such struggles are certainly marginalized by the dominant notion that one's culture is what one consumes & more importantly what one is fed & most importantly what one can afford to buy. Occasionally something vital {hip hop, for example} bubbles to the surface & is commodified. Thus, the girl in one of my classes who this year designed a utopia called “Punk Land” in which only “hot” boys would be allowed & they would be forced to conform to particular fashion rules {the details of which escape me}. I think they missed the point. I can think of no better illustration of how culture-as-experience becomes culture-as-consumption here in the U.S.
slainte,
j.c.
~~~~~~~
Culture & Class
{Yes, I've created a new topic before addressing the old ones.}
Why discuss class at all? Christina's email on class {see below} reminded me to consider class & the conditions for the production of {& engagement w/} poetry {having a room of one's own, time to write/read, etc.}. But for the moment I’ll postpone my $.02 re: poetry & class, & instead slide poetry & class into culture & class.
Culture--as a contributor to a high standard-of-living to use --needn't of course be high culture {Botticelli, modernist poetry, jazz, etc.} but merely a living one {including for example folk arts, cooking, etc.} Unfortunately, throughout the U.S., mass culture--which is essentially passive in nature--has for many, many years been a weed overrunning varied *local* cultural ecologies.
It is, of course, now a cliche to say that as a participant in U.S. mass culture, one consumes a lot & produces little {culturally}. {For this very reason kids forming bands & playing in U.U. basements continues to be a subversive act. Literally the underground!? This reminds me also of The Bookcellar readings of a few years ago. Grendel's too? The literal underground. Also, Descent of Alette} Since participating in culture {U.S. style} means consuming culture {films, CDs, Olive Garden cuisine, vacations in Rome, etc.} is one then culturally invisible {or perhaps drowning under the surface of the mainstream} if one cannot afford participation {i.e. consumption}? I guess what I'm saying is that if one buys {nyuk, nyuk} the notion that culture=consumption {of mass-cultural-good-&-services} then one's ability to participate in the culture is limited {or controlled/dictated} by one's income, and more generally, by the access one has to mass cultural products.
{Where cultural production is valued folk arts thrive. One then needs time & whatever raw materials--musical instruments, recipe ingredients, wool, etc.—are available to participate in/produce a living culture. Improvisation & hybridity often result. But that’s another post…}
Of course there are readymade cultural products for nearly all income & education (class?) levels & through them one can always {in a reasonably "well" functioning capitalist society*} participate {i.e. consume}, but this does not preclude cultural striving as a form of social class striving; meaning tho' there are cultural products made for all social classes in the U.S. {ah, capitalism!} our characteristic class striving--our belief that social ascension gives life direction & meaning {which impedes class consciousness but that's another topic, eh?}--leads, in some cases, to cultural striving as well. When cultural products are valued primarily as indicators of social class {often but not exclusively as masks covering one's actual social class w/ the trappings of a higher one}, cultural products that do not support striving may have no value all {since it is the cultural-consumption-as-mask not cultural-consumption-as-experience (i.e. art) that seems to matter}.
[*"'well' functioning" meaning only that someone/something (corporations {corpse} are things often have more rights than someones; here's to etymology!) wants to take money from every strata of society: thus the scare-quotes around "well."
{Straying from class but then returning…}
For USAmericans even when not particularly concerned w/ striving {some psychographic groups, advertisers tell us, are not concerned w/ striving} cultural consumption is still used as a sign/mask to indicated one’s desired identity: class identity, ethnic identity, sexual identity, religious identity, regional identity, etc. and/or the erasure/masking of any of these. {Christina mentioned poor chic in a recent email.} Again, the one implication is that culture-as-experience {art?} is less important than culture-as-sign/mask.
None of this is particularly new but I’d like to propose some implications for poetry.
Though it’s true that the consumption of avant art, like the consumption of any other product cultural or other, creates a mask/identity--{“Have you read the right poets?” “Robert Lowell’s not one of them,” to paraphrase the Silliman silliness}—poetry-as-experience must trump poetry-as-identity-mask {or social gesture, or …} or else poets are simply brand names like any other. Consumption of x brand names=x cultural identity. {Another post about poets-as-brand-names & one about the virtues of hybridity is coming on but those must wait.}
Reading--experiencing words on the page {or aloud} & making something of the experience—is encouraged by work that is not easily reduced. Work that is easily reduced {or which readers-as-non-experiencers have reduced despite the work’s complexity {see also: high school English teachers, my colleagues} more easily becomes a cultural product that can be worn as a mask. Inventive, imaginative work read by readers keen on experience creates a dynamic in which the cultural participant is no longer merely a consumer but has become a maker/producer {producing a meaning or reading}.
There are of course other ways of circumventing the culture=consumption equation. Folk arts are one. To return to the class issue, folk arts often have the additional benefit of practical use. Wear the clothes. Eat the cooking & baking. Sleep under the quilts. Put your O.E.D. inside the bookstand. {The commodification of folk arts must have something to do w/ a desire to escape culture-as-consumption by paradoxically buying & fetishizing an object produced w/in a culture-as-production/creation. {I’d like to go into distinctions between production & creation, but no time. It’s already 2:10. Ach. I’ve been writing this for days/daze…}}
This, of course, has class implications but not binding ones. In other words, it is often assumed {in, for examples, arguments on the poetics list} that working class poetry tends to be more narrative. Working folk don’t have time for that avant-crap is how the argument goes. But then someone else chimes in listing the many experimental/avant-garde poets who come from working class backgrounds.
In my case, culture-as-experience was not highly valued. My father had a favorite poem or two—usual ones like “The Raven” & later “Prufrock”—but he was not keen to find new ones or experience poetry. A book of Eliot’s poetry that I gave him after discovering his interest in “Prufrock”—discovered in a community college class he was taking—went unread. Culture-as-experience was more valued w/r/t rock music. He would often play us albums—most often the Beatles but sometimes Zepplin or Jethro Tull--& would call it cultural enrichment. We would be relatively quiet & still while taking ‘em in. I remember my father explaining satire to me before he played us “Happiness is a War Gun”. This sort of excitement about cultural experience was rare though. TV was ubiquitous & deadening. The ultimate vehicle for culture-as-{passive}-consumption. {Even movies were more exciting; though I saw few movies {no VCR} until I began sneaking into the theater at the mall.}
As for the culture of creation/production, my father sold his guitar in the middle of my childhood. Before I was born he’d been in bands; after I was born he usually just played around Christmas. Folk arts like cooking were mostly neglected in favor of Shake N Bake, pasta w/ sauce from a jar, etc.
My mother did crochet—culture-as-production—quite a bit. She also sewed us pants, shorts, etc. in the manner of the latest fashions. {Culture-as-production forced to mimic culture-as-consumption.} My paternal grandmother knit us sweaters that I was embarrassed to wear. After she died I wore them often. I remember making things—w/ shrink-a-dinks & other such mass marketed Do It {but not all of it} Yrself cultural products—while spending a few weeks with my maternal grandparents in the summer. We also picked berries & made things with them.
Making things always meant conforming to patterns, directions, and recipes. This was not fun although using my hands & then using/experiencing the product was far better than passive consumption.
Much of this is memorable because anomalous. The radio & TV beat the equation culture=consumption into my head. One or the other was nearly always on. I could go into how thoroughly I bought this equation {memories of pouring over the Sears Catalogue Wish Book w/ my younger brothers} but I’ll spare us. In h.s. the equation became clear & so as part of my burgeoning class consciousness, I became proud of, for example, the clothes my mother & grandmother had produced. I also started to write.
post-script:
Some of the most vital U.S.American cultural-products have come out of working class cultures. The culture=consumption equation has often created vibrant underground responses. One needn’t passively accept the dogma of passive consumption (see: the origins of hip hop & its blossoming in the late 80s & its survival as expression in misc. underground scenes today; see also punk music; see misc. imaginative uses of folk materials in rock music {Cat Power, etc.}) People struggle against the equation but such struggles are certainly marginalized by the dominant notion that one's culture is what one consumes & more importantly what one is fed & most importantly what one can afford to buy. Occasionally something vital {hip hop, for example} bubbles to the surface & is commodified. Thus, the girl in one of my classes who this year designed a utopia called “Punk Land” in which only “hot” boys would be allowed & they would be forced to conform to particular fashion rules {the details of which escape me}. I think they missed the point. I can think of no better illustration of how culture-as-experience becomes culture-as-consumption here in the U.S.
slainte,
j.c.
Posted this on the Buffalo Poetics List today in response to a question and statement from Kirby Olson:
"Does Gloucester have a poet laureate?"
Vincent Ferrini is the poet laureate of Gloucester.
"Perhaps it should be on the balloting -- and rival poems published in the
papers, so that citizens can choose!"
A local bookstore (The Bookstore) campaigned the city council and the mayor
to create the position and install Vincent. However, friends have thought we
should walk in the July 3 Horribles Parade, passing out the candidates'
poems and ballots w/ their names. (In the Horribles Parade, people dress up
in costumes, etc. though now many of the floats are sponsored by businesses
and religious groups.) A second group of walkers could collect the ballots.
An interesting experiment, no?
Perhaps even better would be for the laureate candidates to read their poems
on the back of a flatbed truck. A good spot for the poets' float would be
right behind the fundamentalist Christian float & its cloying,
kid-friendly(?) music.
But I also like the idea of using the _Gloucester Daily Times_, the local
paper in which Charles O. himself was published, as a means of determining
the poet of the polis. (See: _Maximus to Gloucester; The Letter and Poems of
Charles Olson to the Gloucester Times, 1962 - 1969_, edited by Peter
Anastas, foreword by Gerrit Lansing, 1992.)
As for Vincent, his letters and poems frequently appear on the GDT's Op-Ed
page.
slan,
j.c.
~
I had trouble w/ blogger while trying to post a long note about culture & class on Sunday. I saved the text so will try again when I get home from GHS.
"Does Gloucester have a poet laureate?"
Vincent Ferrini is the poet laureate of Gloucester.
"Perhaps it should be on the balloting -- and rival poems published in the
papers, so that citizens can choose!"
A local bookstore (The Bookstore) campaigned the city council and the mayor
to create the position and install Vincent. However, friends have thought we
should walk in the July 3 Horribles Parade, passing out the candidates'
poems and ballots w/ their names. (In the Horribles Parade, people dress up
in costumes, etc. though now many of the floats are sponsored by businesses
and religious groups.) A second group of walkers could collect the ballots.
An interesting experiment, no?
Perhaps even better would be for the laureate candidates to read their poems
on the back of a flatbed truck. A good spot for the poets' float would be
right behind the fundamentalist Christian float & its cloying,
kid-friendly(?) music.
But I also like the idea of using the _Gloucester Daily Times_, the local
paper in which Charles O. himself was published, as a means of determining
the poet of the polis. (See: _Maximus to Gloucester; The Letter and Poems of
Charles Olson to the Gloucester Times, 1962 - 1969_, edited by Peter
Anastas, foreword by Gerrit Lansing, 1992.)
As for Vincent, his letters and poems frequently appear on the GDT's Op-Ed
page.
slan,
j.c.
~
I had trouble w/ blogger while trying to post a long note about culture & class on Sunday. I saved the text so will try again when I get home from GHS.
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