I'm blogging from a high-school cafeteria and Facebook/Youtube are blocked by the various web filters they have running--ruining my fun.
***
I've been on Whidbey Island since Friday morning. The weather's been gorgeous and I can see why people live on islands. I also know I'd go a little crazy.
***
My birthday was yesterday. Not a whole lot to say about it. I didn't exactly celebrate it and I didn't tell anyone 'cept Kelli Russell Agodon who's also participating in the conference.
Meredith, of course, knows and she wished me a happy birthday as she put the little rugrat on speakerphone.
I've never been overly keen on celebrating birthdays, but to those of you who've sent me well-wishes, thank you very much.
***
Just overheard saying "Word processing is the greatest invention in history." And then the same person started complaining about Microsoft Word. ***
New dictate heard spouting from Oliver's mouth: In order to shape a book manuscript, keep in mind three elements: Tone, Balance, and Inertia.
Suddenly I've become my teachers. *** Current Spin:
No news really. Title of the heading faked you out, didn't it? Ha. I'm feeling a little jumpy because I've been cooped up inside all day and it's sunny. The sun's bouncing off the powdery snow and I've got a baby sleeping in the baby sling close to my chest. So maybe I am just a little happy. I'm not teaching classes tomorrow because I'm heading to a writers' conference down on Whidbey Island that I had mentioned yesterday. Not a whole lot to do except pack. So I suppose I'm happily bored. Boredom is a happy state for me.
So yeah . . . I was exaggerating about the illness bit, but I'm happy. Or maybe I should say content.
I'm content.
***
I've been reading everyone else's album memes and realizing how much I've left out.
How could I have forgotten Little Earthquakes by Tori Amos? Or OK Computer by Radiohead? Or even The Joshua Tree by U2?
I've got "B" listers too . . . I spent a whole summer listening to The Sundays:
I had a wee crush on Harriet.
***
And if you want a real heavy dose of sugar, here's Camera Obscura:
Secondly, I've been seeing lots and lots of self-portrait poems from all stripes of writers. I was reading Sean Nevin's Oblivio Gate and he's got a sequence of Self-Portrait poems towards the end of the collection. Mind you, the poems are from the POV of a persona, but still.
Needless to say, all this self-portraiture is making me feel less and less confident about all the self-portraits I've been writing. I've got over twelve poems with "Self-Portrait" in the title and I see them as central to the manuscript. Should I care about what other poets are doing? I shouldn't. It is, after all, a self-portrait of my speaker. I am not and do not inhabit the self-portraits of those other poets. But it makes me wonder if there's a tapping of the collective unconscious going on here--is there a broader gesture that demands an examination of the self?
Ultimately, this brings me to my own problems with this third manuscript. I am and am not the I in my poems. I am and am not the provocateur of the conflicts and the actions that happen in the poem. I too distrust the I. So perhaps I'm writing these self-portraits to pin the I down.
The I makes me self conscious. I profess that I am most comfortable wearing other selves, masks. My first book--mask. My second book--mask, the gaze outward, not inward. And here it is, the third manuscript--I all over the place.
Does the I need a foil? A counterbalance? A moment where the I says, "Enough about me. Tell me about yourself?"
This is another 20 something meme that I was hit with on Facebook--20 most influential albums.
In no order, here they are:
Paul's Boutique The Beastie Boys Murmur R.E.M. Songs to Learn and Sing Echo and the Bunnymen Speak and Spell Depeche Mode The Soft Bulletin The Flaming Lips Nevermind Nirvana Nebraska Bruce Springsteen 1999 Prince Trinity Session The Cowboy Junkies Simon & Garfunkle's Greatist Hits Simon & Garfunkle Raw Power The Stooges Zen Arcade Hüsker Dü The White Album The Beatles Phrenology The Roots White Chocolate Space Egg Liz Phair Blood on the Tracks Bob Dylan Everybody Knows This is Nowhere Neil Young Grace Jeff Buckley Brighten the Corners Pavement Odelay Beck
I can't tell you how many times people have linked me for this meme, so here it is. The books are in no order . . . no real hierarchy. They're just the books that have influenced my work up till now:
1. The Book of Nightmares--Galway Kinnell 2. Ariel--Sylvia Plath 3. Winter Stars--Larry Levis 4. The World Doesn't End--Charles Simic 5. Dream of the Unified Field--Jorie Graham 6. Rose--Li-Young Lee 7. Teodora Luna's Two Kisses--Alberto Rios 8. The Groom Falconer--Norman Dubie 9. The Badlands of Desire--Beckian Fritz Goldberg 10. The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz--Octavio Paz 11. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair--Pablo Neruda 12. The Branch Will Not Break--James Wright 13. The Wasteland--T.S. Eliot 14. What Work Is--Phillip Levine 15. The Redshifting Web--Arthur Sze 16. The Colors of Desire--David Mura 17. Models of the Universe--Ed. Stuart Friebert & David Young 18. The Open Boat--Ed. Garret Hongo 19. El Grupo McDonalds--Nick Carbo 20. For the Union Dead--Robert Lowell
***
Again, these are in no hierarchy--just the order I thought of 'em. I added two anthologies 'cause they really did influence me greatly.
***
I'll post another list later for the 20 albums--another Facebook meme I was tagged with.
No poems in me these days. That's okay. I haven't had any real time to read and I'm usually most productive when I've got some spare time to kick up my feet and crack open a book or two. No such luck these days now that the rugrat is trying to walk. Yes, he's trying to walk. We've been holding him up by one arm and he's been walking along side us. He doesn't take naps like he used to, so I've been on constant alert--sort of explains the not-writing bit.
***
More later. Right now I'm trying to quietly click the keys on a very new and very loud PC (gasp). I'm at my parents' house. They just left for O-town and won't be back for another two weeks. When they come back in March, it'll be for good for my mother. She's a bit sad and I feel bad, but I totally understand. And anyway, she'll be closer to the grinning grandbaby.
***
Current Spin:
J. Tillman. "Firstborn." Simplest video ever, but lovely.
Boy, leaving town threw me out of sorts. I had a stack of mid-terms I quickly had to finish grading. I also had to prepare for my week's worth of lessons.
Additionally, while I thought having my parents here would save me time, it's turned out to be quite the opposite. I'm finding myself over at their house fixing this and that. Hours have been spent setting up their computer network and other things. They bought HP's which broke my heart. I couldn't convince them to buy Macintoshes. Lucky for them I can handle both platforms, but still . . . they bought these two Vista OS-using machines and the OS is a little clunky, IMO.
***
Nerd mode off.
***
I've been having reasonably good fortune with journal publications recently, but my well is running dry. I haven't written a stitch for a couple of weeks. Yes, I'm crafting a long poem, but I haven't had the willpower to go back to it. Long poems--hard to get back into the "flow" of writing.
By the way, I hate that word, "flow." My workshop students use it so often. "The poem flows well" or "I like the flow from the first line to the next." I tell them that whenever they use that kind of language, I think of urination or diarrhea.
Sorry, I'm digressing. We're talking about me, right?
***
Pushcart nomination time. Thanks to all those who nominated me. I feel like such a tremendous disappointment to you. I get nominated every year and I come up short every year. Maybe this time, eh?
***
I bought quite a few books at AWP this year. I can't tell you how many 'cause Meredith sometimes reads this blog and I may get into trouble. The number of purchases I've made, however, has been dropping since I first started going (AWP Portland in 97 I believe). I just don't want to haul all those books in my suitcases, now that I'm traveling primarily with just carry-on luggage. When checking bags was free, oh boy, I took full advantage.
***
Current Spin:
Grizzly Bear. "Knife." Funny the type of life this particular track has lived. It's been covered by tons of people and if you glance at the other Youtube videos, you'll see quite a variety of styles. There's even a video of Zach from Beirut covering the song.
Well, actually three. The one I moderated--Kundiman Kindles the Flame--was good. Of course it was!
Really, though, I want to talk about the two I participated in as a panelist.
The first was called "Where Yearning Meets Epiphany." It was . . . a bit erratic.
First off, there are a myriad of things that I'd like to say about the junction between short-shorts and prose poems. Personally, I don't think the distinctions are as strictly defined as one of my cohorts suggested. Of course, I really didn't have time to defend any position on the matter because . . . well, I really shouldn't say out of my own politeness. Let's just say some people like to talk.
Now, here's what I would've said if given the proper forum:
I wrote Names Above Houses originally as a long poem broken into verse. I had prescribed to it the traits of what could traditionally be found in an Epic poem: a hero, a quest, and peril. What I ended up writing was 48 pages of didactic poetry where the only interesting artifact was the name of the protagonist--Fidelito.
I scrapped the verse incarnation and wrote many many pages in the prose poem form because I wanted to do the opposite of what I had done in the verse piece. So I wrote the first prose poem which lead to the second and third. They all had the character, Fidelito, from the previous draft, but something had changed in the tone of the piece. It was easier for me to write in a magical realist style--perhaps that's because of the trajectory a prose paragraph takes the reader. Rather than having a line break which forces a pause, the lines in a prose poem take a winding descent down the page. Such movement could enforce the unity of sense-making so that the improbable makes perfect sense in a prose paragraph. In the verse form, such properties may collapse due to the line break--the abrupt discontinuity from a line or sense-making unit to the next line/sense-making unit.
Here's section 2 of the first prose poem from Names Above Houses
The macaws found the tooth first. It could have been worse. His tooth might have been found by ants. Fidelito would have grown antennae and that would have presented the problem of appearances. At least you could hide wings under a shirt.
Medium clause, period. Medium clause, period. Medium clause, period. Long clause, period. Medium clause, period.
I intentionally created a movement there that would be similar to someone explaining, very matter-of-factly, a cause and effect relationship.
Now, if I were to break it into lines, here's how I would do it:
The macaws found the tooth first. It could have been worse. His tooth might have been found by ants. Fidelito would have grown antennae and that would have prsented the problem of appearances. At least you could hide wings under a shirt.
The pace is far too halting. The line break slows the sense-making down so that by the time the poem ends, for me, the inertia of the improbable first line fades.
Mind you, I understand that my line-breaks here are personal decisions and that you may choose to break the lines differently. Regardless, the line breaks and perhaps the enjambment forces, for this reader, too much of a stutter in this particular case.
Anyway, after I had written the manuscript in the prose poem form, Alberto Rios suggested that I switch the whole thing back into verse. What ended up happening is that I would up condensing the lines even further, taking out articles and short prepositions. But as I mentioned above, something was tonally off. The pop of the playful prose poems was gone. I switched the whole thing back to prose poems and there it stayed.
Ultimately what does this tell me about the form? Nothing except that the work found its way into the form. There's nothing exceptional or earth shattering that I can reveal about prose poems here because, to some extent, I don't believe in such labels. A piece will find the shape it's meant to. More or less, this is what Ron Carlson said and I agreed with him and would've defended his position against the rebuttal that ensued but . . . as I mentioned, some people like to talk.
Additionally, another point by *cough* a particular panelist was made about Ron Carlson's prose poem (yes I'm calling it a prose poem) about doors. I think that the idea that character and the yearning of a character is what creates the distinction between a prose poem and a short-short is a bit dismissive. What about music? What about rhythm? Meh.
***
Now, the other panel, "More Than a Collection," was great. Not much to say about it except we all spoke the appropriate amount. We all were prepared and passionate about what we had to talk about.
It was quite interesting to hear the manuscript-making processes of the other panelists and it was good to see that my own methodologies weren't so strange.
***
Glad to be back home.
***
We're transitioning L. from co-sleeping to the crib. Brutal.
Blurry photo of the Steppenwolf Theater. Papatya, Sue, and myself left the conference on Friday to watch The Seafarer. I needed to get away from the Hilton.
The first time we went for deep dish pizza. There would be a second time. And of course, later, I would eat leftover deep dish pizza, so I had deep dish pizza three times during the conference.
Sarah doesn't want to be recognized here, but I spotted her.
July 8 - 12, 2009 University of Virginia, Charlottesville
In order to help mentor the next generation of Asian American poets, Kundiman, a non-profit organization dedicated to serving Asian American poets, is sponsoring its 6th annual poetry retreat where nationally renowned Asian American poets will conduct workshops and provide one-on-one mentorship sessions with participants. Kundiman hopes to provide a safe and instructive environment that identifies and addresses the unique challenges faced by emerging Asian American poets.
Faculty * Myung Mi Kim (author of Commons, DURA and Under Flag) * Rick Barot (author of The Darker Fall and Want) * Staceyann Chin (author of The Other Side of Paradise and pioneering spoken word artist)
To keep the cost of the retreat low, participants are not charged fees for workshops. Room and Board for the retreat is $325.
Application Process Send five to seven (5-7) paginated, stapled pages of poetry, with your name included on each page. Include a cover letter with your name, address, phone number, e-mail address and a brief paragraph describing what you would like to accomplish at the Kundiman Asian American Poets’ Retreat. Include a SAS postcard if you want an application receipt. Manuscripts will not be returned. No electronic submissions, please.
Mail application to: Kundiman 245 Eighth Avenue #151 New York, NY 10011 Submissions must be postmarked by March 2, 2009
We'll be at the book fair sharing a booth with Bloom. Come find us at AWP or check out our website: www.kundiman.org.
I'm sending the damn thing out tomorrow. . . I need to clear the air and, as Jesse Lee K. told me, I need to take the manuscript out for a walk. So it's going out. That's it.
***
Don't think I'll be reading at an off-site venue for AWP which is just as well since I'm doing so much on-site. I'll be free to wander and snap photos of you guys reading.
***
Re-post.
Looks like I'm freeish on Thursday after my book signing. I'm going to try to go to a couple of panels. Any suggestions? Anyway, here's my AWP schedule:
Wednesday, Feb. 11:
Arrive at Chicago O'Hare--2:30 PM. Check-in--Chicago Hilton.
Thursday, Feb. 12:
Book Signing--SIU Press/Crab Orchard Review Booth--1:00-2:00PM
Just hammered these down. They'll live here for a little bit and then go poof.
*** poof! ***
Thinking about getting rid of the numbers. There's no real order or hierarchy. The sections are pretty self-contained, I think.
My immediate goal is to work this into the first section which is the shortest section of the manuscript. I need a foregrounding poem for what comes later in the manuscript, I believe.
Firstly, I have to get Manuscript #3 ready to go. I've got 68 pages. Lots of contests seem to prefer page sizes between 48-65. It could certainly use some whittling down, but I think those are interesting size parameters. 48 Just seems so short to me.
My own personal goal is to have it sent out by Tuesday--Sending out to this. What the heck, eh?
***
Secondly, I need to get my classes in order. Mind you, I'm not saying that my teaching's a secondary thing . . .
I've got to prep the notes for my substitute and post a few things on Blackboard. Not a whole lot to be done here, but enough to keep me occupied.
***
Thirdly, I need to pack. I need to find out what the weather's going to be like and I need to prepare. Also, I need to print out all my hotel junk, ticket stuff, etc..
And should I bring copies of my books since SIU Press'll be there?
I suppose a handful of copies is a good thing for trades. . .
***
My laptop is heavy. :-( I want a new one. I'm currently using an 17" Apple G4 Powerbook. It's 1st gen . . . one of the first ones at that size. It's seen better days. I could, of course, buy more physical RAM, but why? I don't plan on using it for much longer. I've been restraining myself from buying one of these: Clicky. So cute.
So I totally should be scanning and commenting on triolets, but instead I've been watching YouTube videos and came upon this WHACKED out video with Will Oldham (who's awesome) and Scout Niblett:
I've got a Apple G5 Tower and my noise canceling headphones are on straddled across the top of the cpu. To the right is my 1Tb external hard drive. I always back up my stuff.
To the right is a moleskin notebook which I occasionally scribble notes in, but never poems. Underneath that is my "cool lines" notebook where I write down lines that come to me or that I read.
The dog painting is a gift from my sister-in-law, Suzanne, who is a groovy metalsmith/jeweler and artist.
My lovely life partner and wife surprised me with the impressive office make-over last summer when I was away at Kundiman.
Because Collin wants to see where the "magic" happens.
The books are mostly poetry in alphabetical order ('cause that's how I roll). The bottom two shelves are reference and books I'm using for the teaching quarter.
There are foxes on television. L. is obsessed with dogs. He laughs whenever he sees them. Poor Jake is miserable because L. follows him around all day.
L. is laughing at foxes.
***
Mid point of the Winter quarter. I realize my compatriots in those schools with semestral systems are just getting started. I feel like I'm in the home stretch for this quarter.
I gave a quiz to my non-reading class and I was pleased that 3/4ths of them seem to have heeded my warnings about their inattentiveness. The scores weren't as bad as I had expected.
Anyway, I think we're in the mid-quarter doldrums right now. Students are wearing down . . . getting colds. There was actually one case of mumps on campus.
***
I've been trying to get some time with the manuscript, but now that L. is crawling, I've been ever-vigilant. My parents still haven't moved to the area, so I'm the morning and early evening shift. Unfortunately, I have the most energy for desk-work in the mornings, so I feel a bit harried when it comes to all things paper-oriented. At least I'm keeping up with my grading.
Ideally, I've got to get the manuscript in shape to send it to NPS at the very least. . .
***
Somewhat excited about AWP. Not fully excited, just somewhat excited.
***
Current Spin:
The Dodos. "Fools." Check out the insane drummer. . . My forearms are tired.
Feeling a bit under pressure these days. My current teaching and parenting schedule leaves me no time in the mornings (when I'm usually at my most productive). I'm thinking about waking up at 5AM to get things done. I know a lot of other poet/parents do this. I might give it a try tomorrow.
I feel a bit pressured to finish this third manuscript, but I know it's not done. I suppose I'm feeling the pressure because of uncertainty--I'm not sure if/when it'll find a home. These concerns, I know, are a bit goofy and unfounded, considering I still consider myself in the early stages of what I hope will be a lifetime of practicing art.
Still, I'm anxious and when I get anxious about writing, I write. My brain is telling me to get off of my can.
***
I'm excited about Juana Molina because she's an artist who's reinvented herself, moving from comedy to pretty serious music. Her transition wasn't a gradual one . . . it was somewhat abrupt. One day she's doing comedy and the next thing she's playing before small audiences.
If you don't know her stuff, she's giving a free MP3 of "Un Dia" on her website: www.juanamolina.com.
I suppose it's important to remake yourself as an artist to keep yourself interested (interesting?). I for one couldn't possibly write the same manuscript over and over again. And looking at the projects that I have on my plate, they're all so different from one another.
***
I'm excited about AWP's conference next week. I am, however, telling myself to slow down--I know, I know. I'm doing a gazillion things next week, but I also know that I'll be seeing friends I don't see that often and that I need to really "see" them. So I'm telling myself that I must chill out, have lunches, coffee, breakfast, etc., with my friends. I'm telling myself to listen and be present.
***
Current Spin:
The Kooks. "Ooh La."
Funny because they suddenly happen upon a French all-girls school or something.
Yes, I've been messing with code in an attempt to re-post some oldies on this new Blogger template and I've been messing up. Ah well. I suppose I should be more "stream-lined" in this new era of political change.
***
My students don't follow directions.
I, of course, am being very general. There are some who follow directions very well, but a large number of them do not.
***
My parents, thank goodness, are coming this Friday. They'll be staying in town to help Meredith out with the little guy while I'm away at AWP. I can't wait until they're here full time. But I understand the delay. Mom's giving up a professional medical practice she's held since 1977. There are lots of things that need to be settled.
***
Not a current spin, but I saw this video on CurrentTV and I just had to share:
The Arcade Fire. "Neon Bible" in an elevator.
Current spin: DJ Babu with a "sick juggle." I watched Scratch on Friday and I've been revisiting the turntablists of my youth.
I've updated my template, so as you can see, things are a little different around here.
Now, in my haste to switch templates, I fear I've lost some of your blog URL's. If you're missing, let me know and I'll put you back on my blogroll.
***
Disappointed that the Redbirds lost the Superbowl. Still, the last half was fabulous. What a heartbreaking way to lose and what heroics by Holmes. Couldn't believe he kept both feet in bounds.
***
Springsteen was okay. Prince from Superbowl 41 was WAY better.
Long Poem in progress--here's the first two section with a teaser 3rd section. I posted the first section earlier. I just wrote section two . . . like 10 minutes ago . . . and I've started on section three.
As always, this poem in its current state, will live here for a day before it goes poof.
Poof!
****
Yes, they're both 14 lines long. No, that wasn't intentional . . . but now it may be.
Today it is sunny and the pitch of the light strikes my house plant just so. There is a typical sphere of silence in the office and the sleeping toddler clutching my chest breathes warm soft circles into my shirt.
The night was a wreck. There were far to many noises--the window is too close to the chimes. Today, though, is a gift.
I'm thinking about you, long poem. A steady cadence keeps time with my nose. Maybe. Today. Maybe.
***
Spent all morning playing baby "goalie":
Crawl to book case. Run to book case to stop baby. Crawl from book case to coffee table. Run to coffee table to stop baby from falling. Crawl from coffee table to kitchen. Run to kitchen to stop baby from opening cabinets. Etc..
He's finally asleep, so I can now steal away some quick blog time.
***
I did manage to get a fair bit of television in today. Managed to watch La Blogotheque's "Take-Away shows." Here's one that's haunting me:
Andrew Bird. "Spare-Oh's," filmed in Montemartre--one of my favorite places in the world.
So here it is, the first section of a long poem I'm working on:
Poof!
***
It'll live here for a day and then it'll "poof."
I may post other sections, but for now here's the opening section. I'm not entirely sure where it'll go in the new manuscript, but it'll be there somewhere. . .
***
Currently watching tape-delayed coverage of the Australian Open while Lucas naps on my chest.
***
Gave my students a pop-quiz in my 200 level class. For the most part, everyone bombed the quiz which is proof to me that nobody's reading. So looks like there are more quizzes in their future.
Here's the thing . . . you know a lot about a society by how much they value their art--the memory of its culture, if you will.
The monetary numbers are so bewildering to me, but I'll tell you this--$50 million doesn't scratch what the government's giving to banks, etc. And so many organizations that I care about are hurting.
I'm a little irked by Mr. Riedl's position, and it strikes me as "old thinking." Don't tell me that the Arts don't consist of small businesses that employ thousands/millions of people. And don't tell me that the arts won't stimulate the economy. Please. Value must be placed on those things which create ideas and not merely placed on the consumables. What's more, the arts foster metaphorical thinking--a means towards the connection of synapses. I'm tired of a government and a society that devalues creative thinking. A little love for the arts, please.
. . . the first and last poem of the manuscript in progress.
They're going to live on the blog for half the day and then they'll "poof." One of the poems is being considered and one of the poems is forthcoming.
A lot of the poems are of the same tone and subject matter, hence my decision to title it after the first poem:
Poof!
***
Once again, Blogger is killing my line breaks. They're both in couplets, FYI.
The first poem appears before the first section, sort of like the epigraph to the book.
Again, the order of the manuscript is tentative and I may just wind up blowing the whole thing up as I write more pieces, but for now this is what I'm settling on as the two framing poems for the beginning and the ending. The middle's the problem. It's got tonal holes.
***
Snow again. Light confectioner's sugar dusting, but still annoying and still cold.
***
My students in my large 70-person lecture class aren't reading. They stare and they glare and they fall asleep. Drastic measures may need to be taken.
***
Current Spin:
The Tallest Man on Earth. "It Will Follow the Rain."
Of course, I shouldn't complain. The teens as a low is nowhere near negative temperatures, and believe me, I know negative temperatures, having lived in Utica, NY for four years. There's that breaking point where you breathe in and your nostrils freeze together, for example.
I'm just plain tired of the cold and our house is a bit drafty, needing new insulation, windows, etc.. Afterall, it was built in 1977, so it's seen its fair share of winters.
Poor Jake's been hurting his paws on frozen ground, and I think I need to get some doggie shoes for him.
***
Happy Chinese New Year! I'm a Rat, but I must say, the Year of the Rat wasn't so good. Hail to the Year of the Ox!
***
So, I'm pretty sure I have the first poem of my manuscript and the last poem of my manuscript down pat. The problem parts are everything in between, but at least I know I've got something.
Here's the dilemma--the voice shifts, and shifts quite profoundly. I have poem after poem of longer narratives that are triggered by a memory and meander into some moment of epiphany.
I wouldn't say, "in opposition to," but seemingly in opposition to those narrative poems are these little lyrical pieces that are roughly a page in length.
How are they unified? Well, they're all fairly autobiographical.
The trick for me, then, is to find a poem that can fuse the styles, which is why I've been muttering about long poems. I think, a long poem would 1) allow for some lyrical and ecstatic language play and 2) unify the narrative through a long meditation.
But how to start. On my trip to St. Louis/Carbondale, I drafted what looks like a first section. I'll tinker a bit more and I may post bits here and there.
I'm interested in G.C. Waldrep's Disclamor and what seems to be a long poem that he's chopped into bits and distributed throughout the collection. He's got this sequence of "Battery" poems which, are pretty blatant stylistic shifts when placed next to the other poems. But he has so many that, collectively, they "right" the momentum of the book.
Ultimately, my concerns are about momentum . . . I've talked so much about the idea of tone and balancing tone, but there also has to be enough significant movement in the tone of a book to move a reader's eyes forward and onward.
***
In other news, I'm a finalist in something. Which is what it is.
***
The sun god is up. He's peering over the firs and making large shadows of my house.
***
Current spin:
Neko Case. "Furnace Room Lullaby." She's got a new album coming.
As I mentioned in my previous blog post, I feel like I've been on an eating tour of the Midwest.
This is a shot of Hodak's chicken platter which was crispy and tender, but a little under-seasoned for my taste.
***
Taught my first pair of classes since my reading tour. The students seemed more unprepared than usual. A lot of kids didn't read, so I'm thinking of giving 'em a quiz on the first 220 pages of China Men. If you're reading this, students, you've been warned.
***
Been thinking about long poems and the problem with 'em. I've been writing these narrative poems where the epiphany or the epiphanic moment happens towards the end and is partially the result of time and distance. The trouble I'm encountering is that the long poem seems to be a long meandering quest for an epiphany and that one can't just launch into an epiphany in a long poem, otherwise what's the point?
***
Backtracking a bit. Hung out with Rodney Jones, the dude who selected my first book for the Crab Orchard Prize. My god, he's funny. Anyway, it was good reading the newer poems to his class. I'm not the same point I was.
It's funny, but I wrote prose poems, I think, to figure out lineation. Now I think I've figured out my lines and the way I want to use the line.
*** Current Spins:
Andrew Bird. This isn't from his new album, Noble Beast, but I've provided a link to a streaming broadcast from NPR.
I was tagged by Lee Herrick and Aimee Nezhukumatathil to write 25 Random Things About Myself on Facebook, but was having trouble posting it in my notes so here it goes:
1. I have been to a Whitesnake concert. 2. I own a ninja suit. 3. My favorite ice cream flavor is coffee. 4. I took piano lessons for five years but hardly ever practiced. 5. I used to play tennis everyday but now I haven't played tennis for four years. 6. I used to think "Richard Stands" was an actual person and not the mispronunciation of "For which it stands." 7. I have almost 170 days of music on my iPod. 8. My 4-Runner is almost at 100,000 miles. 9. I still miss my little pug Rosie on occasion. 10. I want a new laptop. 11. I think I'm really good at installing tile and plumbing. 12. My favorite game on the Xbox is currently Fallout 3, but I haven't played for awhile. 13. I wrestled in High School at the 135lb weight class. 14. I once applied for a job working at a corn mill. 15. When I was 10, I spent all my hard-earned summer orchard money on Star Wars figurines. 16. I once drove from LA to Ontario, Oregon in one day. 17. I get a little nauseous before I read in front of an audience. 18. I had a small comic book collection which I've since given away. 19. During little league, I crawled to home and scored the game-winning run. 20. I was an EMT for 2 1/2 years in LA County. 21. I have never given anything up for Lent. 22. It's horrible, but I love corn beef hash for breakfast (I, of course, don't eat it all the time). 23. I got into a couple of fights on the playground in Catholic school. 24. I have the first few lines of the Canterbury Tales memorized in Old English. 25. I helped conduct NASA research on lab rats. It was horrible.
I'll try it tomorrow. Right now I'm quite stuffed on Thai carbs.
***
The reading is tomorrow night and I feel unprepared.
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I can't believe the Cardinals will be in the Super Bowl. They were actually the first pro football team I had ever seen live. I went to see them play the Redskins and it was bloody awful--this was, of course, pre Jake Plummer as a Cardinal, so this is way back.
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Current Spin:
M. Ward's new album "drops" soon, but until then . . .
Currently getting ready to pack for a trip to St. Louis, MO, and Carbondale, IL, where I'll be reading at two venues.
The first venue is River Styx at Duff's, where I'll be reading with local St. Louis poet, Virginia Slachman.
Duff's is on 392 North Euclid in St. Louis, MO. The reading will take place on January 19th and starts at 7:30PM. Hope to see some familiar faces!
I don't have any information on the SIU Carbondale Reading other than the fact that it'll take place on the 20th, inauguration day, but I'll be bringing my laptop.
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Reformatted manuscript three this morning and found out some crucial things.
The first thing is that with all the section breaks included as well as some other formatting considerations, the manuscript is 65 pages in length. It's longer than I had originally thought.
The second thing is that I'm going to lose a lot of those pages because I don't think they are in the "style" of most of the work.
The third thing is I think my title may change to In Defense of Small Towns, rather than Grace Equations.
The syllogism poems aren't speaking to the Self-Portrait poems. They're too elevated in diction, and it may be too great a leap for me to find a transitional poem or a transitional series to bridge that gap.
More later.
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Watched BSG this morning (recorded by my DVR). Oh. My. God. Good to see it back on the air. Who knew? Still confused about the Thrace issue and the final five "revelation" at the end. Hmmmm . . .
The very excellent writer and my colleague, Carol Guess, has a playlist on one of my favorite music and culture blogs, Largehearted Boy.
Not only is she an excellent writer, but she has great taste in music.
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Among my most favorite things is my around-ear noise cancelling headphones. Now, this isn't the model I have, but it's the model I'd love. Anyway, they're fabulous to have when either grading or writing.
And I love it when a writing project is going well . . . unfortunately, here's where my love-fest ends. I'm totally stuck.
While putting out that table of contents was a useful exercise, I see gaping holes that need to be addressed--such pursuits require time (which I don't have). Two weeks is all I ask . . .
I've been applying to Breadloaf for some time, lost my eligibility for fellowships 'cause my first book had been out too long, and now I can reapply with my second book. I've never applied to Sewanee. Anyway, I'm feeling guilty about leaving the family for such a long stretch, but if Meredith is giving me the thumbs up, then I better apply.
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Current Spins:
Jeff Hanson. At first, I thought this was sung by a woman. My goodness, that voice.
All the technology at my parents' house makes me really envious. This past weekend while we were escaping the flood plains, the cable guy hooked up the house (I feel like we have two houses which is kind of nice--one in the city, one in the country). Oh, what a joy HDTV is. You can see blackheads on the news anchors.
And the internet connection we enjoy at their house is substantially faster than what we've had to work with in our country house (Hughes Satellite ISP--no cable or DSL available at our house).
So I've been looking forward to the excursions into town because of the connectivity.
***
Currently blogging with a kid sleeping on my chest.
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So school has started, as I've mentioned in other posts. I'm again teaching my ENG 453 class which I always teach as a poetic forms course. I'm using Robin Skelton's book The Shapes of Our Singing and a very smart WWU student pointed out that she thought all of the poems in the book were written by Skelton. I think she's right. Eek.
For my Asian American Literature course, I'm teaching fairly "canonized" AsAm stuff--China Men, No No Boy, Native Speaker. But I'm also teaching my friend Joseph Legaspi's poetry collection, IMAGO, and I'm teaching a graphic novel, American Born Chinese. The course is framed around the idea of Asian American masculinity--its historical portrayals, etc.. I'm using lots of film too. We're starting with Wayne Wang's Chan is Missing. We'll also watch The Debut, American Sons, and Better Luck Tomorrow.
*I'm to lazy to link right now, plus the kid makes such multi-tasking difficult*
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My writing has taken a back seat to preparing my pre-tenure file. I go up for tenure/promotion next year and this is the first screening round. I filled two five-inch-thick binders with materials. Fingers crossed.
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I'm still trying to get a grasp on my new quarterly schedule. Today feels like I've adjusted a wee bit.
The beginning of the Winter quarter has kicked my ass. I foolishly decided to revamp my Asian American literature course, putting in books I hadn't read and including a lot more PowerPoint and visual rhetoric which, of course, is super time-consuming. And of course there's the time I need to spend with the little guy pictured above. Soon, I'll get into a comfortable routine. Right now, though, I feel like I'm running around blindly.
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I'm beginning to feel that all I ever do on my blog is complain.
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And another thing about my parents' house . . . they have no storage space. They've got all these semi-read books with no space to put 'em. It always depresses me to go to their office because I feel the compulsion to organize the whole place.
I may secretly go to Henderson's Used Book Store and get rid of all of my parents' trashy true-crime paperbacks. They are SO into Ann Rule. What's with that? And how the hell did I become a poet if all my parents read are true crime potboilers?!
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I have not played my XBOX 360 for five days and it has made me cranky.
Sorry I haven't been blogging lately, but . . . well, if you've been watching the news, Western Washington has been hit with a ton of floods. My family and I are fine . . . perfectly safe, but our roads into town have been hit by mudslides, so I've been having extra long commutes to get to work. Luckily my parents have a house in B'ham where we've been staying, but that house is currently filled with boxes.
On top of that, the quarter has just started, so I've been prepping and teaching.
Needless to say, I've been busy. Once everything dries up a bit, I'll post a bit more regularly.
Take your MP3 Player, put it on shuffle, and shuffle through the first five songs.
Now write a poem using something from two of the titles, something from three of the songs' lyrics, and one thematic concern from a song.
Here are my songs:
The Primitives, "Way Behind Me." The Innocence Mission, "My Waltzing Days Are Over/Minta's Waltz" Daft Punk, "Da Funk/Dadftendirekt" (WTF?!) Billy Bragg & Wilco, "Christ For President" Of Montreal, "Art Snob Solutions"
***
I had promised a poem, so here it is:
From a Car Way Behind Me, “Da Funk” Shook My Windows
The streets glare back at the headlights as the unpeopled city winds around my head like ribbon, and I had hoped
the bass from the other car didn’t know any names or principles . . . that it could thaw the built up civilization out of its one collective dream—the voice of the drum
guns behind me rich in its violence, and the pavement wet with rain shimmers with the speaker’s thud, a sort of pulse like a fly
in a glass, its wing-flits rippling the water outward to the mouth, and I could feel in my stomach the shift of gears as I accelerate to leave
the sound, and the moon out now, from behind clouds turns everything blue, and the aquarium light tells a kind of truth—that I don’t want
to slow the car to let the other driver pass, that all the new light from his high-beams and mine would set the night on fire, that our breaths
were vapor, phosphor . . . our breaths were leaving our bodies in waves, redundant and slow—
***
So, obviously the title borrows from two of the songs. Thematically, I went with the Daft Punk. Buried somewhere are lyrics from "My Waltzing Days Are Over," "Art Snob Solutions," and "Christ as President."
***
Ack! My margins are all messed up. Well, just imagine the lines are staggered with a space between couplets . . .
I'm posting a tentative Table of Contents for a manuscript I'm currently tweaking. I spent some time this afternoon culling pages. All in all, as I've posted on Twitter, I've culled 30 pages and am left with 55 pages. Here's what I've got:
Tentative Title: Grace Equations
In Defense of Small Towns
Section I
At the Time of My Birth . . . Ablation as the Creation of Adam Self-Portrait as a Cowboy in Second Grade Sticks and Stones The Poet at Ten Self-Portrait with Taxidermy How I Learned Quiet Insomnia as Transfiguration Cussing on the Playground Self-Portrait in My Mother's Shoes Eschatology Through a Confluence of Trees No One Sleeps Through the Night
Section II
At the Time of My Young Adulthood Self-Portrait Beside a Dead Chestnut Horse Self-Portrait with Schlitz, a Pick-Up, and the Snake River Last Days Eschatology on Interstate 84 at 70 mph Eschatology as Cinema Verite Bliss Self-Portrait on Good Friday as an Altar Boy Once, Love, I Broke a Window Self-Portrait Descending Slowly into the Atlantic Ocean Instead, I'm Here to Tell You Very Softly How You Came About in the World Bewilders Me as a Cherry Tree Flowering Autumn Scene as Lullaby If, Given
Section III
And When I Grew Up Television as a Tool for Remission Self-Portrait with a Car Crash The Obvious Ghost Hunting as Physiography Eschatology in Five Acres Self-Portrait as a Series of Non-Sequential Lessons Self-Portrait as a Small Town The Boy With the Fiddle in a Crowded Square Colony Collapse Disorder in Honey Bees as Eschatology Prayer for What Won't Happen The Surgical Theater as Spirit Cabinet Self-Portrait with What Remains
***
I'm fully aware of the fact that this version will change. Already I want to move the Self-Portaits away from each other a bit more. I also see that the transition between the syllogism poems and the Self-Portraits might be too dramatic.
I'm also not sure about the number of sections that I want to create. I have in mind a long poem for the collection, somewhere in the middle, so that may "blow-up" the order even further.
As it is, the collection is clearly a Bildungsroman and I'm not sure I like the simplicity of that fact.
Changes to come. You'll hear about them.
***
The quarter starts next Tuesday and I am NOT prepared. I had a Summer to prep for the Fall. For the Winter, three weeks. At least one of my preps is a repeat from the Fall.
