Gabrielle Calvocoressi's book contains three long poems: The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart, From the Adult Drive-In, and Circus Fire, 1944. The Earhart poem is split into sections, each from the voice of a different character commenting on the last time they saw Amelia Earhart, including a mechanic, miner, stepson, husband, and Susan James, a high-school teacher. The combination of the voices tells a personal tale of Earhart's life and disappearance, depicting her as both an absence and a symbol of hope. The poems consider the absence of a person when she is still there, and the presence of a person when she is gone. Several of the poems focus on children and their concept of absence closely tied with escape. In the seventh section of the poem "Joel Sullivan, miner" the miner speaks of his daughter:
She won't believe that woman's dead.
She says, I think it's romantic
to disappear. I bite my tongue
My favorite section is the narration by the high-school teacher who wants her students to see Amelia Earhart fly, to see her wave at them. You do not need to be a regular fan of historical poetry to enjoy this piece.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Day 2: West Wind Review
The 2012 edition of West Wind Review is now available here and is the second item on my list for national poetry month. A list of the poets included is available on the website. This one is difficult for me to review because there are so many writers with so many unique voices and ideas. I suppose I’ll just start by saying that several pieces threw me into embarrassing fits of giggles, from Adam J Maynard’s “Getting out of My Body” which begins
A little Frankenstein
Working at the snack bar…
to Andrew Terhune’s “John Belushi” in which there are pockets full of delicious surprises. Some recurring themes that I noticed were the use of animals and anal attention, though not necessarily at the same time. There are lots of horses, beef, and bears, oh my! Especially talking horses and bears (no talking beef if my memory serves me). There are also special appearances by Kim Jong Il, Mussolini, Jeff Bridges, Kevin Bacon, Morgan Freeman, Jane Goodall, and my favorite Barbara Streisand.
I couldn’t help but snatch up words and phrases from the magazine, so I’ll end with this found poem.
Feather Direction
for an umbrella sitting in
for a garbage bin
Tape
lots and lots of tape
enough to make a person
-sized box of glazed donuts
Suggestive cake
lipsticked cicadas
beloved peanuts
knife a zoo
Salesmen are drumsticks
vibrating
when it comes to cat attacks
does 13 pages = 13 lives?
[e][c][h][o]
the taste of the larynx
holograms coming into
consciousness realizing
they are more
like vampires than humans
33 vertebrae on a string
flirting with artic Giants
tell everyone everyone’s
mad, Tchaichovsky
made Spaghetti too
Date: $ Robots.
dead-enders making love
like a real prayer
fingered by mustard, a good
wife, alcoholism, and so on
Monday, April 2, 2012
National Poetry Month
Every month has been poetry month for me, especially during this last year and a half, but I still feel that poetry month calls for a little extra attention. The past two years I have attempted the write a "Poem-a-day" goal, and I think much of my poetry and pride has suffered from these attempts. While this sort of motivation is effective for other writers, I think that I would like to be less concerned with quantity and focus on the quality of poetry. So this year instead of writing 30 horrible poems, I am setting the goal of reading a book of poetry every day. Should they inspire my own writing, it's all for the better! But truly I want to have a less self-centered poetry goal and really enjoy, respect, and share the poetry that has already been written and given to us writers and readers. I will try to write a mini review or response to each of the books. If anyone would like to join, I welcome comments. And if anyone has recommendations, I still don't have all 30 books picked out. Happy reading and writing everyone.
Day 1
"The Redshifting Web" by Arthur Sze
"The Redshifting Web" is a collection of Arthur Sze's poetry from 1970-1998. The poems connect past and present, the universal and specific, and carry both elegant and horrifying images. Much of the poetry presents ideas, objects, and brief narratives stacked on top of one another, so that the reader feels the effect of being stretched over many times, places, and emotions; at the same time Sze organizes the items in such a way that one can't help but draw connections between them, feel both pain and relief, fascination and disgust. A poem may start with apricot blossoms then dive into asphyxiation. It will have you consider the Sombrero Galaxy then take you to meditate on floating pins. Sze asks the "big" questions such as, "Who is measuring the pull of the moon in a teacup?" or the now googleable and at times applicable-to-dinner questions "True or false...the fins of a blowfish are always edible." When I first opened this collection, I had been anxiously flying across the country from SF to NY. But before my plane even took off (we were on the runway long enough for me to read the new poems at the beginning of the book) I felt calmed. I was a little disturbed that I could be calmed since Sze points to some of the frightening truths of our society, yet at the same time, he brings balance to those situations by redeeming confidence after each storm such as in BEFORE COMPLETION:
A woman puts a baby in a plastic bag
and places it in a dumpster; someone
parking a car hears it cry and rescues it.
Lastly, I can't help but mention all of the natural imagery that Sze strings throughout. I cannot more accurately describe the persimmons, pear trees, or ginkgo than he does so I'll just leave you with two lines from THE STRING DIAMOND:
honeydew seeds
germinating in darkness.
Day 1
"The Redshifting Web" by Arthur Sze
"The Redshifting Web" is a collection of Arthur Sze's poetry from 1970-1998. The poems connect past and present, the universal and specific, and carry both elegant and horrifying images. Much of the poetry presents ideas, objects, and brief narratives stacked on top of one another, so that the reader feels the effect of being stretched over many times, places, and emotions; at the same time Sze organizes the items in such a way that one can't help but draw connections between them, feel both pain and relief, fascination and disgust. A poem may start with apricot blossoms then dive into asphyxiation. It will have you consider the Sombrero Galaxy then take you to meditate on floating pins. Sze asks the "big" questions such as, "Who is measuring the pull of the moon in a teacup?" or the now googleable and at times applicable-to-dinner questions "True or false...the fins of a blowfish are always edible." When I first opened this collection, I had been anxiously flying across the country from SF to NY. But before my plane even took off (we were on the runway long enough for me to read the new poems at the beginning of the book) I felt calmed. I was a little disturbed that I could be calmed since Sze points to some of the frightening truths of our society, yet at the same time, he brings balance to those situations by redeeming confidence after each storm such as in BEFORE COMPLETION:
A woman puts a baby in a plastic bag
and places it in a dumpster; someone
parking a car hears it cry and rescues it.
Lastly, I can't help but mention all of the natural imagery that Sze strings throughout. I cannot more accurately describe the persimmons, pear trees, or ginkgo than he does so I'll just leave you with two lines from THE STRING DIAMOND:
honeydew seeds
germinating in darkness.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Haiku
I will write haiku under two circumstances:
(1) in a race
(2) with free pen, paper, and wine
http://wp.me/p22elE-1B
(1) in a race
(2) with free pen, paper, and wine
http://wp.me/p22elE-1B
Sunday, January 22, 2012
on painkillers
Here is one seventh of a poem that I'm referring to as 7x7 at the moment:
On Painkillers
your iced groin is the hooting partiality, truly, pointy, baa…
thawed owls airlift iceberg cablegrams; it—tin shin notion
that is—weighs zebra and clover on your tootsy; yep, quest
time, search the unrewarding hospital, cowboy! prank cocain
into the belief of addiction; absorb graft chambers; why err?
to read “only hope sustains” from pages of cacti, while seen is
Micrathene whitneyi in sleep-talk: “pain: indication of need”
On Painkillers
your iced groin is the hooting partiality, truly, pointy, baa…
thawed owls airlift iceberg cablegrams; it—tin shin notion
that is—weighs zebra and clover on your tootsy; yep, quest
time, search the unrewarding hospital, cowboy! prank cocain
into the belief of addiction; absorb graft chambers; why err?
to read “only hope sustains” from pages of cacti, while seen is
Micrathene whitneyi in sleep-talk: “pain: indication of need”
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Long Poems & Half-Truths
Long Poems and Half-Truths
have architecture
machine or drive
the work
lyric base
in lyre
the brevity
capturing
the weight
of such
sweetness
the liar
the ring
of a bell
its ante
its antici-
baited
-pated
fading
“lighght” -AS
a knot
of attention
hold that page for a moment
the forest in the
bed of your
head a hammock
hung from ear to ear
crouching just
behind the senses
help yourself
build your castle
be the slumlord
of your world
be the
single
orche-
orca
strated
work
set sail
“cheeks puffed out” -JS
graced by wind
cheekbones, masts
lightning strikes
but a few times
in a career
spices, spicer, spicier
teasing the truism
new modulations
of the sword
seaward
serial angel
community of
the beginnings of zero
where all nothingness
or somethingness comes
closer to the all than
1
the sea writes on the shore--
what speaks from the mouth of a cannon?
--vases survive ruins
being built to last
“absent midnight” -MT(?)
on ex nihilo:
origin and source
the out-of-nothing
point to an absence in this room--
don’t point at me
--is there even such a thing?
a black hole would tear your hand off
we struggle
to conceive
infinity
the stars
a boundary?
a vanishing
point?
not absence or true
void:
a seeming border
an extension
to nothingness?
the swallow
of holes
0
in the Church of the Holy Blood in Flanders
saw Jesus’s blood, the red
separated from the plasma
in a test tube attached
to a priest’s wrist
we just walked in the church by accident
rather human rather
than heroic
gravity, levity, humility
feeling like a rubber band
its function to stretch
or the continuance to snap
“gift” and exchange -MC
transmutation
2000 pounds of paint
in a rose
interjections
appropriations
what are you comfortable
sitting down with
the photograph captures too perfectly
challenges realism
opens the form to impressionism, pixilation, the blur
“willing suspension of disbelief” -STC
-1
a husband with a giraffe head is
absurd, yet
sustainable
if approached with faith
muse and drudge
seed the lists with seemingly innocent language
coat with culture
the currants
on “the castle”
insert yourself
into the cracks
of the legend:
the courage, the loyalty, a woman
the tradition
slumbering in the Odyssey
stolen from its imaginings
the sidelong cider
not quite penetrable
puzzles to solve
unsolvable puzzles
under the “magnifying
glass from the OED” -LH
all books are folded
to open is to unveil
in the meditative mode
take your time; oceans open
link up the floating debris
adapt to the jittery condition
of waves
of the earth, the stain
of experience
the stain on the tub -VS
once filled with olives
present when the lovers
go to bed
The above lines are the notes I took for the Long Poem course at SFSU. So credit goes to Paul Hoover, Aram Saroyan, Jack Spicer, Maxine Chernoff, Coleridge, Lyn Hejinian, Harryette Mullen, Vikram Seth, and Homer.
have architecture
machine or drive
the work
lyric base
in lyre
the brevity
capturing
the weight
of such
sweetness
the liar
the ring
of a bell
its ante
its antici-
baited
-pated
fading
“lighght” -AS
a knot
of attention
hold that page for a moment
the forest in the
bed of your
head a hammock
hung from ear to ear
crouching just
behind the senses
help yourself
build your castle
be the slumlord
of your world
be the
single
orche-
orca
strated
work
set sail
“cheeks puffed out” -JS
graced by wind
cheekbones, masts
lightning strikes
but a few times
in a career
spices, spicer, spicier
teasing the truism
new modulations
of the sword
seaward
serial angel
community of
the beginnings of zero
where all nothingness
or somethingness comes
closer to the all than
1
the sea writes on the shore--
what speaks from the mouth of a cannon?
--vases survive ruins
being built to last
“absent midnight” -MT(?)
on ex nihilo:
origin and source
the out-of-nothing
point to an absence in this room--
don’t point at me
--is there even such a thing?
a black hole would tear your hand off
we struggle
to conceive
infinity
the stars
a boundary?
a vanishing
point?
not absence or true
void:
a seeming border
an extension
to nothingness?
the swallow
of holes
0
in the Church of the Holy Blood in Flanders
saw Jesus’s blood, the red
separated from the plasma
in a test tube attached
to a priest’s wrist
we just walked in the church by accident
rather human rather
than heroic
gravity, levity, humility
feeling like a rubber band
its function to stretch
or the continuance to snap
“gift” and exchange -MC
transmutation
2000 pounds of paint
in a rose
interjections
appropriations
what are you comfortable
sitting down with
the photograph captures too perfectly
challenges realism
opens the form to impressionism, pixilation, the blur
“willing suspension of disbelief” -STC
-1
a husband with a giraffe head is
absurd, yet
sustainable
if approached with faith
muse and drudge
seed the lists with seemingly innocent language
coat with culture
the currants
on “the castle”
insert yourself
into the cracks
of the legend:
the courage, the loyalty, a woman
the tradition
slumbering in the Odyssey
stolen from its imaginings
the sidelong cider
not quite penetrable
puzzles to solve
unsolvable puzzles
under the “magnifying
glass from the OED” -LH
all books are folded
to open is to unveil
in the meditative mode
take your time; oceans open
link up the floating debris
adapt to the jittery condition
of waves
of the earth, the stain
of experience
the stain on the tub -VS
once filled with olives
present when the lovers
go to bed
The above lines are the notes I took for the Long Poem course at SFSU. So credit goes to Paul Hoover, Aram Saroyan, Jack Spicer, Maxine Chernoff, Coleridge, Lyn Hejinian, Harryette Mullen, Vikram Seth, and Homer.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Davis Poetry Anthology
Davis Poet Laureate, Allegra Silberstein, hosted a wonderful event Saturday for The Davis Poetry Anthology. It is a lovely publication representing Davis poets and the Davis community. I am so pleased to have attended the event. It reminded me of the many sights, sounds, and smells of Davis. Sandra McPherson, Francisco X. Alarcon, Andy Jones, and my dear friend Briony Gylgayton are just few of the poets included in the anthology. For more information on the project please follow this link.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Autolycus: a rogue literary journal
Autolycus is a rogue literary journal edited by my dear friends, including Genie Cartier. This week they have come out with their third issue "Frames." Two poems from my "mini" series (mini because most of these poems could fit in your palm) are included in the issue, alongside the works of Paul Hoover, Jackson Meazle, and several other great poets. Issues are available at City Lights in SF or by mail through the website which is linked here.
Below are two poems from the mini series, to give you a taste of my miniature work:
More Sprinkles
When I say to my mother:
The only reason you wanted children was to get away with eating extra sprinkles on breakfast cake.
She merely shrugs…
Photo courtesy of Ryan Deal
this poem
could not
have been
Below are two poems from the mini series, to give you a taste of my miniature work:
More Sprinkles
When I say to my mother:
The only reason you wanted children was to get away with eating extra sprinkles on breakfast cake.
She merely shrugs…
Photo courtesy of Ryan Deal
this poem
could not
have been
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Chiming In
Lately I've been busy rushing to finish a project before the end of my semester. The project isn't ready to be released on the web, so here's an unrelated poem that I jotted in the margins of my notes this week:
Chime-in
Chimera chimed in
chilling in no more
than a chimere.
The children sent
its chimerical chimes
up the chimney.
Chin up, chilly chimera
chin up, it tried.
Updates on upcoming publications soon to come!
Chime-in
Chimera chimed in
chilling in no more
than a chimere.
The children sent
its chimerical chimes
up the chimney.
Chin up, chilly chimera
chin up, it tried.
Updates on upcoming publications soon to come!
Thursday, November 10, 2011
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