I am the guest poetry editor for the Spring/Summer 2007 issue of In Posse Review. The theme for this issue is "Poetry and the Body." This includes the erotic-sensual body, the physical-medical body, the socio-politcal body, the dancing-prancing body and every other kind of body you can construe. Let your imaginations roam.
Please send your best, previously-unpublished poems as Word or RTF attachments, to ppereira55@yahoo.com.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
2006 National Book Award Winner, Poetry
Nathaniel Mackey
Splay Anthem
New Directions
"He said that he was especially pleased to receive an award whose first recipient was William Carlos Williams, who was an abiding influence." (From NY Sun)
About the Book (from NBA website)
Part antiphonal rant, part rhythmic whisper, Nathaniel Mackey’s new collection takes the reader to uncharted poetic spaces, forming the next installment of two ongoing serial poems Mackey has been writing for over twenty years: Song of the Andoumboulou and “Mu”.
About the Author
Nathaniel Mackey is a poet, literary critic, fiction writer, and journal editor whose eight books of poetry include Four for Trane, Septet for the End of Time, Outlantish, and Song of the Andoumboulou. His 1985 poetry book, Eroding Witness, was selected for publication in the National Poetry Series. He received a Whiting Writers’ Award in 1993 and was elected to the Board of Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets in 2001. He is also the author of an ongoing prose composition of which three volumes have been published and of two volumes of literary criticism, Paracritical Hings (2005) and Discrepant Engagement: Dissonance, Cross-Culturality, and Experimental Writing (1993). He is editor of the literary magazine Hambone and is a Professor of Literature at the University of California, Santa Cruz.
*
I also thought Gluck would win.
This book sounds fascinating, though. And now I'll have to read it.
Nathaniel Mackey
Splay Anthem
New Directions
"He said that he was especially pleased to receive an award whose first recipient was William Carlos Williams, who was an abiding influence." (From NY Sun)
About the Book (from NBA website)
Part antiphonal rant, part rhythmic whisper, Nathaniel Mackey’s new collection takes the reader to uncharted poetic spaces, forming the next installment of two ongoing serial poems Mackey has been writing for over twenty years: Song of the Andoumboulou and “Mu”.
About the Author
Nathaniel Mackey is a poet, literary critic, fiction writer, and journal editor whose eight books of poetry include Four for Trane, Septet for the End of Time, Outlantish, and Song of the Andoumboulou. His 1985 poetry book, Eroding Witness, was selected for publication in the National Poetry Series. He received a Whiting Writers’ Award in 1993 and was elected to the Board of Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets in 2001. He is also the author of an ongoing prose composition of which three volumes have been published and of two volumes of literary criticism, Paracritical Hings (2005) and Discrepant Engagement: Dissonance, Cross-Culturality, and Experimental Writing (1993). He is editor of the literary magazine Hambone and is a Professor of Literature at the University of California, Santa Cruz.
*
I also thought Gluck would win.
This book sounds fascinating, though. And now I'll have to read it.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
What about the em dash?
Fun poetry group last night. Poems about beach stones, home remodeling ("there is no poetry in sheetrock"), the history of tulips, a husband's autopsy, anorexia ("Perfection"), and winter pears ("squat and hippy"). Great discussion and camaraderie.
One question that came up was the use of the em dash — . I know some manuals of style say no spaces before and after; while other manuals of style say yes to spaces before and after. Some people seem pretty militant about it, while others say "it depends." A little research this morning reveals there is a lot of variation. But it seems using the spaces may be winning out over time, as computer-based type-setting machines (as opposed to old hand-set print) need to "see" the spaces, or they will think the two words and the em dash in between them are all one word, and will not break the phrase over two lines when it runs over the right margin.
How do you vote on the em dash? Do you care? Spaces before and after? Or not?
*
Home sick today. A bad cold. I think I'll curl up on the sofa and finish reading the Alvarez novel.
One question that came up was the use of the em dash — . I know some manuals of style say no spaces before and after; while other manuals of style say yes to spaces before and after. Some people seem pretty militant about it, while others say "it depends." A little research this morning reveals there is a lot of variation. But it seems using the spaces may be winning out over time, as computer-based type-setting machines (as opposed to old hand-set print) need to "see" the spaces, or they will think the two words and the em dash in between them are all one word, and will not break the phrase over two lines when it runs over the right margin.
How do you vote on the em dash? Do you care? Spaces before and after? Or not?
*
Home sick today. A bad cold. I think I'll curl up on the sofa and finish reading the Alvarez novel.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Don't Miss This!
Rebecca Loudon, the author of Tarantella and Navigate, Amelia Earhart's
Letters Home, reads from her long awaited new collection of poetry, Radish King.
Monday, November 13, 7 p.m.
Richard Hugo House
1634 11th Ave.
Seattle, WA 98122
206-322-7030 (tel)
Free
This reading is co-sponsored by Richard Hugo House.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Saving the World?
A little research, and I found this novel, which I am now going to have to read:
Book review: Saving the World by Julia Alvarez
by Margot Harrison (03/29/06).
"In 1804, a Spanish army surgeon named Francisco Xavier Balmis set sail across the Atlantic on the ship Maria Pita. With him were 22 male orphans, two of whom carried the precious smallpox vaccine in lesions on their arms. The rest of the boys were to form the human chain of carriers needed, in this pre-refrigeration era, to bring the inoculation against a deadly plague to Puerto Rico, Mexico, South America and even the Philippines and China. At a time when the ravages of smallpox were familiar to all, Balmis could easily be forgiven for believing that he was "saving the world."
Balmis' expedition earned him a place in history. But what of the orphan boys who actually carried the vaccine? And what of the lone woman in the expedition, Isabel the orphanage rectoress? How did it feel to be drawn along by the tidal wave of Balmis' intensely altruistic -- and egotistical -- ambition?
That question is the germ of Saving the World, from the best-selling Middlebury author Julia Alvarez. The complex plot of her fifth novel is almost as ambitious as Balmis' expedition, which actually functions for Alvarez as a story within a story. The novel's framing and dominant narrative, set in present day, allows the author to draw parallels between AIDS and smallpox; between Balmis and modern do-gooders whose motives may be mixed. Confronting a world where "Every good [is] threaded through with, at best, dubious goods," Alvarez asks us, "What does it mean not to lose faith with what is grand?"" Read the rest of the review here.
Book review: Saving the World by Julia Alvarez
by Margot Harrison (03/29/06).
"In 1804, a Spanish army surgeon named Francisco Xavier Balmis set sail across the Atlantic on the ship Maria Pita. With him were 22 male orphans, two of whom carried the precious smallpox vaccine in lesions on their arms. The rest of the boys were to form the human chain of carriers needed, in this pre-refrigeration era, to bring the inoculation against a deadly plague to Puerto Rico, Mexico, South America and even the Philippines and China. At a time when the ravages of smallpox were familiar to all, Balmis could easily be forgiven for believing that he was "saving the world."
Balmis' expedition earned him a place in history. But what of the orphan boys who actually carried the vaccine? And what of the lone woman in the expedition, Isabel the orphanage rectoress? How did it feel to be drawn along by the tidal wave of Balmis' intensely altruistic -- and egotistical -- ambition?
That question is the germ of Saving the World, from the best-selling Middlebury author Julia Alvarez. The complex plot of her fifth novel is almost as ambitious as Balmis' expedition, which actually functions for Alvarez as a story within a story. The novel's framing and dominant narrative, set in present day, allows the author to draw parallels between AIDS and smallpox; between Balmis and modern do-gooders whose motives may be mixed. Confronting a world where "Every good [is] threaded through with, at best, dubious goods," Alvarez asks us, "What does it mean not to lose faith with what is grand?"" Read the rest of the review here.
I've been reading about the 1804 Balmis-Salvany Smallpox Expedition, or Expedición de la Vacuna, and am fascinated by this sentence:
"The ship reached Puerto Rico in February 1804 with its cargo of vaccine serum preserved between sealed glass plates; also onboard were 21 children from the orphanage at La Coruña who carried the vaccine through arm-to-arm vaccinations performed sequentially during the ship’s journey . . ."
Who were these children? How were they chosen to do this? What was their life like? I think there may be a poem here.
"The ship reached Puerto Rico in February 1804 with its cargo of vaccine serum preserved between sealed glass plates; also onboard were 21 children from the orphanage at La Coruña who carried the vaccine through arm-to-arm vaccinations performed sequentially during the ship’s journey . . ."
Who were these children? How were they chosen to do this? What was their life like? I think there may be a poem here.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Tonight at Open Books
Thursday, November 09, 2006 at 07:30 PM
RICHARD KENNEY & DAVID BIESPIEL
Richard Kenney reads his work in honor of the publication of Long Journey: Contemporary Northwest Poets (Oregon State University Press), edited by David Biespiel. Perhaps Kenny has a new book forthcoming?? I hope so. It's been a long time since The Invention of the Zero, one of my favorite books.
Open Books
2414 N. 45th St. Seattle, WA 98103
(206) 633-0811
store@openpoetrybooks.com
*
PS: and speaking of new books, I must be on near the same time-line as C Dale, as I also have my third and final page proofs to review this weekend. It's really exciting, and a bit daunting to think the book will be out in a few months. But I love how it is turning out. The last poem, "Nightwalk" falls on page 99. Double nine. Love it.
RICHARD KENNEY & DAVID BIESPIEL
Richard Kenney reads his work in honor of the publication of Long Journey: Contemporary Northwest Poets (Oregon State University Press), edited by David Biespiel. Perhaps Kenny has a new book forthcoming?? I hope so. It's been a long time since The Invention of the Zero, one of my favorite books.
Open Books
2414 N. 45th St. Seattle, WA 98103
(206) 633-0811
store@openpoetrybooks.com
*
PS: and speaking of new books, I must be on near the same time-line as C Dale, as I also have my third and final page proofs to review this weekend. It's really exciting, and a bit daunting to think the book will be out in a few months. But I love how it is turning out. The last poem, "Nightwalk" falls on page 99. Double nine. Love it.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Go Blue!
It's been a very heartening election.
Bush says he is "disappointed." Hah.
I find it very suspicious that the Montana senate count suddenly bogged down for "un-known circumstances" late in the evening. Very suspicious.
Virginia will go for a recount, but Webb should prevail.
Still, we may not know the final make-up of the Senate for weeks, or more.
Let me hear you say: "Speaker Pelosi."
*
And in the lovely state of Washington:
A referendum to limit lap dances to a distance of four feet was voted down (we like our lap dances just the way they are, thank you).
The race for congressional seat 8 -- between a former cop whose claim-to-fame is getting a single-mom school bus driver fired for flipping off George Bush's motorcade (hell, I would have given her a raise), and a former military brat and ex-Microsoft em[ployee named Darcy (couldn't she just have fixed the voting machines?) -- is too close to call.
Bush says he is "disappointed." Hah.
I find it very suspicious that the Montana senate count suddenly bogged down for "un-known circumstances" late in the evening. Very suspicious.
Virginia will go for a recount, but Webb should prevail.
Still, we may not know the final make-up of the Senate for weeks, or more.
Let me hear you say: "Speaker Pelosi."
*
And in the lovely state of Washington:
A referendum to limit lap dances to a distance of four feet was voted down (we like our lap dances just the way they are, thank you).
The race for congressional seat 8 -- between a former cop whose claim-to-fame is getting a single-mom school bus driver fired for flipping off George Bush's motorcade (hell, I would have given her a raise), and a former military brat and ex-Microsoft em[ployee named Darcy (couldn't she just have fixed the voting machines?) -- is too close to call.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Remember to Vote!
*
And read this, from a 2004 article in Slate by Eric McHenry, about the overlooked poetry of George Starbuck, the once-upon-a-time drinking buddy of Plath and Sexton. I am definitely being drawn in to Starbuck's work, and will have to get the collected.
"It's not especially surprising that Starbuck is now so overlooked: Critics today tend to view wit as a poor substitute for humor. Starbuck's major poems are all the things major poems should be—subtle, intelligent, moving—but their distinguishing mark is almost always cleverness, and cleverness is not a quality prized in contemporary poets. There's much more room in the canon, at this point, for the breezy humor of Frank O'Hara and Kenneth Koch than for Starbuck's elaborately plotted pranks and rococo word-castles.
The best way to approach Starbuck's work is to first drink three cups of Starbucks' French Roast. His poems demand the same sort of hyperattentiveness to language that produced them; they're packed with allusion, neologism, wordplay, jumps from elevated to demotic diction, and technical pyrotechnics. In "Desperate Measures," the increasing hysteria of the speaker—a scandal-addled Richard Nixon—registers in the slow unraveling of the end rhyme:
Bad enough with pot fiends rioting in the streets.
But blackmail! Trading on another person's dirty secrets.
It's worse than being a classified-documents-leaker, it's
Diabolicaller it's slimier it's sneakier it's
Blackmail! Oh Momma I just don't care anymore.
They can drag our impetuous ardor in all its sordor
Into the glare of the lawcourts and the even horrider
Glint in the eye of the would-be boudoir toreador
The Suck-of-the-Month subscriber the PlayboyPortfolioreader
The plain-brown-wrapper Scenes-from-the-Life-of-Ann-Corioorderer—
This may seem formally extravagant, but it's nothing compared to Starbuck's "A Tapestry for Bayeux," written in dactylic monometer, with a 156-letter rhymed acrostic threaded through it; or his "Elegy in a Country Church Yard," a panoramic concrete poem more than 5 feet wide; or his "Verses To Exhaust My Stock of Four-Letter Words," which includes "zoöoögenous," "bullllamas," "disagreeee" (the counterpart to "disagreeor"), and, for good measure, "archchurchmen"; or his Space-Saver Sonnets, which compress 14 lines of Shakespearean pentameter into 14 syllables of rhymed paraphrase:
My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing
Yes,
Per-
fes-
ser,
snow
no
doubt
out-
does
her
et-
cet-
er-
as.
This is all great fun, of course, and hard as hell to do. But poetry critics have never embraced the labor theory of value. "
Happy reading . . .
*
And read this, from a 2004 article in Slate by Eric McHenry, about the overlooked poetry of George Starbuck, the once-upon-a-time drinking buddy of Plath and Sexton. I am definitely being drawn in to Starbuck's work, and will have to get the collected.
"It's not especially surprising that Starbuck is now so overlooked: Critics today tend to view wit as a poor substitute for humor. Starbuck's major poems are all the things major poems should be—subtle, intelligent, moving—but their distinguishing mark is almost always cleverness, and cleverness is not a quality prized in contemporary poets. There's much more room in the canon, at this point, for the breezy humor of Frank O'Hara and Kenneth Koch than for Starbuck's elaborately plotted pranks and rococo word-castles.
The best way to approach Starbuck's work is to first drink three cups of Starbucks' French Roast. His poems demand the same sort of hyperattentiveness to language that produced them; they're packed with allusion, neologism, wordplay, jumps from elevated to demotic diction, and technical pyrotechnics. In "Desperate Measures," the increasing hysteria of the speaker—a scandal-addled Richard Nixon—registers in the slow unraveling of the end rhyme:
Bad enough with pot fiends rioting in the streets.
But blackmail! Trading on another person's dirty secrets.
It's worse than being a classified-documents-leaker, it's
Diabolicaller it's slimier it's sneakier it's
Blackmail! Oh Momma I just don't care anymore.
They can drag our impetuous ardor in all its sordor
Into the glare of the lawcourts and the even horrider
Glint in the eye of the would-be boudoir toreador
The Suck-of-the-Month subscriber the PlayboyPortfolioreader
The plain-brown-wrapper Scenes-from-the-Life-of-Ann-Corioorderer—
This may seem formally extravagant, but it's nothing compared to Starbuck's "A Tapestry for Bayeux," written in dactylic monometer, with a 156-letter rhymed acrostic threaded through it; or his "Elegy in a Country Church Yard," a panoramic concrete poem more than 5 feet wide; or his "Verses To Exhaust My Stock of Four-Letter Words," which includes "zoöoögenous," "bullllamas," "disagreeee" (the counterpart to "disagreeor"), and, for good measure, "archchurchmen"; or his Space-Saver Sonnets, which compress 14 lines of Shakespearean pentameter into 14 syllables of rhymed paraphrase:
My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing
Yes,
Per-
fes-
ser,
snow
no
doubt
out-
does
her
et-
cet-
er-
as.
This is all great fun, of course, and hard as hell to do. But poetry critics have never embraced the labor theory of value. "
Happy reading . . .
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Chicano Mariposa
Dean and I went to hear Rigoberto read at Elliott Bay tonight. The rain was coming down in sheets, with flood warnings up across the state. Still there was a decent turnout. Rigoberto read three parts from the memoir: a Day of the Dead/Halloween story; a piece about a fateful busride with his father in Mexico, where he had hoped to come out to him; and a recounting of his getting accepted into UC Riverside (the first in his family to go to college) as teenager, and leaving home for good. It was a lovely reading, and Rigoberto is such a pleasant, kind presence. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the book.
Friday, November 03, 2006
A lovely poem by Susan Rich on Poetry Daily today, for her new book Cures Include Travel. "The Women of Kismayo" tells of women's power, even in parts of the world where they have been oppressed by the culture for centuries. The final image of the breasts, almost like a double-barreled gun, "targeting" each man, is stunning.
The Women of Kismayo
The breasts of Kismayo assembled
along the mid-day market street.
No airbrushed mangoes, no
black lace, no underwire chemise.
No half-cupped pleasures,
no come-hither nods, no Italian
centerfolds. Simply the women
of the town telling their men
to take action, to do something
equally bold. And the husbands
on their way home, expecting
sweet yams and meat,
moaned and covered their eyes,
screamed like spoiled children
dredged abruptly from sleep—
incredulous that their women
could unbutton such beauty
for other clans, who
(in between splayed
hands) watched quite willingly.
Give us your guns, here is our
cutlery, we are the men!
the women sang to them
an articulation without shame.
And now in the late night hour
when men want nothing but rest,
they fold their broken bodies, still
watched by their wives cool breasts
round, full, commanding as colonels—
two taut nipples targeting each man.
Susan Rich
Cures Include Travel
White Pine Press
The Women of Kismayo
The breasts of Kismayo assembled
along the mid-day market street.
No airbrushed mangoes, no
black lace, no underwire chemise.
No half-cupped pleasures,
no come-hither nods, no Italian
centerfolds. Simply the women
of the town telling their men
to take action, to do something
equally bold. And the husbands
on their way home, expecting
sweet yams and meat,
moaned and covered their eyes,
screamed like spoiled children
dredged abruptly from sleep—
incredulous that their women
could unbutton such beauty
for other clans, who
(in between splayed
hands) watched quite willingly.
Give us your guns, here is our
cutlery, we are the men!
the women sang to them
an articulation without shame.
And now in the late night hour
when men want nothing but rest,
they fold their broken bodies, still
watched by their wives cool breasts
round, full, commanding as colonels—
two taut nipples targeting each man.
Susan Rich
Cures Include Travel
White Pine Press
Thursday, November 02, 2006
A Gift
Dean and I thought we had picked all the pears from our tree by mid-September. We store them in the basement refrigerator, so we can take them out one or two at a time, to ripen on the kitchen counter, and eat them all the coming winter and spring long. But today, a rainy windy November day, we found one fallen on the gravel driveway, one that we must have missed, hidden in the branches, its nylon footie still in place, a little gash in its bottom from where it fell, otherwise intact. We cut it open, divided it into quarters on a plate between us before dinner. It's white flesh so sweet, so buttery, so granular, so perfect. Ah -- to find a ripe pear amid the cold and dark of an evening. And to share it. A gift.
*
Went to hear Rigo, Rick, and Oliver read at UW tonight. A special presentation by the Ethnic Studies Department. A good reading. The highlights for me: Rigo's three linked sonnets (which he later jokingly referred to as a "tiara" rather than "crown" of sonnets). Rick's "Magnolia," which was a long run-on sentence; and his poem based on a Yoko Ono art video from the 60's (where her clothes are being cut off her body onstage). Oliver's new poems "About the Strawberry" and "Jose the Liar" ("Pants on Fire!" ~grin~) from the stories of Filipino farm workers. Chatted a bit with some UW MFA and Eng Lit students, as well as Jean9 and Jennifer D. Dark and rainy for the ride home. Fall has really fell, eh?
*
Went to hear Rigo, Rick, and Oliver read at UW tonight. A special presentation by the Ethnic Studies Department. A good reading. The highlights for me: Rigo's three linked sonnets (which he later jokingly referred to as a "tiara" rather than "crown" of sonnets). Rick's "Magnolia," which was a long run-on sentence; and his poem based on a Yoko Ono art video from the 60's (where her clothes are being cut off her body onstage). Oliver's new poems "About the Strawberry" and "Jose the Liar" ("Pants on Fire!" ~grin~) from the stories of Filipino farm workers. Chatted a bit with some UW MFA and Eng Lit students, as well as Jean9 and Jennifer D. Dark and rainy for the ride home. Fall has really fell, eh?
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
George Starbuck's "Sweet Ladies"
Great issue of American Poetry Review this month (Nov/Dec 2006). A fascinating essay by David Trinidad, about the brief real-life friendship between Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. They were both auditing Lowell's poetry workshop, and would go out with George Starbuck afterwards for martinis at the Ritz, and laugh and laugh and carry on about suicide and nervous breakdowns and becoming famous poets. Sexton was about to have her first book published, Starbuck soon to win the Yale. Plath comes off as a bit jealous, always keeping a ledger and holding grudges of her friend's successes. And it is fascinating to see Plath lifting passages from Sexton, and using them in her own writing (several examples are given). But in the end, after Plath's suicide and sky-rocketing fame, it is Sexton who tries to "out-Plath Plath" by writing the 39 poems of The Awful Rowing Towards God in a mere 16 days, before taking her own life, as well. It's a fascinating read: my only question: what ever happened to George Starbuck?
Also in this issue, Mark Doty has a wonderful essay about the writing of his poem "Theory of the Sublime." It's a great look into how his mind works, and how his poems come to be. In the poem he connects two disparate experiences: one, being asked to clap in front of a video camera for a friend's art project; and two, climbing the towers of La Sagrada Familia. He tells of waking up in the night to go write the first drafts of the poem at the computer on the mezzanine level of the Art Nouveau-era gay hotel he is staying at in Barcelona, and it was a secret delight for me to know he must have been staying at Hotel Axel (where Dean and I were last spring) and sitting in the very place, at the same computer and keyboard, where I would write in the night at Axel as well.
There's also an Ira Sadoff essay about Frank O'Hara, and much more, including a long-ass Komunyakaa poem, that I haven't gotten to, yet. Happy reading . . .
Also in this issue, Mark Doty has a wonderful essay about the writing of his poem "Theory of the Sublime." It's a great look into how his mind works, and how his poems come to be. In the poem he connects two disparate experiences: one, being asked to clap in front of a video camera for a friend's art project; and two, climbing the towers of La Sagrada Familia. He tells of waking up in the night to go write the first drafts of the poem at the computer on the mezzanine level of the Art Nouveau-era gay hotel he is staying at in Barcelona, and it was a secret delight for me to know he must have been staying at Hotel Axel (where Dean and I were last spring) and sitting in the very place, at the same computer and keyboard, where I would write in the night at Axel as well.
There's also an Ira Sadoff essay about Frank O'Hara, and much more, including a long-ass Komunyakaa poem, that I haven't gotten to, yet. Happy reading . . .
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