tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31448588637154523022024-03-19T05:21:56.392-07:00Poet's JournalUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-80331877087372252112008-05-29T21:12:00.001-07:002008-05-29T21:14:30.213-07:00New HomeI have transfered this blog to a new home: <a href="http://pinkshoesinmymind.blogspot.com/">Pink Shoes in my Mind </a> Enjoy and have fun!:)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-85710552260953923142008-05-27T11:44:00.000-07:002008-05-27T11:48:13.218-07:00Pink Shoes Again<a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?.mid=embed&id=46338"><img width="400" src="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-set/BQcDAAAAAwoDanBnAAAABC5vdXQKFlRsUDJWSFU5M0JHZmgtZ3l3T1h1U2cAAAACaWQKAWUAAAAEc2l6ZQ.jpg" title="PINK SHOES!!!" height="400" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In my mind<br />I wear pink shoes<br />With bows<br />My wardrobe though<br />Is drab with grays<br />And blues and blacks<br />Can anyone see<br />The pink bows in<br />My mind? No.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-73036284195905063512008-04-27T21:12:00.000-07:002008-04-27T22:01:18.862-07:00Poetical Economics<a href="http://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-images/Arts/Arts_/Pictures/2006/09/15/rodinburghersofcalais372.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 365px; CURSOR: hand" height="175" alt="" src="http://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-images/Arts/Arts_/Pictures/2006/09/15/rodinburghersofcalais372.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The Burghers of Calais by Rodin, Image via </span><a href="http://arts.guardian.co.uk/features/story/0,,1873588,00.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Guardian</span><br /></a><br />I've been neglecting poetry these past two weeks looking for a full-time job. I'm 25, and not proud of never having had a full-time, occupational job. I've supported myself since junior year in college (three years ago) working a bunch of part-time and internship jobs. These have, in the lingo, really *helped me grow*. But somehow I've had neither the guts or the focus to settle down and really start producing--all those grown up things. Wealth, worth, connection.<br /><br />This is all set into sharp relief living in New York City in a time of a staggering economy. I look at the general state of the country and am not impressed. Since when has a nation run up exorbitant debt, generated insane inflation, thrown itself at a loosing war, and come out the better for it? It has the ring of civilization set-back and empire dismantlement. This is not a reassuring time to sort out a sense of self. Fundamental issues of a healthy society seem to be at stake and I try to figure out which of my fuzzy ideals to chase.<br /><br />I keep thinking of two articles. One, a <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2008-03-24-boomers-kids_N.htm?csp=34&POE=click-refer">USA Today piece </a>on just how many in my age group are in a similar situation. I am not the only full-blown college grad contemplating dog-walking to support poetry-writing. We've been raised to chase passing fancies as a means of income. But on coming (reluctantly) of age, find ourselves, our parents, and our nation sunk in debt with decent jobs on the decline.<br /><br />So much for doom prognosis. The next article's more optimistically oriented. It's called <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22597888/">Youth quack--<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Millennials</span> fired up over jobs, health care, and debt</a>. I was flabbergasted at how much of it rang true for me. It's about how previously inert young voters are taking a sudden interest in the current presidential campaign, fanning the "change" rhetoric as candidates take notice of their new cohorts. But it's about much more as well, and successfully examines the contradictions of a generation simultaneously "weaned on self-esteem" and raised in the "epic uncertainty" of "the dot-com crash, terrorism, war, and climate change."<br /><br />Quote: "Given all the pressures...you might wonder why today's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">twentysomethings</span> don't despair and disengage. There's a simple answer: They weren't raised that way." Instead, "they were the most coddled generation ever" and had the additional satisfaction of "bringing the music and media industries to their knees... providing Gen <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Yers</span> with the self-confidence for a third-way, post-partisan manner of doing things." Wrapping it up: "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Millennials</span>, like many Americans, may have lost faith in the political Establishment, but they have utter faith in themselves and their wiki-inspired abilities to get things done."<br /><br />This is so close to my way of viewing the world it's uncanny. To some, it may come across as an arrogant sense of "entitlement." But when all the major engines of a healthy society are out of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">wack</span>, it's all I have to go by.<br /><br />Anyways, as I continue to look for jobs I'm going to conflate (I think that's the word) the state of society with myself. If a shy, socially challenged, in debt, sometime poet can settle down and start conducting life properly, I'll take it as a sign that society in general is capable of the same. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Meh</span>, this sounds so pompous. But is something to start byUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-321445980124711712008-04-27T21:11:00.001-07:002008-04-27T22:07:53.278-07:00Old Glasses<a href="http://www.eyeglasseswarehouse.com/images/2117-04-7.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 355px; CURSOR: hand" height="159" alt="" src="http://www.eyeglasseswarehouse.com/images/2117-04-7.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via</span><a href="http://www.eyeglasseswarehouse.com/menplastic.html"><span style="font-size:85%;"> Vintage <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Eyeware</span></span></a><br /><br />Old glasses that I<br />Wear in private<br />Covering my face<br />Like two full moons<br />Fragments of those<br />Half-forgotten<br />Teenage years I<br />Wept because of<br />Not being beautiful.<br />Now I wear contacts<br />Everywhere, premium<br />Placed on success<br />And happy in having<br />Discovered lip gloss<br />Except for these<br />Late nights up<br />Writing poetry when<br />My half-forgotten<br />Teenage years<br />Come to peer out<br />Of my glasses<br />Like two full moons.<br /><br />This is one of the poems I wrote for <a href="http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/April+PAD+Challenge+Day+7.aspx">Robert Brewer's Poetry Challenge</a>. It is exactly the type of sappy poetry that I am always telling myself not to write. It is also the only one of my poems I've submitted so far that got <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">reposted</span> among the noteworthy poems. I was <em>thrilled</em>. Maybe I should start writing more sappy poetry.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-33641274063894999202008-04-15T19:38:00.000-07:002008-04-15T21:41:14.549-07:00Confidence in an Age of Debt<a href="http://i.cnn.net/cnn/2003/WORLD/meast/03/20/sprj.irq.war.main/story.m1a1.videophone.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 282px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 207px" height="226" alt="" src="http://i.cnn.net/cnn/2003/WORLD/meast/03/20/sprj.irq.war.main/story.m1a1.videophone.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/meast/03/20/sprj.irq.war.main/index.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">CNN</span><br /></a><br />My confidence<br />Has the steely power<br />Of tanks disappearing<br />Into a desert mirage.<br /><br />My confidence<br />Has the depth of rent<br />Food, dress, and tax<br />Put on a credit card.<br /><br />My confidence<br />Has the persistence of<br />A slot machine still<br />Blinking after all is lost.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-59681003281500910112008-04-12T09:09:00.000-07:002008-04-27T16:28:17.554-07:00Mornings with Honey<a href="http://static.flickr.com/13/92828324_4d2a6e454a_o.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 224px" height="272" alt="" src="http://static.flickr.com/13/92828324_4d2a6e454a_o.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Image via <a href="http://mistertoast.blogspot.com/2006/01/ice-cream-signs.html">Sampler</a><br /><br />I am taking care of Honey, my Aunt's standard poodle for the next few days. This morning I awoke to Honey giving me a gentle lick on my foot, which was hanging over one side of the bed, then scrambling around to lick my hand, which was hanging over the other side, then dashing back to my foot, and so on. She took this very seriously. In case anyone is wondering, the technique is gentle but effective. I got up.<br /><br />Central Park was an interesting spectacle this morning, as warm spring sets in. I witnessed: sleepy-eyed couples sitting on benches, holding hands and drinking coffee; a guy with a backpack and serious hiking shoes perched on a rocky hill, looking like he was about to explore virgin wilderness except he had a freshly made cheeseburger in his hand; runners of every possible size, age, and condition; and an Iranian man trying to settle a heavy ice cream stand on an incline.<br /><br />I paused briefly to look at this last, as the stand (which was on wheels) kept slipping down. Without warning the guy started speaking to me in a stream of barely intelligible English, the gist of which I was to use a stick to prop the cart while he held it in place. Being an agreeable person, I cast around for a stick, and seeing only ineffectual twigs, settled on a screwdriver that was sitting on the cart. This I first attempted to stick into the hub of the wheel, accompanied by much tisk-tisking by the Iranian man. I finally propped the screwdriver up against the wheel, and it held the cart in place perfectly. The guy again broke into a stream of broken English, saying it was a great idea (the screwdriver) he never would have thought of such a thing, and that he would fix it. The last I saw of him he was searching the bushes for an appropriate twig.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-65960978258384646742008-04-10T22:07:00.000-07:002008-04-10T22:13:44.064-07:00WORDS AND THE POET<a href="http://dinahbowman.com/images/gallery/seacreatures/dinah%20bowman%20-%20sea%20creatures%2002.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 154px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px" height="426" alt="" src="http://dinahbowman.com/images/gallery/seacreatures/dinah%20bowman%20-%20sea%20creatures%2002.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://dinahbowman.com/gallery-sea.htm"><span style="font-size:85%;">Dinah Bowman</span></a><br /><br />Recent <a href="http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/April+PAD+Challenge+Day+9.aspx">PAD</a> draft:<br /><br />Words are my natural<br />Habitat and strung in<br />Sequences like seaweed<br />Form everything I<br />Need to know. Water<br />Like the air I breathe<br />Coral caverns stabilizing<br />The great Katrinas<br />And little lobster-<br />Like creatures darting<br />Amidst. In this second<br />Creation I swim and<br />Little care for<br />The world of men.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-22445724938675379292008-04-10T21:49:00.000-07:002008-04-11T15:01:41.665-07:00Novelettes and Organizing Knowledge<a href="http://www.google.com/intl/en_ALL/images/logo.gif"><img style="WIDTH: 186px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 52px" height="100" alt="" src="http://www.google.com/intl/en_ALL/images/logo.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://www.google.com/"><span style="font-size:85%;">Google<br /></span></a><br />Possible theme for use in <a href="http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2008/04/poetry-and-noveling.html">my</a> <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a>:<br /><br />I remember my dad with furrowed eyebrows talking about some 18th century Jesuit's system for organizing knowledge. It was one of my dad's (many) ideas dramatically presented at dinner-times. Forgotten by me until surprisingly triggered by this month's issue of the <a href="http://www.hbsp.harvard.edu/hbsp/index.jsp?_requestid=104726">Harvard Business Review</a>, speaking of Googles " mission 'to organize the worlds information and make it universally accessible and useful" (p.60). My dad could have uttered those words. I almost swear he did utter them. And years before Google. One of the themes I'd like to explore in my little <a href="http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2008/04/poetry-and-noveling.html">projected novelette </a>is how ideas hang around (in sometimes desolate places) before hitting the right medium for growth.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-54798865818180028342008-04-10T21:14:00.000-07:002008-04-27T19:27:16.765-07:00Poetry and Noveling<a href="http://z.about.com/d/shoes/1/0/8/Z/pink_shoes.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 225px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 139px" height="223" alt="" src="http://z.about.com/d/shoes/1/0/8/Z/pink_shoes.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://shoes.about.com/od/womens_shoes/ig/0207-Shoes-of-the-Day/Sling-Back-Shoes.htm"><span style="font-size:85%;">About Shoes</span><br /></a><br />I'm having so much fun with April Poem a Day that I thought I'd look into similar prods for the rest of the year. It turns out there is the wonderfully named <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">NaNoWriMo</span></a>, or National Novel Writing Month. During November, while the rest of the world readies for Christmas (or whatever the rest of the world does in the 11<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span> month) <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">NaNoWriMoer's</span> churn out a 175-page (50,000-word) draft of a novelette. (Only the <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">NaNoWriMo</span> website </a>calls it a novel because, they say, novel is more impressive.)<br /><br />Someone told me once that poets and novelists have different minds. I know I've always stood in awe of the feat of inventing characters. Also, my tendencies are all oriented towards cutting sentences apart and balancing out sounds. Not exactly the stuff of plot creation. However looking on novel-writing as some sort of amazing magic has only made me want it more. I've even got a thesis or plot as starters: "Girl goes to NYC and figures out life."<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">NaNoWriMoer's</span> are forbidden from writing even one sentence of actual novel text before the clock strikes 1am on November the 1st. This leaves me 6 luxuriant months in which to do research, figure out life, sketch outlines and characters, listen for dialogue, read a ton of novels, and explore themes.<br /><br />What does all this have to do with poetry? I've come up with a terrifically lame connection: Novel-writing should be a poetical pursuit. More seriously (but no less pompously) I think that attempting a novel will help me iron out some problems I have with poetry. I've always been shrinkingly ashamed of my inability to write more than 3 stanzas or so to a poem. This seems so half-hearted against volumes of Longfellow and Browning. Writing 175 pages of anything should help quench this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">inadequacy</span>.<br /><br />Also, the more I learn about poetry publication, the less excited I become about sending out my little limping and half-finished thoughts. If by any chance they measured up at all, the pinnacle they could attain would be to languish between the dull inexpensive covers of some journal purchased only by libraries and read only by other poets. I've been thinking I'd like to write a series of poems oriented along a single subject-matter. Two ideas are Girl in Pink Shoes (i.e. fashion) or Poems to America (with Generation Y focus). Again, exploring themes through prose and plot first would probably help.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-82141468329991433642008-04-08T09:38:00.000-07:002008-04-08T12:44:09.961-07:00Frida Kahlo's Deer<a href="http://www.artisjoy.com/images/frida3f.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 316px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px" height="278" alt="" src="http://www.artisjoy.com/images/frida3f.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://www.artisjoy.com/frida3.shtml"><span style="font-size:85%;">Art is Joy</span> </a><br /><br />The latest poem for Robert Brewer's <a href="http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/April+PAD+Challenge+Day+8.aspx">Poem a day</a> challenge. I loved this prompt. Poetry and art history together--how could it get better?<br /><div><br />I run forever free</div><div>I run forever pinned to a page</div><div>By arrows of this sorrowing<br />World. I never shall be</div><div>Truly great. I'm caged</div><div>Within a box of pain </div><div>And shutters of a </div><div>Women's life. However</div><div>I furrow my brow in thought</div><div>I lack the antlers, thrust </div><div>And gait of Diego <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">de</span></div><div>Rivera's work. Never mind. </div><div>I put my colors</div><div>On the page and there</div><div>Create a second life.</div><div>I run forever pinned to a page</div><div>I run forever free. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-48920749329688583022008-04-05T08:12:00.000-07:002008-04-08T08:19:24.317-07:00FEAR<a href="http://s3.amazonaws.com/coolchaser.com/thumb-1708880.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 152px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 122px" height="282" alt="" src="http://s3.amazonaws.com/coolchaser.com/thumb-1708880.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />There are two things I really want out of April. One is to be hired by this gem of a company. The other is to make poetry blogging work. But it's already 7 days into April and I've been doing everything but. In the case of the company, even though it tallies perfectly into everything I'm good at and want to do, I lack the track record they're looking for. With the blog, I seem to keep weaving my way back and forth along the line that separates pompous spouting of opinion vs. having something genuine to say. In this atmosphere of indecision I wrote the following:<br /><br />I am the little beast<br />That rises every morning<br />And sits by Tara's bed<br />And ticks off her defeats<br />And says: "You shan't go farther<br />Look what you haven't done."<br /><br />I am the little mole<br />That crawls in Tara's heart<br />And digs up trenches there<br />And bombards her hopes<br />"No, he'll never look your way<br />No, your work won't prosper."<br /><br />I am the little worm<br />That eats of Tara's soul<br />In green and cankerous words<br />"Your dreams weren't made to fly"<br />I am the first respondent<br />To each of Tara's plans--I'm fear.<br /><br /><br />This was written for Robert Brewer's <a href="http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/">poetry challenge</a>, to write a poem a day for the month of April. So far, I've loved the prompts, as they always manage to take me by surprise. (The prompt for the Fear poem was to put yourself inside another person or object.) I've also loved seeing the work of other writers, and have found some really awesome <a href="http://utahpoet.blogspot.com/">poetry blogs</a> this way. There's a lot more good poetry out there than I ever imagined.<br /><br />One thing that worries me though is I seem to be writing rather watered down and simplistic stuff lately. I've been focused so long on trying to tap natural rhythms in a Robert Frost sort of way that I wonder if I'm going too far. I want to take a look at some really good hard stuff (Coleridge?) or maybe tackle some philosophy or something as anecdote to this happy daily spouting of poems.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-23175165873140873152008-04-01T06:24:00.000-07:002008-04-01T20:14:48.127-07:00Spring winds, Spring world<a href="http://www.crh.noaa.gov/lot/science/svr_climo/mo_wind1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 446px; CURSOR: hand" height="276" alt="" src="http://www.crh.noaa.gov/lot/science/svr_climo/mo_wind1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://www.crh.noaa.gov/lot/science/svr_climo/svr_txt.php"><span style="font-size:85%;">National Weather Service</span></a><br /><br />The first of the following poems I wrote in my early teens. The second is a reflective ditty I wrote this morning, posted in honor of April and Poetry Month!<br /><br /><strong>Spring Winds<br /></strong>Do you hear<br />The wind is blowing<br />Wind, wind, breeze.<br /><br />All around and<br />Softly lowing<br />Wind, wind, breeze.<br /><br />Bring all to new beginning<br />Softly, round me, low and lovely<br />Opening to ages unknown<br />Wind, wind, breeze.<br /><br /><strong>Spring World</strong><br />Spring winds stir me<br />Still, even as they did<br />When as a child I had<br />Only started to know.<br /><br />Yet love in my dreams<br />As a child is still the same<br />As the world ever starting<br />New in spring winds.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-90471034008027429962008-03-30T09:13:00.000-07:002008-03-30T09:33:32.795-07:00Hippies in Central Park<a href="http://www.altavistastudio.com/Knitted%20Scarves/KnitBrightDune_Detail.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 176px; CURSOR: hand" height="215" alt="" src="http://www.altavistastudio.com/Knitted%20Scarves/KnitBrightDune_Detail.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://www.altavistastudio.com/knittedscarves.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Knitted Scarves</span><br /></a><div><a href="http://www.markandbeth.com/projects/projects_2005.htm"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></a></div><br /><div></div><div>I went on a walk around the pond today:<br /><br />By the waterfall<br />A surprising flock<br />Of graybeards sit<br />With bright scarves knit<br />Meditating on nature<br />In public. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-84148433948622565172008-03-29T20:20:00.000-07:002008-03-30T19:22:24.340-07:00April: Dolittle Plans<a href="http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/thumb/4/48/180px-Doctor_Dolittle.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 170px; CURSOR: hand" height="180" alt="" src="http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/thumb/4/48/180px-Doctor_Dolittle.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://www.answers.com/topic/doctor-dolittle-1?cat=entertainment"><span style="font-size:85%;">answer</span><br /></a><div></div><br /><div>I more than accomplished my goal of 5 poems for March. I wrote <a href="http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2008/03/alehandra.html">Alejandra</a>, <a href="http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2008/03/obama-in-tulips.html"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Obama</span></span></span> in the Tulips</a>, <a href="http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2008/03/world-go-marching-by.html">World go marching by</a>, <a href="http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2008/03/blogger-in-world-wide-web.html">Blogger in the World Wide Web</a>, <a href="http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2008/03/reading-sartorialist-in-city-that.html">Reading the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sartorialist</span></span></span></a>, Poet's Boat, Robber's Beat, Always Nearly, and Put on the Music. But I haven't written anything for the last week, and am already concerned about April, that blank spring month ahead of me.<br /><br /></div><div></div><div>I've never found a means to control poetic output. For me, a poem hinges on random images and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">rhythms</span> that connect in unexpected ways with ideas that occupy me. It's surprising connections that give poetry punch. But I can't seem to nail down a reliable process to generate these connections.<br /><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div>I guess it's a bit like finding love, or the lucky break. You can't really expectantly go out looking or sit around waiting. Instead you need to focus on all those backstage elements of life and trust that things will fall into place. So, setting up the stage for April:<br /><br /><strong>1)</strong> Read a lot, specifically <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000WEOY56?ie=UTF8&tag=poesjou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B000WEOY56">The Art of Poetry: How to Read a Poem</a><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; MARGIN: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="1" alt="" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=poesjou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B000WEOY56" width="1" border="0" /> </div><div><strong>2)</strong> Go to a couple poetry readings (<a href="http://www.sarahlawrence.edu/poetry-festival/index.php">Sarah Lawrence College Poetry Festival</a>)<br /><strong>3)</strong> Do a lot of things, go to a lot of new places, and notice much (Take Polynesia the Parrot's advise "Be a good <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">noticer</span></span></span>"--<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0613276817?ie=UTF8&tag=poesjou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0613276817">The Voyages of Dr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Dolittle</span></span></span> (Signet Classics)</a><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; MARGIN: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="1" alt="" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=poesjou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0613276817" width="1" border="0" />).<br /><strong>4)</strong> Work hard in other fields. </div><div><strong>5)</strong> Walk a lot.<br /><strong>6)</strong> Sleep a lot.<br /><strong>7)</strong> Daydream a lot.<br /><br />In other words, to write more poetry all I need to do is do a lot more and do a lot less. </div><div></div><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-41033670134874884642008-03-23T20:28:00.000-07:002008-03-24T10:29:58.106-07:00THE DAWN, by William Butler Yeats<a href="http://www.kidsread.net/2006-04-10/moon2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 144px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 145px" height="180" alt="" src="http://www.kidsread.net/2006-04-10/moon2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://www.kidsread.net/"><span style="font-size:85%;">Kids Read</span></a> <div></div><div> </div><div>Since because of copyright gnarls I'm not posting every poem I write, I'll post poems of others instead. I opened up a book on William Butler Yeats (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0684826461?ie=UTF8&tag=poesjou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0684826461">Selected Poems And Four Plays</a><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; MARGIN: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="1" alt="" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=poesjou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0684826461" width="1" border="0" />) this evening and was staggered. I keep forgetting how great the great poets are:<br /><br />THE DAWN, by William Butler Yeats<br /><br />"I would be ignorant as the dawn<br />That has looked down<br />On that old queen measuring a town<br />With the pin of a brooch,<br />Or on the withered men that saw<br />From their pedantic Babylon<br />The careless planets in their courses,<br />The stars fade out where the moon comes,<br />And took their tablets and did sums;<br />I would be ignorant as the dawn<br />That merely stood, rocking the glittering coach<br />Above the cloudy shoulders of the horses;<br />I would be--for no knowledge is worth a straw--<br />Ignorant and wanton as the dawn."<br /><br />This is simply an incredible poem to speak. I won't even start to go into meaning. Though the image of ignorance wielding tablets and sums and coming up with something beyond knowledge is beautiful. But so much of the beauty is in just saying the words. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-42098825158656395472008-03-23T16:47:00.000-07:002008-03-23T21:23:01.305-07:00Publication Laws and Practice<a href="http://www.likecool.com/Gear/Toy/Baby%20Buddha%20bank%20Peace/Baby-Buddha-bank-Peace.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 123px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 175px" height="231" alt="" src="http://www.likecool.com/Gear/Toy/Baby%20Buddha%20bank%20Peace/Baby-Buddha-bank-Peace.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via "</span><a href="http://www.likecool.com/Baby_Buddha_bank_Peace--Toy--Gear.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Likecool</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">"</span><br /><div>I've found an informative and fun poetry blog called <a href="http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/default.aspx">Poetic Asides</a>. It is hosted by Writers Digest and written by poet Robert Lee Brewer. A post that especially caught my attention was one (authored by "Nancy") called <a href="http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/Published+Is+Published.aspx">Published is Published</a>!<br /><br />According to this post, any poem put on the web in any form, including via blog, is considered "published". It is therefore disqualified from most poetry contests and poetry book publication deals. However, it is considered not fully published but merely "self-published". It is thus disqualified from being cited as a published source in those contests or deals that require the author to be a published poet. In other words, any as-yet-unpublished poem I put on my blog will henceforward be good for nothing.<br /><br />There was vigorous debate about this in the comments section of the post, and it emerged that the laws surrounding this policy are hazy and that there are editors and awards that make exception. But in general, published is published (wherever, however) is standard policy.<br /><br />My reaction to this was two-fold: 1) This sucks. 2) Hurray! I am now (self)published. All the more reason to make this blog as brilliant as possible.<br /><br />In general I think poetry, the poetry business, publication, and copy-right laws are at a formative and murky stage right now. It would be an interesting time to study publication and copy-right law. As it is, when I put a poem on this blog, and thus disqualify it in all sorts of ways, I think of another, more informal publishing rule I found in the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0761131221?ie=UTF8&tag=poesjou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0761131221">Putting Your Passion Into Print: Get Your Book Published Successfully!</a><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; MARGIN: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="1" alt="" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=poesjou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0761131221" width="1" border="0" /> (I know, exciting title). It urges writers to be generous in giving away their published books, stating that for every book you give away, you end up selling three. Given that blogging is apparently a mass giving away of a poem, it would be nice if some similar return policy applied. I'm going to continue to test the theory.<br /><br />However, I think I'll rein my poem blogging in a bit. Of the five projected poems I write a month, I'll blog two of them here, leaving three for other uses. This will push me to look for a wider range of topics for posts and ultimately provide more poem fuel. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-53907105304564021792008-03-23T13:45:00.000-07:002008-03-23T14:04:56.420-07:00Poetry Overheard: Job lost<a href="http://www.blackdossier.net/users/m-a-images/wall-street-stock-market-drop.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.blackdossier.net/users/m-a-images/wall-street-stock-market-drop.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via <a href="http://www.moneyaccumulator.com/128/fridays-big-stock-market-drop-dow-jones-index-nearly-400-points/">Money Accumulator</a></span><br /><div></div><br /><div>One half of a conversation:<br /><br />"Why did you ask for help?"--<br />"No, they never help you."<br />"Why are you leaving?"--<br />"Why did you get fired?"--<br />"Yes, that happens to people."--<br />"Is it money or ego?"--<br />"Don't cry because of ego,<br />Only because of money." </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-22751960770382891952008-03-23T13:12:00.000-07:002008-03-23T17:51:27.001-07:00Reading The Sartorialist in a City that doesn't Sleep<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafEfoxONry6J5zn7cbnzii4dtkuZzHdk6OvWashZLy2cm-2VUaT28T9pAbsFK0CF04RZNHCjz46vYLvGTBBsAmha3REpz3P_3hqmy3ZTpBFLkyIb7H1ODCq90YBHmYPHgoKS7WFYKlHE/s400/WTlilyweb.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 177px; CURSOR: hand" height="276" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafEfoxONry6J5zn7cbnzii4dtkuZzHdk6OvWashZLy2cm-2VUaT28T9pAbsFK0CF04RZNHCjz46vYLvGTBBsAmha3REpz3P_3hqmy3ZTpBFLkyIb7H1ODCq90YBHmYPHgoKS7WFYKlHE/s400/WTlilyweb.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Image via <a href="http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/2008_02_01_archive.html">The Sartorialist<br /></a><div></div><br /><div>Since coming to New York City, I've found myself waking up at early hours of the morning, or staying up late at night. I get unreasonably excited about the new worlds waiting around the corner, the endless shops, the stream of people who pass me in the streets, the unpredictable customers at my gallery job. I've since found a blog that captures this same energy through fashion photography. <a href="http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/">The Sartorialist </a>is a guy who snaps pictures of fashionable people in the streets. I am endlessly inspired by the examples of excellence and originality he discovers. I was up til 1am last night reading his blog, then until 2am writing a poem about it: </div><br /><div><br />I wish it wasn't 1am.<br />There is so much<br />World out there, Sartorial<br />Moments screen by screen.<br />My consolation: tomorrow<br />I'll wear a little orange<br />Scarf to work<br />This silken flag will be<br />My prize for sleeping<br />A couple hours. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-71859120373575470932008-03-20T20:40:00.000-07:002008-03-30T18:35:41.733-07:00Blogger in the World Wide Web<a href="http://www.ou.edu/eeb/EEBblog/FrogMetamorphosis.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 179px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 269px" height="293" alt="" src="http://www.ou.edu/eeb/EEBblog/FrogMetamorphosis.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via <a href="http://eebatou.wordpress.com/2006/12/16/reading-a-book-for-the-pictures/">Getting things done in Academia</a></span><br /><div><br /><div></div><div>I had off from work, and I spent <em>all day</em> on this blog, and on other's blogs, trying to fish out good poetry. It has left a desperately unsatisfactory feeling. Here is my diagnosis:<br /><br />The endless reels of words<br />And on a little crest<br />A blogger pokes his nose out<br />In a little spray of froth<br /><br />Someone's half-hearted soul<br />Has found a partial birth<br />Someone's messy underwaters<br />Find an amphibious crawl.<br /><br />Tomorrow I am going to do anything but blog.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-38094831670313764092008-03-20T17:28:00.000-07:002008-03-23T13:58:51.193-07:00Poetry Overheard: listening in the subway<a href="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2007/06/26/nyregion/mta600_2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 221px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 128px" height="120" alt="" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2007/06/26/nyregion/mta600_2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/26/nyregion/26mta.html">New York Times</a></span><br />Random clips from different people on different trains:<br /><br />"I don't know what the next stop on this is but at least we're on the right train and headed in the right direction."<br /><br />"He was a banker, right?--That's great."<br /><br />Sign: "Do not hold doors."<br /><br />"I had 2 beers that evening--no, not beers, wines, and that's when I woke up the next morning and I was <em>tip</em>sy."<br /><br />"This is 59th street."<br />"Wha?"<br />"This is 59th street."<br />"Huh?"<br />"Dude, this is 59th street, we want 50th." (The previous stop).<br />"Eek!" (Scamper off through closing doors).<br /><br />Sign: "Best thing to do is not get on the train."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-42576717036284557412008-03-20T15:23:00.000-07:002008-03-20T22:14:25.979-07:00Publication Strategies<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7z-CotkEi0LLpiKO0EzDurz0maqLhVAR3TEh93C1fobolLvGT-kAmpOzFYYLn1e3rX4YIebzQAHeIHRbBk6N3I3RG1xakmygxKU2N8Qcogui05XrRV6oTrotr8z8LSJ61eqPF9jSisIUE/s400/Money+Bag+with+Dollar+Sign.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 193px" height="217" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7z-CotkEi0LLpiKO0EzDurz0maqLhVAR3TEh93C1fobolLvGT-kAmpOzFYYLn1e3rX4YIebzQAHeIHRbBk6N3I3RG1xakmygxKU2N8Qcogui05XrRV6oTrotr8z8LSJ61eqPF9jSisIUE/s400/Money+Bag+with+Dollar+Sign.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://redisntdead.blogspot.com/2007/07/helio-makes-good.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Red</span></a><br /><br />Careful reading of the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1582974330?ie=UTF8&tag=poesjou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1582974330">Poet's Market 2007 (Poet's Market)</a><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; MARGIN: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="1" alt="" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=poesjou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1582974330" width="1" border="0" />reveals an established order to poetry business. I flipped first to the most lucrative section, Contests and Awards, but found that I'm not eligible yet for most, as they require previous publication and a manuscript of at least 50 pages (mine currently runs c.25 pages). Also, most of the contests have hefty entry fees.<br /><br />So, I've settled back a step and come up with the following criteria for initial publishing attempts:<br /><br />1)No entry fees<br />2)Mostly e-mail submission (no funds spent on postage; also allows me to paste this blog into cover letter and thus build readership)<br />3)Kindred Spirit Factor (I'll apply to journals whose focus appeals to me and thus have fun submitting and fodder for future blog posts if nothing else comes of it.)<br /><script src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/s/link-enhancer?tag=poesjou-20&o=1" type="text/javascript"><br /><br /></script><br /><br /><br /><noscript></noscript>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-81546227504743657592008-03-17T11:34:00.000-07:002008-03-23T17:42:26.256-07:00Alejandra<a href="http://us.i1.yimg.com/us.yimg.com/i/mo/thelegendofzorro250.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 159px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 199px" height="217" alt="" src="http://us.i1.yimg.com/us.yimg.com/i/mo/thelegendofzorro250.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://movies.yahoo.com/feature/thelegendofzorro.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Yahoo Movies</span></a><span style="font-size:78%;"> </span><br /><br />I woke up this morning thinking inexplicably of the word Alejandra. I do not even know what it means. But here is what I came up with:<br /><br />Alejandra--what the Spanish<br />language does for humble syllables<br />No English word would flow thus,<br />musically, and above all else emotionally<br />Alejandra--putting emphasis<br />on that middle soft yet gutteral<br />Preceded by two quiet dark eyes<br />and ending in a small smart foot<br />Alejandra--a Spanish musical<br />performed on the stage of four small syllables.<br /><br />Addendum. So, I googled Alejandra and was startled and a little disappointed to find it was a girl's name. I was imagining it was a town's name, or some feature of landscape like a gully or canyon. Disappointed because it makes my human analogies in lines 7-8 less inventive than I thought they were. But maybe that also makes them more pertinent? I think I got the word somewhere out of the movie <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/6305182493?ie=UTF8&tag=poesjou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=6305182493">The Mask of Zorro</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=poesjou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=6305182493" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" />.<br /><br />Further addendum. Hmmm reading about <a href="http://movies.yahoo.com/shop?d=hv&id=1808406689&cf=cast">Zorro</a>, I see that the main character is Alejan<em>dro</em>, a guy. It is funny how memory works. It is sometimes annoying how memory works (or doesn't work). But unpredictable elements of memory can be great fun when they surface as poetry.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-80712605583780196952008-03-16T20:26:00.000-07:002008-03-20T15:42:06.209-07:00Then would my love be true?<a href="http://www.llwyngwril-gallery.co.uk/products/947CopyofHeartPendantJS13.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 82px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 92px" height="170" alt="" src="http://www.llwyngwril-gallery.co.uk/products/947CopyofHeartPendantJS13.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div>Could I but love you smooth and hard<br />Then would my love be true?<br />If I could cut it down to pith<br />And carve out all the bark and twigs;<br />If I could smooth it down to bone<br />And buff it like an ivory charm<br />Without its wormholes, turns, and twists<br />Then would my love be true?<br /></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Image via </span><a href="http://www.llwyngwril-gallery.co.uk/products.php?catid=16&subcatid=49"><span style="font-size:85%;">Llwyngwril Gallery</span></a> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-71375957931066984492008-03-16T19:59:00.000-07:002008-03-30T18:43:04.961-07:00Book: Shira Wolosky's The Art of Poetry<a href="http://www.horskyvodca.sk/pic/matterhorn.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 249px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 188px" height="158" alt="" src="http://www.horskyvodca.sk/pic/matterhorn.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image via </span><a href="http://www.horskyvodca.sk/gallery.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mountain Photogallery</span></a><br /><div><a href="http://i.f.alexander.users.btopenworld.com/patterns/books_on_patterns.htm"><br /></a>There are few things more enjoyable than a good poetry guidebook. Sometimes the field of literary criticism seems aimed more at padding resumes than advancing thought, and the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ponderous</span> re-interpretation gets tiresome. However, I've just found a book of poetry interpretation that is a complete joy. Imagine being shown an incredible glittering mountain. Then being given the tools to climb it. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Shira</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Wolosky's</span> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0195138708?ie=UTF8&tag=poesjou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0195138708">The Art of Poetry: How to Read a Poem</a> is just such a Matterhorn moment.<br /><br />I picked up The Art of Poetry yesterday at the <a href="http://www.nypl.org/research/chss/admin/collections.html">New York Public Library</a>. I've only just skimmed it and read the first chapter, but already have a tighter and more precise understanding of how to go about appreciating a poem. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0195138708?ie=UTF8&tag=poesjou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0195138708">The Art of Poetry: How to Read a Poem</a><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; MARGIN: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="1" alt="" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=poesjou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0195138708" width="1" border="0" />is organized incrementally. It starts with analyzing the most elemental part of a poem--words; and goes on through "Syntax and the Poetic Line", "Images: Smile and Metaphor", on to "Poetic Rhythm" until all elements of a poem have been covered and are seen as fitting into the whole.<br /><br />Here is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Wolosky</span> on words and word placement (this is fabulous!): "In poetry there are multiple reasons for choosing and placing words. There is not one single pattern in a poem, but rather a multiplicity of patterns, all of which ideally interlock in wider and larger designs. There are in fact many designs on many levels, where each meaningful word and element points to the next one, in an endless process of imaginative possibility. These intricate <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">patternings</span> of poetry are what generate the essential nature of poetry: its intense figurative power, to always point beyond one meaning or possibility to further ones. (p.4)"<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Wolosky</span> then goes on to say that "This art of selecting words is called <em><strong>diction</strong></em>." (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Yay</span>! new word!) She looks at how the use of different levels of language, ranging from colloquial to esoterically philosophical, can be contrasted within a poem to surprising effect.<br /><br /><strong>The Art of Poetry</strong> put to use: I want to pay more attention to the levels of language used around me. I want to listen to random fragments of <a href="http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2008/03/language-listening-in-subway.html">speech on the subway</a>, pay attention to how my Aunt discusses the merits of her adorable poodle, and see how newscasters on TV use language.<br /><br /><br /><br /><script src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/s/link-enhancer?tag=poesjou-20&o=1" type="text/javascript"><br /><br /><br /><br /></script><br /><br /><br /><noscript></noscript></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3144858863715452302.post-80812919222880426512008-03-15T22:27:00.001-07:002008-03-20T15:19:28.998-07:00Poet of the Moment: Ilya Kaminsky<a href="http://www.washingtonpoets.org/images/bw2006/ilya_kaminsky_2006.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.washingtonpoets.org/images/bw2006/ilya_kaminsky_2006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">picture via <a href="http://www.washingtonpoets.org/archive/2006/2006_burning_word_general.php">Washington Poets Association</a></span><br /><br /><div>I went to the <a href="http://www.kgbbar.com/calendar/event/2008-03-14_nyu_emerging_wr.html">KGB Bar Poetry Reading</a> on Friday. These are my impressions of poet Ilya Kaminsky and his work:<br /><br />Ilya Kaminsky is really tall. He has a man's walk but when he looks up, a boyish face. Standing over the microphone, at a podium far too small for him, his craned neck has a weird grace. But the most amazing thing about him is his voice. A Russian accent, and I have never heard such mutilated language. His voice quacks and screeches mournfully, chants and crescendos into a harsh whining shout. For closing stanzas, he drops to a low crooning tone that touches you forcefully yet gently. He passed out books of his poetry beforehand, so I read along and don't miss a word. In fact, his wacky voice speaks from print alone as forcefully and strangely as his tones in person, and the two complement each other perfectly.<br /><br />Ilya Kaminsky troubles me. Troubles me first of all because I have never heard such a voice, and it is disconcerting. And his poetry is of a world I am completely unfamiliar with. What I do know of it I have discounted and brushed off as history past. His poems, at least the ones he read to us, deal with a Russia still stumbling out of the old Stalinist regime, a Russia still reeling from the memories. The way Kaminsky hears sounds, notices things, loves, cries, and sorrows is all completely foreign to me. It is disconcerting and troubling to stumble on a faded page of history book and discover in it senses I never knew. Troubling, but concurrently, wonderful.<br /><br />Ilya Kaminsky's website: <a href="http://www.ilyakaminsky.com/">www.ilyakaminsky.com</a><br />His books are available here: <a href="http://www.ilyakaminsky.com/books">www.ilyakaminsky.com/books</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0