I just finished reading Jonathan Safran Foer's Tree of Codes and it is amazing! To create it, he cut holes in a copy of Bruno Schulz's The Street of Crocodiles so that a new narrative is created, partly from the words remaining on each page, and partly from the resulting combination of words on the page one is reading and later pages that one can see via the holes cut in each page. It is postmodern fiction at its best: a text that questions the concept of the book itself while still being a beautiful work of art that affirms the necessity of narrative for human existence.
It is only 134 pages long, and reads more like a long poem that consists of page-long, haiku-like poems than like prose. There is a basic narrative present, but it is secondary to the physical form of the book, which is just as much a piece of plastic art as it is a piece of literature. It is more empty space than text, and some pages (e.g., 60) are virtually all open space.
Here are three of my favorite page-poems (a full list would be about a third of the book's pages):
"Apart from them, mother and I ambled, guiding our shadows over a keyboard of paving stones. we passed the chemist's large jar of pain. we passed houses," 10
"her boundaries held only loosely, ready to scatter as if smoke. all her complaints, all her worries her no purpose, her eyes reflected the garden" 17
"he spoke almost incoherently. he blinked in the light, spilled darkness at each flutter of the lids. he said he had lost the way and hardly knew how to get back. perhaps the city had ceased to exist" 106
But it is difficult to get the full power of these fragments just from reading them; their physical manifestation is just as important.
One of my favorite aspects of the book is its inclusion of various metafictional statements that reaffirm the slipperiness of what the reader experiences:
"It was a dialogue" 29
"our creations will be temporary" 51
"tree of codes suddenly appears: one can see" 94
"nothing can reach a definite conclusion" 95
"The tree of codes was better than a paper imitation" 96
"Perhaps the spaces suggested by the mind did not exist?" 107 (this one is especially true, as the book is so well-constructed that it is often difficult to discern whether what one is reading is on the current page or a following page)
"The interior formed itself into the panorama of a landscape" 117
Tree of Codes is well worth its $40 cover price (amazon.com has it for $26); it is an essential text. I can't wait to teach it sometime!
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Books Acquired Recently
Books Acquired Recently
Beachy, Kirsten Eve, ed. Tongue Screws and Testimonies: Poems Stories, and Essays Inspired by the Martyrs Mirror. Scottdale: Herald, 2010.
I've been meaning to buy this for a while. The Martyrs Mirror is a compilation of Anabaptist martyr stories first published in 1660. It is traditionally given as a wedding or graduation gift by Mennonites as a way of passing down Mennonite values to younger generations. I received it as a Christmas present when I was 16 and read my way through it over several years (it is 1300 folio-sized pages long). I have always been fascinated by it; I think an anthology of literature inspired by people's interactions with it is an excellent idea, and I know several of the contributors, so I am very excited to read it.
Brandt, Di. Walking to Mojacar. Winnipeg: Turnstone, 2010.
Brandt is one of my favorite poets. Her language crackles with energy, and her poems are unashamedly activist while at the same time being beautifully crafted. Unfortunately, as a Canadian, she is not well-known in the U.S., which is a failing of the American English teaching community. There is generally not an institutional space for Canadian literature to get taught in the U.S. because most departments are too small to offer courses in it (and there might not be student interest, but it is our job as teachers/critics to build this interest), and Canadian writers tend to get ignored in postcolonial literature courses. As a result, it is virtually impossible for Canadian writers to gain any traction in the U.S. unless they are lucky enough to be published in high-profile venues such as the New Yorker, as is the case with Margaret Atwood and Alice Munro.
Schakel, Peter, and Jack Ridl, eds. 250 Poems: A Portable Anthology. 2nd ed. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2009.
I ordered this as a desk copy because I will be using it in my Introduction to Literature course this coming semester. It has a nice selection of poems from the Renaissance throught the twenty-first century, a range that is difficult to find. Incidentally, Jack Ridl gave a reading at my alma mater, Goshen College, my last year there. I enjoyed his work.
Beachy, Kirsten Eve, ed. Tongue Screws and Testimonies: Poems Stories, and Essays Inspired by the Martyrs Mirror. Scottdale: Herald, 2010.
I've been meaning to buy this for a while. The Martyrs Mirror is a compilation of Anabaptist martyr stories first published in 1660. It is traditionally given as a wedding or graduation gift by Mennonites as a way of passing down Mennonite values to younger generations. I received it as a Christmas present when I was 16 and read my way through it over several years (it is 1300 folio-sized pages long). I have always been fascinated by it; I think an anthology of literature inspired by people's interactions with it is an excellent idea, and I know several of the contributors, so I am very excited to read it.
Brandt, Di. Walking to Mojacar. Winnipeg: Turnstone, 2010.
Brandt is one of my favorite poets. Her language crackles with energy, and her poems are unashamedly activist while at the same time being beautifully crafted. Unfortunately, as a Canadian, she is not well-known in the U.S., which is a failing of the American English teaching community. There is generally not an institutional space for Canadian literature to get taught in the U.S. because most departments are too small to offer courses in it (and there might not be student interest, but it is our job as teachers/critics to build this interest), and Canadian writers tend to get ignored in postcolonial literature courses. As a result, it is virtually impossible for Canadian writers to gain any traction in the U.S. unless they are lucky enough to be published in high-profile venues such as the New Yorker, as is the case with Margaret Atwood and Alice Munro.
Schakel, Peter, and Jack Ridl, eds. 250 Poems: A Portable Anthology. 2nd ed. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2009.
I ordered this as a desk copy because I will be using it in my Introduction to Literature course this coming semester. It has a nice selection of poems from the Renaissance throught the twenty-first century, a range that is difficult to find. Incidentally, Jack Ridl gave a reading at my alma mater, Goshen College, my last year there. I enjoyed his work.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Books Acquired Recently
Books Acquired Recently
I received a $50.00 giftcard to Barnes & Noble from a friend this past weekend and finally got a chance to spend it tonight. My philosophy in such situations is to spend the giftcard in the store rather than online (where I buy the large majority of my books [in part because DeKalb doesn't have any good bookstores]) in order to periodically get the satisfying experience of browsing in a bookstore without a specific goal for what I will purchase. Unfortunately, my library is extensive enough that it can be difficult to find desirable books that I don't already own at chain bookstores. I am happy with what I found this evening, but what I bought was all that I found--slim pickings.
Burroughs, William S. Naked Lunch: The Restored Text. Ed. James Grauerholz and Barry Miles. 1959. New York: Grove, 2001.
I've been meaning to read this for a while. It's a little embarrassing that I haven't gotten around to it yet. I looked for it every time I have been in a used bookstore for the past year or so and didn't find a copy, which could indicate that those who own it are loathe to part with it, a good sign (I had the same experience with Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club for about five years, and finally broke down and bought it new several months ago).
Dick, Philip K. The Man in the High Castle. 1962. New York: Vintage, 1992.
Dick is another author I've been meaning to read for a while. I have almost bought the Library of America's first collection of his work several times because their editions are so aesthetically pleasing, but haven't been able to find it for a good price ($35.00 is a bit steep for an author I've never read before and am not obligated to be familiar with for scholarly reasons). After reading the section on Dick in Thomas Disch's The Dreams Our Stuff is Made Of, I decided that The Man in the High Castle sounded fascinating, but the rest of his work did not, thus I decided to buy the single volume tonight rather than the collection.
When I had a vasectomy six years ago, the doctor knew that I studied literature, and he mentioned that he enjoyed reading Dick and then proceeded to make jokes about him throughout the procedure: "I love Dick," "I'm a big Dick fan," et cetera. One of the most bizarre experiences of my life.
Reed, Ishmael, ed. From Totems to Hip-Hop: A Multicultural Anthology of Poetry Across the Americas, 1900-2002. New York: Thunder's Mouth, 2003.
I am obsessed with poetry anthologies in part because of their role in canon formation and in part because they serve as intriguing historical documents once they get old because of all of the writers included in them who then fade away. This one looked exciting on the shelf: an editor whose work I love and parameters (both in terms of ethnicity/nationality and genre--I am a big supporter of the recent trend in studying music lyrics, especially rap lyrics, as poetry) that are not repeated by any of the other anthologies I own. I've been reading much more poetry in the last six months than I had for at least five years, really craving it again, which has been quite enjoyable.
I received a $50.00 giftcard to Barnes & Noble from a friend this past weekend and finally got a chance to spend it tonight. My philosophy in such situations is to spend the giftcard in the store rather than online (where I buy the large majority of my books [in part because DeKalb doesn't have any good bookstores]) in order to periodically get the satisfying experience of browsing in a bookstore without a specific goal for what I will purchase. Unfortunately, my library is extensive enough that it can be difficult to find desirable books that I don't already own at chain bookstores. I am happy with what I found this evening, but what I bought was all that I found--slim pickings.
Burroughs, William S. Naked Lunch: The Restored Text. Ed. James Grauerholz and Barry Miles. 1959. New York: Grove, 2001.
I've been meaning to read this for a while. It's a little embarrassing that I haven't gotten around to it yet. I looked for it every time I have been in a used bookstore for the past year or so and didn't find a copy, which could indicate that those who own it are loathe to part with it, a good sign (I had the same experience with Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club for about five years, and finally broke down and bought it new several months ago).
Dick, Philip K. The Man in the High Castle. 1962. New York: Vintage, 1992.
Dick is another author I've been meaning to read for a while. I have almost bought the Library of America's first collection of his work several times because their editions are so aesthetically pleasing, but haven't been able to find it for a good price ($35.00 is a bit steep for an author I've never read before and am not obligated to be familiar with for scholarly reasons). After reading the section on Dick in Thomas Disch's The Dreams Our Stuff is Made Of, I decided that The Man in the High Castle sounded fascinating, but the rest of his work did not, thus I decided to buy the single volume tonight rather than the collection.
When I had a vasectomy six years ago, the doctor knew that I studied literature, and he mentioned that he enjoyed reading Dick and then proceeded to make jokes about him throughout the procedure: "I love Dick," "I'm a big Dick fan," et cetera. One of the most bizarre experiences of my life.
Reed, Ishmael, ed. From Totems to Hip-Hop: A Multicultural Anthology of Poetry Across the Americas, 1900-2002. New York: Thunder's Mouth, 2003.
I am obsessed with poetry anthologies in part because of their role in canon formation and in part because they serve as intriguing historical documents once they get old because of all of the writers included in them who then fade away. This one looked exciting on the shelf: an editor whose work I love and parameters (both in terms of ethnicity/nationality and genre--I am a big supporter of the recent trend in studying music lyrics, especially rap lyrics, as poetry) that are not repeated by any of the other anthologies I own. I've been reading much more poetry in the last six months than I had for at least five years, really craving it again, which has been quite enjoyable.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Books Acquired Recently
Books Acquired Recently:
I've gone a little crazy buying books in the past few weeks. Not all of them have even arrived yet! These are the ones I've received so far.
Brooks, Gwendolyn. The Essential Gwendolyn Brooks. Ed. Elizabeth Alexander. New York: Library of America, 2005.
I would love to teach Brooks extensively sometime rather than just a few poems from an anthology, but her Selected Poems does not include any of her work from the Black Arts Movement, which is what I am most interested in, so I ordered this collection to see if it would be suitable to use instead because it covers her entire career.
Germano, William. From Dissertation to Book. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2005.
My big writing project this summer is to revise my dissertation into book form so that I can begin submitting book proposals to publishers. I read Germano's book last night and it was quite helpful in giving me a map for going about my revisions.
Johnson, E. Patrick, and Mae G. Henderson, eds. Black Queer Studies: A Critical Anthology. Durham: Duke UP, 2005.
Amazon recommended this to me, and it looks interesting. African American literature and LGBT studies are my two scholarly foci these days, so this should be a helpful resource.
Koch, Kenneth. Kenneth Koch: Selected Poems. Ed. Ron Padgett. New York: Library of America, 2007.
I've been meaning to read Koch for years because of his close friendship with my favorite poet, Frank O'Hara. There have been numerous times in the past few years when I've almost bought this collection, but then didn't. Labyrinth Books had it on sale for $6.00 new, so I decided now was the time.
McEvoy, Seth. Samuel R. Delany. New York: Ungar, 1984.
My next book project is on Delany, so last week I ordered copies of all of the books on him that I didn't already own. Delany says in About Writing that McEvoy's book is the worst one about his work, so I won't use it much (if at all), but I like to be throrough. There is little enough criticism on Delany that one can't be choosy.
Moore, Honor, ed. Poems From the Women's Movement. New York: Library of America, 2009.
This looked really interesting when I saw it in the Labyrinth Books catalogue, and it was only $6.00. It might be fun to teach in a Rhetoric course. I am a total sucker for Library of America books because they are so aesthetically pleasing.
Puar, Jasbir K. Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times. Durham: Duke UP, 2007.
Amazon recommended this to me after I ordered Johnson and Henderson's anthology. I am very much interested in the literature of terrorism and more broadly the continuing after-effects of 9/11, so Puar's book sounds very interesting to me, though I probably won't have time to read it for a while.
Stine, Jean Marie. Season of the Witch. 1968. San Francisco: Eros, 2011.
I read about Stine's book in Thomas Disch's The Dreams our Stuff is Made Of, and it sounded interesting. I am constantly looking for examples of transgender fiction, and they are few and far between, so Stine helps fill the gap.
I've gone a little crazy buying books in the past few weeks. Not all of them have even arrived yet! These are the ones I've received so far.
Brooks, Gwendolyn. The Essential Gwendolyn Brooks. Ed. Elizabeth Alexander. New York: Library of America, 2005.
I would love to teach Brooks extensively sometime rather than just a few poems from an anthology, but her Selected Poems does not include any of her work from the Black Arts Movement, which is what I am most interested in, so I ordered this collection to see if it would be suitable to use instead because it covers her entire career.
Germano, William. From Dissertation to Book. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2005.
My big writing project this summer is to revise my dissertation into book form so that I can begin submitting book proposals to publishers. I read Germano's book last night and it was quite helpful in giving me a map for going about my revisions.
Johnson, E. Patrick, and Mae G. Henderson, eds. Black Queer Studies: A Critical Anthology. Durham: Duke UP, 2005.
Amazon recommended this to me, and it looks interesting. African American literature and LGBT studies are my two scholarly foci these days, so this should be a helpful resource.
Koch, Kenneth. Kenneth Koch: Selected Poems. Ed. Ron Padgett. New York: Library of America, 2007.
I've been meaning to read Koch for years because of his close friendship with my favorite poet, Frank O'Hara. There have been numerous times in the past few years when I've almost bought this collection, but then didn't. Labyrinth Books had it on sale for $6.00 new, so I decided now was the time.
McEvoy, Seth. Samuel R. Delany. New York: Ungar, 1984.
My next book project is on Delany, so last week I ordered copies of all of the books on him that I didn't already own. Delany says in About Writing that McEvoy's book is the worst one about his work, so I won't use it much (if at all), but I like to be throrough. There is little enough criticism on Delany that one can't be choosy.
Moore, Honor, ed. Poems From the Women's Movement. New York: Library of America, 2009.
This looked really interesting when I saw it in the Labyrinth Books catalogue, and it was only $6.00. It might be fun to teach in a Rhetoric course. I am a total sucker for Library of America books because they are so aesthetically pleasing.
Puar, Jasbir K. Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times. Durham: Duke UP, 2007.
Amazon recommended this to me after I ordered Johnson and Henderson's anthology. I am very much interested in the literature of terrorism and more broadly the continuing after-effects of 9/11, so Puar's book sounds very interesting to me, though I probably won't have time to read it for a while.
Stine, Jean Marie. Season of the Witch. 1968. San Francisco: Eros, 2011.
I read about Stine's book in Thomas Disch's The Dreams our Stuff is Made Of, and it sounded interesting. I am constantly looking for examples of transgender fiction, and they are few and far between, so Stine helps fill the gap.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Thoughts on Cavafy
This evening I've been reading in The Complete Poems of [Constantine] Cavafy (the 1976 Rae Dalven translation) in between innings of the Mets-Nationals game. I first encountered his poetry in J.D. McClatchy's anthology Love Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love Poems and enjoyed it enough to desire more.
Cavafy's poems are almost all either love poems (the majority of them clearly homoerotic) or retellings of ancient Greek myths or history. The latter are not very good (compared, for instance, with the skillful way in which H.D. writes about the same subject matter), but the love poems are excellent. They tend to be short vignettes, beautifully crafted, about brief liaisons and the former lovers of the speaker's youth.
"On Painting" especially stands out to me:
I attend to my work and I love it.
But today the languor of composition disheartens me.
The day has affected me. Its face
is deepening dark. It continues to blow and rain.
I would sooner see than speak.
In this painting now, I am looking at
a beautiful lad who is stretched out
near the fountain, probably worn out from running.
What a beautiful child; what a divine noon
has now overtaken him to lull him to sleep.--
I sit and look so for a long time.
And again it is in art that I rest from its toil.
That last line is spectacular: the idea that the turmoil caused by the struggle to create beauty ("the languor of composition disheartens me") can only be assuaged by beauty's calming influence.
I love the depiction of visual art in poetry. Cavafy describes the path to the sublime that the best paintings reveal to viewers in a way that is reminiscent of Frank O'Hara's poem "Why I am Not a Painter," which also speaks of the mysterious beauty of painting from a sideways angle, using a painting as an illustration of this beauty rather than attempting a straightforward description of its essence.
Cavafy's poems are almost all either love poems (the majority of them clearly homoerotic) or retellings of ancient Greek myths or history. The latter are not very good (compared, for instance, with the skillful way in which H.D. writes about the same subject matter), but the love poems are excellent. They tend to be short vignettes, beautifully crafted, about brief liaisons and the former lovers of the speaker's youth.
"On Painting" especially stands out to me:
I attend to my work and I love it.
But today the languor of composition disheartens me.
The day has affected me. Its face
is deepening dark. It continues to blow and rain.
I would sooner see than speak.
In this painting now, I am looking at
a beautiful lad who is stretched out
near the fountain, probably worn out from running.
What a beautiful child; what a divine noon
has now overtaken him to lull him to sleep.--
I sit and look so for a long time.
And again it is in art that I rest from its toil.
That last line is spectacular: the idea that the turmoil caused by the struggle to create beauty ("the languor of composition disheartens me") can only be assuaged by beauty's calming influence.
I love the depiction of visual art in poetry. Cavafy describes the path to the sublime that the best paintings reveal to viewers in a way that is reminiscent of Frank O'Hara's poem "Why I am Not a Painter," which also speaks of the mysterious beauty of painting from a sideways angle, using a painting as an illustration of this beauty rather than attempting a straightforward description of its essence.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Tim Dlugos Lives!
I just found out today that Tim Dlugos's Collected Poems is coming out next month, edited by David Trinidad. Dlugos died of AIDS in 1990 just as he was becoming established as a significant poetic voice not only in the gay literary community, but in the wider poetry community as well. Since then he's been virtually ignored by anthologists and critics with the exception of a few short articles by Trinidad.
I was introduced to Dlugos's work when a professor of mine suggested I do a paper on him about five years ago (I have been remiss in failing to either revise it for publication or at least present it at a conference, but will have to revisit it once the new book is released). I love his poems because they have a vitality to them that is Frank O'Hara-esque. O'Hara is my favorite poet; thus that is one of the highest compliments I can pay another writer.
For instance, here is "Not Stravinsky" in full:
Dark-eyed boy in tight designer jeans and sneakers on your way from basketball practice at Bishop Somebody High, I
don't know what you're playing on your Walkman but it probably is not Stravinsky. (Powerless 46)
I love the Whitman-esque long lines (the poem is only two lines long even though each line is long enough to take up two lines of print) and subject matter. The same-sex desire expressed in the poem is beautiful, a fleeting moment of both enjoyment and sadness (the desire going completely unrequited) for the speaker (presumably Dlugos), the knowledge that all the two will ever share is a fleeting moment in passing that isn't even recognized by the boy, but is striking enough for Dlugos to commemorate in a poem. We see here the immediacy of O'Hara's "I do this I do that" poems, that urgency to get an experience down on paper before one moves on with the day, with the rest of life. Dlugos's "On This Train Are People Who Resemble" is also in this vein, an everyday list poem colored by the New York City vibe and references to pop culture. In fact, one could pass it off as a lost O'Hara poem to readers unfamiliar with Dlugos's work.
Hopefully this new collection will put Dlugos back on readers' radar because his work is too good to disappear outside the boundaries of the canon, which, for all its problematic characteristics, is useful for keeping essential literature in print. The best-case scenario would be for Dlugos's Collected Poems to do for his critical reputation what O'Hara's did for his when it was first published in 1971 (O'Hara was more well-known then than Dlugos is now among poetry lovers, but not yet among critics from the academy). Dlugos's Powerless: Selected Poems 1973-1990 (New York: High Risk Books, 1996, also edited by Trinidad), which is an excellent, concise collection, unfortunately did little to stir interest in his work.
I was introduced to Dlugos's work when a professor of mine suggested I do a paper on him about five years ago (I have been remiss in failing to either revise it for publication or at least present it at a conference, but will have to revisit it once the new book is released). I love his poems because they have a vitality to them that is Frank O'Hara-esque. O'Hara is my favorite poet; thus that is one of the highest compliments I can pay another writer.
For instance, here is "Not Stravinsky" in full:
Dark-eyed boy in tight designer jeans and sneakers on your way from basketball practice at Bishop Somebody High, I
don't know what you're playing on your Walkman but it probably is not Stravinsky. (Powerless 46)
I love the Whitman-esque long lines (the poem is only two lines long even though each line is long enough to take up two lines of print) and subject matter. The same-sex desire expressed in the poem is beautiful, a fleeting moment of both enjoyment and sadness (the desire going completely unrequited) for the speaker (presumably Dlugos), the knowledge that all the two will ever share is a fleeting moment in passing that isn't even recognized by the boy, but is striking enough for Dlugos to commemorate in a poem. We see here the immediacy of O'Hara's "I do this I do that" poems, that urgency to get an experience down on paper before one moves on with the day, with the rest of life. Dlugos's "On This Train Are People Who Resemble" is also in this vein, an everyday list poem colored by the New York City vibe and references to pop culture. In fact, one could pass it off as a lost O'Hara poem to readers unfamiliar with Dlugos's work.
Hopefully this new collection will put Dlugos back on readers' radar because his work is too good to disappear outside the boundaries of the canon, which, for all its problematic characteristics, is useful for keeping essential literature in print. The best-case scenario would be for Dlugos's Collected Poems to do for his critical reputation what O'Hara's did for his when it was first published in 1971 (O'Hara was more well-known then than Dlugos is now among poetry lovers, but not yet among critics from the academy). Dlugos's Powerless: Selected Poems 1973-1990 (New York: High Risk Books, 1996, also edited by Trinidad), which is an excellent, concise collection, unfortunately did little to stir interest in his work.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Thoughts on Re-Reading
Later this afternoon I am going to begin re-reading Salman Rushdie's The Satanic Verses for the first time since I bought it at the Strand (12th and Broadway in NYC) in summer 2003. I claim Rushdie as one of my favorite authors, but I haven't actually read any of his work since reading Midnight's Children in late 2005. Thus I am excited to get back to him.
I have done hardly any re-reading over the past seven years while I've been in graduate school (except in those instances where a book was assigned in several of my classes or I assigned a book to my classes multiple times [e.g., Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close], and also when studying for my Ph.D. exams) because I have not had the time. This is a practice that I miss, because I almost always find that I gain new insights into a text the second (or third, etc.) time around. I like the idea of having a set of texts that one returns to for sustenance throughout one's life as reminders for who one is and where one finds beauty in the world. Religious persons would use the term "sacred texts" to label what I am describing, and I like this term even though I am not religious and don't really care whether a "God" exists (actions are what is important, not whether some unprovable supernatural being is out there or not) because it signifies the idea that some texts help us experience the sublime, the beauty of the world (which are both important concepts for secular folks to claim) better than others.
Texts that have played this "sacred" role for me in the past and that I wish I had time now to re-read, but do not, include Chaim Potok's My Name is Asher Lev, Rudy Wiebe's The Blue Mountains of China, Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, and Di Brandt's poetry. Two authors that I have been able to re-read and continue to re-read as I have the time are Walt Whitman and Samuel R. Delany, both of whom I try to teach whenever possible. In Whitman's case, it's much easier to find time to re-read a poem or two (or a section of "Song of Myself" as the case may be) than a novel.
Part of what makes it so difficult to re-read is that I am always finding new books to read as well. I have at least a dozen new books on my shelf (mostly novels) waiting for me. Certainly my book-buying addiction does not lend itself to contemplative returns to old friends.
Also, sometimes I love parentheses a little too much.
I have done hardly any re-reading over the past seven years while I've been in graduate school (except in those instances where a book was assigned in several of my classes or I assigned a book to my classes multiple times [e.g., Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close], and also when studying for my Ph.D. exams) because I have not had the time. This is a practice that I miss, because I almost always find that I gain new insights into a text the second (or third, etc.) time around. I like the idea of having a set of texts that one returns to for sustenance throughout one's life as reminders for who one is and where one finds beauty in the world. Religious persons would use the term "sacred texts" to label what I am describing, and I like this term even though I am not religious and don't really care whether a "God" exists (actions are what is important, not whether some unprovable supernatural being is out there or not) because it signifies the idea that some texts help us experience the sublime, the beauty of the world (which are both important concepts for secular folks to claim) better than others.
Texts that have played this "sacred" role for me in the past and that I wish I had time now to re-read, but do not, include Chaim Potok's My Name is Asher Lev, Rudy Wiebe's The Blue Mountains of China, Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, and Di Brandt's poetry. Two authors that I have been able to re-read and continue to re-read as I have the time are Walt Whitman and Samuel R. Delany, both of whom I try to teach whenever possible. In Whitman's case, it's much easier to find time to re-read a poem or two (or a section of "Song of Myself" as the case may be) than a novel.
Part of what makes it so difficult to re-read is that I am always finding new books to read as well. I have at least a dozen new books on my shelf (mostly novels) waiting for me. Certainly my book-buying addiction does not lend itself to contemplative returns to old friends.
Also, sometimes I love parentheses a little too much.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Being Scholarly
Today has been an excellent, well-rounded day of scholarly activity. I taught the first quarter of my favorite book, Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, in my Masterpieces of American Literature course, read some early Allen Ginsberg poems in preparation for a lecture on him that I am attending tomorrow, and wrote an abstract on the role of nudity in Samuel R. Delany’s work for a queer studies conference next October. Ginsberg and Delany are two of the inspirations for my beard (Walt Whitman is the third); it was a happy coincidence that they both played a role in my day. Writing the abstract was my favorite part of the day because it came so easily. It was one of those rare writing experiences where I can barely type fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. This was in part because Delany is consistently very open about his body in his nonfiction and about his characters’ bodies in his fiction, so there is a lot of material to write about, but also because now that I have a job for next year I can focus on my scholarship again, which I have missed deeply. It feels good to get the creative juices flowing, to be reminded that I can still think in a scholarly way after not having done so since November, really.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
An encouraging poetry reading/Books Acquired Recently
This past Friday (4 April 2008) I attended a poetry reading at Northern Illinois University featuring John Bradley, Lucien Stryk, and the current Illinois Poet Laureate, Kevin Stein. The reading was packed, probably close to two hundred people were there, enough that some people had to stand in the back the entire time.
I have heard Bradley read before, and I enjoy listening to him talk about his poems because they often include uncommon-yet-fascinating subject matter, e.g., he has a poem about footnotes.
I have heard a lot about Stryk and about how his poetry is life-changingly influential in many people's lives, but had never read any of his poetry or heard him read before. Sadly, he is old enough now that he could only get his words out at a very slow pace, which hurt the ability of his poems to make much of an impact on the audience if they were not already familiar with his work. I was at a reading three years ago in which W.S. Merwin had the same problem; it just comes with the territory of getting old. But if you are that old and people still want to hear you read your poetry, I guess that is not such a bad way to go.
Quite frankly, I had never heard of Stein before, and I almost laughed when I found out that he is Gwendolyn Brooks' successor. It seems that there would be another poet in Illinois who is more deserving of the honor (Li-Young Lee, anyone?). But once Stein got through his annoyingly self-serving spiel about all he does as poet laureate and began reading his poems, I was rather impressed, enough so that I bought a copy of his latest collection, American Ghost Roses. My favorite Stein poem was "An American Tale of Sex and Death," which includes a description of "Olivia Hussey's / olive chest splashed on screen, each breast maybe / four feet across and deeply cleaved" in Romeo and Juliet. In fifth grade my teacher had us watch Romeo and Juliet because it was the class play for that year (I was Lord Capulet), and I remember when Hussey's breasts flashed on the screen it was breathtaking.
Book Acquired Recently
Kevin Stein, American Ghost Roses.
I have heard Bradley read before, and I enjoy listening to him talk about his poems because they often include uncommon-yet-fascinating subject matter, e.g., he has a poem about footnotes.
I have heard a lot about Stryk and about how his poetry is life-changingly influential in many people's lives, but had never read any of his poetry or heard him read before. Sadly, he is old enough now that he could only get his words out at a very slow pace, which hurt the ability of his poems to make much of an impact on the audience if they were not already familiar with his work. I was at a reading three years ago in which W.S. Merwin had the same problem; it just comes with the territory of getting old. But if you are that old and people still want to hear you read your poetry, I guess that is not such a bad way to go.
Quite frankly, I had never heard of Stein before, and I almost laughed when I found out that he is Gwendolyn Brooks' successor. It seems that there would be another poet in Illinois who is more deserving of the honor (Li-Young Lee, anyone?). But once Stein got through his annoyingly self-serving spiel about all he does as poet laureate and began reading his poems, I was rather impressed, enough so that I bought a copy of his latest collection, American Ghost Roses. My favorite Stein poem was "An American Tale of Sex and Death," which includes a description of "Olivia Hussey's / olive chest splashed on screen, each breast maybe / four feet across and deeply cleaved" in Romeo and Juliet. In fifth grade my teacher had us watch Romeo and Juliet because it was the class play for that year (I was Lord Capulet), and I remember when Hussey's breasts flashed on the screen it was breathtaking.
Book Acquired Recently
Kevin Stein, American Ghost Roses.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Thoughts on Robert Herrick's poetry
I possess a general dislike for literature written before 1816 (Frankenstein), but I've been reading some of Robert Herrick's poetry (1591-1674), and it's pretty cool (yes, even the over-anthologized "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time"). I am especially drawn to his treatment of the erotic in poems such as "Upon the Loss of His Mistresses," "Cherry-Ripe," "Corinna's Going A Maying," and the unforgettable "Fresh Cheese and Cream." (Would ye have fresh Cheese and Cream? / Julia's Breast can give you them: / And if more; each Nipple cries, / To your Cream, here's Strawberries.) These poems are humorous, almost light verse, yet they are also respectful and profound.
I am especially drawn to "Delight in Disorder," which describes the alluring nature of a woman undoing her clothing before sex. What intrigues me about this poem is that Herrick writes it as an employee of the Church of England, an institution which would certainly not delight in the disordering of things, especially when that disordering involved illicit sex. So Herrick places the erotic in conflict with the religious. The two combatants are closely tied together - the Church is obsessed with sex (what other natural activity has so many rules governing it?), and part of the allure of sex is that it is a traditionally taboo activity - but Herrick's poem forces the reader to choose a side. Do you prefer chaste order, or do you prefer the disorder of "An erring lace" and "tempestuous petticoats?" I know what my choice is.
I am especially drawn to "Delight in Disorder," which describes the alluring nature of a woman undoing her clothing before sex. What intrigues me about this poem is that Herrick writes it as an employee of the Church of England, an institution which would certainly not delight in the disordering of things, especially when that disordering involved illicit sex. So Herrick places the erotic in conflict with the religious. The two combatants are closely tied together - the Church is obsessed with sex (what other natural activity has so many rules governing it?), and part of the allure of sex is that it is a traditionally taboo activity - but Herrick's poem forces the reader to choose a side. Do you prefer chaste order, or do you prefer the disorder of "An erring lace" and "tempestuous petticoats?" I know what my choice is.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Thinking about poetry
I haven't been reading much poetry lately, and I haven't written any in over two years, but lately it's been popping up here and there in my life, as though the universe is telling me to revisit it. For instance, last night I was at a party when someone asked me what I thought of Yusef Komunyakaa. I replied that I think his poetry is only so-so, and immediately a third person responded with a gasp of horror and a verbal rejoinder to my opinion. I haven't been involved in a stimulating poetry-related occurence like this in ages, and it felt really good.
I stopped interacting with poetry (and by poetry I mean written, not oral poetry) because I am frustrated with academic poetry (i.e., poetry stemming from MFA programs, and the university millieu in general, which with rare exceptions is the only kind of poetry being written in the U.S. today). Its level of discourse is so exclusive, the reader must be a part of the academic world (subculture may be a better word here, but I don't even want to give this world the validation that calling it a "subculture" would give it) from which it comes in order to access the poems, which is not how poetry (or literature in general) should be. It should be from the gut, a visceral experience for both writer and reader that only requires an open, critical mind for the possibility of a revelation or sublime episode to be there. Instead, academic poetry too often requires a knowledge of the various philosophies behind it to become profitable to the reader, e.g., L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry, which is really literary theory written without paragraphs.
This inherent elitism saddens me because it automatically takes poetry outside of the realm of cultural relevance. That is why I prefer poets like Frank O'Hara, Tim Dlugos, Sherman Alexie, Julia Alvarez, and Amiri Baraka whose poems are rooted in everyday life, but also transcend it, whereas poets like those who publish in "important" magazines such as Poetry seem to be writing about life in some nonexistent head-world.
I stopped interacting with poetry (and by poetry I mean written, not oral poetry) because I am frustrated with academic poetry (i.e., poetry stemming from MFA programs, and the university millieu in general, which with rare exceptions is the only kind of poetry being written in the U.S. today). Its level of discourse is so exclusive, the reader must be a part of the academic world (subculture may be a better word here, but I don't even want to give this world the validation that calling it a "subculture" would give it) from which it comes in order to access the poems, which is not how poetry (or literature in general) should be. It should be from the gut, a visceral experience for both writer and reader that only requires an open, critical mind for the possibility of a revelation or sublime episode to be there. Instead, academic poetry too often requires a knowledge of the various philosophies behind it to become profitable to the reader, e.g., L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry, which is really literary theory written without paragraphs.
This inherent elitism saddens me because it automatically takes poetry outside of the realm of cultural relevance. That is why I prefer poets like Frank O'Hara, Tim Dlugos, Sherman Alexie, Julia Alvarez, and Amiri Baraka whose poems are rooted in everyday life, but also transcend it, whereas poets like those who publish in "important" magazines such as Poetry seem to be writing about life in some nonexistent head-world.
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