Friday, December 28, 2012
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Timothy Bradford Poetry Reading
Before Timothy Bradford began reading poems from Nomads with Samsonite, he sang a song that was very cool and really set the tone for how the reading would go... personal and open. He sang a song that not only reflected his own beliefs, but it opened the field of all our minds to ponder and accept whatever was about to happen next. To be open to all his poetry. He told me later he sang the song as a last minute thing because of a dream he had the night before. I asked him after class to send me a copy of the song because I had loved it so much. He did send it to me, along with other key songs of Milarepa.
Let Your Mind Stay
I can contemplate the sea
But waves make me uneasy
Milarepa tells me how to meditate on waves
If the sea’s as easy as you say
Waves are just the seas play
Let your mind stay within the sea
I can contemplate the sky
But clouds make me uneasy
Milarepa tells me how to meditate on clouds
If the
sky’s as easy as you say
Clouds are just the skies play
Clouds are just the skies play
Let your mind stay within the sky
I can contemplate my mind
But thoughts make me uneasy
Milarepa tells me how to meditate on thoughts
If the mind’s as easy as you say
Thoughts are just the minds play
Let your mind stay within your mind
Bradford went on to read poems from Nomads and gave us some back story on most of them. I love when poets do that. It provides a sense of where we are in space and time and lets the imagery in the mind have something to build on. What I like about Bradford's poetry, is that there is something in every poem to hang on to, something that takes the mind on a journey, but always begins with a relative, grounding point of origin. The poems are often about real objects, people, experiences, that one can connect to, even if it's in an abstract way. There are themes of exploration and consciousness throughout the book based on what we know, touch and feel in our lives, and he explores the world, sometimes playfully, but always contemplating realms of existence. My favorite poems that he read were "Study of Paris in Goose Liver, Glass, and River" and "Arboreal".
Arboreal
The trees planted in
the median
follow me. They
could be a kind of peppertree
given the narrow,
delicate leaves, like
children's fingers, the milky-white
sap, and berries
with a spicy resinous smell.
I try not to look at them,
but there they are,
flaming red and asking
for my attention. The mind's
luminosity
adheres to such things
and makes the world leap
into being.
Without the world, consciousness
shines in the dark cave of
your skull
and can implode or enlighten
depending upon your ease
with such light.
But the alternative - perception,
parsing things up, then labels,
and finally,
the schematic diagrams of the brain -
so often seems an ego trick
to make the little
you feel essential, or in need of
a new car. Or an education.
A friend
is reading Ricoeur in translation.
(Ricoeur's words denser than daylight
is long, so he could
still be reading, though I suspect
you understand "is reading"
as "read."
Don't you know we grow old
through such interpretations?
Couldn't it all be
present progressive?)
I'm dubious about anything
in translation
especially French
literary theory, and wonder
about the hours
he spends grinding his mind,
delicate blossom, through such
machinations.
Such precious time could be
better spent in the parking lot
contemplating
the essential red
of the trees, manifested
seeminly
without translation.
Arboreal
The trees planted in
the median
follow me. They
could be a kind of peppertree
given the narrow,
delicate leaves, like
children's fingers, the milky-white
sap, and berries
with a spicy resinous smell.
I try not to look at them,
but there they are,
flaming red and asking
for my attention. The mind's
luminosity
adheres to such things
and makes the world leap
into being.
Without the world, consciousness
shines in the dark cave of
your skull
and can implode or enlighten
depending upon your ease
with such light.
But the alternative - perception,
parsing things up, then labels,
and finally,
the schematic diagrams of the brain -
so often seems an ego trick
to make the little
you feel essential, or in need of
a new car. Or an education.
A friend
is reading Ricoeur in translation.
(Ricoeur's words denser than daylight
is long, so he could
still be reading, though I suspect
you understand "is reading"
as "read."
Don't you know we grow old
through such interpretations?
Couldn't it all be
present progressive?)
I'm dubious about anything
in translation
especially French
literary theory, and wonder
about the hours
he spends grinding his mind,
delicate blossom, through such
machinations.
Such precious time could be
better spent in the parking lot
contemplating
the essential red
of the trees, manifested
seeminly
without translation.
-Morgen Williams
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Gerald Stern and Anne Marie Macari
About his work, the poet Toi Derricotte has said, "Gerald Stern has made an immense contribution to American poetry. His poems are not only great poems, memorable ones, but ones that get into your heart and stay there. Their lyrical ecstasies take you up for that moment so that your vision is changed, you are changed. The voice is intimate, someone unafraid to be imperfect. Gerald Stern’s poems sing in praise of the natural world, and in outrage of whatever is antihuman."
Poems
Counting (audio)
Anne Marie Macari is an American poet. Her
most recent book is She Heads Into the Wilderness (Autumn House Press,
2008). Her first book won The APR/Honickman First Book Prize in Poetry.
Her poems have been published in many literary journals and magazines,
such as TriQuarterly, Bloomsbury Review, Shenandoah, The American Poetry
Review, Five Points, The Cortland Review and The Iowa Review, and in
anthologies including From the Fishouse (Persea Books, 2009) and Never
Before: Poems About First Experiences (Four Way Books).
A graduate of Oberlin College, she holds an MFA in creative writing from Sarah Lawrence. Macari has taught on the faculty of the Prague Summer Seminars.
She was born in Queens, New York and lives in Lambertville, New Jersey. She is the director of the Drew University Low-Residency MFA Program in Poetry and Poetry in Translation. She is also a member of the Alice James Books Cooperative Board.
A graduate of Oberlin College, she holds an MFA in creative writing from Sarah Lawrence. Macari has taught on the faculty of the Prague Summer Seminars.
She was born in Queens, New York and lives in Lambertville, New Jersey. She is the director of the Drew University Low-Residency MFA Program in Poetry and Poetry in Translation. She is also a member of the Alice James Books Cooperative Board.
Poems
Monday, November 12, 2012
Tom Raworth Poetry Reading
I leave most poetry readings sparked by inspiration that gets me through the week... similar to the feeling one might get after attending church on Sunday. Tom Raworth's poetry reading not only gave me inspiration, but a sense of fulfillment. After being somewhat dismayed by the criticism you sometimes hear of the poetry world, all the talk about competitiveness, the pressure to win prizes for something unique that's never been done before, the fact that yes, the only people who read poetry are in fact poets, and even though there are seemingly more poets today, the poetry movement has been left in the shadows of post-modernism...
It was refreshing to hear a very successful poet with such an organic perspective on poetry, or at least be so open about it. Especially for me, personally. Tom Raworth seemed to make poetry exciting and unexpected again. His poetry comes organically from the moment, not just with the intent of "making it new", but from a natural place. In Dr. Stalling's introduction of Tom Raworth, he referenced this excerpt of an interview with Raworth:
For me - as a writer and a reader - this advice is all I needed to hear. How simple. Things just come out of life. These "things" that poets gather from their life experiences are folded into and expressed by the words and phrases they write, mapping out time and space with their poetry. That's what a poem is after all. For me - it meant this: It's not about writing the best poem that ever existed, or a combination of conceptual poems to write a book of poetry. What is important is that we are honest, open, that we are writing, and then reading. We should write, make art, be creative for ourselves. Making it new, as Ezra Pound said, is only part of the focus. The other part is letting the poem be, letting it exist on the page in the form we see in our minds. We are only paralyzing our own minds if we subtract from our artistic disposition to express ourselves creatively.
Tom Raworth read mostly from his book of collected poems, and then from a book he wrote in 1972 that he had lost, and found again three years ago. Even though he read many poems, the reading did not seem long enough, and we all left with a need in our hearts for more. Some poems were funny, some were a couple lines, and others had lines that hit me so hard with their beauty. A poem that I particularly loved was:
It was refreshing to hear a very successful poet with such an organic perspective on poetry, or at least be so open about it. Especially for me, personally. Tom Raworth seemed to make poetry exciting and unexpected again. His poetry comes organically from the moment, not just with the intent of "making it new", but from a natural place. In Dr. Stalling's introduction of Tom Raworth, he referenced this excerpt of an interview with Raworth:
Josh Jones, in his interview, said:"I think the main difficulty is the sheer number of other poets, both young and old, all of us trying to sell our couple of hundred copies to a largely absent audience. It's so hard to stand out."Do you feel this is the case? (I suppose leading on from that question would be: do you feel that's particularly the case now, as opposed to 10/20/30 years ago?)Raworth: "To me this is pretty irrelevant. As no-one but a relentless academic could read all the material that's now available, what does it matter? And why should you want to "stand out"? What's so important about one's writing? I don't know if there were fewer writers (I suppose statistically there must have been) around 45 years ago. They perhaps weren't so instantly visible. I've never found (except in the depressing "literary scene" sense) poetry to be a competition. Don't you, if you find someone's work interesting, recommend it to your friends? Organic (or perhaps now viral) growth. There's no tape you break after which you can relax. When we were doing Goliard Press we sold (not immediately) between 400 and 700 copies of each book. At that time the "real" publishers printed at most 250 copies. But we were the "small press". I always remember something Val said around that time: "It seems to me fame is just a load of arseholes thinking you're all right."At the risk of sounding trite, what advice would you give younger poets?Write for yourself as reader. Read your own writing as I is another.
For me - as a writer and a reader - this advice is all I needed to hear. How simple. Things just come out of life. These "things" that poets gather from their life experiences are folded into and expressed by the words and phrases they write, mapping out time and space with their poetry. That's what a poem is after all. For me - it meant this: It's not about writing the best poem that ever existed, or a combination of conceptual poems to write a book of poetry. What is important is that we are honest, open, that we are writing, and then reading. We should write, make art, be creative for ourselves. Making it new, as Ezra Pound said, is only part of the focus. The other part is letting the poem be, letting it exist on the page in the form we see in our minds. We are only paralyzing our own minds if we subtract from our artistic disposition to express ourselves creatively.
Tom Raworth read mostly from his book of collected poems, and then from a book he wrote in 1972 that he had lost, and found again three years ago. Even though he read many poems, the reading did not seem long enough, and we all left with a need in our hearts for more. Some poems were funny, some were a couple lines, and others had lines that hit me so hard with their beauty. A poem that I particularly loved was:
"Out of A Sudden"- Tom Raworth
the alphabet wonders
what it should do
paper feels useless
colours lose hue
while all musical notes
perform only in blue
a lombardy poplar
shadows the ground
drifting with swansdown
muffling the sound
at the tip of the lake
of the road to the south
above in the night sky
scattered by chance
stars cease their motion
poppies don't dance
in the grass standing still
by the path no-one walks.
by Morgen Williams
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Tom Raworth Poetry Links
Wednesday, October 24th at 7 pm - The Jacobson House
The Mark Allen Everett Poetry Series is thrilled to have Tom Raworth do a poetry reading this fall. He was scheduled to come to a reading in fall 2011, but he became ill and was not able to come. I know there was some disappointment amongst his fans, but we are honored he has decided to come this fall!
The Mark Allen Everett Poetry Series is thrilled to have Tom Raworth do a poetry reading this fall. He was scheduled to come to a reading in fall 2011, but he became ill and was not able to come. I know there was some disappointment amongst his fans, but we are honored he has decided to come this fall!
Tom Raworth was
born in London in 1938. Since leaving school at 16 he has worked; occasionally
taught; printed and published poetry by others in both magazines and books;
lived in England, the United States and Mexico; had more than 40 books of his
own (poetry and prose) published; been translated into many languages;
exhibited his graphic work worldwide; collaborated with musicians, visual
artists and other writers; and has given readings in more than twenty countries
(most recently China and Mexico). Carcanet published his Collected Poems in
2003, and plan a Selected Poems for his 75th birthday next year. He wonders
where it all went wrong and what he'll do when he grows up.
Poems
Visual Works
Writings
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