ursprache
sometimes the words escape me
7.21.2024
poetry wants you
Poetry opens its arms to people society has trouble accepting.
Labels:
acceptance,
arms,
poetry,
society,
welcome
7.19.2024
extrusion publishing
No respect for a press that doesn’t protect its list.
Labels:
discernment,
list,
literary publishing,
press
7.18.2024
world falls silent
No one really likes starlings.
For that reason alone, I continue
to savor them as they dip and dim
and vanish, taking with them
stemma, chrysalis, reticulate, telluric,
umbra, redolence, circumjacence,
and the verb perpend—each one
endangered, nearly extinct, desperate
for a mouth to roost in, for a tongue
that will relish the taste of its consonants
and vowels. What else might a word want?
A mind that respects what words mean.
Enough heart to know that within each
word left unsaid, a lost autochthonous
world falls silent. No assonance,
not even an echo. Each unused word an urn.
—Margaret Gibson, closing of the poem “Elegy, with Murmuration of Starlings,” Connecticut River Review, 2024
For that reason alone, I continue
to savor them as they dip and dim
and vanish, taking with them
stemma, chrysalis, reticulate, telluric,
umbra, redolence, circumjacence,
and the verb perpend—each one
endangered, nearly extinct, desperate
for a mouth to roost in, for a tongue
that will relish the taste of its consonants
and vowels. What else might a word want?
A mind that respects what words mean.
Enough heart to know that within each
word left unsaid, a lost autochthonous
world falls silent. No assonance,
not even an echo. Each unused word an urn.
—Margaret Gibson, closing of the poem “Elegy, with Murmuration of Starlings,” Connecticut River Review, 2024
Labels:
margaret gibson,
starlings,
urn,
vocabulary,
words
7.17.2024
7.16.2024
7.15.2024
i think therefore iamb
He was beginning to think in iambs or else he was starting to hear his pulse inside his head.
makes itself new
Unless the world stands still, poetry will change.
Labels:
change,
make it new,
new,
still,
world
7.13.2024
weak critic
A critic who only took on books by no-accounts so as not to offend any of the gatekeepers.
Labels:
book reviewing,
critic,
gatekeeper
7.11.2024
composition or content
There are people who keep commonplace books for their compositional and calligraphic beauty. Other people will scrawl over the pages or paste in clippings askew, concerned only with the quality of the content they’ve captured.
Labels:
askew,
calligraphic,
commonplace book,
composition,
content
7.10.2024
7.09.2024
no tail no donkey
…one finds it unbearable that poetry should be so hard to write—a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey in which there is for most of the players no tail, no donkey, not even a booby prize. If there were only some mechanism (like Seurat's proposed system of painting, or the projected Universal Algebra that Gödel believes Leibnitz to have perfected and mislaid) for reasonably and systematically converting into poetry what we see and feel and are! When one reads the verse of people who cannot write poems—people who sometimes have more intelligence, sensibility, and moral discrimination than most of the poets—it is hard not to regard the Muse as a sort of fairy godmother who says to the poet, after her colleagues have showered on him the most disconcerting and ambiguous gifts, "Well, never mind. You're still the only one that can write poetry."
—Randall Jarrell, from the brief essay “Bad Poets” (1953)
—Randall Jarrell, from the brief essay “Bad Poets” (1953)
7.08.2024
faux poems
Poet, if you don’t have anything to say—that’s okay. Just wait. Don’t fall for the faux poems that come from prompts.
7.07.2024
bigger than us
Poetry is bigger than you or me and any of our predilections.
Labels:
bigger,
poetry is,
predilections,
taste
7.05.2024
bad day for poets
It has been estimated that if Brooklyn suddenly slid into the Atlantic, the U.S. would lose 50% of its poets in a single catastrophic event.
Labels:
atlantic,
brooklyn,
catastrophe,
lives of the poets
7.04.2024
young and beautiful
All the poets are getting younger and more beautiful.
Labels:
age,
beautiful,
lives of the poets,
times,
youth
7.02.2024
mere description
I have always thought it was worth paying attention to actions or qualities routinely dismissed as mere when they appear in writing about art, literature, the world. Mere description, for instance, is in reality the most vexing thing to attempt when faced with any form of art, let alone aspect of reality.
—Brian Dillon, “Essay on Affinity II,” Affinities: On Art and Fascination (New York Review of Books, 2023)
—Brian Dillon, “Essay on Affinity II,” Affinities: On Art and Fascination (New York Review of Books, 2023)
Labels:
art,
description,
difficult,
literature,
mere,
reality
7.01.2024
only one-hundred
These days if you are familiar with the work of one-hundred contemporary poets you’re just getting started.
Labels:
contemporary poets,
familiar,
one-hundred
6.30.2024
slow reveal
Even if a poet doesn’t tend to be autobiographical or confessional, inevitably some personal characteristics will be revealed in her/his choice of observations and in the style of writing.
Labels:
autobiographical,
confessional,
observations,
personal,
reveal,
self,
style
6.27.2024
severely selected
The kind of poet for whom a selected poems was invented.
Labels:
oeuvre,
selected poems
6.24.2024
no word in edgewise
The contemporary poetry scene can be summed up by the word "anecdoche."
Labels:
anecdoche,
contemporary poetry,
scene,
the times
6.22.2024
in four lines
Often I’ve had the inclination to say, “I could write that poem in four lines.”
Labels:
brag,
brevity,
four lines
6.20.2024
review work
It’s harder to review a book of poems than to write one.
Labels:
book review,
book reviewing,
criticism
6.18.2024
secret secret
"A photograph is a secret about a secret."
—Diane Arbus
A poem is a secret about a secret.
—Diane Arbus
A poem is a secret about a secret.
6.17.2024
mechanical blurbs
AI is the perfect tool for composing blurbs. Drop some positive adjectives into the hopper, turn the crank a couple times, and voila: a paragraph of hyperbole and effusive praise.
6.16.2024
art or nature
I propose a simple distinction: a thing or something is either art or nature.
Labels:
art is,
definition,
distinction,
nature
6.15.2024
diva poet
I love much of Rilke, but he was a ‘diva’ in the negative sense of the word.
Labels:
diva,
negative,
rainer maria rilke
6.14.2024
unmoved to making
I may be interested in a particular practice of making poetry without the least desire to practice that kind of making myself.
Labels:
interest,
making,
practice,
proclivity
6.12.2024
exhaustively empiricist
The Russian Formalists were at their best in their earlier, relatively informal texts: [Roman] Jakobson’s “On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets,” for example, written in 1931 in response to Mayakovsky’s suicide, is surely one of the most profound texts ever written on how poetic strength can be dissipated and ultimately end in self-destruction. And Viktor Shklovsky’s famous discussion of ostranenie (making strange) and faktura (density) have become classics. Later Formalist works like Jakobson’s exhaustive analysis of the two versions of Yeats’ “The Sorrow of Love” (see “Linguistics and Poetics”) are perhaps less suggestive because they are exhaustively empiricist, the study counting such things as every instance of the article “the” and so on. Literary criticism, I would posit, will never be an exact science, and Jakobson was at his best when he did not try to give an exhaustive account of every part of speech or syllable count in a given poem.
—Marjorie Perloff, Infrathin: An Experiment in Micropoetics (U. of Chicago Press, 2021)
—Marjorie Perloff, Infrathin: An Experiment in Micropoetics (U. of Chicago Press, 2021)
6.11.2024
monocular vision
Imagine a person wearing a monocle: the image of a bad critic with a single critical lens engaged on a work.
Labels:
bad criticism,
critic,
critical approach,
lens
6.10.2024
6.08.2024
he can overdo you
When you think you’re overdoing it, read some Swinburne and accept your excess.
Labels:
acceptance,
algernon swinburne,
excess,
overdo
6.07.2024
dead or alive
The articles that claim poetry is dead or in decline are counterbalanced by those touting that it’s thriving in our culture or reminding us how important poetry is to our lives.
Labels:
audience,
essays,
important,
poetry is dead,
thriving
6.06.2024
unpoetic words
One of those words you feel sorry for knowing they’ll never find a way into a poem. Then sometimes you are surprised when such a word shows up in a poem.
[See “tergiversations” from June Jordan’s “Poem for Haruko”]
[See “tergiversations” from June Jordan’s “Poem for Haruko”]
6.04.2024
value-add
The advent of AI will only add cachet to human-made works
Labels:
ai,
cachet,
human-made,
value
6.03.2024
poetry's way
“though the material of poetry is verbal, its import is not the literal assertion made in the words, but the way the assertion is made, and this involves the sound, the tempo, the aura of associations of the words, the long or short sequences of ideas, the wealth or poverty of transient imagery that contains them, the sudden arrest of fantasy by pure fact, or of familiar fact by sudden fantasy, the suspense of literal meaning by a sustained ambiguity resolved in a long-awaited key-word, and the unifying, all-embracing artifice of rhythm.”
—Susanne Langer, Philosophy in a New Key: A Study in the Symbolism of Reason, Rite, and Art (1942)
—Susanne Langer, Philosophy in a New Key: A Study in the Symbolism of Reason, Rite, and Art (1942)
6.02.2024
splinter group
Poets are one of society’s splinter groups.
Labels:
lives of the poets,
poets,
society,
splinter group
5.30.2024
unexpected prose
The prose writer was dismayed that a poem could be made of prose.
Labels:
genre,
poetry is,
poetry v. prose,
prose
5.25.2024
against the stream
Poet, don’t go with the flow. Think of the stones in a stream, the way they impede and change the direction of the water. Make that a model for revision.
5.24.2024
no account
The poems were words and phrases strung together but to no account and thus without interest.
Labels:
account,
avant garde,
interest,
poem as
5.22.2024
5.21.2024
art and anarchy
...art is a kind of anarchy, and the theater is a province of art. What was missing here, was something anarchistic in the air. I must modify that statement about art and anarchy. Art is only anarchy in juxtaposition with organized society. It runs counter to the sort of orderliness on which organized society apparently must be based. It is a benevolent anarchy: it must be that and if it is true art, it is. It is benevolent in the sense of constructing something which is missing, and what it constructs may be merely criticism of things as they exist.
—Tennessee Williams, “Something Wild,” Where I Live: Selected Essays (New Directions, 1978), edited by Christine B. Day and Bob Woods
—Tennessee Williams, “Something Wild,” Where I Live: Selected Essays (New Directions, 1978), edited by Christine B. Day and Bob Woods
Labels:
anarchy,
art is,
benevolent,
criticism,
society,
tennessee williams,
theater
5.20.2024
5.18.2024
turn to language
Poetry was part of humankind’s turn to language, and therefore poetry will not end until humankind ends. Particularly in these times, we can imagine a depopulated earth with remnants of poetry spraypainted on walls, carved into stones, on metal plaques hanging tilted from buildings fallen into ruin.
5.16.2024
5.15.2024
long and longer still
There are some poems that refuse to be shortened.
Labels:
composition,
length,
long poem
5.13.2024
5.11.2024
sad privilege of poetry
Athens is a holy name, but
There’s no trace of the gods.
Only Apollo...Apollo is a good tramp,
Now that his women are gone, he gets by
Selling knickknacks and pirates.
One evening at dusk
We noticed him, drunk, raving:
“If the harmony of the spheres ssshloows,
Wha kennai do? Wha kennai do?
Maybe a black cloud
That scolds the treacherous sky,
Or the herd that bleats for the fugitive shepherd?”
Ah, maybe this is the sad privilege
Of poetry, to die last.
—Fausto Melotti, Fausto Melotti (Editioni Charta, 2008), translation by Elene Geuna
There’s no trace of the gods.
Only Apollo...Apollo is a good tramp,
Now that his women are gone, he gets by
Selling knickknacks and pirates.
One evening at dusk
We noticed him, drunk, raving:
“If the harmony of the spheres ssshloows,
Wha kennai do? Wha kennai do?
Maybe a black cloud
That scolds the treacherous sky,
Or the herd that bleats for the fugitive shepherd?”
Ah, maybe this is the sad privilege
Of poetry, to die last.
—Fausto Melotti, Fausto Melotti (Editioni Charta, 2008), translation by Elene Geuna
Labels:
athens,
death of poetry,
fausto melotti,
gods,
privilege,
shepherd
5.10.2024
against disgorgement
I’m against disgorgement art: lacking the sifting, selection and shaping that makes art engaging and compelling.
Labels:
art making,
disgorgement,
selection,
shaping,
sifting
5.08.2024
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