Skip to main content

Is it that time again?

I think it's about half way through summer break so I better start reading or re-reading the books I am gonna teach.

Just decided to use Lisa Jarnot's Ring of Fire for my two sections of intro to lit. Should be interesting in combo with The New American Poetry Revised ( I will recontextualize and historize the selections) and Eileen Myles Cool for You.

My used mac system is almost complete. The studio crt display is supposed to arrive today. My eyes will be relieved.

I've been thinking about the term maximum. Dean Young talks about being maximalist. he says he includes everything (waste and all) rather than paring down (like Creeley etc.)

I just went through my books again to try and get some $ to watch Fahrenheit 911 tonight.

I realized I don't really like Dean Young's poetry anymore. My recent feast of Oppen, Paz, Jospeh Donahue, Rexroth, and Philip Whalen makes Dean Young's poems feel like a plate of rubber chick peas.

So many jokes.
It's smooth skating without cracks in the ice. Or if there is a crack the nice voice guides you through. The language doesn't feel aware of itself. It's like a joke with the same punchline (laugh now because this is so strange. Don't you think strange is funny. Don't you admire my voice guiding you through these strange worlds. Here's a clown. There's a strange man with an upside down hat. HA HA)

Dean Young reminds me of james tate who reminds me of Charles Simic of a lot of younger poets (esp ones who attended the Amherst program).

I see now why some of the older generation of open form/avant garde poets have critiqued the younger generation for sloppy mismash.

Although, I do like sloppy mishmash via google.

Maybe sloppy mishmash is the wrong term. Smooth skating might be better.

No, that's not right either. The use of surreal has its appeal via young alienation. But surreal by itself usually doesn't move me.

So, time to keep moving. I've a stack of books to sell to the used bookstore:

1) three galway kinnell books (I am keeping the Book of Nightmares)
2) All robert pinsky
3) all Robert Hass
4) Michael Ryan's God Hunger
5) Yannis Ritsos Selected poems
6) All Tony Hoagland (Sweet Ruin, Donkey Gospel, already sold the new one)
7) Actual Air by David Berman ( a decent book but I don't need to hold onto it)
8) American Linden by Matthew Zapruder (can't get into it. Feels very similar to a lot of recent books by poets in my age group).
9) Half-Finshed Heaven (Tomas Transtromer trans. by Robert Bly. I am not a fan of Bly, translations or otherwise)

It feels so good to get rid of books. The bookstore won't take The Wantbone (it's all marked up. So I put it in the recycling bin. It feels good to put a book of poetry in the recycling bin.





Comments

Jordan said…
Re: D. Young, really? I hear him over with Mary Ruefle and Mark Halliday, fighting back depression and impossible standards, always about five miles from death or some other kind of oblivion. (Actually, I'm coming to understand Tate and Simic/the UMass crowd better lately, too.)

Try reading Skid against Kenneth Koch's Straits and New Addresses.

Not that I would dissuade anyone from spending all their time on Joe Donahue and Philip Whalen!

Popular posts from this blog

poets reading poets

There are on A now: Andrews, Antin, Apollinaire, Ashbery


A project from the Atlanta Poetry Group. Check it:

http://atlantapoetsgroup.blogspot.co.uk/

The Poetry of Tao Lin

Another Ireland by Robert Archambeau

This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).


Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

By Robert Archambeau

I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…