"Now is the time to remember that all you do is sacred."--Hafiz
This month I've been reading Drunk on the Wine of the Beloved, by Persian poet Hafiz (1326-1390). Hafiz is one of the world’s most beloved poets, affectionately known as the “Tongue of the Invisible” for his poetic expression of spiritual experiences as a Sufi mystic, in love with his Beloved. For many in the Islamic world, Hafiz is the greatest poet of all time. If you get the opportunity to interact with someone from Iran, Iraq, Turkey, or India, you should know about Hafiz. It's a great point of contact.
The poetry of Hafiz is playful and enchanting, but was 'in your face' for his time--using highly sensual language in his trademark ghazals (from the Arabic "love song", lyrical poems recited or sung by minstrals in the royal courts of pre-Islamic Iran) to speak out against deceit and hypocrisy at all levels of society, "scathingly sarcastic if not downright confrontational...Although he was said to be a Sufi, his 'religion' was the love of God and the expression of that love. No spiritual institution could contain him" (from the Introduction).
Sufi master poets often compared love with wine, and Hafiz is no exception, using the metaphor in delightful ways, naming God as the Winebringer, the Winemaker, the Wineseller, selling on Wine Street, and entering the Winehouse.
Ralph Waldo Emerson called Hafiz a poet for poets. He is dazzling, and I suppose it's no accident that I'm reading Hafiz this season, as I try to keep from being dazzled by Western Civilisation's tinsel version of Christmas. I prefer a little poetic awe, and to drink whatever dazzling wine the Winebringer offers this season.
And so, as I exit the madness and turn off on Wine Street for my Christmas celebration, I offer you a toast: may your own experience of the holidays include a little Hafiz, and may you be drunk on the Wine of the Beloved!
Merry Christmas!
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Beautiful & Pointless
Confession: I barely read books about poetry—except the craft of it. I read contemporary poets, the occasional article about why poetry matters, and, some years ago, once got halfway through Seamus Heany’s The Redress of Poetry. That was enough to put me far ahead of any but the academic. But a whole book on literary criticism? Nope.
But now that I’m a published poet, I decided to get more erudite, up my game, and read a book whose title intrigued me: Beautiful and Pointless, A Guide to Modern Poetry. (A glass of Cabernet Sauvignon was involved.) I expected a stiff read, possibly dry and academic book, but was curious. What would such a book be like? I waited till I had the head space to plunge into potentially heavy intellectual plowing on a subject that I don’t really need to be convinced about enjoying.
I didn’t expect to start laughing, and this was before the Cabernet took effect; I was only in the foreward. Example:
“If there’s one thing that often unites academic treatments and how-to guides, it’s the implicit assumption that relating to poetry is like solving a calculus problem while being zapped with a cattle prod—that is, the dull business of poetic interpretation…is coupled uneasily with testimonials announcing poetry’s ability to derange the senses, make us lose ourselves in rapture, dance naked under the full moon, and so forth.”
Yep, gotta keep your wits about you as you follow these intricate sentences. But before you get whiplash, author Daniel Orr steers you quickly into a way cool thought:
“When a non-specialist audience is responding well to a poem, its reaction is a kind of tentative pleasure, a puzzled interest that resembles the affection a traveler bears for a destination that both welcomes and confounds him. For such readers, then, it’s not necessarily helpful to talk about poetry as if it were a device to be assembled or a religious experience to be undergone. Rather, it would be useful to talk about poetry as if it were, for example, Belgium. (pg. xiv)
Ok, so he hooked me on the travel analogy and Belgium seemed positively prophetic, since I was supposed to be there this month. I was 'in' and forged ahead to Chap. 1, fortified with another Cabernet.
“…I proudly announced, ‘I’m a poetry critic.’ She gave me a look as if I’d just tossed a sackful of kittens into a mulcher. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, ‘you mean you criticize people’s poetry?’”
I was now up to page 2, and, once I finished laughing, posted this to my FB status.
“…T.S.Eliot’s famous declaration that ‘the progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality…’”
Well, I needed to mull that over…until the library called saying I needed to return or renew. I renewed.
I’m now up to page 8, and probably shouldn’t be recommending this book based on eight pages, but feel sure that a tour of poetry written by someone who can make me laugh continuously through the first 8 pages can probably deliver.
What the heck, it’s the holidays. We need some decompression in our lives to survive them, and poetry is just the thing. Or "Beautiful and Pointless." A Cabernet goes without saying…
But now that I’m a published poet, I decided to get more erudite, up my game, and read a book whose title intrigued me: Beautiful and Pointless, A Guide to Modern Poetry. (A glass of Cabernet Sauvignon was involved.) I expected a stiff read, possibly dry and academic book, but was curious. What would such a book be like? I waited till I had the head space to plunge into potentially heavy intellectual plowing on a subject that I don’t really need to be convinced about enjoying.
I didn’t expect to start laughing, and this was before the Cabernet took effect; I was only in the foreward. Example:
“If there’s one thing that often unites academic treatments and how-to guides, it’s the implicit assumption that relating to poetry is like solving a calculus problem while being zapped with a cattle prod—that is, the dull business of poetic interpretation…is coupled uneasily with testimonials announcing poetry’s ability to derange the senses, make us lose ourselves in rapture, dance naked under the full moon, and so forth.”
Yep, gotta keep your wits about you as you follow these intricate sentences. But before you get whiplash, author Daniel Orr steers you quickly into a way cool thought:
“When a non-specialist audience is responding well to a poem, its reaction is a kind of tentative pleasure, a puzzled interest that resembles the affection a traveler bears for a destination that both welcomes and confounds him. For such readers, then, it’s not necessarily helpful to talk about poetry as if it were a device to be assembled or a religious experience to be undergone. Rather, it would be useful to talk about poetry as if it were, for example, Belgium. (pg. xiv)
Ok, so he hooked me on the travel analogy and Belgium seemed positively prophetic, since I was supposed to be there this month. I was 'in' and forged ahead to Chap. 1, fortified with another Cabernet.
“…I proudly announced, ‘I’m a poetry critic.’ She gave me a look as if I’d just tossed a sackful of kittens into a mulcher. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, ‘you mean you criticize people’s poetry?’”
I was now up to page 2, and, once I finished laughing, posted this to my FB status.
“…T.S.Eliot’s famous declaration that ‘the progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality…’”
Well, I needed to mull that over…until the library called saying I needed to return or renew. I renewed.
I’m now up to page 8, and probably shouldn’t be recommending this book based on eight pages, but feel sure that a tour of poetry written by someone who can make me laugh continuously through the first 8 pages can probably deliver.
What the heck, it’s the holidays. We need some decompression in our lives to survive them, and poetry is just the thing. Or "Beautiful and Pointless." A Cabernet goes without saying…
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Egrets are in the Air!
Recently I brought a poem to my writer's group for critique—a simple poem, easily accessible, one I wrote at least 3 decades ago, and that didn’t have any great meaning to me. I just liked it, and thought it would be a good one to start off my second manuscript. I really just wanted to ask the question: which do you like better, the rhymed or the unrhymed version?
The almost unanimous, and not unexpected, answer was: rhymed! Dang. That is just not the way contemporary poetry is going, folks, but I'll think about it.
Anyway, as the critique group asked questions, it became clear that I had bigger fish to fry. Layers of meaning emerged with each question, a metaphor suddenly popped out at me that I had missed entirely, and I was on the verge of an epiphany...agh!!! This poem was supposed to be almost complete!
I took a deep breath and steadied myself as the questions continued. (Rule #1 of crtiquing is: defend your poem, not yourself. You have to justify craft, not your reason for being or your belief systems. If you feel yourself getting angry, your critique group is probably hitting a nerve; rant and rave at home, then get back to work on the poem!)
So the questions and suggestions continued (and my critique group is very gentle and kind, just to reassure you). What others were seeing in the poem astonished me. What I felt, thought and was experiencing those days when I wrote the poem fell out of some closet in my heart as they probed, and I felt quite vulnerable. It’s one thing to put oneself out there intentionally in writing (good writing is all about transparency, right?). It’s quite another when you don’t even know what you're talking about--and you're the author!
I had to clarify a central metaphor I didn't even know I was using. I had to explain the 30-year-old epiphany; I didn't know the first thing about epiphany when I wrote the poem. I kicked myself for not catching all this before coming, but this is why I belong to a writer's group. Blind spots, ego, impatience to finish something that just won't quite cooperate...any of those battles sound familiar to you?!
Finally I was left speechless, and had to admit to the group that I honestly didn’t quite know myself what the poem meant, and we all had a good laugh.
Well, I survived, and the poem finally ‘dawned’ on me. I literally discovered it 30 years after writing it. (And my heart sank a bit as I thought about revising something I thought I was finished with.) So don’t worry if you don’t think you ‘get’ a poem—sometimes the poet doesn’t either!
I am back to the drawing board, looking at this poem in light of the new insights, to see what I need to change. I’m kind of eager to get to it, though, to see if the process will reveal anything else. Care to join me?!
The title of the post is the first line of the poem…so let’s have a little fun here, and let me give you the original poem, and next week I'll show you what I did, if anything. You may not know the first thing about poetry, but you can probably tell me what works and what doesn’t work, where you get lost, don’t understand, what you like and don’t like. There’s a couple of problems with it, that maybe you’ll find along with my critique group. But how much revision does it really need?! That is the question...have a go at it, and I’ll be back next week with my conclusions!
Egrets are in the air—
White with yellow eyes.
Lucky and positive I feel—
Full of grace and light.
Look at the haunted ones—
White with fear it seems,
With yellow eyes and feet—
With thoughts they dare not speak.
I want to humanize.
Egrets in the air.
The almost unanimous, and not unexpected, answer was: rhymed! Dang. That is just not the way contemporary poetry is going, folks, but I'll think about it.
Anyway, as the critique group asked questions, it became clear that I had bigger fish to fry. Layers of meaning emerged with each question, a metaphor suddenly popped out at me that I had missed entirely, and I was on the verge of an epiphany...agh!!! This poem was supposed to be almost complete!
I took a deep breath and steadied myself as the questions continued. (Rule #1 of crtiquing is: defend your poem, not yourself. You have to justify craft, not your reason for being or your belief systems. If you feel yourself getting angry, your critique group is probably hitting a nerve; rant and rave at home, then get back to work on the poem!)
So the questions and suggestions continued (and my critique group is very gentle and kind, just to reassure you). What others were seeing in the poem astonished me. What I felt, thought and was experiencing those days when I wrote the poem fell out of some closet in my heart as they probed, and I felt quite vulnerable. It’s one thing to put oneself out there intentionally in writing (good writing is all about transparency, right?). It’s quite another when you don’t even know what you're talking about--and you're the author!
I had to clarify a central metaphor I didn't even know I was using. I had to explain the 30-year-old epiphany; I didn't know the first thing about epiphany when I wrote the poem. I kicked myself for not catching all this before coming, but this is why I belong to a writer's group. Blind spots, ego, impatience to finish something that just won't quite cooperate...any of those battles sound familiar to you?!
Finally I was left speechless, and had to admit to the group that I honestly didn’t quite know myself what the poem meant, and we all had a good laugh.
Well, I survived, and the poem finally ‘dawned’ on me. I literally discovered it 30 years after writing it. (And my heart sank a bit as I thought about revising something I thought I was finished with.) So don’t worry if you don’t think you ‘get’ a poem—sometimes the poet doesn’t either!
I am back to the drawing board, looking at this poem in light of the new insights, to see what I need to change. I’m kind of eager to get to it, though, to see if the process will reveal anything else. Care to join me?!
The title of the post is the first line of the poem…so let’s have a little fun here, and let me give you the original poem, and next week I'll show you what I did, if anything. You may not know the first thing about poetry, but you can probably tell me what works and what doesn’t work, where you get lost, don’t understand, what you like and don’t like. There’s a couple of problems with it, that maybe you’ll find along with my critique group. But how much revision does it really need?! That is the question...have a go at it, and I’ll be back next week with my conclusions!
Egrets are in the air—
White with yellow eyes.
Lucky and positive I feel—
Full of grace and light.
Look at the haunted ones—
White with fear it seems,
With yellow eyes and feet—
With thoughts they dare not speak.
I want to humanize.
Egrets in the air.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Desperately Seeking Transcendance
Not knowing the boundaries between public art vs. private art, self-expression vs. art for public consumption, has created unfortunate rifts between the artist and the non-artist, and the artist and the church—rifts not easily bridged. The artist seeks expression, venue, acceptance; the non-artist is avoiding a rant, propaganda, manipulation. Lines are blurred between pursuing craft and pursuing the heart, as if this were an “either/or” and not a “both/and” situation.
In my first few art classes, I learned no techniques, but was encouraged to simply ‘express myself.’ For someone who didn’t know where to point the pencil, I was intimidated; putting that first mark on paper, whatever paper, and not knowing the least thing about composition, I wondered, how does one express oneself? I craved guidance, eventually dropping out of all classes. (I found my answers through some books.)
In poetry workshops, I noticed how high the drop-out rate was as soon as we moved from expression to craft. Not many wanted to meter a poem, or have it critiqued; they simply wanted to ‘express’ themselves. Now I love poetry, but I do not enjoy the Hallmark card variety, the self-expression that is often a soapbox, or propaganda poetry. I get bored when people rant, whether at the dinner table or in a poem. Dont' you?
Those I talk with who hate art and the art world are usually reacting to the imposition of the rant, egoism and manipulation, the normal reactions of any human being to such tactics.
Others disengage with a passive, polite and tepid, “To each his own. Art is a matter of taste.”
Well, yes and no. There are criteria.
I know many who wouldn’t dream of sharing what’s in their art journals; others want their expressions hung in a museum, though no skill was involved in producing them.
Propaganda has its place, as does self expression--a critical place in fact. But aren’t we all satiated with pop culture and self-expression? Don’t we all crave transcendent work?
To get there, excellence in craft is as vital as self-expression. I want both fine art and expressive art, believe both are vital, and know there is place for each in this wide world. Fine art is judged by its technical skill as well as its expression. Expressive art, if it is “judged” at all, is certainly not on its technical skill, but valued for its process in healing the human heart.
The drill is “Show, don’t tell.” Knowing when to blast and when to suggest is key to successful poetry or art. My vote is for discretion, discrimination, critique, and humility.
Rant over :)
In my first few art classes, I learned no techniques, but was encouraged to simply ‘express myself.’ For someone who didn’t know where to point the pencil, I was intimidated; putting that first mark on paper, whatever paper, and not knowing the least thing about composition, I wondered, how does one express oneself? I craved guidance, eventually dropping out of all classes. (I found my answers through some books.)
In poetry workshops, I noticed how high the drop-out rate was as soon as we moved from expression to craft. Not many wanted to meter a poem, or have it critiqued; they simply wanted to ‘express’ themselves. Now I love poetry, but I do not enjoy the Hallmark card variety, the self-expression that is often a soapbox, or propaganda poetry. I get bored when people rant, whether at the dinner table or in a poem. Dont' you?
Those I talk with who hate art and the art world are usually reacting to the imposition of the rant, egoism and manipulation, the normal reactions of any human being to such tactics.
Others disengage with a passive, polite and tepid, “To each his own. Art is a matter of taste.”
Well, yes and no. There are criteria.
I know many who wouldn’t dream of sharing what’s in their art journals; others want their expressions hung in a museum, though no skill was involved in producing them.
Propaganda has its place, as does self expression--a critical place in fact. But aren’t we all satiated with pop culture and self-expression? Don’t we all crave transcendent work?
To get there, excellence in craft is as vital as self-expression. I want both fine art and expressive art, believe both are vital, and know there is place for each in this wide world. Fine art is judged by its technical skill as well as its expression. Expressive art, if it is “judged” at all, is certainly not on its technical skill, but valued for its process in healing the human heart.
The drill is “Show, don’t tell.” Knowing when to blast and when to suggest is key to successful poetry or art. My vote is for discretion, discrimination, critique, and humility.
Rant over :)
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Work Those Epiphanies!!!
What epiphanies, intuitions and/or perceptions have you been experiencing lately?! Hope you're jotting them down...
My previous post edged us into one of the most hotly debated issues around the art world, and the spiritual world too for that matter (which I include here because the two worlds are so closely connected).
Can you spell ‘subjective'?!
The experiences I’ve been writing about have been very subjective and personal of course, and could easily be dismissed as the effects of an over-spiced enchilada. And while I have felt validated in discovering that others have written about this type of experience, I also recognize that there is plenty of room for error in the interpretation of these phenomena. But how rich the exploration!
Subjectivity—whether it refers to poetic or religious awe—is a hot topic. What do we do with writing (or religious experience) that is very subjective? Is there a place for it? Absolutely, but there is also a lot of confusion out there.
A few years ago, I got one of those great, clarifying, simple questions that help me think about such things, and in particular how to think about the strange, ineffable experiences we all go through. It came through one of my former pastors. I was grappling with the strange, ineffable experiences of a French friend, which had baffled my cognitive and theological constructs (as a lot in France did!). But this pastor wisely asked, “Is the person sharing this experience credible?”
Yes, she was. Did that make the experience credible? I know I certainly looked at it with a lot more care than if she had been a flake. And we got to the bottom of some things that were entirely credible. Credibility can earn a second look at the most incredible experience, which may be entirely valid and true, however subjective.
With that one question, and years of living in France, I learned not to dismiss things prematurely if they didn’t fit my paradigms, if the source was credible. Even our justice system, flawed as it is, runs on the testimony of ‘credible witnesses.’
Anyway, back to poetry and epiphanic moments: what was that epiphany and what did it mean? Can you write a poem or prayer about it? Make a piece of artwork from it? Write a theological doctrine on it? Is it personal, subjective, expressive, for you only, or can it benefit others? Is it art/prayer/doctrine for public consumption?
Yes, we are back to the question of what is art, with a new layer: public art vs. private art, self-expression vs. art for public consumption.
I gave you m y favorite definition of art last post. But we have lived for decades in a culture/artworld where self-expression is paramount, beauty is optional, and critique is “mean”— the cultural equivalent of bullying. For some, personal expression is far more important than adherence to any criteria for craft.
The clash arises when personal expression invades the public domain inappropriately. Let me give you an example:
You may not enjoy a poem I write raging against someone who offended me in some way, and correctly judge that it is self-expression. You’ll probably dismiss it for what it is (a rant); publishers surely will. What keeps my rant poem out of the publishers’ rejection pile? Working my craft. Working my epiphanies, not just blurting them out.
So if I take that rant, and bump it up to describe a journey from rage to resolution (even if only in my own heart), I enter universal experience, and that should resonate with you. You may not have dealt with the person I’m enraged with, but you have no doubt been enraged by someone else.
The well-crafted poem might give you the shock of recognition, the release valve of insight, possibly even a solution. The glimpse into your own humanity, and the companionship of common struggle might give you relief for the journey. You might just get an epiphany of your own, even some healing for your heart. This is why we need poetry, and this is why I will never stop working the craft.
But I’ll spare you the rants, and other personal expressions, which will stay in the notebooks! Time and place...
My previous post edged us into one of the most hotly debated issues around the art world, and the spiritual world too for that matter (which I include here because the two worlds are so closely connected).
Can you spell ‘subjective'?!
The experiences I’ve been writing about have been very subjective and personal of course, and could easily be dismissed as the effects of an over-spiced enchilada. And while I have felt validated in discovering that others have written about this type of experience, I also recognize that there is plenty of room for error in the interpretation of these phenomena. But how rich the exploration!
Subjectivity—whether it refers to poetic or religious awe—is a hot topic. What do we do with writing (or religious experience) that is very subjective? Is there a place for it? Absolutely, but there is also a lot of confusion out there.
A few years ago, I got one of those great, clarifying, simple questions that help me think about such things, and in particular how to think about the strange, ineffable experiences we all go through. It came through one of my former pastors. I was grappling with the strange, ineffable experiences of a French friend, which had baffled my cognitive and theological constructs (as a lot in France did!). But this pastor wisely asked, “Is the person sharing this experience credible?”
Yes, she was. Did that make the experience credible? I know I certainly looked at it with a lot more care than if she had been a flake. And we got to the bottom of some things that were entirely credible. Credibility can earn a second look at the most incredible experience, which may be entirely valid and true, however subjective.
With that one question, and years of living in France, I learned not to dismiss things prematurely if they didn’t fit my paradigms, if the source was credible. Even our justice system, flawed as it is, runs on the testimony of ‘credible witnesses.’
Anyway, back to poetry and epiphanic moments: what was that epiphany and what did it mean? Can you write a poem or prayer about it? Make a piece of artwork from it? Write a theological doctrine on it? Is it personal, subjective, expressive, for you only, or can it benefit others? Is it art/prayer/doctrine for public consumption?
Yes, we are back to the question of what is art, with a new layer: public art vs. private art, self-expression vs. art for public consumption.
I gave you m y favorite definition of art last post. But we have lived for decades in a culture/artworld where self-expression is paramount, beauty is optional, and critique is “mean”— the cultural equivalent of bullying. For some, personal expression is far more important than adherence to any criteria for craft.
The clash arises when personal expression invades the public domain inappropriately. Let me give you an example:
You may not enjoy a poem I write raging against someone who offended me in some way, and correctly judge that it is self-expression. You’ll probably dismiss it for what it is (a rant); publishers surely will. What keeps my rant poem out of the publishers’ rejection pile? Working my craft. Working my epiphanies, not just blurting them out.
So if I take that rant, and bump it up to describe a journey from rage to resolution (even if only in my own heart), I enter universal experience, and that should resonate with you. You may not have dealt with the person I’m enraged with, but you have no doubt been enraged by someone else.
The well-crafted poem might give you the shock of recognition, the release valve of insight, possibly even a solution. The glimpse into your own humanity, and the companionship of common struggle might give you relief for the journey. You might just get an epiphany of your own, even some healing for your heart. This is why we need poetry, and this is why I will never stop working the craft.
But I’ll spare you the rants, and other personal expressions, which will stay in the notebooks! Time and place...
Friday, June 17, 2011
Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg & Dad
Chapbooks have played a key role in American poetry, integral to its development in our culture. It has provided a platform for emerging poets, and for that reason attract the indie, experimental and avant garde. Something about chapbooks romances people, and brings out the inner artist in poets. If you want to see an example, take a look at the chapbooks reviewed by Fiddler Crab Review.
About the time my father was contemplating boat plans, two emerging poets were rocking culture: Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Allan Ginsberg.
Ferlinghetti, born in Yonkers, NY, eventually resettled in San Francisco and founded the now famous and iconic City Lights Bookstore, the first all-paperbound bookshop in the country. By 1955 he had launched the City Lights publishing house--a mecca for a generation of writers, artists, and intellectuals—Bohemians and the Beat generation.
The City Lights Pocket Poets Series was a series of poetry collections—chapbook style—small, affordable paperbacks with a distinctive black and white cover design. Allen Ginsberg’s Howl was #4 in the series, and led to obscenity charges for City Lights, who successfully opposed the charges with ACLU’s help. (Who ever thought poetry was genteel!?)
The two men were often described as anarchists, opponents to American imperialism, militarism and capitalism. As one poet described him: “Lawrence Ferlinghetti is a more complicated individual than we’re used to having in American life.”
My father had a few obscene comments himself about the poets, and I’m not a fan of either one either. But they changed the face of poetry, gave it a subversive edge, and endure as cultural icons (Ferlinghetti is still living and active in poetry readings; Ginsberg died in 1997). Ferlinghetti's A Coney Island of the Mind remains the most popular poetry book in the United States.
About the time my father was contemplating boat plans, two emerging poets were rocking culture: Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Allan Ginsberg.
Ferlinghetti, born in Yonkers, NY, eventually resettled in San Francisco and founded the now famous and iconic City Lights Bookstore, the first all-paperbound bookshop in the country. By 1955 he had launched the City Lights publishing house--a mecca for a generation of writers, artists, and intellectuals—Bohemians and the Beat generation.
The City Lights Pocket Poets Series was a series of poetry collections—chapbook style—small, affordable paperbacks with a distinctive black and white cover design. Allen Ginsberg’s Howl was #4 in the series, and led to obscenity charges for City Lights, who successfully opposed the charges with ACLU’s help. (Who ever thought poetry was genteel!?)
The two men were often described as anarchists, opponents to American imperialism, militarism and capitalism. As one poet described him: “Lawrence Ferlinghetti is a more complicated individual than we’re used to having in American life.”
My father had a few obscene comments himself about the poets, and I’m not a fan of either one either. But they changed the face of poetry, gave it a subversive edge, and endure as cultural icons (Ferlinghetti is still living and active in poetry readings; Ginsberg died in 1997). Ferlinghetti's A Coney Island of the Mind remains the most popular poetry book in the United States.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Blurb #3
Robert Brewer, Editor of Poet’s Market and writer of Poetic Asides, the Writer’s Digest online poetry blog, has one of the most helpful online poetry blogs, stimulating us with prompts and challenges constantly, while participating himself, and raising four kids. Amazing.
Last year, I participated in his November Poem A Day Challenge : write a poem a day for the month of November, clean 'em up in December, Create a chapbook in January, and enter a competition. I actually managed to do it last year, and enjoyed it thoroughly, but no, didn't win that competition. Finishing Line Press was more than a consolation prize.
So, since publishing with them was the challenge this year, I had to forego
Robert's challenge, and asked him instead for an endorsement. He was kind enough to write the following:
"Poems from the Boatyard is a wonderful collection that often provides the reader with a nice combination of sounds and structure in poetry. This collection reads like a postcard from the sea written by a girl who’s been paying attention to every heartbeat that surrounds her and is not afraid to point out the contradictions of living. I can’t wait to see where Pat Butler will be traveling next.”
Thank you Robert!
This will be my last shameless promotion...until I get a good book review :)
Thanks for following along!
Last year, I participated in his November Poem A Day Challenge : write a poem a day for the month of November, clean 'em up in December, Create a chapbook in January, and enter a competition. I actually managed to do it last year, and enjoyed it thoroughly, but no, didn't win that competition. Finishing Line Press was more than a consolation prize.
So, since publishing with them was the challenge this year, I had to forego
Robert's challenge, and asked him instead for an endorsement. He was kind enough to write the following:
"Poems from the Boatyard is a wonderful collection that often provides the reader with a nice combination of sounds and structure in poetry. This collection reads like a postcard from the sea written by a girl who’s been paying attention to every heartbeat that surrounds her and is not afraid to point out the contradictions of living. I can’t wait to see where Pat Butler will be traveling next.”
Thank you Robert!
This will be my last shameless promotion...until I get a good book review :)
Thanks for following along!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Coming soon...to a tidal flat bookstore near you...
In post-World War II suburban America, my father decided to build a boat—in our backyard. The boat became a member of our family, the talk of the neighborhood, and a litmus test of moral fiber. Memories of the boat, the characters and events of those days, and the power of place emerged during the years that followed my father’s death in 2001. "Poems from the Boatyard" is the result.
"Poems from the Boatyard", with cover art by Uncle Jack (see UncleJacksAttic.blogspot.com) has been picked up by Finishing Line Press (www.finishinglinepress.com) which will be taking prepublication orders soon. Stay tuned for the next episode, and sign up if you would like to receive notification of this chapbook's entry into the world of poetry!
"Poems from the Boatyard", with cover art by Uncle Jack (see UncleJacksAttic.blogspot.com) has been picked up by Finishing Line Press (www.finishinglinepress.com) which will be taking prepublication orders soon. Stay tuned for the next episode, and sign up if you would like to receive notification of this chapbook's entry into the world of poetry!
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