Some of the best advice for a young poet is to learn translation. It's the advice Pound gave to Merwin, and it's the advice Bly gave to me. So, always one to try new things, in the winter of 2014-15 I began translating the work of Norwegian-American poet Julius B. Baumann (1869-1923). Reading up on the … Continue reading The Poems of Julius B. Baumann: Five Translations
As part of a project I'm doing on the state of contemporary writing, author Mik Everett mailed me a copy of her book Self Published Kindling: Memoirs of a Homeless Bookstore Owner (2013). After reading it, I'm excited for what our generation has to offer the literary world. As Everett so clearly illustrates: we're one of dreamers and as we set out, so much of what we have to say will be about how we maintained this spirit while navigating the world given to us by our parents. (And if you've paid any attention to the news at all, it's not a great one). Written while living out of a broken-down RV in a Wal-Mart parking lot, Self Published Kindling is about Everett's experience running a Longmont, Colorado, bookstore that stocked exclusively self-published and regional books. Though the first store of its kind in the nation, Everett quickly discovers that few writers read and even fewer readers want books you can't find in a Barnes and Noble. She tries to mitigate this through author readings and art crawls, but everyone who comes in leaves empty-handed. Soon she and her partner, John, conclude, "Everybody's just here to pretend they support art" (48). If you're an artist who's ever tried to sell their work, you know exactly what that means.
In order to familiarize myself with the work of English poet Philip Larkin, I recently read his 1982 interview with The Paris Review (its famous "Art of Poetry" series is a resource I encourage all writers to check out). Regarded as one of England's top poets, during his lifetime Larkin shied away from his fame, working … Continue reading Philip Larkin on reading versus hearing poetry
Going through Bly's diaries and correspondence spanning his entire life, I felt empowered watching this writer grow, discovering that the youthful doubts I harbor are doubts he harbored, too. It felt validating. (I don't expect anyone but the writers in the audience to understand what I mean by this). Sometimes I'd even stumble across lines that, in variation, have appeared in my own diary ...
Recently on Fiverr, I was asked to write a letter, which being a (militant) advocate for written-correspondence I was glad to comply. The only problem, though, was that I was asked to talk about "Hope." Where does one even begin? Deciding not to focus on my own experiences, I wanted to investigate what Hope actually is -- and I wanted be more practical and philosophical than merely (and often unfulfillingly) poetic. You'll find here no allusions to spring or sunrise. For such a nebulous but necessary emotion, I think it requires more seriousness than that.
Ever since I read Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities (1972) and David Eagleman's Sum (2009), I've been interested in magical realism -- a playful, imaginative curiosity that, lately, has even snuck into my own writing. Shortly after reading their work, it did not take long for me to find Jorge Luis Borges and Alan Lightman (whose Einstein's Dreams I reviewed last year). Lightman's perspective on the genre I've particularly enjoyed given his background as an MIT physicist. So, I was excited when, once again prowling the stacks of Half Priced Books, I came across Mr. g: A Novel About the Creation (Vintage, 2012). ... Mr g is a first-person-except-when-it's-not narrative about God's creation of the universe (or rather a universe). Tolerating the squabbles and input of his Aunt Penelope and Uncle Deva, Mr g introduces space and time to "The Void" (the non-dimensional realm they inhabit), deciding thereafter to create a universe merely to keep himself occupied. Beginning with a few "organizing principles" (natural laws), he spends most of his time fawning over the harmony of the cosmos' as they effectively create themselves. In the book as in nature, it is rules that govern and build not a spirit's hands. Thus emerge stars and the fusion of basic elements to create more, which in clicks of the atomic clock form the richness of planets, solar systems, galaxies. The way Lightman lies out this natural progression -- leading to the emergence of life -- was where I found his prose most engaging. Unfortunately, when this life becomes intelligent, moral, that his writing slipped away. ...
... I'm posting here my submission, which I wrote some time in the fall of 2012 after reading Paul Gruchow's Grass Roots: The Universe of Home (Milkweed Editions, 1995). I was first introduced to his work growing up in Montevideo, MN, which is where he was from, and turned on to his environmental consciousness. If you are interested in Aldo Leopold and "The Land Ethic," you'll enjoy Gruchow's work. Sadly, Gruchow committed suicide in 2004 and so I never had a chance to meet him -- but writers are used to the feeling, I guess. We walk in prose, talk through poems.