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Indeed, Maryann. Having only two eyes and but one head, there is bound to be poetic territory left unexplored. But if we each go where our heart sends us, all of it will be covered.
I am not quite sure what Bill was saying. Was this the Editor whose judgement is being questioned? If she was the designated speaker and he was sitting beside her, how did he not know? And if he didn't know, then that must signify a pleasing modesty on the part of the lady. May I tell a story, too? Once upon a time, O best beloveds, in Blackwood Miners' Institute, there was a poetry reading by three poetical "young Turks" who had arrived at establishment acceptance. I went, to hear them read and to help with the organisation. Afterwards, while we were clearing up, the poets, the publishers and the distinguished host formed a group each sitting on a chair. There was the same number of chairs as of arses. Suddenly, the distinguished host cried - "wait a minute - there's another poet here!" walked over to get another chair and invited me to join them. He was then Editor of a prestigious journal and had once told me that he found it impossible to relate to my kind of poetry. I cannot warm to his, but as the circle reformed, with a scraping of chairs that I recall clearly, I felt his conviction that poetry is bigger than the sum of its factions. I wrote to thank him and he replied "It was no big deal; I would have done it whoever had been left outside. I just hate Magic Circles". And on that, he and I are in agreement. |
That was kind of him, Annie. He probably knew you would have done the same for him were he outside the circle.
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I agree with Terese; that's a great story, Annie.
A further thought or two: Besides learning from people who come to the Sphere (which we sometimes do in places other than the Sphere), we can learn about new things to enjoy in poetry from Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and the Rattle site. I'm sure there are many other such sites and e-mail services; people might want to name them here. It's true that we also find much we don't like at those sources, but it seems to be a necessary learning process. Just now I'm also paying attention to some of the finalists in poetry for the National Book Award. |
My favorite poem-a-day is from the Poetry Foundation. Here's a link to sign up http://www.poetryfoundation.org/newsletter/ and here's a recent sample:
10 / 15 / 2013 Poem of the Day: Surprised by Joy BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind— But how could I forget thee?—Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss!—That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. Source: Poems (1815) WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Biography More poems by this author We strive to preserve the text formatting of poems over e-mail, but certain e-mail programs may distort how characters, fonts, indents, and line wraps appear. View the poem on our site. Forward to a friend Find us on Facebook Follow us on Twitter Discover more poetry Find poems by subject, occasion, or holiday. Sign up Receive the latest poems and news from the Poetry Foundation and Poetry magazine. You have received this newsletter because you submitted your email address at http://www.poetryfoundation.org. You may unsubscribe or change your newsletter subscription preferences at any time. Copyright © 2013 Poetry Foundation | 61 West Superior Street, Chicago, IL 60654 |
I liked the Flarf issue for what it was. There was a spark of life within its pages. I even liked "Aliens vs Predators" (I flipped through his book and every single poem is like that one, so I put it back on the shelf and realized he can only do one sort of thing.)
Words, words, words, as the dead prince said (sorry to ruin the ending), and that's how I feel about October's issue. |
There's an aridity to Robbins's work that disappoints me, as well as a kind of ambition that I instinctively distrust, but he has been one of their more interesting critics of late. As for "what's going on in poetry," it really is the case of the blind men trying to describe the elephant--American poetry is really too big to make totalizing statements. I, like many others here, probably have a better sense of what's going on in the form scene than elsewhere, as it's the place where my phone calls started getting returned first, as it were, but I'm not sure if I'd want to definitively declare that "we" (however defined) are "what's happening." One of the best ways to go to crap as an editor is to assume that one really knows what's "out there," that there aren't new discoveries to be made. While there are plenty of reasons one should dislike J*e S****i, this declaration should put paid to any remaining legitimacy he has:
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I consider it a badge of honor that I am not on Trinacria's invitation list.
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What Quincy said times ten.
I find quite embarrassing the perennial Sphere thread which claims with no sense of irony at all that what is going on in our own backyard is the only ballgame out there. Nemo |
I put my finger on Robbins’ desire for power above all. Ambition of any kind, poets or lawyers, etc., carries with it a tacit desire for power and prestige. No blame there. But Robbins is different. He is content to fart big in your closet with you tied up and left inside to suffer. If he can make a poem out of it, bravo for him. You think I lie: he served diarrhea to friends in one poem. His lines are so drenched in cynicism he makes Mark Twain in his last years seem like Jonathan Livingston. I’m sure Robbins would be proud of that fact. There is a cool streak of cruel chic that runs through his poetry, prose, and interaction (such as the disastrous encounter we had with him on Eratosphere a while back).
Robbins is the kind of poet a sociopath might take to. If Billy Collins sometimes wears his heart on the sleeve, Robbins will cut yours out, if he could, and have you watch it beat to his lines, which will only be in sync with your organ when it begins to go irregular, with spasms and twitches of inevitable death throes. If anyone now reading found this description disturbing, then you know how I feel when I read Robbins. |
Quincy is right. I think it was Momus who said that in the future, everyone will be famous to 15 people.
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