I take issue with William Carlos Williams

I just finished reading William Carlos Williams Selected Poems, Enlarged Edition (1912-1962) published by New Directions Paperback in 1969 with a cover price of $1.75. My wife bought it for me at a used bookstore several years ago (for $4.50, in fact). I don't remember why. Anyway, it took me a long time to read it. Almost a year, in fact, though partly due to the fact that it fell between the bed and the wall and was MIA for a few months, and partly because it was boring. Not all of it, mind you. Just most of it. In fact, as I neared the end (wow, that sounds so... terminal. But it also felt that way), I had pretty much come to the conclusion that WCW is way overrated. More than once while reading poem after poem about sparrows and springtime I thought, "So much depends on a red wheelbarrow, my ass" (a reference, of course, to WCW's most famous and widely anthologized poem "The Red Wheelbarrow," for which forest after forest of trees have been sacrificed to create the reams of white copy paper on which high school and college students have ruminated about wet chickens).

But then I read Book One of "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower," which is plugged on the back of the book with a quote by W. H. Auden as "one of the most beautiful love poems in the language."

Yeah, right, I thought. And considering that "Asphodel" doesn't come until page 142 and I was reading the book sequentially, I had little hope that Auden's favorite WCW poem was going to pull my opinion back from the brink.

And it didn't. Not about "The Red Wheelbarrow," at least. But I have to say, Auden was/is right. "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower" is a really beautiful poem (or at least Book One and Coda, which is all that's in this anthology because it was apparently a priority for the majority of the poems in this volume to be utterly forgettable). It's an address from one lover to another after the two have been loving each other a very long time. It and expresses the kind of love that most couples at the beginning of their marriage envision their relationship will grow into, but seems to rarely happen. It's the kind of poem I can imagine reading to my wife on our 50th wedding anniversary.

Here are some of my favorite lines:
"I cannot say / that I have gone to hell / for your love / but often / found myself there / in your pursuit."

"When I speak / of flowers / it is to recall / that at one time / we were young."

On flowers pressed in a book: "They were sweet / when I pressed them / and retained / something of their sweetness / a long time. / It is a curious odor, / a moral odor / that brings me / near to you. / The color / was the first to go."

And then there are these lines, often quoted by poets: "It is difficult / to get the news from poems / yet men die miserably ever day / for lack / of what is found there."

Peacenik

Here's a photo of me showing off my new Patchoulius shirt that I got for my birthday. Lisa sent it to me by way of California, along with Julius slippers because I am that kind of girl. As for the shorts or pants or whatever the mannequin, er, I'm wearing in this picture, I have no comment. Okay, I do have a comment: I would never wear those. In public.

Confidential to Lisa: You are awesome and I love you.

Colin Meloy: too literate for his own good?

Jody Rosen's hilarious "literary analysis" of Colin Meloy's lyrics for the new Decemberists album: "The reams of verse seem designed mostly to demonstrate book-learning and to flatter an audience of current and former English majors."

Read the whole thing ("When Rock Stars Read Edmund Spenser: The eight most pretentious lyrics from the new Decemberists album") on Slate.com.

O Fortuna, for Peace Monkey's sake

For this I thank my little sister Amanda, who isn't so little since she's old enough to be sent to real jail, not juvie.

Happy Birthday to me

My friend Meghan, who is a librarian and so has a wealth of access to creepy things, posted this video to my Facebook page today. And so I am sharing it with you. She said it made her dog go nuts. So if you have a dog, play it for them. Maybe there is a secret message for animals that human ears cannot hear.

A picture is worth a line of verse

Did you know that it is National Poetry Month? Well, it is, whether you're participating or not. Over the years, The Academy of American Poets, bless their hearts, has come up with some cool ways to observe poetry's high holy month. This year's way to make poetry fun is to take a picture of it. Inspired by their NPM 2009 poster image by Paul Sahre, NPM is sponsoring the Free Verse Photo Competition. Basically, write a line or two of verse on something and take a picture of it. While some of the entries look an awful lot like vandalism, there are a lot of really cool photos. And even the really uncool photos are forgivable since their very existence means that someone out there was engaged with poetry for as long as it took to get the shot right.

While this one isn't exactly beautiful, it does use verse from David Berman, who I am a big fan of. Plus, I am totally writing this on the next birthday cake I make, with no explanation.


This one uses lines from Amy Gerstler's "Dog World." I like Amy Gerstler and I love dogs. So, obviously a winner in my book.


And since I just posted about donuts two days ago, I thought this one was especially fitting. The verse is from "Green Squall" Jay Hopler.

Paul Frank stroller!

If anyone out there has an extra $1,000 or so lying around and wants to get this for me, go ahead.


Actually, even if I had an extra $1,000 I still couldn't justify spending this much on a stroller. Though I am sure my son would look exceptionally cute in it.

You make me flarf

Today I learned about flarf. I can't tell you what it is, exactly, but I can tell you that it has something to do with using Google search results to create a sort of found poetry. It is brilliant. It is stupid. Perhaps these things cancel each other out. There is a blog devoted to flarf. And then there is The Flarf Files, which is your best bet in learning about flarf. Of course, there is also Wikipedia, which is a good start (it's where I started).

Needless to say, I have no idea how to do flarf poetry. But since there don't seem to be any rules, I decided to compose a poem using search results for the term "jelly donut." A lot of the results had to do with Chanukah, so I thought it only fitting that I should post my poem (term used very loosely here) and dedicate it to all of my Jewish friends celebrating Passover (and yes, I realize that Chanukah and Passover aren't the same, but I'm not in charge of the calendar and this jelly donut flarf thing is happening now).

Jelly Doughnuts Especially for Chanukah

Israelis eat jelly donuts
a jelly donut and for god's sake!
Still very much a member of the donut family,
jelly donuts look absolutely gorgeous.

Pretend you are just starting to eat a jelly donut.
A jelly donut and cup of tea. Looking at photo albums.
Take on the taste and nutrition of bite size jelly donuts.
Begin a serious consultation with a jelly donut,
exceptionally fragrant and unusual,
the one your admirers will wish they had thought of first,
like sleeping on a sugary bed of sweetness.

The guy in the Jelly Donut costume
has his opponent bite the dust-like confectioner's sugar.
Now there's some sound political advice.

I bet you didn’t know a real live person puts the jelly in the jelly donuts.
I made these for Kirsten’s birthday.
WWJD? Who wants jelly donuts?
So that's what we ate for dinner.

FYI: If you're going to bother eating a jelly donut, you really should go all the way and eat a Paczki and if you're going to eat a Paczki you really need to get one from a real Polish bakery. If you're in the Detroit area, head to Hamtramck.

UPDATE: It has been pointed out to me that my Jewish friends must abstain from the jelly donut during Passover. I cannot be held responsible for any jelly donut-related cravings that may occur as a result of this poem. Blame the flarf. Or think of it as me helping you to keep the faith (to quote Bon Jovi).

Erasure poetry

At my reading on April 1, I read a poem that came out of one of those erasure exercises the kids are all doing these days. An astute audience member (the lovely Kristie Kachler) asked me what the source text was and I could not remember at the time. I said I would look it up when I got home, and so I have. It was "Pointed Roofs" by Dorthy Miller Richardson. I got it from the Wave poetry site, which offers 20 different texts for slicing and dicing. Or, really, erasing, on a computer. It is perhaps more authentic, and more fun, to instead do this in a really old book that doesn't belong to you.

You can see the erasure poem I did as it existed on the screen Jan. 25, 2009 and, also, once I strong armed it into some lines on March 31, 2009.

Erasure

The bright sweep of faces—
girls scattered here
collectors of nervous music.
The first: a duet running in
swollen lines. Subsequent pieces
left fingers weak, wrists
dreadful and resented,
nothing but touch and blue tiles.
Two to three forgotten girls
almost unrecognizable.
Limbs and eyes
slurred soundlessly musical
by winter, so easily rid of her
and her and her.

"Spritle" by Deastro

The Five Three Dial Tone record release show for Deastro's "Spritle" 7" was tonight at the Crofoot. Sadly I could not stay for the show, but I drove up to Pontiac anyway to get my hands on the goods. "Spritle" is perhaps the best song ever and I love it so. Jay, Mr. Five Three Dial Tone himself, has been a champion of Deastro and "Spritle" ever since the song was born and it's exciting to see it out in the world sounding so good (props to the folks who recorded and mixed it). Listen to it yourself at 53Dt's MySpace page.

Oh, and not only is "Spritle" an amazing song, the lyrics make reference to an ape. Here's the chorus:
"Oh my brother
tell me which way to go.
I've got ape like eyes
and preacher thighs
a mouth and a stereo."

The 7" is only $7 (that's a buck an inch! Fair!) from 53Dt's Web site. Deastro is an artist worth supporting with actual dollars. Keep yer eyes peeled for Moondagger due out in June on Ghostly International.

Poems in your brain

There's an interesting essay by Jim Holt in The New York Times Sunday Book Review about memorizing poetry. Holt makes a case for memorization, preferring to recite from memory than read from a page ("It’s the difference between sight-reading a Beethoven piano sonata and playing it from memory — doing the latter, you somehow feel you come closer to channeling the composer’s emotions. And with poetry you don’t need a piano").

I wish I had a head full of poems. Laura Kasischke made us all memorize and recite a poem for her poetry workshop when I was getting my MFA. I am glad she did that, even if I did flub a bit of mine (Anne Sexton's "I Remember").

Dorianne Laux, one of my favorite poets, has lots of poems memorized, including her own. She's one of the best readers I've ever heard, and by read I guess I mean "recite" since I don't remember her reading anything. If you ever get the chance to see her read/recite work, do it.

I Remember

By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color--no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was
the door to mine.

(Anne Sexton, from The Selected Poems of Anne Sexton, edited by Diane Wood Middlebrook, 2000 Mariner Books)

Itty bitty monkey will fill whatever cuteness void exists in you

No wonder so many people want to keep them as pets. (Still a bad idea.)

From YouTube: "Elke, the four-day-old hand raised Francois Leaf-Monkey is shown for the first time at Taronga Zoo in Sydney. The Leaf-Monkeys native habitat is Northeast Vietnam and Southeast China." Posted March 23, 2009.

Glenn Beck's third and final poetry round

Salon.com shares the gift of Glenn Beck's tender verse for the third and final time. Make sure to read them all.

My favorite: the one where Jesus gives all of your money to the Octomom. But this one is also nice (and short):

To A Lover

I want to, I want to say
I want to say to you
That you have been
Unbelievably gracious to me;
And you have no reason to be.

(Glenn Beck, Fox News, March 12, 2009)

More Glenn Beck poetry courtesy of Salon.com

Salon.com keeps the Glenn Beck verse coming in honor of National Poetry Month. Or something.

My favorite of the day:

The Border

You stand up for the border,
You're a racist.
Are you really a racist?
I'm not a racist.

("The Glenn Beck Program," Premiere Radio Networks, Nov. 27, 2007)

God bless America.

No joke: You can kick off National Poetry Month with me

Happy National Poetry Month! As if that's something people say. Still, April is the offical month of poetry and to kick things off, if you so desire, you can come see/hear me read poetry of my very own at Crazy Wisdom in Ann Arbor tonight at 7 p.m.

If you're all, "That's not enough notice!" Or, "Ann Arbor is so far away," or whatever your excuse, I have another reading on the 19th in Detroit at the Scarab Club. More on that later.