flotsam // caroline crew


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THIS IS MY SCHOOL: Stating one’s poetics


This past semester I’ve had the immense pleasure of being involved in two distinctly different workshops. The differences are many, but the one I want to focus on here is the differing attitudes towards the aesthetic of a young poet.

In WORKSHOP A the professor (a wonderful poet and person) is totally upfront and honest about her specific aesthetic, her belief in this aesthetic being ‘right’ and pushing us towards this approach. This sounds oppressive. And honestly, her aesthetic is far from my own fledgling poetic approach. Still, I admire this approach for several reasons:

  1. There is no bullshit about the possibility of being ‘objective’.
  2. As she says, by making her students do it her way, even if they disagree it will harden their resolve about ‘their way’.
  3. It promotes discussion.

In WORKSHOP B the professors attempt a much less prescriptive approach, pushing us to consider our own aesthetic more consciously but wihout imposing their own artistic predilections. This works mainly because this group came together through shared poetic approaches and interests, and focuses on collaborative work and poetry as a community. It is divorced from the classroom.

I am required to write a STATEMENT OF POETICS.

Although I do not have a poetic but hope to catch a real one soon, this is what I’m presenting instead:

STATEMENT OF POETICS

 

When I first began writing this, I mistitled the document ‘statement of purpose’. Perhaps that would be more fruitful. The purpose of the poem is expansion. It should be an ambitious mark on the page, wanting to connect to larger things and grow considerably within the reader’s mind. This can be achieved in a catalogue of ways. This catalogue is not closed. There is not an individual catalogue for each poet or poem.

From the current catalogue:

  1. An awareness of the poem’s object materials
    1. Poems are usually made of language. If a poem is to move outside of itself, it needs to be aware of its limitations to break through them. The most obvious limitation is its material of language. Showing the seams of language and its functions reflects back onto the poem, onto the act of writing and reading. Examining parts of language in a poem is an act of vulnerability and an act of trust. The poet is admitting ‘look, this is all I have, and yes, I am trying to manipulate your thoughts and feelings, but I am showing you that is what I am doing. It is a trusting the reader, and the poem, that a truth will still exist when the artifice is revealed.
    1. A poem can also be partially made out of white space. This space can be shaped around a poem, or this space can shape the poem. This space can be silence. By using the page, attempting new forms, the poet is still aware of the artifice.
    1. The material objects of poetry are base. The material objects of poetry are democratic. All words are available. Advertising is poetry. Saying fuck is poetry. Whispering is poetry.
  1. Writing the body
    1. To write, to read is a physical act. The body is the largest universal. To stretch outside the page, the poem can inhabit the reader’s body.
    1. The poem should be honest. It should not deny that it was made from a breathing and heaving fleshly poet. The poem is not always a physical space but it can connect physical beings if it isn’t coy and accepts its bodily space.
    1. Please remember to read aloud. Your mouth is for many things and poetry is one of them.
  1. Relinquish ownership
    1. The poem is a small town with a population of two. The population is the poet and the reader. There may be spectres of speakers or other such for the population to inhabit. However, the population is two but neither owns the town. The town only exists between the two of them: the poem needs writer and reader to create itself. Neither authorial intent nor interpretation can build a poem alone.
    1. The town is not isolated. It is selfish to disconnect the town from other populations, current and previous. The poem should not ignore other poems. It can make a dialogue or an argument. It is possible to collaborate with the past.
    1. The town is changing. It is no longer built of bricks all of the time. Technology is changing the town. Do not leave the town to ruins because you are scared of change.


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oh hello poem: Paul Muldoon’s ‘History’

This isn’t really new at all, but I’ve had a lot of conversations of late about writing yourself into history, and how on earth one feels with all of history saying things beautifully.

But aside from THE WRITER being a little choked by what has gone before, isn’t history tricky anyway?

Slippery.

Recently I have been trying to write this question: ‘Do you trust memory?’ But it isn’t working out.

Here is the poem that connects these things:

History       (Paul Muldoon)

Where and when exactly did we first have sex?
Do you remember? Was it Fitzroy Avenue,
Or Cromwell Road, or Notting Hill?
Your place or mine? Marseilles or Aix?
Or as long ago as that Thursday evening
When you and I climbed through the bay window
On the ground floor of Aquinas Hall
And into the room where MacNeice wrote ‘Snow’,
Or the room where they say he wrote ‘Snow’?


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The New North & its empty tongue

Consider The New North, an anthology of contemporary poetry from Northern Ireland.

Consider how Chris Agee, the editor, structured the book’s 15 poets of the ‘new generation’ around ‘classic poems’ from Seamus Heaney, Derek Mahon, Paul Muldoon, Michael Longley, Ciaron Carson and Medbh McGuckian.

Consider how within these ‘classic’ poems and poets of Northern Ireland, there is no Irish language.

Consider how odd this is, when the book’s epigram comes from Nuala nì Dhomnaill, perhaps the most famous poet working in Irish, refusing to translate her own works:

All true creators of language know that they are creating life as they write.

The life of language, the life of the language.

Consider the inclusion of Gearóid Mac Lochlainn, writing in Irish, writing of and about his language.

Consider these things while watching this short film:


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online literary magazines: the sequel

Quite a while ago I blogged about my complete change in attitude RE online literary magazines.

I think poems, in particular work really well in a browsable online format. Anyway, I am sharing some more of my favourite online publications so that you can look at things other than Facebook when you’re procrastinating:

la petite zine:

edited by Melissa Broder and D.W. Lichtenberg, this is pretty established for online journal (started 1999– was the internet even cool then?) and puts out ‘fierce’ poems and story of less than 1000 words. If you don’t know it, you should.

sixth finch:

I found this most colourful mag pretty recently. The most recent issue has poems from Dorothea Lasky, Zachary Schomburg, and  MRB Chelko. By which I mean, it’s pretty great. Like awesome.

softblow:

dedicated solely to poetry, and bringing the focus back to the single poem. Not only does it publish some stellar work but the site is just gorgeous. I very much enjoy the suspended sharks. I know I said this over and over again, but to succeed online, a mag has to be damn good-looking as well as serving up great content.

poemeleon:

Now, poemeleon does something that I usually do not have patience for, it functions thematically. Each issues focuses on ‘one specific type of poetry’ and sticks exclusively to it. The last issue was focusing on ‘PRIME TIME POETRY’, including slam and stand up. Other issues have included formal poems, poems of place etc etc. Because it really does stick exclusively to these themes, poemeleon ends up presenting an extremely cohesive set of issues, which goes a little against the grain of online magazines and their sprawling browsing potential. Enjoyable so, though.

Finally, thinking of future gems online, I’m pretty stoked to see what the first issue of Revolution House has to offer, given their social media presence and exciting web design.


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approaching family: a current poetic blind spot

I’ve learnt a lot about my family from poems. Actually, I’ve probably ended up at better conclusions about my family from reading than spending time with them. Isn’t that kind of awful?

What I mean is, I didn’t have the vocabulary to understand some of my relationships without certain poets. In the same way that reading poetry can elucidate things about myself and about the world I would never have discovered on my own, writing is often a means of confronting a problem. Not exactly writing as therapy, but writing about things that catch my attention or bug me.

However, I face a complete blockage when it comes to writing about my family. And believe me, there are many, many issues involved that could well benefit from some literary attention. Louise Gluck’s poems, especially those from House on Marshland, and later in Meadowlands, confront her issues with the maternal with clarity and immense boldness.

I suppose part of my hesitance is that typical childish arrogance that my parents will read my poems. [Aside, they really won't, but writer = ego]. I’ve been made aware that my propensity to ‘write things out’ can be a little unfair, as it gives me the chance to communicate how I feel without having to open a dialogue. So the idea of family actually reading poems that stem from them is a little terrifying, as it may mean an actual emotional conversation.

Doesn’t always have to be so serious though, right? As with Melissa Broder’s When You Say One Thing and Mean Your Mother.

Anyway. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that at the moment I am trying to approach my family in poems, and keep finding a huge effing wall.

Is this something all writers endure? And why?

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