The poems you shared here are superb. I’m also a fan of Buddy Wakefield and Scott Wannberg and Kate Baer and Ellen Bass. Sun Magazine was where I learned poetry can be good. Seems like we are bored to death by poetry we are taught in school and that puts us off it like Brussels sprouts. But then you hopefully grow up and learn boiled Brussels aren’t actually a good representation of the vegetable and throwing them on the grill makes all the difference. Anyway, fellow poetry lover here!
The comparison is hilarious but so true. I never had decent Brussels sprouts until I learned to lightly sauté them in my late 20s. And didn't know of non-school-forced poetry (I can still recite The Raven, I'm sorry to say) until around the same time.
Apr 7, 2022·edited Apr 7, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray
I got news for you pard, this long in the tooth, old crank has packed around poems for as long as you been sucking air. Seems like the longer I'm stealing oxygen from the rest of you the more I need to have a poet along in my saddle bag. I've traveled lots of backcountry loved every inch and minute, rain or shine. Especially, when I could put down my fly rod and sit under a shade tree with Walt or Jim, Seamus or Mary, W.B. or W.A. lots of others too. I still remember traveling through the Winds spending some time with that La Tray fella too.
I'm here to rep Chris's trip with Freeflow, as a 2021 scholarship recipient. It is truly a special time to connect with writers, learners, and river folks. Happy to chat if folks have questions!
My writer trip began in Missoula in 1976. I started by writing poetry in a night-school class led by local poet Patrick Todd, "because poetry is where every word counts." Twenty years later in a coffeehouse in Albuquerque, with intense preparation I performed my impression of Patrick Todd reciting "Hay for the Horses" by Gary Snyder. I followed with "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg," imparting as much serious Richard Hugo as I could muster after taking two graduate poetry classes from him in 1980. The surprise came when the crowd of 30 moved to the edge of their seats, listened intently and at the end applauded with great vigor. That spirited response was not for me or my performance-art delivery, but for the poem itself, which many in the crowd also knew by heart.
How beautiful. The economics of poetry might be all tangled up in the ills of capitalism, but the fact that it remains alive and vibrant is a testament to capital's limits.
(One thing that binds Russian people together are their poets. They are revered.)
I should be fair, though -- Russian schoolchildren have to memorize a lot of poetry. When I was taking Russian and having to translate poems, my dad and stepmom would recite all of them from memory.
Reading poetry daily is kind of like having a meditation practice, isn't it? Slowing down, sinking into the feelings and sensory experiences that the words create.
I love poetry. Most of it but not all of it. And I write it. Like visual and performance arts, poetry speaks to that one human thing in us that vibrates and resonates. And I am delighted that Bob Dylan got a Nobel Prize for literature, because songwriters are poets too.
The "canon" of iconic poets that are taught so relentlessly in elementary and higher schools, including creative writing courses, barely touch some of the best writing happening today. That's good. We can't all be, or want to be, T.S Elliot or Gwendolyn Brooks. Like painters can't all be Raphael or Warhol. Much of "fame" depends on the luck of who sees you and celebrates you. That doesn't invalidate your poetry.
I am reading again and again poet Natalie Diaz: "Postcolonial Love Poem" and "When My Brother was an Aztec." Powerful, sometimes funny but sourced in love and sadness. Language that is accessible and beautiful.
I study and work with some Phoenix poets who are deeply involved with therapeutic poetry workshops for the medical community and the community at large. It has helped me to heal after some personal trauma and depression. There are active workshops everywhere for veterans and emergency workers and prisoners.
I believe we are in a "Golden Age" of poetry. And it is writing like your posts that make this subscription AND the internet valuable for me.
Love the poems you shared--and the reminder of how vital poetry is. I read it, I write it, I need it. I wish more could embrace the negative space between the lines, the words, because I feel like that is where a lot of the magic and mystery is that people miss.
poetry is most certainly not at the center of our culture (whoever "our" refers to). There are a few places "spoken-word" is brilliantly and often spoken (but rarely taken home in books), and a handful of bookstores and cafes where readings occur with a few loyal poet-lovers (and a couple of family members of the poets reading). I've been in demand as a poet-performer over the years but rarely sold a single book. I taught writing for 40+ years; most wannabe poets do not read poetry; they just wanna do it (which is like wanting to play music w/o ever listening to any). The one place I found real FIRE for poetry--reading and writing--was the largest prison in Colo. Even there, it was a small group gathered in its warmth. of course, there's the academy and the cult-followers of one "school" or another and their mfa ordinations. And there are the few who make it BIG and crossover into mainstream readership (like mary olilver, even before she died). And there's the instagram micro-ku. i work w/small groups of beginner-poets, encourage and nurture them, and turn them on as often as possible to books of poems. a few find their way into the larger poetry world that way. but it's damn hard to sell a book.
Wayne, this: "most wannabe poets do not read poetry; they just wanna do it" is spot on. When we would do poetry readings at F&F, despite having a MFA program in town it was rare to have students come out for them. But we could still draw decent crowds and we had – the store still has – an excellent poetry section. One of my favorite things would be when someone would come in and linger in that section for a long time, picking stuff up, putting it down, etc. Some books sold well; Mary Oliver, of course, and Jim Harrison. But locals did too, like Gibbons and others. One of the problems too is I feel like these MFA programs should require some kind of drama component too. Because if you are going to read in public, it is imperative not to be boring or suck.
I would love an entirely separate essay on those last two sentences, please. When I was a teenager, my mother used to take me to readings and I hated them. It took me a while to realize that writers aren't elocutionists, but if we're going to read our work publicly, we kind of need to be? It's important to me, anyway, whether I'm the one up there or the one listening.
I have heard of this phenomenon of Poetry Voice, but I don't feel like I have a handle on it as a cultural force. I'm curious about it. I realized, on hearing the concept named, that I'd heard it in action plenty of times (and thought it was deadly to the poems themselves.) But I know next to nothing about how and why poets learn to read their work (or someone else's) in a certain way.
I'm thinking about how I'm learning to do it. Negative example is certainly a part of that. Positive example, too: when I hear someone give a great reading, I think about what they did that made their work feel so alive out loud, and I try their work aloud myself, to feel how they do it. I once spent a year memorizing new poems and reading them aloud until I got a recordable version I was willing to let other folks listen to. I'm not sure how I did, exactly, but I sure learned a lot about how poetry is a different beast aloud than on the page.
I admit I don't give much "study" to any of this. It's more like play.
it's called "the University of Iowa poetry voice." it's the official priestly sound of the "orthodox church of high postmodern literary salvation poetry." ;)
Things that finally got through to me today: I was not actually *subscribed* to this excellent newsletter. How did I miss this? Who knows, but I'm glad you mention it from time to time, and glad it finally stuck in my flighty brain.
Jim Harrison was a damn fine writer. As are you. I have no idea whether this will format properly, but here's my favorite chunk of his "In Interims: Outlyer:"
I was on a Harrison completist mission after he died. I had to put Warlock down. And then I got distracted by some other shiny stuff. But I got back on and recently finished his early nonfiction collection, Just Before Dark. What I wouldn't give for a bootleg video of any of the meals, trips, meetings, etc. described. Next up, Julip. When I get a minute...
I've been poking around across all of his work for years. Someday I will have absorbed it all. The problem is I keep going back to stuff I read before because I love it so much!
"Give me an ill-tempered, one-eyed old birdwatcher who swigs red wine and eats fried chicken from Albertson’s instead." Amen.
That alone is poetry. Thank you.
Thanks, Sarah. I'm glad we can agree on this.
The poems you shared here are superb. I’m also a fan of Buddy Wakefield and Scott Wannberg and Kate Baer and Ellen Bass. Sun Magazine was where I learned poetry can be good. Seems like we are bored to death by poetry we are taught in school and that puts us off it like Brussels sprouts. But then you hopefully grow up and learn boiled Brussels aren’t actually a good representation of the vegetable and throwing them on the grill makes all the difference. Anyway, fellow poetry lover here!
We should really be teaching folks how to grill their poems.
I feel like there's something in that!
The comparison is hilarious but so true. I never had decent Brussels sprouts until I learned to lightly sauté them in my late 20s. And didn't know of non-school-forced poetry (I can still recite The Raven, I'm sorry to say) until around the same time.
Some of those forced-school-poems I've come back around to lately. The Raven is not one of them. :p
Ha! I doubt it'll ever leave my brain 😂
NEVERMORE
ARGH!!!
😂
Excellent analogy, April. I love Ellen Bass in particular too.
I got news for you pard, this long in the tooth, old crank has packed around poems for as long as you been sucking air. Seems like the longer I'm stealing oxygen from the rest of you the more I need to have a poet along in my saddle bag. I've traveled lots of backcountry loved every inch and minute, rain or shine. Especially, when I could put down my fly rod and sit under a shade tree with Walt or Jim, Seamus or Mary, W.B. or W.A. lots of others too. I still remember traveling through the Winds spending some time with that La Tray fella too.
"Seems like the longer I'm stealing oxygen from the rest of you the more I need to have a poet along in my saddle bag." Love this.
Thanks, Patrick. You're one of the good ones.
Last week we read Layli Long Soldier in a lit class in San Quentin. "This is the space..."
They performed it. Analyzed it. Felt it. I love poetry in that room.
Layli's stuff can be challenging and it's gorgeous. I love that you did this.
I'm here to rep Chris's trip with Freeflow, as a 2021 scholarship recipient. It is truly a special time to connect with writers, learners, and river folks. Happy to chat if folks have questions!
Thanks, Maddy! I hope we find ourselves on the same raft again someday.
My writer trip began in Missoula in 1976. I started by writing poetry in a night-school class led by local poet Patrick Todd, "because poetry is where every word counts." Twenty years later in a coffeehouse in Albuquerque, with intense preparation I performed my impression of Patrick Todd reciting "Hay for the Horses" by Gary Snyder. I followed with "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg," imparting as much serious Richard Hugo as I could muster after taking two graduate poetry classes from him in 1980. The surprise came when the crowd of 30 moved to the edge of their seats, listened intently and at the end applauded with great vigor. That spirited response was not for me or my performance-art delivery, but for the poem itself, which many in the crowd also knew by heart.
I love that "Hay for the Horses" poem.
How beautiful. The economics of poetry might be all tangled up in the ills of capitalism, but the fact that it remains alive and vibrant is a testament to capital's limits.
(One thing that binds Russian people together are their poets. They are revered.)
I wonder what percentage of Americans can even name five poets, let alone five contemporary poets. Maybe I don't want to know.
I should be fair, though -- Russian schoolchildren have to memorize a lot of poetry. When I was taking Russian and having to translate poems, my dad and stepmom would recite all of them from memory.
Reading poetry daily is kind of like having a meditation practice, isn't it? Slowing down, sinking into the feelings and sensory experiences that the words create.
It's part of my meditation practice for sure.
I love poetry. Most of it but not all of it. And I write it. Like visual and performance arts, poetry speaks to that one human thing in us that vibrates and resonates. And I am delighted that Bob Dylan got a Nobel Prize for literature, because songwriters are poets too.
The "canon" of iconic poets that are taught so relentlessly in elementary and higher schools, including creative writing courses, barely touch some of the best writing happening today. That's good. We can't all be, or want to be, T.S Elliot or Gwendolyn Brooks. Like painters can't all be Raphael or Warhol. Much of "fame" depends on the luck of who sees you and celebrates you. That doesn't invalidate your poetry.
I am reading again and again poet Natalie Diaz: "Postcolonial Love Poem" and "When My Brother was an Aztec." Powerful, sometimes funny but sourced in love and sadness. Language that is accessible and beautiful.
I study and work with some Phoenix poets who are deeply involved with therapeutic poetry workshops for the medical community and the community at large. It has helped me to heal after some personal trauma and depression. There are active workshops everywhere for veterans and emergency workers and prisoners.
I believe we are in a "Golden Age" of poetry. And it is writing like your posts that make this subscription AND the internet valuable for me.
Thank you, Ofoeti.
Love the poems you shared--and the reminder of how vital poetry is. I read it, I write it, I need it. I wish more could embrace the negative space between the lines, the words, because I feel like that is where a lot of the magic and mystery is that people miss.
Yes, absolutely.
poetry is most certainly not at the center of our culture (whoever "our" refers to). There are a few places "spoken-word" is brilliantly and often spoken (but rarely taken home in books), and a handful of bookstores and cafes where readings occur with a few loyal poet-lovers (and a couple of family members of the poets reading). I've been in demand as a poet-performer over the years but rarely sold a single book. I taught writing for 40+ years; most wannabe poets do not read poetry; they just wanna do it (which is like wanting to play music w/o ever listening to any). The one place I found real FIRE for poetry--reading and writing--was the largest prison in Colo. Even there, it was a small group gathered in its warmth. of course, there's the academy and the cult-followers of one "school" or another and their mfa ordinations. And there are the few who make it BIG and crossover into mainstream readership (like mary olilver, even before she died). And there's the instagram micro-ku. i work w/small groups of beginner-poets, encourage and nurture them, and turn them on as often as possible to books of poems. a few find their way into the larger poetry world that way. but it's damn hard to sell a book.
Wayne, this: "most wannabe poets do not read poetry; they just wanna do it" is spot on. When we would do poetry readings at F&F, despite having a MFA program in town it was rare to have students come out for them. But we could still draw decent crowds and we had – the store still has – an excellent poetry section. One of my favorite things would be when someone would come in and linger in that section for a long time, picking stuff up, putting it down, etc. Some books sold well; Mary Oliver, of course, and Jim Harrison. But locals did too, like Gibbons and others. One of the problems too is I feel like these MFA programs should require some kind of drama component too. Because if you are going to read in public, it is imperative not to be boring or suck.
I would love an entirely separate essay on those last two sentences, please. When I was a teenager, my mother used to take me to readings and I hated them. It took me a while to realize that writers aren't elocutionists, but if we're going to read our work publicly, we kind of need to be? It's important to me, anyway, whether I'm the one up there or the one listening.
Seconding this request.
I have heard of this phenomenon of Poetry Voice, but I don't feel like I have a handle on it as a cultural force. I'm curious about it. I realized, on hearing the concept named, that I'd heard it in action plenty of times (and thought it was deadly to the poems themselves.) But I know next to nothing about how and why poets learn to read their work (or someone else's) in a certain way.
I'm thinking about how I'm learning to do it. Negative example is certainly a part of that. Positive example, too: when I hear someone give a great reading, I think about what they did that made their work feel so alive out loud, and I try their work aloud myself, to feel how they do it. I once spent a year memorizing new poems and reading them aloud until I got a recordable version I was willing to let other folks listen to. I'm not sure how I did, exactly, but I sure learned a lot about how poetry is a different beast aloud than on the page.
I admit I don't give much "study" to any of this. It's more like play.
That actually sounds like an awesome way to approach that kind of project.
it's called "the University of Iowa poetry voice." it's the official priestly sound of the "orthodox church of high postmodern literary salvation poetry." ;)
"I don’t so much as write poetry as live it." << I feel the same way :)
It shows, Heidi. 🙏🏽
Came across this virtual event hosted by Mariame Kaba "Giving Name to the Nameless: Using Poetry as an Anti-Violence Intervention" and made me think of this post. Mariame Kaba is a national leader in the prison-abolition movement and someone I admire a lot. https://www.eventbrite.com/e/giving-name-to-the-nameless-using-poetry-as-an-anti-violence-intervention-tickets-320733942857?utm_source=eventbrite&utm_medium=email&utm_content=follow_notification&utm_campaign=following_published_event&utm_term=Giving+Name+to+the+Nameless%3A+Using+Poetry+as+an+Anti-Violence+Intervention&aff=ebemoffollowpublishemail
Thanks for the link, Greg.
Things that finally got through to me today: I was not actually *subscribed* to this excellent newsletter. How did I miss this? Who knows, but I'm glad you mention it from time to time, and glad it finally stuck in my flighty brain.
Thank you, Tara!
Jim Harrison was a damn fine writer. As are you. I have no idea whether this will format properly, but here's my favorite chunk of his "In Interims: Outlyer:"
What will I die with in my hand?
A paintbrush (for houses), an M15
a hammer or ax, a book a gavel,
a candlestick
tiptoeing upstairs.
What will I hold or will I
be caught with this usual thing
that I want to be my heart but
it is my brain and I turn it
over and over and over.
Well, it didn't. But it's close enough.
I love this. He came close – he died with a pencil in his hand!
Preach, brother poet.
💪🏽
I try to read a poem or two every morning. I don't always get it. But I try.
I know you're powering through Harrison. I don't "get" all of his stuff but the stuff I do ... wow.
I was on a Harrison completist mission after he died. I had to put Warlock down. And then I got distracted by some other shiny stuff. But I got back on and recently finished his early nonfiction collection, Just Before Dark. What I wouldn't give for a bootleg video of any of the meals, trips, meetings, etc. described. Next up, Julip. When I get a minute...
I've been poking around across all of his work for years. Someday I will have absorbed it all. The problem is I keep going back to stuff I read before because I love it so much!