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!
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 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.
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:"
"Give me an ill-tempered, one-eyed old birdwatcher who swigs red wine and eats fried chicken from Albertson’s instead." Amen.
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!
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.
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.
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 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.
"I don’t so much as write poetry as live it." << I feel the same way :)
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
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:"
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.
Preach, brother poet.
I try to read a poem or two every morning. I don't always get it. But I try.