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Friday, 28 September 2007
An extremely busy week here in Pittsburgh; I taught a lifelong learning class on poetry at the University of Pittsburgh, sponsored by our local library association (ACLA), am busy making plans for some hiking in the woods and the usual Lilliput things. Also, some film reviews for the website Fulvue Drive-In, one on Marco Polo and the other on the House of Usher. Both were pretty horrific, and not in a good way, which, of course made writing the reviews all the more fun. So, I'll keep it brief. Today is a day when losers everywhere pause to commemorate the great Arnold Stang. Here is an interview with him because, well, it's the web and here's an interview ... with delightful picture. Continuing our leisurely sampling of back issues of Lilliput Review, it's time to skip forward to #123. #122 is a one poem broadside by David Chorlton entitled And, which would be criminal to excerpt, so I won't. It is available for a mere buck ... but enough with the plugs, on with the poems.
One Small Poem can take you a long way
think how far you've come
to find this one. ~ Bart Solarczyk
And the indomitable Albert Huffstickler:
Thursday, 20 September 2007
This week saw anniversaries for Ken Kesey (birth) and Jimi Hendrix (death). Known, of course, for Cuckoo's Nest, Kesey's Sometimes a Great Notion is a book worth revisting and, in fact, may be every bit as great, if not quite as universal. From one of chapter headnotes, for which he seems be nodding back to Hemingway, is one of those moments one finds sprinkled throughout Kesey's work as often as that of, say, Thomas Hardy:
And Hendrix, Jimi Hendrix, what can be said that hasn't been already. Well, there are the lyrics, for instance. Take Voodoo Chile (Slight Return):
And this, Up From the Skies, from his arguable masterpiece, Axis: Bold as Love:
Issue #121 starts off in something of an enigmatic mood, prompted by the always challenging, probing work of John Harter.
Shadows on the wall, flickering reminders of my heart without you.
And, finally, Huff, perhaps pointing us back to his broadside featured in the last posting, with this poignant poem:
Posted by donw714 at 07:34 EDT
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Updated: Friday, 28 September 2007 09:38 EDT Saturday, 15 September 2007
James Fenimore Cooper is remembered for quite a few things, not the least of which is his mind cramping, turgid prose that killed the joy of reading for many a high school student. Fortunately, we have Mark Twain, whose brilliant response has perhaps saved a few of those students from a book-less future (in those little connections the mind makes, I thought of Bono's inspired battle-cry in a similar situation: "Charles Manson stole this song from the Beatles. Now we're stealing it back."). In perverse celebration of JFC's birthday (as noted in this morning's Writer's Almanac), here is Mark Twain's Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses (which were not noted in Writer's Almanac). In defense of Cooper, who has since high school actually given me some occasional moments of reading pleasure, here is the homepage of the James Fenimore Cooper Society, dedicated to the study of his life and works. Today is also the birthday of the famed conductor, Bruno Walter. Though his recording of Beethoven's symphonies have long since passed as the standard to measure others by, call me a romantic, they still remain my personal favorites. Here is the Second movement of the 9th Symphony, conducted by Walter. Issue #120 of Lilliput Review is a broadside by Albert Huffstickler, entitled Dearly Departed. This sequence of poems was written in memory of fellow poet/artist Susie Bowers, who had taken her own life very recently. Susie and Huff were close and Huff had his own issues with self destruction and so this hit him as hard as it can. As was usually the case, Huff talked himself through it in his poems and this was perhaps the best sequence he ever wrote, in my opinion. The following are from that sequence.
Suicide is a great responsibility: you take from others so many things that were never yours to begin with.
I don't think I want to understand why you did it. I can't even deal with not understanding.
Posted by donw714 at 11:50 EDT
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Updated: Sunday, 16 September 2007 06:50 EDT Thursday, 13 September 2007
This week was the birthday of D. H. Lawrence. Often forgotten is the fact that Lawrence was a master poet, really a poet first, as was Hermann Hesse. He excelled at all lengths, but was perhaps one of the finest poets ever in the short form. Here are two examples:
Nothing to Save
There is nothing to save, now all is lost but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of the violet.
Nothing to Save is reminiscent of another great short poem, one of my personal favorites, by James Wright:
Taking a look backward this week at Lilliput #119, which nicely coincides with the season. Here are three short subjects on the coming (and past) fall season:
Sycamore
One day all the leaves blow away. I have been worrying about the wrong things. ~ Ray Skjelbred
Posted by donw714 at 08:35 EDT
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Updated: Friday, 14 September 2007 07:43 EDT Friday, 7 September 2007
Persevering with Charles Wright's Scar Tissue has paid off; as with many a poetry volume, a gem or two may be found here or there.
The Woodpecker Pecks, but the Hole Does Not Appear
It's hard to imagine how unremembered we all become How quickly all that we've done Is unremembered and unforgiven, how quickly Bog lillies and yellow clover flashlight our footfalls, How quickly and finally landscape subsumes us, And everything that we are becomes what we are not.
This is not new, the orange finch And the yellow and dun finch picking the dry clay politely, The grasses asleep in their green slips Before the noon can roust them, The sweet oblivion of the everyday like a warm waistcoat Over the cold and endless body of memory.
Cloud-scarce Montana morning. July, with its blue cheeks puffed out like a putto on an ancient map, Huffing the wind down from the northwest corner of things, Tweets on the evergreen stumps, swallows treading the air, The ravens hawking from tree to tree, not you, not you, Is all the world allows, and all one could wish for. ~ Charles Wright
And the last verse from a poem called Pilgrim's Progress
In the end, of course, one's a small dog At night on the front porch, barking into the darkness At what he can't see, but smells, somehow, and is suspicious of. Barking, poor thing, and barking, With no one at home to call him in, with no one to turn the light on. ~ Charles Wright
Yes, it was worth the slog through. And, yes, it's probably time to pick it back up and start all over again.
When is a blog a journal? When no one posts responses? Hmn?
Back to the tour through back issues of Lilliput. This time it is number 118, which was a broadside of the poet M. Kettner, entitled Highku. A decidedly skewed take on the haiku form. The out-of-body experience as prosody ...
#700 high: aerial surveillance of self patent leather reflecting sun
Next time, homage to Issa - I hope. Or, maybe Whitman. Or not. Hmn.
Posted by donw714 at 16:34 EDT
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Updated: Friday, 7 September 2007 16:37 EDT Friday, 31 August 2007
Within and Without: Revelation
As I mentioned before I've been struggling with Charles Wright's recent volume of poems, Scar Tissue. This morning, Garrison Keillor highlights a fine poem by Wright in his Writer's Almanac: "After Reading T'ao Ch'ing, I wander Untethered Through the Short Grass," from his collection Appalachia. Check it out, it's worth the click. Today is the birthday of the Irish songwriter/bard Van Morrison. Over the years, he has given the world such a wide array of quality music, from the cliched blue-eyed soul through the mystic to skiffle, country and beyond. One of his least lauded but very best albums, at least for the poets in the crowd, is 1980's Common One. It is simply, while simultaneously being about, revelation. Here is "Summertime in England":
Well, for a blog that should be highlighting the short poem, that's a stretch. Today's selection of poems from a back issue of Lilliput Review comes from issue #117. Perhaps there might be some revelation there:
EVERYTHING THE MYSTERY THE WOOD THE SMALL ANIMALS THE BIRDS DEEP BEDS OF PINE NEEDLES EVERYTHING
Thursday, 30 August 2007
Today is the birthday of the artist Robert Crumb, whose work embodies the torturous passage of the generations who grew up in the 50's and 60's. Truly a marriage made in hell, he did covers and artwork for a number of Charles Bukowski's books, one example being Bring Me Your Love, above. In recent years, Buk's books are being published by Ecco Press, an imprint of HarperCollins. Hardly reflective of his small press roots with Black Sparrow, but so it goes, as the poet said. Continuing the tour of back issues that is the main purpose of Beneath Cherry Blossoms, here are some interesting poems from #116:
museum alcove -- incautious gum chewers lean closer to Shiva
Posted by donw714 at 07:04 EDT
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Updated: Thursday, 30 August 2007 07:52 EDT Saturday, 25 August 2007
Today is the birthday of the poet Charles Wright, whose recent volume, Scar Tissue, I am currently struggling with mightily. More palatable, at least for me, is the poem " Last Supper" by Wright, from his collection The Wrong End of the Rainbow, and posted on the poets.org website. For a decidedly more small press approach to things, you might want to check out the website of exemplary poet Charlie Mehrhoff, one of our finest practitioners of the short form and someone I've had the honor to publish both in Lilliput Review and as part of the Modest Proposal Chapbook series. From his collection One Hand Clapping in that series comes the following:
And this:
From issue #115 of Lillie, this little gem:
And, hopefully, committing these words to the page, an old poet friend went some of the distance to their denial
A number of Shakespeare sonnets, such as, and Shelley again (see the August 4th entry of this blog) ...
Posted by donw714 at 10:54 EDT
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Updated: Thursday, 30 August 2007 07:46 EDT Wednesday, 22 August 2007
Birthdays on this day include John Lee Hooker and Dorothy Parker; if ever there was a blues singer who wrote poetry and a poet who had the cosmic blues, these two fit the bill. Here's one by John Lee that Dorothy certainly could relate to:
And here's one from Ms. Parker that John Lee could probably have tapped his feet to ...
A Very Short Song
In keeping with the somewhat somber mood, two great short pieces by Albert Huffstickler from issue #113 of Lilliput Review:
Posted by donw714 at 09:12 EDT
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Updated: Wednesday, 22 August 2007 09:14 EDT Sunday, 19 August 2007
This past week saw anniversaries of three of the small presses' most influential icons: Charles Bukowski (born 1920), Ed Sanders (born 1939) and Jack Spicer (died 1965). Also, today is the anniversary of the execution death of Federico Garcia Lorca. Spicer translated some of Garcia Lorca's poems and a letter to him from Spicer on the art of translation may be found at the Spicer website at the University of Buffalo. Ed Sanders, a founding member of the influential folk/poetry group the Fugs, has become known in recent years for his book-length historical poems, such as 1968: A History in Verse. There is an interesting interview with Ed posted online by Billy Bob Hargus that's worth a look see. One brilliant bit of short verse by him from Thirsting For Peace in a Raging Century: Selected Poems 1961-1985 follows:
And speaking of small press icons, issue #112 of Lilliput is a broadside of the work of Hugh Fox, entitled Slides.
5. Going back to my forest through the suburbs that are only thirty or forty years old but look eternal, a white- haired, white-bearded man about sixty walks out of one of the houses he could be anyone.
As with all back issues of Lillie, this little ten slide broadside performance is available for $1.
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
Charles Simic, the newly named U.S. Poet Laureate, knows his way around the short poem. A native of Belgrade, Yugoslavia, Simic emigrated with his family to the U.S. while in his teens. Growing up in Europe during WWII, war and its consequences, as well as language, are never far from his concerns. From his collection Jackstraws:
Mother Tongue
In a previous posting, I commented on the lack of recent war poems coming into Lilliput considering that the Iraq War has now gone on longer than WWII. Simic, of course, remembers (from Hotel Insomnia):
One of the hallmarks of Simic's poetry is a subtle weaving of the surreal in the real; in the following example from Return to a Place Lit by a Glass of Milk, it leads to transcendence:
Returning to our twice weekly or so tour of past issues of Lilliput Review, we have the following little numbers by the inimitable Albert Huffstickler from issue #111 (July 2000):
I have measured my solitude on the scale of my being and come up with a formula for converting ashes into sunlight.
Posted by donw714 at 07:30 EDT
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Updated: Wednesday, 15 August 2007 11:51 EDT Saturday, 11 August 2007
Among the finest "classic" short poems in the English language is the following by Ezra Pound. Showing the influence of one of the initial waves of Eastern forms on Western poetry, this is a poem that continues to resonate for the today's readers precisely because it captures that timeless Eastern quality that has nothing to do with style:
For cogent, in depth analysis of this little gem, check out Mark Doty's talk, which may be found at http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19705 on the poets.org website. Though analysis in it's many ugly forms leaves me cold, this will keep you thinking. Meanwhile, in the ongoing stroll through past issues of Lilliput, three poems from issue #110 (April 2000):
THE LIBRARIAN ASKED CAN YOU WAIT FOR THAT BOOK ON FIFTH CENTURY BUDDHIST STATUARY
Posted by donw714 at 10:40 EDT
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Updated: Saturday, 11 August 2007 11:18 EDT Wednesday, 8 August 2007
5:45 am here in Pittsburgh and it is 79° and as damp as a frog's butt on a lightly submerged lily pad. Ah, the joys of August in the "big" city. Searching for some relief, let's turn to the master poet, Issa, after one of whose poems this blog is named. From the "Modest Proposal Chapbook" of Issa's work, Dusk Lingers, the following:
Now that's much better, isn't it. Well, looking for a bit more relief, there are the following little poems from Lillput Review #109 (April 2000) that remind us of the virtues of dampness as well as cooling relief:
in the darkness beginning to fade-- snow that just sticks
Posted by donw714 at 06:49 EDT
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Updated: Wednesday, 8 August 2007 11:35 EDT Saturday, 4 August 2007
As pointed out in this morning's Writer's Almanac, today is the birthday of Percy Bysshe Shelley. Since no poem was provided, I thought I'd correct that here with one of his most famous short works:
I always felt that the song "Conquistador" by Keith Reid was a homage to Shelley's poem, so here it is in tandem:
Conquistador Conquistador -- your stallion stands in need of company
Today's Lillie selection is from issue #108, a broadside entitled Selected Wu Songs by Linda Joan Zeiser. Linda has been a contributor to Lilliput for many years and is a loving, sensual poet. Here are two of her beautiful wu songs:
Posted by donw714 at 07:17 EDT
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Updated: Saturday, 4 August 2007 07:50 EDT Monday, 30 July 2007
Today, the first batch of new issues goes out in the mail. It takes nearly a month to get all the issues out, as there is much mail that needs attention. The new issues are #'s 157 & 158. 157 is a standard anthology issue and #158 is a broadside by Mark Hartenbach, entitled Butterfly, Corkboard. In addition to the new issues, there is a brand new chapbook by Gary Hotham in the "Modest Proposal Chapbook" series, entitled Missed Appointment. What follows is a taste of each. From #158, a poem by Yosano Akiko, translated by Dennis Maloney. For details on her life and career, click here for an informative Wikipedia article.
#374 Lying with my lover, From the bed I see Through the curtain Across the Milky Way the parting of the Weaver and the Oxherder stars!
From the broadside Butterfly, Corkboard, issue #158:
Gary Hotham is one of our finest contemporary haiku poets. From his new chapbook, Missed Appointment, the following poem :
Posted by donw714 at 06:32 EDT
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Updated: Tuesday, 31 July 2007 09:20 EDT Friday, 27 July 2007
I've always felt attracted to the work of Gary Snyder, particularly his subject matter and philosophy, but I've never really connected with him in a big way. While reading some of the nature work of Mary Oliver, I found in a pile of poetry books a small chapbook of Snyder's work, entitled Songs for Gaia. This set of poems was later reprinted in Axe Handles, under the slightly different title of "Little Songs for Gaia." Once again, I didn't quite connect with the work, except this opening poem of the sequence:
From the Lilliput archive, #107, two short poems:
December Dawn The sun comes up, reining a bleak wind,
Love is never enough.
Love is all there is.
Thursday, 26 July 2007
One of the anomalies of this war that has now gone on longer than WW II is that, though the majority of opinion is against it, there has been very little by way of protest. In addition, the press has ignored this issue and the reason why and so the war drags on. The reason is simple: there is no draft. The people in the streets in the past were those whose skin was on the line or those related in someway to them. Now the people who are putting their life on the line volunteered to do so. Does that make it any less heinous or, in some perversity of logic, right? No. So, too, there are, it seems, very few war poems. At Lilliput, I see virtually none. Does it bother me? Yes. Does life go on? Sure. For us, the privileged, the protected. For lack of other fodder, here's a poem by Wilfred Owen, with an outcome no less biblical for its divergence:
And from the Lilliput archive, issue # 106, September 1999, before the war:
Sunday, 22 July 2007
You will be reading a lot of the work of Albert Huffstickler in coming postings - before he died in 2002, Huff had become my favorite "unknown" poet of the small press and remains so 5 years later. Huff simply cut to the heart of things and in the longer form especially was wrenchingly lyrical. Though I believe he was being overly generous, he once told me he learned to master the short poem working on things to send to Lilliput. He certainly mastered the resonance I look for in short works. A homepage of his work and tributes to him may be found by clicking the "Small Press Links" in the right hand column of this page. There are some fine poems to be found there. From LR #105, here's one from Huff and a poem by another premier poet who is gone, Cid Corman:
Saturday, 21 July 2007
This morning's Writer's Almanac features a poem by Percy Shelley well worth repeating:
Lilliput Review #104 was a broadside issue by the poet John Elsberg, entitled "Small Exchange." Here is a little gem from that ten poem collection:
Friday, 20 July 2007
Generally, I plan to be posting a new entry once a week, more frequently when time allows. Currently, I'm reading a recent translation of Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil, Verse by Adelaide Crapsey and a selection of the art and poetry of d.a.levy entitled The Buddhist Third Class Junkmail Oracle. I first ran across the work of Adelaide Crapsey in one of those inexpensive anthologies of poetry produced by Dover Publications entitled Imagist Poetry. I have since discovered that she was the inventor of the cinquain, a form I often see in poems sent to Lilliput. The Imagist movement was greatly influenced by one of the first waves of interest in all things Eastern in the West, and the cinquain as a form owes much to the East in its striking imagery and precise condensation. Though not a cinquain, the following is my favorite poem by Adelaide.
From Lilliput #103, April 1999, two poems:
Poetry is that conversation we could not otherwise have had.
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