Holy shit, holy shit. Some incredible news came across the email wire this morning. I have to keep my mouth closed for now, but rest assured dear reader, this is big. More to come.
[I hate when bloggers do this teasing shit, but I rather like doing it myself... well, seriously, who really reads this thing anyway?!]
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
from The Light the Dead See
THE MINNOW
If I press
on its head,
the eyes
will come out
like stars.
The ripples
it makes
can move
the moon.
THE NOCTURNAL SHIPS OF THE PAST
There was always a great darkness
moving out
like a forest of arrows
So many ships in the past
their bows bearing women
as stalks bear eyes
The burning ships
that drove their bowspirits
between the thighs of dreams
With my ear to the ground
I hear the black prows coming
plowing the night
into water
and the wind comes up
and I smell the sour wood
leaving a wake I want to be
left alone with
Night after night
like a sleeping knife that runs deep
through the belly
the tomb ships come
-- Frank Stanford
If I press
on its head,
the eyes
will come out
like stars.
The ripples
it makes
can move
the moon.
THE NOCTURNAL SHIPS OF THE PAST
There was always a great darkness
moving out
like a forest of arrows
So many ships in the past
their bows bearing women
as stalks bear eyes
The burning ships
that drove their bowspirits
between the thighs of dreams
With my ear to the ground
I hear the black prows coming
plowing the night
into water
and the wind comes up
and I smell the sour wood
leaving a wake I want to be
left alone with
Night after night
like a sleeping knife that runs deep
through the belly
the tomb ships come
-- Frank Stanford
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Speaker
The Speaker
Who worked his fingers to the ghost,
and for what
Words will be over, then: soon
he'll be silenced,
and said.
-- Franz Wright (from The Beforelife)
Who worked his fingers to the ghost,
and for what
Words will be over, then: soon
he'll be silenced,
and said.
-- Franz Wright (from The Beforelife)
Friday, April 18, 2008
the heat is on
Tomorrow I will be here, hanging with my boys, Adam and Adam. Roadtrip!! I can't freaking wait.
I just got back (yes, it's 12:13am) from the English Department building. I was dropping off an essay that's officially due tomorrow. It was my final project for English 5970: Politics and the English Language. Phew. My essay was "AAVE in the Classroom: A Call to Action for Educational Reform." Yeah. It was grand. Shit. Only one more theory/linguistics course before I am done, done, done with that stuff forever. I respect it, I honor it, but I ain't good at it. I have an 'A' going in that course right now, but I'm not 100% sure I'll keep it... we'll see what the Prof thinks of my rambling, though thought-provoking, essay.
Okay, a quick game of Scrabulous and then off to bed. Early (and long) day tomorrow!
Oh, I had a poem in my pocket today... it was my poem "Ovaries" that first appeared in Ninth Letter. Thanks guys for hooking me up! Awesome job!
I just got back (yes, it's 12:13am) from the English Department building. I was dropping off an essay that's officially due tomorrow. It was my final project for English 5970: Politics and the English Language. Phew. My essay was "AAVE in the Classroom: A Call to Action for Educational Reform." Yeah. It was grand. Shit. Only one more theory/linguistics course before I am done, done, done with that stuff forever. I respect it, I honor it, but I ain't good at it. I have an 'A' going in that course right now, but I'm not 100% sure I'll keep it... we'll see what the Prof thinks of my rambling, though thought-provoking, essay.
Okay, a quick game of Scrabulous and then off to bed. Early (and long) day tomorrow!
Oh, I had a poem in my pocket today... it was my poem "Ovaries" that first appeared in Ninth Letter. Thanks guys for hooking me up! Awesome job!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
ugh
Okay, I'm not done. I'm just tired, stressed, depressed, worried, lonesome, erratic, and overall just blah.
It's the end of my first year of Ph.D. studies and I feel so many different emotions. Not to mention that M is 17 weeks pregnant (and hormonal as all hell... it's okay, she's allowing me to broadcast that fact sans serious repercussions) and without a stable OB. We are going to a new doc in the morning; things should be getting back on track soon. But this Ph.D. thing is absurd. I'm not used to taking classes that bore me, classes that are meant solely as requirements. It's almost over, but I just can't seem to get into paper-writing mode. It's only a 12-15 pager due Friday, but my God I've been procrastinating. It's true that I work best under pressure, but at this point I might as well just have a stroke and get it over with. [Though I did go to the doc on Friday (I've got a mild cold, nothing big) and my blood pressure is completely normal... so no stroke should be on the horizon].
I haven't written many poems lately... "many" as in "none." But I did read the new issue of Redivider. It was great. And I've just finished Aleda Shirley's Dark Familiar. It was good. Not great, but very good. I'm not sure to whom I'd recommend this book, but maybe for you more narratively-minded poets... it got me thinking about some things anyway:
Like how do my newer poems (my long-ish, C. Wrightsian ones) use narrative (both of the physical world and the emotional world) to create meaningful white space? Is the white space a gimmick? A ploy? Am I stuck in one emotional narrative? Is this a bad thing? What about the "emotional center" or "emotional nugget" (as Eimers would call it) of the poems? Is there one? Basically, I'm concerned as to whether or not the poems have any stack to claim, any weight worth conveying, anything that keeps the reader reading. Hmmm.
And Charles Wright continues to be an obsession... especially the two earlier Selected books. So many gems. I learn from every poem. I haven't experienced this type of obsession since my very early Wallace Stevens days back as an undergrad.
This summer I'm once again teaching English 3670: Advanced Poetry Writing. I will be teaching Alex Lemon's Hallelujah Blackout, Linda Gregerson's Magnetic North, and Lorca's In Search of Duende. I'm psyched. So many great things to learn from these books. I can't wait to relearn them myself!
My class this semester contains a few very very talented writers (both in their poetry and their critical prose). All of them are doing well in the writing arena, but I'm concerned about some of their grades due to poor attendance. It's the one thing I don't like about teaching: enforcing attendance policies. I know they're writing hard and reading hard, but if they miss 6 classes (we only have 27 or 28 class meetings) they just can't pass... they've simply missed too much, especially in a workshop environment. I hate that they will fail (or receive very low grades) because of something as silly as attendance... but they should know better!
Go Cubs. Baseball is here, and I am joyful. Though my fantasy baseball team is getting crushed week after week.
So much reading to do. So many things I want to explore. And there are 5-10 poems in different stages in my notebooks from this semester... I just need a few weeks of quiet to crack those notebooks open and play. Soon, soon.
Okay, time for bed. Tomorrow, I write and write and write this goddamned essay.
It's the end of my first year of Ph.D. studies and I feel so many different emotions. Not to mention that M is 17 weeks pregnant (and hormonal as all hell... it's okay, she's allowing me to broadcast that fact sans serious repercussions) and without a stable OB. We are going to a new doc in the morning; things should be getting back on track soon. But this Ph.D. thing is absurd. I'm not used to taking classes that bore me, classes that are meant solely as requirements. It's almost over, but I just can't seem to get into paper-writing mode. It's only a 12-15 pager due Friday, but my God I've been procrastinating. It's true that I work best under pressure, but at this point I might as well just have a stroke and get it over with. [Though I did go to the doc on Friday (I've got a mild cold, nothing big) and my blood pressure is completely normal... so no stroke should be on the horizon].
I haven't written many poems lately... "many" as in "none." But I did read the new issue of Redivider. It was great. And I've just finished Aleda Shirley's Dark Familiar. It was good. Not great, but very good. I'm not sure to whom I'd recommend this book, but maybe for you more narratively-minded poets... it got me thinking about some things anyway:
Like how do my newer poems (my long-ish, C. Wrightsian ones) use narrative (both of the physical world and the emotional world) to create meaningful white space? Is the white space a gimmick? A ploy? Am I stuck in one emotional narrative? Is this a bad thing? What about the "emotional center" or "emotional nugget" (as Eimers would call it) of the poems? Is there one? Basically, I'm concerned as to whether or not the poems have any stack to claim, any weight worth conveying, anything that keeps the reader reading. Hmmm.
And Charles Wright continues to be an obsession... especially the two earlier Selected books. So many gems. I learn from every poem. I haven't experienced this type of obsession since my very early Wallace Stevens days back as an undergrad.
This summer I'm once again teaching English 3670: Advanced Poetry Writing. I will be teaching Alex Lemon's Hallelujah Blackout, Linda Gregerson's Magnetic North, and Lorca's In Search of Duende. I'm psyched. So many great things to learn from these books. I can't wait to relearn them myself!
My class this semester contains a few very very talented writers (both in their poetry and their critical prose). All of them are doing well in the writing arena, but I'm concerned about some of their grades due to poor attendance. It's the one thing I don't like about teaching: enforcing attendance policies. I know they're writing hard and reading hard, but if they miss 6 classes (we only have 27 or 28 class meetings) they just can't pass... they've simply missed too much, especially in a workshop environment. I hate that they will fail (or receive very low grades) because of something as silly as attendance... but they should know better!
Go Cubs. Baseball is here, and I am joyful. Though my fantasy baseball team is getting crushed week after week.
So much reading to do. So many things I want to explore. And there are 5-10 poems in different stages in my notebooks from this semester... I just need a few weeks of quiet to crack those notebooks open and play. Soon, soon.
Okay, time for bed. Tomorrow, I write and write and write this goddamned essay.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
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