The Best American Poetry

Besieged, assailed, and stormed

  
Here's an excerpt from a recent live chat transcript between readers, writer Ligaya Mishan, and Paul Muldoon, poet and poetry editor for The New Yorker (and guest editor for BAP 2005):

QUESTION: ...Contrary to public opinion, good poetry seems to be constructed, rather than spontaneously created. This obviously takes a lot of time. Therefore, how would you suggest a serious student of poetry manage or even afford to have this time? Should he just Wallace Stevens it?

PAUL MULDOON: It’s certainly true that it takes more work than most people might consider. That’s largely because all the work goes into making the poem look as if no work whatsoever has gone into it. And reading, both of other poems and the poem that’s even now coming into the world, is vital. But it’s still not like getting ready to run a marathon in Kenya. The exercise analogy doesn’t quite work. No amount of physical practice or mental preparedness will ensure that one will be able to run the marathon of the poem.

QUESTION: How does one get started as a poet? Clearly, trying to get published in The New Yorker off the bat is a long shot.

PAUL MULDOON: One gets started by having a lot of nerve but a nerve tempered by nervousness. Hubris tempered by humility. The chances of getting published in The New Yorker are slim in the sense that we publish only a hundred poems a year. But the chances of being published here are nonetheless real if you manage to write a really stunning poem. Nobody ever knows when, or how, that might happen. Soon, I hope.

Here's to stamina and "soon" for anyone flummoxed by their own stubborn drafts.  Read the whole transcript here.

-emma trelles

Nin Andrews in New York [by Liz Howort]

            In her retrospective reading at the New School last week, the poet Nin Andrews singled out the professor who most profoundly affected her creative work: “I took a class with David Lehman and it was as if my head was blown off.”  Andrews explained that when she studied poetry at Hamilton College, most of the poets on the faculty wrote in the confessional manner. Their dark work alienated her.  In studying with David Lehman, Andrews learned that “everything has the potential to be a poem.  Recipes, advertisements, presidential speeches—all poems.” 

The writer Frank McCourt wrote of his favorite graduate professor, Morton Irving Seiden, “He insisted we should know the literature the way a doctor knows the body.”  Andrews seems expert on the combination of literature and the body. She explained the origin of her collection The Book of Orgasms by recalling another professor who told her not to write about sex.  As if spurred by the prohibition, Andrews began writing poems such as “Defining the Orgasm” and “The Quest,” which exemplify the repressive society in which her curiosity blossomed: “We must live godly lives.  God never had orgasms.  Neither should I.  I did my best to remain orgasmless, but curiosity got the better of me.”  In her poem after Henri Michaux, entitled “The Portable Pussy,” Andrews brazenly asks, “If I have to pick between a pussy and a brain, which will it be? After all, who can choose between the player and his flute?”  Andrews weaves humor into the questions she raises whether about sex or politics, the atter of which she examines in Midlife Crisis with Dick and Jane. 

          Her recently published chapbook, Dear Professor Do You Live in a Vacuum? contains humorous questions and answers composed by college students: “Dear Professor,/ You gave us that problem/ about driving down the freeway at 60 MPH/ in a VW bug and hitting a truck/ that was driving at 75 MPH,/ and you wanted to know what happened next…/ I figured the answer was simple./ Drive a truck from now on.”  When asked whether people can develop or acquire a comic gift, Andrews suggested that humor can be learned and that reading absurd work may be a good first step. Humor can coexist with suffering. Part of you, Andrews said, may watch yourself suffer, and that part can see the humor in suffering. 

Nin Andrews on Vallejo

My favorite erotic poet is Vallejo
who isn't exactly erotic but always makes me swoon

with his two most famous poems,
"Agape" and "Peidra Negra Sobre Una Peidra Blanca."

It's that quality of longing that poets have
way too much of,
and their terrible loneliness
that would like to say
as Vallejo does:

"I would come to my door,
I would shout to everyone,
if you are missing anything,
here it is!"

And I'd love to.
Yes, I'd love to go to his door
and make love to him,
perhaps on a Thursday in Paris
on a day of heavy showers . . .
I'd keep everyone from beating him,
those whom he has done nothing to,
(Why does the world want to beat our famous poets?)

my Vallejo, my own Vallejo
who lives deep inside me now
where he is safe at last,
though, of course,
he knows nothing about this . . .

-- Nin Andrews
(from The Best American Erotic Poems: from 1800 to the Present)

Nin Andrews's books include The Book of Orgasms, Spontaneous Breasts, Why They Grow Wings, Midlife Crisis with Dick and Jane, Sleeping with Houdini, and Southern Comfort. She also edited Someone Wants to Steal My Name, a book of translations of the French poet, Henri Michaux.

Nin Andrews will be the featured poet at the New School poetry forum this evening at 6:30 PM in room 510 of 66 West 12 Street in New York City. She will read poems for thirty minutes, then field questions from moderator and audience for an equal amount of time.

 

The New School Poetry Faculty on Display [by Elizabeth Howort]

On Tuesday October 6, an enthusiastic audience greeted the New School's MFA poetry faculty at a group reading held in lieu of a conventional poetry forum. Cheers followed the announcement that the poets would read in alphabetical order, moving the director of the writing program, Robert Polito, to ask, “Are you cheering for the alphabet? The audience was dominated by MFA students, alphabet aficionados all, and it was evident that the crowd was applauding not only the medium of communication but the poets, who are admired not only for their poetry but for their teaching.

Mark Bibbins began the reading with poems from his new book The Dance of No Hard Feelings (Copper Canyon Press), which Laurie Anderson describes as “Delirious! Adventure stories in the shape of poems.”  Many of Mark’s poems consider the depth of emotional circumstance. Phrases I wrote down as particularly memorable include “the anxiety of coincidence” and “lilac…they are mine and I will kill you to impress upon you that they are mine.”

Following Bibbins, Elaine Equi read poems inspired by her own assignments. In an aside she addressed her students, “if they [the assignments] are good enough for you, they’re good enough for me.” Some such assignments included biography poems and poems written with a particular poet in mind.  In her prose poem, “The Tender Track,” Equi interrupted herself to say, “I googled this [song] for you, David.  It’s by Sammy Cahn.” “And Jimmy Van Heusen,” David Lehman replied from the audience.  “Oh, my god, that’s amazing.  He wins a refrigerator!” Equi exclaimed.  Many lines from her poems were quite humorous including, “He looked like Jesus but the kind of Jesus who likes to party.”

Jennifer Michael Hecht read next, beginning with “Trotsky’s Hand,” a critical rumination of history. “This burden of history,” she read, “is not a bird but a hand.” Hecht read poems from her book, Funny, which is filled with classic jokes. For example, “How many gorillas does it take to screw in a light bulb? One, but you need a lot of light bulbs.”  One of Hecht’s several villanelles plays with the repeating lines in Elizabeth Bishop’s “One Art."

David Lehman, following Hecht, shared some of his own poetic assignments. “Poem in the Manner of Wallace Stevens Rewritten by Gertrude Stein” gained the admiration of Stein and Stevens fans alike.  Referring to his new nonfiction book, A Fine Romance: Jewish Songwriters, American Songs (Nextbook / Schocken), Lehman talked about the possibility of fusing genres: “It seems to me a good idea, when you don’t know how to conclude a chapter of prose, to end it with a poem.”  Lehman then read “Poem in the Manner of a Jazz Standard” and ended with his well-known “Brooklyn Bridge,” after Vladimir Mayakovsky’s poem by the same title.

Meghan O’Rourke read a selection from her new manuscript entitled “My Life as a Subject.”  O’Rourke transported the audience to the world of this anticipated book with such gorgeous lines as this one: “At night we debated the skin of language.” Robert Polito read “Sister Elvis,” a four-part poem from his new book, Hollywood and God (University of Chicago Press), impersonations included: “Are you lonesome tonight?” In one stanza Elvis effectively becomes god: “See that cloud?” he asked. I’m gonna move that cloud.”

Paul Violi concluded the evening, commenting on the event. “What a great idea,” he exclaimed. “I feel like I’m in a gigantic workshop.” Violi read from his “Who Am I?” series, which emulates the quizzes one might find on paper placemats at a diner.  Without giving away too many answers, these poems feature such historical characters as King Ferdinand and General George Armstrong Custer. The poems are witty and charming and may lead readers – or, in this case, listeners – to the revelation that history is a rich source of inspiration and that a poem or a sequence of poems may derive its material from the realm of biography.

-- Elizabeth Howort

The Gala Launch: A Report [by Liz Howort]

The Best American Poetry 2009 gala launch reading on Thursday, September 24 featured  prize-winning poets (such as John Ashbery, Billy Collins, Mark Doty, and Richard Howard), but it will also be remembered for the record-breaking number of readers, twenty-one poets in all, some traveling from as far as California, Seattle, Cincinnati, and Kalamazoo.

The New School's Tishman Auditorium in New York City was filled to capacity, and the standing-room-only audience responded most appreciatively and with no loss of attention from 7:15 when the proceedings began until it was Matthew Zapruder's turn to read at 8:50.

              David Lehman, the anthology’s series editor, hosted the evening, and his introductory remarks surely resonated with writers of all genres. He imparted this advice to aspiring poets: “Don’t postpone writing the poem.” A renowned poet himself, Lehman cited a passage from Nicholson Baker’s new novel The Anthologist culminating in these sentences:

            “Put it down, work on it, finish it. If you don't get on it now, somebody else will do something similar, and when you crack open next year's Best American Poetry and see it under somebody else's name you'll hate yourself.”

            John Ashbery, the first featured poet, read “They Knew What They Wanted,” a poem comprised of movie titles that were brilliantly ordered, each beginning with "They." The audience guffawed when Ashbery recited, “They met in the dark./ They might be giants” (The Best American Poetry 2009, pp. 1-2)  Mark Bibbins also had the audience in stitches as he chronicled the state-by-state oddities of America. “It is the custom in Maryland to honor the stegosaurus on Stegosaurus Day,” for example, and “Mississippi

means gesundheit in esperanto.” Prior to reading his "Freud" sestina, James Cummins brought the house down by explaining that there was something the audience needed to know prior to hearing the poem. That something, Cummins said with perfect poker face, is that Freud was an influential psychologist who lived in Vienna.

            In acts of generosity, Philip Levine read Kevin Young’s poem from the anthology and Billy Collins read Bruce Bond’s “Ringtone,” a chilling poem about the shootings at Virginia Tech. Mark Doty's poem concerned a recital of "Ozymandias," and he followed by reading Shelley's great sonnet. Princeton professor James Richardson had to cancel his appearance at the last minute, so Richard Howard read Richardson's poem before reading  "Arthur Englander's Back in School," his own poem about a fifth grade class. It’s hard to imagine anyone capturing the voice and sentiment of a fifth grader as astutely as Howard. Martha Silano’s unexpected addendum to her paradoxical poem, “Love,” with its multiple iterations of the word hate, was her tremendous imitation of a seething espresso machine.

          It is not possible to characterize all the many poets that graced the stage, but they will surely be remembered for their varied voices and themes ranging from religion and justice to the recent change in government in the United States. Hats off to guest editor David Wagoner and series editor David Lehman for compiling such a rich anthology and organizing a most memorable evening! 

        -- Liz Howort

Literary agents Glen Hartley and Lynn Chu hosted a post launch cocktail party in their nearby loft.   John Roode Catering provided gourmet food and poet Matthew Yeager served as the evening's expert mixologist.  Poet Star Black shares these photos:

l to r Mark Strand, John Ashbery, David Schloss (Photo(c)2009 by Star Black)

Photos from the Gala Launch Reading (II) -- by Bill Hayward

Mark Doty reading at the gala launch reading
for The Best American Poetry 2009
at the New School's Tishman Auditorium in NYC
September 24, 2009

photo credit: Bill Hayward

Photos from the Gala Launch Reading (I)

Richard Howard reading at the gala launch reading
for The Best American Poetry 2009
at the New School's Tishman Auditorium in NYC
September 24, 2009

photo credit: Bill Hayward.

"The Portable Pussy" [by Nin Andrews]

The Portable Pussy

Wherever I go, I carry a pussy with me.  How, you might ask, but I and the pussy are not one and the same being, so carry it I must.   Asleep or awake, depending on who else is in the room, the pussy talks.  Quietly of course, so as not to attract attention or disturb the peace.  And honestly, much too honestly, really.  I am so relieved when those who hear it pretend not to.  Or perhaps they imagine they are only hearing things.  On rare occasions the pussy gets carried away.   Then it sings off key or starts composing poetry.   Of course, most don’t suspect (or so I hope) that it’s the pussy and not I who sings, or how difficult it is to carry a pussy everywhere I go, much less listen to the running commentary when all I wish for is silence.  A little relief.  I’ve even sought medical advice, but the doctors insist the pussy is all in the mind.  I need only stop thinking about it, and the pussy will vanish forever.  So I have been thinking about not thinking about the pussy.  But I have fears.  If the pussy is in my mind, alongside my thoughts, what if the thoughts leave first?  If I have to pick between a pussy and a brain, which will it be? After all, who can choose between the player and his flute?  The sea below and the sky above?  How can I ignore the gullies for the torrents of the rain and the path of the thunderbolt? And who am I to command the waves thus far and no farther shall you come.

--- Nin Andrews

Come to the Nin Andrews Poetry Forum at the New School (room 510 of 66 West 12 Street), October 19, at 6:30 PM.

And don't miss the gala kickoff reading for The Best American Poetry 2009 at the New School (Tishman Auditorium, ground floor of 66 West 12 Street), Thursday, September 24, 2009 at 7 PM. Among the contributors to BAP 2009 who will take part in the reading are John Ashbery, Mark Bibbins, Billy Collins, Mark Doty, Margaret Gibson, Michael Grabell, Dolores Hayden, Richard Howard, Tina Kelley, Mitch Sisskind, Craig Morgan Teicher, and Matthew Zapruder.

BAP 2009 Kickoff Reading: Thursday, September 24, 2009 at 7PM

On September 24, 2009. at 7 PM, in the New School's Tishman Auditorium (66 West 12 Street, ground floor), series editor David Lehman will host a gala launch reading for The Best American Poetry 2009, and it's free so we hope everyone will come except for freeloading ill-mannered creeps but there aren't any of those, are there, in the soi-disant poetry "community."
Among the contributors to BAP 2009 who have agreed to take past I mean take art I mean take part (steady, girl) are
John Ashbery
Mark Bibbins
Suzanne Cleary
Billy Collins
Mark Doty, Margaret Gibson, Douglas Goetsch, Michael Grabell, Dolores Hayden, Jennifer Michael Hecht reading the late Sarah Hannah's "The Safe House," Richard Howard, Tina Kelley, Phillis Levin, James Richardson, Mitch Sisskind, Tom Sleigh, Craig Morgan Teicher, Matthew Zapruder.
I'll be there! Look for me.
-- Molly Arden

Till There Was You [by David Shapiro]

<<
Today I was thinking that the only time the Beatles sang a Broadway song was when they recorded "Till There Was You" from Meredith Wilson's "The Music Man," and then a few thoughts occurred to me about poetry readings:

As a violinist I can't imagine reading the score alone, though it gives great pleasure, and I associate poetry as a sister art. Most of us think Homer was a singing bard, Sappho had a lyre she discusses, and the poems of the Bible are sung by those like my grandfather, the chazzan (cantor). The good cantor so moving that Cossacks are said to have stopped and not killed that day.

I learned so much from Stevens' exorbitantly slow grey voice. I ended a love affair with Roethke when he grunted drunk at the Y.
It's true I loved to imitate each poet I loved.
If I loved them, I loved their voice.
When Ashbery read 'The Skaters" whole
[When was that, David?]
In 1964. It was amazing, David. Every word was right.
[Where was it?]
In New York. At the end Allen Ginsberg tried to recruit him for some political action and John said "I'm a political exile."
I knew that any Dylan Thomas saxophone in me had died and was reborn. Horowitz admitted he exaggerated for his audience. Do you mind?
I hate poetry readings, they are the worst thing in nature, but they are not in nature. Lowell sd he changed for Ginsberg--well, it was still RL.
Would you like to hear Trakl read or Rilke?
Those who heard (like Marianne Moore) Meyer Schapiro's lectures were listening to a god's golden sound. When Paul Robeson spoke, when Gielgud read Shakespeare, when Celan reads Todtfugue,we stop breathing. It is bad poems you hate and minor performers, but to hear Shakespeare do the Ghost I would give up the ghost. Forget Allan and what can be comical pathos. Forget the imitators. Get the old Caedmans and listen to that essential science of sound that Keats mentions.
O imagine Donne reading Donne. I would be undone. If a poet bores you, just wake up and look for another voice. Lovers know that the voice is a sexual organ (see Jewish law). If your love's voice doesn't please you, you are already divorced. If an architect's drawings are better than his house, you have made an ontological mistake.
Chekhov on the page, Vanya say, lies inert.
Alive in sound, he is the greatest writer.
My mother said, If you have a good speaking voice, you will have a good singing voice.
Many poems grow from music, the best are already music. Even this topic makes me happy. What is better than Sappho? Catullus? No, Sappho as she once may have been heard.
Pound I can mock, not Anne Porter at 95 reading a poem about her son.
There is a poem that reduces us to tears and wonder without school. Of course, I am one who believes you can speak between poems. Of reading twice, my wife says: Oh no, that poet is horrible enough and now we must hear him twice. But privately, I recite my favorites over and over like a song.
Most poetry readings are bad, but so are most paintings and dances.
>>
-- David Shapiro