The Poem for Sunday

It was such a wonderful reading. Thank you to Ron, Lisa, Tim, Kristin, & all who attended:

Here's NaPo for Sunday.

Poem based on letters/imterviews between Bernadette Mayer and Bill Berkson
'What's your idea of a Good Time'

Are you a Marxist? I like to believe, utterly. The idea of capitalism makes me what to throw up. I can't stand the fact that some people have $700 handbags while others are starving. I can't stand how America's society is steeped in having rather than loving. I can't stand the fact that my students go to college 'to get a good job' rather than to learn.

Have you ever gone to Mexico? Twice. Both were bad experiences. The first time I ate turtle soup and went to a very boring nightclub. The second time we got stopped and bribed by the police. Then, we couldn't find a hotel. We decided to drive home that night. I fell asleep, my friend took a wrong turn and we ended up lost and five hours out of our way. I hate Mexico.

Where do you draw the line between messy & livable in your house? I'll be honest. My house is very messy. Sometimes it's livable, sometimes it's not.

What are your favorite New York restuarants? Mary Ann's, La Bonn Soupe, The Odeon, and Black Betty.

Do you shock easily? Not as far as sex and drugs. People's cruelty shocks me and people's copacity to be emphathic shocks me. My student's apathy sometimes shocks me.

What detail in your life is most facinating to write about? My relationship with my husband and son. How indepth a relationship with a child is. How it makes you look at the entire world differently. How relationships over the years unfold. You never truly know someone completely. How language makes its way into the conciousness of babies. They are born looking with the inability to describe.

What jobs (other than poet) have you taken on? Data entry, museum gift shop clerk, dishwasher, nanny, babysitter, editor, adminisrative assistant, professor, middle school teacher, GED teacher, poetry teacher to people with disabilities, bookstore shelver, daycare attendant, libarian assistant, customer service representative, freelance writer, pta vice-president, mother, elementary school volunteer, gallery assistant.

Jack Spicer Quiz (in partial form), for norma cole

Politics

What is your favortie political song? Rock and Roll N -er
If you had to choose to eliminate 3 political figures in the world, who would you choose?
Dick Cheney, that guy from Korea, George Jr.

Religion

1. Which religious figures had or represented religious views nearest to your own?

Nearest: Jesus, Buddha Furthest: Dionysus

2. Classifiy this set of figures in the same way:

Nearest: I'm hip to Marx, Aquinas, Augustine, Gandhi, Yeats, Proust and de Sade.
Farthest: I'm pretty unhappy with Luther and Hilter tho not in that order.

History: Pass

Poetry:

1. If you were editing a magazine and had an unlimited budget, which poets would you ask for contrabutions:

Betsy Andrews, Andrea Baker, Charlens Bernstein, Anselm Berrigan, Edmund Berrigan, Mei Mei Besrssenbrugge, Norma Cole, Bruce Covey, Marcella Durand Jorie Graham, Brenda Hillman, Robert Hass, Lisa Jarnot, Maryrose Larkin, Reb Livingston, Alice Notley, Michael Palmer, Eleni Sikelionios, Nathaniel Tarn, Kristin Prevallet, Anne Gorrick , Anne Waldman, Jaques Roubaud,Sam Lohman, David Abel, David Wolach with art by Susan Bee, Carol Diamond, Lee Bartlett, Thomas Evans, Amy Evans, and Jennifer Urban. Also, Bill Olsen and Nancy Eimers

Personal:

Name: Jennifer Bartlett Address: Brooklyn
Age: You wish you knew Sex: Sometimes

Height: 5'2 Weight: 125
Married

What animal do you most resemble: pig - smart, salty and messy
What insect do you most resemble - why, scorpian, is that an insect?
What star do you most resemble - Parker Posey

I don;t know tarot cards: but I fear death, elevators, anxiety, sadness, insanity, insane asylums, the police and cabbies.
I desire world peace, happiness for children, to write good poems, a world where people with disabilities are not freaks, a writing job at the New York Times, a Mini, and a ho-ho.

The funniest joke I know is hawaii, fine thank you.

Exercise 1

1.

With the gums gone I longed for longing
are complete And though the nose is nothing
the eye can only see what it chooses

And now the birds lift from the surface
of the radiator spauled across my floor
is given the even row of it
fit to raise
my wild children.

NaPoWriMo [Cont.]

My mother would be a falconress
and I her breaking wing
bloodied at her soul
the doubling of us becomes.

She cannot blame me.
For it is her that taught me
to claw and claw
and request at the world.

Mother, bend at my will.
I, who, so decidedly do
and do not love you.
I do cripple your wing.

Prepare for flight [singing]
the torn open
cling to the hem.
You will crack at the middle
the scratches still upon you
in between the living and dying
a grasp at the blurring earth.

Stillness not escaping
my hand reaches into
only my reflection is mirrord
upon the mirror of her
I glow in her space
little etching that I am
little burning

The damage at the wrist is mine
want and want.

* I hope I don't embarrass myself. This is a nutty attempt at a Duncan/Antony combo. Note: because Mom reads the blog; the mother & child here are me & jeffrey.

Some Haiku for you

leaving the hopital
it is spring again
when will you see it

she leaves a branch
on our kitchen table
all spring petals drift

my light green knit hat
it keeps my dirty long hair
off my face

my son seems to have
an enormous amount of misinformation
about hippies

Segue Reading

Through the kindness of Lisa Jarnot, I'll be reading at the Segue reading series at the Bowery Poetry Club.
The reading is Saturday the 4th at 4 pm.
I'm reading with Ron Silliman.
Be there or be a circle.

Tin House

Stillness turns in its well, the summit moves with the tide.
The house is constantly unfinished, the desire a cold nest to rest in.

The reservoir is trying [attempting] to freeze over
with an expanding map shaped like an angel.

It sooths and rejects.

I wonder if seasons were create by our brains [memory].

In winter the house will not have us. In summer, it opens.
We are considered innovators of all things.

Moths swarmed the elm tree
one year, and bees the next, so I thought

we misinterpreted the meaning of the word home
in the yard, alien voices

it was the teeming.

The third year brought butterflies.
I found an explanation for the phenomena in the poem.

It reflected the light moving across her black and orange wing.

in the tradition of Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge

*a few lines are, in fact, Mei Mei's. The 'tin house' is my imaginary recollection of Mei-Mei and Richard Tuttle's 'summer house.'

Missing Paragraph of 1st Letter on Georges

We saw many kinds of animals. Some appeared to be dead, others living, It was as though they followed the pattern of the storm and were trying to warn us. Many of the men were having a hard time imagining the prospect of being saved. The night was so black. The water blocked out any possibility of stars.

in the tradition of Charles Olson

NaPoWriMo

In addition to 'regular' so-called blogging, I'll be doing a poem a day for National Poetry Month. The way I've decide to do this is to write a poem based off, in the styles of others. I will include the name of the poet who I am imitating.

A Mother’s Work

The mother rushes off to work clutching her coffee.
It spills into her suit sleeve.

At home, the second daughter curls in bed with a fever.
She has nearly a stranger to take care of her.

The mother travels toward the pulsating city,
In her business clothes, she looks so pretty.

As the bus flies through the tunnel
she leaves behind her most domestic funnel

Into the island of six figure salaries and
Women who count their calories.

Perhaps she is lonely for the life she misses well.
She might one day tell the boss to go to hell.

For now, she is satisfied to live her complicated life
Despite the daily grind of strife.


in the tradition of Deborah Garrison

Update

Coming attractions: I am hoping to soon get up reviews of Nathaniel Tarn's new book and the Belladonna Elder series on Emma Bee Bernstein. Stay tuned.

I have been reading Susan Sontag's Illness as Metaphor and AIDS and Its Metaphors. While somewhat academic, I find this collection utterly soothing. What is particularly interesting to me is the concept that illness is deserved, that cancer is the fault of the patient, brought on by unhealthy living. It reminds me of how some new-ageish people predict that disability is 'punishment' for 'bad kharma.' Yesterday, we went to a brunch with my ill friend's family and friends. This was absolutely comforting.

But, I am still having those dreams where my 'car' is out of control. Last night, I was driving through Albuquerque along the arroyos in the pitch dark. Jim was next to me and I kept trying to wake  him up. He kept sleeping.

Illness

It seems not kosher to write about this on a poetics/disability blog, but I am a writer. I write.

I have had a friend in the hospital for two weeks. He is seriously ill, although improving slightly. This friend has been in and out of my life for twenty years. Someone who I consider in my inner-most circle, almost family. This event has left me guilty, distraught, obsessed, angry. 

In my short life, I have lost four people intensely close to me -- a sister (her age 17), a boyfriend (his age 21), a stepmother (her age 35), and my dear grandfather (age 80). My corresponding ages were 18, 22, 30, and 35. Way too much grief for a young person. I am practiced at grieving.

I am convinced that I never grieved my sister fully, despite writing numerous poems based on her and getting a tattoo with her name. Despite the fact that there are at least four children floating throughout the world named after her. My sister's death was the worse case senerio; she was happy and loved by everyone. Her death, although by illness, was sudden. She changed many, many lives and I am just now, 15 years later, beginning to process the change her death caused in so many; not only profound changes in her parents and siblings, but her grandmother, her own friends, my friends, even the entire generation of children who never met Aunt Emma. 

My anger with my friend now comes from the amount of isolation I feel. I feel like, where are the people who I thought loved me? At the moment, I feel so uncared about. This is because when I mention what I'm going through to person after person; collegues, even relatives and close friends, they quickly change the subject. So, I am in a bind. I want to be quiet, I want to draw into myself, take to my bed, but I know this is not healthy. Yet, when I 'reach out' I don't get a great response either. 

I know how hard it is for people. I know when illness is brought up that people don't know what to say. They feel uncomfortable. Getting sick is something people don't want to think about. But, I wish people would. I wish people could deal and it makes me angry that they don't. This is the fundamental reason that society cannot deal with people with disabilities, of course. 

I wish schools would teach this stuff. Perhaps Kubler-Ross's 'Of Death and Dying' should be required reading. How can we live, if we don't know how to deal with illness? 

*Wheelchair Bound

I wanted to add a note here. On my statcounter, I have been finding hits regarding the word wheelchair bound. To add another time, there is no circumstance in which wheelchair bound should be used. The correct term is a person who uses a wheelchair. A person who cannot walk, uses a wheelchair for her own needs, just like a person would use crutches, a walker, a boyfriend's arm, a cane (for blind people). We don't call blind people 'cane bound' do we? Of course, 'bound' implies that the person is tied up or completely controlled by their chair. Believe it or not, most people do not use their chairs at home THAT much. They don't go to the bathroom in them, they probably don't watch TV in them, they certainly don't sleep in them and they don't have sex in them, unless they are kinky.

The term wheelchair bound is still, somehow, making the rounds. The New York Times still feels free to use it, although yesterday, they wrote an article on the Mexican drug wars and the tag was 'Blunt talk on drugs.' BLUNT! So, who knows what they have been smoking. I was also shocked to use someone use the term at United Cerebral Palsy last week! But, the entire culture has to be re-educated. The primary public has no idea about the power and intimacy of language. That is perhaps why the word invalid floated around for so long -- in/valid.

The poet as prophet

As usual, I'm dealing with the unraveling of my own consciousness. Where does poetry fit into my life? What about academia? Activism? Religion? These questions led me to look back at Naked Heart, William Everson's book of interviews and essays edited by my father, Lee Bartlett. I am just going to quote a few passages. The first of which is an excerpt from Nathanial Tarn in an interview with Bartlett and Everson. This was conducted at Kingfisher Flat in 1986 (the year that I was 16).

Tarn: Of course, Erza Pound had this same kind of regard for the poet, and it seems to me that one of the primary reasons he was so tragically disappointed in life was that his vision really was beginning to encounter the wall of silence he had not wanted to perceive before. So, my question here would be rather brutal. Do you think that the coming generations are going to have all that elevated notion of the poet? My sense of what younger poets are doing today does not imply that prophetic idea of the poet at all.

Bartlett: I'd agree with that. Certainly I think Michael Palmer would deny a prophetic vocation, as would a poet coming out of Iowa's MFA Program.

Everson: Poetry goes through changes from primitivism to decadence: we happen to be in a decadent period right now. However, mythic possibilities will always be there.

I would like to invite poets to revisit this discussion. I realize that calling the poet (i.e. oneself) is problematic. It stinks of idealism. Still, I think it's an important question. I read somewhere a few days ago about poets being 'forced' to take jobs outside of academia, but when did poets become so tied into academia to begin with?

I would define the poet as prophet in, perhaps, more benign terms: one who writes out of pure desperation. Twenty years later after Tarn and Bartlett made this assessment, I have to say that I believe there is hope in the pure poet. If I had to name names, I might name Andrea Baker, Reb Livingston, Kate Greenstreet, Jill Essbaum, Lisa Jarnot, and Maryrose Larkin. Poets who have virtually nothing to gain (or lose by writing). I would also think back to Nathaniel himself, who, all these years later is purely dedicated to the venture. Also, Fanny Howe, who I think most closely approaches the tradition of our dear monk, Bill.

Turning at an academic for a moment, I'd like to quote Marjorie Perloff from Belladonna's new Elder series book 'Emma Bee Bernstein.'

In an interview with Emma and Nona Willis Aronowitz, Perloff questions,

'There are too many artists, too many poets. Sometimes, I think if I hear about another poet, I'll shoot myself, even though I'm the one who writes on poetry. What does this glut of so-called poets and artists do for society? I'd be much happier if the women in question became social workers or teachers or medical workers...... Seriously, whatever happened to improving society? If someone really has a vocation, she will make her art no matter what......At best, they're going to end up teaching at art schools, and the process just perpetuates itself. And there are a lot of things this society needs. We need good elementary school teachers....Nobody wants to do that now - it's considered declasse' - but that's what we need."

However harsh Perloff's words, I know she knows the issue is not without complexities. Some poets have been our country's best advocates: Ginsberg, Rukeyser, Levertov. The two vocations, advocacy and poetry are not at all mutually exclusive. And yet, is the poet hiding behind her academic job in order to build the fortress for her other vocation?

Everson states, 'Find the archetype of what you are, and then if you are a poet, you'd better not compromise what you can't be.'

I think academia and poetry have become so tied in the culture that these are questions every young - and not so young - poet has to face.

Paris

I went to Paris last month. I didn't write about it because I couldn't find the lyricism. In short, I had no idea what to say. I was so completely happy and overwhelmed. I was so over taken with what I saw an inherent beauty and civility. I was afraid to write too, in that any observation I might make, might be an incorrect one. But, here's what I saw.

I felt most comfortable in the museums, simply because that is where I feel most comfortable anywhere. The first night we went to the Orsay. I was surprised when I tried to pay that the woman kept pointing to me say, 'No, No.' O, le handicap. It seems 'le handicap' and their helpers don't pay to get into museums, and I didn't. Any of them. For wrong or right, I took full advantage of this and didn't pay to get into much. It seems le handicap (and pregnant women) strangely also go to the front of the line in the grocery store. What kind of country would think of such practical practices? How about France? When I noted to a drunk guy in line buying beer that this would never happen in America, he noted, 'America sucks.' In New York, of course, it's every person for themselves and people will push you out of the way!

I needed to do a little more research, so I asked my friend Tracey, who lives in Paris, if she had had much experience with 'le handicap' in the grocery store. She said that she did. Once she was asked to move behind a mother with an son with a disability. To me, it's mere practicality. How long should a child with a disability have to wait in line? How long should their mother? And who wants to wait behind any child at all? The other strange thing was that no one stared at me! I couldn't get over it. In Czech-Republic, the stare quotient was 100%. In New York, everywhere I go, people stare at me about 50%. In Berkley, it's a little less. Actually, everyone in Berkley is handicapped or weird. In Paris, I think two people stared at me the entire trip.

The 'free' museums are still a bit of a mystery, though. I also noticed that the Louvre lets in people who are unemployed for free. The conclusion I came to is that art is so important, all should have access to it. This also might account for the well-behaved 3 year olds sitting and drawing. 

Tomorrow, how architecture can make you believe in God.

Brian Lehrer

Today ended up being a huge day. Through a course of events, I ended up getting in touch with a producer of my favorite radio show, Brian Lehrer on WNYC. I pointed out that, while the show is excellent about diversity, they rarely, if ever, included shows on people with disabilities. I sent them a list possible topics. Today, the show took one of my ideas and did a program on Obama's promise to people with disabilities. You can listen as a pod-cast here.  

Happy Birthday MOM!

My Favorite Catholics, For My Mother

Roxann Foley, Emma Bartlett, Marisa and Danny Kelly, Thomas Merton, Bill Everson, Pope John Paul, Carolyn Kennedy, Alex Kelly, Jeffrey Stewart, Mary Fabili, Fanny Howe, Jack Kerouac (probably lasped), Michael Foley, Andy Warhol (most favorite!), Andy Warhol's mother (Julia Warhola), Father Mychal Judge, Vassar Miller, Dante.

13 Favorite Things About My Mother, More to come

1. She always answers the phone and listens no matter how busy or cranky she is.

2. She loves my son completely, is patient with him, and dotes on him.

3. She made me look at the Metropolitian Museum of Art in an entirely new way.

4. She loves comedies.

5. She gets along well with children.

6. She worries about me.

7. When she visits (or I visit her) she waits on me hand and foot!

8. She understands my husband.

9. She buys all my son's new clothes.

10. She is a good Catholic.

11. She is in theology school.

12. She does my taxes and calls them a 'work of art.'

13. She is dedicated to her family.

Things you can read

In the current issue of Brooklyn Rail a review of Susan Bee's recent show at the A.I.R. Gallery. Looking at Charles Bernstein's images of the Amory Show, we are very unhappy that we didn't make the trip.

Meanwhile, if you would like to check on the promises that Obama has made to people with disabilities go to my favorite (current) website Politifact. Here's a hint. He actually hasn't done anything. But, I'm not giving up hope yet. 

I find myself, lately, starting sentences with, 'As an activist...' I now realize that I am actually an activist. 

My 20 favorite things about my father

1. He loves his cats.

2. He can quote most of Eliot's 'Wasteland' and when I'm mad at my child he tells me 'why did you get married if you didn't want children?'

3. He says, 'You are the best poem I have ever written.'

4. He is an intellectual who loves sports and bad television.

5. He babysits a dog on Thursdays and takes it very seriously.

6. He makes excellent burritos and salads.

7. When I ask him for coffee money he gives me $60.

8. He believes in omens, signs, and conspiracy theories.

9. He says, 'We speak in a kind of shorthand you and I.'

10. He is a great collage artist.

11. He introduced me to Liz Phair and Antony.

12. Jennifer's book and Nathaniel's book.

13. He taught me to say 'Indian' not 'Native American.'

14. He is good to AF.

15. He says,' Well, you saved money on your airline ticket, so now you have more money for books!'

16. When Andy Warhol died and I cried hysterically, he surprised me with a can of Campbell's soup.

17. When I tell him poets are mean to me, he gets it.

18. He owns all the Smiths 12 inches, even though Thomas inherits them, not me.

19. He says, 'Well, Emily Post believes 'bad boys' grow up and rule the world. So, don't worry about Jeff.

20. He met Seamus Heaney at McDonalds.

And, Finally

Today is Dad's birthday! What age? Your secret is safe with me! Email birthday messages to saintlizstreet@hotmail.com  They will be passed on. I promise!

The New Baby in Our House

Photos from Peaches and Bats House Reading Photographer, Vicki Pollack

Great Orr What?

In last weeks Sunday Times David Orr's proclaims 'What will we do when Ashbery and his generation are gone? Because for the first time since the early 19th century, American poetry may be about to run out of greatness,' Orr's comment is startlingly dismissive and embarrassingly small minded. By the looks of it, Orr's definition on a 'great poet' is limited to someone who wins the Nobel Prize or is acknowledged regularly by the Times. Orr does not seem to be examining the work itself, but rather the laurels and how well one fits into the narrow box of so-called American poetry. If I am wrong, I would be interested in knowing Orr's opinion of Michael Palmer, Fanny Howe, Brenda Hillman, or Nathaniel Tarn and the list does not stop there. 

In their blogs Amy King and Reb Livingston address the issues of greatness in poetry. Here's my two cents. In each poem, the poet should strive for 'greatness.' For the poem to be all that it can be. But, that should not be the most important thing and is rarely achieved. For me, the most important part of poetry in intension. In my small mind, a poet should write because they have no choice. Some poets, many poets, are committed to that lifelong goal. I am suspicious of people who write in order to get teaching jobs, attention, fame, girls or boys, or whatever. And I think, in these cases the poetry suffers. Also, when a poet doesn't meet a certain goal, the poet often gives up. The poem in itself is the means to an ends. A poet is not great. The poems are. People have to learn to divorce themselves from academic success, personality, and so on and at the end of the day, just say these are good poems (or they are not). Particularly in academia, the quality of the poems has become so beside the point. Now, the point is, where did you go to school? Who do you know? What kind of a mover and shaker are you? Even, how good looking are you?

Lots of people don't like me because I'm so opinionated. I try to tell them, who cares what I think? I'm just a cranky mother typing in her dirty house next to her toothless cat. Read my poems or don't. They are what matter and they are all that matter.

Things said by my family.

This conversation took place this morning in reference to Lent.

Mom: Who agreed to give up sweets.

Jeff: Me.

Mom: And who is helping you stick to that?

Jeff: You.

Mom: And who left a lollipop on the table.

Jeff: Daddy

Mom: So, who should you be mad at?

Jeff: You.

Reading on Saturday

Hi All,

I've resurfaced from the great land of Paris. I'll be upstate on Saturday reading new(ish) poems.

Jennifer Bartlett & Richard Rizzi

Cadmium Text Series

The Gallery at R&F Handmade Paints

84 Ten Broeck Ave.

New Kingston, NY 12401

$5 suggested donation

Hosted by the lovely Anne Gorrick

*The Bengali children upstairs sound like they are burning the building down.

Access-A-Ride

Things are about to get more difficult for people with disabilities getting around. As reported in today's NY Times, fares for access-a-ride in New York may rise to $4-$5 a ride. It seems grossly unjust that people who are at a disadvantage in some many ways will pay more than their so-called able-bodied, employed brothers and sisters. One might argue that is unfair that PWD get a 'personal ride,' and this is a good argument, yet it is flawed. As I described before, one must order A-A-R 1-2 days in advance, pick-up time is not guaranteed and drop off time seems random. One would be better off taking a cab, if only they were accessible. 

Part of the issue, of course, is poverty. PWD are, without argument, the poorest of society. PWD have a 70% unemployment rate. If one is 'able' to work, one must overcome numerous prejudices in order to find a job. Unlike African Americans, there is no official Affirmative Action for people for disabilities. To my knowledge, there aren't many placement places either. Getting SSI or disability isn't easy either. Many people wait up to THREE YEARS in order to receive funds. SSI is for people who can't work at all, and like many welfare(s) it is a joke -- $900.  When I had SSI in my early twenties, I was given $600 a month. Supplemented with baby sitting and students loans, this was enough, but for most people it's beyond ridiculous.

Three years ago, I was pretty much forced out of my job with the New York City Dept of Education -- yea, another good teacher bites the dust! At this time, I was allotted about $2000 for SSDI. The difference between SSDI and SSI is that the former is for people who did work and 'became' disabled. 

I choose to work, when I can get it/do it. In this I forfeit my disability money. I have always wondered whether (morally) I should get that money because I am (mostly) 'able' to work. What is my moral obligation? Here is the problem, it is about 100 times more difficult for me to get a position than a so-called able-bodied person. This is even taking into consideration my lengthy publishing record, two Masters degrees, and seven years of teaching experience. The government sees SSDI as help for people who cannot work. And yet, aren't there two types on 'cannot work.' Here, many of us are dealing with physical and/or mental issues that disallow us to work. But, also we are dealing, more profoundly, with a society that 'disallows' us to work for you can't work if you can't get a job and you can't get a job if people judge you on how you move rather than your resume. 

The reason I've (usually) had a job is that I have such steel head persistence. For example, when I was excessed by the DOE, I sent my resume to about 50 schools. I also went door to door to many Manhattan high schools asking if there were openings. This was despite the fact that I was being paid anyway. I was glad that I was getting paid full salary for subbing, but I REALLY wanted my own class. Here, I got some interviews but no job. 

I can say, without a doubt, that the NYC Department of Education does not value teaches with disabilities in the same way that the university might. As a minority, I see my own 'limitations' as a plus, rather than a minus. As a PWD, I can teach different and tolerance and understanding as well as grammar and writing. Somehow, most folks don't see it this way -- or don't want to. They continue to see the body different as the the body weaker.  I have even had paranoid rumblings of dissatisfaction at United Cerebral Palsy from time to time because the staff often assumes that I am a client, not an employee -- I suppose this might be an easy mistake.

The exception for me has come in academia. At my current university, you will find teachers and students of all abilities and the campus gets my award for accessibility. I have been treated as a 'less than' by some students looking for excuses for their own bad grades, but luckily, my wonderful boss doesn't go for such nonsense.  We all know, however, that academia comes with its own contests and being a minority (and even more so, an unpopular minority) can only go so far.

I dive in periodically to blogs about people with disabilities, and I wish people would be more open, provide more of a framework for their daily existence. How many people have jobs (outside of Disability Studies) and how did they get them?

Mr. Leonard Cohen

I've finally found a way to put my disability to the greater good. I bought handicapped seats for my husband and to go see Leonard Cohen. 

MLK Day, Reb Livingston, and New Poem

Over at Home-Schooled by a Crackling Jackal, Reb Livingston has a wonderful post about the effect of the recession on poetry. Yes! Support Reb. She has wonderful books. Some of our other favorite presses are New Directions, Rope-a-Dope, Coconut Books, Shearsman, U of California, and, most of all, Kelsey Street. 

MLK is volunteer day...keep in mind people with disabilities.

Finally, here is a poem sample from my work in progress [Husband]. This is dedicated to my husband Jim and further parts are coming in New American Writing and possibly others.

[Husband]

standing before the closet

at the end of each night

a body full of light

your glowing from within

Paris and Eleni Sikelianos

Next week, I'm headed for a short to Paris with my friend and neighbor Julia. What has become an intension to visit any number of museums has quickly become a shopping opportunity.

There are two poets that remind me of Paris. Of course, Alice Notley who has been a long-time resident and Eleni Sikelianos who lived there during her NEA year. Eleni is a one time friend, editor, and great writer. I picked up here Body Clock recently at Moes in Berkley.

Body Clock follows the recent trend of mother-poets using children as inspiration. This 'movement' for my money is one of the most important trends in poetics. It is, of course, hardly new. Levertov, Rukeyser, Notley, Mayer, Ostricker, and many others have written about their children in years past. But, now women are beginning to be more and more open with their experiences in a number of forms. Body Clock, for and about Eleni's daughter Eva Grace, is one such book and a splendid one it is.

Sikelianos's poetry to straddles many worlds -- it has qualities of academia and experimentalism. She is one of the few poets who has managed to find readers across communities. Yet, at heart, Sikelianos is a most talented lyricist. She is the kind of poet who notices, who sees the world and translates it into her own particular language. Here, the music is not just in language, but in images. This is what has always made me love her work. How to say it? Sikelianos so perfectly describes what is like to be pregnant -- to give birth to the other -- in the most base, romantic, violent ways. 

This house is a little haunted, it's

my body body-house  

How the mother's body splits.

Sikelianos says:

the soul with the body's first double

Finally, the book ends with my favorite lines:

in the quiet sleep of animals

from the balcony of a belly

say your speeches

no cow licked you 

I do

Sikelianos's work, to me, provides an opportunity. To my knowledge, so may young poets and male poets are hesitant to read poems relating to children. As with other 'feminine' issues the poetry of motherhood is often disregarded. This needs to change on all fronts. Writing about motherhood is the ultimate act of feminism. It means to speak ones experience. Resisters should know that poems about 'motherhood' are never just that. Particularly with the work of a philosophical poet like Sikelianos, motherhood is merely just the backdrop. The work is truly about philosophy, time and timelessness, death and lyricism. They are about body --all of our bodies.

If you are crippled, don't plan on getting milk

There are so many 'wrong' things happening in our world. Yet, for me, the primary issue is how grossly unaware people are on the plight of people with disabilities. Not only do PWD suffer from sigma, prejudice, unemployment, and general mistreatment, in New York, at least they deal with the issue other minorities take for granted -- movement.

Yesterday, at United Cerebral Palsy, one of my students simply wanted to go across the street to buy her favorite coffee. Yet, mobility issues and a lack of help prevented her. Since when should going to the grocery store be a privilege? Later, some friends and I had a discussion about New York's accessibility for people who use wheelchairs. I argued that the system is disrespectful and impossible to navigate. So, I called New York's access-a-ride to find out for myself. (Note: it is virtually impossible to use the subway in NY with a disability. There are very few elevators and these rarely work).

I got the reservation number for access-a-ride off the net. When you call, you have to push through two buttons to get to a person. Not bad. But, the first time, my call was disconnected. The second time I got someone right away. Here's the lowdown. You have to reserve 1-2 days in advance. There are no 'same day calls.' So, evidently PWD have to plan ahead. Say, if they are going nuts and need to get to a movie -- they are out of luck. Next, you can request a time, but there are no guarantees that the van will arrive on time. Also, this is a 'shared' ride, so when you are dropped off is up in the air. Evidently, PWD don't need to be on time. Finally, I asked if I could use the service daily to go to work. I was told I needed to call another department. The BEST thing was that the operator was nice.

Here is the message: People with disabilities are unlikely to need to be on time. They live in a timeless universe and yet, they should plan ahead, and they aren't expected to have jobs. 

I really would like people to see these problems. Why do we go on about so many problems and yet people right in our neighborhood are denied basic rights? 

Note: the bar that we were at is not accessible.

Deborah Garrison

There was recently a discussion on the Wom-po list of my review of Deborah Garrison's 'The Second Child.' Looking back at the review, it does strike me as particularly scathing, and I feel the need to perhaps amend some of my comments -- not in defense, per se, but further explanation.

The most notable comments was that my review was sexist. Although I have certainly been called sexist before, I am unsure how it relates in this context. I hope the review shows, not that I am critical of Garrison's content (domesticity), but rather her 'poetics.' As I pointed out, Garrison's techniques are sophomoric and her language avoids lyricism. Many of my own poems focus on domesticity as does some work of my favorite poets: Jarnot, Baker, Notley, Hillman, Graham, Zucker, and so on. My complaints, in fact, are primarily a defense of the aforementioned poets who, with the exception of Graham, are significantly ignored by the mainstream media. What I was trying to uncover is my frustration at the mainstream media lauding a poet, not because she is fabulous, but simple because she is part of the corporate machine. I mean, when was the last time a poet was in Elle? The review also was based off a portrait that the 'New York Times' did of Garrison portraying her as a hard working mother. 

When the media lauds wealthy people as 'hard working parents' it brings into question issues of race, disability, and class that make me uncomfortable. I tried to make this clear in the review by requesting that the media portray more women who 'have' to work versus those who 'chose' to work.

The review was not meant to insult Garrison nor 'drive a stake through her heart.' The review was meant to question poetry that I find incredibly weak and show that the emperor(ess) has no clothes.  I think that people read my comments and think that I am trying to be cruel. I am not. When I speak of poems, I speak of just those. The 'person' who wrote them is superfluous in a manner -- not in a mean way. 

One example that I might compare Garrison to is Jorie Graham. Jorie has has privileges that many poets will never see. Like Garrison, she has been lauded by the mainstream. Graham teaches at Harvard, publishes regularly in the New Yorker, and has a contract with Ecco Press. Those who know Graham's biography know that Graham didn't quite work from the ground up.  However, Graham's poetry is mind blowing. It shows a sophistication that few modern poets can match. Does one's lineage matter entirely? I am not necessarily arguing that it does. Ultimately, the poems are what matter.

Man on a Wire

as he lays down

suspended in light

suspended 

animated

beauty, sometimes must take the place of love

to have its own form

that certain brokenness

and after being released from prison

he fled into another

narcissism got the best of him

that lingering

Wheelchair Bound

In my so-called stat counter someone asked is the term wheelchair bound politically correct?

Here's the answer: no. The only 'proper' word to refer to people with disabilities is thus, people with disabilities. Wheelchair implies slavery to a wheelchair. It implies that the wheelchair is  boss of the person, not vice versa. People always come first. 

What kind of mother am I?

A few weeks ago in the NYT Lisa Belkin put up a quiz on what age would you let your kid...

Below are the questions & my answers.

See a PG-13 Movie- 6

Wait in the car -- in the West 6, in NYC, 10

Babysit siblings - 14 (but he's siblingfree)

Babysit Neighbors -14

Walk to the Store - 10 (only if he buys me beer!)

Have a Credit Card - Never

Ride a Bike to School - in NYC - Never

Stay up later than I do - 6

Use the stove - 5 (with supervision)

Stay out after I've gone to bed -- 17

Have a cell phone - I don't know (probably 10/but I'd rather not)

Watch TV without monitoring - never

Use a computer - 6

Use a computer w/o parental blocks - Never

Use a computer in room - 13 (no internet)

Date- 16

Wear make-up -- ?

It's interesting how much a few questions can tell you about your parenting priorities. Mine make me notice that I'm paranoid about injury, sex, and technology. I think the internet is the fall of Western Civilization. I'm pretty conservative about dating -- I think it's for adults.  I'm also conservative about money -- I hate credit cards. Cell phones and computers 'bother' me although I use them both. Makeup was a big issue for me too. Many of the parents listed that they would let their girl wear make-up at 13! I thought, what a scandal. Then, I realized that I don't really understand the meaning of make-up. I don't wear it, and neither do most of my friends. My 6 year old son recently asked me what it was. To my simple mind, make-up is to allure men, which 13 year olds certainly shouldn't be doing, but perhaps it has some other, secret meaning that I'm not privy to. 

They didn't ask the questions that would should my more liberal self -- Does my son know what sex & war are - yes. Does he know what it means to be disabled or gay - of course. Do I care if he he is always clean and well-dressed - not really. Do I insist he wear underwear - I probably should. Do I let him play with plastic -- only if it can't buy anything. Do I let him stay up too late- well, yes, only if he let's me sleep. 

New (ish) Poems

Please read new poems in Boog City. 

I have some comments on the old year/new year @ The Externalist.

Good Night New York

We arrived in New York late last night to what I consider unacceptable temperatures -- 20s. The entire crew is madly jet lagged. I hope we recover soon. Monday, I have to get these boys to school and figure out my life. 

Last night we got locked IN the house. The bolt lock snapped and we couldn't get out. We found this out at 1 AM after we ordered a pizza. The pizza guy had to slide the pizza through the window. We called the police and first there were two officers, then four, all working on our door. Luckily, it was a slow night for criminals in Brooklyn. They had to go through the neighbor's house to get to us through the back door at 2 AM. When I went to apologize to the neighbor, she told me 'o the police said, you really need to trim your tree.' I have come to the conclusion that my neighbors DON'T hate me, it is actually just nature they hate. Anyway, the entire show was over at 3AM. I was hoping for the firemen, but at least the door is open and my hardware store buddy (Simon) got a big chuckle out of the whole thing. 

Later, the upstairs neighbor told us 'why were you so noisy last night' as he was throwing donuts on the neighbor's roof. o New York.

New Years Resolution

To cheer up & be brave.

Happy New Year From Marisa and Puppy

Thinking about poetry reviews

My father once told me not to read reviews. He says that they will say positive things for all the wrong reasons and negative things for all the wrong reasons. I have been thinking of this lately. I used to review poetry books and loved it, but had to quit because life got in the way. I worked for Jewish Book World, Harvard Review, St. Marks and a few others.

I have very particular ideas on how to interact with poems. I believe that a reader should let a poem unfold to him or her. I think a reviewer/teacher should figure out what the poem/poet is trying to do. I think the reader should set aside their own prejudices and expectations. One will not read a Michael Palmer or a Jill Essbaum or a Mary Oliver poem in the same way. All have their failings and successes -- note, I haven't seen a poet who only writes good poems, although Palmer and Rilke probably come close. When reviews/teachers have rigid expectations -- say, I only like trendy post-language poetry or the poem MUST have a narrative -- the review is going to be, ultimately, unfair and not as complex. I wish poets were more flexible. Why can't we cross all the fake barriors we have set up. The barriors actually have nothing to do with poems themselves. They are reflections of snobbery, academia, and personalities. 

That's today's two cents.

2008 Roundup

Everyone has been writing lists of books from 2008. I've decided to jump in and make a list of some great books I read this year -- most of which were not published in 2008. Like my father likes to say -- I go in and out of them. I've read all of some of them and some of all of them.

Fiction:

Paul Auster: Timbuku, New York Trilogy, Leviathan, Music of Change.

Kate Chopin's The Awakening, Gunter Grass, The Tin Drum 

Poetry: Howl, Before the War (Duncan), Patterson (WCW), Your Ten Favorite Words (Reb Livingston), Most of Frank O'hara's collected poems, Midwinters Day (Mayer), Night Scenes (Jarnot), Book of Ocean (Larkin), Elegy (Bang), Modern Life (Harvey), The Introduction to My Vocabulary Did This to Me (Spicer), The House that Jack Built (Spicer) --note this was the most important book I read this year --What's Your Idea of a Good Time (Mayer and Berkson), parts of Utopia (Mayer), Transformations (Spahr), Horace (Tim Aikens), Black Dog Songs (Jarnot), Ins and Outs of the Forest Rivers (Tarn).

Non-fiction:

Copious New York Times articles, far too many first-year English papers, enough Peter Singer discourse to make me vomit, Harriet McBryde Johnson's autobiography, many feminist books (in an attempt to find disabled women-- which I didn't), Of Woman Born (Rich), Women Poets on Mentorship (Greenberg and Zucker), the Children's Bible, The I Ching.

The best things that happened to me this year: visiting Yahauts, Oregon with my family, spending time with my mother and sister in California, my one day trip to visit Rachel in San Francisco, getting poems into New American Writing, my literature class last semester, watching 'Milk,' 'Short Bus,' and 'Man on a Wire,' reading with my father in Los Alamos, being in Lisa Jarnot's poetry class, my friend returning from Africa, seeing Equis, coffee with Andrea, spending a weekend in the Poconos (that was a big one), spending most of the summer with my in-laws in Oregon, the Jess show at Reed College, driving in Portland with MaryRose Larkin and her father, swimming lessons, my birthday at Temple Bar, the PRESS conference in Olympia, and listening to Rufus Wainwright. 

The hardest things (since I am a fatalist) were my son's behavior problems, fighting with my mother over gay marriage, making a recommitment to Catholicism (not sad, happy, just complacated), my grandfather Beyer's death, my neighbor's dog's death, not receiving the NEA, not even getting an interview for a poetry job at my own school, driving from Oregon to California with only me driving and the boys bitching all the way, anxiety, not being able to grow anything in my garden, and spending six weeks away from my husband.

Stotts 'review' of 'In Company'

A rebuttal to Stotts review of 'In Company: New Mexican Poets After 1960' appears at galatea resurrects. Before you start singing nepotism, hear me out.

Politically Correct Clothing

I'm not politically correct. But, finally, my wardrobe is!  I've finally - more or less -- accomplished the near to impossible task of avoiding sweatshop labor. My latest three pieces of clothing are: a dress from Pip Squeak Chapeau ($200), a skirt from good-will ($2.99) and a knit hat from the local yarn store ($39.00). How, you might ask, can a girl spend so much on clothes? It's a sin! Well, is it? The $200 dress was designed and made it Brooklyn. I know the design, her kid went to Jeff's school. I also happen to know that she just had a baby, so that cash is going directly to a good cause. Thrift store skirt: It's from 'Mexx' probably made in China. But, with thrift store stuff, I think you get a waver. The money goes to charity and the clothing is not being 'wasted.' For $2.99, you can't beat it with a stick! Even if it makes you look a little fat. My glorious hat: hand knitted by a woman in Greenpoint. The thing doesn't even have a TAG in it! Now, if I could only find shoes!

MOMA Pipilotti Rist: Pour Your Body Out (7354 Cubic Meters

Yesterday, we went to MOMA to see Rist's Pour Your Body Out exhibition at the MOMA. Watch out, grumpy patrons. This exhibit is extremely so-called 'kid friendly.' Downstairs, we place bets on how many more old ladies Jeffrey would piss off before we reached the door. It was only twenty feet and my odds were that J could make it. But, alas, Jim won this one! Jeff pause before the revolving door and a lady gave him a tsk and look of utter impatience. Jim wins!

On the way home, Jim told a joke we didn't quite connect with an Jeff said in a very earnest voice, 'Maybe someone else will think it's funny.'

Jess

Today, Jeffrey discovered Duncan and Jess. When he came home from school, we made collages.

Now a word from our sponsor about Lisa Jarnot

A few days ago, I was thrilled to see that Lisa Jarnot put a mini-review of Derivative up on the Lisa blog, I have been friends with Lisa for about two years. During this time, she has been a relentless help and poetic navigator for me through the world of poetry. Lisa and I have different views on a couple things, but not many. She is a protester against the death penalty, an political idealist, an environmental activist, and a gay rights supporter. Lisa is the kind of person who is always looking to make the world better. She makes soap, she plants trees and prunes them, she knits hats to symbolize fallen soldiers, she tries not to waste food or electricity and, of course, she writes fabulous poems. Things we should all be doing.

In the world of poetry Lisa is not afraid to question academia. She seems intolerant of an concept of 'scenes' or 'cool' notions of poetry. She truly cares about poetry, not as a way for a job, money, or popularity, but as a crucial being in its own right. Poetry for the sake of poetry. Nothing else. It seems that this is a hard quality to find in some folks today, and many of us are too worried about getting in the 'right' magazine, getting the 'right' award, and having the 'right' people accept us. I, myself, divide the poetry 'world' into a number of facets: Ecco Press, academic, Iowa, Naropa, Fence, West Coast, East Coast, Middle Coast, and so on. I've felt accepted in some ways by all of them and rejected in some ways by all of them. I worry that many of us have, but aren't willing to go vocal on it, or run off and start our own scene. 

I think my tendency to fall through the cracks maybe for a number of reasons. Perhaps it is because I'm handicapped, but not handicapped enough to provide an interesting story. Perhaps it's because I'm too aggressive or too obnoxious or am conflicted about homeschooling and feminism. Perhaps it's because my work is too lyrical and too oblique and not oblique enough. I probably went to the wrong schools. Perhaps it's because of my father somehow. Perhaps, as Rebecca Wolff of Fence proclaimed, my work is just 'bad.'  

Lisa's support has helped me make it through this crazy life.

If you are looking for my father, he has no online presence. He is hiding in the mountain in a cave in Las Cruces with a spledid woman and three splendid cats. He writes poems, makes art, watches a Indian's dog on Mondays. That's about all the information I am at liberty to provide.

I'm happy to pass on messages, but only if you are willing to stop and say hello to me! Preuse awhile, read a poem, buy a book! After all, the great man's talents have been passed down!

The intranet is giving me a headache. I have joined Facebook, goodness knows why...I guess it's a last ditch effort at joining the poetry community. Thomas also convinced me to do it. Now, I have a very public face of silliness. I don't watch TV, so I guess I have an excuse. However, meanwhile, Spicer, Grass, and papers sit unread next to the bed.

I have been swamped with work and getting ready for a long rest. Today, school was a nightmare. Some nitwit called in a 'bomb threat' to our building and it disrupted everything. This is also not the first time I haven't felt safe on campus. How ironic, I'm standing in rural Jersey thinking ...I don't feel safe, I want to go back to Brooklyn!

I met Bernadette Mayer yesterday. This changed my life...more on this later.

In the meanwhile, things my family has said of late:

Jen: I hate Thanksgiving. I don't like a holiday based on killing a bird. Don't I tell you that every year?

Jim: You tell me that every five minutes!

Jen to Jeff: Sit up, this is the subway, not Air France.

Mom: I know my grandson...he probably tricked the teacher.

Nancy: Wow! I haven't had a drink in Manhattan in five years (a mother from Brooklyn). 

Haiku

Today, I taught my United Cerebral Palsy students the Haiku. I wrote a few myself on the way to work. (Note: Ours do not follow the 5-7-5 pattern).

These crippled bones

on the subway

won't someone give me a seat?

Give me candy 

to sweeten 

my bitter son.

Birds drift in light

outside

cathedral windows.

Dear Library,

I lost the books.

Go ahead, charge me.

Obama?

Unlike those around me, I can't conjure up much excitement for Obama's election. I am more excited that we did not elect McCain, a man who, in my eyes has proven to be unethical in every aspect of his existence. It is undebatable that having an African-American President is one of the best things that has ever happened to this country. But, I don't have much faith that Obama will directly affect me or those around me. I am not trying to be negative. I guess I am attempting to say that when I hear the word 'change' this means to me something that goes beyond barely comprehensible laws in the neitherworld. It has to be palpable. 

I know City Government is vastly different than National, yet when I look around New York City I can see all of the good, bad, and neutral things Bloomberg has done. Merely by leaving my house, I am affected by my city's decisions: to make bike lanes, to ban smoking, to improve parks, to lower or raise taxes, to lower or raise the pay of city workers, so on and so forth.

I'm not the most savvy political person. Jim says the president can't just 'do stuff.' You have the Congress and all that, but a person who runs on 'change' surely must have some kind of plan.

Here's a few changes I would like to see.

Dear Obama,

Be Brave.

Negotiate with Iran. Be tough on Israel. Don't start anymore wars. Get us out of the one we are in.

Get rid of the barbaric death penalty.

Appoint a Supreme Court that will respect the ADA.

Start affirmative action for people with disabilities.

Make the entire country substanible.

Provide health care for all children under the age of 18 despite their parents income

Triple the NEA awards.

And, my goodness, PLEASE do not make another narrative poet Poet Lauerete: I have some recommendations; Brenda Hillman, Nathaniel Tarn, Charles Bernstein, Bernadette Mayer, or Barrett Watten.

That should get you started!

   

NEA

I was turned down for the NEA. I was really disappointed at first. I've recovered.

Poetry Class for PWD

Last class, John returned. I have really started to connect with some of the assistants. I think that some people are doing their best. We still have a lack of scribes and this makes class slow and laborious, but also intimate and intense. I feel like my students are being challenged and respected in new ways - we all are really. For example, last class we spent most of the class discussing the election. All of my students, except for one, were registered to vote and planned too. They were all fans of Obama (and are a largely, but not exclusively African-American group). I wasn't sure whether they would be voting or not. I suspected they would, but wasn't sure.  

Things said by my family in the past two weeks

Jeff, we need to go vote tomorrow.

Mom, I'm voting for Obama. Who are you voting for?

*

Cheese doesn't go bad; you just have to cut off the mold. (Jim)

*

I'm glad I didn't get into New American Writing AND Conjunctions. I'd pass out. (Jen to Dad).

*

Shut the door. (Jim)

Why are you two going to have SEX? (Jeff).

*

Why can't people just be for stuff, not against stuff. (JH on Proposition 8)

*

Jeffrey and Lucy sitting in a tree kissing, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage. Hey, that's not all, the baby is drinking alcohol. (Jeff as per learned at 'school).

*

We're not Nazi parents. Just show up on time and don't let him burn the house down. (Jen to babysitter)

*

If you are channeling Robert Duncan, you better tell him to speak a little louder. (Dad)

Sunday

As promised, S.'s note from class. It says:

I can't talk did you get my email about the last class I sent you the 1 1/2 pages...(Later) I come in and the first thing I here is dropping acid?

Dear S,

Wit won't get you an 'A,' but it will get you extra credit!

Today, my student's confessed that they 'googled' me. Evidently, they figured out that I have the same name as a painter and a woman running for office in small town New Jersey. In my third class, S. came running in late, and wrote on a piece of paper, am sick, can't speak. And M. said, "That guy is wierd.' S. gave me permission to post the letter -- forthcoming.

Last night was the child's sixth birthday. Nancy says, 'Six is the new two.' I'm still attempting to process that comment.

I have been dipping into my Statcounter to see the so-called 'key word' activity. It seems Paul Guest is more popular on my blog than I am...uggg. Other key words are: Lee Bartlett, Saint Elizabeth Street, Kate Malone ceramic seahorses, Diane Arbus, sucessful meeting poem, and, my favorite, crippled bitch disabled. That last guy looks like he has low blood sugar and needs to study redundancy.

Teaching

It has been a month since I have begun teaching poetry at United Cerebral Palsy. The position has been, at turns, wonderful and difficult, but absolutely not what I expected.

My students have numerous limitations. Most use wheelchairs. Some have only partial hearing or vision. Many need assistance to write. Some have mental challenges. The latter are the most difficult for me to work with, solely because I am not used to them. Being around people with disabilities does take some getting used to. But, soon, the silly thing people say about me ... 'we forget you're disabled' actually becomes true. Very quickly, what rises to the top is whether you like a certain person (or don't) and whether you are truly understanding what they are about. My students can be difficult to understand because of speech barriers, but certainly no more than a so-called able-bodied person, just in a different manner.

Here's what does surprise me, for reasons that are unclear the staff and clients don't seem to have any experience with a person with CP in a so-called position of power. Believe me, I'm just teaching a poetry workshop and I use that term lightly. But, it's interesting to me that when I walk in the building both clients and staff confuse me with a client. There seems to be a real segregation between able-bodied (i.e. helpers) and disabled (i.e. helped) people. Other than one janitor, I have yet to actually meet anyone with a disability who works there. This is not to disparage UCP at all. I am just, well, pretty surprised. I thought in such an atmosphere, the lines between able-bodied and disabled would be more blurry.

Tomorrow, more on language poetry, channeling Robert Duncan, and the I Ching.

Last night, I sent out poems to Sam Lohman's Peaches and Bats and Joanna Furhman's Boog Reader. I can't say enough good stuff about these fine poets. I also (to be a harpy) can't say enough about the importance of the East Coast recognizing the West Coast. Robert Grenier's lecture on Larry Eigner at the Poetry Project tomorrow night might be a good place to start. I am going to make my best efforts to go...but it's also opening day of ice skating in Bryant Park & two trips to Manhattan just ain't happening for me. 

Today, Jeffrey said, "Don't fight with my father. But, if you do, be sure you win." What a little Bartlett!

This -n- that

I've had poems accepted to New American Writing. 

The same week, I received a handwritten rejection letter from the Senior Editor of Conjunctions.

Jeffrey told his teacher he wants to be God for Halloween. Wherever are we going to get the costume?

The Election

This seems as good a time as any to begin blogging again, as short lived as it may be. 

The actions of late with people and groups of disability have begun to worry me. Today, the NFB came out with a statement against the new film 'Blindness.' We all remember the protests as well against 'Tropic Thunder.' I believe that, as the election approaches, groups are targeting the wrong people. I believe we should be using all of our limited time and energy to assure a better quality of life. Some questions I'd like to consider are:

Why do people with disabilities still have a 75% unemployment rate?

Why is McCain's treatment of his first wife not a larger issue in the media?

Why has there not been a protest of PWD of any major proportion since the early 1990's?

Why aren't PWD more vocal about the fact that Bush Sr. attempted to surpress the new ADA Law?

Why does receiving SSI still put PWD way below the poverty level?

Why do programs like SSDI encourage people not to work?

Why aren't PWD (a major voting bloc) tirelessly working toward electing the best candidate?

On Sept. 30 Riley Ramsey did a complete list of the laws that both candidates want to promote for PWD (his blog is licking Calcutta). 

This -n- that

I resurface from vacation. Here are a few things that have turned up this summer:

There was a great review of Derivative by Patrick James Dunagan atgalatea resurrects and by Lisa Jarnot of the Lisa Blog at Lisa Jarnot. Today, we headed over to the famous University of Davis duck pond and a tasty lunch at Murder Burger. On the way to Calfornia we stopped for two blissful days at the Oregon Coast. We went to do research on William Everson in Waldport where he resided at the CCC Camp --also known as the 'Conchies' and hardly affectionately.

In disability news, I'm off the the Conference on Cognitive Disability and Moral Philosophy and following the debate about the word retard in the movie Tropic Thunder.

Harriet McBryde Johnson

Harriet Johnson, 50, Activist for Disabled, Is Dead

John R. Polito, 2007

Harriet McBryde Johnson
No cause has been determined, her sister, Beth Johnson, said, while pointing out that her sister had been born with a degenerative neuromuscular disease. “She never wanted to know exactly what the diagnosis was,” Beth Johnson said.

The condition did not stop Harriet Johnson from earning a law degree, representing the disabled in court, lobbying legislators and writing books and articles that argued, as she did in The New York Times Magazine in February 2003, “The presence or absence of a disability doesn’t predict quality of life.”

Using a battery-powered wheelchair in which she loved to “zoom around” the streets of Charleston, Ms. Johnson playfully referred to herself as “a bedpan crip” and “a jumble of bones in a floppy bag of skin.”

Rolling into an auditorium at the College of Charleston on April 22, 2001, Ms. Johnson went to the microphone during a question-and-answer session to confront Peter Singer, a philosopher from Princeton, who was giving a lecture titled “Rethinking Life and Death.”

Professor Singer had drawn protests by insisting that suffering should be relieved without regard to species. That, he said, allows parents and doctors to kill newborns with drastic disabilities, like the absence of higher brain function or an incompletely formed spine, instead of letting “nature take its course.”

In Professor Singer’s view, infants, like other animals, are neither rational nor self-conscious.

“Since their species is not relevant to their moral status,” he said, “the principles that govern the wrongness of killing nonhuman animals who are sentient but not rational or self-conscious must apply here, too.”

Ms. Johnson had been sent to the lecture by Not Dead Yet, a national disability-rights organization. Describing the event in The Times, she wrote: “To Singer, it’s pretty simple: disability makes a person ‘worse off.’ Are we ‘worse off’? I don’t think so.”

She added: “We take constraints that no one would choose and build rich and satisfying lives within them. We enjoy pleasures other people enjoy, and pleasures peculiarly our own.”

An e-mail exchange followed that encounter in Charleston, leading to an invitation to debate Professor Singer at Princeton on March 25, 2002. Their two encounters were the subject of the 8,000-word Times article, which brought Ms. Johnson considerable attention in the disability rights movement and from the general public.

“Her impact came mostly from her writing,” said Laura Hershey, a disability rights activist with several organizations, including Not Dead Yet. “Millions of people by now have read that article, and it was reprinted in her book. Dozens of people who read the article told me, ‘Wow, I never thought about it that way.’ ”

Ms. Johnson’s memoir, “Too Late to Die Young,” was published in 2005. Her novel, “Accidents of Nature,” about a girl with cerebral palsy who had never known another disabled person until she went to camp, was published in 2006.

Born in Laurinburg, N.C., on July 8, 1957, Ms. Johnson was one of five children of David and Ada Johnson. Her parents taught foreign languages at colleges. Besides her parents and her sister, Ms. Johnson is survived by three brothers, Eric, McBryde and Ross.

The fact that her parents could afford hired help was a salient point in another Times Magazine article Ms. Johnson wrote in November 2003, “The Disability Gulag.” Describing institutions where “wheelchair people are lined up, obviously stuck where they’re placed” while “a TV blares, watched by no one,” she called for a major shift from institutionalizing people to publicly financing home care provided by family, friends or neighbors.

“I sometimes dare to dream that the gulag will be gone in a generation or two,” she wrote. “But meanwhile, the lost languish in the gulag.”

Early on, Ms. Johnson was a troublemaker. At 14, at a school for the disabled, her sister said, “Harriet tried to get an abusive teacher fired; the start of her hell raising.” In her memoir, Ms. Johnson describes how, after watching a Jerry Lewis muscular dystrophy telethon while in her teens, she turned against “the charity mentality” and “pity-based tactics.”

Ms. Johnson graduated from Charleston Southern University in 1978, then earned a master’s degree in public administration from the College of Charleston. She graduated from the University of South Carolina School of Law in 1985 and soon went into private practice.

Humor laced her writing. The “crippled children’s school” she attended as a teenager, she wrote in a Times Op-Ed article in December 2006, once considered staging a play based on Charles Dickens’s “A Christmas Carol.” But who would be Tiny Tim?

Ms. Johnson quoted directly from the Dickens book: “Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!”

“Alas!” Ms. Johnson exclaimed. “A little crutch! An iron frame! In our world, the crutch-and-brace kids were the athletic elite. They picked up the stuff we hard-core crips dropped.”


Some thoughts-- the NYT is still clinging to that expression -- 'the disabled.' When are they going to get it?
Also, why are three paragraphs in her obit about Peter Singer? Huh?

List

What were you doing five years ago?

-dealing with postpartum depression
-teaching in a very difficult school
-preparing to go to Oregon (same as now!)
-finishing my masters in teaching
-writing longer poems

What are five things (in no particular order) on your to-do list for today?

-meet Reb and Gideon Livingston for lunch
-clean
-apologize to my husband
-garden
-read Paul Auster


What are five snacks you enjoy?

-cheese
-cheese
-cheese
-booze
-cheese

What are five things you would do if you were a billionaire?
-donate
-buy houses in Oregon and New Mexico
-hire a housekeeper
-give my husband money so he could write full time
-buy all Agnes B. clothes

What are five of your bad habits?

-getting in fights with poets on the internet
-being too didactic
-playing devil's advocate
-getting angry
-avoiding writing poems

What are five places you have lived?


Brooklyn
Davis, Ca
Boston
Atwater, Ca
Great Falls Montana

What are five jobs you have had?

-half-time professor
-inner-city high school teacher
-museum shop customer service
-nanny
-dishwasher


Which five people do you want to tag?

-Reb and Gideon Livingston
-Ron Silliman
- Jim Stewart
-Paul Guest
-Danielle Punfunda (I hope I spelled it right!)

Evergreen

I am just back from the PRESS conference in Olympia. I am new to 'conferences' but I am beginning to realize their importance. Being around people thinking about poetry, ideas, politics and such is so crucial. I think many poets are or do look for connections on the internet -- myself definitely included. It is refreshing to meet people face to face. One idea that I'm contemplating via the conference is the idea of cross-genre work as a way to protest the system. This would never have occurred to me. My friend Nick came up with a brilliant idea, life does work like a short story -- with rising action, climax, and such -- so why do we write as such?

How2

This Condensery: Poets On Mentorship

curated by Jennifer Bartlett

Featuring interviews with:

Arielle Greenberg and Rachel Zucker
Joanna Fuhrman and Susanna Fry
Shin Yu Pai and Renee Rossi
Jennifer Firestone and Eileen Myles

Essays and poems by:

Jen Benka
Susanna Fry & Joanna Fuhrman
Renée Rossi
Shin Yu Pai

And excerpts from Women Poets on Mentorship: Efforts & Affections by Rachel Zucker and Arielle Greenberg (University of Iowa Press, 2008)

Elizabeth Treadwell
Katy Lederer
Kristin Prevallet

Off to the PRESS conference in Olympia!

Poetry and community

I've been reading Jack Spicer's lectures. I am struggling to understand the difference between community (positive) and society (negative). He writes, "I think every poet has to create actively his (her) own community." Later, 'well, community is a good word. If you make your own community, which you can't...but if you could, that would be ideal."

I am also thinking about whether and how one can create poetry community. And, if not, can a poet thrive in isolation?

Bike

I rode my bike seven miles on Saturday.

My husband, the hero

As my husband trudged off to yet another job interview today, he broke my heart. I can't help but, in my own tiny way, try to expose the condition of the NYC Department of Education. As my husband left, he expressed dismay in missing teaching today because his students have the regents coming up and they need him. Who makes it impossible for my husband's students to have their caring teacher? Why, the school's principal, of course. This administration basically pushed my husband out of this job because my husband 'can't control the class.' Well, no wonder. There is no support and the principal can't 'control' the kids either. So, this administrator, is giving up a teacher who is brilliant, caring, and would rather go to work half-dead than miss a day.

Anxiety, Disability and Paul Auster

I'm obsessed with Paul Auster's books. This is part of a longer story. However, last night I was at a local new bar in the greater GNPT/WBG area with a friend. I left my Auster book...well...somewhere. So, I called the bar and said 'Hey, it's Jennifer. Did you find my book?' The person on the phone was not the owner {who knows me} but some girl who said, "Hey, you know that girl, like with MS, did she leave her book her." O.k. Miss brilliant. I don't have MS -- I have cP -- and I not a 'girl' I'm nearly forty and have a kid. I don't like being described as 'the handicapped girl' anymore than you like like being described as the brainless hipster.

Where is my book!?

Oregon

In a few weeks we will leave for our yearly summer in Oregon. I have to say, I've got one foot out my New York door. Moving from New York seems an impossible task, yet one that lingers. Partially, this desire to leave comes from my perceived inability to find a home in the New York Poetry world. I find I can't fit in, and I can't completely hide either. The west -- a kinder, gentler place -- might give the opportunity for one ... or the other.

I just saw a fabulous poetry reading: Robyn Art and Erica Ehrenberg. Two witty, wonderful poets.

Paul Guest/ John Ashbery

In a blurb for Paul Guest's new book, Ashbery calls the book 'invalid's rage.' My question, why would Ashbery say such a thing and why would Guest let him? Invalid (or in valid) in my book is one of the most offensive terms (short of retard) that a people with a physical disability can be called. It would be likened to putting a blurb on Ashbery's book calling him a crotchety old fag. And it is untrue. While I am conflicted about Guest's work, I hold him in the highest esteem as a person. Not only is he attractive, friendly, smart, and warm but he has also gone far, far beyond where most able-bodied ports will: books with Ecco, a good professor job, and so on. Guest is in no terms an invalid, So, I wonder what's going on. For starters, I think the politically correct police need to give ole John a good kick in the head. He's a poet, after all, doesn't he know the power of words? Perhaps I am stupid. Perhaps it is mean ironically. If so, will other get the joke?