Last night I happened to run accross my copy of Tory Dent's What Silence Equals. I thought it was unfair for me to comment on her work without re-reading her, so I took a peek. I still had the same feeling that I had the first time I read the poems. My mentor at Vermont College, Bill Olsen, likes Dent's work, as do many others. I just can't get into it.

Dent's poems are too compact. There are few stanza breaks, there are no spaces between the lines, there is no room to breathe, there is no air. However, her lines and images are not cliche's. They struggle to be new. It is quite possible that Dent wants to do the very thing I wrote about previously: confront her topic (AIDS) and, simulatiously, transend it. I also noticed the date of the book, 1993. What Silence Equals was written relatively near the beginning of the AIDS crisis in the US. I think, although not sure, that it was one of the first poetry books on the subject. It is clearly a brave move.

But, the experiement doesn't quite work. I can't find the emotion in the poems. I can't feel what Dent is going through. She keeps the reader distanced. I was, in short, bored. I can't help comparing Dent's poems to What the Living Do by Marie Howe. Here is the poem:


WHAT THE LIVING DO

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living room windows because the heat;s on too high in here, and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping the bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss -- we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless.

I am living. I remember you.

Of course, the poems derive out of two vastly different situations. It must be so much easier to write about someone else's mortality rather than your own. However, Howe's poem delves into a emotion that I find so lacking in Dent's work. Howe examines the world much in the wacky way I though David Chase of the Sopranos did. She makes us stop and look at the world. She makes the ordinary magical. She reminds us of the tiny details, how wonderful and aweful.

A poet's translation of the Soprano's

I will not follow the masses. I quite enjoyed the final moments of the Sopranos. I look at it from a poet's point of view. Jim tipped me off with some of these ideas. This may all be a long shot, but I think the final scenes reflected ordinary life. How detailed life is. How it is viewed from many different perspectives. How, like in the show, we never know what will happen. Is there a Godfather reference in there? The creepy guy goes to the bathroom -- oh! the gun is hidden over the window!

Meadow crosses the street. Is she going to get hit by a car? Is she going to annouce her decision to go to med school? Her mother tells her father that she has gone to the doctor. A look of panic crosses his face. It turns out that Meadow is just changing her birth control pills! The parents have made a job for their son. They have tricked him into believing it's glamorous. but he ends up fetching coffee all day! Tony puts a quarter in the jukebox and nothing happens, except a song comes on. Tony rakes the yard, he looks at the sky, the mom announces the dinner plans, how close to real life can you get? How much further from TV can one stray? And certainly far, far from any mobster drama?

This is really TV reflecting life. We rake the leaves, we look at the sky, we order cokes, we all have a favorite stupid song from the 70's, 80's, or 90's. If it's not Journey, it's Boston or Blondie, or my favorite Supertramp.

David Chase has tricked us. He has slowed things down, made us look. Anyone in the family could die at any moment. But, couldn't any of us?

We are on our way to the land of Massachuesetts to see old friends (including our favorite Peter bear) and pettle the book. My hand is worse! If anyone knows what a broken hand looks like -- please weigh in!

The World According to Felix

Felix Gonzales-Torres headlines the Times art section today. He has a number of works in the Venice Biennale. As the world will have it, these things are never timely. The seminal Cuban-American artist has been dead for eleven years.

To my mind, GT is an artist who has been long underrated. He is a forethinker in so many aspects of 80's-90's atr, conceptually and politically. I first saw his work in about 1995 at the Chicago Art Institute. The piece I saw was strings of light bulbs hung in varying arrays from the ceiling. The guard told me that the bulbs were left on all the time, and burnt out at random. Once they burn out of course, they are never replaced. Ironically, at the time, this very, short visit to Chicago, I was meeting a friend who was beginning to die from HIV, and experiencing dementia. I lost touch with this person.

Because I was a generation younger than Felix, I have had the blessing of never having lost a friend to AIDS, although HIV has become part of my daily vocabulary. And death, in other forms, certainly is. Perhaps that is why Felix's work is so dear to me. It's all about the vanishing, and the audience taking part in the vanishing. The audience is invited to take the candy and eat it. To take a piece of paper and keep it. To make the art disintergrate, and yet live elsewhere. Even Yoko Ono has borrowed these ideas.

But, GT is smart too. He wrote," The most sucessful of all political moves are the ones that don't appear 'political.'

I had the most hilarious interaction at the MOMA yesterday. I went to the information desk to try to get an "artist pass." I asked the attendant if the museum gave artist passes to writers. First, he said that I had to prove that I wrote a book. So, I showed him the UNM catalog. He looked at the book suspiciously, then he asked me for identification! Then, he made a phone call. He ended up telling me that the museum only gives cards to people they represent -- of course, many of which are DEAD! But, this isn't true anyway because I have friends with cards.

It is so funny to try to discuss the larger meaning of the word "art" with visual artists. They're just not having it!

Anyway, I shelled out the 75$ to see the Richard Serra show. I only saw the pieces in the garden. I didn't want to experience the sculptures in the sterile enviroment of the museum after seeing the perfection of them in nature. More on this later.

The child has been watching TV for 3 hours! I have to attend to him.

And right before my book arrives, this

And of Lunchwithmom.blogspot.com

Jeff's damaged finger.
Segregation in NYC
and
The grumpy man of the LIRR

Interview

Things at Saint Elizabeth Street have been slow to say the least! I am preparing to interview Charles Bernstein. I have begun the long and windy road with "A Poetics." I have been thinking about this great quote -- something to the effect of, poetry should be like television.

Meanwhile, tonight I start Lisa Jarnot's workshop!

I'm also (somewhat) enjoying the new Rufus Wainwright CD. The first few songs are weak, but "Not Ready to Love" blows me away.

Bhutan, Not Such A Happy Place After All

Bhutan is a country known for it's happiness, Buddhism, and beauty. But today I found out the king of Bhutan exiled 100,000 people from the country for not being Bhutanese (sp?) or Buddhist. What's next? Sweden?

Books and Culture

Yesterday, I snuck off to the 11AM movie to see Fay Grim. I REALLY have the hots for Parker Posey, but that's a whole other story.

In this film there is this great line: "Who cares if the writing is horrible -- if it sells, it's publishable." I can't believe that Hal Hartley was able to tap so famously into a compele metaphor for our society. I was reading an article (I think it was via Ron Silliman) about blogs being made into books. Of course, many of these are about sex. Can you say editor at Knofp + very bad poetry = enormous poetry success?

And yet, we are lucky to still have the small publishing world. I have been keeping tabs on Poetry Magazine's bestseller list. It's interesting, for weeks the two best sellers for "major" presses have been written by Mary Oliver and Billy Collins. This does not change. However, the "little" presses flow and change constantly, they include many poets, many forms. Perhaps there is hope.

2007

The official iist of 2007 NYFA Poets was released today. Two of my good friends and fine poets won the award: Anselm Berrigan and Kristin Prevallet. Yeah! Here is the complete list.


Betsy Andrews
Anselm Berrigan
Jen Bervin
DeWayne Dickerson
Brandon Downing
Sarah Gambito
Linda Jackson
Cate Marvin (Gregory Millard Fellow)
Ted Mathys
Rachel McKibbens
Sharon Mesmer
Kathleen Ossip
Julie Patton
Kristin Prevallet
Aaron Smith
Leah Souffrant
Karen Weyant

New Blog

I've decided to start a new blog. I am going to divide the two . From now on, poetry and political news will remain here. Parenting and disability news will be at http://lunchwithmom.blogspot.com. Meet me there! We're having grilled cheese for lunch.

EIGHT

Happy Memorial Day

This morning a neighbor called to me "Happy Memorial Day!" Ahhhh what a holiday, pools open, the beach crowd arrives, the barbeques get dusted off. I have always loved this weekend as it marks the beginning of my favorite season. But, two years ago, I really began to think about what Memorial Day is and it certainly is not happy.

My grandfather died on the Wed. before Memorial Day weekend 2005 (I think). My grandfather was one of my favorite people of all time. He had been a soldier during World War II in Guam. My grandpa's life was kind of a mystery to begin with. Supposedly he was an orphan. Supposedly he was part Indian. Supposedly, he lied about his age to join the army. Actually, no one really knew his age. As his Alzeimers increased, the picture got even murkier. Dad asked him if he'd killed anyone in the war and grandpa said, "yeah, probably." Anyway, losing my grandpa at this time made me think of the holiday in a deeper way.

In the last month about 100 American soldiers have died in Iraq. The war is NOT improving. Now about 3 people die a day, not to mention Iraqis. In his MD speech Bush said, "I don't know how to easy your pain." Well George, I can tell you what would ease MY pain -- stop letting men and women whose medium age is 20 get killed for nothing.

THE NYC DOE -- and some good news

I'm making the leap. I am signing up for library school at Queens College this Fall. This is not a foolproof plan, but it's the best I can come up with at the moment. I found out that I can take 2 years off from the DOE for leave to study, which gives me the luxery of not having to resign. I am still hoping to get an adjunct job at the last moment...I haven't given up hope. But, I have to find a way to protect myself from the silliness of people who believe I can't do a good job. I have to say...I applied for a 8th grade ELA position last year at a certain school ....they hired someone else, I'm not sure why. I heard that the kids chased the teacher out. Now the school is hiring again this year for the same position. Am I egotistical to think -- why didn't they give me a chance! I have nothing if not persistance. As I said before, everyone wants the Bank Street 20 year teave cher/ S/he works for a year, leaves, and the game goes on....

But, I'm also pissy about the NY school system on a deeper level. Problems with my son's school and others in Williamsburg persist. Now, it turns out that as parents leave our school to go to the "better school" the parents at the "better school" are leaving their school to come to our school! Get it? Good because I don't. I would love to hear your ideas on this. Why are parents so damn fixated on their kids elementary education. Why isn't a school where the kids are safe and happy and learn something good enough? I judge people too much...but here's some gossip...a single mom who gets loans to send her kid to private school that is $20,000 a year! That's $200, 000 of debt BEFORE college!

A few months ago I read an article by Peter Singer in the Times. He pops up occasionally. I have REALLY mixed feelings about this philosopher due to his less than savory ideas about PWD. However, he put forth an interesting idea that sort of blew my head off. Why is one's own child more important than all the other children in the world? He posed the idea that if your child had to die in order to save 1,000 other children, would you be capable of doing it? Of course, I wouldn't. Very few people would. (And I know..I'm a judge!) But it would be interesting to apply this to children's education. What can be done with $200,000? Well, that could keep Anami House (the orphanage house in Tansania) in business for 15 years ...so it's an interesting question: one kid or many?

Second, in my stupid opinion, a child's MORALS are vastly more important than her education. I mean George Bush went to fucking YALE.

There is a school that all the parents in Williamsburger are twisting their panties to get into. It's called NEST. The think about NEST, which is a public school, is that it is educationally one of the best. However, a year or so ago, the parents and principal made a huge stink about sharing "their" buidling with a new school that I believed, if I'm right, included minority kids at a lower level. Can you say elitism? The pricipal was fired, the PTA quit. I know a mother who supposedly said she HOPES people are turned off by the scandel because her kid will get a spot!!!

If I sent my kid there, what message am I giving him? It's okay not to share? It's okay to be prejudice? His education comes before others? Hmmmm

No takers on the books?

On Fire

What is it about Fire Island that makes me such a lunatic? Yesterday, I took the boys on the 2 hour each way trip to get to the Sunken Forest. We had to take the ferry to Cherry Grove and walk to the Forest. What can I say about such a place...a poet, left speechless. Fire Island is truely the most beautiful relaxing place on the earth. Going there brings me immense excitement and happiness. I also have to say that as a disabled person, I feel so comfortable there. People don't stare at me. People don't question my body. When everyone is an outsider, no one is.

FREE BOOKS

I am re-doing the library at my son's school in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. We have a ton of old, funky books that we need to move out that artists/poet/teachers might love. They are not really kids books: Some examples--

Adventure with a Cardboard Tube
Mr. Wizard's Supermarket Science
Chemistry in the Kitchen...

There are myth books, old history books, some picture books, riddle books.

If you live in the neighborhood you can come get them. If you live elsewhere - I will mail them for a SMALL fee/postage.

I'm at saintlizstreet@hotmail.com

BUY THIS BOOK!

If you are in the greater Williamsburg Area Tommorow

I can't say enough good things about these two poets. I had the luck of reading with both of them last week. I really love Monica's book. And, as a person who has survived countless deaths of close ones, many to suicide, Kristin's book is particularly important to me. Prevallet does the impossible task of capturing grief perfectly. Grief has this strange circular obsessiveness where the remaining walk through the events again and again. They try to alter the events that led to the death again and again. This is particularly profound in the case of suicide. Kristin's poems capture this so perfectly. They bring heartbreak. They bring relief. Nathaniel Tarn (my mentor) wrote of my work -- "a life saved by poetry." I wish the same for Kristin -- and her audience.

Mónica de la Torre and Kristin Prevallet
invite you to a cocktail reception
to celebrate the publication of two new books
from two new presses:

Talk Shows by Mónica de la Torre (Switchback Books)

I, Afterlife by Kristin Prevallet (Essay Press)

Saturday May 19, 6-8pm

PIEROGI Brooklyn
177 North 9th Street (between Bedford and Driggs in Williamsburg)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
T. 718.599.2144
www.pierogi2000.com