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Sunday, December 26, 2004

Morning Poems by Robert Bly - Uncommonly Common

The other day when I mentioned that I would blog about the poetry book which I believe was the most influential one to me that I read this past year, I did not at that moment have a specific book in mind. There are a number of poets that I have read individual works of that were inspiring to me, but not an entire book written by them, so I will limit my choice the criteria of a book by a single poet. There are many that have impacted me in one way or another. But I have chosen in the end, a book that is written by a living poet, Robert Bly.

Morning Poems by Robert Bly is a small book. I read it the first time in an afternoon on a bus trip with my youngest daughter. Reading aloud many of the poems that struck me as the most interesting. My daughter, who is not particularly into poetry, seemed to enjoy many of these gems. A book of poems that can penetrate the minds that are normally closed to poetry must have something going for them.

What Bly's book did most for me was to reinforce the idea that poetry that is not static. Most of these works were about what seemed like common folks -- in common situations in life that were often told in a most uncommon context. I liked that. I liked the freedom that seemed to radiate from the pages. The freedom to know it was alright to let go with my own writing and be more bold about the images. It is very liberating to come to that point where I can accept that I don't have to explain away everything... like the poem must have a set of instructions to understand it.

Bly also reinforces that notion that writing about common things is quite all-right. I do recognize Bly as a poet with a history of activism. An outspoken critic of the war in Vietnam and the present war in Iraq. He can be quite serious about some of his messages. This is alright by me because I certainly believe that when possible, poets should play a role in the defense of humanity. But alas, it is his "down home" subject matter I like and the fact that he can challenge you so well with his imagery of everyday life.

I'd like to know some of your favorite poetry books - ones that greatly impacted you any why.




Thursday, December 23, 2004

Casual Geology

Mars is not the dead planet after all.
Perhaps it is indigestion or
Some other gaseous outburst.
Pictures reveal it to be geologically active.
I hope it is practicing safe geology.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Burrrrr!

It has become cold here. Single digit type cold. No white stuff, but that is fine by me. In fact I'd be tickled silly if it were to sprint right up to the 60's.

Last couple of nights I have been able to work on some previous writing "bits and pieces" and some ideas. Not quite as much has come together as I'd like, but the process is there and I think I have some things that are on the verge of working. I just need to press on with it.

As we come to the end of this year, I have been giving some thought to what poet and/or perhaps poetry book has perhaps meant the most to me this year... and of course the obligatory answer to the question, "Why?" I figure this is a worthy topic for an end of the year blog. I'm going to think about this further... and post my answer by the end of the week. So stay tuned if you are interested. It might be fun to pose the question around the poetry/poetics blogland as well, so if you are inclined to take a shot at this as well, let me know and I'll link your blog posts on the same.




Monday, December 20, 2004

I have NOT fallen off the world.

Friday night - went to a Christmas program the Kansas City Symphony does each year. Enjoyable performance - wide range of material and I always am silly with awe over Handel's Messiah.

Saturday night, wife and I attended a Christmas Party with a number of my local writing friends. Enjoyable... shared readings - food and drink. Exchanged gifts. My 2005 word power should be increasing thanks to Missi's gift.

All I have time for at this moment... but I will acknowledge the following response by Eileen to my last post. You see, I knew I could count on her to respond and I knew she would say more about the whole economic theory of Cultural Capital. (Hee-he in a deeply sinister voice)


Such is the expanse of moi talents I'm even an energizer-Bunny. Preen.

Thank you for the shamble, Michael. And as regards your query on how to increase one's "cultural capital"? The key, Sweetie, is always to give it away.

Poetry is quite transparently karmic that way.

And I do mean give it away -- not give it away hoping for something in return.

Okay: one more tip. Sweetie -- wink all you want, but never blink. Lucidity poetics, and all that.

Hmmm. Well, of course, there's another alternative interpretation to my vast Peepdom. I may have many Peeps for the same reason that cars slow down on the highway to look at a humongous, fire-blazing crash. Moi blather can burn so prettily, moithinks.

But what is the "it" -- this it one gives away, pipes up another peep listening into this fascinating conversation. Ah, the Chatelaine thinks, Is that you, Peep #403, the one always so concerned about your poetic career? She lifts a wing and from her armpit shoots out the arrow of compassion. Then the Chatelaine turns her lovely head to look straight into Peep #403's beady eyes, and with loving detachment snorts forth her very helpful reply: You want me to define the IT of Poetry? Peep -- do Moi get paid financial capital to do this blog?


Incidentially - her peep count is up to 20,000,022 but who's counting right?

Thursday, December 16, 2004

I Must Have Blinked!

Shambled over to The Chatelaine's Poetics today to find that Eileen is now up to ten million-twenty peeps. Like when did this happen? I blinked and there is all of a sudden another peep!
Me thinks they are reproducing when the PC is off. Really, I'm sure it's all that cultural capital she is accumulating. Unlike Bush (who threatens to use or "spend"his political capital) Eileen is quietly saving and maybe even hoarding hers. I think she collects all these peeps via the accumulation of the cultural capital. Each peep represents a culture token. The girl is loaded!

Okay, I'm starting to sound envious. Maybe jealous. I admit it... I'm a tad bit jealous. I see all this energy and all these peeps and I just can't help it.

Seriously, Eileen seems most of the time wound-up tighter than a clock. I don't mean "up tight" so don't flood my comment box with accusations that I think Eileen is anal retentive. It has occurred to me that (and this is strictly from following her exploits via her blog and seeing some of the material she had produced) Eileen is a very busy poet who I never hear complain that she just can't seem to do one more thing. So, what am I getting at? She has to be totally loving her work and can't get enough of it, the energizer poet-bunny, or a damn good actress. I'm leaning toward the first two. Maybe even a combination of both.

So, like how do we poor peep-deprived, cultural-capital-drained folks move from the ranks of the lesser-haves to the Eileen level? I've rubbed the cover of Menage A Trois With the 21st Century and I didn't notice anything happen. Reading it on the other hand did enrich me, but that has only inspired me to hunger and thirst more for developing a stronger poetic voice.

Did you expect me to answer that question? I'm still thinking. You'll have to stay tuned.