My Top 10 Living Poets Crush List~

So yesterday I announced a new poet (new to me) to teeter on that threshold of my current favorite poets list. Admittedly it's a list new that is somewhat in flux due to my changing experiences,  mood, exposure to new poetry material and poets. Sometimes poets may move on or off the list in a slow subtle fashion than at other times the shift may be more swift and dramatic.

So I've thought about his yesterday off and on - even between pitches during the World Series.  What constitutes my say top ten poet crushes currently. Crush being defined here as poets whose work rises to a heightened level of admiration that exceeds the normal limits one expects of most other poets.  A person on the poet crush list is someone you would drive miles out of your way to get to a reading.  You likely own multiple titles of their work or would if you could. You would prefer a hard copy to that is signed then some impersonal ebook pdf. You would love to have lunch with them and pick their brain about anything poetry related. A copy of their work could likely be found on your night stand. -That my friend, is my definition of a poet crush.  Perhaps you would use different criteria - I'd be interested to know your criteria.

With that in mind I give you my current top 10 Living Poets Crush List ( in no particular order):

1. W. S. Merwin
2. Sharon Olds
3. Beth Ann Fennelly
4. Ruth Stone
5. Charles Simic
6. Kelli Russell Agodon
7. Donald Hall
8. John Ashbery
9. Ada Limon
10. Katrina Vandenberg

Yes... Limon I have decided has made my top 10 list.  There you have it! Any thoughts about what this list says about my poetry tastes? So, who is on your Poet Crush List?

* NOTE~ As I look over this list I'm wondering just how many years of writing experience these 10 poets have accumulated?

Discovering a new poet that you really can appreciate is an incredibly exciting thing. For me, it has a physical and mental component that sort of comes together all at once and is kind of like the euphoric rush of endorphin in your brain from chocolate (with a little more staying power). 

The last couple of days I've  had my chocolate fix from the poetry of one Ada Limon.  She is an increasable talented poet who I heard interviewed on an Arts & Letters podcast by Angelia Elem which then sent me looking for more of her work online. With each read the find seemed to be getting better and better.

Still, there is a disappointing component to this story. I realized yesterday that Limon  was in Kansas City reading at one of our libraries in the middle of last month and it slipped past me. Augh!

She is the author of three poetry books, Lucky Wreck, This Big Fake World, and Sharks in the Rivers. Of the poems I've found by Limon, some of my favorite are the title poem of the latter book Sharks in the Rivers, Crush, Miles Per Hour, The Weather Reported and The Firemen are Dancing.


I'm actually thinking that Limon may be a candidate for my favorite poet list.  I probably should read some more of her work but she is definitely teetering on the edge of my list.  Her work has substance to it. I don't feel it's dumbed down. So far it  all seems to be fresh and not a mess of already hashed over stuff. I feel too that each of these poems are part of a journey that I was allowed to go on with her like she sometimes is discovering something for the first time and I'm important enough to be on that same trip with her. How could your better build an audience as a writer then to create that kind of environment? Wow! 




 

We are limited...

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.” 

 Sylvia Plath  - October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963

If you build a shiny new performing-arts center, will the creative class come?

The headline question above is asked by The Atlantic about the new Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts in my hometown of Kansas City.  Read what Hampton Stevens has to say about the expensive gamble by civic and corporate minds that has produced a one of a kind venue for preforming arts. Their may be no better place to hear music and it's here in Kansas City.

Above right an extior view of the center

left and below are interior views.


Read The Atlantic article here

Confession Tuesday

It's Tuesday and that means confession time. For some strange reason I feel really confessy today. Let's get down to business.

Dear Reader~

It's been a week since my last confession and I have to say sometimes I struggle with what to confess. I have no idea where this is going but I don't feel that way tonight.  I'm like a champagne bottle about to pop!  So you've been warned...

I woke up this morning realizing from my smart phone that I had a follow up eye appointment.  I gave it no thought all day yesterday and I anticipated getting to work and digging right in on several projects and the the smart-assed phone said something different. I confess that I did not want to go. I didn't want to go because I didn't want to pay another $50 co-pay. I didn't want to go because I had more then plenty of work to do and didn't want to be away from the office. I also confess that my self examination of my eye told me it was doing ok. I know,  I'm not an eye doctor but I did stay at Red Roof Inn last night. Ok, the last part is a fib. I was at home all night.  I used the first and the last excuse on my wife but she would not buy into my arguments so I went. Sigh!

My eye is doing much better. Healing is they way the doctor put it, but she also said I had debris in my eyes. Now when I heard that I thought of lumber... 2x4s and broken pieces of drywall. I confess this didn't sound good but she informed me that it is not unusual. She recommended that I flush it with artificial tears 4 x per day and use a damp compress on my closed eyes in the evening.  At any rate with the news my eye was healing fine I didn't feel any better about the copay.

My wife invited me to do lunch with her and a co-worker today and I confess I was thrilled at the invite, but I had to decline for which I was sad. It was really sweet if her to include me. I confess that even with the disappointment if having to decline - just being asked was an awesome feeling.

On another positive note, the mother-in-law's tongue was been evicted from out bathroom. It is safe to enter again. If you don't know what I'm talking about  read here. I confess I don't want to explain it again.

I confess that after last night's World Series game, in the unlikely event I ever become the GM of a baseball team I will not be hiring Albert Pujols to manage my team. Did he really call for a hit and run under the circumstances?

Another less then admirable side of me showed it's ugly face today. I became annoyed. At least twice that I can recall. Once because for some reason when I am driving and have a passenger in the car they are very often on the cell phone between 90 and 100% of the trip. I don't mind people getting calls or making calls but when you are driving for 20 to 30 minutes of more and they are continually on the cell I feel like a Taxi and dammit I don't even get a tip!

And the second annoyance came when I left the room to check on dinner cooking and came back to find that the TV program I was watching had been changed to some slash and dash vampite or scary show. Said party had just come home and decided to take up camp in my room.  I should have simply put the offender out but no, I tiptoed and let my annoyance grow. Maybe I've learned a lession. Time will tell.

Lastly, I confess that thanks to Governor Rick Perry I have a pretty good idea what desperation looks like.

Hope that wasn't too scary.  Until next week - I'm confessed out! 

Though for the Day

Life itself still remains a very effective therapist. ~Karen Horney

Space Reservations

And will they

                         have to

reserve space ahead of time

                there

in some future outpost

          dodging oblique junk

                                    no one picks up.


            Ever.