UPDATE ON THE READING
Okay, tonight's Zoom reading announcement (with links) is up--again, that's Pacific Standard Time 7:30, so check the time converter! With Jorge Quintana. https://sacpoetrycenter.org/event/socially-distant-verse-with-marly-youmans-and-jorge-quintana/
FEATURED READER, SACRAMENTO POETRY CENTER
ZOOM reading Monday the 17th
Tomorrow I am scheduled for an online reading, but the information is not up yet. Here's what I have so far--zoom link, i.d., and password. I will add more about the second reader etc. when I have more.
PICK YOUR TIME
7:30pm Pacific Standard Time / Online only
That would be 10:30 Eastern Standard Time.
Meeting ID: 763 873 3462 password: r3trnofsdv
PULSEBEAT
Clip from editor David Stephenson:
Welcome to the first issue of Pulsebeat. I was pleased with the response to my call for submissions; I received a large number of enjoyable poems from a variety of accomplished poets, including some actual musicians. It was exciting to see new submissions appear in the inbox like presents tied with bows. I’ve very grateful to everyone who sent me their poetry.
My poem, "A Child in Snow and Sleep," is HERE. But read the whole thing--lots of poems by interesting writers.
I've tried Zoom and it confirmed me in the belief that I am a Skype man through and through. Especially now I've adapted Skype so that it runs through the TV, transforming VR and myself into life-size images. Veritable gods, in fact.
ReplyDeleteGods of modernity... Don't forget that the fallen angels taught tech, haha!
DeleteI've used both and see some problems with each. But they're modern magic i.e. tech.
Are the fallen angels still teaching tech? That would have been a cheering thought when I was linked to a potassium drip.
DeleteI know this is a bit sarky but isn't Pulsebeat a tautology? Don't pulses (unless we're talking about lentils, split peas, etc) always beat? An unbeating pulse would indicate absnce of life, let alone poetry.
I should add that Louise Gluck's Poems 1962 - 2020 has joined the pile of my bedside books. About 500 pages so cheap at the price (£30). What a huge contrast between her style of writing and the surname she has been saddled with (even though it's a congenial word in German). Not that her portrait photographs suggest she gives a damn. Very stern.
No doubt, since the prospect of AI grows more fearsome each year!
DeleteYou're not going to get me into that name conversation... I'm 100% grateful there's a new journal that likes form, given that most are opposed...
Did I say something about her? Because I was just talking with an editor and a poet about her yesterday. Let me know how you like her. I read the first several books when they came out but have been scattershot since then.
Oh, and isn't it 1962-2012? Or is there another collected edition?
DeleteYou're right about The Happy One - the date, that is. No you hadn't mentioned her, it's simply rare for me to be able to make a useful contribution about poetry. What's astonishing in her case is how she has maintained not so much a style as a way of writing over such a long period. Calm, untortured, to the point, and - merveilleusement - based on such a deliberately limited vocabulary. The only modern poet I've envied. As with this:
DeleteMy mother wants to know
why, if I hate
family so much,
I went ahead and
had one. I don't
answer my mother.
What I hated
was being a child,
having no choice about
what people I loved.
Perhaps it isn't great poetry, but, then, what is? It simply tickles the mindset I'm most familiar with - my own.
I do feel as if you might have been reading my twitter messages, or my mind!
DeleteWhat is? I can think of loads, and you can too! Here's the first that popped into my head...
They are all Gone into the World of Light
They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling’ring here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest,
After the sun’s remove.
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days:
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have show’d them me
To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just,
Shining nowhere, but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust
Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath found some fledg’d bird’s nest, may know
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.
And yet as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes
And into glory peep.
If a star were confin’d into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that lock’d her up, gives room,
She’ll shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under thee!
Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass,
Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.
You have to be careful about attaching "great" to anyone engaged in public endeavour. If Gerard Manley Hopkins was rated great - a judgment made when one was younger (although you may of course disagree) - what "grading" adjective should one ascribe to, say, Larkin who arrived when you were more mature. "Great" too? If so isn't one debasing the coinage? Are there lots of "great" poets? If so, shouldn't we devise a more precise taxonomy which distinguishes between, say, Shakespeare and GMH?
ReplyDeleteOops, sorry! I have been zooming up and down the East Coast in the cause of elder care!
DeleteYou know, I have very different feelings about gradation than when younger. Poems that are loved will last because passed on. Some will be loved because they are beautiful and true and well made. Some will last a few generations because the writer was loved. Some will be lost. Some may be wonderful but ignored or lost for various reasons. But love is generally wha saves the poem.
Try an original and home-made joke now and then. I've just had a go. It doesn't have to be risqué.
ReplyDeleteDang, my "t" keeps vanishing... sorry about that.
DeleteAnd that wasn't a joke... I could use a joke right about now. Hoping to be home some month soon--and catch up with e-visitors! Also not a joke.