Ezra Pound: Canto LVIII


This one bounces around a bit, making the narrative (such as it is) hard to follow.

The Canto‘s opening setting is Japan under the Shogunate. But it gets confusing from there. Firstly, it appears to be, at least in part, about the early trading contacts with Europe. Certainly, there is some conversation about the introduction of Christianity to the island:

And because of the hauteur of
         Portagoose prelates, they drove the Xtians out of the Japan
till were none of that sect in the  Island

But it quickly moves back the mainland, with switches between Korea (‘Corea’) and China (and the ‘Tartars’ get mentioned again – though I have been assuming that this word is used simply to refer to those viewed as barbarians by the Chinese).

The intermittent story of a Père Ricci and his work in the East (the historical Ricci was a Jesuit Father) also features, though in a very fragmentary fashion.

What Borders Employees Didn’t Tell Us


In honor of America surviving its first full week without a Borders Bookstore in decades, here are some gnostic revelations from former employees at one, unnamed and now defunct Borders location.

Things We Never Told You

A Challenge To Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity?


Scientists at the CERN facility in Switzerland think they’ve detected a sub-atomic particle that moves faster than light.

Not only is this super cool for fans of science fiction, looking for a decent basis for ‘hyperdrives,’ ‘jump drives,’ ‘FTL drives,’ and ‘Heisenberg compensators,’ but it would overturn the Special Theory of Relativity which is kind of a building block for our understanding of the universe so, you know, that might be important even for people who don’t read science fiction. But I don’t know for sure, I don’t hang around people who don’t read sci fi so I won’t pretend to know what weird, kinky things they think are important. Probably place settings or coupons. I don’t know.

So anyway, some neutrinos appear to have covered a distance of 730 km 60 nanoseconds faster than light.

Harold Bloom


An interesting, somewhat critical piece on the literary theorist and critic, Harold Bloom

Theo Dorgan and Paula Meehan at the Folger


Greek by Theo Dorgan

The Folger Shakespeare Library kicked off its 2011-2012 poetry series last night. Naturally, I attended (I actually invested in a subscription for the season – a deal, really, if you attend more than five of the eight events, which I certainly did last season).

I had not heard of the two Irish poets reading – Paula Meehan and Theo Dorgan – but surely part of the point of these things is to learn about new (to me) poets?

Of course, there is nothing quite like good poetry being read in a true Irish accent. Both poets talked about the song tradition in Ireland and Paula Meehan, in particular, was very musical in her reading style – though both were amazing readers and Dorgan, as he got into the swing of things, was a very engaging (and openly political) personality as he read.

Naturally, I purchased a book. I went for Greek by Theo Dorgan (don’t you love how the cover alludes to those inexpensive Dover publications of classic literature?)

Meehan was a beautiful reader, with mesmerizing sing-song intonations and a great ebb and flow to her speech. Her poetry is also peppered with alliterations which, to the ear, made for Emily Dickinson-like slant rhyme effect. Her poems were also often very sexual. Not explicit, but filled with sensual language and references to sexual activity (a field being described as having been the place of first “smokes, tokes and gropes” for example).

But I went for Dorgan for several reasons.

Firstly, the way his poems grew on him. Though not as obviously an appealing reader, he had a certain fiery, political passion that slipped out, as well a certain fumbling for meaning that fitted my sensibilities better. I also like his allusions to ancient Greek and Roman literature, with references to Odysseus (though he actually used the Roman formulation, Ulysses – fitting for a post-Joycean Irishman, no?) and Cicero. Yes, I am a sucker for that kind of thing (I’m reading the Cantos, aren’t I?).

Also, I do not comprehend things orally. By which I mean, when I read, I do not ‘hear’ the words in my head. The reverse, actually. When I listen, I ‘see’ the words written in my head.

Meehan, to me, sounded very much a poet who had to be read aloud to be properly appreciated (she even writes radio plays), while Dorgan, I feel, translates better to the page.

Dorgan was unfailingly polite when signing my book and spoke with me briefly about our mutual love of Cavafy and Seferis (he even admitted to having appropriated from Seferis).

One Last Farewell


This will be the last weekend of Borders existence. Then it’s gone.

I will be out of town this weekend, so no chance to make my good byes, so to speak.

Fortunately, I know of a little indie bookstore right near where we’re going. That’s always a better choice anyway.

Another attempt to answer What went wrong?

Ezra Pound: Canto LVII


Perhaps it is my limited understanding of Chinese history. I know where incidents in the Italian renaissance fit into the larger story of western civilization. I cannot say that I understand how events in Chinese history fit into a larger narrative.

But, to make some vaguely useful comment on this particular Canto, he shows some particular enmity towards the eunuch or the ‘castrat.’ They seem especial villains here.

Seeing as how Pound rarely wrote of love or intimacy, it seems odd that these figures would be the target of such prominent dislike. Unless he was uncomfortable with sexuality and eunuchs reminded him of sex by the very absence of theirs.

I can’t say. Truly I don’t know enough about his personal history here to say with anything like certainty.

Inscribed Books


While helping out at an craft fair, I moseyed on down to used bookstore down the street, Idle Time Books.

Idle Time tends to be on the expensive side for a used bookstore, but they also more hard to find and even rare books, so you’re paying more for quality often.

They also have a rack outside: paperbacks for a 50 cents and hardbacks for a dollar.

Not that I haven’t bought too many books lately, not that I’m not way behind on my reading (I just last night finished A Dance with Dragons, which predictably ended on a cliffhanger that won’t be resolved for another five years). It’s more that I have a deep, pathological problem.

So, for 50 cents, I bought The Seven Storey Mountain.

Inside the front cover, was an inscription covering the entire page:

Dearest Patti,
This may look like a plain old fashioned paperback book – but is so much more than that. 
   Merton has something very precious, something I can only hope to feel Someday, but something so wonderful that I want to share it with you. And that’s why today – Sept. 19, 1965 – has been so extra-special: being able to share so much with you and Claire – and I know that I am truly the luckiest person ever.
   Gosh – with you for a sister and Claire too –
                    well, I’ve reached the point where words don’t come out right at all.
   So what does come out is Thank you so much, just for being you.
                                                                                                                Much love,
                                                                                                                        Kathy 

Of course, the  forty-sixth anniversary of this inscription will be on Monday.

(Relatively) Recent Books of Poetry Worth Looking Up


Seth Abramson tends to divide opinion.

He’s sort of the anti-Anis Shivani.

If Shivani’s role in the intellectual ecology of poetry is to be a blowhard a–hole and bomb throwing provocateur, then Abramson is the ultimate defender of the status quo – the status quo, in this case, being the importance of MFA programs in the aforementioned intellectual ecology of poetry.

However, at least both write with some regularity about contemporary poetry in more or less prominent venues. God knows poetry needs people with the means and desire to do so.

God knows a blogger-cum-poet-cum-activist with a blog whose reach extends not far beyond his own family doesn’t meet that criteria.

But to get back on topic.

Abramson recently posted on the Huffington Post Ten Recent Books of Poetry You Should Read Right Now.

After all of that earlier discussion of provocateurs versus defenders of the established order and intellectual ecologies, this is all just a misbegotten excuse to post my own top ten.

I know. Ugh. But here it is (in no particular order):

Charles Wright, Sestets: Poems
I was not a Wright fan until I heard him read at the Folger Shakespeare Library and heard his recent work. To me, he was sort of a Merwin-lite, which is like Corona Light. Really – what’s the point? Is Corona such a heavy brew that we need a watered down equivalent? But what Wright is doing these days just impresses the heck out of me. Sestets: Poems keeps some of the rawer edge of his contemporary work while working within a single form (the sestet, naturally) for an entire collection.

Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red: A Novel in Verse
I think this was the second or third book by Carson that I read. I know that I bought it while I was living in Iowa. It’s verse novel retelling of the tale of Herakles and the monster Geryon (slain during the accomplishing of Herakles’ seven labors). Geryon, an ugly, monstrous child, teased at school, finds purpose as a gay bohemian artist – a photographer to be exact – whose earlier love affair with Herakles makes his death at his former friend and lover’s hand so much more heart rending. Good stuff. As always, the way the contemporary and the classical intersect in Carson’s work is amazing.

Charles Simic, The World Doesn’t End
This book was from 1990, so it’s beyond the fifteen year limit Abramson set himself, but I think that Simic gets short shrift these days. Yes, he’s tending to repeat himself, but his best work is very, very good. And this is one of his best. It’s also the first book by him I ever read. I was in Montgomery, Alabama and these surrealistic prose poems opened up contemporary poetry for me. The intersection of lightheartedness with undertones of barely held memories of war torn Eastern Europe is still worth appreciating.

Adrienne Rich, An Atlas of the Difficult World: Poems 1988-1991
Adrienne Rich’s style was a huge influence of my writing when I was younger (maybe it still is – certainly the echoes remain). An Atlas of the Difficult World: Poems 1988-1991 and Dark Fields of the Republic: Poems 1991-1995 deeply affected me. I was not necessarily “up” on things like feminist poetics and queer/LGBT poetics, but I could tell something was going on there that was important and that I needed to understand better. I picked Atlas over Dark Fields because the time period it covers was also important for me and my creative and intellectual development. Dark Fields has a cooler title though (it’s from The Great Gatsby – “And as I sat there, brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out Daisy’s light at the end of his dock. He had come such a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close he could hardly fail to grasp it. But what he did not know was that it was already behind him, somewhere in the vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.”)

Kim Addonizio, Lucifer at the Starlite
Let’s get something out of the way first. Kim Addonizio is hot. She’s mid-fifties, but looks like mid-thirties. And she looks and talks like she’s living the bohemian dream of a twenty year old lit major dreaming of life as an artist-cum-shaman. And her poetry has that aura of college rebellion and youthful sexual transgression. There’s also a certain shamanistic quality to her writing (it is no surprise that she has also published two books on the creative process). But there is also a Bukowski-esque despairing darkness of the stories in her poems (a lot of narrative poetry in her oeuvre). Of two pack a day failure. She appears to be living the dream, but her poetry often tells of that dream’s failure. Oh, and she is originally from Washington, DC.

Bob McCann, Warehouse
You won’t find this chapbook, I expect. It was self-published by Bob in the early nineties. Frankly, he over edited the titular poem, Warehouse. But listening to him read its various iterations at the weekly poetry group we attended was incredible. It was filled with lines and images that blew away this young would be poet (or poet who was young then; funny to think that I am almost now the same age he was then). I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in years. I don’t even know if he still lives in St Petersburg, Florida. You’ll find a brief reference to him and to the poem here.

Fanny Howe, Selected Poems
I am not very comfortable including “selected” or “collected” poems in here. It feels like cheating. But when I came across this book, I thought she was something special – someone I should have been reading for years. Howe hit a certain zeitgeist in my life and I’ve got to include it.

Anonymous, Beowulf (tr. by Seamus Heaney)
Heaney, of course, is a Nobel Prize winning Irish poet. Despite myself, I am a fan of his poetry. If I were to name a favorite, it would be his 1979 collection, Field Work. He has a certain hard empirical concreteness (in my mind) to his lilting (what a cliche – to call an Irishman’s literary voice ‘lilting’) lyrical voice. Makes the pastoral touches enjoyable. But his masterwork may not be any of his original works, but his translation of the Anglo-Saxon epic, Beowulf. I bought this book at Chapter 11 Books near the Kroger’s grocery store in midtown Atlanta.

Ted Joans, WOW
Ted Joans meant a lot to me, though I hardly knew him. For a young man in Paris for the first time, what massive figure to meet (I was both young and short [still am short], so it was pretty easy for folks to seem to tower over me). I have to include this, his last (to my knowledge) book. Chapbook really. Read more here.

Abdellatif Laabi, The World’s Embrace: Selected Poems
I was visiting my friend Mike in San Francisco (I was living in Los Angeles at the time) and insisted (of course) on visiting City Lights Bookstore. Upstairs, they have a lovely room devoted to poetry. By chance, I came across this book. Loved it. Had a couple of quibbles with the translation (the translator seemed to translate a particular line without realizing that it was a reference to Baudelaire, so the English didn’t reflect it), but the beauty of the poems comes through. Great way to integrate political sentiment into beautiful, lyrical pieces.

Should We Fight to Save Indie Bookstores?


Yes.