The News

TaylorMardisKatz poetry updates for the week:

1. Rejected by another literary magazine. Woo-hoo.

2. I am now a reader for a San Diego poetry press called Cooper Dillon! I met the editor in Denver at a literary conference, and immediately volunteered my free poem-reading skills.  Full-length poetry submissions now clog my inbox, and I don’t hate it.

3. Favorite poem this week found here (it’s too long to insert into post, but worth the effort I promise!).

4. Below, a poem sent to me by a good, good friend.

Something I Know About Her

by Gerald W. Barrax

She touches when she talks–
must touch to smooth out syntax with her fingertips,
must lay on her hand to hear her echo,
to feel the words you don’t speak
below the ones you do.

What she means by it is warm,
if she touches you, listen:
to surprise her at it
would be like waking a sleepwalker
between two dreams–
would trap her in this tedious
world of mere words.

* * *

Budding Phenomenom

A pattern has developed in my life where people I know very well or know only slightly request, sometimes even demand, that I recommend poetry to them. Poets, books, poems–I am milked for my knowledge of this nearly-obscure art form. I do love to respond–to introduce someone to a literary world that not enough people think they can enjoy–and one that I spend an enormous amount of time in. I hope that everyone, at some point, believes it is their time to begin reading poems. But at the same time, this is an impossible request. It’s like someone saying, “So I’ve never listened to music before–who’s good?” Recommending poems or poets is so difficult because basically I’m just handing out what I like and hoping others will like it, too. I don’t really tailor it to each person–I couldn’t. Most people have no sense what type of poems they like, so I have nothing to go off of besides for my own inclinations and a little bit of trying to match someone’s personality or current situation up with a poet (and that’s f’ing hard!).

The advice I would like to give in each person in these instances goes something like this: Go into a bookstore. Grab a book of poetry that looks enticing off the shelf. Read a poem. Do you like it? Read another from that book. Continue. If you like the first five or so that you read, buy it; you’ll likley enjoy the rest. If you don’t like any of the first couple of poems you read, reshelf that book, grab another, and repeat.

I have no idea what poems were meant for people. Since poetry is so sidelined and so few people read it, it’s treated like a genre that has more distinguishable “bests” than other genres. But poetry is just as much about personal taste as any art. In addition, certain poems or poets can be especially meaningful/helpful/interesting based on what mindset someone is in at that moment. Certain poets I’ve been enamored of don’t impress me when I look back on them–probably because at that point in time, they were providing necessary nourishment for something I’m not lacking in anymore. Or something.

The point is: poetry is not as menacing as everyone treats it. As my friend Lilah would say, Poetry has a frush on you (friend-crush).  I’m happy to continue recommending poetry entranceways to people, but I just want to put it out there that although I’m always willing to help, I’m really not necessary–who knows, I might even ruin some people who could have been great poetry lovers with my recommendations.  So go out there and tackle those p-words yourself. And then we can talk about it. And I’ll be thrilled.

(check out www.savagechickens.com for more good cartoons)

April 29th is poem in your pocket day,

and if you see me today, you’ll be handed a poem-present. I’m carrying around Frank O’Hara’s “Lunch Poems,” because it’s small, nearly pocket-sized, and because I love those poems, as well as pockets, as well as smallness & Otis Redding & a syrup drizzle & the name “Osmanthus Fancy” for a tea. Below, a Frank O’Hara classic:

A STEP AWAY FROM THEM

It’s my lunch hour, so I go
for a walk among the hum-colored
cabs. First, down the sidewalk
where laborers feed their dirty
glistening torsos sandwiches
and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets
on. They protect them from falling
bricks, I guess. Then onto the
avenue where skirts are flipping
above heels and blow up over
grates. The sun is hot, but the
cabs stir up the air. I look
at bargains in wristwatches. There
are cats playing in sawdust.

lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala On
to Times Square, where the sign
blows smoke over my head, and higher
the waterfall pours lightly. A
Negro stands in a doorway with a
toothpick, languorously agitating
A blonde chorus girl clicks: he
smiles and rubs his chin. Everything
suddenly honks: it is 12:40 of
a Thursday.
lalalalallaa Neon in daylight is a
great pleasure, as Edwin Denby would
write, as are light bulbs in daylight.
I stop for a cheeseburger at JULIET’S
CORNER. Giulietta Maina, wife of
Federico Fellini, é bell’ attrice.
And chocolate malted. A lady in
foxes on such a day puts her poodle
in a cab.
lallalalalalal There are several Puerto
Ricans on the avenue today, which
makes it beautiful and warm. First
Bunny died, then John Latouche,
then Jackson Pollock. But is the
earth as full of life was full, of them?
And one has eaten and one walks,
past the magazines with nudes
and the posters for BULLFIGHT and
the Manhatten Storage Warehouse,
which they’ll soon tear down. I
used to think they had the Armory
Show there.
lalalalalala A glass of papaya juice
and back to work. My heart is in my
pocket, it is Poems by Pierre Reverdy.

(the dapper O’Hara)

Feliz dia de sant jordi (April 23)

Thank you, Catalan culture for my favorite holiday: el dia de Sant Jordi. On this day all over Cataluña, there is an exchange: men give women a rose, and women give men a book. It’s like Valentine’s day, without the chalky candy and cupids. On this day in Barcelona, on there are stands upon stands filling the streets, selling books and roses. I was introduced to this holiday four years ago in an Introduction to Catalan class and have been celebrating it ever since, twice in Barcelona where the joy of so many BOOKS and the beauty of so many ROSES is miraculous, despite my awareness that all the books are in a language I could only decipher with a dictionary.

Poem: “Brainstorm”

How about—how about a thumb
bracelet. How about socks
that have Velcro on them
and the Velcro has soles.

How about a sandwich
made of something different.
Made of that webbing—
that webbing they use for belts.

You could put snaps on a roller skate.
I never thought of that one.

(This poem’s called “Brainstorm,” but it’s no storm from my brain; it’s made of sentences a sweet homeless guy was saying to himself near me as I sat outside of Peet’s Coffee & Tea last Sunday. He was just sitting there, thinking out loud. Coming up with new combinations. Classic brainstorming. I was in love. So I put him in stanzas.)

it was a birthday

People of my life, your presents are poetry. Thank you for

  • a watermelon
  • a note where you said something holy in the middle of other beautiful things about our friendship
  • a note where you wrote like you were in the middle of the oregon trail
  • a blog post in my honor
  • a volume of collected camus
  • that bottle of champagne, and that one too!
  • a bag of coffee beans
  • a something that looked like a cigarette but didn’t have tobacco in it
  • a kerchief you embroidered with words i should carry around
  • my dream sunglasses in a handmade case
  • a chocolate cake brought to me while i was tutoring
  • whimsical matchbooks
  • a book on edible plants (with pictures!)
  • musics & musics & musics on compact disc
  • “the enourmous room” by ee cummings
  • a feather hairclip
  • a funfetti cake with funfetti icing and lettered candles
  • a birthday card made with magic markers
  • four fancy chocolates
  • a bouquet of red & yellow flowers
  • two scientific pictures of succulents on nice paper
  • a gold bicycle bell and a mended tire
  • a green leather journal
  • photographs of places we’ve walked together
  • three cadbury creme eggs
  • a collaborative card with a drawing of two different types of birds (one that eats my cake and one that reminds me i am old)
  • three dozen kumquats in a taco bell bag
  • purple jewelry
  • a poem you wrote for me while driving & a picture of many species of cats that a friend gave you when she left you
  • a record by the band
  • two notebooks the shape of the poems i write
  • herbs de provence in bulk
  • paisley stationery with many purples
  • a birthday song &

your presences your presences your presences…!

i am rich with them, in them.

The Love Show

Tomorrow night (Sunday, February 14th, 2010, the day of love & poetry) the good man Jared A Muscat will be out of town and therefore I will be hosting his 5pm radio show. You should listen, please. Highlights may or may not include:

  • Love poems
  • A call-in quiz
  • Live music
  • Freestyling
  • High caliber poet-people, doing their thang, LIVE on the RADIO

So grab your sweet tea/ sweetie and listen in, because poetry’s alive and thumping in sunny San Diego…

5pm for Californians

8pm for my east coast people

http://ksdt.ucsd.edu/

Tonight, tonight!

I will be poeming on the radio with good people named Jared A Muscat, Richard Chiem, Jesus Castillo, and Ian Schimmelfennig. We begin at 5pm California time and will end somewhere between 6 and 7pm. America loves football and the radio station’s internet-only, so I don’t expect everyone and their mother to listen (in fact, my own mother will probably be watching football). BUT. It’s going to be occurring, and after it happens it will be archived, and I hope you listen either live or later to see that poetry is alive and well, rasping it’s way into the world through a microphone. I’ll post the poems I read here afterwards. I think. If I still like them.

Listen here:

http://scw.ucsd.edu/