My first attempt to assemble a piece of writing into something resembling a manuscript was not my own book. There was a collection of poems, and there was an author, and there was my mom's kitchen table. After the dishes were cleared, I took a stab at ordering these pieces, some written in graduate school, some not, into a coherent narrative. It was fun. It also took me a frighteningly short period of time.
Needless to say, thankfully, that book has undergone some serious revision, reordering, adding, subtracting, and renaming. The author was/is a lady whose first book was/is a long time coming. Tara Betts is part of a slightly later generation of Chicago poets (2001ish?) who came roaring out of the slam scene and into teaching, into scholarly writing and study, and into the waiting arms of the canon. She's been published in a whole bunch of places and is the epitome of the working poet, always on her grind and always in conversation with the world in verse, very much unafraid to say the unsayable, or the uncomfortable, which is one the primary reasons poets do what they do, no?
Yes, I'm biased. Tara is also my fiancee. I asked her to marry me in April of this year, and we plan on doing the do, as the kids say, in June of 2010. But before we get married, there has to be a birth (snicker): ARC AND HUE, Betts' first collection of poetry, went on sale September 1st, and tomorrow evening at 5pm there will be a massive and star-poet-studded book party at the Bowery Poetry Club. I can't wait, and I know she's nervous, but I'm confident this will be a fantastic coming-out party for a collection she worked very hard on...not to mention a well-deserved spotlight on the fiercest poet in at least ten states. Maybe more. Anyway.
The details are below. I'm genuinely lucky and honored to be able to share in this moment with her. One of many to come, if I keep being lucky.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Book Release Party for ARC AND HUE, by Tara Betts
Featured guest poets and performers include Aracelis Girmay, Rachel McKibbens, Latasha Natasha Diggs, Samantha Thornhill, Nemiss, Giselle Buchanan & Cynthia Ceez Keteku from the Urban Word NYC ‘09 slam team. Hosted by Mahogany Browne.
The book will be for sale, and admission to the party is free.
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery (between Houston and Bleecker)
F train to 2nd Avenue, 6 train to Bleecker
More details: http://www.tarabetts.net
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
I never thought I'd be the type that woke up at 5:30am on a fairly regular basis and not complain about it, but relish it. I forgot my genetics. I'm slowly becoming my father. Right down to sitting by the window in the morning. This makes me smile. And yawn.
These windows are blue with first light, a light blue muted from the heavy rain outside. It is also September 11th, which means there will be the usual litanies read out loud in the usual places in remembrance of the victims of terrorism. This is never the day to question the wisdom of publicly picking at one's scabs and reliving these moments of sadness and loss. It just is what it is. I don't imagine the rain will lift people's moods, either.
For me, if there's reflecting to be done, it's on the concept of change itself, and what I need to change. It's appropriate, I think. I have decided to take my jacket out of the closet today. My fiancee notices the chill more. If there had to be a day like the one we suffered in 2001, I'm glad (is that the word?) it happened at the start of the seasonal shift. There is so much left undone, there is so much yet to be uncovered. I need to see my family in Cuba again. I need to be a little more scholarly.
And I need to write more. All the time. Writers write. I think I've been in such a haze over this job that I forgot what my soul needs. I write this with the full knowledge that there are folks at my company who probably read this blog. That's okay. I know some of you are closet artists. Or maybe not so closeted. Either way, don't forget those parts of yourselves that enjoy being alive for things other than accounting. Oh, and don't forget to fax me that thing. You know, that...thing. Yes, that.
Anyways, yes, I resolve on this most reflective of days to start keeping lists for myself too. Checking stuff off, adding more stuff. Oh, stuff. There's a lot of you out there. My season shifts today.
These windows are blue with first light, a light blue muted from the heavy rain outside. It is also September 11th, which means there will be the usual litanies read out loud in the usual places in remembrance of the victims of terrorism. This is never the day to question the wisdom of publicly picking at one's scabs and reliving these moments of sadness and loss. It just is what it is. I don't imagine the rain will lift people's moods, either.
For me, if there's reflecting to be done, it's on the concept of change itself, and what I need to change. It's appropriate, I think. I have decided to take my jacket out of the closet today. My fiancee notices the chill more. If there had to be a day like the one we suffered in 2001, I'm glad (is that the word?) it happened at the start of the seasonal shift. There is so much left undone, there is so much yet to be uncovered. I need to see my family in Cuba again. I need to be a little more scholarly.
And I need to write more. All the time. Writers write. I think I've been in such a haze over this job that I forgot what my soul needs. I write this with the full knowledge that there are folks at my company who probably read this blog. That's okay. I know some of you are closet artists. Or maybe not so closeted. Either way, don't forget those parts of yourselves that enjoy being alive for things other than accounting. Oh, and don't forget to fax me that thing. You know, that...thing. Yes, that.
Anyways, yes, I resolve on this most reflective of days to start keeping lists for myself too. Checking stuff off, adding more stuff. Oh, stuff. There's a lot of you out there. My season shifts today.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Po-Biz and Po-Comm: Picking Up From Craig Perez on the Poetic Industrial Complex
Pardons off the bat if this post tends to loop around a bit. My thoughts are doing the same.
Seth Abramson follows me on Twitter, so I feel the need to add something necessary and relevant to the ongoing conversations happening at Barbara Jane's and Craig's blogs, among others, about the Poetic Industrial Complex and This Thing Of Ours (snort) called Abramson Leslie Consulting, an organization of Seth's that gives manuscript feedback to prospective MFA students.
Can I just say, first of all, what a brilliant quixotic term "Poetic Industrial Complex" is? First heard it at Barbara's blog, and it's a way better term than the uninspired, reductive "po-biz." The business of Poetry truly is a Complex Industry, and it is an Industrious Complex of schools (academics and aesthetics), publishing houses, and institutions. It is very real, sadly so, in all its hyper-endowed, degree-granting, wine-sipping, award-winning-yet-poorly-selling glory. All it lacks is a flatheaded Hamburglar as its very own Warren Buffett.
Okay. Necessary and relevant.
Full disclosure: My own experience with an MFA program was not entirely pleasant. I met some wonderful people within it, got some good reading lists, started to think differently about some poetry. And I made a handful of good friends. But I left it in a bad way, and I got into it for the wrong reason, at least for me. In the poetry world, I was already who I wanted to be—an organizer, a curator for a reading series, member of a community (communities, really) of writers. But there was also this idea that in order to take myself and my community to another level, in order to attain...key word, folks...legitimacy in my dealings, I had to have the credential. "This is our director, Rich Villar. He got his MFA from..." And so forth.
Where did I get this idea? I had friends whose tenures in MFA programs ended badly, stopped them from writing, led them to dump entire manuscripts in the trash, that sort of thing. Others were struggling for jobs against academic institutions that suddenly wanted them to go get a Ph.D. So why did I need academia's stamp of approval on what I do? Why did I need three letters on my CV to trail after me on lunches with potential funders, or in emails to industry professionals? Or at dinner with my friends? Why did I have to invest my legitimacy in an MFA?
The more I began to move about in this busy and toothless monster called the Poetic Industrial Complex, the more I realized I didn't have to. I'm a fairly gregarious person, and I have friends who are poets, fiction writers, novelists, editors. I know who and what I like, and I know who and what I don't like. I didn't need a program director or connected classmates to show me around and tell me how to maneuver within that world. And to be mission-specific: I knew who and what I needed to call upon to help us with the mission of building and maintaining communities and audience around Latino/a poetry.
And then I discovered something else: I really don't care what a group of random strangers have to say about my work. This is not meant to be flip, because I did make some good friends in my program, but I also think I could have saved them a great deal of investment by realizing this sooner. I already have close writing comrades. I already have community. If there is work I really need to publish, if there is a book I really need feedback on, I can send it out to one of several friends I'm thinking of right now.
I have everything I need as a writer and an organizer, and I don't need an MFA to get it. Never did. Some might call that elitist. Or privileged. Some days, I'm inclined to agree with the elitist part. And yes, I definitely feel privilege—but it sure ain't white privilege.
Why we're here: Well, Craig Santos Perez asks, "Why is the ALC (Abramson Leslie Consulting) for-profit and the Acentos Foundation for-free?" Ah, this is the question for the ages, at least for me.
First, a glossary for the uninitiated:
--Abramson Leslie Consulting: A consultancy firm started by Iowa Writers' Workshop graduates Seth Abramson and Chris Leslie-Hynan for people interested in the pursuit of MFA's and Ph.D.'s in the field of creative writing, fiction and poetry. Their purpose is to take your manuscript and mold it into work that is admissible on the graduate level. Think of it as home improvement for your poetry...or, depending how shitty of a writer you are, EXTREME MAKEOVER MANUSCRIPT EDITION.
--Iowa Writers' Workshop: The Holy Grail of writing programs. Super-competitive to enter and super-competitive to stay in, it is known by some graduates as The Shire, The Promised Land, Shangri-La; by others as Mordor, The Ninth Circle of Hell, Valhalla. Depends which fellowships your degree gets you into (and it will get you into plenty).
--Acentos Foundation: A small group of people with a big sounding name. The hopeful non-profit arm of a reading series in the South Bronx that now boasts four programs as part of its activities: the reading series itself; a Latino poetry festival being planned for April 2010; an online journal that publishes Latino/a writers four times a year; and a free, open-to-the-public series of writing workshops going from September to May every Sunday afternoon—and by extension, a community of engaged poets, many Latino and Latina, who get together each week to generate and comment on new work.
If we limit the comparison to workshops, the question is still a little unfair. ALC offers very specific services to a very specific group of people: manuscript consultation to potential grad school enrollees. The Acentos Foundation offers free writing space and some critique to anyone who wants it, provided they're willing to travel to the Bronx to get it. Which is kinda specific too, now that I think about it, but what can you get in the Bronx that you can't get at your local two-bit writers' circle? (Well, actually...there is the list of top tier workshop facilitators we manage to pull every week: Martin Espada, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Thomas Sayers Ellis, Aracelis Girmay, Ada Limon. Et Cetera.)
Still, here are two different products, so to speak. You can't pay for manuscript advice with us in the Bronx. Likewise, you can't go to ALC and expect them to help you unlock the difficulties of translating Xavier Villarrutia's decimas. There's differences. Where are the similarities?
It is, as Craig points out, in our stocks in trade: access. We offer access, ALC offers access. To what? Writers. Writing. Poetry. Insight from older writers, more experienced ones. But while consultancies and MFA programs would like you to pay for that access, organizations such as the Acentos Foundation, and increasing numbers of others like Macondo, Cave Canem, VONA, PAWA, etc., do not...or they ask for substantially less. The old argument used to be, well, you can stay in your little knitting circle and pay nothing for people to pat you on the back, or you can pay your mentors to tell you what you need on all levels of the game, plus pick up a degree that will get you a job.
Well. What happens when quality writers become accessible, or when they choose to de-commodify knowledge into a service for a group of people (Heavens to Betsy, Lord forbid), or when they choose to make poetry's healing and transformative power into a community act? We become a threat. Or, our work becomes political and ranty. And all the old arguments that are slowly dying away, especially since the MFA doesn't guarantee a job anymore.
It's not like we don't have models for this (June Jordan). It's nothing new. It's just that now we can debate it and talk about it. I'll admit, I'm biased, but well, what else is new.
I'm spent. Maybe you guys will pick it up now. Comment below, por favor!
Seth Abramson follows me on Twitter, so I feel the need to add something necessary and relevant to the ongoing conversations happening at Barbara Jane's and Craig's blogs, among others, about the Poetic Industrial Complex and This Thing Of Ours (snort) called Abramson Leslie Consulting, an organization of Seth's that gives manuscript feedback to prospective MFA students.
Can I just say, first of all, what a brilliant quixotic term "Poetic Industrial Complex" is? First heard it at Barbara's blog, and it's a way better term than the uninspired, reductive "po-biz." The business of Poetry truly is a Complex Industry, and it is an Industrious Complex of schools (academics and aesthetics), publishing houses, and institutions. It is very real, sadly so, in all its hyper-endowed, degree-granting, wine-sipping, award-winning-yet-poorly-selling glory. All it lacks is a flatheaded Hamburglar as its very own Warren Buffett.
Okay. Necessary and relevant.
Full disclosure: My own experience with an MFA program was not entirely pleasant. I met some wonderful people within it, got some good reading lists, started to think differently about some poetry. And I made a handful of good friends. But I left it in a bad way, and I got into it for the wrong reason, at least for me. In the poetry world, I was already who I wanted to be—an organizer, a curator for a reading series, member of a community (communities, really) of writers. But there was also this idea that in order to take myself and my community to another level, in order to attain...key word, folks...legitimacy in my dealings, I had to have the credential. "This is our director, Rich Villar. He got his MFA from..." And so forth.
Where did I get this idea? I had friends whose tenures in MFA programs ended badly, stopped them from writing, led them to dump entire manuscripts in the trash, that sort of thing. Others were struggling for jobs against academic institutions that suddenly wanted them to go get a Ph.D. So why did I need academia's stamp of approval on what I do? Why did I need three letters on my CV to trail after me on lunches with potential funders, or in emails to industry professionals? Or at dinner with my friends? Why did I have to invest my legitimacy in an MFA?
The more I began to move about in this busy and toothless monster called the Poetic Industrial Complex, the more I realized I didn't have to. I'm a fairly gregarious person, and I have friends who are poets, fiction writers, novelists, editors. I know who and what I like, and I know who and what I don't like. I didn't need a program director or connected classmates to show me around and tell me how to maneuver within that world. And to be mission-specific: I knew who and what I needed to call upon to help us with the mission of building and maintaining communities and audience around Latino/a poetry.
And then I discovered something else: I really don't care what a group of random strangers have to say about my work. This is not meant to be flip, because I did make some good friends in my program, but I also think I could have saved them a great deal of investment by realizing this sooner. I already have close writing comrades. I already have community. If there is work I really need to publish, if there is a book I really need feedback on, I can send it out to one of several friends I'm thinking of right now.
I have everything I need as a writer and an organizer, and I don't need an MFA to get it. Never did. Some might call that elitist. Or privileged. Some days, I'm inclined to agree with the elitist part. And yes, I definitely feel privilege—but it sure ain't white privilege.
Why we're here: Well, Craig Santos Perez asks, "Why is the ALC (Abramson Leslie Consulting) for-profit and the Acentos Foundation for-free?" Ah, this is the question for the ages, at least for me.
First, a glossary for the uninitiated:
--Abramson Leslie Consulting: A consultancy firm started by Iowa Writers' Workshop graduates Seth Abramson and Chris Leslie-Hynan for people interested in the pursuit of MFA's and Ph.D.'s in the field of creative writing, fiction and poetry. Their purpose is to take your manuscript and mold it into work that is admissible on the graduate level. Think of it as home improvement for your poetry...or, depending how shitty of a writer you are, EXTREME MAKEOVER MANUSCRIPT EDITION.
--Iowa Writers' Workshop: The Holy Grail of writing programs. Super-competitive to enter and super-competitive to stay in, it is known by some graduates as The Shire, The Promised Land, Shangri-La; by others as Mordor, The Ninth Circle of Hell, Valhalla. Depends which fellowships your degree gets you into (and it will get you into plenty).
--Acentos Foundation: A small group of people with a big sounding name. The hopeful non-profit arm of a reading series in the South Bronx that now boasts four programs as part of its activities: the reading series itself; a Latino poetry festival being planned for April 2010; an online journal that publishes Latino/a writers four times a year; and a free, open-to-the-public series of writing workshops going from September to May every Sunday afternoon—and by extension, a community of engaged poets, many Latino and Latina, who get together each week to generate and comment on new work.
If we limit the comparison to workshops, the question is still a little unfair. ALC offers very specific services to a very specific group of people: manuscript consultation to potential grad school enrollees. The Acentos Foundation offers free writing space and some critique to anyone who wants it, provided they're willing to travel to the Bronx to get it. Which is kinda specific too, now that I think about it, but what can you get in the Bronx that you can't get at your local two-bit writers' circle? (Well, actually...there is the list of top tier workshop facilitators we manage to pull every week: Martin Espada, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Thomas Sayers Ellis, Aracelis Girmay, Ada Limon. Et Cetera.)
Still, here are two different products, so to speak. You can't pay for manuscript advice with us in the Bronx. Likewise, you can't go to ALC and expect them to help you unlock the difficulties of translating Xavier Villarrutia's decimas. There's differences. Where are the similarities?
It is, as Craig points out, in our stocks in trade: access. We offer access, ALC offers access. To what? Writers. Writing. Poetry. Insight from older writers, more experienced ones. But while consultancies and MFA programs would like you to pay for that access, organizations such as the Acentos Foundation, and increasing numbers of others like Macondo, Cave Canem, VONA, PAWA, etc., do not...or they ask for substantially less. The old argument used to be, well, you can stay in your little knitting circle and pay nothing for people to pat you on the back, or you can pay your mentors to tell you what you need on all levels of the game, plus pick up a degree that will get you a job.
Well. What happens when quality writers become accessible, or when they choose to de-commodify knowledge into a service for a group of people (Heavens to Betsy, Lord forbid), or when they choose to make poetry's healing and transformative power into a community act? We become a threat. Or, our work becomes political and ranty. And all the old arguments that are slowly dying away, especially since the MFA doesn't guarantee a job anymore.
It's not like we don't have models for this (June Jordan). It's nothing new. It's just that now we can debate it and talk about it. I'll admit, I'm biased, but well, what else is new.
I'm spent. Maybe you guys will pick it up now. Comment below, por favor!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The Acentos Review FIRST ANNIVERSARY reading!
What's wonderful about the communities I help sustain, frequent, and support is that they generate their own amazing ideas. Co-editors Eliel Lucero and Raina Leon have managed to create and maintain a space for Latino/a poets, fictionistas, interviewers, and reviewers to put our foot into the literary world, on our own terms.
For the past year, THE ACENTOS REVIEW has been publishing some of the most outstanding new and established writers of Latino/a descent. This Sunday, we celebrate the community with an anniversary reading hosted by The Acentos Foundation and the co-editors of the Review. I hope to see you there!
SUNDAY, AUGUST 2ND @ 6pm
Acentos Review's First Anniversary Reading and Celebration
The Acentos Review Celebrates it first year with a reading with some of our favorite contributors. Please join us for this wonderful and FREE celebration.
Featured Readers include: Bonafide Rojas, Rodrigo Toscano, Edwin Wilson Rivera, Sheila Maldonado, Jose Gonzalez, Li Yun Alvarado, Pedro Marrero Jr., Shokry Eldaly II, Marie Elizabeth Mali, Liza Ann, David Ayllon, Mundo Rivera, Christina Olivares
THE ACENTOS REVIEW publishes poetry, fiction, memoir, interviews, translations, and artwork by emerging and established Latino/a writers and artists four times a year. For submissions guidelines and more information about the Review, visit the journal at acentosreview.com, or email the editors Eliel Lucero and Raina Leon at acentosreview@gmail.com.
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery (Between Houston and Bleecker)
F train to 2nd Ave, 6 train to Bleecker
FREE!
For the past year, THE ACENTOS REVIEW has been publishing some of the most outstanding new and established writers of Latino/a descent. This Sunday, we celebrate the community with an anniversary reading hosted by The Acentos Foundation and the co-editors of the Review. I hope to see you there!
SUNDAY, AUGUST 2ND @ 6pm
Acentos Review's First Anniversary Reading and Celebration
The Acentos Review Celebrates it first year with a reading with some of our favorite contributors. Please join us for this wonderful and FREE celebration.
Featured Readers include: Bonafide Rojas, Rodrigo Toscano, Edwin Wilson Rivera, Sheila Maldonado, Jose Gonzalez, Li Yun Alvarado, Pedro Marrero Jr., Shokry Eldaly II, Marie Elizabeth Mali, Liza Ann, David Ayllon, Mundo Rivera, Christina Olivares
THE ACENTOS REVIEW publishes poetry, fiction, memoir, interviews, translations, and artwork by emerging and established Latino/a writers and artists four times a year. For submissions guidelines and more information about the Review, visit the journal at acentosreview.com, or email the editors Eliel Lucero and Raina Leon at acentosreview@gmail.com.
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery (Between Houston and Bleecker)
F train to 2nd Ave, 6 train to Bleecker
FREE!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Quick Hit: Patricia Smith's BLOOD DAZZLER and other business
I'm sitting at the bar of the Bowery Poetry Club waiting for the third of three New York City regional poetry slams to begin. Every year before the National Poetry Slam, the three (or four, sometimes five) NYC slam teams get together to practice, fundraise, and compete for bragging rights in three of the slam thingies I've grown so ambivalent towards. Well. It's still a lot of fun, and tonight, perhaps against my better judgment, I'm "livetweeting" the event. If you feel like checking it out without logging into Twitter, you can check out the nifty tracking tool to the right of this page. Or, if you feel like diving into the maelstrom (even Barbara Jane dived into the wreck!) then get your own account and follow me: www.twitter.com/elprofe316
Quickie shout: Big ups to Patricia Smith, Paloma MacGregor (choreographer), Patricia MacGregor (director), and a crew of crazyamazing dancers and actors for bringing Smith's BLOOD DAZZLER to life in front of a hella impressive turnout on the Lower East Side's Classic Stage Company last night. There is a lot to say about it, much of it leading naturally from my previous post. If there is a performance poetry, methinks it's poets like Patricia, Sekou Sundiata, Ntozake Shange, and poets of this ilk that have truly shown us what physical enactment does for both the eye, ear, and heart of the audience listening in. Much much more to say about this work-in-progress, but for now, it's time for jackassery of the highest degree. ;-)
Ah, technology, ye devil!
Quickie shout: Big ups to Patricia Smith, Paloma MacGregor (choreographer), Patricia MacGregor (director), and a crew of crazyamazing dancers and actors for bringing Smith's BLOOD DAZZLER to life in front of a hella impressive turnout on the Lower East Side's Classic Stage Company last night. There is a lot to say about it, much of it leading naturally from my previous post. If there is a performance poetry, methinks it's poets like Patricia, Sekou Sundiata, Ntozake Shange, and poets of this ilk that have truly shown us what physical enactment does for both the eye, ear, and heart of the audience listening in. Much much more to say about this work-in-progress, but for now, it's time for jackassery of the highest degree. ;-)
Ah, technology, ye devil!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
A Defining Line: Plato, Performance, Poems, and Points (Ten of 'em)
This is the first in a series of articles that was slated to be written for the louderARTS Project on the various intersections and divergences in the world of poetry. If they exist, that is. (that's what the comment section is for! HINT HINT)
Because Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz (author of Words in Your Face: A Guided Tour Through Twenty Years of the New York City Poetry Slam) loves it when I get all loud and "debate-y" on my blog, I decided to post this here while louder works out the various HTML kinks and launches their online journal. You may see this reposted over there before too long.
Enjoy, and please comment!
(I'll warn you now: If you notice any similarities between these articles and Barbara Jane Reyes' amazing blog, please know that she's the gold standard as far as these kinds of blogs go. She may have rubbed off a tad.)
*************************************************************************************
A Defining Line:
Plato, Performance, Poems, and Points (Ten of 'em)
Rich Villar
I believe, above all else, in context. So, I return to the beginning of things.
If you're a poet, and you have raked someone, most likely another poet, over the coals for his or her stance on stagecraft or poetics, please know that your quarrel predates much of western civilization.
And you should be so lucky. Plato and Aristotle did not engage on the merits of line break so much as they debated the very utility of poetry itself: what's the use of it? Aristotle loved the drama so much that he gave us poets the terms and rules we debate by. Plato, much the wise old teacher, wanted us poets dead, if not incapacitated.
Put another way. When I told my father I was going to be a poet instead of a lawyer, I expected some very reasonable inquiries about my income potential. Followed (the comedy gods and I hoped), by an overbearing fatherly lecture, punctuated by the raised fists and truncated d's of his guttural Cuban Spanglish. Instead, he turned my head inside out by simply pointing out the obvious: "You know; poets die young."
Given the alternative for poets (O death, where is thy sting?), it seems frivolous to argue about things like slam and academia, page and stage, those dichotomies that give much ammunition to the students of poetry, both in MFA programs and random bar stools. But I'm also a student of politics. And even Plato, that viejo manganzon, did devote some ink to the idea that poets had some responsibility to truth and history. So the intrigue for me, and thus the context of this column, lies in seeing where politics and poetics intersect. And Sweet Jesus, how they intersect.
**********************************
I find myself learning new things about poetry every day. Consequently, I have new opinions on the topic almost every year. If someone had cornered me a year ago and asked me if I was a page poet or a stage poet, I would have angrily denied any of their damned artificial divisions and sulked for half an hour. I still sulk whenever I can, since that's what poets do, but I'm not so sure that division is such a bad thing or if division's even the right word. What I can say for sure, after reading William Carlos Williams' varied variable feet in grad school, is that there is definitely an art to the poetry on the page. It is possible to do a disservice to the emotional truth of a poem if you read it in a way the poet did not intend. So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow glistened with rainwater beside the white chickens. Right?
There are differences between poems and poets. And yes, some of those differences extend to the worlds of performance and poetry. Some poems read better than others do. Some poems sound better aloud than they look on the page. I'm no longer convinced that these divisions are artificial.
Still, I have a problem when differences between poets and poems are used to separate, define, redefine and categorize without the input of the poet. I further have a problem when these random categories pass unexamined for what they are: convenient, sometimes ignorant, mostly having little to do with intellectual thought and more to do with capitalism. Yet I refuse to lay all the blame at the feet of the institutions. Poets—all artists, really—need to do more to defend their own work, to define it as they see fit. History won't define poetry by itself. History is rewritten daily. More poets, particularly poets of color, need to get into the history-writing business. That's also why I'm writing this column. While the focus here will primarily be on differences and dichotomies, intersections and illusions, my ultimate hope is that we poets, at the very least, will come to see our work as part of a timeline, a history, one with many branches and even more interpretations. The unexamined life, Plato said through his muse Socrates, is not worth living.
*************************
I want to devote the rest of my space here to some things I believe about poetry. I reserve the right to be convinced, and I reserve the right to be perfectly stubborn in my dogma. I just think it's important to define things. Otherwise, why debate?
What follows is a list of beliefs, definitions for my purposes, and idioms to chew on, which I'll be using to guide my columns in the future. Feel free to agree, disagree or what have you. I'll be expanding on these concepts in the weeks to come.
1) Spoken Word is a category of recorded sound, traditionally defined by the Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, refined and changed over the years to reflect the realities of certain artistic shifts and their resultant record sales. It does not constitute a genre of poetry. There are no such things as "spoken word poetry," or "spoken word poets." There is only poetry. There are only poets.
2) Slam is a movement that started in Chicago, spread to other cities, and helped to revitalize the art of reading poetry aloud. I say, "helped" because there were many movements around before slam that revitalized, or relied upon, the oral nature of poems. (Ask anyone who ever heard Pablo Neruda read aloud.) All kinds of poems have been read at slams. Other than the time limit, which often goes ignored, there is no restriction on the form of the poems read at
slams. Therefore, there are no such things as "slam poetry," or "slam poets." There is only poetry. There are only poets.
3) The term "spoken word artist" serves one of three purposes: a) to dismiss the poetry of a poet whose reading style is performative, b) to isolate one's poetry from critical discussion as a poem, or c) to differentiate it from something the artist considers to be "for the stage" rather than "for the page." There is no page poetry. There is no stage poetry. There is only poetry.
4) Academia, for our purposes here, is the system of professors, professionals, and institutions that gives (some) poets a voice at the university level.
5) The "Poetry Business," or "Po-Biz" for short, is a somewhat oxymoronic term for the system of publishing houses, journals, editors, industry professionals, endowed institutions, etc. that by
and large determine which poems get published in the United States.
6) The manner in which Academia and the Po-Biz conspire with each other, consciously or unconsciously, determines what kind of poetry is remembered and written about. This system has existed for quite a while, but like any monolith, it also inspires movements against it.
Slam started this way, but it has gradually been pacified through scholarly study.
7) You do not need an MFA to write good poetry, or to get your poetry published. However, if you don't read other poets because you think it's going to affect your craft, then you're a moron...and you probably don't write good poetry.
8) You do not need affectations, gestures, a large jazz collection, or a tight shirt to write good poetry, or to read your poetry aloud. But if you read your poems in front of an audience, you owe them, at the very least, the basics of speech craft. Anything less is disrespectful.
9) No poetry is an offshoot of hip-hop, no matter what Def Jam tells you. Please refer to number 1: there is no such thing as spoken word poetry. Hip-hop influences poems, profoundly so, but it does not birth them.
10) Performance poetry does not exist either...but if it did, I'd be willing to bet that Sekou Sundiata is its daddy.
Because Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz (author of Words in Your Face: A Guided Tour Through Twenty Years of the New York City Poetry Slam) loves it when I get all loud and "debate-y" on my blog, I decided to post this here while louder works out the various HTML kinks and launches their online journal. You may see this reposted over there before too long.
Enjoy, and please comment!
(I'll warn you now: If you notice any similarities between these articles and Barbara Jane Reyes' amazing blog, please know that she's the gold standard as far as these kinds of blogs go. She may have rubbed off a tad.)
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A Defining Line:
Plato, Performance, Poems, and Points (Ten of 'em)
Rich Villar
I believe, above all else, in context. So, I return to the beginning of things.
If you're a poet, and you have raked someone, most likely another poet, over the coals for his or her stance on stagecraft or poetics, please know that your quarrel predates much of western civilization.
And you should be so lucky. Plato and Aristotle did not engage on the merits of line break so much as they debated the very utility of poetry itself: what's the use of it? Aristotle loved the drama so much that he gave us poets the terms and rules we debate by. Plato, much the wise old teacher, wanted us poets dead, if not incapacitated.
Put another way. When I told my father I was going to be a poet instead of a lawyer, I expected some very reasonable inquiries about my income potential. Followed (the comedy gods and I hoped), by an overbearing fatherly lecture, punctuated by the raised fists and truncated d's of his guttural Cuban Spanglish. Instead, he turned my head inside out by simply pointing out the obvious: "You know; poets die young."
Given the alternative for poets (O death, where is thy sting?), it seems frivolous to argue about things like slam and academia, page and stage, those dichotomies that give much ammunition to the students of poetry, both in MFA programs and random bar stools. But I'm also a student of politics. And even Plato, that viejo manganzon, did devote some ink to the idea that poets had some responsibility to truth and history. So the intrigue for me, and thus the context of this column, lies in seeing where politics and poetics intersect. And Sweet Jesus, how they intersect.
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I find myself learning new things about poetry every day. Consequently, I have new opinions on the topic almost every year. If someone had cornered me a year ago and asked me if I was a page poet or a stage poet, I would have angrily denied any of their damned artificial divisions and sulked for half an hour. I still sulk whenever I can, since that's what poets do, but I'm not so sure that division is such a bad thing or if division's even the right word. What I can say for sure, after reading William Carlos Williams' varied variable feet in grad school, is that there is definitely an art to the poetry on the page. It is possible to do a disservice to the emotional truth of a poem if you read it in a way the poet did not intend. So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow glistened with rainwater beside the white chickens. Right?
There are differences between poems and poets. And yes, some of those differences extend to the worlds of performance and poetry. Some poems read better than others do. Some poems sound better aloud than they look on the page. I'm no longer convinced that these divisions are artificial.
Still, I have a problem when differences between poets and poems are used to separate, define, redefine and categorize without the input of the poet. I further have a problem when these random categories pass unexamined for what they are: convenient, sometimes ignorant, mostly having little to do with intellectual thought and more to do with capitalism. Yet I refuse to lay all the blame at the feet of the institutions. Poets—all artists, really—need to do more to defend their own work, to define it as they see fit. History won't define poetry by itself. History is rewritten daily. More poets, particularly poets of color, need to get into the history-writing business. That's also why I'm writing this column. While the focus here will primarily be on differences and dichotomies, intersections and illusions, my ultimate hope is that we poets, at the very least, will come to see our work as part of a timeline, a history, one with many branches and even more interpretations. The unexamined life, Plato said through his muse Socrates, is not worth living.
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I want to devote the rest of my space here to some things I believe about poetry. I reserve the right to be convinced, and I reserve the right to be perfectly stubborn in my dogma. I just think it's important to define things. Otherwise, why debate?
What follows is a list of beliefs, definitions for my purposes, and idioms to chew on, which I'll be using to guide my columns in the future. Feel free to agree, disagree or what have you. I'll be expanding on these concepts in the weeks to come.
1) Spoken Word is a category of recorded sound, traditionally defined by the Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, refined and changed over the years to reflect the realities of certain artistic shifts and their resultant record sales. It does not constitute a genre of poetry. There are no such things as "spoken word poetry," or "spoken word poets." There is only poetry. There are only poets.
2) Slam is a movement that started in Chicago, spread to other cities, and helped to revitalize the art of reading poetry aloud. I say, "helped" because there were many movements around before slam that revitalized, or relied upon, the oral nature of poems. (Ask anyone who ever heard Pablo Neruda read aloud.) All kinds of poems have been read at slams. Other than the time limit, which often goes ignored, there is no restriction on the form of the poems read at
slams. Therefore, there are no such things as "slam poetry," or "slam poets." There is only poetry. There are only poets.
3) The term "spoken word artist" serves one of three purposes: a) to dismiss the poetry of a poet whose reading style is performative, b) to isolate one's poetry from critical discussion as a poem, or c) to differentiate it from something the artist considers to be "for the stage" rather than "for the page." There is no page poetry. There is no stage poetry. There is only poetry.
4) Academia, for our purposes here, is the system of professors, professionals, and institutions that gives (some) poets a voice at the university level.
5) The "Poetry Business," or "Po-Biz" for short, is a somewhat oxymoronic term for the system of publishing houses, journals, editors, industry professionals, endowed institutions, etc. that by
and large determine which poems get published in the United States.
6) The manner in which Academia and the Po-Biz conspire with each other, consciously or unconsciously, determines what kind of poetry is remembered and written about. This system has existed for quite a while, but like any monolith, it also inspires movements against it.
Slam started this way, but it has gradually been pacified through scholarly study.
7) You do not need an MFA to write good poetry, or to get your poetry published. However, if you don't read other poets because you think it's going to affect your craft, then you're a moron...and you probably don't write good poetry.
8) You do not need affectations, gestures, a large jazz collection, or a tight shirt to write good poetry, or to read your poetry aloud. But if you read your poems in front of an audience, you owe them, at the very least, the basics of speech craft. Anything less is disrespectful.
9) No poetry is an offshoot of hip-hop, no matter what Def Jam tells you. Please refer to number 1: there is no such thing as spoken word poetry. Hip-hop influences poems, profoundly so, but it does not birth them.
10) Performance poetry does not exist either...but if it did, I'd be willing to bet that Sekou Sundiata is its daddy.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Ya voy pa'lla...
Our boy Sam "Fish" Vargas is getting married on Saturday. In between planning his wedding, teaching poetry to high schoolers, and adjusting to a new job, he found the time to host a writing workshop for Acentos every Sunday. Now, it's time for him to enjoy the fiesta and his new life with Ellie.
But first (for me): a cross-country flight from JFK with the Lady Betts, and a midnight drive across this ole' thing:
I have a thing for bridges.
West Coast! Holla at your boy.
But first (for me): a cross-country flight from JFK with the Lady Betts, and a midnight drive across this ole' thing:
I have a thing for bridges.
West Coast! Holla at your boy.
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