The Gargoyles’ Grin

In 1915, Wallace Stevens offered Harriet Monroe, founder of Poetry (the magazine), several poems that included Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock. “She returned them… finding them ‘recondite, erudite, provocatively obscure… all with ‘a kind of modern-gargoyle grin to them,’” writes Stevens biographer Paul Mariani.

In Stevens’s poem, white night-gowns haunt a house, but none are any number of color combinations specified:

None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.

Nor are they “strange,”

With socks of lace / And beaded ceintures.

For added measure,

People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.

And in closing, a drunk old sleeping sailor can be found who

Catches tigers
In red weather.

It’s a sundae of rippled parfums confected by a Harvardian aesthete.

A critic wrote of a Stevens play that “the purpose of this kind of entertainment… appears to be to say something that has no meaning at all with all the bearing of significance.” One shrugs assent. Stevens said, after all, that good poetry must resist interpretation.

The gargoyles’ grin persists in 2020. Ms. Monroe’s magazine furnishes much poetry catching tigers in red weather.

(c) 2020 JMN

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Shackles

Jacob Blake, the Black resident of Kenosha, Wis., who was shot by a white police officer, is shackled to his hospital bed [my bolding]… [He] remains paralyzed from the waist down… The police were arresting Mr. Blake on Sunday afternoon when an officer shot him seven times… They have not said what charges he was facing… Mr. Blake’s injuries are severe, including damage to his bowels, shattered vertebrae and bullet fragments in his spinal cord. (“Live Updates…,” NYTimes, 8-28-20)

“But so I think, I think it would be, I think it would be very, very, I think we’d have a very, very solid, we would continue what we’re doing, we’d solidify what we’ve done, and we have other things on our plate that we want to get done.” — Trump, on his plans for a second term
(“Doonesbury Say What?” washingtonpost.com, 8-28-20)

(c) 2020 JMN

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Poetry and Drawing

The essay is “On Drawing” by poet Michael Burkard (Poetry*, July/August 2020).

Mary Hackett was “a self-taught artist who spent much of the year in Provincetown [Massachusetts].” Michael Burkard writes of striking up a friendship with her while on an extended stay there.

One afternoon Mary said to me, “Michael, you love art so much, but you don’t even draw!” I immediately replied, “Mary, I can’t draw.” Mary immediately said, “Oh for God’s sake, don’t let that stop you!”… I have been drawing ever since. One of Mary’s fine paintings is entitled The Big Me Standing in My Way. Fine advice for anyone. And this is the best advice to young poets I can think of.

… Often I return to drawings a good while after they’ve begun. As in my writing, I am at times intrigued by a mistake. I prefer to think of it as a mis-take. I sometimes mix drawing with something, usually a poem or a failed poem I have written. And often I am drawing small sequences. I think that just having drawings in the vicinity of poems creates possible relationships which otherwise would not occur.

*The eponymous magazine founded in 1912 by Harriet Monroe.

(c) 2020 JMN

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Prosodic Moments in Poeisis

In English, the difficulty of perceiving even brief isosyllabic lines as rhythmically equivalent is aggravated by the inordinate power of stressed syllables

The mashup of mystification about versifying that’s available online furnishes what I call Prosodic Moments — when phraseology leaps to quasi-epic status along the lines of milk’s vault to the empyrean of cheese.

… In English… [“syllabic technique”] is a compositional device: primarily of importance to the author, perhaps noticed by the alert reader, and imperceptible to the hearer.
(“Syllabic verse,” Wikipedia)

Cadence in Free verse came to mean whatever the writer liked, some claiming verse and poetry had it, but prose did not, but for some it was synonymous with Free verse, where each poet has to find the cadence within himself.
(“Cadence (poetry),” Wikipedia)

The term strophe is used in modern and post-modern criticism, to indicate “long non-isomorphic units”… This appropriation of the ancient term is useful, as contemporary poetry… avoids relying upon the invention of new terminology such as ‘word clumps’.
(“Strophe,” Wikipedia)

And so we shoot the gap between the Scylla of isosyllabism and the Charybdis of isomorphism in the quest to feel how modern verse breaks free of prose by other than a powdered nose.

(c) 2020 JMN

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Poetry Frisson

The poem is “That Other” by Joyce Carol Oates (Poetry*, July/August 2020).

Reading this miniature is like encountering a firm pack of beach after jogging on dry sand.

The poem is accessible while allusive, and wry. It crystallizes for me, in a vernacular spurt, repressed rancor emerging as a stream of concessive-aggressive score settling.

I perceive the poem’s form as free, yet it seems to occupy its skin out of necessity; its structures buttress it unbefuddlingly; its shape on the page and on the tongue has a rightness to it that feels like pacing, not breakage.

Here’s the whole thing:

That Other

They laughed, but no. You
don’t remember that.

What you think you remember —
it wasn’t that.

Yes, you remember
some things. And
some things did
happen. Except not
that way.

And anyway not
to you.

(Joyce Carol Oates)

*The eponymous magazine founded in 1912 by Harriet Monroe. Don Share is editor.

(c) 2020 JMN

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The Pain of Poetry

My correspondent in life of the mind states my state of mind neatly and plainly in the matter of phosphorescent gargoyle exhalations swaddled in effulgent gossamer — I mean to say prosody.

Now I remember why I, and doubtless others give up on poetry. I made the mistake of thinking, “I’ll Google free verse”. Then I follow countless links as words/concepts appear that I’m not sure of – metre, foot, stressed, unstressed. I get lost, I get befuddled, I get distressed, I lose the will to go further. Maybe it is wise for some of us to avoid prosody and experience poetry solely through poetry.

Why not crunch free verse with a montage of Wiki-pedantry?

Free verse… is not considered to be completely free… The only freedom cadenced verse obtains is a limited freedom… Free verse contains… the poetic line, which may vary freely… No verse is free for the man who wants to do a good job… Free verse may be written as very beautiful prose… Verse cannot be free in the sense of having no limitations or guiding principles… The free verse that is really verse… is, in its peculiar fashion, the antithesis of free… Pattern and discipline is to be found in good free verse… Technically, free verse has been described as spaced prose…

Also technically, free verse came from “vers libre,” which is French for “free verse.”

The unit of vers libre is not the foot, the number of the syllables, the quantity, or the line. The unit is the strophe, which may be the whole poem, or only a part. Each strophe is a complete circle. Vers libre is… based upon cadence that allows the lines to flow as they will when read aloud by an intelligent reader.”

Unintelligent readers need not apply.

As for the strophe, the “unit” of vers libre, ancient Greece is more instructive. In dramas, the chorus walked first to the left, then to the right, then stood still. The leftward walk was the strophe.

(c) 2020 JMN

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‘Kind of Enough’

If most of what [Evan] Kinori makes costs a lot (shirts start at $285; pants at $365; and jackets at $525), it is in part because they are produced in such limited quantities… “My design ethos is basically geared toward people not buying stuff all the time,” Mr. Kinori said.

In his 20s and armed, if that is the word, with a liberal arts education with specialties in philosophy and French, he decided to enroll in the Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising, a local school with a heavy emphasis on the trades… Careful, deliberate, free of ostentation, handmade… [Kinori’s clothes] are cut from patterns he devises himself and sewn with French seams on single-needle machines… When he works, he thinks less about the demands of the industrial fashion machine than a desire to create durable objects.

“I love clothes, I love making clothes, I love presenting clothes,” Mr. Kinori said… “Intuition is my home place 100 percent. Building up a story and a spirit with an object is what I’m after. I don’t know that there is much more to it. That’s kind of enough.”

(Guy Trebay, “Want to Make It Big in Fashion? Think Small,” NYTimes, 8-19-10)

(c) 2020 JMN

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Finicky Finger-Wag

Until then, many are relishing in his struggles and those of his team: The Astros, who reached the World Series last season, were 12-10 and battling for second place in the American League West just over a third of the way through the season.

Let’s make that either “relishing his struggles” or “reveling in his struggles.” These two semi-rhyming verbs are not switch hitters.

(David Waldstein, “Even in a Pandemic, Everyone Still Hates the Astros,” NYTimes, 8-18-20)

(c) 2020 JMN

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Tweet Storm Testicle Taint

Spanish leftist leader Pablo Iglesias praised U.S. television writer David Simon’s latest series “The Plot Against America” on Twitter, saying the series showed that fascism was never far away.

Iglesias’s tweet provoked “a flurry of responses in praise of and attacking Spain’s own fascist regime under Francisco Franco.”

Simon, who had no idea who Iglesias is, noticed his name being mentioned “in hundreds of subsequent posts, as Twitter users traded insults in Spanish and Catalan.”

He retweeted Iglesias’s message with the comment: “So, if my poor Spanish holds, this fellow liked the bent of a miniseries and tagged me. And so now into a second day, my Twitter feed is full of Francoists and Catalunyans screaming at each other in languages not my own. Well okay. It’s 1937 again. Fuck the fascists. No pasaran.”

Simon received a complimentary message “Olé tus cojones” (Hooray for your balls!) which he misunderstood to mean “Your balls stink” — the Spanish verb “to smell” is “oler.”

Simon responded “by insulting the sender’s mother until someone explained that olé isn’t related to oler, the verb to smell.”

“Okay, so I’ve wasted the entire morning insulting the mothers and rhetorical paucity of Spanish fascists and Francoists on Twitter,” Simon eventually concluded. “But I have learned that ‘smell your balls’ is actually a compliment. So it’s a bit of a break-even.”

(Stephen Burgen, “Wire creator David Simon causes stink in Spanish Twitter translation balls-up,” theguardian.com, 8-12-20)

My chief takeaway from this scoop of Twitter poop is:

In the end, what part of “olé isn’t related to oler, the verb to smell” did David Simon fail to understand?

(c) 2020 JMN

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‘A Difference That Adds Up’

In 2019, the Serpentine Sackler Gallery in London hosted the first international retrospective of Ms. Hurtado’s art, “I Live I Die I Will Be Reborn.” Reviewing it in The Guardian, Adrian Searle wrote, “Vitality, tenderness, spookiness, intimacy, gawkiness, sexiness, subtlety, anger, jazzy abstractions, totemic figures, near monochromes, word paintings and the acutely observed come one after the other.”

“When I think about my painting and the political and the planet,” she told the artist Andrea Bowers in a 2019 interview, “it’s about the hope that it’s not too late and that people can still get together and in whatever small way make a difference that adds up.”

(Karen Rosenberg, “Luchita Hurtado, Artist Who Became a Sensation in Her 90s, Dies at 99,” NYTimes, 8-14-20)

(c) 2020 JMN

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