Monthly Archives: July 2017

8 posts

If You’re Trying To Be Cool, You’re Not

frost — Robert Frost: “Cool” Poet by Any Other Name

In yesterday’s post, I wondered aloud about poets seeking publicity in a kinder, gentler way. In today’s, I muse over just how cool it would be to have an understanding of those ways and not share them.

Not share them? Right. Because feeling no need to share would be cool. Fact is, cool poets make like Nike and just do it. For further proof, you need only peruse all the news that’s fit to print (read: today’s New York Times).

After reading The Origins of Cool in Postwar America by Joel Dinerstein, New York Times columnist David Brooks concluded that being “cool” and famous at the same time is a dying, if not dead, art. Read this excerpt from Brooks’ column, if you will, and replace “the cool person” with “the poet”:

The cool person is stoical, emotionally controlled, never eager or needy, but instead mysterious, detached and self-possessed. The cool person is gracefully competent at something, but doesn’t need the world’s applause to know his worth. That’s because the cool person has found his or her own unique and authentic way of living with nonchalant intensity.

Got it? Of course you do. In olden times, when such things were necessary, the Yellow Pages of the telephone book had a motto: “Let your fingers do the walking.” For the cool poet, it would be “Let their eyes do the reading.” And if they (the readers’) do not? All the same to the cool poet. He just keeps writing in his nonchalantly intense way.

More parallels? Interviewed by Brooks, Dinerstein traces roots of “cool” to the cultural experience of blacks:

It emerged specifically within African-American culture, among people who had to withstand the humiliations of racism without losing their temper, and who didn’t see any way to change their political situation.

Is it a leap to point out that cool poets withstand the much-lesser humiliation of being last of the genres read by the literate public–certainly in America–and the first to accept it with a shrug because it ain’t gonna change soon? More on the definition from Brooks:

Cool had other social meanings. It was a way of showing you weren’t playing the whole Horatio Alger game; you weren’t a smarmy career climber. It was a way to assert the value of the individual in response to failed collectivisms — to communism and fascism, to organized religion. The cool person is guided by his or her own autonomous values, often on the outskirts of society.

Although Brooks and Dinerstein do it for us, I’m sure all of you, upon reading the above, saw “failed collectivisms” and modernized it by thinking of social networking pioneered by boy-wonders-now-billionaires, the “opiate of the masses” Karl Marx would have pointed out had it existed in his heated times.

What does it all mean? The cool poet is not a publicity hound. He just writes and, unless he is not only cool but fantastically-talented, remains blissfully unknown (much to our admiration… if we knew him to blissfully admire, that is).

You can read Brooks’ column in its entirety here.

Publicity Hounds from Hell

marketing poetry my poems poetry

megaphone

Note: The following is written for hounds trying not to bay like the Baskervilles. It explores Aristotle’s philosophical conundrum: Can you self-promote your work without looking like you’re self-promoting your work? Heed, then, the “sound” of trees falling in the wilderness….

I’ve written before that a part-time poet (full-time poets, like unicorns, are rare beasts indeed) needs to be talented in more ways than one–chiefly as a marketer/business person in addition to the obvious as a writer/artistic person. I always considered “marketing” to be a matter of just sending out poems to journals and presses, but it’s more complicated than that. Marketing also means being a publicity hound, an aspect of writing that makes me a little queasy as a necessary evil.

An example is in order. Before my poetry manuscript was accepted by a publisher, I was just another humble reader (without an author page) on Goodreads. As a GR participant in those days, I was often annoyed by authors seeking to promote themselves and their books in hamfisted ways.

Sometimes they would barge into groups with spam-posts to promote their books. Sometimes they would try to friend every warm body in sight NOT because they shared reading tastes and/or had any interest in readers’ reviews, but to (surprise!) promote their own book. And sometimes they would point-blank message you privately or publicly to request that you (surprise!) read and review their book.

In the immortal words of Daffy, all of these come-ons led to a single recourse: “Duck!”

Like others, I learned to avoid these (mostly self-published) author requests and demands at all costs. Thus, when authors sent friend requests, I usually demurred on the assumption that another shoe would drop if I dared to say yes.

Still, I was conflicted. And in many cases I said “yes” anyway, especially if I had some interaction previously with the author as a fellow reader and book-lover.

Now the shoe is on the other foot. Now I am probably viewed in the same manner by some GR reader/posters wary of all authors due to a few overzealous ones. Now I am the one with books in need of publicity but in a classy way.

The question, though, is this: Do “classy” and “publicity” mix?

The answer depends on who you talk to, I’m guessing. I learn from other authors in situations like mine. Some are cool about it, and I seek to emulate their subtle self-promotional ways.

Many use blogs, where readers are welcome to visit, read, and follow links or not (as opposed to charging like bulls into Goodreads china shops shouting, in so many words, “Me! Me! Me!”). And, most importantly, some remain as much fellow readers as self-promoting authors, thus presenting their Goodreads biblio-social graces in the best light.

As for Facebook and Twitter, I still haven’t figured out a classy way to self-promote in those venues. All the experts say they are a must, but experiences in both places were negative for me, so I’m on the sideline contemplating, leaving that turf to the Russians, who are much better at it than me.

Meantime, the blog and the links leading to my books. If you’ve come this far, you probably have a genuine interest in my work and will read a new poem that recently hit the web (warning: self-promotion ahead!). Called “It’s the Fourth of July,” it can be found in an e-zine that deserves promotion for its support of prose poetry (or poetic prose, or however you want to call it), Unbroken Journal.

Bottom line? The best promotion–for authors and journals alike–comes in the form of promotions from others as opposed to ourselves. That much is obvious and goes without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway.

Still, “self-” comes before “from other sources.” It is a necessary part of the game. Why? Because, in poetry, where the field is so crowded and the general readership so low, you could grow old and die before promotions come in from other sources.

Better to keep writing. The more there is to publicize, the better the odds of something taking.

Two New Poems in Roanoke Review

my poems poetry

roanoke review

A pair of new poems I wrote are now up in this fine issue of Roanoke Review. Each is followed by a brief comment by the author (who looks familiar), so I need not go on and on (as is my custom) here. These poems will appear in my forthcoming book, so consider it an advanced look-see!

“When Babcia Caught Her Breath” and “Some Hard Talk About Death”

Nota bene: Someone asked me how a guy named Craft has a Polish grandmother. The answer? Mother’s mother’s side and, it turns out, the only grandparent I ever knew, the other three having left before I had a chance to begin deposits in this thing called the memory bank. Question answered.

Enjoy!

Poetry Unconventionally Defined

poetry

dictionary

Standard dictionary definitions are of little use when you’re in the mood for a little fun. It’s better to hear the experts themselves. Poets. They’ll say anything, sometimes coming closer to the heart of the matter than Merriam or Webster. Here are a few of my favorites culled from the web:

“Poetry: three mismatched shoes at the entrance of a dark alley.” (Charles Simic)

“Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.” (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

“Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.” (Robert Frost)

“Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.” (Carl Sandburg)

“Poetry is, at bottom, a criticism of life.” (Matthew Arnold)

“I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.” (A.E. Housman)

“I’ve had it with these cheap sons of bitches who claim they love poetry but never buy a book.” (Kenneth Rexroth)

“Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own.” (Dylan Thomas)

“There is poetry as soon as we realize we possess nothing.” (John Cage)

“Poetry is a deal of pain and joy and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” (Kahlil Gibran)

“Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.” (Marianne Moore)

“The poem is a plank laid over a lion’s den.” (James K Baxter)

“The best words in the best order.” (Samuel Coleridge)

“Pleasance and half wonder.” (W.B. Yeats)

“Language in orbit.” (Seamus Heaney)

“A poem should not mean but be.” (Archibald Macleish)

“There’s no money in poetry, but then there’s no poetry in money, either.” (Robert Graves)

“A poem is never finished, only abandoned.” (Paul Valery)

“Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand.” (Plato)

“One man’s fiddle is another man’s violin.” (Ken Craft)

Getting Away with Corny

poetry writing

corn

The last thing any aspiring poet wants is corny. You know, where readers look at your poem and say, “Seriously? This is (fill in the blank) cornball, schmaltzy, over-the-top, stereotype-bad!” This is especially dangerous in contemporary poetry. In olden times corny was not only forgiven, it was expected–a hallmark of the times, even.

What constitutes corny? Too much to chronicle, but if a rose is red (don’t say!) and a violet is blue (really?), look out! Also suspect are certain poetic expressions, such as “yonder” and “o’er” and “Oh!” (or the more flamboyant still “O!”)

No. Never. Don’t go there. And yet…and yet…sometimes a contemporary poet not only goes there but sends postcards saying the weather is fine!

The secret is not one I can give you, beyond this: If you’re going to attempt a word or expression that might be cornier than a field in Iowa, play it straight and keep a poker face until the very last moment. Like exclamation points and adjectives and salt, corn must be used sparingly.

The payoff? Big. Yes, sometimes, against all odds, “corn” can reward the daring among us. Even in the year 2017. Even in these cynical, world-weary times. For proof, I offer you a poem I came across and loved while reading an August Kleinzahler collection this week:

“Family Album”

Loneliness–huge, suddenly menacing
and no one is left here who knows me anymore:
the Little League coach,
his TV repair truck and stinking cigars
and Saul the Butcherman
and the broken arm that fell out of the apple tree,
dead,
dead or gone south to die warm.

The little boy with mittens and dog
posing on the stoop–
he isn’t me;
and the young couple in polo shirts, ready to pop
with their firstborn
four pages on in shirtshorts and beatnik top
showing her figure off at 16…
1955 is in an attic bookcast
spine cracked and pages falling out.

Willow and plum tree
green pods from maple whirling down to the sidewalk…
Only the guy at the hot dog stand since when
maybe remembers me,
or at least looks twice.

But the smushfaced bus from New York, dropping
them off at night along
these avenues of brick, somber as the dead child
and crimes of old mayors
lets off no one I know, or want to.

Warm grass and dragonflies–
O, my heart.

Whoa! Did you see what I saw? Here Kleinzahler has us with a garden-variety (albeit it nicely done) memory lane poem when–WHAM–he goes all Walt Whitman on us and drops a should-be corny “O.”

Trouble is, it’s NOT corny in this poem. It’s effective, especially paired off with the everyday ordinariness of warm grass and dragonflies. Maybe that’s part of the secret: two parts everyday with one part corn. That and being an experienced poet. (Can’t you just hear it? “Beginners should not try this at home. These are professional poets driving on a closed course.”)

The moral of this post? Don’t close yourself off. Don’t accept blanket rules such as “Thou shalt not sow, reap, and write corn.” It may just be the captain, your captain your poem needs. What’s more, if you pull it off as Kleinzahler does, you just might be closer to an “experienced poet” than anyone let on. Congratulations!

Breaking Writer’s Block

poetry writing inspiration

block

What inspires a poet to write? And why do some poets throw up their arms and say, “That’s it. I’m dry. No more ideas. All written out!” when such sentiments are logically impossible?

Inspiration and ideas hew closely to mood. Thus, a lack of ideas or inspiration is often the writer’s way of not admitting he or she is feeling down and out (whether in London or Paris matters not). Writing your way out of a funk is no fun, either. It probably cannot be done through poetry or your chosen genre, but it certainly can be attempted through journaling.

Journals, like dogs, are good listeners. Also like man’s best friend, journals don’t judge. They reflect and sometimes allow us to see more clearly, especially in hindsight (a few days or weeks later) which, as everyone knows, is 20/20. The hope is, with the passage of time, the idea-deprived can reread his or her rambling from “higher ground” and not fully recognize that despondent journalist who claimed to be drier than Death Valley. This separation is a start.

After that? Read poetry. Define yourself as a reader instead of a writer, at least temporarily. Some may argue no, that reading others’ talent only emphasizes our own shortcomings, but I see the glass half-full. Often, when reading good poetry, I kid myself that certain successful lines or techniques look easy. This gentle deception is inspiration by any other name.

Getting active is another strategy to inspire creativity. If you don’t worry about writing, but make a goal of getting out for a run, a walk, a workout, a project, some volunteering or whatever, you’ll often stumble upon ideas while doing the “opposite” of writing (just don’t tell anyone the “opposite” is actually brainstorming in sheep’s clothing).

If your feelings conspire against your muse, seek to define those feelings in a figurative way. This turns “writer’s block” against itself. Write “Not having ideas is like…” ten times on a page in the journal with a what-the-hell and nothing-to-lose attitude. In the end, it can only reward or prove harmless. Win or draw. That’s it. No lose.

Finally, I advise two tablespoons of music. Whatever it is you love to space out to, turn it on and turn it up. Music takes you to a muse-y place where nothing quite looks the same as the real side of your blues-colored universe. It’s your Alice-free Wonderland, and that’s a geographic advantage. Jotting notes to music drives moods such as regret and nostalgia and (dare I say it?) joy.

Wherever it takes you, it’s the next station up from where you stand now as a frustrated writer. Punch your ticket, then. Give your mind permission to board the musically-inspired train of thought and leave your inner judge on the platform waving a hankie. In time, as you listen to the gentle rumble of the tracks, the groove will return. You are a writer, after all. Writing’s what you do.

writer's block

When “Required Reading” Is a Good Thing

poetry poetry journals reading poetry

coppernickel

In the back of the journal Copper Nickel there is a feature called “Required Reading.” Usually those words bring fear and loathing to mind (we were students for years, after all), but in this case it is recommended reading from each author published in that issue of the journal for you, the gentle reader.

What fascinates me is how infrequently any given title is recommended by more than one writer. In fact, on a list that sprawled almost five pages, top to bottom, a grand total of THREE titles garnered more than one recommendation.

These titles, of course, might merit our reading attention, as would any title recommended by a writer we particularly respect (or whose work in the journal left a deep impression). Here are the three titles that caught more than one author-reader’s attention:

Application for Release from the Dream by Tony Hoagland (recommended by Joanne Dominique Dwyer and Yerra Sugarman). Hoagland is a known entity, not only for his poetry, but for his essays on poetry. This title is, I believe, his most recent release poetry-wise, and I will give it a look-see.

Bright Dead Things by Ada Limón (recommended by FOUR–the most endorsements of any on the list–including Zeina Hashem Beck, Kevin Craft, Danielle Lazarin, and James Davis May). This collection I read last year, finding many of the poems laudable, so I’m one for three on my to-read list already!

The End of Pink by Kathryn Nuernberger (recommended by Jenny Molberg and John A. Nieves). A send-up of fact and folklore, of science and pseudo-science, this one looks like it might make a fun read. If it’s a fun AND rewarding read, I’ll be a happy camper (with a book by the campfire).

We come to books in many ways. Word-of-mouth, for one. Reviews, for another. Sometimes an author we admire gives another author or book the nod. I’ve read numerous titles that were mentioned in J.D. Salinger books and Ernest Hemingway books, for instance. And then you get recommendations from unexpected places. I think Copper Nickel‘s feature, which I stumbled upon as I read the journal, counts as one of those.

No matter. Leads are always welcome, whether they come to fruition (and literary satisfaction) or not!

Vital Signs for the Impatient Writer

poetry submitting poetry writing

rattle

Writers know they are alive by receiving rejections. Those rote e-mails in the inbox are vital signs–reminders of the obvious and the necessary. Receiving them is like focusing on the autonomous functions of your lungs breathing and your heart beating (Yep, all there and all working!)

The trouble is, rejections (peppered with the powerful flavor of acceptances!) come few and far between due to the slow nature of the submissions-process beast. Waiting for replies–acceptances and rejections alike–is like holding your breath and diving in for an underwater swim, back and forth, across an Olympic-sized pool. Air! You need air! But judgments from overtaxed editors of small journals, print and electronic, are like Marco Polo’s voyage to China–long in coming.

One solution, rare as they are to find, is entering a contest where poetry is judged weekly. The best example of this is Rattle‘s “Poets Respond” series, wherein Rattle invites poets to reflect on events in each week’s news by writing and submitting a poem with a deadline of Friday, midnight Pacific Time.

Rejection is uncharacteristically swift. It has to be! Usually it comes within 24 hours of the deadline, as the winning poem goes online by Sunday. And success? Like everything in the writing business, the magic brew will be a combination of luck, talent, and matching the subjective tastes of an editor (the not-so-secret ingredient). But at least you are impatiently alive as a writer and quickly reminded as much!

Weekly opportunities like this can also serve as great discipline. They are like daily warm-ups and exercise that force you to write and flex your creative muscle. You may feel current events make poor fodder for poetry, but remember that connections between the CBS Evening News and your muse can be tangential and even personal (that’s the point!).

For example, consider Joan Colby’s recent winner. She focused on one colorful word used by former FBI director James Comey (“Lordy!”) in his testimony before Congress and came up with this nifty number.

In my submissions travels, I’ve also learned that there are markets that respond in an uncharacteristically quick way compared to the typically 6-12 month crowd. Plume and 32 Poems (each approximately 2 weeks response time) are two examples of these rapid-turnaround rarities.

So go ahead. Submit! Breath! Let your heart race! Acceptances get all the attention, but it is acceptances and rejections alike that prove you are a writer. Honest.