{"id":20147,"date":"2018-04-06T09:53:27","date_gmt":"2018-04-06T13:53:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=20147"},"modified":"2018-04-06T09:53:27","modified_gmt":"2018-04-06T13:53:27","slug":"is-poetry-enough","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2018\/04\/is-poetry-enough\/","title":{"rendered":"Is Poetry Enough?"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Image:<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: One of the pieces by American artist Brad Downey in his show, “Reverse Culture Shock,” currently at the gallery MU<\/a> in Eindhoven, Netherlands. (Photo by Hanneke Wetzer.) Found on Flickr<\/a>, and used here under a Creative Commons license. (Thank you!) Says MU at the Flickr page for all the photos from the show’s opening: “We are living in interesting times \u2013 and what a mixed blessing it is! The optimism that swept across the western world after the fall of the Berlin Wall has been replaced by bewilderment. \u2018What the [beep\/fuck\/f**k] is happening?!\u2019 would sum it up nicely.” It adds that the exhibition is Downey’s “most engaged exhibition to date because, as he says, sometimes poetry is not enough.” Hmm.]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

Read poetry every day of your life. Poetry is good because it flexes muscles you don’t use often enough. Poetry expands the senses and keeps them in prime condition. It keeps you aware of your nose, your eye, your ear, your tongue, your hand. And, above all, poetry is compacted metaphor or simile. Such metaphors, like Japanese paper flowers, may expand outward into gigantic shapes. Ideas lie everywhere through the poetry books, yet how rarely have I heard short story teachers recommending them for browsing…<\/p>\n

What poetry? Any poetry that makes your hair stand up along your arms. Don’t force yourself too hard. Take it easy. Over the years you may catch up to, move even with, and pass T. S. Eliot on your way to other pastures. You say you don’t understand Dylan Thomas? Yes, but your ganglion does, and your secret wits, and all your unborn children. Read him, as you can read a horse with your eyes, set free and charging over an endless green meadow on a windy day.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Ray Bradbury [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

The Poem to End All Poems<\/strong><\/p>\n

If I had to write a poem to end all poems,
\nit would be the word ‘lonely’
\nin every language.
\nIt would ask for nothing,
\nonly echo, echo, cry, then sleep.
\nPlease don’t make me write it.
\nDon’t make me be honest.
\nNot after all this time, all this
\ngorgeous pretending.
\nI have finally spun a story that doesn’t
\nlook like a failure,
\nand all I want to do is stay in it.
\nAll I want to do is keep singing.
\nLet me stay in this kingdom without
\na name.
\nThe one I made.
\nLet me sit with my tin crown on my makeshift throne.
\nLet me do all of it.
\nLet me fight.
\nLet me be the dragon and the
\nspear that kills it.
\nI would very much like to be both.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Caitlyn Siehl [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

My Segment on the NewsHour<\/em><\/strong>
\n(excerpt)<\/em><\/p>\n

But that is just half the story.
\nThe Gospel of Thomas has what I take to be the full text.<\/p>\n

The Kingdom of God is within you<\/em>Thomas, Saying 3<\/span>
\n and all around you.<\/em><\/p>\n

Split a piece of wood. I am there.<\/em>Saying 77<\/span>
\n Lift up a stone, and you will find me there.<\/em><\/p>\n

The holiest thing then, the kingdom<\/em>, is inside,
\nthe observing consciousness, the deep core of being,
\nand outside, the Brown Thrasher, the little girl skipping
\nover the squares of the sidewalk, the universe itself
\nthat, so far as we know is unlimited.<\/p>\n

It would be best here to start singing and dancing
\nfor the spacious joy of inside and outside.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Coleman Barks [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Carried Away<\/strong><\/p>\n

One rainy night we sat in traffic
\nand, overtired in back, you saw
\na wind-whipped grocery bag afloat
\nbeyond the clutch of jagged branches,
\nswept by gusts and whirled in eddies.
\nA sudden downdraft swooped it earthward,
\nwhere it danced till with a whoosh
\na current luffed it past the power lines.
\nDisowned by gravity, small ghost
\nnot yet snagged by twiggy fingers,
\nit couldn\u2019t reach the earth. Thin-skinned,
\nit pulsed, translucent jellyfish.
\nYou wept and pled to be let out
\ninto the dark and slanted rain,
\nsomehow to save that desolate thing.
\nThe light turned green and still you begged,
\nGo back, go back,<\/em> on its behalf,
\ncaught and held, bossed and tossed
\nby a will much greater than its own.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(April Lindner [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

The Fatalist
\n<\/strong>(excerpt)<\/em>
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

Time is filled with beginners. You are right. Now
\neach of them is working on something
\nand it matters. The large increments of life must not go by
\nunrecognized. That’s why my mother’s own mother-in-law
\nwas often bawdy. “MEATBALLS!” she would shout
\nsuperbly anticipating site-specific specificity in the future
\nof poetry. Will this work? The long moment is addressed
\nto the material world’s “systems and embodiments” for study
\nfor sentience and for history. Materiality, after all, is about being
\na geologist or biologist, bread dough rising
\nwhile four boys on skateboards attempt to fly,
\nspinning to a halt micromillimeters before I watch them, my attention riveted
\non getting tangled and forgetting the name of the chair, for example
\nand the huge young man, he is covered with tattoos
\nI think. Life is a series of given situations
\nof which the living have to take note on site
\nand the storytellers give an account as the wind
\ntangles the rain or the invaders take over the transmitter. The exchange
\nof ideas constitutes a challenge to the lyric ego. And so I am reporting
\nthat I was wrong. A real storyteller never asks what story one wants
\nto hear, not the happy Joel nor the sleepy
\nClara nor the dreamy Jane, the seductive Sam, the sullen
\nRobbie Jones. Nonetheless I have bought a bicycle. I have to remember
\nto stop. Thank you. I hope you will enjoy it. A bike that is simply locked
\nbut freestanding will be immediately stolen. Of course
\nthere can’t be much wrong in helping people get what they want
\nbut creeps and purveyors of negativity
\nand cruelty are tucked into every institution
\nand most corners and though my inclination is to vote
\nin favor of everyone’s dearest dreams of advancement I disagree
\nwith the remark that “deathlessness” and “fearlessness” don’t work.
\nI think they do. “Deathlessness” immediately invokes the “breathlessness” we thought
\nwe’d half heard in the panting of deathlessness whose dashing
\nis life. “Writhing” is self-indulgent however
\nbut the near-rhyme with “writing” is terrific. Don’t change that. Poetry
\ncan’t be about<\/em> flight — that would make flight a perching
\ninstead of a flight. When one thing becomes another
\nthe other is free to become something
\nelse. I remember just where
\nwe were sitting
\nunder the influence of the wind
\nwatching a crow
\nbecoming something else in this case
\na crow.
\nThe state of milk in jars takes place
\nand the state of world affairs
\ncan now change. No cereal manufacturer intentionally includes angels
\nbut marshmallow bits may look angelic in a bowl. Who knows? A poem
\nfull of ruptures could be one from which all kinds of things are flying.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Lyn Hejinian [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: One of the pieces by American artist Brad Downey in his show, “Reverse Culture Shock,” currently at the gallery MU in Eindhoven, Netherlands. (Photo by Hanneke Wetzer.) Found on Flickr, and used here under a Creative Commons license. (Thank you!) Says MU at the Flickr page for all the photos from the show’s opening: […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":20169,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"Lyn Hejinian, Ray Bradbury, et al.: 'Is Poetry Enough?'","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,250,5,50,251,4159],"tags":[2159,3165,4709,4710,4711,4712,4713],"class_list":{"0":"post-20147","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-art","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-language-writing_cat","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-essays","14":"tag-current-events","15":"tag-ray-bradbury","16":"tag-lyn-hejinian","17":"tag-april-lindner","18":"tag-coleman-barks","19":"tag-caitlyn-siehl","20":"tag-art-and-culture","21":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/openingbraddowneyreversecultureshock_muenidhoven_thumb.jpg?fit=600%2C400&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-5eX","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20147","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20147"}],"version-history":[{"count":24,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20147\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20172,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20147\/revisions\/20172"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20169"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20147"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20147"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20147"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}