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21st Century Poets
I have recently come upon the work of the poet Kathleen Ossip. Have a read -
On Political Crisis
Grace Success consists in ignoring what you don't like, as a bunny
leaps past tinfoil in his search for greens.
You don't need spring fever in a garden of tinfoil;
to seize the choice bit in place of the glittering
or the made-up means the whole plot
will be changed, gladly. In the vicinity,
all relish posturings; the problem is how to remain chaste
next to so many furry bodies when those we thought would cuddle us,
whether weeping or jeering, have fled.
The problem is how to remain. Words are no doorstep whatsoever
for the orphaned and penniless. The hop to the shed
is driven by wanting to fill the wreck with delights reordering.
When I first read this poem the line breaks brought E.E. Cummings to mind. And also, Frost in a weird way. Frost was able in his poems to use images of nature to bring across an idea - to ask questions of value; as in The Mending Wall. Nature brings the wall down and one of the neighbors keeps repairing the wall, saying, 'Good fences make good neighbors'. The questions are many. Is it worth fighting nature? Do we human beings need physical reminders to keep us in our place? Are Americans too individualistic? Some may say I read too much in, but I don't think so. In fact, I think the beauty and mastery of the poem is that it evokes so many questions - even questions that Frost most probably never even thought of as he wrote the poem. Humm, I've run off with another poem, haven't I?
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Re: 21st Century Poets
This poem is filled with symbolism (I think): the rabbit is an important symbol in so many cultures, usually being the trickster or, as I feel here, being able to jump from one world (or consciousness) into another or lead the unsuspecting or unwilling there--think Alice in Wonderland, the Japanese rabbit on the moon, etc.. And this rabbit certainly does hop between 2 worlds. I can't help but wonder, however, if the poet was chomping on a chocolate Easter bunny and gazing at the discarded tin foil wrapping when when she wrote this. Isn't it interesting that the two words...only 2 words... (nouns!) conveying positiveness have been crossed out? That must have been one yucky chocolate Easter bunny .
_________________ Gods and spirits are parasitic--Pascal Boyer
Religion is the only force in the world that lets a person have his prejudice or hatred and feel good about it --S C Hitchcock
Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it.--André Gide
Reading is a majority skill but a minority art. --Julian Barnes
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Re: 21st Century Poets
Another one from Kathleen Ossip:
How can we know the journey from the path?
Keep a clean nose Watch the plain clothes -Bob Dylan
A lone tumbleweed bounces by the institutions of power and the institutions of power or the daisies in front of the institutions of power
are my last big chance at a voice. A lone tumbleweed bounces by. Am I morally obligated to care for this organism or can I kill it? I'm loving my
desperate organism. Talking in class was "pretty cool" at one time, my last big chance at a voice. I wanted to go play bingo and breakfast at IHOP.
Now, everything's not OK or not everything's OK. Heavenly daisies, though. Mary Queen of Heaven in the prayerbook
bare toes crushing the serpent looked silly. And the institutions of power look silly if you're from them in- sulated enough. They're losing their suits
in the institutions of power. Helen Vendler's looking "mighty like" Sasha Fierce. Both have expert memories of those who appreciate their bitchy science.
The beauty's only part of it.
Perseverance is beautiful, and embarrassing. How many institutions of power remain? Several. Several. Organisms are delicate
and bleed. They bleed and we are morally obligated to care for them. How should I know what is right?
Ask a good question: You'll have success immediately. I got a flowering plant as a present. The original flowers and tall attractive leaves
have died, leaving a low, dull mess. Am I morally obligated to care for this that shares my home? My husband is baffled by my spiritual questioning
and my boyfriend is irritated by my spiritual questioning and my girlfriend ignores my spiritual questioning and my boss fears my spiritual questioning and I'm loving my desperate organism
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Re: 21st Century Poets
I've gotten interested in the question of what or who is on the horizon in poetry. I've found two new anthologies of poetry for poets of the 21st century. The first is "Legitimate Dangers: American Poets of the New Century" ed. Michael Dumanis & Cate Marvin. The second, "American Poets in the 21st Century" ed. Claudia Rankine & Lisa Sewell. Neither of these books are in my local library system. I see a trip to a bookstore (if one still exists in my area) in my future. Some of the names, none of which I've heard of, in the new collections are: Kevin Young Karen Volkman D.A. Powell Juliana Spahr Mark Levine Myung Mi Kim Tracie Morris
Anyone heard of any of these folks? Reading any up and coming poets? Please share!
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Re: 21st Century Poets
Saffron wrote:
I've gotten interested in the question of what or who is on the horizon in poetry. I've found two new anthologies of poetry for poets of the 21st century. The first is "Legitimate Dangers: American Poets of the New Century" ed. Michael Dumanis & Cate Marvin. The second, "American Poets in the 21st Century" ed. Claudia Rankine & Lisa Sewell. Neither of these books are in my local library system. I see a trip to a bookstore (if one still exists in my area) in my future. Some of the names, none of which I've heard of, in the new collections are: Kevin Young Karen Volkman D.A. Powell Juliana Spahr Mark Levine Myung Mi Kim Tracie Morris
Anyone heard of any of these folks? Reading any up and coming poets? Please share!
Did you see the Washington Post magazine a few weeks ago on the status of poetry? It's a good question asking what poetry is becoming. I suppose the answer will always have to be, "It's becoming lots of things." But then we suspect there might be a way to sum up its direction. One common claim is that over the years poetry has become less and less something that a common reader would want to relate to, that it's become insular and academic--notwithstanding the development of poetry slams. I can only say that for me the 21st Century is not as likely to supply me with what I crave, which is something with a stronger rhetorical quality, I suppose, something more derived from oral language. But yet I tend not to like slam or performance poetry, so maybe I'm confused. Undoubtedly growing old, too.
To get to your question, saffron, no, I haven't heard of any of those poets. I wish them well.
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Re: 21st Century Poets
I have also heard that poetry is becoming a lost art form. Maybe in the age of technology life is moving so fast that many dont "have the time" to sit and enjoy it as in the past. Reading in general seems to be falling by the wayside. This is unfortunate.
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Re: 21st Century Poets
Speaking of Kevin Young, here is his "Ragtime:"
Like hot food I love you
like warm bread & cold
cuts, butter sammiches
or, days later, after Thanksgiving
when I want whatever’s left.
The last line, if "whatever's" is a contraction, is "left" also one? If it is then the poem has a happy ending, Thanksgiving leftovers are happy things. It is is not, the poem has a sad ending, the speaker must be happy with what is left of his love(r?).
_________________ --Gary
"Freedom is feeling easy in your harness" --Robert Frost
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Re: 21st Century Poets
JuliannaRuth wrote:
I have also heard that poetry is becoming a lost art form. Maybe in the age of technology life is moving so fast that many dont "have the time" to sit and enjoy it as in the past. Reading in general seems to be falling by the wayside. This is unfortunate.
If poetry is becoming a lost art form, then we are losing some of the world's beauty. On that note, here is another poem by Kathleen Ossip. I wonder if 'spare language' is considered a common trait of 21C poetry? If so, maybe it relates to the 'hurry up' world we live in. If we don't take time to consider beauty and to reflect on it, then I think we have become a lesser species and our world a lesser place.
On Beauty
Firstly, you are beautiful, moonfaced brothers and sisters.
But after that, what is not open to question?
To pick up the torn wing and paperclip it onto the angel
is a distortion rapidly done. Distortion is beautiful,
and loud hearty laughter as of the gods.
Beauty moves upwards from the leaf, downwards from the root.
Beauty is quietly born from boredom
into fabulousness or plainness. Don’t ask whether it exists.
It’s a redundancy to say real. Beauty is truth? Don’t ask.
Ask for inner resources unlimited. Ask for a goldfinch feather
in a balsawood box. Look not at what is loved
but what stimulates and soothes. Brothers and sisters,
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Re: 21st Century Poets
I've been attempting to learn to speak Dutch (Flemish). I like the language because it is so pleasant to hear. The words are very basic though - anglo saxon with hardly a trace of Norman, and I can't discern any celtic, although I rather think it is there somewhere.
Dictionary - woordenboek
Kitchen - Keukin
Ivy - Klimop
I was smiling to myself, thinking, I bet Dutch poets are scarce......because I think of poetry as lyrical and Dutch isn't a lyrical language.
But when I searched about a bit, I found some really different and interesting poems.
Love this one by Gerrit Achterberg (1905-1962)
November
The low days of November have again returned, gray as a pail; at ease with the lessening light on the faces of children.
The world has third dimension still. The trees stand pitifully without cover. By distinguishing everybody at a distance, we must get used to the new flat surface and walk high past the bare border.
The bicycles ride large along the way. Winter passes along before our eyes. The first cold hands appear. Slaughtered pigs are hung out to die; sobering the purple nerves of farmers.
The protestant days of November fall a good bit apart on the calendar; widows, existing on meager pensions; public housing, that does little; a row of orphan boys with similar features; open gates in the empty countryside.
Sound of November explodes in the hunter's shot. Further and further a door sinks into a ditch. Honest churches hold services of thanksgiving in front of the wash behind thin, poor glass.
Everything becomes singular. A grave awaits its owner at the churchyard. Houses grow further apart from each other. We look into the holes of the year.
November
De nederige dagen van november zijn weer gekomen, grijze als een emmer; tevreden met het licht dat minderde op de gezichten van de kinderen.
De wereld heeft derde dimensie over. Stakerig staan de bomen zonder lover. Door iedereen van ver te onderkennen, moeten wij aan het nieuwe platvlak wennen en lopen hoog voorbij de kale heg.
De fietsen rijden groot over de weg. Verwintering gaat zienderogen door. De eerste kouwe handen komen voor. Geslachte varkens hangen te besterven; ontnuchteren de paarse boerenerven.
De protestantse dagen van november wijken een stuk uiteen op de kalender; weduwen, terend op een schraal pensioen; gemeentewoningen, die weinig doen; een rij weesjongens met gelijke trekken; in 't lege land opengebleven hekken.
Toon van november knalt het jagersschot. Verder en verder valt een deur in 't slot. Eerlijke kerken houden voor het gewas dankstonden achter dun, armoedig glas.
Alles wordt enkeling. Een eigen graf wacht op het kerkhof zijn bewoner af. Huizen verwijderen zich van elkaar. Wij kijken in de gaten van het jaar.
_________________ Only those become weary of angling who bring nothing to it but the idea of catching fish.
He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world is mad....
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