Cheers to Kristin for starting us off. In the spirit of the blog, I am writing directly into blogger, not in Word to be cut'n'pasted. This helps me feel less neurotic. I have been reading a lot of criticism this week, mostly by Marjorie Perloff. I have been having this strange experience where a little bit of criticism makes me excited & zooming with possibilities, & just a bit more tips me into despair. There is the feeling that a.) I will never be able to write criticism that is this well thought out, and b.) every point of view can be argued against. In class, or maybe not workshop, maybe somewhere else, maybe here, I'd like to talk about Harold Bloom . He's the only person I've read who tries to cop out of the question of doing political work in poetry. I'm sure there are others, & I'm sure you can all shoot him down. Give me your arguments! I am loving all the language debate (as in L=A..). The "I": Reinvented? The "Active Reader": Bunk? But then my head spins & I think I would be better off in an attic.
I think this question of criticism/despair fits in with Kristin's comments about flow vs. structure. I am trying to see my work more in terms of what it's doing, what its architecture is, and why. But it can lead to reading as I am writing, as a critic would, or even worse, before I even start the Poem. This also relates to the idea of sketching out "the perfect thesis." The Perfect Thesis! It would necessarily involve pre-structuring the work, e.g. I am going to travel to the North Pole and write a series of 20 sestinas about penguins, or of penguins. I haven't ever suceeded in working that way. Even if I had that idea, the money, time, etc., it would be a dubious proposition. Case in point: I am here in Oakland, CA, trying, aspiring, to include identifiably Oakland-ness in my poems. I lived in NYC for 4 years and am just now beginning to write about, or OF, that place. When I first moved there I was taking a workshop with Brenda Coultas (which I later DROPPED OUT of; it's a sore spot, reminds me of failure, etc.), but anyway, at one of the first class meetings we had to bring in a Statement of Poetics. And I lied in mine--I said that New York was creeping its way into my poems. Lies! I was writing about California! The point is, plans can be fickle beasts that don't play along with the work. That's all. But I still like the idea of having them.
I think this question of criticism/despair fits in with Kristin's comments about flow vs. structure. I am trying to see my work more in terms of what it's doing, what its architecture is, and why. But it can lead to reading as I am writing, as a critic would, or even worse, before I even start the Poem. This also relates to the idea of sketching out "the perfect thesis." The Perfect Thesis! It would necessarily involve pre-structuring the work, e.g. I am going to travel to the North Pole and write a series of 20 sestinas about penguins, or of penguins. I haven't ever suceeded in working that way. Even if I had that idea, the money, time, etc., it would be a dubious proposition. Case in point: I am here in Oakland, CA, trying, aspiring, to include identifiably Oakland-ness in my poems. I lived in NYC for 4 years and am just now beginning to write about, or OF, that place. When I first moved there I was taking a workshop with Brenda Coultas (which I later DROPPED OUT of; it's a sore spot, reminds me of failure, etc.), but anyway, at one of the first class meetings we had to bring in a Statement of Poetics. And I lied in mine--I said that New York was creeping its way into my poems. Lies! I was writing about California! The point is, plans can be fickle beasts that don't play along with the work. That's all. But I still like the idea of having them.
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