"I had my wise-cracks all lined up and ready to go when I noticed the list contained at least three poets I know and like a lot (Gillis, Yeh, Hadfield), at which point I suspected I’d got too old to sustain my previous levels of indignation over these little jamborees. Others on the list are less good than those I’ve just mentioned, and I think Batchelor, Levison, Gamble, Sam Riviere and Oli Hazzard would have adorned any list. Really though, I was hoping someone could have seen my first two books as false starts and let me in on the basis of a collection published in 2006. If anyone’s in the mood for a Past-It Generation Promotion of poets who spend ages thumbing cluelessly through their books for the poem they want to read and would rather slip away to watch Newsnight after the reading than go down the pub, you know where to find me."
David Wheatley reacts to the Poetry Book Society list of Next Generation poets.
Monday, 15 September 2014
Sunday, 14 September 2014
When there should be snow there is rain, rain, rain,
then ice, then rain. The radio host asks
call-in listeners if they think this a sign
of climate change. Old timers hit speed dial,
side-step the point, eager to talk storms,
lives marked by weather, recall jumping out
of windows when the doors were blocked with snow,
the hospitals filled up with broken backs—
What does it mean? The questions gather. Oh,
I have another story, a good one.
This storm flooded the town then froze it in
its shell; each home a snow globe of its own.
That one felled trees older than most houses;
rain pummeled us for days until the roads
gave way, just buckled, the ground beneath us
heaved and upended, water everywhere
devouring the road as if it were a sandcastle;
took bridges too, whole towns unglued, adrift,
now islands of their own. Weather serves up
memory better than any book.
Who likes to think about means and ends,
how things change so slowly until they snap?
We fear our maps outdated, pencil sketches
on onion skin. Our stories, though,
tell us who we are.
From Radio Weather (Signal Edition, 2014) by Shoshanna Wingate
Thursday, 11 September 2014
Darryl Whetter fires a blistering broadside against English departments and their "colonial ownership" of creative writing:
I have taught writing for more than a decade at four Canadian universities and am worried that—with English professors predominantly calling the shots—few Canadian programs teach or even entertain core writerly skills such as social-emotional intelligence; revealing, engaged and accurate dialogue; dramatic tension; comedy; and, most notably, plot. The current practices of our writing programs and funding agencies generally ask writers to be scholars who simply drop the footnotes, while graduate creative writing education in the United States, the United Kingdom and equally post-colonial Australia values the unique fusion of personal and cultural truth available to the creative writer and his or her reader.And more:
One can hear the trendy phrase “rhizomatic poetics”—a term, popularized by Deleuzians, that signifies the connection between two points without the burden of beginnings or endings—in any Canadian university English department (including those that offer creative writing); one rarely hears the word “empathy” or, in the context of empathy, the excitement that attends to rhizomatism. We adore the fragmentary but disparage feelings. In Emotional Intelligence: Why It Can Matter More than IQ, Daniel Goleman rightly called social-emotional intelligence “a meta-ability, determining how well we can use whatever other skills we have, including raw intellect.” In a land of methodology, thesis defences, bibliographies and Kenneth Goldsmith’s institutionally celebrated “uncreative writing,” the crucial meta-ability of emotional intelligence fostered by literature is not meeting its maximum audience. Who would decree that engineers should never actually build a bridge? Canadian English professors.
Monday, 8 September 2014
Kerri Cull asks Shoshanna Wingate about the peripatetic nature of her childhood and its influence on her first book, Radio Weather:
“This wandering lifestyle meant I didn’t have a static set of images or experiences to draw from. I didn’t even have a consistent personality. I had chaos. Fractured memories. Home was not a place—it was a yearning.” This outcast perspective shows in Shoshanna’s poetry. The dual sides to every story, the different ways one can look at the world and truth. “I wanted to write poetry that rested between certainties, as life did, without resorting to literary games or tricks. Memory is elastic, so why pretend it’s neat and tidy?”
Sunday, 7 September 2014
|Carmine Starnino, Michael Lista|
|Matthew Tierney and (with his back to us) Peter Norman|
Carmine Starnino and Nyla Matuk
"blah blah. How can these mildly radicalized reader's digest poets believe in the worth of their opinions? Anemic mimicry rules the day... or is this irony? A challenge? These generalist market-place "art" statements that fail to grapple with the parameters of a vibrant dissenting avant-garde, the reduction of poetic causality to entertaining an unnamed intelligent "her," condemning cliche (yet expressing it) and extolling precision (procedural narrowing? One-dimensional administrative gab?), while thinly echoing Ginsberg's oft repeated Howl opener, - he should have taken his own prescription and held back. There is little difference between a mass produced t-shirt, a mass produced collared shirt, and the critical wallop of Guriel's feint advice. Soft academe, darlings."
A member of that "vibrant dissenting avant-garde" whose courage of his/her convictions is so strong they bravely neglected to sign a name to their comment.
Saturday, 6 September 2014
offers some tips to avoid being a crappy poet. Here's one I liked:
Don't try too hard to be innovative; you'll only sound dated. Certainly don't be arrogant enough to regard yourself as 'avant-garde'; you're not, and anyway, you wouldn't wear a mass-produced tee that says, 'rebel,' would you?