Poem in The Interpreter’s House 66

The Interpreter's House 66 Cover

I received my contributor’s copy of The Interpreter’s House 66 just now.

I am looking forward to digging into it as part of my rest and recovery from a nasty autumn cold. There are many names I recognise here, and a few whose work I’d like to get to know better.

There are a lot of inventions nowadays — tangible, digital, informational. My poem touches on that topic. You can see a quick snap of it here.

To order Issue 66 or subscribe, check out The Interpreter’s House website.

“Homesickness”, Poem in Rattle Poets Respond (Online)

Cuckoo by Hokusai

“In Kyoto,
hearing the cuckoo,
I long for Kyoto.”
-Bashō, trans. Jane Hirshfield

In some sense, homesickness is always a longing for a place that no longer exists. Which is to say that it is always, to some extent, existential. Yet with the rise of populism on both sides of the Atlantic, I have never felt more acutely that both where I once lived and where I live now are further than ever from “home”.

Rattle Poets Respond is a series in which poets submit poems in response to recent events. One poem is picked each week, and I am honoured to have my poem “Homesickness” appear in such estimable company.

You can read the poem on the Rattle website.

Poetry in Divisive Times

In the wake of rising authoritarianism in the US, and isolationism here in the UK, I have found it hard to sit down and write poetry. Clearly this seems to be a time for action more than words.

Revisiting an essay from 2007, written in the wake of US censorship of Iranian poetry, I began to re-formulate and re-work some thoughts from this piece into an argument with and for myself about why creative acts still matter.

You can read the results in a new short piece on The Huffington Post. I welcome your thoughts in the comments.

Vertigo by Marvin Bell

Vertigo: The Living Dead Man Poems is Marvin Bell’s twenty-third book of poetry, and his fourth full-length collection of “dead man” poems. The form, invented by Bell, takes the zen admonition, “Live as if you were already dead” as its epigraph, eschews enjambment (one sentence per line), and always appears in two parts (“About the Dead Man and ___” and “More About the Dead Man and ___”). Pushing limits in the dance between the intentional and arbitrary, Bell has arranged the poems in this book alphabetically by each fill-in-the-blank word or phrase.

Bell tells us that “[t]he dead man, like you, entered through an archway of effects,” echoing the first line of another iconic poem, “Why Do You Stay Up So Late?” where he declares, “Late at night, I no longer speak for effect.” In un-death, as in late-night delirium, Bell’s other-self has found the means to integrate worldly overwhelm since, for the dead man, “[i]f it were not for the lateness of the hour, everything he sees would be too much.”

The effects he rejects include “the tautologies that cloak war and torture” and glitzy marketing-speak. Through an at once more direct and more off-kilter relationship to language, the dead man can “[enter] your consciousness without tripping the alarm.” And so, through a broad range of different tactics, including humor, pathos, and brain-bending syntax, the dead man slips in his meaning, juggling around the sometimes-awful truth like the fool in King Lear’s court.

The book opens with two quotes — one about the curious nature of philosophy and another about the naturalness of making art. Bell invokes concepts from philosophy, such as Buber’s “I-Thou”, Zeno’s paradoxes, and Occam’s razor, yet the dead man himself is not loyal to any insignia, treating religion, superstition, and science alike, for he “has worn the lone Star of David and the ankh, the good luck rubber band, the medical alert.” Despite this, “he is at peace with the one fact that most informs science, puzzles philosophy, and troubles medicine: that things end.” Continue reading…