Shel Silverstein, the Man Who Taught Me to Love Poetry

Shel Silverstein’s birthday seems like a good day to revive my blog that’s been hibernating for several months.

I was perusing Twitter earlier today and came across this article from Mental Floss about Shel Silverstein’s birthday and him writing Johnny Cash’s hit song, “A Boy Named Sue.” This wasn’t new information to me (though I had not seen the amazing video embedded in the article of Silverstein’s appearance on The Johnny Cash Show).

Reading the article led me to reflection, and I realized that Silverstein is the person probably most responsible for me loving poetry. I don’t know if Northwest Heights Elementary School library still has the old, stamped check out cards resting in little manilla pockets inside the back covers of books, but if they do, you would find my scribbled name over and over again in A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends (and probably several instances when I returned them past due).

I think second grade (maybe first) was when I first discovered these gems and added them to my heavy rotation that, at the time, was dominated by Hardy Boys and Encyclopedia Brown. I remember finding poems that were significantly more sophisticated (a word I didn’t know then) than the poetry I found in books by another favorite, Dr. Seuss. I felt refreshed by work that was more than smiles and rainbows and happy endings. I already knew that life included more than constant joy. I knew the pain I felt while bullied, the grief I felt when older family members passed away, the confusion of social awkwardness, and so on, and I knew that Silverstein knew those things, too.

Those difficult emotions were present but so was hope, beauty, love, and humor. He tied it all together in verse that was somehow both simple and complex. Isn’t that what all the great adult literary poets do, too? I could read his work lightly and take with me a surface-level understanding, or I could dig deeper (if you’ll forgive the worn out metaphor) looking for the gems he buried between the lines, in the puns, in the metaphors. I fell in love with his poetry and with the process of reading his poetry, and, though I didn’t know it at the time, I fell in love with poetry itself.

And, you know what? Not much has changed in the years since then about how I read or enjoy poems. I still look for work that catches me immediately by stringing together pleasant sounding language, work that evokes images that fire up my imagination and take me to new places, work that allows me to dig deeper or not. Regarding that last bit, I also learned from him that digging deeper isn’t a burden as it so often seems in English classes but a pleasure. I enjoyed then, and I enjoy now, both what I discover and how I get to that discovery.

Thank you, Shel Silverstein, for taking me to “where the sidewalk ends” and beyond.

Friday Favorite: Mark Doty

Mark Doty is a highly accomplished contemporary poet, but there’s a distinct lack of pretension in his work. His poems suggest a mind that is always surprised and elated by life’s experiences. And he invites us to appreciate life with him. Here’s a 2009 reading at Cornell University:

Friday Favorite–John Berryman

In an artistic field full of great beards, John Berryman's is amongst the best.

For this week’s Friday Favorite, I am featuring a poet from my home state of Oklahoma, John Berryman. Berryman is best known for “Homage to Mistress Bradstreet” and The Dream Songs. And having a great beard.

I’m kidding about the beard.

Berryman seems to me as elusive as his characters from The Dream Songs,  Henry and Mr. Bones. Many critics consider these characters Berryman’s alter-egos. I can see the argument, but I don’t know that I’m sold. I don’t know that I have many clear answers about Berryman. The mystery is something that attracts me to his work.

Berryman’s poems are structured similarly to sonnets and have an easy-going lyrical flow. His poems are very different than what his contemporaries produced. He wrote book-length lyrical series surrounding recurring characters while others wrote short, ironic satire or confessional poetry.

Here’s a video in which he discusses some elements of his poetry then reads “Life, Friends, is Boring” from The Dream Songs:

Friday Favorite–Gwendolyn Brooks

Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000)

Gwendolyn Brooks’ list of awards and fellowships inspire awe. Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress (now called U.S. Poet Laureate), Poet Laureate for the State of Illinois are a few, but she’s more than just a decorated poet.

I first encountered Gwendolyn Brooks the way that many young English majors do, in an anthology of American literature. I first read her most well-known poem, “We Real Cool,”  but I couldn’t stop with the brief survey class offered; I read more. A few favorites include: “The Lovers of the Poor,” “The Mother,” “The Bean Eaters.”

Brooks inspires and challenges me, both poetically and personally. I hope she does the same for you.

Instead of my usual list of quotes, I offer just one. “Poetry is life distilled.” What better definition is there?

Cheers,

Randall

Friday Favorite–E.E. Cummings

E.E. Cummings

E.E. Cummings was born October 14, 1894 in Cambridge, MA. He was a prolific writer of poetry, prose, plays, and essays.

When I was in high school, many of the my fellow students only knew him as “that poet who doesn’t use capital letters.” Non-standard capitalization is a feature in many poems, but it’s incorrect to say he avoids capital letters. He just uses them sparingly, a technique which highlights the importance of certain words or phrases.

He covers many topics in his 2900+ poems–nature, politics, religion, sex, etc. His poems often challenge traditional forms, though formless would not be an apt description.

He has long been among my favorite poets. Reading him repeatedly has taught me (and continues to teach me) much about diction, form, syntax, rhythm, imagery. You know…all that poetic stuff.

Here is a website that has compiled a few poems for your reading pleasure.

And here are a few lines I like from various poems:

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) / it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond / any experience,your eyes have their silence:

I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing / than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance

i like my body when it is with your / body.  It is so quite a new thing.

pity this busy monster,manunkind, / not.  Progress is a comfortable disease:

my father moved through dooms of love / through sames of am through haves of give, / singing each morning out of each night

Poetry: On the Page vs. Read Aloud

Last week, my friend Andrew said to me, “I like attending your readings, but your poetry really comes alive on the page.”

I asked my Twitter followers and Facebook friends which they prefer, and it seems Andrew is very much in a minority position. I’m speculating here, but perhaps he prefers it on the page because he’s an English major. We English majors spend four or more years at university learning how to read differently than lay readers. He may want to spend more time with each poem, deriving its meaning, analyzing my use of rhetorical devices, and so on.

As for my opinion on the topic, it depends on the poet. I attended a Billy Collins reading at the University of Tulsa a couple years ago, and, though I was already a fan, hearing him read added something extra. His cadence and tone highlighted certain images, made his frequent jokes funnier, and helped me feel connected to the poems.

Some poets are awful readers of their work, though. I found a CD at Barnes & Noble featuring 20th century American poets reading selected works. The worst reader on the disc is Robert Frost. I don’t think many would deny that Frost is among the literary greats, but his drab, rushed presentation of “The Road Less Travelled” disappoints. While I was still trying to decide which road to take, he was already finished. I didn’t feel the emotional pull that I get when I read it myself.

Then there are poems that don’t make sense when read aloud. E.E. Cummings has several like this, poems in which the form serves a necessary function. Example:

1(a

le
af
fa
ll

s)
one
l

iness

So what’s your preference? Do you like poems on the page or read aloud?

For those who prefer the audio/visual experience, here is Billy Collins reading three poems at the 2007 Aspen Ideas Festival.

Friday Favorite–Dr. Seuss

 

I have two young children, which means some days include me reading more children’s books than adult books. Thank God for Dr. Seuss. Most kid lit is awful for adults, but I enjoy reading Dr. Seuss’ limerick filled books. The fun stories, easy cadence, and unique illustrations engage both adult reader and child listener.

There’s also something about the nostalgia of reading books to my children that were read to me when I was their age. They deserve their classic status.

I think that many people overlook the wisdom contained in these works. “A person’s a person no matter how small” from Horton Hears a Who is only one example.

Too bad my children aren’t as motivated to eat what we serve them as much as they would be if we served green eggs and ham.

Friday Favorite–Billy Collins

I’ve enjoyed the work of Billy Collins for several years now, probably beginning with Sailing Around the Room (2001). I like what I assume most people like about his poetry: it’s often humorous. But it’s not cheap humor. His work shows great attention to detail and an impressive knowledge base. You may well laugh at surface level humor, but don’t ignore references to classic literature and his command of traditional forms. Billy Collins served two terms as U.S. Poet Laureate, an honor he well deserves.

Here are a few YouTube reading videos. Enjoy

Write Drunk. Edit Sober.

An alcoholic is someone you don’t like who drinks as much as you do.
Dylan Thomas (1914 – 1953) (quotationspage.com)

Dylan Thomas having a beer.

Alcohol has long held a (honorable?) place in literary culture. Sometimes it takes over. The early deaths of Truman Capote, Dylan Thomas, and many other writers can attest to that. But if you are one who can drink in moderation, go for it. Pour yourself a double and get to work on that novel, short story, essay, or poem.

Alcohol is a social lubricant for me. When I drink, I talk and talk and talk. When I drink around paper, my pen does the talking. A couple glasses of Scotch (neat, please, Mr. Bartender) or a Gin Martini (Beefeater, dry) has helped me through a few blocks.

The greatest risk when drinking while writing, for me at least, is that I lose exactness. My ideas flow as freely as the booze, but my specifics falter. I make careless grammatical errors. I present ideas out of order. I ramble.

That’s why it’s important to edit sober. Take out that draft the next day, if you aren’t too hungover, and comb through it. After you correct the mechanics, you may well have a fine draft. This is simple advice really, but I know several writers who indulge in writing drunk then fail to sober up for the editing process.

Here’s to the brewers and distillers and to good writing! Cheers!

Open Letter to V.S. Naipaul

I had a Friday Favorite post ready to go, but I’ve decided to instead post an open letter to V.S. Naipaul regarding his recent assertion that no female writer is his equal.

Dear Mr. Naipaul,

Let me first say that I enjoy your writing. I’ve read several works and found each quite moving. You are certainly deserving of the Nobel prize in literature and other awards you’ve won, but it seems this recognition has led to arrogance instead of literary statesmanship. Arrogance is a particular damaging vice; it takes those who have previously displayed intelligence and shows that they are instead quite stupid.

And that is what your recent comments about women writers has done. You have made yourself a fool.

Your argument relies on two supports, that women writers display “sentimentality, the narrow view of the world” and “inevitably for a woman, she is not a complete master of a house, so that comes over in her writing too.”

Allow me to respond to these points in order. Much has been said about sentimentality, and it is often considered a weakness in writing, but I disagree. I will concede that too much sentimentality can be detrimental to a work, but so can complete denial of sentiment. Someone who doesn’t feel, who isn’t emotional moved by people and places, isn’t fit to be an author. Maybe he or she would be the perfect journalist, just reporting the facts, but that person is not fit to be novelist or poet. I guess this leaves the question of whether women are more likely to be too sentimental in their writing. I’ve read enough to know that some are too sentimental and some aren’t. Some men are too sentimental, too. Assuming that all women are too sentimental implies that women lack rational thinking processes. This assumption is terribly misguided and shows that you are the one who has a “narrow view of the world.”

Regarding your “master of the house” argument, let me remind you that you are often classified as a “postcolonial” writer. You write from a perspective and about issues pertaining to a culture that is oppressed. How is this different than women writing about oppression by patriarchy? The oppressed always will and always should write about their oppression. It is part of the process by which they are empowered. You, of all people, should understand this process. I hope that you realize this and, instead of continuing their oppression, join their struggle.

By the way, even though women often write about their struggle against our male-dominated society, that isn’t all they write about. If you actually read them, you would know that.

If this letter finds you, I hope it finds you well, and I hope that you reconsider your previous statements. You, sir, have much to learn from women.

Regards,

Randall Weiss