Poetry reading from March 29th, yeah it was a long time ago

On Monday, March 29th I attended the first reading of The Open Light: A Celebration of Notre Dame Poets. I was actually required to go for another one of my classes so it was a nice way to get two birds with one stone. Unfortunately on that particular day I forgot we had to go to the reading so I went to our normal classroom and after sitting in isolation for 3 minutes I realized my mistake and ran out of the main building to McKenna Hall where the reading was being held. Luckily for me I only interrupted the introduction and was able to slither into a seat in the back of the room without causing too much of a disturbance.
The reading was held in one of McKenna Hall’s smaller rooms, not in the main auditorium like the Laurie Moore reading. I think this gave the poetry reading a more relaxed feeling; it wasn’t a big presentation, but rather an intimate reading. The room was filled with a mixture of students and those other adults you find on college campuses who could be professors, but you’re never quite sure. One young woman had an adorable baby with her, who was sometimes a participant in the reading. At one point one of the poets, Beth Ann Fennelly, asked how old the baby was and the mom replied that she was 10 weeks old and this was already her second poetry reading. I was impressed; the baby had already been to more poetry readings than I had.
The three poets who read were Jenny Boully, Beth Ann Fennelly, and Kimberly Blaeser, all three graduates from Notre Dame. When I arrived I was unsure what my feelings toward this reading would be. I have never been a huge poetry fan, unless you count performing Shel Silverstien’s poems in elementary school forensics. I usually feel that poetry has this deep, profound meaning that I’m too lazy to try and figure out. When the first poet, Jenny Boully, started reading I thought, “Yep, I don’t understand poetry.” Her poems made no sense to me. She spoke very rapidly and I managed to pick up a few phrases such as “I do believe in kidnapping I do, I do, I do” and “everything is too eerily coincidental.” I tried to focus, but my mind kept wandering and counting down the time until I could leave.
But then Beth Ann Fennelly started her reading and I my attention was drawn back in. Beth Ann reminded me of Ariel from the Little Mermaid. Her straight ruby hair came down past her waist and she had a smile permanently fixed on her face. She constantly laughed at herself and her work. The most attractive feature of her reading though, was that I understood her poems! Before each poem she gave an explanation of what inspired her to write it. Her poems ranged from one called Poem not to be read at your wedding to one about cow-tipping. My favorite poem was where she described spring at the University of North Carolina where she teaches. My favorite line was, “Today is the day the first bare-chested runners appear.” The humor in her poems leads to more serious aspects. After she proceeds to describe the bare-chested runners and how she goggles at them, the poem reflects on aging and the scarcity of time. The best part of the reading, however, was when I saw Beth Ann’s outfit after she was done. She wore a cute jumper dress and rainbow kneesocks that stuck up above her cowboy boots. This alone makes me want to be her friend.

MFA Thesis Reading

Regrettably, the only part of the MFA Thesis Reading that I understood with complete clarity was the introductory greeting by Steve Tomasula. The acoustics of the LaFortune Ballroom did not lend themselves well to the reading, so it was extremely difficult to paste together the excerpts of each reader’s thesis and come away with any understanding of the narrative. Furthermore, the voices of the readers ranged from thick monotone to nasal exuberance, which didn’t help the problem. Add this to the fact that Brian and I had taken our rightful seats in the absolute last row of the ballroom, and you have a perfect storm of auditory hurdles that I was unable to clear with the sort of mastery that would allow me to thoughtfully comment on the content of each graduate’s thesis.
But that said, I would still like to offer some of my thoughts on the atmosphere at the reading and the way it contributed to my overall view of the MFA program at Notre Dame. My background is one without much exposure to higher education; both of my parents were the only ones in their families to go to college and they both attended very ordinary colleges in Iowa. Neither received graduate degrees. So when I was college-shopping, I had very little exposure to the American University system in general. I consider this a relevant component of what makes up my view of the MFA program because it shows that I had very little concept of what different degrees meant, let alone what an academic community looked/felt/functioned like.
Fast-forward to this past Friday night, where the only two men I saw read were wearing long flowing orange hair, tight jeans and a blazer, and black shoes, seersucker pants, a V-neck t shirt, arm tattoos, chest tattoos, a shaved head and a beard that would make even make an NHL player turn his head in disgust. I always find it interesting that extremely smart people seem to dress (at least) a little bit outside of the norm. I always wonder whether it’s because they want to be noticed as different, if they simply think it looks better or if they are trying to make a statement that people like me can’t understand.
I felt an almost tangible separation between the intellectuals at the reading and me. It was almost hard to describe but it was definitely humbling. The reading that I understood best was by Tasha Matsumoto, and it was about moving to South Bend. I couldn’t help but wonder how northern Indiana fosters an academic community of intellectuals. Having been from Boston, I can personally attest to the fact that the famous “Do you like apples?” scene from Good Will Hunting paints a pretty fair portrait of Crimson nightlife. I wonder how these people feel about their years in South Bend, how they view people like me and whether or not they resent Notre Dame’s whiteness, economic prosperity, homogeneity and tendency to promote the stereotypical “All-American” as the ideal.
The truth is, I found each of the writers extremely likable, and I believe that they would be very nice if ever approached by an undergraduate. I got the sense that they were very happy people and that they would probably love a chance to talk about their experiences in college, in grad school and the ideas behind their stories. I also was genuinely impressed and intrigued by the different styles each of them employed to introduce each other. I found their words to be overwhelming sincere, although extremely brief. It was one of those rare moments in life where you witness another person’s special moment and are left wondering whether or not it was as special as you perceived it to be and what moments had to occur over the last several months in order for something as meaningless as an introduction to take on a higher meaning. But again, maybe I am grossly over thinking that.
I am probably creating an unnecessary barrier between myself and “them”, but I am still wrapping my mind around the fact that each applicant was selected as one out of 200. Most people live and die without ever beating odds like that. Add that to the fact that (from what I could understand), I really couldn’t discern what was so special about their writing. That isn’t meant to be insulting. Clearly they spoke with a confidence that most of our class wasn’t capable of; but much the writing that I heard seemed like something that certain students in our class were capable of writing. I can only imagine that most of what they were trying to say went straight over my head.
I also would love to know what exactly the writers are in grad school for, what their goals are. I can’t think of a profession with higher highs and lower lows than creative writing. On one hand, you could end up broke and poor with a useless degree, entering the job market the better part of a decade later than your undergraduate peers. On the other, you could be in world’s highest income bracket, working from home on your own schedule, contributing something permanent to society. I wonder what these writer’s goals are, and what the main thing each of them trying to say is. I also wonder if any of them are planning on teaching; I see that as sort of the in-between of the above two scenarios, given the fact that they enjoy mild literary success.
There’s really no salient point to this blog entry; I guess it’s more of a series of observations into something that I know very little about and feel very detached/slightly intimidated by. In any case, I enjoyed my time at the reading and have spent a lot of time since thinking about the atmosphere of the LaFun ballroom and the untold stories of those who filled it.

Good Old Room 106

I remember when I had theology in this stuffy old classroom at the end of the small narrowing hall of Oshag. Today the windows were cracked, it was 7 pm and the sun was still beaming through the windows, representing the best South Bend has to offer as well as the end this way too long of a school year. The room was filled with eager listeners and the typical snack and drinks aka cookies and water.

I didn't know what to really expect, one of the first poetry readings I've attended. I wasn't sure what my interest level would be going in, tired from the day, I thought I might pass out in the back of the classroom, no one knowing or caring. A taller, slender looking younger man stood up off the ground, green plaid shirt with a pink undershirt, never saw that before, he always had a smile on his face which caused me as well as everyone else in the room to smile, a very demanding smile. Last week, my friend visited, he arrived to complain about the new tolls which didn't use people but only a machine that collects your money through a little slit, his money got stuck three times than his credit card got stuck, it was a thirty minute ordeal, good thing that wasn't me.
Ironically,the first thing Zachary Schomburg said as he stood up off the floor was exactly that about the tolls and how he was late due to this new toll system and how it broke down and an employees hand all of a sudden came out and asked for the money, this immediately had everyone laughing including myself, he questioned would this be the future of tolls, would people hands just come out of the machines to collect the money. Judging by his sense of humor, I could see myself vibing with this guy. A younger guy with humor like me and my friend. His poems joked about females, day to day activities that I could relate to and understand.
One poem I enjoyed that he read was from Scary, No Scary:

The old man
hunched over
at the front door
will be prepared
to give you a tour,
but first he’ll ask
scary, or no scary?

You should say
no scary.

As he finished his first couple poems, they were short, entertaining, and many times contained some sort of punch line. Rather than some other poems from other authors in which I wasn't sure if it was actually English or maybe if the author put random lines together to make a poem(no offense), it could just me by inability to understand all the different dynamics of poetry. His voice seemed perfect for these type of stories, a soft welcoming voice that would change tones in an urgent matter as the story did, occasionally changing his voice to fit the different characters speaking in the poems. He questioned the crowd, sad or funny stories? It was later in the day and everyone seemed like they needed a pick me up, so he went after the funny stories, keeping everyone with a constant smile as they listened attentively waiting for that next line. Another excerpt I really enjoy and felt was unique with the repetition of the flame:

“A woman-shaped flame. A whale-shaped flame. An ocean-shaped flame. The woman-shaped flame is inside the whale-shaped flame. The whale-shaped flame is inside the ocean-shaped flame...A breach-shaped flame...A Lincoln-shaped flame directly behind Lincoln. It is his soul on fire. It has already left his body...A Lincoln-shaped flame. A Lincoln-shaped flame”

Going in very skeptical, I came out of this with a whole new view on poem readings. Hopefully I can catch one in the near future, the bar has been set high.

On Friday night I attended the MFA’s “Graduation”. This consisted of the students who were graduating the program reading a piece of their writing. Some chose to read poetry, others chose to read a piece of fiction that they had wrote, but one thing is for sure, each of them were very original. The biggest thing that I got out of the readings (I do not usually attend readings, so this may be common knowledge to others) was how incredibly influential a readers voice is on the piece of work they are delivering.

The reading started off with a male student reading something that he said he “just prepared a couple hours earlier”. As he gave a brief introduction about himself, he spoke in a soft voice, almost as if he was shy. Then, he flipped a switch and began reading in a voice that was the polar opposite of the one he was using before. To be honest, I do not even know what he was reading or what it was about, but I can say that I was intrigued simply because of the voice he was using. After he was done reading, he went back into the previous version of himself.

One of the next girls read some of her poetry. She was very soft spoken throughout her reading, and it added a comforting feel to her reading. She did a great job delivering her poetry, with her tone adding the grace that poetry deserves.

Finally, one of the last girls that I heard read delivered a piece of fiction about a girl moving to South Bend. The reader was clearly not the shy one of the group, and her reading was very effective as she varied her tone and pitch in perfect harmony with the material she was reading.

In conclusion, the material is not what was surprising to me. To be honest, most of the time I could not understand what was being read due to the poor acoustic characteristics of the room. However, the delivery of each piece of writing varied from person to person, and it was the degree with which they varied that shocked me. Each writer was very original in the delivery and truly showed examples of various “voices” of various authors, even if in a very literal sense.

A Night With David Sedaris

David Sedaris is a little man with a high, nasal voice from New York City by way of North Carolina. He is an essayist, humorist, comedian, and radio contributor. He is hilarious. His books are collections of essays detailing his life and various experiences growing up, doing drugs, life as a performance artist, and most notably, working as an elf in Santaland. Read his books if you haven’t already. They are wonderful. Hilarious, darkly cynical, superbly observational, delightfully absurd, and yet ultimately incredibly touching and engaging. Read them and you’ll fall in love.

So Mr. Sedaris came to the Morris Center for one night to read some of his work. As a side note, I had never been to the Morris Center and was pleasantly, perhaps incredulously surprised with the place. It’s quite the classy establishment, and in South Bend no less. Go figure. That being said, we got the cheap tickets for the show – which were still $25 – and were seated in literally the back row of the third balcony. I always considered “nose-bleed section” some terrible colloquialism that got thrown about, but sitting that high up, staring down at such a tiny point of light, and knowing you paid $25 for it, it really does make you want to punch someone in the nose.

At any rate, Sedaris made up for it all. He began reading from his latest book, When You are Engulfed in Flames, starting with an account of his trip to the Australian bush and feeding a kookaburra. The story then segues into a story from Sedaris’ childhood when he and his sister Amy (star of Stranger’s With Candy) sang the song Kookaburra together for an hour on end, ultimately infuriating their father and culminating in Sedaris getting smacked with a fraternity paddle. I hadn’t read Sedaris’ work for a while, and it was a great reminder of why I liked it so much. He walks the line of absurdity and nostalgia so well, you often question – “This could not have happened.” More than anything, he writes – and speaks – with a Southern gentility and formality that combines with a New York sharpness and cynicism that is just – it’s just wonderful.

Sedaris moved on to some short quips from his diary. The standout of them all was an account of his time in line at an airport and his observation of a red-headed kid with cornrows and a shirt reading “Freaky Motha-Focka”. Once again, a bizarre and hilarious story of everyday minutiae.

The reading was wonderful. Sedaris is an incredibly kind and humble author. He stayed for two hours after the show just to sign books and talk with the crowd. I spoke with him shortly and he just asked us questions about who we were, what we were studying, how it was going and so on. He was probably just searching for his next bizarre subject, but it really seemed like he cared about his audience. All in all, a night with David Sedaris did not disappoint.

On April 14, Kimberly Koga, Jennifer Stockdale and CJ Waterman presented their poetry at Lula’s Café. Kimberly Koga began the reading, and to say the least, her poems were attention grabbing. While her poetry was very graphic and sexually explicit, Kimberly relied more on sound than imagery.

Her poems were highly aural, with many similar vowel noises grouped together. She broke up smoothly flowing lines of similar sound with short, harsh, curse words, saying “fuck” or “cunt”. These words do possess a certain amount of shock value, but they were more effective because their blunt sounds were juxtaposed with the smooth continuity and cohesiveness of the poem. This juxtaposition was further highlighted by her inclusion of moaning, which fit well with the assonance of her poetry. Her poem, which she called “The Beaver Poem”, was particularly graphic in its imagery, describing the fleshy globules with transparent webs of tissue.

Jennifer Stockdale presented her poetry next. Some of her poetry shared Kimberly Koga’s graphic imagery, but other poems had a stronger comedic, or even cynical element. “Psycho-somatic Babies” was one of her first poem, and babies, children, and fetuses became a recurring motif in her poetry. Her images of birth and fetuses were painstakingly detailed, to the point where she seemed almost paranoid about children. While many of her poems revolved around children, my favorite poem of hers was the one where she describes a Notre Dame girl at Confession. How she had “pared down” her “cock tease” into “eight Hail Mary’s”. I thought that the poem was funny and apt, very well suited to the audience.

CJ Waterman’s poems were more narrative than the other two. He read selections from two poems, one described someone retrospectively examining the end of their life and the other described the blowing up a regional airport. Both of his poems had an escalating, intense tone. The tone was particularly appropriate for his description of the last days of someone’s life. It wasn’t melancholy, but frustrated and angry. I would also like to assume that he

was using symbolism when he talked about “fucking the white swan”. In “Blowing up a Regional Airport”, he used the very graphic language, describing the graying, flaking flesh of those on fire. It contrasted with the very ordinary situation of going through airport security he described in the second excerpt from that poem. Ordering the excerpts like that was very effective because it contrasted what we fear, a terrible attack involving airplanes, with what we see as a useless security precaution.

I thought that the poems were interesting, and I was glad to be introduced to Lula’s Café, which had an excellent toasted brie sandwich.

Maurice Kilwein Guevara

I went to a Hammes Notre Dame Bookstore reading on 19APR2010. It was a poetry reading. I wasn’t thrilled about this fact. There were many undergraduate students, there to fulfill a requirement for a class, and there were several colleagues of his also in attendance. The general conversation was that of complaining about being there. The poet was introduced to us in the crowded back café of the bookstore. His name was Maurice Kilwein Guevara, a poet from Colombia who teaches University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. I did my freshman year of college at UW-Madison, so I immediately perked up. I was like, okay, this guy’s legit, he’s from Wisconsin. But then he walked up to the podium where he would read from, and he was wearing jeans, tennis shoes, a big black and orange Harley Davidson t-shirt, and was kind of scraggly in appearance. He looked exactly like my elementary school principal, but under-dressed. I was surprised by his appearance. When I knew I was going to a poetry reading, I expected some prissy guy in a suit and a light blue button-down shirt. This wasn’t that.

I’ll take you in chronological order of what I was thinking during this reading. First, he started by saying that he knew we were here because we had to be, but that his goal was for us to have fun by the end of his time at the podium. Kind of a good icebreaker, but right off the bat, I felt like he was trying too hard. Anyway…on to his poems. He read from his post-mortem collection a poem from the point-of-view of a pathologist. It was morbid and gross, and the description was phenomenal. I knew exactly what he was describing, and the overall quality of the poem was very smooth and lyrical, as a poem should be. When he was done reading this gruesome poem, and everyone around me had disgusted looks on their faces, Maurice Guevara said playfully, “Yay!” It was kind of awkward, and kind of funny.

He read a poem called “Dorothy Dear,” which was the Wizard of Oz, but set in New York. He read “When the Light Turns Red.” This poem had a lot of description, and this description focused highly on the senses. Maurice told the audience after this poem that “the poet is the professor of the five senses.” His poetry, especially this one, had a lot of Spanish influence. Some lines or phrases would be entirely in Spanish. A student asked him afterward how he decides what will be in Spanish, he just said it depends, and sometimes the Spanish just fits lyrically better out loud.

Then he chewed us out for not clapping. [He explained that at most poetry readings, it’s considered distasteful to applaud between poems, but his philosophy was that if you liked it, you should clap. So then we clapped awkwardly after each poem.]

Then he kind of switched genres into prose poems. He described these as being more lyrical than flash fiction, but longer and more story-like than some other poetry. He read “Augury of my Death,” then a poem a about ants, then “Sometimes I Listen to a Song 6 Times,” and ended with a funny poem about Hector the Colombian.

His advice and insights about poetry included Live the poem. He thought we should really feel the poem and integrate it into our being. He also said, Rhyme if you wanna rhyme. He basically said that any poetry teachers who think rhyming is corny or elementary are wrong, and that rhyming definitely has its place in good poetry. And finally, fittingly with his somewhat off-the-wall character, his message to us was that our responsibility as human beings is to resist the school system whacking out our imaginations. He figures that our American school system ruins the creative minds of a lot of young people by molding it into certain of way of thinking, and following a certain routine all the time. And we should resist this, and write poetry, and be happier people. Interesting—that has some merit, but overall, I don’t really buy it. We can be routine-loving Americans with not a ton of creativity, and still be happy people.

Tag Team Poetry at the Hammes Bookstore 4/20/2010

When I entered the Hammes Bookstore and saw the chairs, podium, microphone and trendy grad students sitting with their legs crossed, I was upset. When they said tag team, I figured there was going to be a tag team wrestling match like the ones my older brother and I used to sneakily watch on Sunday mornings unbeknownst to my mom. Kidding. I didn’t really think that. I will try to limit the amount of cheesy jokes I include in this blog, but I can’t promise anything.

The grad students, English majors, and I were there at the Bookstore for the 2nd Annual Tag Team Poetry. The event is in celebration of National Poetry Month and its goal is to increase appreciation for poetry in the United States. I think that’s a pretty cool idea since poetry, even though honestly it isn’t exactly “my thing,” it sort of gets tossed to the wayside. As a society, we laud authors and make people like Dan Brown and J.K. Rowling into household names. However, I’m not so sure that many people would know about Pablo Neruda or Seamus Heaney, for example. Alas, I digress.

The Tag Team poetry name inaccurately describes the venue, in my opinion. Or, I guess since this is a blog I should say, IMO. I imagined two of the MFA poets reading poems that they had written collaboratively. The tag team, I am pretty sure, was the reader’s own poetry and someone else’s that they really enjoyed or thought would fit in with their poetry. The readers tonight (4/20/10) were: Sonia, Alba, Iris, CJ, Monika, Jen, Kristin and Kim.
When I saw the first reader approach the podium, I must admit that I was a little shocked. Her name was Sonia and she was much older (no offense) than what I had expected! Regardless of her age, the poetry that she read/wrote was awesome. Another aspect of Sonia’s reading that I liked was that she explained what kind of poetry she was reading. For example, she explained which of her poems were sonnets, which were written in iambic pentameter, which were villanelles, and so on and so forth. The one poem she read was by R.S. Gwynn and was entitled “Body Bags” and was about stories of the young men who fought and died in the Vietnam War. Some died in combat, some died by their own hand once they returned home.

The second reader that I will touch upon was Alba. Alba, with her Irish brogue, dove into her poetry and didn’t come up for air until she was done. She read with such speed and intensity that it was often heard to interpret just exactly what she was saying. Her poetry, highlighted by “Duck Shoes,” touched upon issues such as poverty, war and sex in a unique and creative way.

I finally got my tag team fix when CJ teamed up with Monika after they had both read individually. CJ’s poetry was funny, random, and out there. Monika’s poetry, to be honest, was a little hard to hear with her accent. When the two teamed up it sounded really cool. They read simultaneously and intermittently, CJ interjecting numbers and mathematical equations while Monika read about Jack and Jill. They described it as a “math poem.” All in all, I am glad to see that there was some tag team action going on. I mean, at least I didn’t get completely hoodwinked by the venue’s title.

The rest of the poetry was, in a way, what one would expect from a poetry reading minus the finger snaps. There were random poems about banana tits and carrot dicks (I’m not making this up) juxtaposed with love poetry about mouths, teeth and incisors. All things considered, I am glad that I attended a poetry event. Poetry is something that I know very little about. But when I went to the Tag Team Poetry event tonight, I did actually like a lot of what I heard and I also learned a lot. Some of the poetry was too out there (read: banana tits, carrot dicks) and some of it was boring. But I was surprised at how much of it I actually enjoyed. It was a bit of a refresher from all the short stories we have been studying in class. In sum, I think the 2nd Annual Tag Team Poetry event delivered on its message of increasing appreciation for poetry.

What I learned from Joan Frank

I attended the Joan Frank reading of her short story Sandy Candy which was part of the book In Envy Country. Before the reading I didn't know much about Joan Frank. I had heard her name before but still did not know what to expect from the reading at all. The reading took place in a small corner of the Hammes bookstore where a few rows of chairs were assembled in front of a small podium. I was expecting the reading to be a lot larger in size but then again the only reading I had ever seen a picture of was J.K. Rowling where thousands of kids sat listening to her read the first chapter of her final book.

As the reading began I found the first few pages making me look more forward to pricking my eyes out with needles than listening to another word. But soon, from my wide-eyed daydream I began hearing words such as "Cocaine" and "strip club" and soon my mind became raptly focused on her story. It was as if I had instantly gotten a cup of coffee because suddenly my mind became focused on every word that was read.

My attention changed from counting down the seconds until the reading was over to visually picturing every simile that she read. From her pressing the delete button on her answering machine like she was killing roaches to describing what she's smelling as moldy bread and stomach acid. Her similes and metaphors made the descriptions so detailed that you could apply most of the senses to them. I could smell the moldy bread and stomach acid and view the many metaphors she used while describing the setting.

After Frank stopped reading she explained that her stories require a lot of buildup before they get into the exciting parts. She even stated that when she looked up in the beginning of her story that there were a lot of people who were yawning and looking bored. I have to admit that at the time I was one of those people, but the thing that surprised me was the turn it took to build up into more exciting parts. Judging from the beginning I felt the entire piece was boring and was going to remain boring.

I learned a lot from the reading. Even though I would never write a story with her plotline, I found it interesting how many metaphors she used to describe her situations and how beneficial it was to the reader. It definitely caught my attention and made me imagine settings and characteristics more vividly than I ever have before. Even if I don't believe in her structure of building up to the action, I do believe that you can reveal a lot using metaphors and similes.

At the end, Frank gave a good life lesson to all of the undergraduate and graduate students that were listening. She told everyone that we are all currently in a "safe zone" as she described it. She warned that the real world isn't as friendly as it is inside of the gates of Notre Dame. She states in the real world there won't always be advisors or teachers to help you when you get knocked down. And that sometimes you have to rely on your inner strength and confidence to make a name for yourself.

Poetry Madness

Blog:

My first experience at a poetry reading was certainly interesting. It was for The Open Light: celebration of Notre Dame Poets festival. The readers were an exuberant Joyelle McSweeney, a guy from Canada…who I apologize but cannot recall his name (although his renditions of a rejection based version of the Kama Sutra was one of my favorite pieces read), and finally the poet with by far the coolest name a Prof. Cornelius Eady.

Going in all I knew about the reading, and really poetry in general, was that a man with the name “Cornelius” was to be reading. This in mind, upon entry into the small, bland, yet intimate room I was on high alert for the most unique and awesome looking person there. You see with no other frame of reference to move from and no friends, I desperately needed something to occupy the five minute gap between arrival and performance. I needed an awesome figure to attach the equally awesome Cornelius to.

After sitting down I immediately began to scan the room for Cornelius.

Too plain…
Too good looking…
Cornelius wouldn’t wear a sweater-vest…

Bam there he was! I identified a blend of “jovial mixed with wild” clothed in a (literally) star-studded tee shirt framed by a blazer. Furthermore, this top-end perfectly clashed with his plain blue jeans. Overall, the summation of this jolly and drearily sarcastic icon of semi-rebellious “artsy folk” caused me to beg:

“please let THAT be Cornelius”.

However, mere seconds after this great discovery, the real Cornelius stood up. While, it turned out that this epitome of artsy-awesomeness was not indeed Cornelius (the character would eventually become known as the “nameless Canadian”), I fortunately was not disappointed by the true material form of Prof. Cornelius, or by the work of either poet (Cornelius and the nameless Canadian) for that matter.

With clarity as to who-was-who now established, and our little bleak room finally filled the ensuing performance proved both enlightening and entertaining.

While my very limited knowledge and exposure to poetry left me a bit lost at times, especially in the more abstract poetry of McSweeney and the Canadian, on the whole I enjoyed the reading. The readers were entertaining and exuberant, especially McSweeney and Canada. Even Cornelius, whose poetry was more straightforward prose style (nice, for even a poetry ignoramus such as myself could follow it) was powerfully delivered and felt rather than heard.

McSweeney stood out to me primarily for two reasons. First her free-association and abstract style seemed to incorporate many issues, ideas, and things. Her poetry was powerful to me in this sense as she constrained herself in no way, and it really captured the fluid dynamic of life’s interconnectivity in her writing (this random and slightly spastic style also may have so powerful to me because it is strikingly similar the hyperactive and random nature of my own mind).

Second, McSweeney used a unique and interesting style of lyric poetry, which when combined with her highly energetic and rhythmatic delivery provided a result that was both exciting and entertaining.

As for the name forsaken Canadian, one thing I enjoyed about his style was his harassment of the audience. His interaction with us was funny and engaging which helped me to follow his readings and the direction of his presentation. As noted earlier my favorite piece by him, and one of my favorites for the entire reading, was his imaginary “translation” of the Kama Sutra as written by a man whom I have never heard of (it was some inside literary major joke, apparent though from what I could gather, everything the man wrote resulted in utter rejection, denial, and failure). In following, the “translation” spoke of these types of experiences; including the failed ability to “maintain the Tower Of Bable” as well as other equally frustrating tales of rejection and sexual frustration.

The final reader, Cornelius, was more of what I imagine of as a “traditional poet”…if there is such a thing. Apparently, it was his last reading at the University because he is moving down to some southern state Mississippi, Alabama, or somewhere like that. While, his final reading and goodbyes did make me feel a little awkward to be there (considering had no idea who he, or anyone else, was) I did still enjoy his works.

Cornelius had similar topics and themes that ran through all his works. I like how he would elegantly and humorously describe everyday mundane things and relationships (i.e. picking up street furniture and marriage) that everyone could relate to. His lines about “Guarding the couch” and the description of “impotence with a hammer” were both funny and well done I thought.

Also, culture and his identity as a black man were very evident in nearly everything Cornelius read. I was especially moved by the piece about Emit Till, and the entire collection he wrote from the perspective of the “imaginary black murderer.” The one short story from the “imaginary murder” collection that provided input from “Uncle Tom” was especially notable, and the way that Cornelius presented the work (mostly from memory) only furthered its power.



Overall, it was a good experience. I enjoyed the eccentricity and free atmosphere. The lack of constraints on thought, work, and presentation was really awesome and I was lucky to be able to enjoy such a varied and diverse collection of Poets. In closing, thank you to McSweeney, the nameless Canadian, and Cornelius for an eccentric and entertaining reading.

Weinfield, Menes, and Hawley Reading: March 30, 2010

I went to a reading for poets Henry Weinfield, Dr. Orlando Ricardo Menes, and Mary Hawley, which was held as part of The Open Light conference. The venue was a conference room in McKenna Hall, and it was a small room with lots of rolling desk chairs lined up in rows. I was sitting a few rows from the front. The audience was mostly staff in the English department and English majors attending as a class requirement. At least, if every student around me was representative of the whole. This was the first poetry reading I have ever attened, so I didn't know exactly what to expect, and I still can't say if this reading is typical.

The first to read was Henry Wienfield, who read selections from his collection "Without Mythologies." He seems like the kind of person who thinks really hard about things all the time. His style is very academic, with a lot of focus on rhyme scheme and meter. His work really felt like something I would have to read for an English class and analyze all the devices he uses. You can tell that's how he approaches poetry, too. One of the poems he read was titled, "Dream-Poem in Blank Verse,." You could also tell from the way he read his own work that he was very concerned about the structure of the poem by his emphasis on the last word of the line, making it easier to pick up on the rhyme scheme.

To be completely honest, I lost interest in his poems rather quickly. It wasn't that they were bad by any means, but it was really hard to be engaged by them. Not only did he treat his own work so academically, but he also lacked a strong voice when reading his poems. He did not use his voice to reinforce the tone of what he was reading aloud, which I found very disengaging for his poems, which are actually quite emotive. It felt more like he was just kind of going through the motions, except when he was emphasizing the rhyme scheme. I personally found this very aggravating, because it felt like Weinfield wasn't trusting us to be able to pick up on it on our own, and he had to spell it out for us. This kind of reading wasn't really for me. But if you are very analytical, a reading by Weinfield might be more your style.

The next to read was Dr. Orlando Ricardo Menes, whose poetry is heavily inspired by his childhood experiences in Cuba, Peru, and the United States. I found Menes to be much more engaging to listen to, partly because I found his subject matter to be more interesting. It's always captivating to hear someone else's life story, especially if they come from a background very different from your own. Although it was different from my own experiences, there was still some familiar ground with references to Mr. Rodgers and Batman. It also helped that Menes used excellent imagery. I especially noted from his poem "Courtyard of Clotheslines on Angel Hill" the fragment "tin can garden like a cat's cradle." It helped to be more into what he was reading because he did a good job of reading his poems. His tone reflected that of his subject matter, and it was altogether very engaging.

Mary Hawley was the last to read. She had a good sense of humor, which was reflected not only in poems such as "In the New Space" and "Gecko," but also when she spoke between poems. Her poems were kind of quirky, and at points it was difficult to understand exactly what she meant due to ambiguous wording and such, but on the whole she was entertaining to listen to. Another good speaker.

One of the things I noticed throughout all the readings was that the poets would give a little background about the poem they were about to read. As someone who generally believes that art is better when it requires less explanation, I found this to be strange at first. But reflecting on the entire experience, I reminded myself that poetry is generally a short medium: usually only a brief sensation is recorded. So perhaps it is important to get that extra bit of background as someone is reading it.

On the whole, I found this poetry reading to be an interesting experience. Poetry's not generally my bag, but I, for the most part, enjoyed what I heard.

On Tuesday March 30 I attended a poetry reading at McKenna Hall. The reading was a part of a poetry conference called The Open Light: Poets from Notre Dame, 1991-2008. The reading featured the work of Henry Weinfield, Dr. Orlando Ricardo Menes and Mary Hawley. Weinfield and Dr. Menes are both professors at Notre Dame and Hawley received her undergraduate degree from the University. Here are my thoughts on the experience.
As I was walking to McKenna, I realized I wasn’t really sure of what I was walking into. I didn’t have a feel for what I should expect when I walk in the room. I had never been to a literary reading prior to this but fortunately a friend was going as well as part of a requirement for a class. I guess saying I was going into the reading blind is a bit of a lie as often times as a kid I would walk into my parents’ room and my dad would be watching readings on C-SPAN but the feel I got from those brief glimpses was not something that I felt I would enjoy. But I guess the unknown is sort of a good thing because life isn’t as interesting if every day is filled with ordinary activities. Part of going to college is trying new things and “broadening your horizons” as my dad continually reminds me. That feeling of walking into the unknown was increased by the fact that this was a poetry reading and aside from the annual two-week poetry portion of my high school English classes I have for the most part stayed away from poetry.
When I got to McKenna I was afraid I had walked into one of the readings my dad watched on C-SPAN. At the front of the room stood a single podium with a bland wall with two paintings behind it with a small table to its side for the readers to sit at. There was even a camera at the back of the room. At eight o’clock Dr. Orlando Ricardo Menes stepped to the podium, while he was one of the readers he also served as the readings moderator if you will, and listed of accolades typical of someone who is thought to be good enough for people to sit and listen to them read.

After Dr. Menes stepped down from the podium, Henry Weinfield, pictured above, approached it and began reading. He chose to read from a collection of his works titled, Without Mythologies. The poems he read were “Threads,” “Tears of the Muses,” “The News,” “Words Worthy in Dream and Blank Verse” and he closed with “Sorrows of Verros.” Weinfield’s first three poems can be described by one word, depressing. In “Threads” he talked about the sudden death of one of his college friends and in “The News” he included a section on Sierra Leone. As if he could sense my dissatisfaction with the mood he was creating, he read “Words Worthy in Dream and Blank Verse” which was much more upbeat than the first three. However, he closed with “Sorrows of Verros” returning to the sorrowful theme he began with.
Dr. Menes returned to the podium following Weinfield and he opened by saying that much of his work is influenced by his childhood in which he was born in Peru, moved to Cuba and following Castro’s rise to power returned to Peru only to see the government fall to a coup and finally his family moved to the United States. This history was definitely evident in the poems he chose to read “Courtyard of Clotheslines on Angel Hill,” “Television a Patient Teacher,” “Windfall Antiques,” “Tia Gaddis: Backroom Seamstress” and “Guzzle for Mango.” “Television a Patient Teacher” described his learning English and how he used American television shows to get a grasp on the language. This is the poem that I understood/related to the best throughout the entire reading because it included things I was familiar with such as Mr. Rodgers, Batman, Bazooka gum and Walter Cronkite.
Overall the reading was not as unenjoyable as I thought it would be. I laughed a few times and got a better insight into what poetry is and that it can take on many different forms. Before I had this idea of poetry being piece of work taking up only a few lines and each line rhymed. However, at the reading I learned poetry can range from several lines to several pages and have varying forms. Each reader read works of varying form.
Who knows, maybe someday my kids will walk into my room and find me watching C-SPAN.

In Envy Country by Joan Frank March 3, 2010

On Wednesday, March 3, I not-so-reluctantly tore myself away from studying for my British literature midterm and headed off to the Hammes Bookstore to attend my very first fiction reading. It had been an uncharacteristically sunny day in Notre Dame, Indiana, which made the chill of the evening walk more irksome. I had no idea what to expect, but I was ready to be knocked off my feet by some powerful prose. I knew the reader’s name was Joan Frank and I had seen her picture in the email I received from the English department about the reading. Therefore, I knew she looked like this:

Beyond that, I knew nothing. And I liked it that way. There was an awkward waiting period during which I sat awkwardly waiting for something to happen and wishing I had bribed one of my friends to come with me to keep me entertained. Finally, around 7:35, she came out and sat behind a table displaying her new book, In Envy Country:

Let the introductions begin. Professor O’Rourke talked about the award Frank had won to get her book published. He went on and on in an quirky, rambling way. He was often self-deprecating and a little awkward, because he admitted to having forgotten about Joan Frank’s existence between their original publication of her work and their decision to publish her new collection of short stories. Nonetheless, I found myself intrigued by his bluntness, his awkwardness, and the odd way he seemed to be simultaneously prepared and flustered.

At last, it was time for the star of the evening to take her place at the podium. She seemed pretty likeable and unassuming. She thanked everyone for the honor and thanked the audience for coming during midterms week when there are so many other demands on our time. I particularly appreciated that because I was running on less than half the recommended amount of sleep as a result of said demands.

The selection she read was a lot shorter than I expected. I figured that because it was a book of short stories rather than a novel, she would read an entire short story. She did not. Instead, she read what was essentially a very long exposition to one of her stories, “Sandy Candy.” After the reading she talked about how there are two different ways to set up a story: either they have a lot of buildup before they get to the main action, or they open exploding in the middle. She said that many publishers have told her that she needs to get to the point of her stories much sooner instead of having this super-long exposition. She believes in the format of her stories, however, so she always waits for someone else to feel the same way instead of editing them. I admire her artistic integrity, and I’m usually one to prefer character depth to constant plot action. Still, sometimes the descriptions at the beginning became a little heavy-handed and excessive. I love figurative language and description, but I also don’t think every single thing mentioned needs to have an extensive metaphor, witty side-note, or some other kind of additional description. Sometimes simplicity and pithiness are what make stories truly beautiful.

Though I often found her descriptions to be too much, there were also a lot of times when I thought her language was really original and interesting. She had a great metaphor about Reno at the beginning, and it left me vividly picturing my experiences in Reno in my mind and trying to connect those images to the image of what she was describing.

Her comparison of punching the erase button on the answering machine to killing roaches and her simile “skin like jerked beef” were effective as well. Her descriptions of someone’s breath as “ashy and yeasty, of the smell of a bar as being “like moldy bread and stomach acid,” and of the white tank tops as “glowing lavender under the blacklights” were great because they are so accurate and yet those are descriptions I myself would have a hard time finding the right words for. That’s how I felt a lot of the time at her reading, like I was impressed that she found words for things for which I never could figure out the right words. That’s often how I feel about some of my favorite writers and works, so that’s a really good sign for me. She made me want to keep reading as she described the “raw jungle presaging of a secret ceremony.” I wanted to know what the “sandy candy” really was, if it was the strip club kind of scene Lorna thinks it might be, or if it was something much more diabolical and grotesque.

In a way, the story made me think of “Vampires in the Lemon Grove” and “The Ceiling” because of the way in which it mentioned the marital problems of the two main characters, Lorna and Brad, suggesting that the unspoken conflict may grow later in the story. Lorna is a homebody who prefers reading to socializing, while Brad loves people and parties and often drags Lorna to them. The way Lorna keeps trying to force herself to live the lifestyle Brad enjoys was something that interested me, and I found myself wanting to know more about Lorna and her background, feelings, etc. I wanted to know why she ended up with Brad at all, if they are so different from one another. I hope the story goes on to address some of these issues. I guess I’m just a fan of ambiguity and subtlety, but I would have really preferred for her to be a little less explicit about the marital problems, since she said flat out that their natures were “antithetical” and their relationship was “not a marriage but a clearinghouse.” I suppose this is an issue of personal preference, but it detracted from my appreciation of the issues a bit nonetheless.

After the reading, she talked about how people need to distrust cleverness for its own sake because we owe fiction the vulnerability of risktaking. She said writers should be willing to make a mess because that’s the only way to make something real. I could not agree more, and it reminded me a little of “Shitty First Drafts” because both suggest that a story doesn’t have to be perfect right away. You have to let it all out and then refine it once it’s out. I thought it was an interesting perspective that she said writers write to find out what they’re trying to find out. It sounds like it doesn’t make any sense, but if you think about it, it actually does. It’s kind of the same way with writing nonfiction, such as research papers. You don’t start the project knowing everything; you do the research and by learning from that, you develop your thesis and your argument and you figure out what you were trying to find out and only then can you seek to actually find it out. I like that she clarified that it’s not really a mystical experience, but I don’t necessarily think the process involves going in quite as blindly as she claims, at least not for me. I guess it comes down to why you’re writing and what purpose you want your story to serve, like Orwell said in “Why I Write.”

Like him, my motivations are often political, in the wide sense in which he uses the term. I go in wanting to share a certain idea about, viewpoint on, or solution for a certain societal issue, then get a basic idea of how to translate that into a story. I certainly don’t have everything planned out at the beginning, because through writing the story my ideas about it change and I learn more about my characters, my story and myself, which changes things as well. Still, I think it’s important to have an idea of what you’re trying to say and where you’re going with it if you want your story to deal with a specific issue in a specific way. Since I don’t really know what her stories are about, even “Sandy Candy,” I don’t know her purpose for writing them, so I can’t judge her methods, not that I would really want to either way. I think we just have different styles of writing, and that’s fine, as she herself said.

Overall, I really enjoyed this reading. It was definitely a good start to what will probably be a lifelong hobby of mine. Joan Frank was gracious and personable, and her story was definitely intriguing, even if it wasn’t always my exact cup of tea. It was interesting going to see someone with whom I was completely unfamiliar read her work. I look forward to seeing authors I already know and love in the future as well.

We're Ready for Posts

The Reviewer is now ready for reviews of readings at the University of Notre Dame for spring 2010. Post your insightful, witty, lyrical reviews at your convenience throughout the semester.