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News: Foetry.Com v.2 Forum Archive Through May 2007
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Author Topic: David Orr, Jorie, ReadAB  (Read 25126 times)
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Posts: 55

« Reply #30 on: April 02, 2007, 09:40:52 AM »

>>>The problem is very old. Robert Lowell got where he got because his family had money ( we are going back sixty seventy years. ) Sylvia Plath got where she got because she slept with Lowell. Plath had no understanding of the English language at all. Zilch.

Sorry, but this is bullshit. Lowell's family did not support his being a poet. Plath didn't sleep with Lowell. And Ted Hughes was considered the star during his marriage to Plath.

As you were.
Posts: 89

« Reply #31 on: April 02, 2007, 10:54:21 AM »

LIke I said read {eter Davison's THE FADING SMILE about the Boston poetry scene in the 1950s!!!!

There is a story about Lowell going down to Nashville and sleeping in a pup tent on the lawn of Alan Tate. He wanted to be tutored. I believe this story is correct.

The life of Plath is well documented. Any other poets with that many biographies out? Plath was depressed but Sextion was a mess. Sexton I believe did sleep around. And then George Starbuck was quite the man  arund town then.

It's not nice to spread false rumors when it can verified by doing a little research.

Bill Evans
Posts: 66

« Reply #32 on: April 02, 2007, 01:12:30 PM »

Indeed.  I stand corrected.  I had the facts wrong.  But whatever the facts are, I think we are dealing with a cult of personality.  I question why we need this.  The poet's voice should carry regardless of personality.  On page 2 of this thread I gave a definition of voice.
Posts: 768

« Reply #33 on: April 02, 2007, 08:54:07 PM »

It is much easier to be a celebrated poser than the struggling real deal.

his is the abyss--quit staring!

Bill Evans
Posts: 66

« Reply #34 on: April 05, 2007, 08:23:40 AM »

Mine is the hand
one of one trillion
that shook the hand
one of one billion
that shook the hand
one of one million
that shook the hand
one of on thousand
that shook the hand
of Wilde.
Monday Love
Posts: 1130

« Reply #35 on: April 05, 2007, 08:49:39 AM »

Bill, I like that.

Deep, deep in our hearts we believe that celebrity, that fame, that notoriety is all.  And we our wildly sensitive to how close or how far away we are from that strange dream.  

Nice job.

hisper and eye contact don't work here.
Posts: 3

« Reply #36 on: April 25, 2007, 05:47:30 AM »


Among other reasons, I think I write both to “show others” and “to amuse myself.”  If I do become famous it will not be because of any poem or bit of prose I write or so it seems to me in these early years of the evening of my life.  This was true of many a poet and writer; their fame rested on other things.  Such is the opening comment of one, Sam Leith, in his analysis of famous American poet Robert Lowell.1  Leith writes that it was Lowell’s sense of vocation, his “absolute, lifelong, obsessive determination with which he set about being a poet” that made him famous.

I, too, have a certain obsessive determination, a determination seen only by my wife and son, but it is not so much to be a poet, not to abundantly document my life and times, nor to fictionalize it in an exciting narrative for public consumption—for I am not sure how good I am at actualizing any of these aims.   I must confess, though, to much effort in these directions, but I think my obsession has other more primal, primary, even primitive roots.  I should add that I am not concerned about avoiding the wreckage that is often the result of pursuing the varied arts of leisure or employment for I think I have already created what wreckage I am going to and my present and creative obsession is carefully guarded by circumstance and, I like to think, destiny.  This may be too romantic a notion, though, and so I say—and it is true—that I write because I like to, it gives me pleasure and I’m not very good at much else for any length of time in these early years of late adulthood. -Ron Price with thanks to 1Sam Leith, “Mad, Good and Dangerous To Know,” The Spectator, 9 July 2005.

My generation has had its pathologies,
still has, Robert: secret agonies, aberrant
behaviour,  like your middle generation
as some people called you: Berryman,
Jarrell, Schwartz and yourself, Robert,
bound together by mental illness’s dog.
Intensifying isolation, introspection,
control through art, Eliot’s influence,
but all breaking away toward expression---
not an escape---from personality, setting
the stage for my poetry which came as
you were all leaving this mortal coil.
I found a new kind of voice, a new  
complexity, that’s how I see it, Robert.

We all need someone to take us under
their wing as Tate did you, Robert and
as White did me, oh so gently, so gently,
I hardly felt the wing or even knew;
so far the most enduring friendship
of my life in that curious domain of
poetry which has dominated my years
since his passing in that auspicious,
mysterious and inexplicable juncture
in my life when wheels turned and I
neither heard nor saw them at a crucial
time of leaps, thrusts and strange and
superlative realities in that most isolated
city on the planet with its intense heat.2

1 The poetry critic Allen Tate took Robert Lowell under his wing as Roger White did me—or so I like to think.  White died in April 1993 in the last weeks of the Holy Year: May 1992-May 1993.  
2  Perth, Western Australia.

Ron Price
25 April 2007

arried for 37 years, a teacher for 35 years and a Baha'i for 47 years.
Bill Evans
Posts: 66

« Reply #37 on: April 27, 2007, 12:37:11 PM »

Who woulda thought
Osama bin Laden
teach some people a lesson.
For starters, at the terrorist’s behest
government shuts down civil aviation.
Couple days later
everyone still subdued,
on a park bench and I’m like,
you know, observing,  
the vertical city and all that.
Next to me is some guy and he says,
Restored to blue, man, the sky.
Whatdaya mean by that?
He said, They ain’t got no contrails.
You gotta be kiddin.
No, he said, the contrast.
I’m like, If you say so, man.
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