Month: June 2014

Guest Post, Virginia Smith Rice: Voices from the Multitudes

Virginia Smith Rice

Still Life Glass, Silver Goblet and Cup of Champagn Artist: Henri Fantin-LatourOur creative writing group is gathered around a table at the back of the local coffee/chocolate/artisanal wine shop. Behind us, elaborate chalkboard drawings of owls with variously widening eyes denote the levels of caffeine available in the shop’s custom brews and infusions. Over time the chalkboard has been brushed against, with only half of the drawings still visible. Most of our group members work at the same school, and we meet once a week to try ‘writing in different directions’ – that is, purely for ourselves, separate from the email vents or lesson-planning typically done during the work day. One of the group’s rules: no school business during writing time.

We are just settling down to brainstorm writing prompts when one teacher arrives late, flustered, and immediately launches into a story about an email exchange with the parent of one of her students. Several members glance around the shop, scanning for possible parents or district administrators. Others shift, making slightly discouraging sounds, which are ignored. Another teacher arrives, saying after a beat, “Oh no, we’re not talking shop, are we?”

To which someone suggests, “Well, we don’t have to. We can start our own conversation bubble.” And then she compliments the sunglasses the other is wearing, and the new arrival, unaware of the general discomfort or agitation of the venting teacher, happily begins chatting.

Now, anyone who has been around elementary or secondary teachers will notice an interesting phenomenon – their voices tend to rise throughout the day, and for the first hour or so after school, many remain in ‘teacher-mode,’ speaking in a ringing tone modulated to be easily heard and understood in a classroom filled with restless students.

The new conversation picks up in volume – and the venting teacher increases her volume as well. All three voices continue for about a minute in real time without one deferring to the other, making it impossible to clearly hear any of them. Afterwards, a sudden quiet falls. I wait to see if anyone will comment on what has just happened – and realize, with a start, that the ‘anyone’ in our group most likely to make a joke or light remark is me. But the venting teacher is looking down, and it’s impossible to read her mood. Irritation? Near tears? Relief? Not wanting to possibly hurt her feelings, I stay silent. Then it’s over, and we go on with our prompts. It is strange and awkward, but to me it is also fascinating, exposing for a moment those rules of conversation – role, deferral and dominance – that are usually hidden, largely intuitive, and only noticeable when they are not followed.

It reminds me of my own various internal voices, how they shift and fight one another, and all the things I do as a writer that either get in their way or give them room to play out their own dynamics within my poems. Many poems that most interest me are those where voices are given ample space to contradict one another, rather than being directed into a more unified whole. I don’t mean to imply a value judgment, that one is inherently better than the other, only my own personal preference. And it is, of course, simply an aesthetic preference – even seemingly chaotic voices within an effective poem are still being controlled or directed in some way, in order for the reader to engage meaningfully with the language.

Some poets cut between voices so well the shifts barely register, as when Larry Levis’ speaker in “In the City of Light” says: “My only advice is not to go away./Or, go away. Most/Of my decisions have been wrong.” The authoritative voice appears and is spun so quickly, we hardly notice it (although it is easier to hear when read aloud,) in part because the surfacing of contradictory voices within Levis’ poems are consistent with the ‘larger voice’ of his poetry as a whole.

But even poems whose voice tends toward the oracular, a type of poetic voice that Wallace Stevens mastered, can also embrace ‘authoritative contradiction.’ In his “Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction,” Stevens declares: “It must be visible or invisible,/Invisible or visible or both:/A seeing and unseeing in the eye.” The voice in these lines seems to split into two mirrored, equally weighted voices, each scriptural in its authority, and Stevens allows them to remain so without imposing a third voice to mediate their contradictions.

Again, I don’t intend to make an argument for one treatment of voice over another in anyone’s writing – writers who are well-read and observant tend to intuitively work voice out on the page for themselves over time, just as people do in real-life conversations. It is wonderfully instructive, however, to be present and aware in those transgressive moments when a voice from all our ‘multitudes’ breaks free and surfaces, however briefly, to insist on its existence.

Levis, Larry. “In the City of Light,” from The Selected Levis. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2003.

Stevens, Wallace. “Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction,” from The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1965.

Andy Warhol Exhibit at ASU Art Museum

Superstition Review

Art MuseumASU Art Museum recipient of works by Andy Warhol, to be on display Summer 2014

Tempe, Ariz. – The Arizona State University Art Museum is pleased to announce that it is the recipient of six new works by artist Andy Warhol, a gift from the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts. These original Warhol screenprints will be on view in the lobby of the ASU Art Museum at Mill Avenue and 10th Street in Tempe this summer, beginning May 27, 2014.

The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts was established after Warhol’s death, in 1987, and in accordance with Warhol’s will, it has given prints to many institutions across the country to ensure “that the many facets of Warhol’s complex oeuvre are both widely accessible and properly cared for.” In 2008, the ASU Art Museum received 155 photographs by Andy Warhol from the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, part of the Andy Warhol Photographic Legacy Program, which donated over 28,500 photographs to educational institutions across the United States.

“That the Warhol Foundation recognizes the value of university and college art museums like ours is both a tremendous honor and a reflection on the Foundation’s thoughtful work,” says ASU Art Museum Director Gordon Knox. “We are overjoyed to be the recipient of these prints and to share and explore Warhol’s work with our university audience and the Phoenix community.”

The gifted prints themselves are rare examples of works that Warhol did not necessarily intend to share with the public. “In the development of an image toward printing a uniform edition, Warhol would experiment with both color and compositional elements, creating many variations of prints outside the final, editioned image,” says Jean Makin, ASU Art Museum print collection manager and curator. “These ‘outside edition’ prints were often not signed. Warhol gave some away to friends or clients, but he kept most of them.”

“This addition to the ASU Art Museum’s print holdings only further strengthens the museum’s ability to be a valuable resource to students, professors and scholars,” Makin continues. “Viewing unique works like these screenprints is an educational experience that brings a physical reality to study and research.”

The Warhol prints join the ASU Art Museum’s collection of more than 5,000 prints. The collection is held in the museum’s Jules Heller Print Study Room, which provides a secure environment for care and storage while also being an accessible resource for research and viewing by students, scholars and general visitors. More than 600 students visit the Jules Heller Print Study Room each year to closely examine and study selections from the collection.

ABOUT THE ASU ART MUSEUM

The ASU Art Museum, named “the single most impressive venue for contemporary art in Arizona” by Art in America magazine, is part of the Herberger Institute for Design and the Arts at Arizona State University. The museum serves a vast cross-section of the Phoenix-metro area through three locations: the ASU Art Museum and ASU Art Museum Brickyard in Tempe, and the ASU Art Museum International Artist Residency Program in downtown Phoenix.

Museum admission at any location is always free.

Summer Hours: The ASU Art Museum and ASU Art Museum Brickyard are open 11 a.m. – 5 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. The museum is closed on Sundays, Mondays and holidays.

To learn more about the museum, call 480.965.2787 or visit asuartmuseum.asu.edu.

JEANNE (JUNO) SCHASER

Public Relations and Marketing Specialist

SR Pod/Vod Series: Poet Nick DePascal

Superstition Review

Nick DePascalEach Tuesday we feature audio or video of an SR Contributor reading their work. Today we’re proud to feature a podcast by Nick DePascal.

Nick DePascal lives in Albuquerque, NM with his wife, son, three dogs, and three chickens, and teaches at the University of New Mexico.  His first book, Before You Become Improbable, will be published by West End Press in summer 2014. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Narrative, The Laurel Review, RHINO, The Los Angeles Review, Emerson Review, Aesthetix, and more.

You can listen to the podcast on our iTunes Channel.

You can read along with the work in Superstition Review.

Community Poetry Night at Combs HS

Erin Regan

A group of S[R] interns and poets were invited back to Combs High School in April to be the featured readers at the school’s community poetry night.

I accompanied our readers as a supportive but silent audience member, and truly, pulling up to the school, we didn’t know what to expect. I’ve been to a few poetry slams and an equal number of solo, scheduled readings in bookstores, but I’d never attended an event like this at my own, or any other, high school. As we approached the gymnasium doors, before we even had time to introduce ourselves, a student was greeting us, pulling us into the building and thanking us for being their special guests.

The room was decorated with shawls and paper flower in a bohemian style; some students wore shawls around their waists or macrame vests in keeping with the decor. Students and guests could grab a plate of fruit, chocolate and cheese and crackers or visit the tarot reading “tent” staged in the corner before finding a seat. We found a table set with a vase and a flower hand cut from newsprint. Every detail was lovingly done by the students in Ms. Burnquist’s senior creative writing class. Along the walls and windows were printed photos of each of these students’ faces, and right above where we were sitting, sipping our lemonade, was a photo of the S[R] group during our last visit to Combs.

The evening began with an open mic portion during which Combs students not in the creative writing class read their poems or performed music. Some were quiet and hurried, but they were followed with the loud encouragements of their classmates. Ms. Burnquist emceed the rest of the evening and took the stage to read one of her own poems, “Reflections of a Teacher.”

Eleven of her students followed her. They read work about heartbreak and aging and moving on. One student read a poem for her classmate, who couldn’t face the crowd, and each poet stepped off the stage to great applause and the occasionally shouted inside joke. Our readers – former poetry editor Abner Porzio and current poetry editors Skyler LaLone and Elizabeth Hansen – concluded the event, representing the world of poetry that exists beyond high school.

It seemed the evening was the students’ own sort of graduation from the creative writing program at Combs, a celebration of all they’ve discovered about themselves and about poetry in the last three years. As Ms. Burnquist said in her opening poem, “This classroom isn’t a step before you begin, you’ve already begun.” We’re so grateful to have been a part of this event and the past two years.

Guest Post, Joannie Stangeland: But Is It Poetry?

Joannie Stangeland

I was driving to the grocery store, radio turned to NPR mid-segment, someone reading–was it a poem, or was it a story? The imagery was arresting. The storyline carried me all the way to the QFC parking lot, but I wasn’t sure until I heard the name of the author. Question answered by association.

But I want a poem to sound like a poem.

This could have been a conversation about the difference between the poem on the page and the poem out loud. Or a conversation about line breaks. (We can talk about line breaks all day, right?)

But it felt bigger. It brought me back to this question: What’s the difference between poetry and prose?

On a page you can see line breaks and see that it’s a poem. But does it feel like a poem?

A rhyme scheme can get your attention quickly–but I believe that poetry is vast and end rhymes are only one of many possibilities.

Poetry thrives on imagery. We can even say that imagery is the foundation of poetry–metaphors and extended metaphors, juxtapositions that open worlds of new meaning. But prose can be image-rich, and poetry can sound like prose when you aren’t looking at it on the page.

Last September, in the space of 10 days, I heard both Jorie Graham and Dorianne Laux talk about the relation of music to their work. Instead of trying to paraphrase from my notes, I went online and found these links for you.

In a Smartish Pace Poets Q & A interview, Jorie Graham says her writing “comes much more directly out of life experience, the nature of language, and musical threads one follows as one tries to come to terms with intuitions generated by an encounter with the given world, with the sensation.”

In “Between The Words I Couldn’t Understand and The First Music I Can’t Remember,” Dorianne Laux says, “I think what happened is that I finally found my way as a poem writer in the way one does as a songwriter.  I invented my own music for the language based on what I had heard working in the songs I loved, as well as in the air around me…”

And then I found myself in the car listening to radio and wondering about poetry. And I thought, “Yes.”

If, as Gregory Orr has noted, a poem can emphasize story, form, imagination, or music, I’m putting a stake in the ground: Ultimately, it’s the music.

music-thinkingAny kind of music, all kinds of music–think of Mozart, John Cage, John Prine, Joni Mitchell (the way she stretches out lines, changing the rhythm), Hip Hop, Ska, Mbira music, drumming!

But there’s got to be some overriding, driving rhythm, the rhythm and the sounds and the spaces between the sounds, the spaces at the ends of lines and stanzas (the rests) that allow those sounds to echo silently. It’s the rhythm  and the sounds that propel you to the end of the line, leave you briefly in the pause, and lead you to the next line. Whether it’s lyrical or narrative, a poem uses music the same way a song does, but without melody or instruments.

Poems use different types of music, different rhythms. Sometimes a poem moves from one rhythm to another to shift the mood–shorter lines for a somber image, an elegy or a meditation; longer lines for a heady rush to leave the reader breathless. I know it always seems like shorter lines are faster–you get to the page that much more quickly.

But try reading short and long lines out loud. For example,

I was not born for storms, blown off course
to watch weather rage like demons without names.

and

I was not born
for storms, blown
off course to watch
weather rage
like demons
without names.

Do the line breaks slow your voice, force pauses, even if they’re tiny pauses?

(When I read from my most recent book, I struggle with the short lines, those with only two or one word, one beat. I want to go faster!)

The sound, the pause or momentum adds to the experience of your poem. The music and the subject are having a conversation.

Those line breaks must work hard in other ways, must resonate–in the ear (with assonance, alliteration, rhythm/meter, rhyming or internal rhyming, the pause after the break, and even repetition), and in meaning (how the words play off each other or their origins).

What about prose? Prose can be gorgeously musical, but the narrative remains the boss. In poetry, the music trumps the story. How it sounds is that important.

This argument appears to fall apart when we look at prose poems (which I love). Now we no longer have the line break to add that tension. It’s all momentum. But the music still applies, still trumps any narrative.

This argument disintegrates when we get to automatic writing and chance operations. Poetry has room for everything, but I’ll suggest those are the exceptions that prove the rule–and I’ll keep listening to hear the poem’s music.

SR Pod/Vod Series: Writer John Michael Flynn

Superstition Review

John FlynnEach Tuesday we feature audio or video of an SR Contributor reading their work. Today we’re proud to feature a podcast by John Michael Flynn.

John Michael Flynn also writes as Basil Rosa. His second short story collection, Dreaming Rodin, was published in November, 2013 by Publerati. Two new poetry chapbooks were published in December, 2013: Additions To Our Essential Confusion from Kattywompus Press, and States And Items from Leaf Garden Press.

You can listen to the podcast on our iTunes Channel.

You can read along with the work in Superstition Review.

Drunken Boat Accepting Submissions for Inaugural Book Contest in Poetry

Superstition Review

Drunken BoatDrunken Boat will accept submissions until June 25, 2014 for its inaugural book contest in poetry, including hybrid, multi-authored, and translated manuscripts. Forrest Gander will select the contest winner. The winning poet will receive publication, $500, 20 author copies, a debut reading at AWP and ads in both print and online sources. Drunken Boat books are distributed by SPD.

Excerpts from finalist manuscripts will be published in a special Drunken Boat folio issue. The contest is open to all writers, including those who have already published books of poems, but the manuscript as a whole must be previously unpublished. The journal respectfully requests that colleagues, current students, recent students, and close friends of Forrest Gander refrain from submitting, as these manuscripts are ineligible. Also, current Drunken Boat staff members and interns may not submit to the contest.

The reading fee is $25; for an additional $3 to cover shipping costs, contest entrants can opt to receive a copy of the winning book or any Drunken Boat book. The contest winner will be announced via email newsletter and website in September 2014. The winning book will be published in April 2015.

Manuscripts between 30 and 120 pages should be submitted, along with a table of contents and cover page with the manuscript title only. If applicable, include an acknowledgements page of previous publications. Don’t include any identifying information in your submission.

Simultaneous submissions are acceptable, but please let Drunken Boat know if a submitted manuscript is accepted elsewhere. Poets who are unable to pay the reading fee can contact Drunken Boat at editor@drunkenboat.com to inquire about options.

Drunken Boat endorses and abides by the Code of Ethics developed by the Council of Literary Magazines and Press (CLMP). Drunken Boat is fully committed to fairness, believes that contest procedures should be transparent. If you have questions about our policies or practices, please do not hesitate to inquire by email.

To submit: https://drunkenboat.submittable.com/submit

 

 

Guest Post, Mary Shindell: Inflection Point

Mary Shindell

Inflection Point

There is always the inflection point in a drawing–the point at which it takes on its own presence and becomes more than its content. There is also the point where others view it and it becomes their image. I know that if I create art, these points will occur, and I can work to control part of the process leading up to these points.  Ultimately, however, not all of it is mine to control.

Today in my studio, I am establishing another inflection point–a point at which everything changes and the art acts in a new way. I want to isolate this point in an attempt to describe it visually. At this point, the conventional tools and techniques of drawing will meet the new digital tools of drawing. They will meet in the scan of an intricately hand-drawn image that was created specifically for this point. Then, they will part ways like the lines flanking an inflection point on a mathematician’s graph. From this point on, the scan will only exist in the computer because it will become part of a digital drawing; the original paper drawing will be continued from this point by adding layers of ink and graphite–it will no longer exist as it did at the inflection point.

I want the intimacy and precious nature of drawing to meet the new order. At that meeting point, the scan of the drawing will become an enduring memory, a snapshot of the original curve ending and a new one beginning.

SR Pod/Vod Series: Poet Adam Tavel

Superstition Review

Adam TavelEach Tuesday we feature audio or video of an SR Contributor reading their work. Today we’re proud to feature a podcast by Adam Tavel.

Adam Tavel received the 2010 Robert Frost Award and is the author of The Fawn Abyss (Salmon, forthcoming) and the chapbook Red Flag Up (Kattywompus). His recent poems appear or will soon appear in The Massachusetts Review, Quarterly West, Passages North, Southern Indiana Review, Cream City Review, Salamander, and Crab Orchard Review, among others. He is an associate professor of English at Wor-Wic Community College on Maryland’s Eastern Shore.

You can listen to the podcast on our iTunes Channel.

You can read along with the work in Superstition Review.

Guest Post, Jeff Falk: June 4, 1972

Jeff Falk

Cesar ChavezOne early evening, the first Friday of March this year, I was driving down Central Avenue, just south of Indian School Road. On the east side of the road, I noticed a large ochre-colored billboard looming over Macayo’s Mexican Restaurant. The billboard advertised the upcoming release of a film about Cesar Chavez. Chavez was the United Farm Workers’ union leader. In my estimation, he was also a very spiritually driven man. I have not seen the movie, but I understand that the arc of the film begins in California and ends in Phoenix in June, 1972 at a rally where Chavez broke a twenty-four day hunger strike.

As I drove by, I wondered if the billboard placement was coincidence or synchronicity. Across the street from the Chavez billboard, stands three mini-skyscrapers once known as the Del Webb Towers. They were a prominent business hub in Phoenix in the 1970s. Cesar Chavez broke his hunger strike in a rented convention-style room in one of those skyscrapers, now known as the 3800 building, for its address. I hear the film ends with the end of the hunger strike. I remember it. I was there. I witnessed the good history.

In June of 1972, I was just another long-haired hippie kid trying to find his path in the world. I had a weakness for protest marches. I marched against the war in Vietnam, Richard Nixon, and Exxon Oil. Phoenix was a hotbed of political protests in those days, surprising to many, considering it was not Columbia University or Watts or Chicago. The United Farm Workers were also on the march at that time. I knew about their cause and had marched with them. The UFW represented migrant farm workers throughout the West. They asked for fair pay and bans on certain pesticides, among other basic rights. The UFW worked hard to get a foothold in Arizona. Mr. Chavez began a hunger strike to bring attention to the plight of the workers. Not everyone agreed with Cesar Chavez or the UFW. Then-Governor Jack Williams, known to some as “One-Eyed Jack,” sided with the big growers in Arizona. He labeled the UFW as troublemakers and Cesar Chavez their kingpin. Williams vehemently denounced the UFW and Chavez in the press. Nowadays, Cesar Chavez has respect. Parks, roadways and buildings are named after him. In 1972, he was considered an outlaw.

I heard about the UFW rally and made plans to attend. I drove to the Towers, parked and headed to the tower. That June day was warm and sunny. People were crowding into the building. Inside were a sea of Latinos. Some were UFW members. The rest were their friends, families and supporters. I saw a few Anglos like myself. A clipboard carrying a petition labeled, “Recall Jack Williams” was shoved into my hands. I worked the crowd, gathering signatures. I made my way back to the lobby where I heard an old latina woman call out to someone. I looked in the direction she shouted and saw a young, attractive, dark-haired woman walk toward us.

The woman looked travel-weary and oddly familiar. She bent to embrace the old woman who had called out to her. A tall, tanned young man with flowing golden locks followed behind. He looked familiar, too. Suddenly, I realized who the young woman was. It was Joan Baez of Woodstock fame. I had listened to the Woodstock album and had heard her sing the union anthem “I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last Night” againa and again. I swear, I nearly fainted. Before me stood one of the strongest voices of the American anti-war movement, a beautiful woman with the voice of a songbird. To say that she was one of my idols then, as she is now, is an understatement. I soon learned that the young man with her was Joseph P. Kennedy II, eldest son of assassinated presidential candidate, Robert Kennedy and nephew of President John F. Kennedy. Joseph had been on a white water rafting trip up north with his family. He left the trip early to come to Phoenix to be at the rally.

The word spread that Cesar Chavez was soon to arrive. He would end his fast with the body and blood of Christ. Communion. Everyone moved into the big room where the ceremony would take place. There were several hundred people in the audience already and more filed in. Large red and black UFW banners, with the big black Aztec eagle image, hung around the hall. I was thrilled to be in the room and still cherish the memory of being there. I seem to recall prayers being said. Joan Baez was introduced to the crowd and she made her way to the front of the room, guitar in hand. She spoke of her support for Chavez and the farmworkers, then began to sing. Everyone began to sing along with “We Shall Overcome.” The audience joined hands and swayed back and forth as we sang. It was all very moving. I felt as if I were part of something important, a thing so much larger and more passionate than anything I had experienced before.

A small crowd of people entered the room from the left and proceeded to the front of the room now crowded with people standing. Cesar Chavez had arrived. Weakened by his fast, he rode in a wheelchair pushed by friends and family. The communion ritual began. I don’t recall if he spoke or not but his presence in the room spoke loud enough.

When the rally ended, I left feeling elated, yet somewhat sad too. I hoped that something would come of that beautiful event. But the 70s were a time of upheaval in this country. Public protests and incidents of civil disobedience happened many times on both coasts and several points in between. Concerned citizens voiced their disillusionment with our government. The UFW did not win it’s fight that June. But they went on to provide a voice for the farm workers and to remind Americans that anyone could stand up and be heard through peaceful protest. Of course results are not always immediate. Changing the minds of people takes time.

Yet most historians agree the Vietnam war ended years sooner than it would have due to the protests. So many people spoke out against it. The first Earth Day happened on April 22, 1970. Ideas from that time have become a part of national practices, from recycling to hybrid automobiles to the Green Movement. The legacy of Cesar Chavez and what he and the UFW attempted lives on in these movements.