Showing posts with label robert lowell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label robert lowell. Show all posts

Friday, March 30, 2018

Union River - Poems and Sketches - Paul Marion (Bootstrap Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Union River - Poems and Sketches.  Paul Marion.  Bootstrap Press.  Lowell, Massachusetts.  2017.

Union River: Poems and Sketches

"The United States themselves are
essentially the greatest poem."
                                                                             - Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Today's book of poetry almost walked into a wall last night while trying to remember just how attached Jack Kerouac was to Lowell, Massachusetts.  Today's book of poetry heard through the poetry grapevine that Paul Marion was involved with a Kerouac book a few years ago.  Then I'm thinking Robert Lowell's For the Union Dead for some damned reason.  Kerouac was searching for an America that was yet to exist and Lowell was lamenting a generational slaughter and still embracing that "greatest poem" the United States.  For the Union Dead is, as G.S. Fraser said in The New York Times, "a song of praise."

All of that to lead us to Paul Marion's Union River which we will contend is another song of praise and a worthy inclusion in that great American songbook.  Paul Marion has sunk over forty years of poetry into Union River and there is some deep water.

Mississippi Delta Blues Ballets Russes

     Muddy Waters (McKinley Morganfield) and George Balanchine (Giorgi Balanchivadze) both died
      on April 30, 1983.

America's all over the map.
Pick your plague, grab your cure.
There's no front curtain, no wall in back.
Every ticket has its price,
Any fence is full of holes,
And it's an open field from Montana to Canada.
America's all over the map,
It's a human soup boiled from scratch in gypsy pots,
Crazed vessels, rare skillets, iron bowls that were stashed in bags,
Lugged by hands of every language over purple hills,
Along the glacier trail, through a plasma sky, straight from the steppes.
America's all over the map, its mix a staple crop..
Muddy Waters pirouettes on steam-guitar, spreads the blues on canvas.
He's a rolling stone in the bayou, a boatman on the Volga.
There's a French Quarter balalaika, there's a jazz master in Red Square,
There's George Balachine in a golden cowboy suit.

...

It is an American dream of sorts although we never see Grand Funk Railroad in here anywhere.  Marion rambles over the American psyche, landscape, and his vision of the vast impressionist painting of a country spread like a quilt under the 49th parallel.  Paul Marion's catch-all is over-flowing with love for the American dream in all of its variations.  Not a vulgar image of jingoistic hysteria but a genuine exploration and understanding of what really does make America great.

It's not like Union River is beyond noticing some of the enduring legacies of discord and the painful truths that accompany systemic racism, aboriginal neglect/genocide, the American war dead and the emotional cost of demanding the lives of the poor in payment to feed a nation's war-machine.  Marion is packing it all in there along with the bread and circuses.

The Blackfeet Indian Pencil

I've been told I'm part Indian, but don't believe it.
North American tribe. Canadian blood.
Snow country natives. First people to make love on the continent.
The Marion, Ohio, All-Indian NFL team of 1922
Fielded Arrowhead, Black Bear, Deerslayer, Wrinkle Meat,
Laughing Gas, Red Fang, Baptiste Thunder, Lone Wolf, and Deadeye.
Indians made this pencil I'm using.
Same business as Henry Thoreau before his trip up the Merrimack River.
Like Jefferson and Lincoln, Marion spreads across the states,
Praise for the Swamp Fox, General Francis Marion,
Who tied the British in revolutionary knots down Carolina way.
Southerners captured the North's Merrimack, renamed the ship Virginia,
Then armored it for a clash with the Union's ironclad.
Marion Drive crosses Sunset Boulevard.
When actress Ruth Marion died in Carmel last week,
The L.A. Times praised her as "a stroke of good luck to her friends."
Her screen-star father had romanced Greta Garbo.
Jazz Age-script whiz Frances Marion earned Academy Awards.
I had not heard of the Hollywood Marions.
Costa Mesa, California, has a Merrimac Street.
In Missouri, one river is called Meramac.
The word can mean "Strong Place" in Algonkian,
Language of tribes from Massachusetts to the Rockies:
Pawtucket, Pemigewasset, Ojibawa, Cree, Fox
Shawnee, Arapahoe, Wamesit, and Blackfoot.

...

Most importantly, to Today's book of poetry, is how Marion is doing all this hard work and still coming up with poems that read like apple pie, peach pie, cherry pie, American Pie.  Paul Marion's Union River is tackling Ken Burns documentary territory in an attempt to tell the American story with as much unfettered and unfiltered honesty as his lens will endure.  These are fine poems and damned good stories.

The morning read here at Today's book of poetry was held under some minor duress.  It's a holiday weekend here in Canada and even though each and every one of our considerate and considerable staff is a complete heathen they all claimed religious fevers of one sort or another and abandoned their posts with considerable haste yesterday afternoon.  Only Max, our Sr. Editor, remains in the office today - and he was drunk on communal wine and rum-balls when I first opened the door to his dark cavern around eight this morning.  He was mumbling about the double-space after a period and whether the name Stormy was going to ruin weather based nom de plumes for the considerable future.

Harry at the Lowell Conference

He kept telling us he dropped out of high school, but Harry spoke as well
as any old politician at a hotel banquet. He asked why the U.S.A. and
South Africa are the only modern countries without national health care.
He called Reagan "a turkey" and described a White House full of smoky
mirrors. Harry Callahan of the Industrial Workers said Nancy's idea of
cruel and unusual punishment is being dragged to Sears and forced to
pick a dress off the rack.
     Harry isn't sure Labor should be a political party, but won't rule
it out. "We're like rats," he said, "and when cornered, we'll fight -- fight
dirty if needed." Harry went to the Soviet Union. He said they have
hearts and put pants on the same way we do. "Why shouldn't I go to
learn something? The Pepsi and Caterpillar executives go twice a month."
He wonders why Americans don't know history. He said most people
want to be in unions, but aren't -- people can see that union workers
make more a week.
     Harry said, "The democracy has problems. There's no democracy
at work -- never has been. American businessmen want authoritarian
systems at work." He said he might be the first guy to put a bullet between
the eyes of a capitalist if the fight goes to the street. He tells that to
businessmen, he said, and they listen, confident that it will never happen.

...

Today's book of poetry was very impressed with the passionate voice of Paul Marion and the reasonable speech of his sound and hearty Union River.  This is mature poetry and flawless story-telling from a first rate poet.

Image result for paul marion photo

Paul Marion

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Paul Marion is the author of several collections of poetry, including Strong Place (1984) and What Is the City? (2006), and editor of Atop an Underwood: Early Stories and Other Writings by Jack Kerouac (Viking/Penguin, 1999), which has been published in translation in Italy (Mondadori) and France (DeNoel). His book Mill Power: The Origin and Impact of Lowell National Historical Park (Rowman & Littlefield, 2014) documents the making of a new kind of national park in Lowell, all told in the context of the city’s notable urban renaissance since 1970. A new collection of poems and sketches, Union River, is due in 2017 from Bootstrap Press. The book is a lyrical Americana address spanning 40 years of writing.

His poems and essays have appeared in Alaska Quarterly Review, Bohemian (Japan), Bostonia, The Café Review, Slate, Carolina Quarterly, The Christian Science Monitor, The Massachusetts Review, Public Art Review, Salamander, The Salmon Literary Quarterly (Ireland), Wisconsin Review, Yankee, and several anthologies, including For A Living: The Poetry of Work (University of Illinois Press), French Connections: A Gathering of Franco-American Poets (Louisiana Literature Press), Line Drives: 100 Contemporary Baseball Poems (Southern Illinois University Press), Québec Kérouac Blues (Canada), and Visiting Frost: Poems Inspired by the Life and Work of Robert Frost (University of Iowa Press).

bootstrappress.org
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DISCLAIMERS

Poems cited here are assumed to be under copyright by the poet and/or publisher.  They are shown here for publicity and review purposes.  For any other kind of re-use of these poems, please contact the listed publishers for permission.
We here at TBOP are technically deficient and rely on our bashful Milo to fix everything.  We received notice from Google that we were using "cookies"
and that for our readers in Europe there had to be notification of the use of those "cookies.  Please be aware that TBOP may employ the use of some "cookies" (whatever they are) and you should take that into consideration


Thursday, June 30, 2016

Wedding in Fire Country - Darren Bifford (Nightwood Editions)

Today's book of poetry:
Wedding in Fire Country.  Darren Bifford.  Nightwood Editions.  Gibsons, British Columbia.  2012.


In yet another example of just how buried in the sand my head can be Today's book of poetry is only now encountering Darren Bifford's 2012 publication Wedding in Fire Country.  Some things are really worth waiting for.

Milo and the research team insisted I read a couple of the reviews that appeared when Wedding in Fire Country was released but I'm not sure they read the same book I did.  Those reviewers should have been raving, Bifford is brilliant.

These poems have tender precision on the ends of a raptor's muscle ripping talons.  These poems demand respect.  Bifford can barely contain his many influences as Robert Kroetsch and Robert Lowell spill out of the back court, Czeslaw Milosz and Walt Whitman power it up and down the wings and then big old nasty William the Faulkner dances down the middle with his boozy wisdom.  Oh ya, they're all in here along with Creely and the Beats.  But Bifford never steals from his heroes, he gives them the respectful and polite nod and moves on from one breathless idea to the next.  

Possibilities of Prometheus

Did he really think he'd get away with it?
That no one was watching?

It could have been Prometheus was after
Something else all along -- not that fire --
But made a mistake -- wrong drawer! --

And fumbled for whatever
Would fit his hand.
The fire fell

Because he tripped, stumbled 
On a loose stone, and managed to strike
Humanity across their heads.

And like a dynamite wick
History's cord was lit.

...

Some of these poems hit you like sunshine does when you walk out of the darkness of an afternoon movie.  That CRACK of daylight/information hits like a smack.

Today's book of poetry hit a proverbial wall about a week ago where all poems started to look a little like the same disappointment but Darren Bifford has snapped us out of that.  Wedding in Fire Country is exactly the tonic we've needed.  In a world where there has been a dearth of heart recently we discover that the talented Mr. Bifford has a heart as big as we need and it is right out there at the end of his articulate sleeve.  It might be hunted by bears, wolves or cougars and haunted by fire, nightmare or impending disaster but this heart is in the game.

Today's book of poetry gets future hopeful when we encounter books this fine.  There is an army of excellent young poets hammering away in Canada and Bifford certainly stakes a claim with Wedding in Fire Country.  Bifford had us on the edges of our seats during this morning's read.  Our Jr. Editor, Kathryn, read the hell out of Bifford's long poem "Letters to Milosz" and confirmed what I'd thought from the start.  Kathryn is a pistol and Darren Bifford's Wedding in Fire Country is delightfully dazzling poetry of a velocity you don't often see.

Crowded Theatre

There was a time I thought
I was all alone
and free. I never imagined

growing older, weaker;
I imagined being famous and humble.

Now it is as if I'm sitting
in a crowded theatre, in a ratty red chair
too tiny for my legs, its armrests too narrow to share.

Even when I look behind me
people are pushed around the other way.

I've come this far, reached out and clung
to your damp hand.
And we hold each other here

though the building has begun to shake,
and the show is not the one we asked for.

...

Quiet foreboding. Bifford has that nailed.  Frankly, Today's book of poetry was a bit flustered (but not frustrated), by how familiar this new world was.  Bifford is able to dial into a deep folkloric pool and emerge with new understanding of old wisdom.

Today's book of poetry really would like you readers to think of this blog as a "taster's menu" because it simply isn't possible to get to the several main courses a good book offers.  Wedding in Fire Country is as good an example of this paradox as any we've encountered.  Main course here, main course there.  Taste this...

Nightmare

What is that knocking, mother?
It's the wind's knuckles rapping the window, my son.

What is that squeaking, mother?
That's the procession of the mice within the walls, my son.

What is that rotting in the basement, mother?
Those are harvest apples in a bucket, my son.

Who are the men crouching at the door, mother?
They are my friends, my son. And they're coming.

...

The best part of our mandate here at Today's book of poetry is finding gems and sharing them with you readers.   Wedding in Fire Country is the sort of book that can make you fall in love with poetry again, instantly.  These poems are smart like a challenge, clear and refreshing like a quenching tonic.

Today's book of poetry couldn't get enough.


Darren Bifford

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Darren Bifford is the author of Wedding in Fire Country (Nightwood Editions, 2012) and Hermit Crab, forthcoming from Baseline Press. He lives in Montreal.

BLURBS
Reading this collection, I feel communicated with, and indeed, carrying it around for several weeks to dip into during my spare moments, I came to feel companionate towards it, as though the poems’ frequent depictions of people enjoying each other’s company had bled into my consciousness, tingeing my worldview with its sociability. I suspect that Wedding in Fire Country will have a similar effect on anyone who spends some real time with it, and I heartily recommend doing so.
-Stewart Cole, The Urge: Reviewing New Canadian Poetry

“Nightmare” leaves you with a chill down your back with the last quote “they are my friends my son. And they are coming.” Bifford asks the question: is this the beginning of the nightmare or the end? These poems do not come together like one big story, but rather like stories told around a campfire; some happy, some scary, all intriguing.
-Thomas Stubbs, Salty Ink

Darren Bifford
Tree Reading Series, Ottawa
Video: Tree Reading Series

nightwoodeditions.com

485

DISCLAIMERS

Poems cited here are assumed to be under copyright by the poet and/or publisher.  They are shown here for publicity and review purposes.  For any other kind of re-use of these poems, please contact the listed publishers for permission.

We here at TBOP are technically deficient and rely on our bashful Milo to fix everything.  We received notice from Google that we were using "cookies"
and that for our readers in Europe there had to be notification of the use of those "cookies.  Please be aware that TBOP may employ the use of some "cookies" (whatever they are) and you should take that into consideration.