Isak

Viva Poetry, Via Pollitt

Hilarious headline alert: "Poetry: Not Dead Yet, Argues Katha Pollitt."

Indeed.

While I feel myself beyond the pseudo "death" epiphanies that the media likes to trot out every now and again (i.e. is-poetry-dead, is-feminism-dead, do-MFA-programs-cause-fiction-to-die, etc.), Pollitt's piece shouldn't be dismissed for a headline she didn't write. In fact, Pollitt brings a different voice to the poetry conversation. She's an essayist, a poet, and a columnist at The Nation; Pollitt's most recent book of poems is The Mind-Body Problem. With feet in different worlds--I suspect her audience in one genre isn't familiar with her work in other genres--Pollitt's vantage is interesting.

Consider:

The paradox of poetry is that so many more people write it than read it. In this, it’s a little different than the other arts: people who play instruments listen to music all the time. Would-be painters spend lots of time in museums and galleries. I’m not sure why this disconnect exists: perhaps it’s a chicken and egg thing, where the less attention is paid to poetry — in magazines, reviews, even bookstores — the less people are aware of what’s going on in the art, which causes the media to neglect poetry even more, because who wants to read about this obscure thing nobody seems to care about? Or perhaps it’s due to the way poetry is taught in high school, as a kind of maddeningly complicated way of saying something simple, like seize the day, or my girlfriend says she loves me, so why won’t she sleep with me?

Pollitt believes the way to make the life of poetry more visible is quite simple: reading it. Buying it. Checking it out at the library. That is, mirroring our habit of indulging in a verse or two (if we are casual poets--my hand's up on that one) by indulging in the verse of others ... perhaps including five of Pollitt's favorite poetry collections.

Critically Speaking ...

In all the hoohah over Alice Hoffman/Twitter debacle, another case of poor sportsmanship (bookmanship? literaryship?) over the weekend got lost in the snark.

British essayist Alain de Botton received a severe review from Caleb Crain in The New York Times. Among other things, de Botton's book, The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work, is described with phrases like "superficial judgment," "mean-spiritedness," and " an abdication of journalistic responsibility."

Like Hoffman, de Botton made the poor choice of responding while suffering a hot mess of emotion over the too-readily-available internet. According to Christopher Orr at The New Republic, de Botton posted his backlash on Crain's blog and pointed back to it on the usual social networking platforms.

From de Botton's response to Crain:

I genuinely hope that you will find yourself on the receiving end of such a daft review some time very soon - so that you can grow up and start to take some responsibility for your work as a reviewer..... I will hate you till the day I die and wish you nothing but ill will in every career move you make. I will be watching with interest and schadenfreude.....

Ho Ho! Interest and schadenfreude, eh?

It's curious that de Botton claims that receiving a "daft review" causes one to mature and take responsibility for their words, when, if in fact Crain's review was daft, de Botton's resulting maturity leaves him to spit schoolyard lines like, "I will hate you til the day I die." Dressed up, of course, with schadenfreude.

I tell you, this literary world: it's not for the faint of heart.

Hat tip to Chris M. for the link.

Behind the Curtain

Just as I find myself slipping back into my recurring mood to voraciously read plays (All My Sons has that effect), I find Patricia Cohen's article on how the contemporary playwright's experience is, um, played out.

The catalyst is Emily Glassberg Sands' yearlong research into bias in the playwriting world.

Ms. Sands sent identical scripts to artistic directors and literary managers around the country. The only difference was that half named a man as the writer (for example, Michael Walker), while half named a woman (i.e., Mary Walker). It turned out that Mary’s scripts received significantly worse ratings in terms of quality, economic prospects and audience response than Michael’s. The biggest surprise? “These results are driven exclusively by the responses of female artistic directors and literary managers,” Ms. Sands said. Amid the gasps from the audience, an incredulous voice called out, “Say that again?”

The other angles Sands takes in this study are fascinating. She shows that male playwrights are turning out many more scripts than their female counterparts, giving credence to the position of directors who defend the uneven breakdown of the shows they produce. At the same time, Sands asks if "scripts by women have to be better than those by men" in order to be produced on Broadway, just as baseball players with dark skin once had to deliver higher batting averages than white players as a baseline in order to make it to the major leagues. Sands also investigates the likelihood of plays with female protagonists to be produced, regardless of the gender of the writer behind them.

Cohen breaks down the uneasy results, a must-read for theater lovers, while Sands' PowerPoint on "Opening the Curtain on Playwright Gender" is fully available via Off-Stage Right.

Meanwhile, I'm missing Wendy Wasserstein more than ever.

Via The Literary Saloon.

Canceled

In a circle of boys and girls Billy Capri asks, “What do you call a Czechoslovakian abortion?” After a well-timed pause he smiles and says, “A canceled Czech.” A few seconds pass, and the laughter catches. Samuel stands next to Adie, the new girl from Wisconsin, and falls in love ...

If you haven't caught it already, check out (Czech out?) Jessica Treglia's "Canceled," chosen to be the winner of The Boston Review's fiction contest by Aleksander Hemon.

Michael Jackson: Beyond the Glibness

Above: Thousands of people came to the Motown Historical Museum's vigil for Jackson last night on Detroit's West Grand Boulevard. Organizers ran out of candles.

Beyond the sappy noise and opportunism, a lot of amazing people are queuing up the amazing insights in the wake of Michael Jackson's death. Here's a round-up of the best-of:

• Jay Smooth, from Isak favorite Ill Doctrine, joins Jesse Thorn and Oliver Wang to talk about Michael Jackson's music and life on "The Sound of Young America." It's a great listen--especially the bits on why Jackson's music caught fire in an era when dance music was on the wane during the complicated backlash against disco music and how public perception of the genius of performing (a la Jackson) compares to the genius of musical composition (a la Stevie Wonder.) Meanwhile, Jay Smooth's video about MJ is forthcoming. I'll be looking for it.
• Farai Chideya is insightful and, as usual, all-around awesome in her video reflection on Michael Jackson's complexity and creativity.
• Meanwhile, Tammy Johnson (you remember her from her video on Jackson's mark on a "Black or White" world that I posted earlier) expands on her points in an interview with BBC's "World Have Your Say."
• Joseph Shahadi, who is an adult survivor of childhood abuse, writes at Racialicious about his disgust that the pederast accusations against Jackson are being simplified after his death as mere "eccentricities"--a disgust that comes alongside Shahadi's past joys in Jackson's public persona.
• Five hours (!) of mixology of Jackson's music comes to us via Qool DJ Marv.
• And it is with that, Jackson's music (and those inspired to sing it at last night's Detroit vigil, as seen in the video below), that we take our leave.

When W.S. Merwin Met Bill Moyers

On Ezra Pound's writing advice, on Maui, on stars, on silence in New York, on how John F. Kennedy intersects with Romeo & Juliet, and much more, the conversation between Pulitzer Prize-winning poet W.S. Merwin and Bill Moyers on this week's PBS Journal has wings. The passion for poetry is palpable. Frankly, it leaves me to wonder if Moyers has scrawled a few quiet verses in his time, so much does he light up in this conversation, and in his interviews with other poets and poetry-lovers.

The monumental mattering of poetry is a given, and the two bright minds and imaginations flare off from there.

See the interview or read the transcript over at the Journal's website. 

Michael Jackson: On Art & His Purpose

From Michael Jackson's 1993 interview with Oprah Winfrey, his first television interview in 14 years.

Oprah: ... I believe everybody comes to the world for a reason. I think, um, most of us spend our lives trying to figure out what the purpose of our being here is. What do you think yours is?

Michael: My purpose?

Oprah: Uh-huh.

Michael: Oh boy. I think um, to give in the best way I can through song and through dance and through music. I mean, I am committed to my art. I believe that all art has as it's ultimate goal the union between the material and the spiritual, the human and the divine. I believe that to be the reason for the very existence of art.

Oprah: Uh-huh.

Michael: And um, I feel I was chosen as an instrument to just give music and love and harmony to the world.

The Stories of Chinese-America

My new article, an interview with author Lisa See, is published today at The Women's International Perspective.

Currently on tour for her new  novel, Shanghai Girls, See spoke with me about her life, her writing, and her hunger for Chinese-American stories in all their forms.

Michael Jackson: On the Uneasiness

Above: Michael Jackson fans gather in front of Detroit's Motown Historical Museum to celebrate the artist's legacy. Credit: The Los Angeles Times.

Prompted by a friend's comments in response to my post, "Michael Jackson: We Want You Back," I want to respond to the troubling pieces of Jackson's story.

First, the pedophelia charges. I'm thoroughly confused by it. On one hand, I see how such deplorable acts are downright likely. On the other, I'm so far from actually knowing any details of any of the cases that to presume his guilt from my distant vantage is irresponsible. I get that the criminal justice system favors the rich, and so Jackson's acquittal on all charges in 2005 isn't satisfying to many. And yet: innocent-until-proven guilty is a standard to treasure. It's possible, after all, his relationship with the children was entirely sexless--as Roger Ebert puts it in his great eulogy for Jackson, the man seemed stuck in a pre-pubescent point of life. I don't know. I just don't know. And so, I'll default by not presuming his guilt.

Though, my lingering discomfort is complicated by my awe before Jackson's  brilliance, his gifts from another world. This sort of ambiguity isn't new: one might be awed before the legacy of Thomas Jefferson even as one knows that he was a slaveowner and probably a rapist.

Such human complexity bewilders us. We know it's there--we're all living examples of it, for god's sake--and yet we hide from it. You'd think I'd be more ready: I spent years working with the Prison Creative Arts Project, with writers and artists who had done horrifying things, and I came to count many as friends and to enjoy their creative talents. The difference with Jackson is that the drama plays out on a scale that's as outsize as his talent. But we must hold on to the principle: we and our complex human minds can hold two seemingly contradictory ideas at once, the Jackson who gave us great gifts of music and joy and love, and the Jackson who at the very least didn't keep healthy boundaries between himself and children. Human beings are many things at once; let's not pretend we are only one thing or another.

Another troubling piece of Jackson's story: his seemingly fanatical surgeries that can't help but evoke self-hate. I like the response of Tammy Johnson in "Michael Jackson's Mark on a Black-or-White World."

In the end, as someone who believes that music has a power that transcends it beyond mere hobby, when I think of Jackson, I feel grateful. All the Detroit radio stations have been playing all Jackson, all the time, since the news of his death, reminding me of the quality of even lesser-known songs, to say nothing of his mammoth hits.

Folks in front of the Motown Historical Museum in Detroit last night, hundreds of them, sang together to "Man in the Mirror;" hundreds of others in Chicago's Grant Park rocked out to "Billie Jean;" in Harlem, they grooved to "Rock With You" and "I'll Be There." Someone shared one last dance for Michael with a small crowd.

All over the globe, strangers were inspired to sing and dance together in the streets, loudly and with joy, and there is almost nothing that would catalyze us well-mannered people to do such a thing.

Nothing except Michael Jackson.

And for this, I'm grateful to him.

UPDATE: Hunter at the Daily Kos has an interesting article on the uneasiness about MJ: "A Dismembered Soul."  It leaves one to remember the meaning of the word "tragic," a word far overused. A "tragedy" isn't when bad things happen to good people: it's when a great person carries the thread of his undoing within himself, within the traits that make him great.

Thanks to Mike B. for the link.

Michael Jackson: We Want You Back

In the immediate wake of the news of Michael Jackson's sudden cardiac arrest, coma and ultimate death (a process that damn near exploded Twitter), I have few worthy words. He was undoubtedly one of the greatest talents of our time, creative or otherwise. That a young boy from Gary, Indiana, would make his way to Detroit and Motown is our profound fortune, not his. Jackson inspired intense love from people all over the world, a kind of love that is difficult for me to so much as attempt to articulate. For my part, I remember being nine-years-old and weeping at the video of "Man in the Mirror," so moved I was. (UPDATE: Thanks Mark B. for finding the link to the full video; makes me a bit emotional still.) Jackson's troubling family story, and distressing, often maddening later years offer no easy answers to the many billions of us who, despite ourselves, really care.

Which is not to imply that we didn't feed off his pain and his problems like scavengers, dignity be damned. We should be ashamed of ourselves. There are those out there who are spitting more than a few sick jokes even now. I am repulsed.

I hope he was happy, at least for a time or two.

Jackson, in his 50th year, was launching a serious of 50 concerts in London, scheduled to start in just a couple weeks. The concerts all sold out in nanoseconds. It is a testament to his immense genius that we are, still, loyal.

With that, let us turn our attention once more to a selection of the greatest moments of Jackson's artistic life, and in the lives of any music-lover.

My god, that voice, that music, those moves, that style ... Michael Jackson, we hardly knew ye.

Jackson performs "Billie Jean," a song from his new album, at the Motown 25th anniversary concert in 1983. Here, he debuted the moonwalk. UPDATE: In Jackson's 1993 interview with Oprah (his first television interview in 14 years), the artist said that after this performance, he cried backstage because he felt like he hadn't done good enough. He didn't feel better about the show until a kid complimented him in the parking lot; he trusted that the kid had no reason to lie.

The Jackson 5 performs "I Want You Back," a 1969 number-one single from the group's debut album (which in turn was titled Diana Ross Presents the Jackson 5). Michael was ten-years-old.

Jackson performs "Smooth Criminal," a single off the 1987 Bad album, at a concert in Gothenburg, Sweden, in 1997. "Smooth Criminal" was part of Jackson's film, Moonwalker--which in turn inspired this little gem.

At the 1988 Grammy awards, Jackson performed "Man in the Mirror" with a gospel choir. "Man in the Mirror" was a number-one hit that spring and was nominated for Record of the Year at the awards ceremony.

And of course ... this little revolution in 13.41 minutes.

Image Credit: The New York Times

Last Books

This evening, I made my last visit to Shaman Drum Bookshop. It was a visit noteworthy for my strangely giddy browsing of the irregularly ordered shelves stocked with treasures that were available at prices that would leave you aghast, and also for a great reading I caught (the last regular reading at the bookshop, in fact).

I came away with a weighty backpack and sore shoulders. Here are the books I bought, in the order that I pulled them out of my bag and added them to my shelves (if by "shelves" you mean "milk crates"):

• Emma, by Jane Austen
• The Winter's Tale, by William Shakespeare
• The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, by James Weldon Johnson
• Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson
• What is Found There: Notebooks on Poetry and Politics, by Adrienne Rich
• After the Fall, by Arthur Miller
• All My Sons, by Arthur Miller
• House Made of Dawn, by N. Scott Momaday
• Macbeth, by William Shakespeare
• The Lost Massey Lectures: Recovered Classics from Five Great Thinkers,  ed. by Bernie Lucht
• Howards End, by E.M. Forster

As well, I picked up a set of beautiful cards. And a handful of Shaman Drum bookmarks. Because as you can see, I'll be busy.