W. S. Merwin’s Poems Keep Me Awake

April 30, 2012, by

The first time I encountered W.S. Merwin’s book The Lice, I read it straight through. I woke up from the book sometime after midnight, noticing the apparently sudden darkness of my apartment. The odd click and purr of the appliances, the barely-detectable hum of electricity through wires, and the shadow-steeped, animalistic shapes of the furniture seemed steeped in cosmic mystery, beautiful not because of its visibility but because of its implied depth. My apartment had become like a deep underground river, maybe part of a great web.

Since then, I’ve fallen in love with many of his poems and especially his book The Rain in the Trees. Rain is something that came up several times during his talk in the Inprint Margarett Root Brown Reading Series, and I remember in particular a remark that we can’t hear the rain falling, only its landing – its end. This resonates with many of the themes in his work, which draw upon Eastern religious concepts about the diffusing of the ego and the interconnectedness of all life. What we hear when the rain falls, then, is the dissolution of an individual identity, its merging into streams and waterways and the sea and clouds and us, and, someday, more rain.

Merwin’s vision of our interconnectedness with the natural world isn’t novel, but, as he shared poems about animals, environmental catastrophes, and the human folly of self-importance, I realized his life’s work spans a critical juncture in our history. His writing coincides with the decades in which the Western world has become aware of its interconnection with nature.

Listening to Merwin’s touching, deceptively simple poems was very different than reading them. The words in The Lice that had kept me up all night were haunting and spare, the slippery, unpunctuated lineation allowing them to bleed together from one thought to the next. That mysterious voice will always be part of my imagination. But so, too, will the open, frank tone that the poems took on when Merwin read them on the microphone.

Perhaps that was the most wonderful thing about finally getting to hear him. I was reminded that depth is not the same as obscurity; that depth is the distance between something’s bottom and its surface. That night, the same poems that had kept me awake with their depth stepped forward to shake our hands.

I’ll close with a short poem, one of many from The Lice that stunned me. Maybe it sounds a little like what we call rainfall – like something ending so that another can begin.

The Dream Again 

I take the road that bears leaves in the mountains

I grow hard to see then I vanish entirely

On the peaks it is summer

How to Become U. S. Poet Laureate

April 19, 2012, by

In anticipation of former Poet Laureate W. S. Merwin’s visit to Houston to close out the 2011-2012 Inprint Margarett Root Brown Reading Series next Monday, Inprint Executive Director Rich Levy chatted with Rob Casper, who serves as Head of the Poetry and Literature Center of the Library of Congress, about one of the nation’s most unique and mysterious “jobs” —the position of U. S. Poet Laureate.

Rich: Rob, how is the U.S. Poet Laureate selected?

Rob: There is a lot of mystery surrounding the Poet Laureate selection, but really it’s quite simple. For the past two years I helped the Librarian of Congress, James H. Billington, in the selection process for the Poet Laureate Consultant of Poetry (the official title). The Librarian has a Congressional mandate to select the Poet Laureate.

I didn’t work at the Library of Congress when William Merwin was selected; however, from what I can tell the process worked roughly the same as it did last year, when Dr. Billington selected Philip Levine. (The Poet Laureate serves a one-year term, although several have served additional consecutive terms.) First, I contacted 30 editors, scholars, critics, and nonprofit literary administrators, as well as 10 former Poets Laureate, for nominations. We received 60 nominations in total—half with more than one vote. Dr. Billington and I discussed each nominee in the latter category, and I made several packets with selections for him to review. We spent a number of months looking at batches of poets, and when Dr. Billington decided on a group of finalists he asked me to follow up with two former Poets Laureate, a prominent arts director, and a person of my own choosing for a final review. Right after I provided the results from that review, we had a short discussion and Dr. Billington made his selection.

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Tony Hoagland Powers Poetry

April 10, 2012, by

Two events stand out in my admittedly thin-broth of a writing life: my first piece ever to be accepted for publication (by the journal happy—anyone ever heard of it?) for which I still have the check, dated December 21, 1998, pinned to a bulletin board (it was for $5, so not a big sacrifice), and being accepted into a poetry workshop taught by Tony Hoagland.

Needless to say, if you are a lover of contemporary poetry, the second event was much more momentous. It was even tinged with aspects of intrigue.  I had been working for Inprint for about two years and had been writing poetry for only a few more, and mostly undercover, hiding it like some drug addiction that I did not want family and friends to discover, when I found out that Tony had come to Rich (the big fromage at Inprint) and offered to teach a poetry workshop for us. Even more surprising, and what nobody but the staff has ever known, he said that he did not want to be paid for it; he wanted to do it as a service to his new community. Continue reading

Five stars for The Starboard Sea

April 3, 2012, by

One of the great pleasures in life is to get totally lost in a book. And a couple of weeks ago, I picked up Amber Dermont’s debut novel The Starboard Sea and didn’t want to set it down. Not only is it a fast-paced story with rich characters and a central mystery, set among the privileged class at a New England boarding school, but it is also, in a way, an offspring of Houston’s rich literary community.

Amber spent five years in Houston working on her PhD in fiction at the UH Creative Writing Program, graduating in the spring of 2006, after receiving a C. Glenn Cambor Fellowship and Barthelme Memorial Prize in fiction from Inprint. She went on to teach at Rice for a year, as a Parks Fellow, a position offered to one graduate of the UH Program each year. During those years of writing, the beginnings of this book were developed. And it is a very good book by any standard, worthy of two reviews in The New York Times including the cover review of the Sunday Book Review. Continue reading