The poetry column this month kicks off with another poet laureate: Edmund Skellings of Florida.
Edmund has been very innovative as a poet. For example, he has created multi-media presentations of his poetry since the early ’60s. Skellings was gracious enough to provide us with an audio recording of himself reading one of the poems published here. His reading style and voice are remarkably engaging, demonstrating that Mr. Skellings has clearly given much thought through the years to the way poems sound and the way audiences can be captured, both by words’ rhythms and meanings.
This month, once again, I have the pleasure of introducing a new Associate Editor: Monica Mankin. Monica brings us an interview with Mary Crow, recently retired as Colorado’s Poet Laureate. Monica has a deep love and respect for poetry and I’m thrilled to have her on board. But rather than talk about her, I’ll let her introduce herself:
Admittedly I needed the invitation to the party here at Connotation Press. I’ve been spending too much time in the freshman comp classroom, trying to breathe life into the dying prose of America’s youth–a depressing affair that we
eternally acknowledge yet never change. And I had become, and perhaps still am a little, disenchanted with the contemporary poetry scene, for it appears that poetry has become a genre that’s seemingly written by many yet undoubtedly read by few. With poetry’s long and global history, how can it be any good today if written by poets who do not (for whatever reason) acquaint themselves with that history; with poetry’s many forms, and its formlessness; with its music, images, and intelligence; with its political power? And, if so few people now read poetry, for whom are the many writing? What does any of it matter given the way our world slouches toward illiteracy and isolation?
eternally acknowledge yet never change. And I had become, and perhaps still am a little, disenchanted with the contemporary poetry scene, for it appears that poetry has become a genre that’s seemingly written by many yet undoubtedly read by few. With poetry’s long and global history, how can it be any good today if written by poets who do not (for whatever reason) acquaint themselves with that history; with poetry’s many forms, and its formlessness; with its music, images, and intelligence; with its political power? And, if so few people now read poetry, for whom are the many writing? What does any of it matter given the way our world slouches toward illiteracy and isolation? You see? I needed the invitation to the party, an excuse to light a cigarette, pour a drink, and say no (at least for now) to grading three stacks of freshman essays and yes to publishing poets who remind me that both poetry and the dialogue about poetry matter precisely because our world slouches toward illiteracy and isolation, and simultaneously that poetry is born of play and made of music; poetry is the life of the party even if only for those of us who show up. So Reader, light a cigarette if you’d like, pour a drink, and enjoy.
Colorado’s Poet Laureate Mary Crow, Ret., currently in Italy developing a new writing project, graciously provides an interview in which she explains the small yet potent role that poetry plays in Colorado’s classrooms, and she reminds us that poets are not “gurus” but merely people trying to define their experiences in this time and place, in this language. In Mary’s three poems, we traverse her perspective, sweeping through terrains that range from “the back deck / with the barbecue and plastic chairs,” to the “icy creek misted at daybreak” to “the dreams of Mongol warriors,” a perspective that seems always to be constructing itself.
Driven by narrative, Glen Freeman’s three poems incite a “fiery ache and choir” that propel us through stories of a “shy Texas girl” called Pearl, of Billy Graham and Jimi Hendrix, and of a speaker who grew up on Neil Young’s “Vampire Blues.”
Wendy Videlock’s two spare yet spry poems remind us that poetry can begin as play and end with wit, spit, and purpose. These poems, brief though they are, invite us to remember their lyrical sway.
Associate Editor Nicelle Davis brings us two interviews this month with poets Carina Finn and Andrew Pasiuk. About these writers, Nicelle writes:
The lines in these poems, in their structure and design, seem to be morphing into different modes of communication. They push against people’s general notions of a poem to include aspects of fiction, historical writing, and even visual art. Reading these poems feels like watching a cocoon rock and bend with the coming of flight. These poets make readers question what makes a poem a poem, and I like that. No. I love that. I love them for their inventiveness and bravery.Carina Finn’s poems, with their imaginative line breaks, could be mistaken for abstract paintings, if it weren’t for the poems’ ability to convey lyrical narratives.
Andrew Pasiuk writes poems that could be mistaken for historical logs, if it weren’t for his perspective and context when retelling the “discovery” of America. I was taken in by the breadth and scope of these poems’ constructions, and I know they will do the same for you.
Thank you for reading,
Nicelle Davis
These poets push the envelope in many directions, and this is evident in both their poems and their interviews. I hope you’re as fascinated and enchanted as I am.