Pools of Humanity, Oceans of Self

National Poetry Month is so critically important. More than anything, I write poetry to get others to step back from themselves and their slavery to their calendars; to allow them to look at something I’ve experienced and use the text as a mirror for their own emotion; to remind them, if only subtly, that we are all interconnected by the lives we touch and the things we do, or see, or instinctively know, or want to know. The way the sunset hits the mountain could be a dimly registering echo of home. The ostracism and angst felt by a first-time poet’s narration could recall similar instances of alienation for the reader. Even if it’s just an evocation of emotion rather than an explicitly stated situation, we dive into pools of humanity when we read poetry; we swim in oceans of self.

Finding meaning in the most vague, interpretation-laden texts is a pursuit that is not only noble, it is so accurately a mirror of the human condition that to deny its impact is to deny what makes the universality of poetry so universal. We, as people, are called to read between the lines of our friends’ conversations; to guess at what people are saying in the workplace through the linguistic obstacle courses of doublespeak and professionalism; to take to heart and drink in deep the lessons imparted to us by our family. Poetry takes all of that and removes the hyper-individualization through its existence as writing—but keeps the intimacy of a personalized experience through the act of reading it.

Poetry reminds us elegantly, in the most balletic and delicate way possible, as to why we are alive.

by Luke Miller, intern

Evolution of Poetics

Through my years at TCU I’ve become attracted to multiple forms of poetry. I began in my freshman year, with a look into the work of Charles A. Silvestri within the gorgeous choral music of modern composer Eric Whitacre. Especially of note is the widely-considered magnum opus of both, “Sleep,” which is currently in the process of publication as a children’s book (the satin-esque, downy beauty of the opening lines, “The evening hangs beneath the moon/ A silver thread on darkened dune/ With closing eyes and resting head/ I know that sleep is coming soon,” read with the knowledge that it’s in complete syllabic and metric synchrony with Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening always moves me).

Moving further in my studies I was attracted to the ultra-modern and the avant-garde. One medium that spoke to me (no pun intended) more than anything was that mainstay of coffeehouses and beatniks everywhere, spoken-word poetry. Andrea Gibson’s optimistic Birthday, exultant Say Yes, and devastating Blue Blanket collided with Alysia Harris’s continuation of the idea behind Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 43, the masterful Death Poem. Courses I took with noted professors of poetry and literature at TCU kept me grasping at the modern and postmodern works of ee cummings (i thank you god for most this amazing day, anyone lived in a pretty how town), T.S. Eliot (The Waste Land, Preludes), and Tracy K. Smith (My God, It’s Full of Stars).

I actually want to pursue poetics as a personal academic mainstay in the near future. As a recently accepted Master’s candidate and a current enrollee in a beyond-fascinating Popular Culture course, I can think of nothing more satisfying as a future doctoral dissertation than going back to the beginning of my interest in poetry—song lyrics in rock music—and viewing them as analytic texts; seeing diction and rhyme’s continued power and tracking its impact on modern youth culture’s paradigms would be an incredibly satisfying (and compelling) thesis. Look at La Dispute’s lyrics to their vastly understated ode to adolescence, “Nine,” and tell me that’s not poetry. Tell me that won’t impact youth to live a little differently. Now tell me you wouldn’t read more about that.

Dr. David Colón, in his study of Latino/a-centric texts, avant-garde poetics, and modern literature, has produced a thrilling chronological anthology of Miguel González-Gerth’s work in Between Day and Night, complete with an enlightening introduction into Gerth’s life and times as a poet confronted with a talent in traditional rhyme scheme thrust into a world of increasing disregard for said rhymes. González-Gerth manages to take that world back, with simple-yet-powerful diction (as earlier in his Pregnant Girl with Dogs:  “Modestly carrying the secret of the universe/ She walks so casually, a triumph over curse”) and searing questions (as later in his Giovinezza: “Would you set me on fire/ Or would it be the same as when you waver,/ Knowing the inclination of my mind?”). The general reception to González-Gerth’s style in poetics is a haunting metaphor for the practice of poetry itself, a trend that is fast growing to an unacceptable mass.

by Luke Miller, intern

Between Day and Night: New and Selected Poems, 1946-2010 Miguel González-Gerth will be available this summer.

Cultural Prescience: Television as Crystal Ball

Television, in the modern day and age, has become little more than a spectator sport. The lucky few chosen at random to participate, the countless masses laughing at their follies, and the producers heightening reality as far as possible—so much so as to make the real unreal—are all analogous to gladiatorial sports in ancient Rome. Reality TV and the paparazzi have made normal people into extraordinary brutes, cast into unbelievable situations and forced to react for the cameras. A simple look into the E! reality show “Bridalplasty” from a few years back puts our horrific cultural values on shocking display.

As an intern, one of my main duties at the TCU Press from day one has been proofreading Dan Jenkins’ and Bud Shrake’s Limo, a 1976 novel that predicts with incredible precision (and utter hilarity) the future state of television programming.

Through the eyes of Frank Mallory, a TV producer, the reader is taken through several satiric situations—including a mid-morning drag race—that only serve to highlight the eventual unreality of “Just Up The Street,” a three-hour prime-time program that exists solely at the whim of the Big Guy (read: executive/Frank’s boss). In contrasting Frank’s personal life with his professional struggles, Jenkins and Shrake place a lens firmly into the entertainment mores of the 21st century.

In reading this book, I was struck by the rich narrative, the (often hysterical) dialogue, and the believable characters’ interactions, culminating in a climax that I not only wanted to read, but had fun experiencing. Every misstep (or correct step) was a joy to see; Jenkins and Shrake truly come into their element. Though the book' s diction is a bit dated—“groovy” and “pad” are peppered through the work with surprising abandon—that aging just exacerbates how spot-on (and early) Jenkins and Shrake were in their prediction.  Overall, this is a book I’d definitely recommend, and I don’t recommend books lightly. Pick up a copy when you can.

by Luke Miller, intern

Piecing the Past Together

My knowledge of my family’s immigrant past is collection of fragments—a memory of my Nona Rosa’s wrinkled smile, a brief report I gave in elementary school, a faded photograph from Ellis Island. I know that my great-grandparents came to California from Northern Italy in the early twentieth century, but the details are blank.

As one of my intern duties at TCU Press, I have been assisting in editing The Harness Maker’s Dream, an ancestral narrative by author Nick Kotz.

In this book Kotz tells the story of his family’s patriarch, Nathan Kallison, on his mission to build a life in the United States after escaping from czarist Ukraine in 1890. Drawing from newspapers, interviews, official records, and a variety of other sources, Kotz pieces together a history that most members of his family had long since forgotten.  After a period of struggle and adjustment, Nathan works to become one of the most successful retailers and ranchers in San Antonio, Texas. Throughout his life, Nathan was respected for his character; his children, his business, and his status in the community reflect his unwavering integrity. The narrative records the life of a man whose efforts earned him “the American Dream.”

Kotz hopes this book will inspire its readers to study their own past, learning more about themselves and our nation in this process. Through his research, he discovered that “the most important history of our country is not found in the grand events of wars and presidencies, but rather in the everyday lives of our citizens—how they worked hard to support their families, how they coped with hardships, discrimination, and human tragedy, and how they contributed to their own communities and nation.” These people built the foundations for the thriving society we enjoy today, and their stories deserve to be told.

After reading The Harness Maker’s Dream, I am encouraged to dig into my own past. My grandfather is now the only living child of his immigrant parents—the last guide into a vast landscape of invaluable memories.  I intend to ask him all that I can about our history while I still have the chance. Who knows? Maybe it will lead to my own book one day. 

by Leah Fiorini, intern

Hurricanes and Their Destruction

If you’ve ever been in a hurricane, you know how scary that experience can be. As a former resident of Louisiana, I also know how regular and sometimes harmless hurricanes can appear. I have vivid memories of friends praying for what we called a “hurrication,” a free vacation from school because of a category 1 or 2 hurricane that might knock out a power line or two. These were always the best vacations; however, sometimes these hurrications weren’t worth the damage.

I remember when my father had to stay in Lake Charles- my hometown- because my grandparents refused to leave their home during a particularly bad storm – Hurricane Ike. Even when the governor issues a mandatory evacuation, some people refuse to leave their homes. This made me particularly nervous, because though Ike hadn’t caused much wind damage, water from the lake and the surrounding rivers was beginning to rise. My grandparents’ home remained untouched, fortunately, but others weren’t so lucky.

My own family only lost one or two shingles from our roof, and despite the fact that we lived so close to the water, our house had received no water damage. But the home of a friend of mine, who lived three minutes down the road from us, had six feet of water damage. This was the second time their home had been flooded. Luckily this time they had flood insurance. Her family lived in her aunt’s pool house for about a year while they filed paperwork, gutted the home, and rebuilt the first story.

These are only a few stories that I have in my bank of memories concerning hurricanes. Because of this, it was only too real when I read Thomas Zigal’s new novel Many Rivers to Cross, a fictional narrative about the happenings in New Orleans after the levees broke during Hurricane Katrina. Based on extensive research, Zigal’s new novel explores the horrors of a drowning city as told through one family’s struggle for survival. Teeming with suspense, loss, and hope, Zigal’s story is one that will captivate readers with its genuine scenes of struggle balanced by Zigal’s lively sense of humor. 

by Hannah Hughes, intern

A Glory Hallelujah Jubilee

If you missed author Jim Lee's interview about A Texas Jubilee last week, here is a clip of him reading an excerpt from one of the stories - "A Glory Hallelujah Jubilee."

And for those following us on Twitter or Facebook, here's a hint: Wish Jim a happy birthday!

A Texas Jubilee: Thirteen Stories from the Lone Star State, Jim's collection of short stories about small-town life in Texas, is now available!

Small-Town Life in A Texas Jubilee

If you know Jim Lee, if you’ve seen the way his eyes twinkle as he speaks, you know to expect the punch line at the end of his every sentence. You’re already smiling in anticipation because though you know the joke’s coming, there’s no telling what he’ll say—you just know it’ll be hilarious.

The same can be expected from Jim’s latest collection of short stories, A Texas Jubilee. Set in the fictional northeast Texas town of Bodark Springs, Lee introduces us to characters we all have met somewhere before—the grumpy old war veterans, the nagging women, the troubled young men. In the style of Sherwood Anderson, author of Winesburg, Ohio, all these small-town characters’ lives are deeply (and at times, annoyingly) intertwined.

“It’s the Law” is my favorite story in the collection. To avoid giving too much away, I’ll just say that this is a story of revenge and patience—lots of patience. Lee’s characters grate on each other’s nerves and you can’t help but sympathize with them. The stories about these folks had me laughing from cover to cover.

To experience Jim’s quick wit and endless stories just like these, join us on Thursday night, February 7 at 7:00 p.m. at the Dee J. Kelly Alumni Center at TCU for Jeff Guinn’s “An Evening with James Ward Lee.” Books will be available for purchase (at a discount!) and signing. 

We hope we see you there!