Tag Archives: Sheila E Murphy

Tears in the Fence 79 is out!

Tears in the Fence 79 is out!

Tears in the Fence 79 is now available at http://tearsinthefence.com/pay-it-forward and features poetry, prose poetry, translations, flash fiction and fiction by Sheila E. Murphy, Cindy Botha, Philip Gross, Eliza O’Toole, Jeremy Hooker, Lucy Ingrams, Penny Hope, Jane Ayers, David Sahner, Gerald Killingworth, Peter Robinson, Cathra Kelliher, Paul Brownsey, Tracy Turley, Danielle Hubbard, Jude Rosen, Aidan Semmens, Mélisande Fitzsimons, Massimo Fantuzzi, Jazmine Linklater, Sarah Frost, Maria Jastrzębska, Elizabeth Chadwick Pywell, Dylan Stallard, Huw Gwynn-Jones, Colin Campbell Robinson, Philip Rösel Baker, Xoái David, Alyson Hallett, Robin Thomas, Poonam Jain, Branko Čegec translated by Mehmed Begić, Mijenko Kovačoćek, Beth Davyson, Vik Shirley, Rachel Jeffcoat, Garry MacKenzie, Elaine Randell, Sarah Salway, Haley Jenkins, S. J. Literland, Simon Jenner and Janet Hancock.

The critical section consists of Editorial by David Caddy, Will Fleming on Maurice Scully, David Caddy on Poetic Space: some notes on home, Barbara Bridger on Maria Tsvetaeva, Jasmina Bolfek-Radovani in conversation with Branko Čegec, Simon Jenner on Basil Buntings Letters, Guy Russell on Max Jacob, Andrew Duncan on Gustav Sobin, Ric Hool on Norman Jope, Barbara Bridger on Louise Anne Buchler, Steve Spence on Lyndon Davies, Simon Jenner on Pratibha Castle, Elaine Randell on John Muckle, Jenny He on Jennifer Lee Tsai, Andrew Duncan on new Scottish poets, Claire Booker on Alan Price, Guy Russell on Kjell Espmark, translated by Robin Fulton Macpherson, Morag Kiziewicz’s Electric Blue, Notes on Contributors and David Caddy’s Afterword.

54 Poems by John Levy (Shearsman Books)

54 Poems by John Levy (Shearsman Books)

I’ve been thinking about poetry networks. I know that’s a word which carries all sorts of negative associations, but I don’t know what else to use in its place. Poetry has always relied on contacts and correspondence, but that of course is much quicker now thanks to email and the internet. Recently, I spent a great couple of hours talking to and drinking coffee with a publisher I have ‘known’ online for many years: it was great to finally meet, and one of the things we talked about was how both geographical and online clusters of poets exist; also, how unlikely some of those clusters and contacts are.

Later the same day, the postman delivered a copy of John Levy’s new book, sent and inscribed by the author. I was trying to think about how John and I knew each other, whether it was from one of my visits to Arizona (particularly the time Sheila Murphy arranged a poetry reading for me in her house) or via David Miller, who also knows John. There was also a packet of review titles from Chax Press, who are also based in Arizona and have published Sheila and David’s work. Stephen Bett, whose book was included in the parcel, and I have corresponded intermittently for several years, and he said in an email that Charles Alexander, who runs Chax, was sure we had met, probably at the same reading. And of course, Arizona is also home to writer John Martone as well as artist and poet David Chorlton, both other correspondents.

It’s a long way from meeting poets at the bar at small publishers events, or at readings or book launches, which used to be how contacts were made, but it all seems to serve the same purpose, which is to locate ourselves within the poetic geographies which exist, be they based on poetics, subject matter, shared interests or friendship. This enables us to share work-in-progress with other poets, to get feedback, share jokes and book recommendations with, discuss ideas, and of course bitch and moan about the poets and poetry we dislike, something almost all the writers I know excel at.

John Levy’s wonderful new volume, which contains what the title says, evidences this conversation and engagement with others. It’s a kind of small selected poems, with work from 1980 onwards that has previously appeared in small press editions, but also a lot of new work. Levy is a down-to-earth poet with an ear for turning the rhythms of everyday speech and thought into gentle, discursive narratives. Sometimes his poems are in relationship with artists and writers such as Picasso, Grzegorz Wróblewski and Robert Lax, at other times friends and relatives; one even brings Hitler into a story about turtles in Greece! Other poems address named relatives, family, landscape or animals, most are a distinct personal take on situations and events.

One of my favourites so far is ‘This Poem’, a wandering litany of thoughts about the poem as it happens, seemingly in real time. We are warned from the offset:

     This is going to be one of those poems
     that goes on and on and calls…
     calls itself a poem […]

but it doesn’t go ‘on and on’ (although it does ‘keep going’), it develops whilst taking an unexpected route, stopping only to preen for ‘a moment in the mirror’ whilst discovering that ‘what could be mistaken / for a caress’ is ‘just a scratch’, 

     the itch about the size of the dot above the lower
     case i. This poem circles that dot
     and rejoices in the space around it.

     This poem, in fact, is primarily about that space
     and how that space embodies
     the legendary

     negative space. This poem is going to say
     almost nothing about what’s positive about
     the negative space, or almost

     positive […]

although the poem and the flow of thought are resolved by turning ‘a sliver of positivity and then another’ into a railway track, one in use: we are warned to ‘Stand back.’

‘This Poem’ reminds me of the way Robert Creeley’s poems sometimes work, although Levy’s work tends to be more expansive and meandering. Like Creeley, however, Levy pays attention to not only thought as it develops, but to the everyday and often mundane. He makes the ordinary into something specific and unusual, be that remembering his childhood TV-watching in ‘The Life of Riley’ or constructing a prose poem, ‘Obit’, on the back of ‘The only local obituary notice of a stranger I cut out and put up on my study wall’. Its subject is ‘a man with a big smile’ who ‘looked like somebody I would’ve liked to know’, says Levy, exploring what he thinks of and invents about the stranger but also the compulsion which means the newspaper cutting stays on the wall at the end of the poem.

Levy skirts the maudlin and over-emotional, and is always aware of what language is doing. His poem ‘My Late Mother’ opens with the self-knowing declaration that

     My mother has died
     in many of my poems

     after she died in
     a hospital, when I

     was too far away

which manages to convey both mourning and regret, but also a poetic distancing, which allows us to read the poem as language on the page, rather than just an emotive plea for the reader to share the author’s grief.

Grief, emotion, longing, loss, delight, and memory are all transmuted here into imagistic plain-speaking poetry. It embraces the everyday, the brevity and transience of experience, digression, conversation and friendship. Levy’s acute sense of the world around him allows the reader to renew their own acquaintance with nature, thought and language. It is a delightful, guileless, warm-hearted, indeed loving, collection of work, which reminds me how lucky I am in knowing the poets I do.

Rupert Loydell 29th June 2023

Entanglements of Two: A Series of Duets Eds. Karen Christopher & Mary Paterson (Intellect)

Entanglements of Two: A Series of Duets Eds. Karen Christopher & Mary Paterson (Intellect)

My own collaborative writing often relies on processes and forms. Whether writing in response to agreed themes and/or what has just been written by someone else, it involves trusting the other writer(s) but also trusting the work itself as it emerges – which is often not what is expected. Editing and shaping is of course a collaboration too, and collaborations which are simply about the juxtaposition of each other’s discrete texts are as collaborative as texts where each author has written a line and passed the work to another.

There is little written about poetic collaboration. Robert Sheppard’s essays about poetics (1999) are helpful because of his open and inclusive approach, as is his anthology of collaboratively-created imaginary authors, Twitters for a Lark (2017) and what he has written about it on his Pages blog (and elsewhere). I have also found Dan Beachy-Quick’s Of Silence and Song (2017) and Dean Young’s Recklessness (2009) useful, but much of this is simply about the act of writing and not specifically collaboration. When I taught an Arvon course with Sheila E Murphy, she shared insights from the business world, where collaboration is considered in terms of productivity, team roles and social dynamics. I have been able to use some of this material when lecturing on collaborative project modules.

It is in the area of performance, however, where I have found the most material about the dynamics and process of, as well as reflection upon, collaboration. Karen Christopher and Mary Paterson’s new book, Entanglements of Two (2021), joins a number of informative texts such as Matthew Goulish’s 39 Microlectures (2000), Tim Etchells’ Certain Fragments(1999) and Twyla Tharp’s The Collaborative Habit (2009). Goulish and Stephen Bottoms also edited Small Acts of Repair(2007), a book about Goat Island, the performance group which Christopher and Goulish were part of until its 2009 demise.

At first I felt excluded from this book. I do not regard myself as a performer (although I give poetry readings and university lectures) and my writing and visual art practices remain focussed on what is produced, my texts and paintings. I may (and do) reflect upon them and how I made them, but interviews, notes, academic and non-academic considerations exist to inform future work and perhaps give readers/viewers a ‘helping hand’ towards understanding. They are context not the work itself. Brief stories and asides at readings, book jacket blurbs and painting titles seem very different from lengthy artspeak labels on a gallery wall, explanatory introductions and prefaces, let alone complete publications.

Part of me wants to simply watch a performance, read a book, or look at the work. If something is not discernible in the work, does it exist as part of that work? Is this book just an exercise in explaining process, some might say justification? But, of course, if we are interested we want to know more. And Entanglements of Two certainly offers more. There is lengthy and slow deliberation here, a reflective practice that seems at times to almost overtake the duets discussed, articulating what is otherwise unsaid.

Explorers traversing the Arctic and Antarctica often reported an extra person within their company. T.S. Eliot drew on this in ‘The Waste Land’: 

        Who is the third who walks always beside you?
   When I count, there are only you and I together
   But when I look ahead up the white road
   There is always another one walking beside you

      (1963: 77)

Although there are also associations here with resurrection and ghostly presence, it might also be taken as a metaphor for the new products of collaboration where 1+1 does not equal 2 but 3. Contributor Orit Kent discusses havruta, a Jewish way of  studying where reading and learning is undertaken in pairs, creating and discussing meaning together; David Berman uses ideas from quantum physics to explore ‘[b]ringing together different phenomenon’; whilst Karen Christopher and Sophie Grodin declare that ‘[w]ith the other, thoughts and ideas travel to places where you could not go alone.’ They go on to note that ‘[t]here is a struggle here between independence and interdependence.’ (115)

Entanglements of Two works, like much performance work, by slow and considered associative thinking. Back and forth ideas go, page and eye, words and reader, meaning and mind, reflecting upon ten years of duet performances whilst also – as the back cover puts it – ‘exploring the practical, philosophical, and aesthetic implications of working in pairs and offer[ing] wider reflections on the duet as a concept in artistic and social life’. The unit of two does not often always invite participation, it sometimes feels like a sealed unit, a couple. We cannot observe the duets, we have to (re)imagine the performances as we read the text. We are on our own: entanglements tie people together and exclude others; we have to choose how to untangle meaning for ourselves.

So far I think this book is

   A call to action.

   A learning tool.

   An analysis.

   A footnote.

   Smoke traces in the air, soon gone.

It is 

   A slow accumulation of knowledge and ideas.

   An attack on all sides.

   An elephant electrocuted in public for business purposes: 

   murder to discredit the competition.

   (The elephant in the room.)*

It is analytical obsession, talk that makes my head spin. In a good way.

Substitute ‘book’, ‘writing’ or ‘poem’ for ‘duet’ in the following quote: ‘[T]he duet is a form of responsibility. […] a duet generates its own forms of knowledge. […] a duet is its own form of research.’ (Mary Paterson, 185)

NOTE

* The elephant, who is mentioned in Entanglements of Two, was called Topsy. She was electrocuted in 1903 and the event was filmed by Thomas Edison. The footage and information are available online.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Beachy-Quick, Dan (2017), Of Silence and Song, Minneapolis: Milkweed.

Bottoms, Stephen and Goulish, Matthew, eds. (2007), Small Acts of Repair. Performance, Ecology and Goat Island, London: Routledge.

Eliot, T.S. (1963) ‘The Waste Land’ (1922) in Collected Poems 1909-1962, 1-86, London: Faber.

Etchells, Tim (1999), Certain Fragments. Contemporary Performance and Forced Entertainment, London: Routledge.

Goulish, Matthew (2000), 39 Microlectures in proximity of performance, London: Routledge.

Sheppard, Robert (1999), Far Language: poetics and lingusitically innovative poetry 1978-1997, Exeter: Stride.

Sheppard, Robert (2017), Twitters for a Lark: Poetry of the European Union of Imaginary Authors, Bristol: Shearsman.

Sheppard, Robert, ed. Pages, http://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/ (accessed 9 November 2021)

Tharp, Twyla (2009), The Collaborative Habit. Life Lessons for Working Together, London: Simon & Schuster.

Young, Dean (2010), The Art of Recklessness. Poetry as Assertive Force and Contradiction, Minneapolis: Graywolf.

Rupert Loydell 30th November 2021