What is the role of memory in writing poetry? I am comfortable in suggesting that poetry revises and reinterprets it – that poetry is the truth of memory.

I think poetry, at some level, is documentation – but perhaps more a transcription of what we can’t even write. I am inclined to believe that poetry is the art of “re” – the art of again – so that in it there is redemption to be found.

In writing, I have found poetry to be the call to revise and rebuild what is always yet to be.

We remember as we remember to write.

Usually I don’t post news stories on the blog, but, because I made a post last July about the intriguing ideas underlying the book Life on Mars by poet Tracy K. Smith, I thought I’d share the news that this work has won the 2012 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry!

Congratulations to Ms. Smith!

You can watch a PBS interview with the poet, below, in which she talks about this fascinating book (which I’m still reading.)

You can also read my original post about Smith and the ideas her interview inspired for me here.

Last Thursday, April 19, I had the opportunity to read at my alma mater California State University, Sacramento, as part of its Festival of the Arts reading series. I read some poems from both of my previous books, as well as some unpublished work.

Enjoy some video from the event thanks to my mom’s exquisite smartphone cinematography! (More to follow.)

About a year ago I made a post about a film entitled Pariah, a movie written and directed by African-American filmmaker Dee Rees. It was my first post under the “Minority Report” category of the blog – a section that focuses on film work by African-American women.

Recently a friend and I went to see Pariah at a local art house theater. What a movie! It looked promising from the look of the trailer and definitely met expectations. I was struck at how informed and personal the movie was, and was impressed with its casting – the performances were remarkably effective and full of integrity. Pariah seemed to be a labor of love for all involved in the film.

Kim Wayans, though not necessarily the film’s heroine, is the star of the film to me. Her performance was excellent. I’ve always had respect for her as a comedian, but this role showcased her as quite a talented artist with strong empathy and conviction. Charles Parnell, who plays her husband, was superbly cast as the father who does not interfere with our heroine’s progression toward becoming herself and affirming the self-journey she chooses (important verb in this film) to pursue. Whereas the film makes it evident how our heroine’s mother (played by Kim Wayans) feels about her daughter’s chosen journey, the father’s position seems to be neither judgmental nor accepting. Though he does not necessarily interfere with his daughter’s self-development (much to the dismay of his wife), he seems aware of the suggestions and implications of her self-journey and chooses to accept those dynamics while not foregrounding commentary.

Did I mention Adepero Oduye? She portrays the film’s protagonist Alike. Oduye simply carried the role. I was interested in Alike’s self. She felt palpable. She felt real.

All the actors – no matter how major or how small their roles – brought something special to this film. It’s hard to pinpoint what that “something” was, but all I can call it is passion. Not all films that are great have passion – this film is great, to me, because it does.

Alike (not pronounced like the adjective “alike”, but with its own unique pronunciation) is the name of Pariah’s heroine. I can’t help but notice that, obviously, her name is a homograph with “alike” meaning “similar,” and I wonder if this name choice is related to our protagonist’s attraction to what is “alike” from a gender standpoint. Perhaps such a suggestion trivializes something important about this character and her desires, but I did find her name fascinating.

Alike writes poetry, so that was particularly cool to me! Whenever I see films where young black women use writing as part of the denotation or creation of their selves, I always think of The Color Purple and Celie. I’m not saying Pariah signifies on that story or on Celie’s role as mad diarist, but I’m reminded of the unique, purposeful place of writing oneself in the world of black womanhood. (I also think of the films Precious and Poetic Justice.)

I have to mention the film ends with a poem that is beautifully performed and written by our heroine, excerpted in the below trailer.

I encourage you to see Pariah. I don’t think the movie is about sexuality or gender performance. I simply think this film is about “choosing” as Alike says. As her poem in the closing scenes indicate, Pariah is about being broken and open and seeing the light shine through.

James Franco is a fine actor with well-pronounced literary inclinations. Among other things, he has written a collection of short stories called Palo Alto, taught a class at NYU on how to adapt poetry into short film, and starred as poet Allen Ginsberg in the 2010 film Howl.

Now Franco directs, writes and stars in The Broken Tower, an upcoming film about the life of American poet Hart Crane. This looks good! I read a little on Crane in college, but am looking forward to – as is the case with most biographical projects on poets – learning more about him.

The film is set to release some time this year.

Happy New Year Everyone! I hope 2012 has been blessed for you.

Well, with the new year comes resolutions from writers about goals and objectives they would like to embark on or complete, those goals oftentimes involving the completion of different kinds of projects.

But why do writers abandon those projects? What causes a writer to stop writing a novel, screenplay, poem or some other work?

Last March, Dan Kois wrote an article for The NY Times here about the difficult, emotional relationship writers have with their work. He writes about the creative trials of authors such as Harper Lee, Stephen King, Stephanie Meyer and Evelyn Waugh, who, Kois tells us, tried to commit suicide after finding out a friend was not impressed with his first unpublished work.

To what might we attribute the complex emotional and psychological involvement writers, in particular, seem to have with their work that causes them to behave so radically on that investment? There is, indeed, a perception that writers are sensitive about and protective of their work. Yet, there is also a more academic idea that writers should maintain a stoic posturing when their work is critiqued as an expression of maturity and credibility. How are both perspectives balanced? What makes you continue writing after an unfavorable response to your work?

What is the most you’ve written towards a project – a book, a poem, an essay – before abandoning it? What is the most time you’ve invested in a work before putting it away, thinking there was nothing more you could contribute to it to make it satisfying and complete? Why did you shelve it?

This pretty much speaks for itself. I recall the following statement by e.e. cummings – and focus on the implicit and important meanings of the word “self”:

“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

Thank you to my good friend Rex for sharing the video! And thank you to its creator.

Nothing genuine in a poem, or so I have learned the hard way, can be willed. – Charles Simic

This quote is from a short essay I recently read by poet Charles Simic entitled Where Is Poetry Going?

I encourage you to read this brief write-up that looks at the necessity of patience – or waiting – in bringing into fruition the poetic accuracy of experience.

It conveys a message that tells me writing poetry involves waiting and seeing.

I believe we must trust what unfolds – and that there indeed is an unfolding – and that our truest intentions are hidden in god.

Eternity is a significant immediacy to any poet. Eternity makes me responsible for what I write. The conviction that I am living eternally harnesses my writing. The fact that a poem can come into its own fruition is a matter of mercy.

Perhaps we are just following an order when we edit and write. We are responsible for watching our poetry as much as we are involved in writing it.

The more I write, the more I realize I don’t really know what happened.

What is patience, to the poet?

In October of last year, I made a post in Another Light about sign language poetry and its potential to help reshape one’s understanding of poetic expression.

Now, PBS is presenting a documentary on a woman embracing sign language poetry as a performance art, in Deaf Jam. The program airs this Thursday, November 3.

Take a look at the preview below:

If you watch it, let’s discuss!

What will become, or has become, of personal letters via pen and paper being written between writers (or any artists)? Do you write old-fashioned letters or private documentation to others divulging details of your situation as a writer?

Years from now when reading biographies of writers, will we be reading emails, text messages and chat logs from them to gain insight into their writing life, as opposed to copies of physical letters on paper or personal notes? When studying about a writer’s life, is there anything to be gained or lost in reading, for example, his text messages to someone talking about the construction of a particular work or peculiarities in his writing life, as opposed to written letters expressing the same?

How do blogs, websites and other public media authored by writers influence how we construct a narrative of their lives? Do you think their use of social media diminishes the writer’s mystique?

Right now I am falling in love with reading letters written by artist and poet Everett Ruess – by the way, see picture on right from the Everett Ruess Days/Escalante Canyons Art Festival in Escalante, Utah from last month! I realize, now, that there is so much insight to be gained from reading the story behind the language, if you will. During the festival, I asked a young lady running a book booth which book to buy as a beginner interested in learning about Everett Ruess. I ended up buying a title called Everett Ruess: Vagabond for Beauty & Wilderness Journals, a collection of letters and private writing by Ruess that give us access, as directly as possible, to what we may know of his life (as opposed to other titles that offer conjecture, from an outsider’s perspective, surrounding his disappearance into the Utah wilderness in the 1930s at the age of 20).

I told the lady I wasn’t too comfortable reading Ruess’ (or anyone’s) personal letters and journals, but she made a good point: Ruess would probably want people to read them. Now that I have started the book, I agree with her: His bold romanticism, idealism and zeal for encounters with the wilderness, as well as his remarkable passion for living, lead me to think he would want to share his inspirational feelings with others – not just himself or the addressees of his correspondences. We, too, are the recipients of his letters. (However, I still haven’t quite budged on my position, overall, on reading posthumous or unpublished work by deceased writers; see here for my post on this topic).

What can be gained from reading personal writing from writers that, perhaps, is not gained by reading their writing, itself?