Abyssal Studies

Poetry's kind of like a medicine ball, isn't it? It's a bit archaic, especially when I could make a YouTube video that's a montage over a song that I hope evokes my emotions. But get to using a medicine ball and you realize why it's effective: it works out more of your body than a lot of other simple exercises.

The medicine ball is just a ball, yes, but you can't toss it, right? It requires your entire body to pass the thing off to the other person and the more you do it, the easier it gets but you also get to using just the specific muscles related to throwing it. At first, when you're not used to doing it, you have to use other muscles to compensate for the ones that aren't up to par yet.

You really can't catch it easily either, can you? It's not like a football where you can catch it on the run or a baseball where you can make an amazing dive. It requires you to be firmly planted to catch it, to be prepared. If you were thrown a medicine ball and didn't know it, it might well knock you down, even if you were strong enough to handle it. The medicine ball is a specific experience that's particularly old, yes, but does something other exercises cannot: it works you out.

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I think poetry for me is a way to connect to philosophy. I grew up with a very philosophical Dad, always considering the nature of humanity and the issues that arise from being aware of our awareness. Poetry, which I am capitalizing only at the beginning of sentences, is a way of connecting the "I" within my barrier of skin to the outer-"I," the world beyond my skin. It's true: we are the same atoms that surround us but somehow we are not part of them- we are not part of the world. Language connects me back to it, I feel.

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I've been having a hard time getting my manuscript published. It's gotten far in some places but mostly nowhere. Sure, it could go back in a drawer, but I think there are parts of it that really appeal to me and I like to think appeal beyond me. It's a long manuscript made of long poems, I know, so I wonder if the problem is merely structural. It's hard to say. I wonder if I couldn't break it down into more poems and call it a day. I feel like dismissing it by saying it sucks or whatever discounts that it did make it some distance in various contests and things. I'm not going to be one of those folks that blames the contest system, surely, but I do wonder how it would do it with a community-like press.

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I've edited the manuscript somewhat, cutting an entire section but also going through the long poems and cutting it into individual poems. We shall see.

Tragipoetics

I edited the image from this article http://www.nydailynews.com/opinion/boston-massacre-article-1.1317652

Whereas art is the experience of a thing and poetry is the essence of art because it uses language, poetry seems to be the primary method for handling trauma because it forces us to deal with the derivation of fact (experience) through our own constructed and evolved tool (language). Poetry is the tool for looking into the abyss and as trauma and tragedy expose us to the abyss, it is the poet's job in trauma to pull back away from it.

Another way to look at the abyss is to consider it the realm of the absurd. In that we have a difficult time reconciling that we can know nothing about the meaning of life, therein lies the abyss, an unending drop into the quest for some kind of greater meaning. As we know, there are three ways of handling the absurd, simply, religion, suicide or, most paradoxically in time of tragedy, acceptance of the absurd. This is to say that one must accept not only the existence of the abyss on its own terms but also accept that it is nearly impossible to combat, leaving us with the other two readily available options.

Religion and suicide are easy forms of denial, a fourth but seemingly unfocussed on approach to the absurd. Why Camus did not note our ability to blow things off and ignore them is beyond me. Perhaps religion can be seen as a blindness towards the existence of an abyss but religious faith implies that one has seen into the abyss rather than avoided thinking about it. You could say that most humans take none of the three routes Camus gives us and simply exist without long-term consideration of abyssal studies. Perhaps religion's true goal is to indoctrinate at an early enough age that the absurd never becomes a factor.

Regardless, if one is aware that life is absurd, the three possibilities make sense, the first two more so (out of ease, really) and despite our feelings on them, can we blame others for being unable to accept the absurd? It seems that insanity can be the outcome of looking into the abyss and not being able to pull back out of it, but it is an involuntary decision. Religion, it can be said, is involuntary as well: one does not choose to believe, one simply believes. While all faiths suggest choice is the manner by which one arrives at religion, it seems that the fanatic has no choice but to be pulled into religion and do the bidding of those who control that aspect of religion for them. It seems that this is one form of terrorism.

Tragedy and the traumas that inevitably follow are the moment in which we are faced with the absurdity of life and the abyss simultaneously. "Why me?" people are inclined to ask, whether or not they are the direct victim of a tragic event or if they are affected by it indirectly (loss of a loved one or perhaps the witness to a tragedy). This is, of course, life's absurdity, that anything bad could happen at any moment and that ultimately, life has a way of continuing, assuming that is the path chosen. When faced with the abyss, there must be some moment in which the routes are either rationalization, accepting that there is no reason this happened to the victim, or for the mind to be incapable of understanding why. Long-term, it seems the subconscious is the one unable to rationalize and accept the absurdity of the situation, causing systemic issues after the event. Even if we are able to say to ourselves "There is nothing I could have done," it appears as though the subconscious is less forgiving of trauma, choosing to replay the event or look for markers in other activities or symbols of the tragedy and bringing the trauma boiling back to the surface. Obviously a psychologist or psychiatrist is much more capable of discussing how we process trauma, consciously or subconsciously.

If it is the poet who is to pull us back away from the abyss, then it is because poetry exposes the absurd because it does not have to contain statements or explanations. Poetry is allowed to avoid direct comment and gives us, as mentioned, the derivation, or the measure of change. While writing already provides the way of thinking through complex thoughts, it is in poetry where language is pressed beyond this and must strive for more than the retelling of event or concept. It is poetry that has the ability to obfuscate event and force focus to experience. When Mark Nowak went to the Ford plant in St. Paul, Minnesota to have laid-off workers share their experience of being laid off, they did so through poems because it was poetry that allowed them to express their emotions in a more complex manner. While they could have simply (or maybe it is not so simple?) expressed anger or sadness, it was through the act of writing poems that the workers were able to relieve the tension that their personal trauma created. In the case of the workers, we knew their story but we could not know the experience without poetry.

So in larger tragedies (there is no good way to word this), those that more directly influence a whole community versus a public within it, poetry continues to be a way to respond to those events. Whatever our personal beliefs, Amiri Baraka's "Somebody Blew Up America" is a response to tragedy through poetry. Obviously it makes some sense for the poet to turn to their craft when faced with a catastrophic event, but it seems poetry was already at the far end of the journey in Baraka's case. While the tragedy of 9/11 is depersonalized in Baraka's poem, his anger is directed towards the establishment who, in his opinion, allowed the event to occur. Again, while disagreeing with this view, it is a response regardless of its merits as a poem or Baraka as a poet.¹

In Baraka's case, poetry is already his outlet, but here it serves a variety of purposes such as political statement, accusation, catharsis, and others. Poetry, in its nature as derivative, is what allows room for tragedy and cataloging of experience versus time-line of event. Surely expression does not have its only outlet in poetic speech but it is in this speech act that layers are expected and provided.

[to be expanded]

Works Cited:

Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus.
Heidegger, Martin. "...Poetically Man Dwells..."
". What Are Poets For?

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1 Perhaps an idea for another time- it was amazing to see a poem be met with criticism in the public, considering poems are, at best, ignored by the public.^↩

Reading at Couscous

Otherization

This post was written in a moment of anger and frustration. It contains strong language as a result. You've been warned - ADT

Life must be easy for those who get to decide which morals and laws apply to them and which apply to others. In making the case for all Americans to be able to enter a legal contract with one another (however you define that- marriage or civil unions or zargax) the primary issue in my opinion is that laws cannot be applied as people choose. Laws apply to everyone.

The Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution says

All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

That means that you, me, Ralph Reed and everyone who is a resident (and not citizen, as François Luong points out to me) of the United States has laws apply to them equally. If you can't murder someone else, neither can I. I can't rob from someone, neither can Ralph Reed, even if he's friends with Jack Abramoff.

Marriage is a big word. It means that thousands of years ago, someone decided they would like to be in a business relationship with someone else and thus had their children have sex and make more children so that your stuff and their stuff would become this kid's stuff and then he or she (ok, he) could then pass it down to some other person who could then continue to be wealthy and not have to live like everyone else, covered in shit and dying of disease.

Societies made rules about who could marry. In India, it's the caste system. If you're thinking there's no caste system elsewhere, you're very wrong. People made rules so that their ideologies would be followed by people in generations after so they could guarantee, after their own deaths when they would have no idea, that their shit went to people who represented them in some way.

I am not denying that this is wrapped into the history of civilization. Quite simply, we've never figured out how to handle dying so basically, we have to make sure that the shit we accumulate goes to a good home. Forever. I get that: I have several guitars. I'll be damned if anyone who goes to the University of Florida ends up with them.

Unfortunately, when I die, I won't know. Actually, come to think of it, I probably won't care. I'll be dead. My brain cells, which care at the moment, will either rot or be turn into ash and scattered on the mound of Turner Field. Actually, I don't care if they don't end up where I want them: I'll still be dead.

Anyways, marriage is a big word, but what it means has changed over time. The one constant, it seems, is that you're supposed to have kids and give your shit to them to give to their kids. That's apparently the only thing anyone cares about.

And that still applies, but now life has changed. You can actually CHOOSE, through the use of a will, who gets your shit. That's right: if my future child goes to Florida (and I never speak to them again), I can give all my shit to someone else. I can actually use a pen and give my shit to someone else. I can sign my name, even.

But, at the moment, having a blood relation is still more important. The children I have will automatically have a claim to my shit because they have my blood (even though they went to the University of Florida, which clearly makes me think they are not MINE, but whatever).

Somehow, modern society (read: religious types) have decided that gay people don't want to give their shit to anyone. The shit they accumulate has to go to someone, but that cannot a child because they are gay and can't have sex to make babies, therefore, there's no point in letting them get married because they can't have babies to pass their shit down to.

This is it. That's the whole point. That's the entire argument that anyone religious has- oh sure, they use religious text to back it up but the bible was a book based on society 2000 years ago. As far as I know, it's 2000 years later and shit has changed. Hell, people who previously couldn't have kids are having kids. Actually, people are having kids- all people: gay, straight, white, black, Asian, conservative and, ugh...University of Florida peoples (I know...I'm repulsed as well). People are having kids. And people have shit. And people want to give their shit to their kids.

I know, change is scary. There was a point in time where society didn't progress. People had slaves then. People drank water with shit in it. There weren't refrigerators and we ate fresh food because everything else killed us. But somehow, we've evolved and changed and matured and grown and managed to make life a thing that's not a huge challenge to start or hold on to. In fact, the biggest problem with life is people being assholes about how you want to live yours.

Somehow, religious types get the keys to...I was going to say "kingdom," but they actually believe that...keys to some kind of magical societal Ferrari. They get to say "BASED ON THIS BOOK WRITTEN BY RANDOM DUDES WHO HATED CHANGE, I GET TO TREAT EVERYONE WHO DOESN'T WANT TO LIVE LIKE ME LIKE SHIT." The caps are not mine. This is how these people sound. Religion has given people who are already tools more tools to basically say "I am right and you are wrong and that's that."

I'm not...against...religion. There are good things. Like bake-offs and Habitat for Humanity projects. But by and large, religion is a tool used to create an other- an us vs them society. "They don't like having sex with the people we like having sex with!? GOD WILL SMITE THEM!" I assume if God really wanted to smite folks, they'd have done it by now. Probably starting with those making life unbearable for the rest of us.

Well, I say unto you "You don't like giving people equal protection under our laws in this country? Let me help you pack." Yes, that's right. Let's find you another society to live in. Heck- how about we build us a time machine and you can go hang out with the folks that made the rules you want us all to live by? Hopefully you don't get stoned to death for shaving! You're not a hippie are you?

I am fucking sick of this shit. Society has moved on. People can fuck who they want and subvert nature itself because nature is indifferent to your rules. You can blow up laboratories, try to make laws and be a jerk about it as much as you want, but you physically cannot stop time from moving forward. I guess you can stop the Earth from existing by blowing it up, but until then, I will stay on the side of change.

Society and marriage have been a way for a long time, yeah. I wonder where it will be in 5000 years, assuming "we" as humans are even still here and breathing.

What's funny is that religious folks otherize themselves all the time. It's clever: claim you're the minority being persecuted and then blame everyone else's wanting to have equal legal protection as persecuting you and bam: you get what you want by being a dick to everyone else.

No, I don't believe this is what the modern LGBTQA (and I consider myself an "A," or ally) wants. I don't believe they want to seem persecuted so they can persecute the religious groups. However, what else do you call wanting laws to apply to you and not to others in a systemic way? Is this not the definition of persecution?

This may shock folks but I don't believe two men or two women or any other combination of LGBTQ folks getting the same legal protection as everyone else will cause the downfall of human society. I know. It's scary. There was a time when these same folks believed that African-Americans receiving equal protection would lead to the downfall of America. And the best part is that I'm sure these folks could make a case for it: they could point to a number of things that they define as now un-American from 50 years ago and say it's because of all these awful things. I could point to things being better, but that doesn't matter: I'm just wrong and they are just right.

I know, it's hard to want to change, hard to allow things to be different than they were in your imagined past, where you believed everything was good for everyone. But it wasn't the case- it simply wasn't. If you want to be who you want to be (religious- whatever), why is it beyond the realm of possibility that others want the same thing? Are people so unable to see beyond their own lives that they cannot imagine the lives of others?

It's sickening. And I hope things are changing. And I will do my best to promote this change, no doubt. I have since 2006/2007 and will forever.

The Photos of Nadia Benchallal

Yesterday, while in New York City, Pierre Joris was kind enough to invite us along to NYU to see Nadia Benchallal speak about her on-going photoproject "Sisters" which photographs women in the Islamic world. Here's what her website says about the project:

“Sisters” is an in-depth and worldwide project that I am developing on Muslim women that explores how they are becoming emancipated and modernized while keeping their culture and traditions in conservative societies. I began my work in Algeria, Bosnia, Palestine, Burma, Iran, Malaysia, and France. 

It's interesting here how she writes "modernized" because one woman in the audience took issue with modernization in her photographs. The woman, raised in Algeria (Benchallal is of Algerian descent but grew up in Paris) said she was amazed by one photo where an older woman is shown sleeping on the floor of her home (link here). The woman's issue was not with the pose or anything like that but rather than Benchallal was depicting life in a seemingly rural area during the late 1980s or early 1990s versus the modern city of Algiers which, at the time, was rather modern. "We were wearing jeans, not veils or other styles of dress."

It's interesting to me because it seems like most of the photos were taken before the political upheavals that have happened in the last 25 years or so in the Islamic world. Now, I can admit easily I know very little about the Islamic world or, maybe more accurately, about the world in general. What I can say is this (and what led me to write this post) was the idea of selection. When a photographer attempts to capture A moment, they are indeed doing that but, as Benchallal's former professor said, a photographer does not necessarily know WHAT has been captured until they develop the film, at which point they must choose what they choose to depict.

Who knows what other photos Benchallal took and how she had chosen what to display at NYU yesterday. Both she and interviewer Shamoon Zamir admitted that what we saw was much smaller than what was recently on exhibition in Abu Dhabi, but I am left wondering, as a non-photographer (minus my brief foray into The New Yorker), what kind of narrative one attempts to create via their photographs.

The photo I found most interesting of what we saw (the 10th of her "Sisters" 2 set) depicts a woman with her arms around her back, the reflection of a child in the window of a psychotherapy clinic. There are children playing in the background and the woman's face is obscured by the reflections in the glass. Why is this photo the most interesting to me? Because it steps back- it doesn't require the intimacy of the other photos, the necessary involvement of the photographer in the lives of women. In a way, it's more experiential poetic in the Lacoue-Labarthe sense: there is no specific "reading" of this photo, no "answer" in it. You know, based on being human, the emotions in this photo and the feelings happening here. It's when journalism falls away that the photos make their most interesting mark upon the viewer, as in this photo.

Zamir asked an interesting question: why was Abu Dhabi the first real exhibition of the work Benchallal has been doing? She had no real answer, which I would have pointed out then, is alright because it's not her question to answer. It's an accusation on us all. We, in the West, don't want to see what life is like in the Islamic world. Why? Because if we see women without their restraints, our military missions in that part of the world immediately become void. We're not saving the world- these are people that don't need saving and we cannot accept that. We cannot accept that life is livable in this part of the world because we are hell-bent on our own supremacy. Showing us things that challenge our worldviews might have the side-effect of actually challenging our worldviews and this is where Benchallal's photos have their most important impact to be made: showing us that life, in whatever form, goes on in places where we don't want it to go on without our influence.

Benchallal has the incredible ability here to influence how we view the lives of women in the Islamic world and I believe, once we have many more photos, we'll be in an interesting position to do so. Zamir brought up the point that a book is the ultimate goal and I have to agree: selected photos (unless you want a HUGE book) need to be in a place for us to discuss them. Whether that will be available in this country- whether Stephen Colbert or someone will have her on their show- remains to be seen. I think, at the very least, there are discussions to be had.

A Photo I Took

In April of 2010, Keith Waldrop wandered down into Demitasse, a semi-formal gathering of students and faculty of Brown's Literary Arts Department. Keith, being diabetic, isn't normally allowed to have cookies, etc., but on Thursdays, he'd sneak down during his purposely-scheduled office hours and steal a cookie. On this day, as a first year M.F.A. student, I was in charge of Demitasse and Keith sat down in a chair.

I snapped this picture of him as he sat in front of me. "Do you mind if I take your picture?" In his typical chill manner, Keith said "Of course. Just don't tell Rosmarie I had a cookie." I'm sorry to break your confidence, Keith.

Last October, I was editing Wikipedia pages related to Brown's M.F.A. program and realized I had the perfect pic of Keith, so I uploaded it to Wikipedia, with the understanding that, no, I couldn't charge money for others to use it, but I could at least be credited as the creator of the photo.

This past Thursday, I woke up at my regular early time for work, which is 75 minutes away. My friend and fellow Brown alum, Mark Baumer, texted to ask "Is that your pix of waldorp in newyorker (sic)

I had no idea what he was talking about, but upon opening my eyes wider, I Googled "Keith Waldrop New Yorker" and found Ben Lerner's beautifully written article on The New Yorker's Blog. And there, at the top, was my photo of  Keith, taken a rather dull afternoon where hardly anyone showed up to have the strong coffee I had made. I scrolled down, excited that, maybe, my name or something would be at the bottom of the page. When I got there, all it said was "Photograph via Wikimedia Commons."
This was my "Be Sure to Drink Your Ovaltine" moment. Why didn't they, at the very least, say "This is the work of random Wikipedia user Atrivedi?" On this, the Permissions folks at Wikipedia agreed: when The New Yorker used Wiki's photo, they ought to have credited the author. They can use it for free, surely, but not without giving credit where credit is due. "The main difference," they wrote me, "between public domain and the CC Attribution license is that re-users are supposed to attribute it in the manner you request."
The manner I requested is, quite simply, my username, Atrivedi.

Twice now, I've written The New Yorker using their "contact" link and form, the same link that surely every crackpot and hopeful author uses when submitting their work. Seemingly it is a black hole as I have not heard back from them in two days.

Wikipedia/media has, conversely, been awesome. From sending links to back up my point to just taking the time to check it out, Wiki's Permissions crowd has been on it from the moment I wrote yesterday.

Wikipedia wrote (to me):

"Politely point out that while text can simply be attributed as coming form Wikipedia, images requires a specific attribution to the author where the author is identified) per the terms of use of material at Wikimedia Commons.

http://wikimediafoundation.org/wiki/Terms_of_Use

Those terms aren't quite as specific as I would like. It states: "You are free to:...Share and Reuse our articles and other media under free and open licenses. "

You have to look at the license:

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

to see "Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work.""

I'm not asking for money, I'm not asking for it to be taken down. All I want is credit for my creative work, which is something that I've now posed to the author of the article and fellow Brown M.F.A. alum Ben Lerner. "I just see it as something beautiful I created," I wrote, "that's not attributed to me. If it were a poem, I'd fight tooth and nail for it. For this photo, all I'm asking is your help."

We'll see.

To be perfectly honest, it will probably be a while before The New Yorker publishes a poem of mine...maybe they never will. If my work here is good, it seems I should receive a nod.

Edit from last night around 10:10pm: Ben Lerner has been kind enough to write the person who solicited his work to see if they could help me out. Fingers crossed!

Edit from just now: The New Yorker has agreed to change the credit to Atrivedi!

The Next Big Thing

Generally, when Jessica Smith says to do something, it's best to do it.

What is the title of your book? 

Your Relationship to Motion Has Changed. It was going to be Relationship to Motion but Kate Schapira said the whole thing was much better. 

Who is the publisher of your book?

There isn't one yet and I'm losing hope. It's a manuscript, point of fact and not a "book."

What genre does your book fall under?

Poems. Longer poems. Ten of them. Helen Vendler would say "meditative," but that's unfair to the poems and over-inflates Vendler.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

We go nowhere all the time.

What inspired you to write this book/where did the idea for the book come from?

Lots of things. A general feeling of mehness; a sense of detachment. I wanted to write longer poems because I got so used to writing and publishing short poems that I wanted to challenge myself to keep it going.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Just a few weeks. It was for my M.F.A. thesis, so I got through pretty quick, which I hope isn't too obvious. I suppose I don't dwell on a project much, though I seem to be of late.

What are your influences for this book / what other books would you compare this book to within your genre?

Heidegger's essays that are collected in Poetry, Language and Thought, Ashbery's lingering lines, Ceravolo as always, and of course Forrest Gander's guiding hand. I don't want to compare it to anyone else's book because I don't want to hurt any feelings.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

It would be a graphic novel, surely. But if it were made into a film, Patrick Fischler might be a good candidate.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I like to think they are poems you have to sink into. You don't gloss over them quick- they are dense and not something that spits you out too quickly on the other end. Maybe that would appeal to some readers.

Waiting on Joseph Ceravolo

I've had a bit of a history with Joseph Ceravolo and now, his Collected Poems are coming out from Wesleyan University Press. I'm excited, no doubt. Excited that someone who is way too underrated, especially among the other giants of the New York School, is getting what they finally deserve. Happy that the Ceravolo family has gotten what they wanted for their patriarch through hard work and smart decision making. 

I've been in touch with a few members of the family over the years, especially Joe's widow Rosemary and his son Jim. in fact, after the above piece was published on Octopus, it was Jim who wrote me, saying they weren't sure at the time how to go about getting Joe's work back into the world. Heck, I didn't know then either, but fortunately they were able to figure it out, surely with help from those who adore Joe's work.

It's been a bit of a road- I was admittedly disappointed not to get to help at all- but now I don't care. This Friday, I'll have my copy of Joe's poems to pour through. I've read a lot of his poems, no doubt, but I am trying to mentally prepare for what he has in store for me that might be new and vivid. I'm more excited than it's possible to know.

The basically retired Joseph Ceravolo Project.

Reading from December 2012

Ron Silliman was kind enough to post audio from my reading with Adam Vines at Jessica Smith's series at the Indian Springs School in Alabama.

Opening Strophes from "Untitled Project"

Jerome Rothenberg, with whom I have been working on his Jacket2 commentary page, was kind enough to post the opening pages of my as yet untitled book length project.