WHAT I'M READING::::P A R T O N E ::::
9/19/02
1) Peter Ganick, podiums: autobiographical cafe fictions:
Not, as the title suggests, a book of short stories about
dissident Berlin coffeehouses, this title from the esteemed Potes
& Poets press is a luxurious walk through Ganick's mastery of
syntax. I've long admired Peter's work; it fulfills much of what
I've always felt was possible with language art, but have far too
often been afraid to try (addicted as I am to a lyricism
sometimes impossible to shake off). Ganick does pepper these
numbered prose poems with autobiographical detail; I'd like to
see that "henna salsewoman" who creeps in as agent in some of the
pieces. But Ganick's autobiography is a true one; confessional in
the sense that it remains true to the flux and chaos of
perception, which includes the surface properties of language
itself. I highly reccomend this one to anyone who hasn't read
Peter's work yet; it's an adroit introduction. And to those lucky
enough to have lived with Peter;s work before, it's pure delight,
as always.
2.) Poetry, September 2002:
You know, every time I pick up this pretigious barometer of
the mainstream poetry zeitgeist, I'm annoyed. Not only is it
chock full of the same people issue after issue (there are always
new voices in its pages, but I could use less Yusef Komunyakaa),
but too often this "mainstream" stuff is just plain bad. This
issue in particular, which focuses on the September 11 tragedy
(each poem saying everything predictable that would have been
said had the tragedy happened in the nineteenth century, in much
the same style), had me reaching for my collection of LOST AND
FOUND TIMES to cleanse myself. Anyone who can use the hoary
phrase "cold comfort" in a poem without it's use being tongue-in-
cheek is probably an English professor somewhere, watching his or
her students' eyes glaze over at every mention of Adrienne Rich.
Avoid this stuff at all costs, if you're interested in anything
contemporary; one would do better to read graffiti tags on
passing trains. There's more real poetry there anyway.
3.) Stephen Pinker, The Language Instinct:
Just started this one, and it's very hard to put down.
Pinker takes the Chomsky approach, proposing that language is an
organ in a way, that we're (as Eryk Salvaggio once succinctly put
it) "hard-wired for language." A few months ago, I created a
Flash work that generated new words at random, and released the
source code to a few list-servs; one colleague wrote back, saying
I should read Pinker. So I am....
By the way: there's a brilliant debunking of the Whorf
hypothesis early on in this book that has me convinced. And I'm a
poet!