Notes on Lance Larsen's First Book

Erasable Walls is a good first book. I say this because I've been thinking about first books and how Edward Hirsch calls them collections of "the best ofs..."--meaning they don't flow as well as the next books because the writer is still figuring the process and himself out. I thoroughly enjoyed Erasable Walls on its own, but since I read the other two collections first, I can see how Larsen has become more comfortable and confident in his work.

I knew going in that Larsen is a narrative and personal poet--meaning there are people in the poems, healthy sentiment, an arc you can follow as a reader (compare to lyric poetry which covers more "landscape of the soul" and other abstract concepts). I enjoyed the whole collection; my favorite poems centralized on the attempts to spiritually translate a situation, though.

I love "Errand." What are our errands? Of our fingernails or knees?

Another section, from "Letter to Hieronymus Bosh" that I appreciated: "This afternoon I found a mouse with a chewed-off head / on my doorstep. What was he guilty of? If tossing / him into hte field was a kind of prayer, I offered it / quickly, but didn't mean it. A single, lazy arc." How do our actions become prayers? Or how should they be prayers? What does it mean to really have compassion on the least? Is simply noticing ever enough?

"Denouement" felt like a poet's poem--on naming and language and expansion. Most collections of poetry have at least one meta moment. Usually every poem has a line or so that hints toward it, perhaps because one of the purposes of poetry is to draw attention to how we shape the world and our experience by the way we name things, by our labling processes. So Adam addresses the new world. "And no punctuation--all commas adn periods / swallowed by a grammar of infinity: / for who can parse God?" as we see the punctuation, the thundering dash, and definite colon, all leading up to the question mark that hangs heavily and implies that we believe we are whole, or know we are lacking, but ultimately we attempt to parse ourselves so that we can understand God, so we can grasp our relationship to something even as simple as the comma that may or may not be there.

Overall, I savored the book and my main complaint is that I bought a used copy and dislike the previous owners' marginalia (alas).

A note on some poetry (drafted months ago...)

Time builds up and I start feeling guilty about this dumb blog. I should form better, more efficient reports on what I read, but some days I can barely check my e-mail (Levi + technology = haphazard joy, destroyed machines...). And some days I struggle to slip in any writing time at all--the blog is just lower priority, I guess. Forgive me for my inconsistency; I don't live up to my own expectations most of time.

I have now officially read all of Jane Austen's work. Perhaps this desire came because I am surrounded by boys. Pride and Prejudice is witty and passionate and quoteable--no wonder there are multiple versions of it. Plus it's a fast read. Persuasion is not appreciated enough. I haven't heard many people rave about it, and it can be raved over. Sense and Sensibility is such an interesting look at sisters. What I love about Austen is the interiority she reveals by focusing on exterior realities. Granted, sometimes certain books and authors just fit my mood.

I've also recently reread Dandelion Wine (that was to celebrate summer). Ah. And Cheaper by the Dozen (one of Wesley's favorites--and very fun). I've read a few others and they are logged away in Excel. Eventually I may just figure out GoodReads.

This post is actually about three poetry collections.

I didn't mean to read The End of Desire by Jill Bialoski. Wes ordered The End of Oil for one cent online, and the bookstore had the two mixed up in their catalogue. They told us to keep it and sent the money for shipping back. Neat. While there were some great lines and what Doug Thayer calls "moments of insight," the collection felt self-absorbed and strangely self-congratulatory in its confessional style (annoying). It made me remember why people resisit the idea of personal nonfiction and confessional poetry. I worry sometimes that my work comes across that way. It is easy to believe you're exploring when you can't see the larger picture. People who have already made the map, or at least seen it, have a different perspective.

The Clearing by Philip White is an immensely personal study of grief, healing, and time as he considers the death of his wife. He's in his thirties. Overall, I found the collection lovely but a bit redundant. Sometimes I buy into the idea that there are only three or so themes out there that we all choose from and cling to--but I still want surprise and joy in the language. I want to feel pushed from the inside out.

I want to be friends with Pearl London

Bless the Provo City Library and their little podium displays of new nonfiction! Last week I randomly picked up Poetry in Person edited by Alexander Neubauder just published this March. The book compiles (and condenses) over 25 years of 90 minute conversations with poets. Pearl London taught at the New School and began a course called "Works in Progress." She invited poets to bring a poem in revision, or newly revised, and discuss their "vision and revision" with her and her students. As a result, these conversations are much more intimate and worthwhile than interviews (and I love interviews!). The poets are candid, personal, and useful in so many ways. So many different modes of expression, advice, and theory.

If only every classroom was like this! If only every day (and conversation) was like this! It makes me want to devour the world. It makes me want to give the world something great.

If nothing else, every writer should buy this book as a reference.