On April 23rd, we gathered together at the Weisman Art Museum on campus to celebrate the thirty-nine year teaching career of poet Michael Dennis Browne. As an undergraduate, I loved all genres equally, even did my thesis in non-fiction, but in those last few years, I was lucky enough to apply and be accepted into a few of his graduate workshops and seminars. I fell in love with poetry under the tutelage of MDB; we can fully blame him for my non-lucrative choice, my deep passion.
April 23rd, which happens to be Shakespeare's birthday, was also declared Michael Dennis Browne Day in the city of Minneapolis.
Among those pictured above: Ray Gonzalez, Patricia Hampl, Louis Jenkins, Robert Bly, along with many other former students as well as a full choir singing songs MDB wrote the lyrics for and some acoustic music in celebration. The three in the middle are his children: Nellie, Mary, and Peter, reading a letter from MDB's brother in England, Peter reading the poem "A Blessing."
Congratulations, Michael. We've been blessed to have you.
I just learned the poet Ai passed awayon Saturday, which is sad news for our community. She was only sixty-two.
I first encountered her work in her Selected Poems when I was an undergraduate. She was a visiting writer at the Loft (back in spring of 2001 or 2002), a mentor for Kathleen (my "boss" at my internship in the creative writing offices, so to speak). I saw her when Louise Erdrich did an interview with her--Ai's personality was buoyant and quirky. When her cell phone went off, she answered it, telling the person she'd have to call them back because she was at a public interview; the crowd, I think, found her charming.
It wasn't until a few years ago that I encountered The Killing Floor, a gorgeous, gorgeous book of persona poems from the perspective of murderers. It is an early book for her, not nearly as sprawling as some of her more recent poems, and I admired her use of language and voice. It's on a draft of my MFA booklist (a list compiled by MFAs at the end of their time here that is supposed to reveal influences in the manuscript and include a range of genres and time periods).
I'm surprised to find so little in the newspapers about her death; surely her contributions to literature were significant enough to warrant blurbs in larger presses. She was a writer of influence for me, truly.
There are many good things in life, and last night, I experienced a few: dinner at a new restaurant with friends, time at a poetry reading, seeing a beloved instructor and mentor, introducing that instructor to a dear friend who loves her work.
Thanks, Sheena + Colleen + Meryl for a lovely evening. Thank you, thank you. I am filled.
"These then are spiritual exercises: walk don't drive, when you do drive, drive slowly, make room for the one behind you, when you drive don't read, listen: when you read, read poetry."
Tonight: Michael Pollan giving a talk in the Twin Cities suburbs on eating locally. He spoke mostly on content, which, as a journalism instructor, I can understand, and knowing your audience is crucuial too; I only wish he could have come a few weeks earlier, visited the program, given a craft talk for some of us studying creative nonfiction. I love his work not just because I believe in what he is saying, but also because he has an immense talent for saying it--we studied his book The Omnivore's Dilemma, and while we discussed content on some levels, we also did a lot of work examining the craft of his book.
Even more so, I was grateful for the good company: Angie, Emily, and Emily's friends Suzanne and Laura. We went out to PF Chang's beforehand, and I loved the chatter--the diversity of the conversation, but also I loved so much that it can come back to passion, to words, to language. Being in the bookstore reminds me of how much I love to read, and even though I'm thoroughly enjoying my poetry book-a-day project, and though I'm also glad I'm going to focus myself with the summer reading list, I also look forward to the expansive narrative of prose. It's something I'm glad I've returned to through the creative nonfiction class; one bit of academic history is that my undergraduate thesis was in nonfiction, though I loved all genres as an undergraduate and still do, here and now. Sometimes I feel as if I'm stomping around in frustration so much over the poetic experiences in the program that I've forgotten all the blessings in between. It's been such a good first year, and I feel a bit high, a bit floaty as we go into summer, and I hope I don't lose that momentum.
Tomorrow: I'm going to pack up my things and work at a coffee shop. I figure if I change venues, I'm more likely to not get distracted. And no laptop either. Just me, my chapbook manuscript (such as it is), and my writing notebook. Fully focused. I hope.
(PS: Also--a few more Michael Pollan shots in this photoset.)
This image is gorgeous, I think. What a beautiful portrait and the colors, so rich, the backdrop so important to what I've learned was key in Bill Holm's work, that sense of place and culture.
I picked up his book Playing the Black Piano on a trip to the Minnesota Center for the Book Arts, curious of what else Eireann's publisher has put out.
Holm wrote his drafts in longhand on yellow note pads, and because Buchwald could not decipher his handwriting, he hired a typist to transcribe them. "I would give him written comments, and he would give his rebuttal. He was never tactful, but that's all right," Buchwald said. "He was forthright. He never turned down a comment or suggestion that he felt might genuinely help the book along."
Holm taught for 27 years at Southwest Minnesota State University at Marshall. "Boxelder Bug Variations" came about because of an assignment he gave his students, who complained that they had nothing to write about, out there on the prairie. "He told them, 'That's ridiculous! You can write about anything!'" Buchwald said. "A boxelder bug was crawling across his desk, and he said, 'You can write about this!' And he gave them that assignment. And then he gave it to himself."
While Holm wrote his works, it was often Sandy Mosch, a long-time SMSU administrative assistant in the English department, who typed them because Holm did not use a computer.
Mosch said she typed Holm's books and poems for many years.
Holm was an occasional guest on A Prairie Home Companion radio show on American Public Media. The program's host, Garrison Keillor, called Holm a great man.
"And unlike most great men, he really looked like one. 6 foot 8 inches, big frame, and a big white beard and a shock of white hair, a booming voice, so he loomed over you like a prophet and a preacher, which is what he was," said Keillor.
"I wish I'd been there to catch him as he fell," Keillor continued. "I hope his Icelandic ancestors are waiting to welcome him to their rocky corner of heaven. I hope his piano goes to someone who will love it as much as he did. I hope that people all across Minnesota will pick up one of his books and see what the man had to say."
Things I love: poetry and precise words, kitchen gardens, wildflowers, photography, the natural world, walking in the woods, geography and culture and a sense of place, thunderstorms, yoga, letterpress artwork, knit objects, earth tones, chai tea, little birds, the ocean, wool, thick books to get lost in, ecotones and diagrams, sheep and llamas and goats, handwritten letters, the body (mine and yours).
