December 15, 2011

Review by Christian Ward

SAINTS OF HYSTERIA Saints of Hysteria
A HALF-CENTURY OF COLLABORATIVE
AMERICAN POETRY

Ed. by Denise Duhamel, Maureen Seaton & David Trinidad

Soft Skull Press
55 Washington Street
Suite 804
Brooklyn, NY 11201
ISBN: 1-933368-18-7
397 pp., $19.95
www.softskull.com

Saints of Hysteria is a fascinating anthology covering fifty years of collaborative American poetry. Denise Duhamel, Maureen Seaton and David Trinidad have included an eclectic mix of poems, ranging from Neal Cassady, Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac’s whimsical Pull My Daisy to Lisa Glatt and David Hernandez’s deliciously camp Gay Parade with its candy coloured “We hoot and holler at the men dressed / as cheerleaders, their hairdos like giant scoops / of sherbet…” Many of the poems are accompanied by process notes, giving the reader useful information how the piece was created.

The anthology opens with Charles Henri Ford’s International Chainpoem, written by Ford and eleven other poets in 1940. The excellent introduction tells us that “In 1940, American Charles Henri Ford adapted this practice [of collaborative poetry] into what he dubbed the ‘Chainpoem’, which he defined as an ‘intellectual sport…an anonymous shape laying in a hypothetical joint imagination.'” This opening poem is a wonderful example of the melding together of different personalities and imaginations, seen with lines like “When a parasol is cooled in the crystal garden” (Takesi Fuji) and “Spell me out a sonnet of a steel necklace.” (Tuneo Osada)

It moves through collaborative efforts by Beat poets Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady, to the New York school, with poems by John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, Frank O’Hara, Ted Berrigan and Ron Padgett amongst others. Bill Berkson and Frank O’Hara’s darkly comic St Bridget poems stand out with poignant lines juxtaposed next to childlike silliness:

afternoon is leaning toward drinks  I am getting
myself right now though I shouldn’t  Would

you like one, heaviness of the compost thresh-
hold? No, I want the plants to have it, for

they have died  Sometimes the streets are full
of snot sometimes the travelling ferris-wheel

Collaborative poems by Robert Creeley, Marilyn Hacker, Susan Cataldo and James Schulyer move the anthology through to the eighties. The nineties and thousands continues the eclectic range of styles seen throughout the book. All Ears by Keith Abbot, Pat Nolan, Maureen Owen and Michael Sowl, for example, is a mish-mash of Japanese traditional forms such as hokku, waki, renku and ageku woven together with a series of zen-like images:

  After rain the freeze
gnawing at the wall
          hands over heater all ears

          after rain the freeze
gnawing at the wall
              hands over heater all ears
leaves cut into a steel sky
or the gray in photographs

Cartographic Anomaly by Terri Carrion and Michael Rothenberg reads like a diary written in haiku, fused with observations made by a botanist. Stanzas such as "Michael on computer, in bed, blue glow / from screen on his face like TV image. / Big Bend National Park" are followed by details such as Ocotillo, Hectia Scariosa and Agave havardiana. This contrast between the material and the natural makes each section seem almost metaphysical on one level.

The anthology is well worth reading even if you’re not interested in collaborative poetry. There is such an abundance of different styles and imaginations from several decades that everyone will find something they will enjoy.

___________

Christian Ward is a 27 year old London based poet and student, currently finishing the third year of a degree in English Literature & Creative Writing at Roehampton University, London. A Pushcart Prize nominated poet, his work is forthcoming in The Warwick Review, Remark and Decanto.

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September 18, 2009

Denise Duhamel

from: HELP (IN 47 LANGUAGES)

It is rumored that when the famous linguist William Jacobsen
was struck by a car, he shouted, “Help!” in 47 languages.

APPI!

On the cover of the Help! album, the Beatles spell out a word in semaphore. One would guess—four Beatles, four letters—that the word must be “HELP.” Instead they are spelling out “NUJV” on the British album and “NJUV” on the U.S. release. Some conspiracy theorists say John was already dead in 1965, and that the letters stand for New Unknown John Vocalist. Others say Paul was dead—New James (Paul’s first name) Unknown Vocalist. Still others notice the image has been reversed—the Beatles coats are buttoned on the wrong side. When one holds the album up to the mirror, the Beatles are really spelling “LPUN,” which stumps everyone. Robert Freeman, the album photographer, said he didn’t have a message. He was simply interested in “the best graphic positioning of the arms.”

AJUDA

Zip the Clown lived next door. He was mean without his makeup, always yelling at his scraggly boys who were the same age as my sister and me. A midget who wore overalls stayed with them and straightened out their messy house. She tried to show Zip’s kids and my sister and me how to make balloon animals, but we were afraid of the squeak the balloons made when we twisted them. Most of the balloons exploded and the midget may have thought we were bursting them on purpose because she said if we were just going to fool around she couldn’t waste her special balloons on us. The midget wasn’t Zip the Clown’s daughter or wife, just someone he was helping out until she could get on her feet. Then one day she did get on her feet and Zip’s boys wore the same shirts to school for a whole week.

from Rattle #24, Winter 2005

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January 3, 2009

DENISE DUHAMEL: “I wrote a series of prose poems based on the principle of the ‘Johari Window,’ a psychological model used in assessing self-actualization. The four prose poems reflect the ‘windows’ of the self: what the self freely shares with others; what the self hides from others; what others hide from the self; and what is unknown to the self and others. I used the confines of physical spaces of the blinds’ slats to determine the length of my prose poems—and my project involved ‘filling’ those spaces with words. For the ‘Johari Window,’ I constructed prose poems to ‘fit’ on four sides of two Venetian blinds. I printed the words on vellum and attached them to the slats of the blinds, each slat a line. The blinds ‘open’ and ‘close’ to reveal and withhold information.”

Click each image for a larger version:

The Johari Window 1

The Johari Window 2

The Johari Window 3

The Johari Window 4

from Rattle #29, Summer 2008
2008 Pushcart Prize Nominee

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