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Community Day On My G-Reader

Dorothea Lasky has started a probably useful discussion on space and community in poetry. I encourage you to read the text in full. Otherwise, very edited excerpt:

I get kind of turned off when poets refer to groups of poets collaborating together as “communities.” In 2009, a “poetry community” usually means a bunch of people who hardly know each other communicating on a listserve or blog. That’s great, but that’s not a community…. A community is a bunch of people living around each other, helping each other out with their living…. Community is a family, a big regional, reciprocal one. And family….means cooking and loving and providing for, in real living ways.

Over on the Black Ocean Blog, Janaka outlines a broader definition of community and further parses the difference between scene and community. A scene:

….a subculture of people connected to each other through a mutual interest, which may or may not involve a proscribed set of actions and code of conduct. This interest could be aesthetic…and it could also be ideological …Although they may share certain interests or beliefs, the people within a scene do not necessarily share common goals. …[A] scene contains both negative and positive potential. Individuals within a scene are not working together; they are working for themselves. While this is not inherently bad, it entails a certain attitude of self-absorption…

A Community:

…is a group of people sharing a common goal which is not necessarily aesthetic or even ideological (though, perhaps tangentially so). A community of people can come from a diversity of aesthetic and ideological positions, but their unified goal is to uplift the community itself, along with all its members….Whatever form this communal fulfillment takes obviates (or at least mitigates) the desire for individual achievement; at the very least it supersedes it to some degree. In a word: sacrifice.

More on sacrifice:

Sacrifice does not mean passivity; rather it requires an active ability to let go of something we value in order to achieve something else of even greater importance. Additionally this may (and often does) require us to act aggressively and without guilt or remorse. This is what is required of members in a community; whether we give up our comfort, our financial security, our personal time or even our personal safety for the common advancement of the group we hold with regard outside of ourselves….What I am saying is that communities are real, regardless of spatial distance, and that when we discover ways to help others while helping ourselves we are discovering new ways to create and maintain the communities we live in….I do believe it is possible for a group of people within a scene to act as a community without the proximal opportunities that cooperative (or even regional) living provides.

So:

While their ways of talking about community are different, their definitions of community overlap significantly.  They both define as networks of mutual beneficial, multistranded relationships. Multi-stranded, Lasky: “helping each other out with their living…. cooking and loving and providing for.” Janaka: mutual uplift, sacrifice. And family and sacrifice both implying that a community cannot be easily entered or left. Though Lasky might see the links between people as being necessarily denser to pass the community litmus test.

What’s really interesting to me is that their definitions of community come to loggerheads over the issue of space.   Lasky implies that the exchanges web based interfaces foster are insufficient. Perhaps because these interfaces only support certain kinds of exchange and prevent the other, lateral kinds of relationships, exchanges, and mutual dependencies that close geographical proximity can support. In the context of poetry, this is to say that its not just poetry that becomes integral to the life of the community. The other charge usually leveled at internet “communities” is that they are easier to enter and exit and so exchanges and relationships are less complex as they exist over shorter periods of time and between fewer channels. (Please imagine I’ve cited evidence).

I don’t disagree with these critiques and I’m glad Dorothea brings them to bare (implicitly) on the writing world , but I do sympathize with those whose primary instrument of connection to other poets/citizens is the internet and with the temptation to label these constellations of connections as communities. Here’s why: MFA programs place a premium on the fact that they manufacture a community for poets to enter. The irony of this institutional community building is that  a) two or three years of time consuming graduate work disrupts the poets’ previous community life and b) students most often disperse great distances from the space of the campus and attempt to maintain their links to an old set of peers through the internet while fostering connections with people and writers in closer geographic proximity to wherever they end up. The result for post-MFAs is a complicated sense of community–one that is both defined by exchanges on the internet and in person and in which these two arenas of exchange can seem inimical to each other.  It’s almost inevitable.

To add to the madness, while I think Janaka’s distinction between scene and community is very serviceable, distinctions between scene and community on the ground level might be not so clear to the participating member, and these groups can be, I think,  frustratingly fluid.  Scenes can disrupt community and vice versa. In the most likely case, while one might seek community, one might end up being a part of  a scene. One might also seek exchange, gravitate toward a group, then realize the cost of membership is too high.

What it seems like Dorothea is uncomfortable with is the fact that these systems of relations which are easily observable on the internet are called/considered communities without investigation into the degree to which these relations don’t exist on the internet.  While the internet is heralded as a way to transcend distance and meet people across the globe, sociologists have found that it is most often used to reinforce preexisting social ties. However alienating electronic communication can be, it is also important to remember that blogs/listserves/websites are just one public face of the many a geographically bound community can show. It also seems important to affirm the fact that electronic communication can be  instrumental in the creation and functioning of regional communities/families/etc.

Here the idea of sacrifice is vital. Right now it seems that the most robust poetic communities (let’s put universities and colleges aside), by Lasky’s definition, exist within cities. And, I think, one of the greatest roadblocks to joining these kinds of communities are the various costs associated with entering an urban community (being a perpetual renter, probably gentrifying a neighborhood etc–and there’s always the sense that urban communities are somewhat evanescent, largely due to financial pressures). So the sacrifices one has to make to join an urban community are very significant, where the sacrifices one makes by maintaining connections through electronic means are incremental and dependent on what ends the relationship achieves over time.  That’s to say, its far easier to gradually piss away one’s time on the internet or half-ass the project hoping it will pan out than it is to pack one’s bags and join the commune.

At this point, I think it is vital to ask ourselves to what ends are we entering or maintaining, however tenuously, our membership in these ” communities” and what the relationship between our virtual and real world communities is (mine is  schizophrenic and I hate it).

I’ve recently found myself believing more and more that the creation or elaboration of more alternate (non-digital or corporate) common spaces for (exchange? living?)  is an urgent job. It would seem that digital exchange might encourage the establishment or re-emergence of tight-knit cultural communities away from traditional cultural centers w/o the worry of these growing parochial–Part of me dreams of getting together a bunch of writer friends and buying out a bunch of foreclosed houses in a rotten suburb.– And, clearly, this is where my brain is starting to sputter out.  I guess what I’m reaching for here is that while the ease and ubiquity of electronic communication does prevent many of us from making the kinds of commitments to local communities that might be more rewarding  for all players involved, I think the relationships between virtual constellations of exchange and the grounds of shit and spit community life–between these two kinds of spaces–are increasingly dynamic and fecund and that these spaces hold the potential to give birth to the other.  And that Janaka’s and Dorothea’s posts reminded me of what I think are very real anxieties over space and community and the decisions and sacrifices we make in regard to where we live and be.

I’ll end with an invitation for all you mo-fos passing through the area to stop by the Joe-Cheryl compound.

EXTRA BONUS:

Link  portions of this post on Exoskeleton to current discussion. I don’t have the wherewithal.

Goodbye. I love you.

–Joe

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NOTES: Coal Mountain Elementary by Mark Nowak (Coffee House Press, 2009)

Book Good. Cover Fonts Kind Of Silly.

Book Good. Cover Fonts Kind Of Silly.

Coal Mountain Elementary is ostensibly labeled as poetry, but it is also a radical sort of reportage or (and this title has always seemed cumbersome) “creative non-fiction.”  The book is a selection of photographs by Ian Teh and excerpts from testimonials from the 2006 Sago Mine disaster that killed 12, newspapers covering Chinese mining disasters in 2005 and 2006, and lesson plans prepared by the American Coal Foundation to teach elementary, middle, and high school students about coal, mining, and coal culture.  I say that what Nowak does is  select and not collage because the units of prose that are excerpted are paragraphs and each excerpt occupies its own page. Collage would suggest more disjunction than seems to be intended and more of an effacing of the source of the collaged material.  Compare an excerpt from Nowak’s previous book, Shut Up Shut Down–

It was a mill town, he says, singing “mill” with a blend of affection and pity. A trace (far removed): my grandfather stepping off the Clinton Street bus and into a Kaisertown gin mill, Bethlehem Steel (still) scratched across his face. A mill town is not a goddamn residential neighborhood. Loading crates unloaded, oil drums bent and empty, glass shattered (past tense verbs) where the window frames (never/the/less) remain. When I walk on the sidewalk (here, or hear), I know when it’s heaving from tree roots.

–to a page in Coal Mountain–

Then after that, we just walked around. I had a family member come and check on me. I walked over to the pit and just stared at the pit for a long time, just hoping to see them walk out.

Here Nowak lets the source interviewees speak more for themselves, for their voices to become fuller. While the first passage reveals all kinds of authorial interventions into the source text and through the friction between the different texts at play leaves the reader with more space to play in and make meaning, Coal Mountain is far more interested in routing its reader to one set of disjunctions, that between one passage and the next–between expressive pictures and the bare bones of lesson plan instructions, between the dramatic arc of testimony in regard to Sago rescue efforts and the flatness of disaster as reported by newspapers.  It’s tempting to say that Shut Up Shut Down is the more complex text and that Coal Mountain is less complex and more didactic.  But it’s Coal Mountain’s dedication to a singular task that makes it what it is: it wants to tell you through its various strategies that the job of coal mining is frequently deadly, mine owners are negligent, and that there are  forces out there that want you to ignore this aspect of the industry.   And, perhaps more importantly, through the litany of contemporary Chinese mining disasters sustained over 176 pages, that the exploitation of the labor of miners is an ongoing problem.

Phil Levine is the poet of labor for a number of generations of readers. However, his poems on the working class and the industrial landscape of Detroit are increasingly flooded in a sepia light. As we move forward, the conditions of the laborers in his poems seem more of a thing of the past.  Similar poems written from the position of the lyric I further bury labor into the past and as a condition which the writer of the poem has overcome–something that forms a piece of the speaker’s narrative.  Or, worse, they find equivalences between the labor of writing and the labor of the body. Nowak goes to great lengths to give present the voices of the poems’ workers within a narrative that, instead of transcending the state of the heavy-industry worker, leads us to confront its most miserable aspects:

I tried to check everybody’s–I checked everybody’s pulse. I felt for a pulse. And I think most of them had hemorrhaged, hemorrhaged out, and there was some physical evidence there that you could see. I mean, that I thought, you know, with the hemorrhaging, most of them had hemorrhaged and some of them, there was foam, a lot of foam, and a pulse. They were icy cold. And they appeared to be deceased.

It does seem (as blurbs claim) that Nowak is reactivating another way of writing about work in American poetry and documentary.  If you’re at all interested in work, documentary, even maybe ethnography(?)/folklife(?) in poetry, this is certainly worth your time.

There’s a lot more to this book that I can’t get to or which I don’t have the tools to talk about–the color photography, primarily. Maybe in a later post.

Thanks to Robb St.L for pointing me to the book.

from IanTeh.com

from IanTeh.com

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South Bended: Impromptu 1st Book Reading

Whew. Shit. Glad I got this out of the way.  Rauan invited me up to South Bend to read with him and Johannes Goransson and Joyelle McSweeney two days before the actual reading. Despite the fact that I had read some of the MS poems before and that everyone was incredibly kind and easy going, including the host Tasha, I was incredibly nervous. As documented here.

But I got through it and had a real good time talking and listening to the other readers and the Notre Dame MFAers. They’re a good bunch.  I really hope they go through with their plan to set up a counter circus to the Obama protesting circus replete with face paint and a man dressed as bear with cymbals. Do it!

And I finally had the chance to buy worms for my compost bin at on my home at 1:30 AM. Indiana is good for that kind of stuff.  Also looking forward to reading more from Joyelle and Johannes. Any suggestions?

–Joe