February 6, 2008
Recent Poems
C. K. Williams
Lecturer with the Rank of Professor in Creative Writing,
Princeton University
Minutes of the 18th Meeting of the 66th Year
At 10:15 AM, following a social hour, President Giordmaine called to order at the Friend Center the 18th meeting of our 66th year. George Hansen led the invocation. Carolyn Livingston read the part of her splendid minutes relevant to last week’s talk on the Trenton Area Soup Kitchen. Jim Harford then introduced his wife Millie as a visitor, as did Charles Rojer his wife Marsha.
Jim Harford then introduced the speaker, C. K. Williams, Lecturer in Creative Writing at Princeton. The speaker has published at least ten books, including the National Book Award work, The Singing. His book Repair won a Pulitzer Prize. The reason behind Jim Harford’s shorter-than-usual introduction became increasingly clear as we encountered someone of talent and humility whose stature would quickly unroll before us without superfluous description.
After some initial attempts to find a suitable place for Mr. Williams both to read and to use the microphone, Mr. Williams began with some poems. A number of them arose from poignant, somewhat painful, memories from the past’s past, giving substance to his later remark that one "writes poems instead of screaming". He read eight poems including "My Mother’s Lips," "The Dog" (a work conscious of race), "When" (about his father’s desire to die), "The Neighbor" (inspired by Dionysius), a poem about people encountered previously which was published in The New Yorker. "The Dress" (about women), "Gas" (about farts of various sorts).
The speaker generously allowed questions to be put, after reading a further poem, "The United States," drawing parallels between – on the one hand - the rusting hulk of the record-setting ocean liner in which he had once sailed to France and – on the other hand - aspects of American life. The drift of queries from members quickly disclosed a profound interest in how a poet is moved to start out – a phenomenon for which he had no real explanation – no one was more surprised to find himself a poet than the speaker. Our members moved on to a consideration of what actually constitutes poetry. Mr. Williams opined that much school treatment of poetry has been abysmal, as if rhyming iambic pentameter were a necessary criterion of the genre. He pointed out that the pre-eminent American poet of the nineteenth century Walt Whitman, wrote many poems but only one in rhyme – that is the one used by schools.
He was inclined to regard academics as a threat to real poetry, citing T. S. Eliot – whom he saw as a great poet – mistakenly kowtowing to academic prejudices by filling out a book comprising the poem "The Wasteland" with notes, all of which flattered academics by implying that you had to be a scholar to understand poetry. He had begun by writing mainly narrative ones and then moved to lyrical poems. He believed that what constituted poetry was a sense of music in the words so that rhyme was not a prerequisite nor was regular rhythm necessary. It occurred to me that according to his definition, one could regard Churchill’s speech about fighting on the beaches as poetry, since it was marked by deep emotion, economy of wording, a definite musical ingredient and "pace and cadence."
It was to the credit of members that they did not feel it incumbent to disguise their lack of good education in poetry – they were not afraid to ask, What is poetry? – a question the talk may have lodged in the minds of many members who might yet hesitate to ask such a seemingly simplistic question. He did not treat the query as unworthy and a spirited dialogue ensued.
It also became subtly apparent that our home-grown Newark, New Jersey poet had an uncommonly catholic acquaintance with French, German, Spanish-speaking and Italian poets, presumably not in translation as he had lived abroad for many years. This man was no sloppy throw-the-verbal-paint-down and call the result a poem – indeed he revealed that many poems took a year to incubate and at least one had taken four years.
A considerable amount of meditation and reflection on the human condition lay behind his last offering, an amusing but satirical critique of that condition, or lack thereof, called Apes.
The highly-satisfying colloquy ended just before 11:30 AM.
Respectfully submitted,
John Frederick
Jim Harford then introduced the speaker, C. K. Williams, Lecturer in Creative Writing at Princeton. The speaker has published at least ten books, including the National Book Award work, The Singing. His book Repair won a Pulitzer Prize. The reason behind Jim Harford’s shorter-than-usual introduction became increasingly clear as we encountered someone of talent and humility whose stature would quickly unroll before us without superfluous description.
After some initial attempts to find a suitable place for Mr. Williams both to read and to use the microphone, Mr. Williams began with some poems. A number of them arose from poignant, somewhat painful, memories from the past’s past, giving substance to his later remark that one "writes poems instead of screaming". He read eight poems including "My Mother’s Lips," "The Dog" (a work conscious of race), "When" (about his father’s desire to die), "The Neighbor" (inspired by Dionysius), a poem about people encountered previously which was published in The New Yorker. "The Dress" (about women), "Gas" (about farts of various sorts).
The speaker generously allowed questions to be put, after reading a further poem, "The United States," drawing parallels between – on the one hand - the rusting hulk of the record-setting ocean liner in which he had once sailed to France and – on the other hand - aspects of American life. The drift of queries from members quickly disclosed a profound interest in how a poet is moved to start out – a phenomenon for which he had no real explanation – no one was more surprised to find himself a poet than the speaker. Our members moved on to a consideration of what actually constitutes poetry. Mr. Williams opined that much school treatment of poetry has been abysmal, as if rhyming iambic pentameter were a necessary criterion of the genre. He pointed out that the pre-eminent American poet of the nineteenth century Walt Whitman, wrote many poems but only one in rhyme – that is the one used by schools.
He was inclined to regard academics as a threat to real poetry, citing T. S. Eliot – whom he saw as a great poet – mistakenly kowtowing to academic prejudices by filling out a book comprising the poem "The Wasteland" with notes, all of which flattered academics by implying that you had to be a scholar to understand poetry. He had begun by writing mainly narrative ones and then moved to lyrical poems. He believed that what constituted poetry was a sense of music in the words so that rhyme was not a prerequisite nor was regular rhythm necessary. It occurred to me that according to his definition, one could regard Churchill’s speech about fighting on the beaches as poetry, since it was marked by deep emotion, economy of wording, a definite musical ingredient and "pace and cadence."
It was to the credit of members that they did not feel it incumbent to disguise their lack of good education in poetry – they were not afraid to ask, What is poetry? – a question the talk may have lodged in the minds of many members who might yet hesitate to ask such a seemingly simplistic question. He did not treat the query as unworthy and a spirited dialogue ensued.
It also became subtly apparent that our home-grown Newark, New Jersey poet had an uncommonly catholic acquaintance with French, German, Spanish-speaking and Italian poets, presumably not in translation as he had lived abroad for many years. This man was no sloppy throw-the-verbal-paint-down and call the result a poem – indeed he revealed that many poems took a year to incubate and at least one had taken four years.
A considerable amount of meditation and reflection on the human condition lay behind his last offering, an amusing but satirical critique of that condition, or lack thereof, called Apes.
The highly-satisfying colloquy ended just before 11:30 AM.
Respectfully submitted,
John Frederick