Sunday, March 21, 2010

Ai's Conversation



Conversation
By Ai

We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.
Don't tell me, I say. I don't want to hear.
Did you ever, you start,
wear a certain kind of silk dress
and just by accident,
so inconsequential you barely notice it,
your fingers graze that dress
and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper,
you see it too
and you realize how that image
is simply the extension of another image,
that your own life
is a chain of words
that one day will snap.
Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands,
and beginning to rise heavenward
in their confirmation dresses,
like white helium balloons,
the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning,
and above all that,
that's where I'm floating,
and that's what it's like
only ten times clearer,
ten times more horrible.
Could anyone alive survive it?

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Q&A with Poet Ai



Source: http://poetrycenter.arizona.edu

Several Poetry Center staff members collaborated to pose some questions to Ai, a poet (and a Tucson native) whose work will be on display in the Poetry Center Library through August 15th.

Your poems have been praised as "challenging." In each, an entire world―for lack of a better word―is created so that the reader is convinced that the way of thinking presented is the only way of thinking. Though the myriad voices in which your poems are written are one of their most arresting features, I don't think it is the voices alone that achieve this intellectually and philosophically challenging effect. Can you speak to how this is done?

Ai: I don't really know how to answer this question, I mean the part about "how this is done." I don't have a process that anyone else could follow and use to create their own monologues. The only method I use is THE METHOD. By that I mean that I admire Method acting/actors a lot. I think of my "voices" as characters. I think I am closer to a playwright in that way than a poet. When I write a monologue, I get to play all the parts, plus I am the writer and the director. I don't know why I never wrote plays instead of poems, but of course, my poems are dramatic monologues, and in a sense, they are mini-plays. The intellectual and philosophical effects are just part of my intelligence, I guess. I have a high IQ which has perhaps made it easier for me to incorporate such things into monologues. Of course, I am always trying to stay in character and not let my own personal feelings, etc. interfere with "the character." Some people think my monologues are masks for my own ideas and what not, but I disagree. They are not masks. That, I think, is a major distinction between what I am doing and simply writing personae poems. The dramatic monologue is a kind of bridge between poetry and drama. I am standing upon that bridge.

What physical aspect of Tucson has most influenced your writing? Or, if you prefer, have any physical aspects of Tucson influenced your writing?

Ai: I think the desert and the heat of Southern Arizona are almost characters in some of my early monologues. I am thinking of 'The Hitchhiker" which is in my first book, Cruelty. When that book came out, a lot of people thought I was writing about the Midwest, which surprised me as I always had Tucson in mind when I was writing. I also drew on my childhood on West Riverview and growing up Catholic, not to mention multiracial in Tucson, which used to have some Mexican/African American, Fillipino/African American and Native American/African American families with their own kinds of cultural identities that I don't think people know about, or remember, but I do as I am from one of those families. We also had Irish ancestry to go with Native American, African American and in my case Japanese. Tucson was an interesting place to live back then and in which to grow into an adult.

What do you like best in the poems you read?

Ai: I don't know that there is one thing I like best in the poems I read. I admire the skill the poets show in some poems, even if I don't like the poems that much. I remember a quote, "...my heart leaps up.." That's what I am looking for in a poem, something that says, "gotcha Ai."

How does your teaching inform your poetry?

Ai: I don't think teaching informs my poetry at all. They are pretty separate in my mind. I find teaching draining and don't do a lot of writing during the school year. I think real teaching takes all one's creative energy, although once in awhile, I am energized by a good workshop and re-inspired by what has gone on in the workshop. Just seeing how new and exciting everything is to my students makes me remember how it was for me when I was their age and makes me grateful I can still write a good poem/monologue.

Do you like watching films? Can you speak to any intersection between your work and the movies?

Ai: Yes, I love movies. I watch a lot of them and have a friend in Hollywood, who has been trying to break in for about ten years. I always talk to him about the latest movies. Sometimes, he gets to go to premieres and tells me all about the films before everyone else. Of course, now and then, his critiques ruin them for me. He'll just say, "don't bother going to that one." I was inspired to write my Aguirre poem after I saw the Herzog film, Aguirre, The Wrath of God, but that only happened once. I just enjoy them, but of course, the method actors I admire were people I saw in movies, not in plays, that is except for Marlon Brando and Al Pacino, whom I did see Off Broadway in American Buffalo. That was great. I was sitting in a seat (that had been described to me as being awful and the last one) so close to the stage that I could see spit flying out of his mouth.

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R.I.P. Ai: Poem "Woman to Man"





Woman to Man
by Ai (January 2, 1947 – March 19, 2010)

Lightning hits the roof,
shoves the knife, darkness,
deep in the walls.
They bleed light all over us
and your face, the fan, folds up,
so I won’t see how afraid
to be with me you are.
We don’t mix, even in bed,
where we keep ending up.
There’s no need to hide it:
you’re snow, I’m coal,
I’ve got the scars to prove it.
But open your mouth,
I’ll give you a taste of black
you won’t forget.
For a while, I’ll let it make you strong,
make your heart lion,
then I’ll take it back.

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Saturday, March 20, 2010

Shane Koyczan: Heart of a Poet





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Sabrina Gilbert @ Mike Geffner's Inspired Word





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Rock with The Mighty Third Rail!

The Mighty Third Rail rocked our joint in late Feb. Brought the house down. We absolutely love them. We're sure you'll love them too.

The Mighty Third Rail on iTunes!

The Mighty Third Rail CD!

The Mighty Third Rail, aside from being a clever riff on that special rail on the train tracks that will shock the ish out of you, and aside from being a metaphor in politics to avoid controversial issues, is also a brand spanking new band that mixes the elements of hip hop poetry, beatboxing, violin and bass. A 3 man squadron featuring the dashing Darian Dauchan on vocals, the indelible Ian Baggette on Bass, and the courteous Curtis Stewart on violin. When they're powers combine they produce a unique voltron of a sound the likes of which the world has never heard.

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Elizabeth Alexander on Poetry













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