In a rare interview with the gun-shy Ms. Marloff, I got her to open up about the current situation in poetry last Friday.
First (she said) let me say a few words about poor Adrienne Rich. We would be poorer without her efforts through lug und trug, thin and thick und so weiter.
What about Rimbaud [pictured left], I asked?
The coloration of the vowels in the sonnet "Voyelles" demonstrates the impossibility of determining the identity of language's molecular components.
How come more people don't read the poets you champion?
OK in the face of the scandalous book awards and the continual neglect of what is truly cutting edge in poetry, let me just say this:
If all metaphor is linguistic, and post-modernism a coded name for neo-romanticism, then what about the meta of metaphsysics, let alone world peace, for those who pass the R Test? And what is this quasi (modo) feeling I keep getting?
If you were to appoint a journey of your fears, who would make the cut?
I would nominate the following:
Mike Ehrmantrout
Arlene C. Bass
Newt Minnow
Sasha Torian
Joanne Ashberger
Frederick Sydorder
Cate Flounder
Salpietro Quennell
Reynaldo Artest
Barbara Erster
Paul Orsulak
Desiree Flashbacca
They honor the poetics and politics of "Ray-gun" indeterminacy, Clintonian diplomacy ("I didn't swallow," he said straight-faced with a half-empty glass of Dewar's in his fist) and, in a satirical vein, the good-natured if unfortunately inept efforts of John ("You've Got a Friend") Kerry trying to broker the peace, or threaten the tyrants, or whatever.
– W. C.
from the archive; March 14, 2015.