In Glory, In Wire

I wrote my first poem today in weeks. I always tell myself, "I don't need to write," like I'm trying to prove that I'm above it or don't need it in my life, and then when I don't there's this odd malaise that sets in, and I attribute to the lack of pushing words around the page. So yes, clearly I do need to write, and I need to start sticking to the draft-a-week plan.

It's another poem for the chapbook I think.

Speaking of which, I finally say down with my friend Nick the other day (you should buy his chapbook here)—my most astute reader, who's always honest and somehow hones in perfectly on the shortcomings and loose ends in my work—to discuss the chapbook. I now have many ideas where I can take it, and I still have poems to write that need to be in there. It feels that way to me at least. There's no reason to rush it I suppose.

The project's comprised of poems that I haven't really received comments on, mainly because I haven't sent them to people until a few trustworthy folks recently, as the chapbook.

I'm hoping if this doesn't turn into something that it'll at least help with future collections and projects. Since the chapbook is kind of inherently more like a sprint, you need to be ultra-cognizant of how poems fit together, what the chapbook's doing—its "agenda" I suppose—and how it ends. Even though many say, "Put your strongest poems at the beginning," I do believe in a fitting and should-be-perfect ending, however you want to define "perfect." Maybe I have no clue what I'm talking about. I don't think I ever do.

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I hadn't looked at Ghost Lights in a while, so the other day I took a look at it and cut two poems. That makes it about 53 pages of actual poetry, and I'm really happy with that length. There were some contests in the past months that called for 60-90 pages of poetry, or at the very least 60— instead of the usual 48—so I had to sneak some more in there, and I think it seemed forced, just like it kind of had to be. Needless to say, I didn't like that.

I got a recent poem published that—if it fit anywhere—I thought would fit somewhere within Ghost Lights, as it's an elegy. That said, I couldn't find a place for it. I realized this is because the only thing I can really do now is cut poems. I don't think there's anything more I can say than what's in those pages through those poems, and the aforementioned poem seemed like an echoed amalgam of a few others already in the manuscript. And if I was writing new work to include poems, they'd be forced and wouldn't have the same kind of energy the current poems do. It's taken me about a year and a half to realize this.

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I watched Lake City the other day, mainly because it was filmed in Richmond, though really it was Glen Allen I think. I recognized one five-second shot that was clearly an establishing shot, probably not part of the previous shot, that was in Shockoe Bottom. And I tried to Google some names of places and things, and I found some locations that are in Glen Allen, about five miles away. Most of the movie takes place in an old farmhouse, and the cinematography's easily the best thing about the movie. I never knew the surrounding area here was so gorgeous. It reminded me a bit of Tim Orr's contributions to the more lyrical movies he's filmed. Overall, though, it's not something you need to rush out to see. I say this too much maybe, but it reminded me of an MFA screenplay that somehow got the funding to back it. The story was a bit too loose and tried to do too many things, but I didn't hate it by the end, which is a good thing.

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Congratulations to David Wojahn. It's more than well-deserved.

I'm fairly certain in saying that without his help and support and influence these last four years, I would be completely lost in the world of poetry.

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And some noteworthy and necessary spins for me lately:

• Antony and the Johnsons - The Crying Light
• Various Artists - Dark Was the Night
• Calder - Lower
• Musee Mecanique - Hold This Ghost
• Tim Hecker - An Imaginary Country
• Loney Dear - Dear John
  

Please Be Great, Bowtie Cinemas

I had the pleasure of seeing some pretty inspiring movies in the last few days: Following Sean, Billy the Kid, and Local Color.

FOLLOWING SEAN is one of those documentaries that felt like a Jóhann Jóhannson composition, slowly building and becoming louder and more complex, until it suddenly ends and you're kind of overwhelmed by this hugeness in front of you. Maybe not all his works, but the best. I didn't know what I was watching at first or where I was going. There are tons of momentum shifts, time shifts, but everything feels right. It's linear a way, but you don't really know how it us or why it is until the end. It's really a film that creeps up from under you. I found it to be ultimately... filmed by someone with a beating heart, for one. A friend who was describing a poet recently said, "It doesn't feel like a human's behind the words; it feels like ghosts." So many poems feel like that, and some on purpose I suppose, but this was the complete opposite. It reminded me a bit of STONE READER in the sense of the quest, and of CAPTURING THE FRIEDMANS for its use of older footage, not originally sought out for use in the film. I felt I was a better person after seeing it. It sounds saccharine but it's true. It's a film that feels silly to even begin to describe, and if you don't get it you may turn it off. But it clicked for me. There's so much I could say about it, but I won't try. See it. Not only that, but I didn't know who Lori McKenna was, and her amazingly beautiful song, "Never Die Young," runs with the credits. Her voice reminds me a bit of Sally Ellyson from Hem, who also has one of the most amazing voices I've ever heard.

BILLY THE KID was a movie I'd seen a trailer for, and it didn't disappoint. It's basically about a kid who's a sophomore in high school and gets followed around by a camera. Again, the reviews were mixed, and I can see why, but ultimately I found it to be completely interesting. You can tell he's borderline genius with the things he says, and there were moments I wanted to be that age again. I think it's essentially a movie about young love, but through some alternate sense of anything most of us have ever known. He's not your average high school sophomore, and you can tell he's something special. It's another oddly inspiring movie by the end. I'm having a lot of trouble making any semblance of a connection with my own words, which is another reason it just needs to be viewed.

LOCAL COLOR, like SNOW ANGELS, is a script that could've been made into a shitty Lifetime movie in the wrong hands, and you may say it is, in fact, pretty much a Lifetime movie. I think despite the possibly maudlin and predictable nature, I found it all to be enjoyable because I seem naturally to compare all art to poetry: painting, music, fiction, everything. I think most poets are biased toward the notion that poetry can be found in everything, but no other art can singularly claim that as far as I'm concerned. I find myself relating to Trevor Morgan's character (who I saw something in in OFF THE BLACK, even though the movie was a watered-down -- with more narrative -- David Gordon Green flick, complete with stolen cinematographer Tim Orr): wanting to learn and knowing it may take a while to realize why I'm doing what I do. The script is predictable, but there's something I like about it so much, for all the reasons I won't be able to explain.

I don't know if this post makes any sense.

But I still feel like I not only have so much to learn, but there's so much I want to learn, before I get older and jaded and bad shit happens to the point where I don't want to think about art in the least. I hope that never happens, but unfortunately it does for some.

I've probably written about it before, but when Phil Levine was here my first semester at VCU a few years ago, he said, about Larry Levis, and I'm paraphrasing: "Even when he was going through awful things in life, he never stopped writing." I remember so much about that moment, even where people were sitting, people who I haven't seen since that hour in that room with no windows open.

I can't say anything else right now without sounding like someone who can't even tell you what time it is.

They Shoot, We Score

I didn't know it was coming out, but it was a pleasure to find that Yo La Tengo's compilation of film scores has finally been released.

Yo La Tengo was the first band I ever wrote. I remember Ira writing me back and giving me some stickers and sending me a really nice note, and this was back in the day when they were popular enough that they could've hired someone to write me back. Or throw in a sticker. I think I still have that Yo La Tengo sticker somewhere, in a drawer with all my other stickers that I never used.

Pleasantly surprised I was also to find that I've seen all four of the movies, a diverse and weird compilation in itself: Old Joy, Junebug, Game 6, and Shortbus. Every movie was initially a Netflix rental.

Old Joy was super-hyped and really wasn't that good. The score was the best part. And the commentary was one of the most ludicrous commentaries I've ever heard. It's worse than Burton's Edward Scissorhands commentary. I say that because both of them have almost 100% complete silence in common. If I wanted to watch the movie again without your pretty-much-not-there-at-all-anyway-so-why-do-a-goddamn-commentary-in-the-first-place voice, then I would've watched the movie again, the latter which has of course happened.

I'm a huge Junebug fan, and some of the best parts of the movie include the subtlety of the score. I think it also showed how great Amy Adams can be, if she's actually doing good movies. You don't have to be Vinnie-Chase-picky, but come on, Amy, do something challenging and ballsy already. Sunshine Cleaning, perhaps? Maybe it'll be awful. I'm not sure. Despite everyone hating the living shit out of it, I thought Sylvia was OK.

Game 6 was pretty much just plain bad. Horrible dialogue. Don DeLillo should just write novels. Film scripts aren't for everyone.

Shortbus was more bizarre and challenging than I thought it would be. I was better for it at the end, but I feel like many people I know couldn't make it past the first 10 minutes. And I'm not really sure what that says.

All the scores, however, are pure Yo La Tengo, whether subtlty and melody driven, or guitar squall and steady-yet-lighter drumming. And the record's something I'll be putting on every once in a while as good background tunes, though I'll really end up probably wanting to watch Junebug again.

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I'm pretty sure my paucity-laced reviews are in honor of my imminent 100 Favorite Movies list, one I've been pondering since Craig Beaven (Thanks for distracting my even more, my friend) emailed me about it. When it's done I will be posting it here for everyone to see, with links and years so there's no confusion (such as this amazing and pretty much unknown The Dream Catcher for this pitiful excuse for a film). I'm really excited about this. I feel like your favorite films say a lot about you.

Not that I've seen many lists, but I know it takes time. And sometimes I wish I would've gone (or at least applied) to film school instead of writing poetry. But it's hard for me not to have a hypothetical camera in my hand when writing, even if I'd never even come close to heroes Robby Müller or Tim Orr.

List soon.

You should make one yourself.

And not one based on the AFI's top 100 movies or your fear that people will judge you. Yes, I'm talking to you, reader.

P.S. Citizen Kane ain't making my list. Suckers.