The Triggering Subject

This morning I finished Richard Hugo's book The Triggering Town: Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing. I approached it with caution, as I do with any book written by a poet about poetry. I was intrigued by a lot of what Hugo had to say in terms of poetry, especially when he spoke in regard to the poet's personal life. Much of what he had to say was both inspirational and practical, motivating me to pick up the pen a little more than I have been lately. Likewise, many of his ideas and theories were similar to some of my own personal thoughts -- though, granted, his are articulated more clearly and creatively than mine could ever be. I feel as though I've come into this book rather late as a self-proclaimed poet -- it seems like a staple in most poet's collections -- but better late than never, n'est-ce pas?

One of my favorite sections that I dog-eared was in the chapter titled "Statements of Faith," in which Hugo responds to William Carlos Williams' statement that "one reason a poet [writes is] to become a better person." Hugo says:

I don't think Williams was advocating writing as therapy, nor the naive idea that after writing a poem one is any less depraved. I believe Williams discovered that a lifetime of writing was a slow, accumulative way of accepting one's life as valid. What a silly thing we do. We sweat through poem after poem to realize what dumb animals know by instinct and reveal in their behavior: my life is all I've got. We are well off to know it ourselves, even if our method of learning it is painfully convoluted.

When you write you are momentarily telling the world and yourself that neither of you need any reason to be but the one you had all along (72).

In other news, I might expand this blog beyond poetry. There are too many things making me happy right now: good friends, a hot and sticky summer, ice cream, music on loop. Would it be cliche to say my life is pumping new air? Probably, so I won't.

David Trinidad & Memoir in Poetry

About a week ago I found myself aimlessly wandering around the BPL searching for anything to put on my neglected orange library card. Eventually I stumbled upon David Trinidad's book Hand Over Heart. I fanned through the pages rather quickly and decided to just go for it, be adventurous, take it home.

As it turns out, I'm glad I found his book. I've only read and heard about Trinidad through secondary sources. I've never been able to actually get my hands on his work save for whatever results the closest search engine produces. Hand Over Heart is more of a diary collection than anything else, a memoir in poetry if you will. But it's so refreshing to see such a thing in print. I feel like I've struggled -- and still continue to struggle -- with the balance between narrative and language in my own poetry. What I tend to write are life accounts with some poetry thrown in for good measure, while my goal is to change that percentage. Let's say 60/40, poetry/memoir.

Granted, this book is from the 90s and I have no doubt that Trinidad's writing has evolved. Still, I think it's a great example of how a lot of poets begin and learn to recognize their own voices developing. Hand Over Heart is particularly interesting because of its main focus: pop culture, and how it channels itself into our everyday lives.

Hand Over Heart
David Trinidad

I look up at the clock.
It's time to go, so
I cover the typewriter
and calculator, lock my radio
in the file cabinet
and straighten my desk.
On the way out, I unplug
the Christmas tree lights.
I am rarely the last one
to leave the office.

Alone in the elevator,
I listen to a lilting
rendition of "Frosty
The Snowman." The door
slides open. Outside,
it's already dark. I say
good night to the guard
in the parking lot, wait
for my car to warm up.
It does and I drive off.

Halfway home,
I turn on the radio.
Madonna sings
her new hit, "Open
Your Heart." At
the same time, on
another station,
Cyndi Lauper sings
her latest song, "Change
of Heart." Not that long
ago, it might have
been Brenda Lee
singing "Heart In Hand"
and Connie Francis
belting out any number
of her most popular
tunes: "My Heart
Has A Mind Of Its
Own," "Breakin' In
A Brand New Broken
Heart," "When
The Boy In Your Arms
(Is The Boy In Your
Heart)" or "Don't
Break The Heart
That Loves You."
I don't know why
I think about
such things.

I park the car
in the garage, walk
across the courtyard
and check the mailbox.
A few bills, ads,
Christmas cards
from friends I no
longer feel that
close to. No
messages on my
phone machine.

"I'm sorry,"
you said last
night. You seemed
sincere. Later,
I sat in my car
and cried. Was it
love? I thought
it was love. I mean
it felt like love.
It really did.