Poem of the Week: “Topical Piece: November 18, 2014” by Jane Munroe

jane-munro-2013

 

Topical Piece: November 18, 2014

I am near the front. Geeta is complaining
about the terrible Canadian
headstand. So she renovates mine. Abhi’s
hands under my shoulders feels like hydraulic
jacks. Gulnaaz has to hold my ankles
to keep my upright. Take her to the wall,
Geeta commands, with two tri-folded
blankets under her head. It is hard to get
my elbows down, upper back in, sacrum
stretched, pubis level. Hard to go up.
Hard to balance. Stretch my back. Pull my front ribs
back. Move my thighs back. Abdomen back—
to change what I didn’t know I didn’t know.

Jane Munro’s sixth poetry collection Blue Sonoma (Brick Books, 2014) won the 2015 Griffin Poetry Prize. Her previous books include Active Pass (Pedlar Press, 2010) and Point No Point (McClelland & Stewart, 2006). She lives in Vancouver and practices Iyengar yoga.

To view other poems published in this issue please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

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Vallum Poem of the Week: “Midnight Ghazals” by Harold Hoefle

Midnight Ghazals

I

Hot August, and in the bar a woman with legs of coffee-coloured
marble wants to know what’s up.  I’m looking down.

Almost funny, what he told her at the last table.
How, in the dark, she looked like his mother.

The barman said his biggest mistake was quitting school in grade eight.
He flipped his grey ponytail, told me he should’ve quit in grade six.

Zigzagging moral compass, innumerable black pints, someone’s
stories of cocaine, a tall girl who wrote your number on her arm:

bar nights are like eye colour, like friends:
do you want to change them?

II

In April a blind girl in Graz stood on a step, talked of hating ice cream.
The sun glared.  Smiling, she asked what I do in the afternoon.

An uncle hanged himself, a cousin walked into a speeding
truck.  Austria.  It’s good luck to see a chimney sweep.

An art-show poster in tree-budding Vienna: with one hand a naked woman
points a gun at her head; with the other hand, she points one at me.

He says he does heroin because he’s got to.  He paints walls all day, looks away
and sees drop sheets, smeared cans. Of white paint. Always. White. Paint.

Night, and the clang and cadence of a passenger train demand
attention.  Straps hang from the overhead rack.  Hang and swing.

III

Books brim the sidewalk recycling box, from Cheever’s
Stories to You’re So Lonely When You’re Dead.

Spread on the road is a creosote lake.  Nothing
is getting done: so flit your eyes.

The homeless boy coughs, says the cops keep
trying to throw him out of outside.

A horn tears the night air: noise mocks her subjects.  You want
the passing trains to whisper before you go off the rails.

Yes: heroin and Louis, my East Van friend, his dog
licking his basement face: not lonely, just dead.

IV

The grilling sun, one lane open on one bridge and the flagman’s sign
is STOP.  More than exhaust fumes.  But down the sidewalk

strides our Helen: high heels, dark glasses: fuck me,
fuck you.  Menelaus would approve, Paris too.  Not Hector.

The bare-chested boy and girl stand in the painting
Discretion, her hand over his mouth.

After dark, outside the Fez train station, the fat procuress
points at the curvy girl, then my crotch.  I enter a bar,

bouncers at the door.  One’s hand is bandaged, one’s arm’s
in a sling.  When I nod good night, they touch their hearts.

Harold Hoefle’s work has won fiction and poetry prizes; the latter include the Bliss Carman Award (2014), the Great Blue Heron Poetry Award (2014), and a National Magazine Awards silver medal (2016).  Harold’s poems have appeared in Antigonish Review, Dalhousie Review, Grain, Prairie Fire, Scrivener, Matrix, Missing Slate, and Windsor Review.  His collection of short stories—The Mountain Clinic—was a finalist for the Hugh MacLennan-Paragraphe Fiction Award (2009).  Harold is near completion of a poetry manuscript.  He teaches at John Abbott College in Montreal.

To view other poems published in this issue please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

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Featured Review: Alex Manley’s We Are All Just Animals & Plants. Review by Klara du Plessis.

Alex Manley‘s We Are All Just Animals & Plants (Montreal, QC: Metatron, 2016, $12, 61 pages). Review by Klara du Plessis.

“Instead of writing a poem about this mess I made, / what if I wrote a poem about the natural sciences?” Alex Manley asks in his debut collection of poetry, We Are All Just Animals & Plants. Here he projects imagery from the natural world onto a series of reflections on the contemporary climate of dating and relationships. In contrast to the emotional distance and cynicism that is often associated with millennial love, the inherent growth narrative of the organic images employed throughout—namely, animals and plants—allows Manley to capture a sense of vibrancy, even in the face of rejection; if not outright optimistic, the poetic speaker is willing to keep putting himself out there. Accepting present-day dating at face value, and not comparing it with past or alternative modes of romantic love, he is able to highlight the charm of contemporary times; when lovers check their phones in-between bouts of passion, they are not separated by technology, but rather insulated from the landscape of “Instagram flakes” snowing outside, together in a moment of quiet tenderness.

While the title We Are All Just Animals & Plants insinuates a devolutionary agenda—humanity being governed by their baser, animalistic instincts, the proverbial birds and bees—one of the collection’s major concerns, on the contrary, is the poetic speaker’s persistent urge towards personal evolution or reinvigoration of self: “All I want is for it to be springtime … so I can be a new me.” Absorbing the vitality of verdure in order to discard the old, unwanted self, the poetic speaker imagines himself to be “sprouting / leaves, vines, tendrils” burgeoning from his limbs as “a new person grow[s] over top of you, like / ivy.” The implicit caveat within this duality, and coexistence, of old and new is that, while a linear narrative of maturation may lead to a stronger, more rounded sense of self, dependency on change can also become a cyclical avoidance of difficulty in favour of the constant thrill of renewal.

Case in point, the accretion of vegetal images of revitalization soon leads
to a body superseded parasitically by plant matter: “I just have all these
bonsai trees growing in my torso. // It’s pathetic, I imagine them whispering,
a grown man / who can’t stop accumulating miniatures.” It is one of
Manley’s strengths as a poet that figures of speech consistently maintain
the vividness of metamorphosis. The bonsai trees are more than the poetic
speaker’s psychological state. In contrast to other “people [who] are
photographers / dancers, chemists, lepidopterists,” the poetic speaker is
immobilized, unambitious, unable to manipulate his transformation to his
benefit; he is paralyzed by “the way the roots snake; the way the leaves
fall,” by the way his entire being has morphed into that of a tree. The poetic
speaker never reverts from this transfiguration back into his human
anatomy. Instead the image lingers intact till the next metaphor, the next
metamorphosis, and poetic suspension of disbelief when he suggests:
“I’m the panther.”

Formally, the collection is divided into three sections labeled as Animals,
Paraphernalia, and Plants. The poems in the first two sections of the collection
are exclusively written in couplets—a constraint, which maintains
an orderliness and thematic resolve to break away from solitude, to meet
someone, and to couple with them. The final section opens up to stanzas
of varying lengths, and a concomitant dissolution of the hopes and dreams
expressed before. Stripping the poetic speaker of the drive to find his better
half, Manley revokes the gentle insinuation of domestic animals and
houseplants, embracing the feral instead. We Are All Just Animals & Plants
concludes with an apocalyptic poem “Noahtic,” a reversal of the biblical
tale, not leading to redemption and safety, but destruction and bloodshed;
now the “animals will not / be loud as we kill them off. The / leaves will
not be loud as they detach, slow, languid / bodies, from the evaporating
trees.” As the violence abates, the collection leaves the reader with a pervasive
sense of calm, a dismantling of the metamorphic jungle of dating,
and a clearing, a blank page, for Manley’s next book to germinate.

Klara du Plessis is a poet and critic residing in Montreal. Her chapbook Wax Lyrical (Anstruther Press, 2015) was shortlisted for the bpNichol Chapbook Award, and her debut collection Ekke is forthcoming (Palimpsest Press, 2018). She curates the monthly, Montreal-based Resonance Reading Series.

This review was published in issue 14:1 The Wild. To see more from this issue, please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

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Vallum Poem of the Week: “Ode to What is Left Behind” by Richard Kelly Kemick

Ode to What is Left Behind  

July 11th. After the tenth day,
In unanimous spontaneity,
The cows and newborns vacate the calving grounds,
Beginning their journey southwards once more.
And the bodies of the stillborns, no longer
Protected, are strewn across the tundra
Like the clothes of newfound lovers. But that
Points to the wrong emotion, doesn’t it?
On the drive back to Calgary, as day
Collapses, the prairie highway offers
Up its bodies: high-beams tracing fireflies
And full moons; silhouettes of fenceposts.
On a wide turn, with the windows rolled down,
The smell of the dead skunk on the side of the road.
And even at one-twenty an hour
It takes another ten minutes until
Distance leaves it behind. Death lingers
In the fan-belt.

The childless cows are now
Called “Unattached” and you’d think with that name
And the strike-slip within their abdomen
They’d wander lost for the next thousand years
But it’s almost impossible to tell
Them apart; the only difference: their silence.
Not having young to call, they will not groan
A sound until the rut in October.
The face of casual calamity.
In a landscape seen endless, there is no
Room for grief.

The phone’s ringing when I’ve unlocked
The front door; on the other end, my father’s
Voice. “I had to fly back, Richard, before
The Parkinson’s had conquered my mother,”
And I picture an opalescent cell
Skewering a flag in her brain stem and
I think about the flag and I think about
The skunk and I think about all that
I need to, to not think about the stillborns
Littering the tundra beneath immortal
Daylight and the Rough-legged Hawks circling
And then landing on the carcasses like
Dandelion fluff on a lustrous lake.
And I’ve done it again, haven’t I?

Richard Kelly Kemick is an award-winning Canadian poet, journalist, and fiction writer. He is the author of Caribou Run, a collection of poetry, as well as a regular contributor to The Walrus and CBC Radio. www.richardkemick.com.

To view other poems published in this issue please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

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Vallum Poem of the Week: “Worm Sonnet” by Wanda Campbell

Wanda Campbell was born and grew up in South India. She now teaches Creative Writing and Women’s Literature at Acadia University in Wolfville, Nova Scotia in view of the world’s highest tides.  She has published a novel Hat Girl (Signature 2013) and five collections of poetry, Kalamkari and Cordillera (Inanna 2017), Daedalus Had a Daughter (Signature 2011), Grace (Blue Grama 2009), Looking for Lucy (Leaf 2008), and Sky Fishing (Black Moss 1997), as well as the chapbook Haw [thorn] (Gaspereau 2003).  Her poems and stories have appeared in journals and anthologies across Canada.

To view other poems published in this issue please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

Download the FREE APP and FREE SAMPLE EDITION for your tablet, kindle or smartphone through PocketMags OR iTunes.

Vallum Poem of the Week: “Whoonu?” by Monika Lee

Whoonu? 

The game is simple:
guess each other’s favourite things
among these words on yellow cards,

baths or trucks
or corn-on-the-cob?

The game is simple.

Pickles are ahead of long hair if
they’re dill and it’s not my hair.
They rank after breakfast in bed if
food is served on pottery
with a lone carnation on the tray:
raspberries, homemade eggs,
freshly squeezed bread
and free-run orange juice.

The game is simple,
if you don’t think about it.

Bagpipes outstrip barbequing by a mile if
outside and the day not hot.
Black is better than most perfume, but . . .
combing cinnamon sticks through hair for scent
or rubbing hands with dried orange peels
– do those count?

The game is not simple.
Everything has context.

Snowball fights exceed cotton candy,
unless the boys from West Flamborough School
are in any way involved.
Then I’d rather have pink gobs
of sticky stuff.

The game is not simple.
It relies on memory.

Between speedboat and turtleneck,
I draw a blank, since speedboats can be fun,
but pollute our lakes, and breasts squeeze
warmly on polyester as they itch.
Oysters or crafts? `Making crafts better than
eating raw oysters; smoked oysters
preferable to buying crafts.

“You’re not playing right,”
she leaves the room.
Again the game is simple.
It’s over.

you have to choose
you have to choose
you have to choose

Monika H. Lee is a full professor of English literature and outgoing Chair of Humanities at Brescia University College, affiliated with Western University in London, Ontario, where she teaches nineteenth-century literature, a wide range of other English courses, and creative writing. Monika completed a B.A. in French and English at the University of Toronto, M.A. and Ph.D. in English at the University of Western Ontario. She graduated from the Humber College School of Writing with high distinction in poetry. Her publications include Rousseau’s Impact on Shelley:  Figuring the Written Self (1999); gravity loves the body: poems by monika lee (2008); poetry chapbooks, slender threads (2004) and skin to skin (2016); many essays on literature, and dozens of poems in literary journals and anthologies. She won an Ontario Arts Council Writers’ Reserve grant to begin a new book of poems, If water breathes, recently completed, and is currently looking for a publisher.

To view other poems published in this issue please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

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Vallum Poem of the Week: “The Shape of Questions” by Daniela Elza

Screen Shot 2017-09-19 at 2.12.05 PM.pngDaniela Elza’s work has appeared nationally and internationally in over 100 publications. Her poetry collections are the weight of dew (2012), the book of It (2011), and most recently milk tooth bane bone (2013). Daniela earned her doctorate in Philosophy of Education from Simon Fraser University (2011). While her chapbook slow erosions (collaborated poems with poet Arlene Ang), and her latest manuscript the ruined pages are looking for a publisher she is writing essay after essay. Daniela lives in Vancouver, BC.

To view other poems published in this issue please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

Download the FREE APP and FREE SAMPLE  EDITION for your tablet, kindle or smartphone through PocketMags OR iTunes.

Vallum Poem of the Week: “Light: A Prayer” by Rona Shaffran (previously “Sliver”)

LIGHT: A PRAYER

The sky buttoned
with ashen clouds
slicing cold

steam curling
from sewers
from scarf-covered mouths.

People rush by,
heads bowed, eyes downcast,
foreheads creased

when all at once
in a hedge along the sidewalk
three rufous-sided towhees

chirp
an ebullient chorus

kyrie to a sudden
incandescence of sunlight
on cedar branches.

Rona Shaffran lives in Ottawa. Signature Editions published Rona’s first poetry collection, Ignite, in 2013 to excellent reviews. She co-directs RailRoad, Ottawa’s pop-up poetry reading series, was Co-Director of the Tree Reading Series, one of Canada’s longest running poetry venues, and a member of its Board of Directors, where she organized Master Poetry Workshops.  She also sat on the organizing committee for VERSeFest, Ottawa’s international poetry festival. A graduate of Humber’s School for Writers and the Banff Centre’s Writing Studio, Rona’s poems have been published in Canadian literary journals and she has read at literary festivals and reading series across Canada.  Rona is at now at work on a novel and, as always, writing new poems.

Light: A Prayer is the new version of Sliver, which appeared in Vallum 9:2. To view other poems published in this issue please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

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Featured Review: Laurie D. Graham’s Settler Education. Review by Megan Callahan.

Laurie D. Graham’s Settler Education (Toronto, ON: Penguin Random House Canada, 2016, $18.95, 128 pages) Review by Megan Callahan

Laurie D. Graham is a Canadian writer, reviewer, and editor from Sherwood Park, Alberta. Settler Education, published in March 2016 by McClelland & Stewart, is her second book of poetry. Work from this collection was shortlisted for the CBC Poetry Prize and Arc Poetry Magazine’s Poem of the Year contest, and awarded The Puritan’s Thomas Morton Prize. Graham’s Prairie roots are evident in all her work, and the landscape is particularly meaningful in her newest collection.

In Settler Education, Graham offers us a contemplative and critical look at the painful and violent history of Western Canada—in particular, the Plains Cree uprising at Frog Lake, the imprisonment of Big Bear, the European settlement of the Prairies. The collection is structured around Graham’s journey by train from Ontario to British Columbia; as she travels past the Great Lakes, through villages and fields, she also moves in and out of time, carrying us back to the 19th century. Many poems are named after the towns she visits—Battleford, The Yellowhead, Fort Pitt, and Frenchman Butte—with maps and photographs to guide and ground the reader. As the title implies, this is a history book, one that rewrites the facts we’ve been taught to include a perspective so often left out, glazed over, or swept under the rug.

Graham’s collection opens with the poem “Number One Canadian”—the name of the train that runs from Toronto to Vancouver, one filled with irony in this context. While Graham’s voice is ultimately critical, her tone remains meditative and tinged with sadness. There is very little anger or aggression in Settler Education; rather, each poem is infused with profound and sincere empathy: two women walking, misshapen. That’s not the word. They walk in pieces. / A grief that makes the body plural. Graham’s point of view shifts throughout the work; at times she writes in first-person, while at others she echoes the voices of the dead. In “Theresa Gowanlock”, Graham embodies the wife of a European settler killed during the Frog Lake massacre, and creates a fictional account of her experience: We cut the woods, thick brush, creeks and logs, / fording a stream. / On we went not knowing / where we were going. She also plays with pronouns and perspectives, directly addressing the ghosts of Cree warriors and European settlers as You or We: Who knows or cares that you were here / perched with your men over the North Saskatchewan River, / hauling up your life by the pail? The overall effect is a sense of broken, unravelled time—but Graham’s strong use of imagery keeps us firmly grounded in space and place.

Overall, the language in Settler Education is beautifully conversational. At times Graham’s writing is sparse and disjointed, like the broken sentences of old telegraphs: Through tree scenes, tableaux in the dome car, / the soldiers, the settlers, the track laid, the way made. Other passages flow in a stream-of-consciousness river, full of subtle assonances and alliterations: the travellers restless rounding the big lakes, they buy the wild blueberries, / they take photos of each other beside dead buildings along the line. Several poems are interspersed with quotes and excerpts from historical texts. These add layers of meaning to the stories being told, and add depth to the work as a whole.

The last dozen pages of Graham’s collection are filled with notes and historical references. These added bits of information give the reader context and help ground Graham’s work in reality. Poetry is an inherently abstract and metaphorical form of writing, one that falls somewhere between fact and fiction. But Graham’s ultimate purpose is to educate, and this is why her appended notes are intrinsically linked to the work itself. Without them, readers could easily forget that Settler Education is above all a history book—reworked and reworded to expose the aboriginal experience we so rarely learn about in school. This is the beating heart of Graham’s work, the pulse we feel throughout the long journey. She wants us to know that these things happened. In “The Train Back”, the final poem of Settler Education, Graham says it herself, as clearly as she can and in the simplest terms: it existed. It existed. And it exists.

Megan Callahan is a fiction writer and translator from Montreal, Quebec. Her work has appeared in PRISM International and Matrix Magazine. She holds a BA in Linguistics and Creative Writing from Concordia University and is currently pursuing an MA in Translation Studies.

This review was published in issue 13:2 The Wild. To see more from this issue, please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

Download the FREE APP and FREE SAMPLE EDITION for your tablet, kindle or smartphone through PocketMags OR iTunes

Featured Interview: Paul Muldoon

Paul Muldoon 

by Joshua Auerbach

Excerpt on avant-gardism and innovation in poetry:

JA: There are some quite surprising things going on in some of the poems in Moy Sand and Gravel. For example, in “The Whinny,” “The Braggart,” “Pomegranates,” “Affairs of State,” “Pineapples and Pomegranates,” “Winter Wheat,” “When Aifric and I Put in at that Little Creek,” where you join desire and eros with potential destruction. If I think about it, Donne was one of the first English poets to really make sexuality his subject matter. In your poems there is a subtle degree of desire juxtaposed with a subtle degree of instability or violence; they coexist as perhaps two separate instances within the poem. Often there are poems about sex or death, which, as Yeats suggested, makes for good poetry. A fair number of your poems also seem to combine both. Why did you choose to write along this “edge”?

PM: Well, the edge is the only place, if indeed it is the edge. I’m sure there are edgier places than that. But the edge is where one must be. It’s where the poem wants to be. I think all poetry is aiming for avant-gardism, not necessarily in some conventional sense, if indeed we can talk about the conventions of the avant-garde, which, let’s face it, we can. I mean, in a strange way avant-gardism is as riddled with conventions as the conventional. One of the main ones being its propensity towards nonsense. Which is all very fine and well; meaninglessness is always of interest, and is meaningful, from time to time. But it’s also terrifically easy to do. Any fool can be meaningless. But I do like to play with that from time to time, certainly. Now, in terms of subject matter, it’s from time to time disturbing, absolutely, it’s disturbing. The speaker of a poem like “Affairs of State,” for example, is in an odd position. We’re talking about terrorist activity, basically.

JA: The Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century Poetry describes your writing as both “wily and mischievous.” Do you think some part of poetry should stay irreverent? I’m thinking of your lines like “with a clink and a clink and a clinky-click,” or “with a pink and a pink and a pinkie-pick,” or “The plowboy was something his something as I nibbled the lobe / of her right ear and something her blouse…”

PM: Yeah, I think so. But you know if you look at those refrains from “The Loaf,” for example, “with a pink and a pink and a pinkie-pick,” or the various versions of that, “with a clink and a clink and a clinky-click,” that’s on the borderline between meaning and its opposite. The fact is, if anything, unlike many traditional refrains, it’s more meaningful than most of them, and the idea, I suppose, is that the little shifts comment on the action, as it were, and there’s some discovery with each of them. I’d like to think, anyway, there’s some real revelation with each of them, even though they seem to be virtually nonsensical, from some angles.

Vis-à-vis the “something” in that poem, I sent that poem to a magazine editor in the US and he sent it back and said, “This is absolute garbage, when you write like ‘this’ I might think of publishing it.” And the fact is that to use the word “something” like that in the context of the poem, as far as I’m concerned, does reflect how we speak. I think we’ve all said, you know, even in terms of the lines of a poem, “I’ve wandered lonely as a something, that floats on high something, something, something.” Right? I mean, we all have those little lapses of memory, for example, where we put in a little bit of emphatic communication. So that poem, as far as I’m concerned, is just reflecting that, reflecting an aspect of the world, and the fun with it is, actually, that you can begin to join up the dots, as it were, and fill up the spaces.

JA: At a panel in New York at Baruch College, you stressed the idea of poetic evolution over the idea of poetic revolution. What does this mean for you?

PM: I would have to think of the context in which I was saying that. Now poetic evolution over poetic revolution? Okay.

JA: I’ll rephrase the question. How important is an innovative poetics for you?

PM: I think every poem is necessarily innovative. So it’s that important; it’s that important. But as I said, I think it has to be borne in mind that, to go back to what I was saying earlier on, one of the main ways in which people seem to think of themselves at the cutting-edge is where that edge coincides with, to sue that word again, meaninglessness, with a distant avowal of the possibility of clarity. So I do like to think that clarity is something towards which one is aiming, you know, some kind of clarification of the world. Does this make any sense to you?

JA: Yes, except that you seem to be stressing both the valorization of meaninglessness and the importance of clarity at the same time, which don’t necessarily go hand-in-hand.

PM: No, that’s true, but I think what I was getting at earlier on was that I think there may be moments of what look like meaninglessness, as in the case of that refrain, as in the case of the use of the word “something” in that poem, that are actually about clarification, rather than something else. But in that sense, I can’t imagine any poet, really, who is not interested in doing something new. But I think we need to be mindful that there’s a “new” and a new. I’ve not a great deal of time for certain aspects of the avant-garde, as it’s formally presented.

This is an excerpt from Joshua Auerbach’s interview with Paul Muldoon in 2004 published in Vallum 3:1 “Reality Checks”. To read the rest of the interview and other poems published in this issue, please visit Vallum’s website.

Vallum magazine is also available in digital format. Featuring additional content such as: AUDIO and VIDEO recordings of selected poets, further poems, interviews, essays, and MORE!

Download the FREE APP and FREE SAMPLE  EDITION for your tablet, kindle or smartphone through PocketMags OR iTunes.