By Albert Kapikian
Late starts do not typically presage momentous contributions, but originality has at least as many fathers as victory does, and whether or not their late arrivals on the scene had anything to do with it, these local luminaries made and continue to make contributions that reverberate far beyond the purlieus of their initial engagements. Perhaps the fact that they were devoted to their respective subject matters as children and young adults, before they ever thought to make a formal study of them, accounts for their outsized influence. Or perhaps the Academy has the ability to see all volcanoes as dormant until the appropriate credentials are established.
Rod Jellema, professor emeritus of English and founding director of the creative writing program at the University of Maryland, did not start writing poetry until he was forty, but was fighting so hard for his poetic principles as a teenager that he failed high school English twice just to prove his point.
In his seminal essay in the special 125th anniversary edition of the nation’s oldest literary magazine, Poet Lore, Jellema reflects on teachers and readers (and non-readers) who never venture beyond what they call “accessible poems.” He tells how he first got “slapped awake by the tyranny of the accessible” in the early 1940s in his sophomore English class. Because he was forced to explain the meaning of William Cullen Bryant’s “To a Waterfall,” the young Jellema could only see “grandiose, stilted, and inflated pseudo-poetic verbiage” when a simpler recounting would have sufficed. Three teachers in three years made him memorize it, never realizing that their insistence on semantics was holding back their most promising pupil. Here the young Jellema, always the master teacher, is standing in for all the young students who “come to college sure they don’t like poetry.”
Whether or not Miss Phisterer is the reason for his late start as a poet, we can be confident that Jellema was so intuitively tuned in to the “sense” of what a real poem was that he is perhaps better categorized as a prodigy than a late arrival. When Jellema finally began to write, he tried to write poetry that “struck the whole person, not just the understanding.”
It may not be surprising then that Jellema’s poetic integrity is such that he never leaves the planet in order to achieve a separate poetic peace. It is one of the pleasures of reading him that his insistence on the things of this world come not despite but because of an enormous metaphysical apparatus backed by immense learning and erudition. At his best, Jellema is one of the very few poets for whom religious depth comes at no expense to fidelity to the pond’s edge, the rattling road, the tarnished town.
Incarnality, Jellema’s collected poems, was released in 2010, but an early poem not found in that volume, but in 1979’s The Lost Faces, suggests something of the struggle that has informed both his teaching and his writing. Early on, in a poem ostensibly about his father, he writes:
He understood about incarnation
but my father still had the dazed Galilean
fisherman’s habit of looking up.
After six stanzas the poem ends this way:
Face by false ascent by phrase
by face by riot I learn, learn that words matter
like bodies, learn not to look up
for some pure-spirit godkin
Christ but down the lost faces
the Word became
before we made it mere word again,
mere tracks in the snow.
One can only speculate, of course, but one wonders if that long period of dormancy also reflected a profound struggle to come to terms with the physical world, to accept corporeal life, however difficult or painful, as the given from which there is no release. Whatever the reason, one feels secure within the trajectory of a real poet (whether he was writing or not!) in that his work is a response more to internal demands than the literary fashions and publishing exigencies of the day.
Another poem not found in his collected edition, but perhaps relevant to the struggle detailed here, is in his 1984 volume, The Eighth Day. In this poem, one senses that even as he refuses to mythologize experience, he learns to find in experience the very mythology he has been seeking:
Just before the lights come on
in the skyscrapers down below
you suddenly see
evening doesn’t fall
Darkness does not sift down
like black Slavic flower. It rises.
– Nightrise from the Observation Deck of the World Trade Center
By this time Jellema had begun to master describing the “meanings” inhering inside their supposed opposites. By this time “meaning” sits unmajestically but rightfully beside its more maligned brothers and sisters. And the spiritual doesn’t “drift in,” it’s just there — or as the noted critic Alberta Turner said of the poems in this volume, “He [Jellema] sees the strange in the ordinary and makes the commonplace wide again.”
This same fidelity to the commonplace perhaps explains the reason Jellema began the transformational “Poetry and National Conscience” conferences during the Vietnam War that were cited during this year’s “Splendid Wake” program on March 20 at George Washington University’s Gelman Library. “Splendid Wake,” coordinated by Joanna Howard and supported by many local literary lights, was founded a few years ago to document and preserve the history of Washington D.C. poetry from 1900 to the present. Jellema and Linda Pastan were asked to speak about the poetry workshops born during these conferences.
It might be said, therefore, that it is first and foremost Jellema’s poetic identity, his insistence on finding meaning where meaning resides, that makes his life and work inextricably intertwined with the educational, literary, and political history of his time.
Eleanor Heginbotham, who spoke on May 16 at the Georgetown Public Library, one day after the 129th anniversary of Emily Dickinson’s death, was devoted to her subject even while a diplomat’s wife during a counter-coup in Vietnam. In her talk, “Bulletins from Immortality: Emily Dickinson’s Life after Death,” she described in detail the story of how Dickinson’s poems came to public attention after her death in 1886.
She said little, however, about her own place in this beguiling and intriguing true-life tale.
Heginbotham described the motivations and machinations behind those who made Dickinson’s immortality possible, from her sister Livinia and Mabel Loomis Todd, who had an affair with Emily’s married brother, Austin, to the noted 20th century scholars Thomas Johnson and Ralph Franklin. Franklin, selected in 1950 to create the valorum edition, shocked readers who thought Emily only the wise lady poet of flora and fauna with her ungrammatical dashes, purposeful misspellings, and impolitic subject matter. As Heginbotham said, “‘Wild Nights’– what?!” This of course brought the attention of the modernists: T.S. Elliot saw the metaphysical reach, e.e. cummings the unusual linage, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Or so it seemed. When Heginbotham was preparing her PhD thesis at the University of Maryland, after the age of fifty, she wrote to twenty major poets who had written poems or essays about Emily Dickinson. Except for two men, one of whom was Charles Wright, our current poet laureate, each admitted to carefully choosing their poem’s place and position for their books. Heginbotham’s dissertation, which won the Carl Bode Award in American Subject Dissertations in 1992, argued that Dickinson had been done a disservice by wrenching the poems out of the forty scrapbooks, or “fascicles” as Mabel Loomis Todd called them, and in which Heginbotham argued they had been so carefully positioned.
A few years later, her book Reading the Fascicles of Emily Dickinson was published. In it, Heginbotham insisted that one must respect Dickinson enough to read and teach the poet in her own context. Now a scholar herself, Heginbotham found herself in the ironic position of arguing for meeting Dickinson on Dickinson’s own ground, not in slots that fit into scholars’ interests. She found herself making what in the law is known as the “res ipsa” argument – that is, that the facts speak for themselves. At the end of one passage, she writes simply, “Anyway, regardless, they exist.” And then later: “somersaulting with Dickinson is the only story this book provides.”
It is a further irony that Heginbotham has been called a “fetishist” by other scholars. Indeed Ralph Franklin himself wrote her off in one sentence, calling the fascicles “just scrapbooks.”
In a book of essays on the fascicles published last year and edited by Heginbotham and fellow Dickinson scholar Paul Crumbly, it is perhaps a measure of the distance her crusade has covered that the inevitable dismissal, when it occurs, as it does for example in an analysis by Paula Bennett of fascicle 16, nevertheless notes that the arrangement of the poems in the fascicles is “self-chosen.” But drawing any meaning from this fact, Bennett insists, “is itself a projection.”
Whether or not it is a projection to simply point out, as Heginbotham does, “that we might nevertheless more than provisionally accept…that Dickinson herself folded the five cream lightly ruled and embossed stationary sheets…and sewed them with something more like twine than like thread…in forty little threadbound volumes” is a matter we will have to leave to each reader to decide.
It is the inferences Heginbotham draws from these facts that are the subject matter of the greatest dispute. She believes that reading a poem in its proper placement – Emily Dickinson’s intended placement, something the general reader, remember, cannot do – would help the reader to a clearer understanding.
To give just one example of Heginbotham’s many pages of analysis on this subject, take a look – because in this rare case you can (as they are 445 and 446 in your collected edition) – at the poems facing each other in fascicle 21, midway through what Heginbotham calls Dickinson’s “self-publishing project.” On one side is a poem that begins, “This was a poet.” On the other side there is one that begins, “They shut me up in prose.” On these facing pages, Heginbotham observes, “Prose visually confronts Poetry….From first line to last the two poems about the poet speak across as well as down the pages.” In an analysis that cites figures as diverse as Webster, Keats, Emerson, Carlyle, and even Lord Kames, Heginbotham argues that the facing poems gather enormous strength through proximity.
In her thoroughgoing analysis, Heginbotham finds these kinds of patterns and conversations everywhere. Paired poems, poems in their proper places – she even sees reasons why poems are repeated in different fascicles. Heginbotham sees the work of a master not only in the poems themselves but in their placement, even seeing each fascicle as a separate poem.
Heginbotham’s talk, devoted to those who gave Dickinson her well-deserved immortality, left out a name that perhaps one day will be recognized as important as all the rest. To paraphrase Kierkegaard, just because everyone is applauding doesn’t mean they know what they are applauding about. Perhaps we will one day have a popular edition of Dickinson’s work that will bestow upon us the poems as they were once sewn together and meant to be bestowed.
So. Writing instructors: remember that assignment where the student writers submit their work to a publication “just to get the experience” of submitting? Well, PR intern Mary Rose Winters, a student of Julie Wakeman-Linn’s, submitted her work to Saturday Night Reader, earned her grade and. . . her work was accepted.
Here’s what she has to say about it:
“The Tell-Tale Heartbeat” came from a story I wrote for Prof. Wakeman-Linn’s Intro to Creative Writing class. It breaches a notoriously taboo subject–abortion. Instead of writing something to make readers sympathize with pro-life supporters or pro-choice supporters, I wrote a story from the perspective of a young girl strapped into the stirrups because she thinks that is her only choice.
The extremism of pro-life/pro-choice advocates makes it seem like abortion is a black and white issue.My story is a cry of righteous indignation against the extremists who condemn women and girls in vulnerable positions. The point is this is not a black and white issue, but that each person has feelings shaped by experiences and makes decisions based on their moral integrity. It’s a sticky issue– my point was not to express my own views on abortion but to convey the validity of the conflicting emotions that make abortion a much more complex issue than it’s made out to be.
The magazine that I will be published in is called the Saturday Night Reader. I found it while searching for magazines that are looking for flash fiction written by undergrads. It is primarily an online magazine, but they come out with print issues every so often. They are based in Ontario, Canada.
My advice to my peers who are seeking publication is to play to your disadvantages. When I was thinking about what magazines to submit my story to, I thought about the things that would put me at the bottom of the “slush pile.” What makes me not as contestable as more seasoned candidates? I’m young, I haven’t graduated college, this was my first time submitting, I’m a novice writer… so instead of working to get myself published in a big time literary magazine why not seek one out that caters to publishing the new and unknown writers?
Rejection is part of life, so surround yourself with the people who will hold you up and remember in the writing world every rejection is simply one more closer to your first acceptance. I have also learned that everyone in the writing community knows this, and many have experienced it, so if you’re into writing seek out a tribe of like- minded people. I was so incredibly fortunate to have a community of writers that I felt a part of when Professor Wakeman-Linn took me under her wing as an intern with the Potomac Review. She showed me the inner workings of another world I didn’t think I was allowed to be part of because I didn’t know what a literary magazine was until I started working for one. I wrote, but only habitually. But I was welcomed with open arms by peers, professionals and mentors. Everyone should have an opportunity to be part of the experience that a writing family creates.
This summer, PR is very fortunate to have Lauren Wolf working with us on webpage redesign. Read about her many accomplishments below, and you’ll see why we are so grateful.
Lauren Wolf graduated summa cum laude from Salisbury University in 2012 with a BA in English and a minor in Outdoor Educational Leadership. Upon graduation, she traveled to South America to teach English to business professionals and returned to the States with a rescued dog and the desire to expand her knowledge in writing. Lauren is currently an MFA Writing candidate at Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD). There, she is fine-tuning her skills in fiction, nonfiction, technical, and new media writing. She also tutors her peers and assists in editing their coursework in SCAD’s Writers’ Studio. When Lauren isn’t working on her thesis or workshopping a peer’s creative short story, she’s exploring the outdoors, from hiking with Mila, her Chilean dog, in Georgia’s brush to wake boarding the Chesapeake Bay’s glassy estuaries.
As PR lifts its well-manicured toes from the water and deflates and stores the inner tube, worn and patched from so many reverie-filled trips down the old river, it can’t help but to notice, waiting impatiently on the desktop, the overflowing (much like this sentence) stack of accomplishments from our editors and contributors. So much has gone on in the past month that PR will be posting twice a week for awhile even as we work under the gentle commotion of our webpage redesign deadline.
Let’s start the congratulations party with news from our associate editors. Here’s a list from Robert L. Giron:
- His poem “Spring” was published on the Mike Maggio Blog for the 30 for 30 Poetry Month celebration,
- On May 12, 2015, he read some of his poetry and was interviewed by Dennis Price on The Radio Hotline, Fairfax Public Radio which is streamed on the Internet, along with Mike Maggio,
- On May 18, 2015, he read from his work and was interviewed by poet Grace Cavalieri for the Library of Congress “The Poet and the Poem” program.
From Hananah Zaheer: “This year has been pretty good. I have been published in Moon City Review, The Diverse Arts Project, Inertia Magazine, Tayo literary magazine, and Willow Review. I will also be at VCCA for a residency in the summer to work on my novel. And because I may have a touch of madness, I am in the middle of an attempt to prove Ray Bradbury’s ‘Write a short story every week. It’s not possible to write 52 bad short stories in a row’ wrong by writing a short story a week. The agony is chronicled at Lipstick Junkies”
Our contributors have been active of late as well:
Contributor Tina Tocco (“21 Days” and “Promised Land,” #54) sends us this news: “My flash fiction piece “Danny” appears in Roanoke Review’s inaugural online issue. Also, they were nice enough to interview me on various writing-related topics.”
“As a former contributor to Potomac Review I wanted to send you a note,” writes Darren C. Demaree. “After the Pause Press has decided to publish my book, The Pony Governor. It’s due to be released in July.”
On Thursday, we’ll present what some of our interns and friends have been up to. We’re proud.
PR accidentally hit the “publish” button on that last entry. Please ignore it–an edited, readable version is forthcoming.
This week we round out the offerings of our interns with this thoughtful piece about short fiction’s ascent as THE most popular form of literature these days.
The other day I was browsing the Internet when I came upon a Wattpad fanfiction about Ariana Grande, or specifically, Ariana Grande’s secret twin, Emily. Emily looks exactly like Ariana, except she has red hair, or one of them does, and Ariana’s boyfriend can’t tell them apart. This causes Ariana’s twin a lot of grief, and throughout the ensuing ten chapters we get a badly-punctuated play-by-play of the twins’ romantic tribulations as they try to sort out who’s entitled to poor, confused Eric. The story has four thousand views.
Author Jim Shepard, interviewed in Juked lit mag, asserts that fiction will soon “[occupy] the sort of niche that poetry occupies” in American culture. Writers write mainly for each other, he says, tailoring their work to the specifications of their peers. This trend is not a figment of Shepard’s imagination: even bestselling author Junot Diaz has remarked anecdotally that it is insanely difficult to achieve a spot on the bestseller list as a writer of literary fiction. Familiar names like Nicholas Sparks, James Patterson and E.L. James crowd these lists. Nobody expects to make money off literature; the days of Dickens’ serialized adventures are long gone. Popular and literary fiction have for the most part diverged.
But clearly, there is a demand for stories. I lifted a finger on Google and found a secret world where twelve-year-olds escape into the lives of their favorite pop stars. The market for stories is ripe. Is this the reason behind another recent trend in American literature, the rise of the short story? This form is far less constrained by the genre/literary dichotomy, and has traditionally appealed to the public with bold takes on contentious issues – think “The Yellow Wallpaper,” “The Birthmark,” “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” Is it possible that in turning away from long-form literary fiction, the public have freed us, as writers, from a tired and dusty model? Novels have a certain elitism short stories lack; anyone can sit down and read the latter and, with a little education, grasp it fully. Clean up that Ariana Grande story, break up those chapters into readable blocks of texts and you could have a postmodern commentary on the state of the modern short story, David Foster Wallace style.