R.I.P. Larry Jaffe

Just read on Facebook about the passing away of Larry Jaffe. New Yorker, Californian and, of late, Floridian.  Larry, along with the late Donn Deedon, hosted the Poetic License readings in Pasadena/Hollywood (Melrose)/Los Feliz/Silverlake.

His raucous informality as host and poet/storyteller gathered a large following of poets in various stages of developing both writing craft and stage presence.  

This was a time when SoCal readings—populist and elevated—thrived.

By 2002, the L.A. scene began to crave formality and a tighter standard as to features (mostly limited to prestige small presses and MFA degree holders).  Larry, perhaps sensing this shift, began hosting a reading at the Autry Museum which, after an initial evening resembling the Poetic License of yore, became shorter and more subdued afterwards and limited in terms of features plus invited poets with less time allowed (no open readers as I recall).

If memory is correct, Larry did host a one-off reading at the Rainbow Grill at the Sunset Strip around 2004.  It was  more in the Poetic License tradition and the last time I encountered him in person.

I was never allowed into the inner circle of Poetic License (writing this now as a neutral observation), but I did like to go to its readings and made a few friends/acquaintances there.

Essentially, Larry, Donn, Midnight Special’s Olin Tezcatlipoca and Joan Zoric and Pasadena’s Don Kingfisher Campbell and Jack Bowman were quite influential on my ventures in this subculture between 1998-1999.  Regardless of how the later years turned out, I’m glad to have met and learned from them.

Revised Older Poem: CARNIVAL

Poem originally written circa 2004 about 1999-2001.  Trimmed slightly from the earlier version--still a subjective (and opinionated) take on a bygone era in Southern California poetry.

CARNIVAL

ONE

In a cafe's back room filled with 50 people,

the Host takes the stage.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME POETRY?

he calls out.

The audience applauds.

In the prestigious first half, there’s a mixture of storytelling,

slam poetry and political sloganeering.

Applause is a guarantee if you read a poem with

the phrase “Free Mumia”.

The Host occasionally contributes topical verse

or personal reminiscence.

When the Host is through with a poem,

he tosses it to the stage floor with a flourish.

The audience-mostly poets-

either listen with rapt attention

or scribble spontaneous verse

into their notebooks

in hopes that they can surpass

what they’re hearing

when it’s their turn on-mike.

Then the Host shouts

IT’S FEATURE TIME!

The features are either well-known poets from the city

(occasionally touring bards from out-of-state)

or  the Lucky Few the Host chooses to groom.

Most of those Lucky Few tend to either be female

or share the Host’s political views.

The feature reads for twenty to twenty-five minutes.

Then the Host passes the hat

to ensure the feature gets paid for his/her work.

During intermission, some audience members leave.

A few people buy chapbooks from the feature.

Other poets head out front to pay homage to certain

Important people who host at venues in or outside the city.

TWO

The remainder of the audience returns.

The Co-Host takes over

since the Host has gone home

to work on a poetry project of his own.

Halfway through the second half,

it’s my turn to read a poem.

I read a poem about office life.

It gets laughter and applause.

One time, a poet close to the Host

tells me I’m good and worthy of a feature.

He says he’ll put in a kind word for me.

I never hear anything from the Host.

I say “Hello” when I see him.

And I know he’s heard my work.

Perhaps I’m not reverent enough towards him.

Or maybe I need to quit being funny

and write a poem with the phrase “Free Mumia”.

At 11:30 p.m., the last poet reads.

The night is over.

I give a poet favored by the Host a ride home.

During the ride, the poet nervously hopes

the Host will write a blurb for the poet’s

new chapbook.

And, against my better instincts, I tell the poet

I’m willing to write an e-mail to the Host

on his behalf.

The Host’s Tuesday night reading is the hottest

place to be in the City’s Poetry Community.

And I do want to be a part of it-

even if I’m never asked to read in the first half.

Old poem POETRY HOST'S LAMENT

Poem written sometime around 2003-2004 inspired by a long-dead reading at a long-dead independent bookstore near the Pacific Ocean.

POETRY HOST’S LAMENT

The first open reader of the night

was a man reading a single poem.

Unfortunately, he didn’t hear the alarm

that signaled that his six minutes were up.

The poet continued to read.

I got up from my seat

and moved towards the podium.

The poet said:

“I’m sorry but I can’t stop now.

This poem needs to be read in its entirety

for its impact to be felt.”

I asked:

“How much longer is this poem?”

The poet said:

“Another ten minutes.”

I responded:

“Well, you can come back next week

and read the next six minutes of your poem.”

The poet said in a loud, angry voice:

“THIS IS AMERICA!  YOU CAN’T STOP

FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION!”

At this point, I motioned for my co-host to join me.

We grabbed the poet by each arm and walked him

out of the room.

“You [expletives deleted]!” screamed the poet

as he was politely but firmly escorted

out the front door.

When I returned to the podium, I said:

“Some people only want to hear themselves.”

Someday, I hope to find a venue that will pay me

for being a poetry host.

Someday, maybe pigs will fly.

Poem ODE TO A DEAD POETRY VENUE

The Midnight Special bookstore
Shined its light on me
By way of a calendar listing
In the back pages
Of a free poetry magazine
So I drove through Friday night El Niño rain
Walked into the back room
And stood because all folding chairs were filled
Everyone actually listened to everyone else
>
It was the best possible first time
And I kept returning for two years:
Watching, learning, workshopping
Glad to find somewhere welcoming
Until changes were made,
Hosts were fired from volunteer positions,
Store owners wanted to be right all the time
>
The Midnight Special wasn’t immune
From hubris and personal/poetic politics
And I confronted that truth several times
At different venues as years and decades disappeared
And good memories turned sentimental ,
Painful ones eroding into resignation and acceptance

When I found out I didn't belong in a certain room.

Years ago, I went to one of those "how to submit to journals/litmags and get published" get-togethers at Beyond Baroque.

A then-well-known poet named Michelle Ben-Hur, when it was her turn to dispense advice, said something like this:
If you think of poetry as a hobby, then YOU DO NOT BELONG IN THIS ROOM!  (all-caps accurate since her voice got quite loud at that point)

Maybe I should have left the room at that point, since it was becoming clear that I wasn't going to qualify as an academia-friendly poet.   And, therefore, I really didn't belong in the room as defined by Ms. Ben-Hur.

But I wanted to fit in as best as I could--and there was at least one person sitting at the publishing  table who genuinely liked the poems I wrote in that period.

Fast forward to over a decade and a half later, where some of the then-SoCal-based poets/editors have moved to other cities in California--though the bulk of their litmags survive.

Coda: On a recent visit to Beyond Baroque, I discovered that the chapbooks I left there on consignment over the years have disappeared (doubting they were sold like hot cakes)--leaving just two copies of HOLLYWOOD POETRY: 2001-2013, which were apparently spared since they are Real Books instead of DYI.

Obviously, an example of the "survival of the fittest" ethic espoused at that long-ago seminar.

The poetry rejection that felt like stepping on a rusty nail.

So there's this host who, for years, would say things like "I'm in your corner" when I felt I needed to confide in someone.

And, years ago, he was willing to lose a reading at a corporate bookstore and move elsewhere--this to defend someone who dared read Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" (or at least a portion of it) at an open mic.

The host, for years, compiled and sold a quarterly poetry publication where all were welcome to submit--and he would select the best poem/poems from each submission.

Then, the host got an MFA from a small university on the Westside of Los Angeles and things changed.

The quarterly publication was ceased as a newer showcase was phased in.

The new zine sought to include more eminent poets (perhaps a reaction to a L.A. poetry anthology titled WIDE AWAKE that the host wasn't part of) and began to have either prompts or "themes."

Now, there are some hoops to leap through.  Just submitting for someone to choose what he/she thinks is your best work isn't enough.

Let's start culling the herd to impress others.

And the host became the poetry editor of a webzine (with various forms of writing).

On a certain social network, the host/poetry editor invited submissions.

So, I submitted.

[SIDEBAR: the host used to do a pay-for-publication-of-chapbooks where poets at least were published with someone else's imprint instead of their own.  And I paid to have a handful of chapbooks done in this way.]

And today, I received a rejection letter.

Not from the host/poetry editor.

But from the publication's managing editor.

Of course, it could be the host/poetry editor may have chosen several poems and the managing editor may have kept some, cut others and taken on the task of e-mail notifications.

It's always disappointing to get rejections--certainly from people you know.

And it's up to the poet to decide whether or not to keep submitting.

To me, today's rejection meant:
host/poetry editor was just patronizing me for years because what I did benefited him and put some extra money in his pocket.

Now that he brandishes his MFA with pride, he can afford to leave the little people behind in his quest for parity with some of the major figures in Los Angeles poetry.

And I'm a little person who, again, realizes that rejection is a lot better when I've submitted to a publication where I know no one (and vice versa).

Because at least the rejection (or acceptance) is free of taint, bias or career advancement agendas.

Margie Ghiz, who operated Midnight Special bookstore, has passed away.

Link to LOS ANGELES TIMES obituary:
http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/latimes/obituary.aspx?n=margie-l-ghiz&pid=177957699

Revisiting an old inside-baseball post on poetry.

Perhaps the one positive of the fallout over Kate Gale's unfortunate comments regarding the AWP and inclusivity (which is still being felt by Red Hen Press) is that some poets/authors are choosing to think for themselves and not merely take what they're given (if they feel what they receive from their publisher isn't sufficient) for fear of losing a Big Chance.

Here's part of a years-ago blog post I wrote, with minor changes plus updates in brackets:
1. The titans of SoCal poetry come in three flavors: a. obnoxious and egomaniacal b. seemingly friendly, but likely to say less than kind things about you behind your back as they advance socially c. genuinely friendly and helpful no matter where you are in the scheme of things.  Have known people in all three categories over the past years.

2. As I've said before, I came into a poetry scene that had a larger welcome mat than it does now.  Ironically, the first venue I read/attended workshop at (Midnight Special Bookstore) had a shakeup where certain then-elite poets stomped away--apparently because the venue was too small-d democratic for their tastes.  Today, venues either set out to pattern themselves as/change their booking preferences to the Rose Cafe's Hyperpoets reading series as it existed in the late 20th Century--making [chief ex-Hyperpoet] Richard Beban [now residing in Europe] sort of the highbrow Carl Karcher, Jr. of SoCal.

3.  A very large number of SoCal poets may claim to be fiercely liberal in the social/economic senses, but they are rather passive and pay little attention to the "poetry community" changing in ways which eventually
discourage their active participation.  They have day jobs and they have fun at the readings they attend--and they, sadly, aren't bothering to take a long-term viewpoint until it's too late.  Then, nostalgia---and silence. 

4. And, as a corollary, they tend not to want to stick their necks out for troublemakers (few Tom Joads in LA/OC poetry).  If one of their own gets in trouble with a popular poetic authority figure, that's not their problem--unless that authority figure says/does something to them personally.  And, then, they're likely to find few-if-any fellow poets willing to listen to their problems should they choose to seek counsel.  [And, if you want people in the community to listen, avoid gender-targeted remarks and "oh, you're a bad poet" retorts if you don't care for what you hear.]

5. Some veteran poets in the scene figure that, by embracing prevailing (and sometimes trendy) notions of "what's good", they can prolong their careers and eventually make some money.  The mania of getting an MFA degree to get the Right people to take one's poetry seriously still prevails.  However, I worry that, given the "we will anoint you as a Real Poet when we see fit--it may take years or decades" thinking here, an MFA may not change certain tastemakers' attitudes that easily [though, over time, some readings may drop a crumb or two resulting in momentary profile-raising].

Fifteen years of self-publishing and pay-to-publish coming to an end.

First, here's an excerpt from a blog post I wrote over five years ago:
Earlier today (March 24th), I picked up copies of my latest chapbook NEVER MET BUKOWSKI from PIP Printing (have done business with them since 2000) at their Sun Valley, CA location.

I'm still a holdout from the period where poets self-published their own chapbooks (either through the former Kinkos or places like PIP) and sold them to each other at readings. This is not a popular avenue anymore, since a lot of local poets would rather have their books published by small presses instead.

There's a lot of erosion-through-change of the local poetry scene since 2000. Once upon a time, there were quite a few more independent bookstores in LA/OC--and, in several cases, the stores would support local poetry and purchase chapbooks that were self-published and non-barcoded.

Now, there are far fewer independents--and some of those stores mimic the conformity of the local scene in only wanting local poets "established" with small press credits (it can't be just any small poetry press, it has to be the "right" press).

And sometimes, even those local poets don't always make it into these local independent stores with "high standards."

In the past few months, I've put a handful of chapbooks onto Amazon to sell as Kindle e-books.  Almost no response unless I did free promotions.  As coincidence would have it, NEVER MET BUKOWSKI moved the most free copies.

Money was spent to make HOLLYWOOD POETRY: 2001-2013 happen with Xlibris after it was rejected twice over the years by two different small presses.

With regards to the chapbooks I've self-published, 20 GREATEST HITS: 1997-2004 and the original edition of WICHITA FALLS were the best sellers.

I've had some mild success with free e-books via Smashwords (POEMS BELOW THE LINE) and Scribd (CONSPICUOUS PRESUMPTIONS).

And, locally, I had a few pay-to-get-print-copies chapbooks published with Don Kingfisher Campbell's Palabra Productions imprint.

But it's time for me to be realistic, limit further monetary loss and unsold inventory, and stop the (at times, too-prolific) habit of self-publishing books by various means which began in late 2000.

I'm currently working on the final chapbook titled ONE VERSION OF THE SKY.  It should be available in print form by September.

Thanks to all the people who have bought copies of my chapbooks/books in person, in stores or online.

And thanks to PIP Printing (particularly former employee Sabine Steinmetz for teaching me about formatting) and Don Campbell for delivering quality product.

Hoping future poems of mine will find acceptance by print/online anthologies.

Deborah Cohen on DIY music culture: also applies to poetry.

This is taken out of its original context (a review in THE ATLANTIC of books on indie rock by Kim Gordon and Jon Fine), but these words by Deborah Cohen can certainly apply to the more-seemingly--open poetry scene I encountered in 1998--and which began dying around 2003:
"....even the most inclusive DIY vision has its insiders and outsiders, its purists and compromisers, its pressures and its disenchanted pioneers."

New poem: CONTENTS OF JOURNALS PAST

no-longer-blank books on the shelf above me

reminding me of the way I used to write poems

one draft after another in blue or black ink

until they improved enough

to be tried out at open mics
>
other items in those books
including poems given to me
by poets no longer part of the scene
plus post-it notes with names
and addresses of poetry venues
that I eventually attended
>
in those days
before I became aware
of how unaware I was

New poem: FADED COBALT BLUE

vinyl album covers stuck
to the back of one wall
back room for BANDS ONLY
sticker pasted inside men's room urinal
bygone days when security guards
and refreshment counter employees
were still provided by the owner
open mike that drew young people
eventually replaced by poets with
varying degrees of pedigree
as features plus open mikes
stylishly designed featured poet broadsheets
on the host's adjoining table
plus numerous books by the host
at his personal table
peers of the host who used to attend
more often in the days of Magical Then
less frequent in the days of
LotsofGrownUpThingstoDo Now
readings started at Nine
and, much later, at Eight
and, by the beginning of January,
likely to be
no more events
at all
then all you can do
is turn on your mental DVR
to replay highlights

Another 99-cent e-book: THE USE YOUR DELUSION POETRY SAMPLER.

Years ago, I wrote a couple of chapbooks about the Southern California poetry scene as I experienced it (and witnessing its effect on other poets).

THE USE YOUR DELUSION POETRY SAMPLER: NEW AND USED POEMS ABOUT POETRY WORLD is a compilation of the best poems from the two USE YOUR DELUSION chapbooks.

For the next three months, it will be on-sale exclusively from Amazon.

It costs only 99 cents.

Here's the link:
http://www.amazon.com/USE-YOUR-DELUSION-POETRY-SAMPLER-ebook/dp/B00O8KPW9M/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1412668547&sr=1-1&keywords=Terry+McCarty

Another true poetry story.

As I listen to the Steve Baratta tribute on KillRadio.org, I can't help but remember this  brief anecdote:
Steve didn't get a lot of features at  LA area poetry venues, regrettably, in the era when many more of them existed.  And there was one time when a then-Big host of a well-attended venue offered him a feature--and then reneged on his promise.

Apparently, the host's ego and hubris mattered more than showing respect and support to Steve--who was a loyal venue regular.

To paraphrase Joni Mitchell said in "Big Yellow Taxi", we don't know (or realize) what we have until it's too late.

RIP Los Angeles poet Steve Baratta.

Steve Baratta, who was a regular at SoCal open-mike readings in the 90s and 2000s (chiefly the various Poetic License readings hosted by Larry Jaffe and the late Donn Deedon--plus the Midnight Special Bookstore reading in Santa Monica, among others), passed away at the age of 61 this past weekend from a blood clot prior to having surgery for a heart condition.  In recent years, Steve was active on Internet radio hosting the Monday show OPEN WINDOWS for KillRadio.org

Steve was idealistic and believed in positive change to benefit the world. 

Here are a few of his poems:
http://poetsagainstwar.blogspot.com/p/steve-baratta.html

Peter Gabriel song also eulogy for past era of LA poetry.

YouTube link to Peter Gabriel's "We Do What We're Told":
http://youtu.be/yAYYBxI3MeM

Yes, I'm aware that people have life changes that divert them from their former activity in poetry.

But I've also seen the "don't ask questions, just accept and eat whatever the Leaders put in front of you" attitude in poets doing their best to avoid the fate of Irrelevance to the current scene.

And this is too bad, because, even at its sometimes preening, bullying worst, the days of late 1990s to early 2000s inspired genuine fellowship and the feeling that a place for you existed at the table--no matter  if you were a beginner or Published Poet/Professor.

That's over now.

Again, a toast to what once existed when Pete Justus, T. J. Sullivan, Jack Shafer and John Harris were part of the birth and early years of The Rapp Saloon in Santa Monica.

That's over now.

Two views of a one-time SoCal Poetry Icon.

Someone who I won't mention by name here (don't like the person, but sometimes appreciate his columns/essays) wrote the following about someone else who used to be a Very Big Deal in Southern California poetry during the first four to five years I was involved with The Scene.  Name and certain details redacted:
[Poet] was in rare form, and the crowd ate him up. What I like about [poet] is that you can drop him in front of just about any room, and he's fine ... even that night, when a heavy metal band upstairs was drowning out half of everything. (Not sure was up with that. [venue] doesn't usually book bands upstairs on Mondays. Odd.)

Anyway, it was good to see [poet], and great to see him having a blast on that stage. Like I said, the crowd there adored him, and he was just letting loose and flying, climbing furniture and shouting (although, as I said, that was partly out of necessity.) Not sure I would have reprised the poem [signature poem title omitted] in the 2nd half, but eh. Whatever. The crowd was buying what he was selling, and I have to say, I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him till he turned up. I get that a lot, actually.

My view of [poet] during the time I was on the outer edge of his orbit:
[Poet] once described himself and his craft as like "folk music" in a world where slam could be compared to rock and roll.  And I'll agree with the above writer that [poet] when he was "on" was an enthusiastic venue host expert at working a room.  The poetry of [poet] leaned towards storytelling for the most part (in my opinion, where it best played to his strengths), though it became more consciously "artistic" when he began courting the favors of the Artistic Leaders in the SoCal Community around the years 2001-2002.

This will sound small to some people who know and still unconditionally love [poet], and I don't care if it does.  [Poet] never thought I was good enough to feature at his-and-hosting-partner's venues (when it seemed like to do so was akin to a 70s/80s-era stand-up comic being asked by Johnny Carson to sit in the honored Guest's Chair) in those early years, although other places in LA/OC had no problem giving me featured bookings--which, in retrospect, made up for being slighted (especially since there were more opportunites and venues back then).  Perhaps it hurt me that I wasn't writing enough progressive-tinged poems, instead doing humorous pieces about office workers and--gasp!--poems about Hollywood.

And, to be honest, I witnessed (plus hearing stories of) [poet] being really small and mean and petty to some members of the community who were outcasts (for one reason or another) not liked by the Scene in general.  The seminal moment I became disenchanted with [poet] was a night in late 2000 at a Latin-American restaurant in a Hollywood-adjacent area.  [Poet] was forced by restaurant owner to cut the reading short; [poet] didn't explain this to audience, but promised rainchecks for the remaining open readers the following week.  Unfortunately, an Outcast Poet picked that moment to chastise [poet] for cutting the reading short.  [Poet] handled it in a bad way--screaming at Outcast Poet until an acolyte of [poet] came to hustle Outcast Poet away.

Perhaps the darker, jerkier, sanctimonious side of [poet] is why I've spoken my mind over the past decade (sometimes unwisely, at other times ready to risk misunderstanding/hatred for not being passive and careerist when I see prominent poets abusing their prominence/Brand Names at the expense of others they can afford to trample on).

In any event, I'm glad [poet] is on one coast and I'm on the other.

One reason you won't see me at poetry readings in 2013.

Previously posted to Facebook:

The final-to-date poetry reading I attended last month contained the unnecessary spectacle of a host complaining that a poet (included in host's publication) didn't have "meaning" re the poem she read as compared to another reader's poem. I didn't sign on for crap like this when I attended my first reading 15 years ago this April at Midnight Special. Can't take it anymore.

THE BURDEN OF ETERNAL YOUTH--RECORDED VERSION

I read this in 2002; Jimmy Smith put a backing musical track on it and combined both at his home studio in Sherman Oaks CA.

An open letter to poet/musician Matthew Mars aka Matthew Niblock.

Dear Matthew, A famous quote attributed to you is "I hate bad art.". Recently on the Facebook wall of  G. Murray Thomas (poet and NEXT... founder), you made a remark about how my poetry doesn't qualify (in your assumed opinion).  Though we don't really know each other, I've seen a couple of your features (one in Laguna Beach, one in Hollywood) during the period when you were most active in L.A. poetry.  I know a little of your work, and you have talent--but I'm curious as to whether or not you've read enough of my poems between 1998 and this year for you to pass an open-and-shut verdict on my work.  Really, I don't care if you don't like me personally.  But I'm offering you the opportunity to use this blog's comment section to tell me (and other readers) exactly what you think about my poetry.  And please offer quotations of lines/verses where necessary.  Awaiting your response--which will stand without any further reply from me.  Sincerely, Terry McCarty