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].

Kate Gale's Donald Trump moment.

If you're in the upper circles of Los Angeles literati, you hope your manuscript of poetry will be accepted by Kate Gale's Red Hen Press (I have a few Red Hen books in my library).

I've heard stories of hubris and hauteur--and there was that time when Kate got a bit over contemptuous about what type of poet doesn't qualify for the coveted Poet Laureate of Los Angeles position.

And then, in the context of a piece in THE HUFFINGTON POST on the Association of Writers and Writing Programs, Ms. Gale graced a mostly progressive publication with a load of mean-spirited stereotypical drivel at the expense of minority and LGBT writers.  Oh how dare they complain about inclusiveness and complain at AWP, states Kate.

This encapsulates what occurs when the self-appointed Gatekeepers of Literature in Los Angeles choose to use their power to sneer, marginalize and gerrymander instead of promoting inclusion and diversity of voices.

And it's another rare chance to see this behavior displayed in public rather than exposed to Inner Circles of just a few like minds.

Here's Carolyn Kellogg's LOS ANGELES TIMES column--linking to Ms. Gale's original article and the clean-up-my-mess statement she later substituted for it:

http://www.latimes.com/books/jacketcopy/la-et-jc-diversity-at-awp-20150826-htmlstory.html

UPDATED 8/29/15: Link to Kate Gale's second--more sincere--apology on her blog:

https://kategale.wordpress.com/2015/08/27/hello-to-you-community-of-readers-writers-and-beyond/

UK GUARDIAN follows Kate Gale's Los Angeles list with readers' choice.

Here is a list of GUARDIAN readers holding forth on what they consider to be Essential books about Los Angeles:
http://gu.com/p/46jxa/sbl

I agree with the choices of CITY OF QUARTZ and MY DARK PLACES.

And some of the other volumes on the list (particularly Michael Connely's Bosch series) seem worthy of adding to a must-read list.

But I detect iconoclasm for its own sort-of-bratty sake--particularly the consignment of Raymond Chandler to the dustbin.

Some recommendations of Los Angeles authors/poets:
F. Scott Fitzgerald's THE PAT HOBBY STORIES--sardonic tales of the bottom rungs of the ladder during Hollywood's Golden Age.

Horace McCoy's I SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME--the best Hollywood novel I've read to date.

James Ellroy's HOLLYWOOD NOCTURNES.

Poetry by Wanda Coleman, Ellyn Maybe, Amy Uyematsu, the late Scott Wannberg, David St. John, Suzanne Lummis and Daniel McGinn--to name a few.

Novels by Terrill Lee Lankford (also a producer of Michael Connelly's Amazon series BOSCH).

Patton Oswalt's SILVER SCREEN FIEND.

Add the above to the GUARDIAN readers' list for a more well-rounded sampling of what literary Los Angeles offers to readers.

Kate Gale represents literary Los Angeles for UK newspaper GUARDIAN.

From SoCal's Red Hen Press to the shores of Britain, here's Kate Gale discussing Los Angeles prose writers, with a brief nod to the city's poets (she recommends just four--one of them deceased):

http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2015/mar/12/reading-american-cities-books-about-los-angeles

Kate Gale's brutal honesty about how poetry business gets done in SoCal.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kate-gale/la-poet-laureate_b_2259587.html

Excerpt from the above article by Ms. Gale with the "brutal honesty" portions highlighted by me:

What seemed exciting, quickly became daunting. Los Angeles is home to many talented poets. There's a difference between winning a prize and receiving a job as a city's laureate. I'm on the Claremont Graduate University Kingsley Tufts Committee and there, we are looking for a winning book. The poet doesn't have to be ready for civic engagements and many levels of education and entertainment over two years. We look for a book that blows our socks off by an author with a significant body of work.
Here we had to consider not only the poet's body of work, but also his or her willingness to work for poetry over a two year period, a job that involves getting along with people. That's not an easy task for many poets who are often wildly uncensored or tragically introverted while pathologically paranoid, and although unwilling to work with others, they're convinced that not being invited to the party is everyone else's fault.
For a poet's work to matter, it has to resonate for a large group of people and be part of the cultural conversation. In other words, they've written something we can all argue about. Working at a level of excellence, being part of the critical dialogue and being someone who has given back to the literary community, that's what great poets do. And not just teaching. You get paid for teaching, and if you have tenure, you're paid well. I'm interested in people who mentor students, teach workshops, build writing programs, and give to cultural institutions that do the same. The city needs someone who writes at a level of excellence and has generosity of spirit. A dose of sanity wouldn't hurt either.

Dana Gioia 2012 vs. Dana Gioia circa 1999: re the L.A. Poet Laureate announcement.

http://www.laobserved.com/archive/2012/08/city_hall_announces_new_p.php

"It is wonderful to announce the new Poet Laureate position,” Poet Laureate Task Force Chair Dana Gioia said. “Los Angeles is the creative capital of the 21st century. Honoring poets and writers with this new public office is a fitting symbol for the power of the language and the imagination in our remarkable community."--from the article above

http://www.laweekly.com/1999-09-23/news/perhaps-these-are-not-poetic-times-at-all/

 "There is a huge renaissance of poetry activity in L.A.," Gioia told me over the phone from his home in Northern California, "but there are no governing standards. You can't have great literature without great standards, and no one wants to hear this, especially in L.A. There's a real mistaken impression that more art is better art, whereas in fact lots of bad poetry will deaden the appetite for good poetry."--from Brendan Bernhard's article "Perhaps These Are Not Poetic Times At All."

Forbes--of which Bono is an owner--now prints articles "written" by computer.

Another sad example of the "let's do it cheaper" recession-era ways of doing business.  Thanks to Red Hen Press for linking to this article on their Facebook page.

http://www.mediabistro.com/galleycat/forbes-among-30-clients-using-computer-generated-stories-instead-of-writers_b47243

Josh Wilker's critique of THE BAD NEWS BEARS IN BREAKING TRAINING--a passage reminding me of current SoCal poetry politics.

Soft Skull Press has been publishing a series of small books known as Deep Focus: A Novel Approach to Cinema where Name Authors write eloquently on what they consider to be seminal films.

Chicago-based author Josh Wilker chose the semi-forgotten THE BAD NEWS BEARS IN BREAKING TRAINING, the quickly-thrown-together 1977 sequel to Michael Ritchie and Bill Lancaster's classic 1976 original. (Needless to say, Ritchie and Lancaster--as well as original stars Walter Matthau and Tatum O'Neal--didn't return for the second film.)

Wilker, who was nine when he saw BREAKING TRAINING, does a fair amount of rhapsodizing about his own boyhood, along with some side detours into philosophizing about a 1970s he was too young to completely experience.

For those who remember BREAKING TRAINING, the hapless Bears play a more professional Little League team in the Houston Astrodome in the small window of time between an Astros double-header.
The powers that be want to halt the children's game early in order for the grown-ups to begin playing their second match of the day.  Both teams are shooed off the field by baseball officials--except for the perpetually idealistic Tanner (Chris Barnes), who stands his ground and refuses to leave.

Wilker talks about Jimmy Carter's much-mocked "malaise" speech from the summer of 1979 and its plea for "common interest and the restoration of American values" over what was already the looming spectre of Reagan-era self-interest and "I want more than you'll ever have."

Here's my favorite passage of Wilker's in the book:
I keep coming back to refuse disconnection, and I keep coming back to refuse the end.  And now we come to the climax of the movie.  Not the ultimately negligible, if structurally necessary, moment when Carmen scores the winning run, but the part that actually precedes that false climax, the part that begins when all seems to be lost, when the team is told, right in the middle of an early inning, that the game is over.  There are initial groans and protests about this, but they are all impotent, even Mike Leak [William Devane as the estranged father of Jackie Earle Haley's Kelly Leak] giving up after arguing for a while with the ump.  Everybody has given up and accepted the end, with one exception.

Tanner's still out there, standing alone.

[fast-forward through a passage about Watergate and Richard Nixon's resignation revealing "a system driven by corporate interests and not by the will of the people, contrary to the nation's dream of democracy."]

"Where's everybody going?" Tanner asks.  "We're not finished!"

Two men in suits advance toward him.  They are not evil.  They are not stand-ins for Nixon.  They are, in a way, worse.  They are functionaries, apologetic but assertive, pointing to their watches and invoking the god that rules the country, money.  The game is a commercial-driven diversion between the commercial-driven diversions of the first and second games of a doubleheader.  The important thing turns out to be the commercials.  They, and what they sell, and the corporations that rake in the profits, rule.  Everyone else has to get in line.  I'm sorry, the men in suits explain, but that's just the way it is.  And they advance toward Tanner to remove the last dissenter from the field.

Now re-read Wilker's words above--substituting "poetry", "MFA degrees", "prestige", "coffeehouse poets [imagine it being said with a sneer]", "creative writing programs", "journal-entry writing", etc. etc. when you feel it necessary.

Trust me, you'll see a synchronicity.

The glass of local poetry books--something that can be seen as either half-full or half-empty.

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."

Today, I was at least happy to go by Skylight Books and see that Brendan Constantine's LETTERS TO GUNS (from Red Hen Press) is now being carried.

I really admire Brendan's poetry and respect him as a person (although our relationship hit a speed bump some years back which it has never fully recovered from, unfortunately)--so I'm happy to discover he's getting greater exposure to the Los Feliz/Silverlake reading audience.

Now, if Kerry Slattery of Skylight (plus other people she's deputized as buyers for the store) could start carrying chapbooks/books from some of Brendan's talented peers (Amelie Frank, Rick Lupert, Elizabeth Iannacci, the late Erica Erdman), that would be even better.

Being set straight yet again about Los Angeles poetry's desire to keep the herd thinned.

So the Important poet and I have been continuing to e-mail and, among other things, I was reminded that my standards for which poets should get features (a mixture of various types--and sometimes skill levels) aren't correct ones. I would allow too much--the horror, the horror--mediocrity to be put on display.

Along with that axiom, I was reminded that if poets aren't able to get features at venues where, say, Red Hen Press authors, Pushcart Prize winners and RATTLE (or other literary magazine) editors are favored (including most of the remaining "coffeehouse" readings), then it means the poets should write "better."

I know I'm showing my stupidity/naivete/lack of undertanding again, but it seems to me that a big, diverse city like Los Angeles ought to have a more diverse small-reading scene than it does.

But chasing prestige (or being in the presence of it) is paramount with a lot of people now.

And so the poetry scene in Los Angeles will continue to be exclusive and secretsecret--with the late Hyperpoets reading at Venice's Rose Cafe being the template for the high-toned, often too-dry and too-self-consciously "I'm writing TRUE poetry, as any fool can see" artistic desert.

That's how it rolls in literary poetry L.A.

I'm going to run through a few red lights with this post. Here goes.....

Earlier tonight, I sat through a featured reading by an overly pretentious, forgettable literary poet (who, to be fair, had one tolerable poem referencing Edward Hopper paintings) at a L.A.-area venue. The literary poet has some cachet in this region because he edits a literary magazine (or should I say, "journal") and has a new book published by an L.A.-based prestige small press named after a barnyard animal.

The reading itself, like about three other readings in the LA/OC area, is now modeled after a long-dead but still influential poetry series that was named after a certain kind of flower.

What can I say about literary poetry when it exists more to ooh-ah-awe and attract looking-for-Pushcart-Prize-consideration players in the "community" than to edify or satisfy poets/civilians who may not be breathlessly fascinated by the poet's self-proclaimed academic brilliance and/or his publication/website?

[Sidebar: An article by Brendan Bernhard about poetry in L.A. in the LA WEEKLY a decade ago--besides offending certain community majordomos upset about not being Recognized by Bernhard--had a priceless quote from someone (perhaps a bookseller) that described literary poets as "people in academia writing for each other."]

At this point, I realize I'm going to attract potential criticism for criticizing a poet (something I'd be tut-tutted about--and then forbidden to do--on at least one local poetry listserve) after having been chastised recently for not being "ambitious" enough.

Sorry, but there's also a danger to the health of poetry as a whole when poets and hosts bend over backwards to fawn over too-self-satisfied, please-my-professor-at-university, deadly-dull-but-au-courant verse that's drier than the deodorizer I put inside my cats' litter boxes three times a week.

I'll end this with a cautionary anecdote: Emily Dickinson showed her work to a Major Publisher of her day. She was considered "not good enough" and her poetry didn't really surface en masse until after her death.

It's safe to say Emily Dickinson will be read for a few centuries more than the Influential Poet/Editor I was bored, irritated and deeply depressed by tonight.