POETRY MARCH MADNESS TWO: SOME APR BIG NAMES DON’T MAKE THE CUT

Elimination.  It has to happen.  All grass cannot grow.  All things cannot live.  All chimneys cannot puff.  The poet who plays his pipe may play his pipe in vain.

The APR anthology, The Body Electric, features 180 poets published in the APR in the 70s, 80s, and 90s.

Only 64 of those poets are chosen for the tournament, and each one of those 64 rumble to the top with their best poem, chosen by Scarriet, with help, of course, from the ancient, but still lovely, Marla Muse.

The cuts do not reflect the talent of the esteemed poet, but rather the worth of the particular poems selected by the APR editors.  The editors were guilty, occasionally, as we all are, of being dazzled by names.  Famous poets at the bitter end of their careers tossed scraps at the magazine, and this is just one obvious instance of the sorts of errors in judgment which the Scarriet March Madness process will judiciously correct.

Marla Muse will read one of her own compositions before we announce the first of the cuts.

Take it away, Marla:

“Thank you, Thomas.   Ahem…first I just want to say that elimination is not a bad thing.  Death is not always bad.  We get rid of things.  We push away the worst and make room for the better.  And don’t be sad, poets, if you get eliminated.  You can always come back, next time.   This is only death for this time.

Death Is Love

Death is love’s friend.
Death is the one thing we cannot pretend;
All fools go on, except this end.

Death helps love live,
For nothing can withstand the long hours that give
Beauty wrinkles, and youth something even more primitive.

I once felt beautiful pain
Thinking of my own love’s dear name
On a stone, swept by leaves—but in vain…

My love, instead, fell gradually old with stumbling grace;
Death did not leave the memory of a beautiful face,
But took love slowly down to a different place.”

Beautiful, Marla!   Speaking of death, here are the first cuts:

John Berryman: Little pitiful-drunk rants
Jorie Graham: Early lyric promise crashes and burns
Louis Simpson: Surprisingly banal
Louise Gluck: Dully abstract
Anne Sexton:  Booze Muse
C.K. Williams: Can’t finish a poem.
Richard Wilbur: Rhyme buries sense.
Michael Ryan: Bitter confessing: adolescent.
Gerald Stern: Come on! Love me! Please!
Charles Simic: Two-cent Symbolism.
Kenneth Rexroth: Robot Zen.
Stanley Plumly: Chance of poetry, turning to prose.
John Hollander: Grade A Bombast
Kenneth Koch: Encyclopedic insincerity
Fred Seidel: I’m more connected and dangerous than you.
James Dickey: White spaces? You?
Richard Eberhart: Eh?
Charles Bernstein: He started a joke and started the whole world crying.

There are many more poets who have to go.  And we’ll let you know who the other losers are, and publish the 2011 March Madness brackets soon!

(cue drum, flute, lyre)

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