The poet Wallace Stevens argues that life is what one makes of it within the limitations of one’s own sensibility. That is precisely why I read, watch films, and meet people—I recognize the possible poverty of the way I experience life. The sentiment is captured in what I wrote on September 16, 1981: “Newcastle-on-Tyne. What lovely world exists within your beautiful head? How fortunate your background, creating a world of woods and ease. That I could erase my past and embrace you and yours.”
In the early 1980s, I was studying poetry writing with Mark Glass in Madison, Wisconsin, at his house on E. Lakeside Street, which had a glassed-in porch overlooking Lake Monona. Only six people were in the class. Almost everything that Wallace Stevens wrote was grounded in his observation of the world. Mark encouraged us to approach poetry in the same way. My first attempts were laughable.
The State Capitol
The children are Christmas caroling at the Capitol.
The committees are closeted behind oak doors in the south wing.
They are trying to find more sanitary landfills to dispose of their shit.
However, under Mark’s tutelage, I did publish a poem in Poetry out of Wisconsin V (1980). It was a montage created from my personal universe deck. The personal universe deck is a set of 100 words that express your personal world. The rules for creating the deck were set out by Michael McClure in his 1976 essay “Cinnamon, Turquoise, Leather: (A Personal Universe Deck).” (To read McClure’s essay, see Paul Nelson’s website.)
I do not know what became of Mark. There is a chapbook on Amazon called Ancient Song (1980) by Mark Glass, which I suspect might be his. Only 100 copies of the book were printed. Perhaps he is like me. The hundreds of poems I have written remain unpublished. Yet somehow poets seem to find each other.
Trinity College
My poetry writing lapsed while I was at Oxford. But my affinity for poets did not. I cannot tell you exactly how I met Anton Mellors.
It seems like he was just always there. He would happen to sit down with me when I was eating lunch at the English Faculty cafeteria or studying in the English Faculty library at St. Cross. Or I would find a space at the table where he was drinking at the King’s Arms or the Turf. I think we actually went to a disco once. But the occasion that I remember most clearly is when I visited his room at Trinity College (it’s not what you think). Anton was a fair-haired, slim young man, probably ten years younger than me. He was described by the Oxford Byron Society as “a man who likes to ride his Raleigh Carlton (illegally) in the fast lane of life’s motorway.”
Trinity College, founded in 1555, was a stately college (somewhat socially elite at the time), known for its rivalry with its neighbor Balliol College. Its wrought iron gates on Park Street offered tantalizing glimpses into its garden (though Victor Lal tells me that this has now been destroyed by recent construction). This is a very cool video of Trinity College. You can spin it around and see in every direction throughout the video.
Anton’s room was in the oldest section of the college. I would not be surprised to learn that it had been used in the filming of Brideshead Revisited. In addition to the usual bed, desk, and comfortable reading chairs, there was a fireplace and on the mantle were engraved invitations to social events. I realized there was a whole world at Oxford that I did not have an opportunity to experience. Anton said that his room was once the digs (lodging) of a famous writer who had studied at Trinity (possibly Oscar Wilde). But for some reason, I thought it was the room of Lord Byron. The confusion is understandable. Byron went to Trinity College (it just happened to be Trinity College, Cambridge). Also, the Oxford Byron Society had been “founded in 1985 by Danny Henrey and Richard Schulze, who were graduate students in English at Trinity College at the time.” You will find a madcap group of Oxford graduate students on the Oxford Byron Society website, along with various things they wrote about Oxford during the 1980s and 1990s.
Poet Postscript
Michele Santamaria is another exceptionally good poet who crossed my path. We shared an office at Clemson University from 2005 to 2008. She wrote in both Spanish and English, sometimes in the same poem. I admired her significant efforts to send out her poetry for publication. I am unable to find any of her chapbooks or poems on the Internet, which may be a deficiency in my search abilities, because I am certain that she had publications. What limited insight I have into the world of contemporary poetry I picked up from her.
Now that I am back in Madison, I took a nature poetry writing workshop that focused on Mary Oliver’s work, taught by Troy Hess at On the Yahara. Once again, I have found a small group of poets (Brenda, Yvonne, Coral, Olga, Kathi, Barbara, and Sarellen) that meets to share their poems, which adds beauty and expands my perceptions of the world.
In honor of this newsletter focusing on poets, I invite all of my readers to leave a poem in the comments.
Here are links to a couple of Michele’s poems online:
http://portlandreview.org/silent-movie/
http://adirondackreview.homestead.com/Santamaria.html