Billy Collins, again...

I have a tendency to overblow things, exaggerate to a fault. I know this is the case with Billy Collins, but the more I look at it, the more I start believing in the genius of the man and his work. There is something absolutely distinctive about poetry that cannot be found in any other form of language use. That lyrical aspect, that musical temperament poetry presents to us only goes to show the reader that very same possibility of language. Reading Collins' poetry might be "topical" or even "conventional" to some, but to me Collins takes risks, make turns in the middle of a poem like no other poet alive today. Reading Billy Collins' "Sailing Alone Around the Room" was a definite treat. I was sad to even finish it. Poetry like this, really, should be core curricula for all students.


Many people ask me what I see in Paul Auster's work, and I can only answer with the hyperbole that Auster cannot write a bad sentence even if he tried. The same goes for Haruki Murakami's work; I often describe it as walking into a Salvador Dali painting. Now I have a new champion to receive my exaggerated praise. Here are some phrases, turns of theme and other lines from Collins' book that blinded me with their brilliance....



from "Plight of the Troubadour"

"My sentiments are tangled like kites / in the branches of her incomprehension..."


from "Winter Syntax"

"The full moon makes sense. When a cloud crosses it / it becomes as eloquent as a bicycle leaning / outside a drugstore...."

What speaks to the reader in these lines is the actual picture of the bicycle leaning... a picture of Any Town USA.


from "Schoolsville"

"The population ages but never graduates.... / Once in a while a student knocks on the door / with a term paper fifteen years late / or a question about Yeats or double-spacing. / And sometimes one will appear in a windowpane / to watch me lecturing the wallpaper, / quzzing the chandelier, reprimanding the air."

This is a good example of the topical/conventional made remarkable... as a teacher of literature, there's no doubt as to why these lines spoke to me.


from "Vade Mecum"

"I want the scissors to be sharp / and the table to be perfectly level / when you cut me out of my life / and paste me in that book you always carry."

All I can say about this little, short one is.... "experience, oh experience..."


I could, if time allowed, quote from every single poem in the collection, but I have to go and teach now. I not only recommend Billy Collins, I really think everyone should own at least one book by him; he should be "required reading for the entire human race." How about that for hyperbole! :-)

On Poetry, by Billy Collins...

I finished "Sailing Alone Around the Room" a few days ago, but I have been unable to post about it. Nevertheless, I absolutely adored it and the only thing that has kept me from coming here and spewing pseudo-idolatry praise about Billy Collins is the fact that work has kept me away. But before I begin to write my list of hyperbole about his poetry, I am going to let the man speak for himself. Believe me, if you listen closely, these will be the best 8 plus minutes you've ever spent in front of a computer.

The Two Edges of the Writing Knife

It happens some times that when writing things begin to look so sharp one has to shade one's eyes. Hemingway used to starve himself almost to death in order to see things in a fresher, crispier light. I am not sure how much of that to take as fact, since most of "A Movable Feast" has been deemed fiction or half-invented lies. Can't hold that against Hemingway for too long; he was a first rate artist, and a fifth rate human being. At any rate, I was writing last night and trying hard not to fall asleep in order to complete the hour I proposed to do when, all of a sudden, I saw one of the characters' face staring back at me in my mind's eye. Many of my friends who know about my "clandestine novel writing" have asked me if I know what my characters look like (physically) and I can't say that I had given too much thought to this. It was strange because until it was mentioned to me, I hardly gave a thought to what John Purcell looked like (I mean his face and expressions). Last night, Parmita (the Indian girl he meets at Oxford) stared back at me as if in a tunnel. I saw the lines of her face clearly defined, and her bright eyes took a loving form. I wish I could see John as well, and perhaps I will. Perhaps soon.

It is final examinations week here at the Academy. The students are restless, and I suppose I am as well. We are not getting a holiday (at least not in the real definition), but three days can be a satisfying reprieve from these difficult days. It is snowing now--big, flopping flakes of snow coming down like missiles.

I was able to also read a bit of "Madame Bovary" last night. It is taking me far too long to finish, but I am enjoying every word. I am up to the part where she takes the poison and is now dying a slow, demented and torturous death. Charles, of course, next to her, losing his mind at his wife's death. He is, perhaps, dying of grief himself. I am not too far off the end, but I am expecting for Rodolphe or Leon to show up in the last minute... perhaps I am waiting or hoping for too much. Oh well, what is reading if not enjoying tremendously and getting lost in a world of words. More on Bovary later.

Update: I started this entry a couple of days ago and I haven't really done much with Madame Bovary. The last few pages feel as if I didn't want to let go of the book. I decided to read Billy Collins next and try to absorb as much poetry as possible to start the next semester because I won't be teaching poetry then.

Madame Bovary's Credit Rating

I've enjoyed Madame Bovary tremendously. One of my New Year's resolutions was to stop stressing out so much about work (I mean, after all, what ever is so stressful about teaching young people literature, poetry, history and philosophy?). I think I simply became obsessed with work, and imagined that if I didn't feel stressed out, I wasn't teaching right. So, I am much more relaxed now--even people I didn't get along with before seem to bother me little (or at least some of them, anyways). I've spent the last 30 days or so feeling this way--much less stressed and generally happy.

I am uncertain about what the terms of the credit arrangement between Madame Bovary and Monsieur Lheureux are. I find Madame Bovary signing away note after note in an effort, it seems to me, to cover one debt with another. I don't understand enough about French law to begin to imagine what the penalties (besides impounding of her property) would be. Did people still go to jail for debt back then? I might do a little research and find out. I am much more interested in the process of Madame's loss of Rodolphe and her renewal of the affair with Leon. Her rendezvous with Leon seem to me much more passionate and with that certain amount of desperation that--given enough of it--might drive a reader crazy imagining all sorts of outrageous promises and words whispered between lovers. I can understand clearly why Rodolphe leaves her: she becomes pushy and demanding, but he didn't have any intention to create a life with her to begin with. Rodolphe was just in it for whatever he could get at the moment. I like Leon better, but it disappoints me that even at this point (Book 3, Chapter 8), he is drifting away from Madame's desperation.

The writing is going well. I drew up a new beginning and it makes much more sense to me than the first one. I sent it to a friend who commented it was far more engaging, despite the fact that the protagonist is even more of a pig than the previous beginning. I had felt stuck for a while regarding this writing business. This past Friday, I went to see the Cleveland Orchestra (free tickets) play Dvorak's #9, and an assortment of other short pieces. I can truly say that the concert cleaned out my system. Saturday morning I wrote like no other weekend. It's truly refreshing!

Well, I have taken my time finishing Madame Bovary because my reading list is much shorter this year and I have "kilometric" books to read which will take far more time to finish. I will write about the end of Madame Bovary next, and my first collection of Billy Collins' poetry.