Taking Measure: Martha Silano and Laura Da’ in Conversation
“The ambiguity of poetry becomes a gesture to the ruptured integrity of the question of who I am and where I come from.”
All posts tagged: Martha Silano
The Hinge of Weather and Whether
Martha Silano on Jessica Goodfellow’s Whiteout
On Kizer: “Her Own Woman”
In recent weeks, we’ve been publishing tributes to Poetry Northwest founding editor, Carolyn Kizer. Weâll post additional material throughout the spring: for additional features in the series, please visit here. Here, we continue with a spirited admiration, by Martha Silano, of Kizer’s ability to express and measure the inadequacy of “man’s / Ingenious constructions.” — I was in my mid-20s, living in Portland, Oregon, and newly enrolled in my first poetry writing workshop at Portland State University. My teacher, the wonderfully avuncular Primus St. John, gently broke the news, with each poem I brought to class, that I wasnât quite yet Sappho. I wasnât titling my poems, claiming I was following in the footsteps of Emily Dickinson, but when Primus shook his head and laughed at this defense, I took his advice. In retrospect, it makes sense that I would be taking my cues from Dickinson. Having just spent four years at a prestigious liberal art college in the Midwest, I received my BA in English without being asked to read or analyze a single …
Martha Silano: âOursâ
Iâm not the first person whoâs longed to write a poem where Earth and its inhabitants are presented to a being who has no clue about us, and for years I thought about letting loose my inner Margaret Mead right here on my own home turf. My initial attempts to create anthropologist-like poems failed, perhaps because while they shared cool stuff about our âlilâ planet, they didnât add up to much. These failed attempts taught me that I needed to push beyond mere pond side/ highway median reportage. As I began âOurs,â I fell into conveying a more furtive stance which quickly became a shaping mechanism for the poemâI was amused and intrigued by our business-as-usual systems of greed, waste, and overconsumption . . . and war-making. Â But more importantly, I was pissed. As I wrote this poem, I was asking myself questions like: when we do find intelligent life forms on some yet-undiscovered exoplanet, will they be torturing each other? Making art? Will they have creation myths? Pilates Nazis? Weâve become fairly accustomed to …