1.
José Garcia Villa, a leading poet during the 1940s and 1950s
and still read today, (his collected poems were published by Penguin in 2008). His three major books, Have
Come Am Here, published in 1942, Volume ll, published in 1949, and Selected
Poems and New, published in 1958, have a prominent place on my bookshelf to
this day. His work received great
acclaim from critics and poets alike.
According to Dame Edith Sitwell, “The best of these poems are amongst
the most beautiful written in our time.”
He was also the recipient of many awards and was for many years the
nominee of the government of The Philippines for a Nobel Prize in literature.
In 1957, he published a long poem in the Times Literary Supplement entitled, The Anchored Angel. It was supposed to be followed by Part ll, which, unfortunately, was never completed. José never wrote a poem again, although he lived for forty more years.
He hardly remained idle, however. He turned his talent to teaching, just as he turned from painting to the writing of short stories,(Footnote to Youth, 1933, was championed by Sherwood Anderson); from story writing to poetry; and finally, from writing poetry to teaching young authors the essentials of this essential, essentially non-paid profession. It was clear to us all, that despite his abrasive personality, it was indeed a privilege to be in his class. He was a truly outstanding teacher.
I first met him when my brother, who was an avid admirer, took me to one of his classes at the New School in, I think, 1969. Villa left teaching at the New School a few years thereafter. He also taught students at this apartment; these sessions were designed for those who had more than a passing interest in the composition of poems.
Recently, I found the notes I took during one
semester in 1970. We all thought that he
would eventually publish a book about the technique of writing poetry, but this never
happened. Since Villa is still the
subject of university study, I thought publishing these notes would prove to be
of some interest. Although some of the
material might appear to modern students of poetry to be somewhat outdated, there are
still many lessons to be learned from him today. This is the second (and the major reason) I
decided to make them public, namely, those interested in poetry will find, I believe, gems that have been buried in my notebook for nearly fifty years. (Readers are invited to google an essay of mine,
The Poetry of José Garcia Villa, for more background material.)
2,
2,
This is the historic photo taken on November 8, 1948 at the famous Gotham Book Mart on W 49th Street in New York City. (The book store is no longer there.) José is in the back row next to W.H.Auden who is standing on the ladder. Most of the writers in this picture are still very well known.
3.
José lived in Greenwich Village, on Greenwich Avenue. I don’t know when he first began renting his
apartment there, but by the look of the faded paint on the walls, it had already
been a long time before I took my first course with him there in 1970. (The apartment management periodically
offered to paint it, but José would have to move the furniture and clutter
around the walls first, which he always declined to do.) It was basically a first
floor studio apartment, consisting of a large oblong room with a small kitchen
off to the right and a small bedroom off to the left. The room was nearly
filled with a large table, around which students sat, with José at the table’s
head. Aside from the chairs around the
table, the furniture consisted of two inexpensive brown couches that had seen
better days. I remember a very weird
statue to the left, a gift that some artist had given him.
We took turns bringing a bottle of Seagrams gin to each session. It was placed on a counter in the kitchen; José supplied the paper cups. We entered the kitchen whenever we needed a drink--which was often. We always drank it neat.
We begin with my notes from a session in 1970. I must admit that my notes do not give an accurate indication of the dynamism of the classes. My mind sometimes wandered; I often doodled on the margin of the page. This was not José’s fault; I was easily distracted in those days by my own thoughts. I had, of course, no idea that I would be entering my notes into a computer nearly fifty years later. (Personal computers were the stuff of science fiction in those days.) I wish my notes were better, but some idea of the sessions comes across nevertheless.
We begin with the first entry, which is undated; I presume it occurred on February 4, 1970, since my notes for the following weekly session are dated February 11, 1970.
Notes from the Workshop
Session One: February 4, 1970
Session One: February 4, 1970
Robert Frost: Poets need a special kind of courage for a
special type of punishment. José: it entails more fun than punishment.
Techne=Art
Technique is the means to accomplish this. Art is greater than technique
For this class, technique is the goal; a poetic constitution; poetics, poetry’s Magna Carta. The theory of the poem; technical poetics. Principles underlying art: the how.
Dylan Thomas: The lines of poetry are pieces of poetry moving toward a poem.
Sontag: art reinvents language.
William Faulkner: the goal of the artist is to arrest motion by artificial means.
Technique has to be learned.
Student to Robert Graves, “What is bad poetry?” Graves’s response: “Yours!”
There is good bad poetry, and bad good poetry. (If really bad, the poems become classics of their kind, as found in “The Stuffed Owl,” a collection of bad poetry.)
Bad good Poetry—good form but should be prose due to
content.
Synthetic poems: costume jewelry instead of real gems.
There are many unnecessary poems written by unnecessary poets.
The good poet knows when he fails.
The artist is the cool scientist serving the subtle dreamer.
Valéry: a poem is a marvelous little crystal system.
Some poems struck terror into Mallermé because they were so beautiful.
Behind bad poetry is the genuine emotion of the bad poet.
Emerson: people don’t deserve good writing because they like bad writing so much.
A poet is expected to do the impossible.
Two basic problems in poetry: 1.Technical; 2. Linguistic
Gide: Every work is a problem solved.
Ortega Y Gasset: writing entails considerable risk—like bull fighting.
The medium is not only a vehicle, but also an obstacle—Mastery and helplessness.
Poetry moves only in harness; a poet wants it to be difficult.
One needs natural facility and acquired difficulty.
Carl Ruggles: if no obstacles, watch out. Stumbling blocks must become stepping stones.
Lead yourself into chains then try to get out of them--Dance in your chains!
Thomas: Thank God writing is daily more difficult.
Notes: José often
ended the class with a “found poem”—José was a true master in this genre, as we
shall see. Here, in the first class, he informs the students about a regular class assignment. He will write on the board a poem needing
correction, or a piece of prose for us to versify. We had
to versify it for the next class, paying special attention to the movement of
the lines. We weren’t allowed to edit
the assignment, although some words could be omitted to tighten up
the language He demanded “not just
visual order—lines must have the right movement.” Many of the classes ended with an exercise in
versification. We would write our
version on the board; fellow students would then comment. As one might expect, José revealed the master
version, his version, at the end. He was
indeed a true master of versification.
At the end of the first class, he gave an example of one of his "found poems", which follows. I did not record the original source of the
prose.
Light was blue
with the color of this bird
going through it—
And he, between
his wings easily
turned bluer, where water
was, where fish
were in water:
Where blue coming
through blue became something
other: became
light in circles
without stopping
until one circle was
abruptly his
wide, white eye.
(To be continued)
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