Read my latest story, "The All-Nighter", at 52|250.

I’ve heard so many times about the necessity of taking risks in poetry (check out the anti-theses in the first issue of Anti- to get an idea of how common this is) that I’d almost find it refreshing if I were to run across someone who militantly opposed risk in verse. I’d almost appreciate it if I heard someone advocate the writing of safe, bland poems. The only real problem is that I would likely be unable to read their poetry, as my mind runs away screaming when faced with something it finds uninteresting (I only occasionally got in trouble for this when I was in school).

What most recommends it to me in theory, however, is the paradox of it.  To advocate writing what is safe and easy would be to risk losing (or never gaining) respect, fame, and the meager fortune to which poets may aspire (I’ve earned enough from poesy to buy a few burritos).  It would be to risk reduced publishing opportunities. Note that this only true for those who explicitly advocate safe poetry; if readers can pretend a poem is risky and gain the satisfaction of being challenged without actually feeling uncomfortable, they’re quite likely to approve of the piece.

I think I’d like to do the opposite of that: to write poems that seem simple and easy but that stay inside a person like a parasite or sand grain in an oyster, irritating the organism and gathering nacre until a pearl (preferably baroque). To a certain degree, I’m going back to Dickinson’s deceptive simplicity with this, only with the addition of the twists that have developed since then– and a few more personal– to encourage strangeness in what develops within those who read my scattered poems.

Before going to Beijing, I had expected the Forbidden City, of all the the famous sites, to impress me most, but while the sheer size and labyrinthine nature of the complex did have an impact, this was dampened by the fact that many of major halls were undergoing construction and remodeling in preparation for the Olympics. It was less that I was disappointed to be unable to see inside (and in some cases much of the outside) of the buildings than that it served as a reminder that what I did see had been repainted and repaired; it was a reminder of how history is dressed up and reconstructed for tourists and backpackers (as for everyone else).

My own fetish for the genuine decayed is part of why Yuanmingyuan, site of an older summer palace destroyed by European forces during the Opium Wars, was one of the highlights of Beijing. Though the gardens are maintained (I think, but it’s hard to tell for certain in winter), the stone remains have been left in their disarray. Of course, my appreciation for this park may also have more to do with love of mazes, as a stone labyrinth was one of the few things left mostly untouched. Then again, it might just have been the lack of tour groups and noise that made me enjoy the place so much.

Afterall, I also enjoyed the nearby Summer Palace primarily because of its tranquility. Of course, there was no lack of tour groups, but the stunning red halls and towers with their yellow and green roofs are set in a large enough campus to absorb them all with minimal disruption. Indeed, once I left the main attractions behind, I often found myself out of earshot of any other person.

However, the real highlight of my trip was the Great Wall, which surprised me. I’d only planned to see the Great Wall out of a sense of obligation and an awareness that I’d be asked about. I’d expected a very commercialized, crowded place, but the hostel where I was staying ran a tour to a largely unknown part of the Wall that is unreconstructed and, in places, overgrown. An old farmer led the way, and there was no one else in sight during the two hours we spent climbing up and down along it. If you’ve ever been to China, you know how remarkable it is to spend that long out of sight of other people– let alone to have such isolation while visiting China’s best-known landmark.  The beer and vegetarian meal waiting for us at the end of the hike probably helped heighten my appreciation as well.

You can find other images from my trip to Beijing here.

Flowers

Peonies for your rebellion– you would not
Open no matter the power, no matter
Who ordered you;
Eglantine for your small size–
Rose of the bush,unloved by

Commerce and always in bloom;
Red poppies to help you sleep
And remind you to eat;
Zinnias in white for your goodness and
Yellow so you’ll think of me every day apart;

Spider flowers for their petals like legs,
Each ready to run you to me;
Nasturtiums for the victories for you
I see in their yellow petal standards;
Oleander for their overuse
Requires a place in every bouquet written;

Gladioli for the strength that
Earned them their human name and is
Not absent from your mind;
Echinacea for its healing– and spine
Really needed for the healing that you bring;
Acacia for its dense blooms concealing
Love and pollen

These blooms will I
Hand to you
All wrapped in saffron ribbon and
Netting without color

Shape or
Hopelessness.
We will dance together
Each time we win or live

Myanmar poet, Saw Wai, was arrested for writing an acrostic Valentine’s Day poem with an embedded criticism of the military junta: the first word of each line spells out the phrase “Power crazy Senior General Than Shwe”. (To adapt the form to English, I’ve used the first letter of each line in accordance with the idea of Emily Lloyd.)

I have three poems up at Venereal Kittens.  While you’re there, be sure to check out Spencer Selby‘s distortions of half-formed platitudes in jahbend, use Kane X. Faucher’s reverse-lexicon as a plain old-fashioned meditation aid, and otherwise play among the words and images.