My Amends with Chase Twichell
On rainy days like this past week in Massachusetts, and most of the Northeast, I find myself browsing my book shelf for a title or name to grab me. Chase Twichell's Dog Language caught my eye, probably because AWP just released their latest Issue (Volume 43, Number 1) of The Writer's Chronicle, and on the cover it advertises, "Out of a Snowy Tree: Form and Revelation in the Poetry of Chase Twichell by Mark Jarman."
Twichell has intrigued me ever since our first (and last) encounter. The entire experience that left me terrified to be a poet, but I value it even more now that I have my MFA and a first book. I remember I had just graduated college, wrote an amateur poetry thesis, certainly nothing worth bragging about, and I was spending part of my summer as an assistant to Carol Frost. 2007 was one of the final years that Frost ran the Catskill Poetry Workshop. During that time I was fortunate enough to meet and greet all the participating poets, such as Lynn Emmanuel (we shared a cigarette!), Stephen Dunn, Michael Waters (who has taught me so much), Tom Sleigh (who said I "had guts"), and Jay Hopler (fellow whiskey lover and one of the funniest poets I have ever met). I was able to attend the workshops for free as payment for being Frost's assistant, so of course I jumped at the opportunity. I loved and still love Frost so much that I was honored to just be called her assistant, and I think she was happy to have me help her. I was so passionate and full of hope for my poetry, and even more so for final being involved in a community of writers. There was so much talent and success in one room it literally made me sick. I remember sitting in my little bedroom off of Pine Lake, my head spinning in terror and excitement to learn from these famous poets. And then the day came for my workshop with Twichell.
I brought a poem called "The Crucifix," which received positive response from a senior poetry workshop I had previously that Spring. There were a lot of strong lines, but as a whole the poem didn't work. I remember there were allusions to Romeo and Juliet, to the New Testament, it was all over the place. The thing was, no one ever told me it sucked, in fact, it was quite the opposite! The writing program at my undergraduate was very small, and if any student showed any enthusiasm whatsoever, they were heightened to level of celebrities in the writing department. I remember being amazed if a new student showed up for our weekly writing groups, which on average included 3-5 students, including myself. No one ever said "Nikoletta, you suck," that is until my workshop with Twichell. She did not use those exact words, but she knew where I came from, and she was aware that I was used to praise. She was very blunt and honest. I remember I wanted to cry, and all the other students in the workshop (most more than double my age) were giving me support and showing love for my poem. The only compliment Twichell gave was when she questioned how many drafts the poem went through. I said 3. And she said that the poem did seem advanced for a third draft, and she encouraged me to continue to revise. Twichell assured me that there was something substantial to be found in the poem, only it wasn't quite there yet.
As much as I disliked her at the time, Twichell has come to be one of my favorite poets. After reading the article in The Writer's Chronicle I had to go back to Dog Language. This is a powerful book. Take her first poem, Skeleton:
I asked Truth what to worship,
The tone of this poem reminds me of what I was trying to do with my poem that Twichell disliked. No wonder she said what she did! My poem cannot even be compared to the genius of Twichell's poem! Twichell had the poetic authority to tell me my poem sucked, because she had done it 100 times better! At the time, I did not realize what a great poet she was. I bought Dog Language the next day, and left it on my book shelf. Maybe out of defiance, but mostly out of jealousy for her intelligence and poetic mastery. However, now that the rain has trapped me inside, I am pulled to her book, and I am interested in every word she uses, in every line break and variation. I am memorized by Twichell, and I am ashamed I did not recognize this earlier. I think it's very important for us to revisit poets we haven't read in a while, or even poet's we disliked. Through time we change, and I believe there is something to be learned by revisiting our moments of discomfort.
Twichell has intrigued me ever since our first (and last) encounter. The entire experience that left me terrified to be a poet, but I value it even more now that I have my MFA and a first book. I remember I had just graduated college, wrote an amateur poetry thesis, certainly nothing worth bragging about, and I was spending part of my summer as an assistant to Carol Frost. 2007 was one of the final years that Frost ran the Catskill Poetry Workshop. During that time I was fortunate enough to meet and greet all the participating poets, such as Lynn Emmanuel (we shared a cigarette!), Stephen Dunn, Michael Waters (who has taught me so much), Tom Sleigh (who said I "had guts"), and Jay Hopler (fellow whiskey lover and one of the funniest poets I have ever met). I was able to attend the workshops for free as payment for being Frost's assistant, so of course I jumped at the opportunity. I loved and still love Frost so much that I was honored to just be called her assistant, and I think she was happy to have me help her. I was so passionate and full of hope for my poetry, and even more so for final being involved in a community of writers. There was so much talent and success in one room it literally made me sick. I remember sitting in my little bedroom off of Pine Lake, my head spinning in terror and excitement to learn from these famous poets. And then the day came for my workshop with Twichell.
I brought a poem called "The Crucifix," which received positive response from a senior poetry workshop I had previously that Spring. There were a lot of strong lines, but as a whole the poem didn't work. I remember there were allusions to Romeo and Juliet, to the New Testament, it was all over the place. The thing was, no one ever told me it sucked, in fact, it was quite the opposite! The writing program at my undergraduate was very small, and if any student showed any enthusiasm whatsoever, they were heightened to level of celebrities in the writing department. I remember being amazed if a new student showed up for our weekly writing groups, which on average included 3-5 students, including myself. No one ever said "Nikoletta, you suck," that is until my workshop with Twichell. She did not use those exact words, but she knew where I came from, and she was aware that I was used to praise. She was very blunt and honest. I remember I wanted to cry, and all the other students in the workshop (most more than double my age) were giving me support and showing love for my poem. The only compliment Twichell gave was when she questioned how many drafts the poem went through. I said 3. And she said that the poem did seem advanced for a third draft, and she encouraged me to continue to revise. Twichell assured me that there was something substantial to be found in the poem, only it wasn't quite there yet.
As much as I disliked her at the time, Twichell has come to be one of my favorite poets. After reading the article in The Writer's Chronicle I had to go back to Dog Language. This is a powerful book. Take her first poem, Skeleton:
No one dead will ever
read these words,
and those alive now
will sweep them from the streets.
The writing of our time most
likely to survive is graffiti.
It survives war.
So why not spray letters
you can see a long way off,
"the plain picture,"
as Bob Dylan put it.
"Truth. . .," he said. "Why,
truth is just the plain picture."
The dogs run through half-thawed
woods, barking the holy scary
words rote in a child,
words rote in a child,
ruins and crosses and bones,
never outgrown.
And they dig at the gray roses
of hives collapsed in snow,
nothing but paper, words
saying there was honey once.
I asked Truth what to worship,
and Truth said Death,
looking up from licking
looking up from licking
the caviar of moments
from Death's hand.
So here are the bones
in the exploded view,
pelvis and vertebrae,
thrown dice of hands.
Look at the skull.
I'm its voice.
The tone of this poem reminds me of what I was trying to do with my poem that Twichell disliked. No wonder she said what she did! My poem cannot even be compared to the genius of Twichell's poem! Twichell had the poetic authority to tell me my poem sucked, because she had done it 100 times better! At the time, I did not realize what a great poet she was. I bought Dog Language the next day, and left it on my book shelf. Maybe out of defiance, but mostly out of jealousy for her intelligence and poetic mastery. However, now that the rain has trapped me inside, I am pulled to her book, and I am interested in every word she uses, in every line break and variation. I am memorized by Twichell, and I am ashamed I did not recognize this earlier. I think it's very important for us to revisit poets we haven't read in a while, or even poet's we disliked. Through time we change, and I believe there is something to be learned by revisiting our moments of discomfort.
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