This Saturday at Claremont Graduate University, Sunstone West, a small tidier Sunstone Symposium, will feature panels about two Peculiar Pages book. (Note that times and participants are subject to clarification.)

The first, Monsters & Mormons, accomplished with the help of A Motley Vision and the most fun currently available in print. Participating authors Erik Peterson (”Bichos”) and Brian Gibson (”The Eye Opener”) will be talking about their works as well as reading their own and others’ stories. Responding to their presentation will be Patrick Q. Mason, the Howard W. Hunter Chair of Mormon Studies and Associate Professor of North American Religion at Claremont, and the author of The Mormon Menace: Violence and Anti-Mormonism in the Postbellum South (Oxford University Press, 2011).

Also featured are several poets from Fire in the Pasture. Featuring editor, poet, and AMV-contributor Tyler Chadwick discussing a Javen Tanner poem, and, in a separate session, readings from Tyler, Neil Aitkin, Karen Kelsay, Elisa Pulido, Laura Stott, Holly Welker, and, we hope, more.

Sunstone West is always great fun and you’ll want to catch other panels and presentations while you’re there.

Come to L.A.!

Register today!

The Poet’s Mission

An American poet, Doctor J. G. Holland, has this to say of the poet and his mission: “The poets of the world are the prophets of humanity. They forever reach after and foresee the ultimate good. They are evermore building the Paradise that it is to be, painting the Millennium that is to come. When the world shall reach the poet’s ideal, it will arrive at perfection; and much good will it do the world to measure itself by this ideal and struggle to lift the real to its lofty level.”

In the light of such a noble utterance, how paltry the ordinary concept of the poet as a mere verse builder. His true mission is to lift up the ideal and encourage the real to advance towards it and eventually attain perfection. The poet, in this age of money worship, is often ridiculed as a “dreamer”; but the ridicule, when applied to a genuine son of song, is pointless. The poet is a dreamer; but so is the architect, and the projector of railroads. If there were no dreamers, there would be no builders; if there were no poets, there would be no progress. Poets are prophets of a lesser degree, and the prophets are the mightiest of the poets. They hold the key to the symbolism of the universe, and they alone are qualified to interpret it. There are plenty of rhymesters who are neither poets nor prophets, and there are poets and prophets who never build a verse, nor make a rhyme.

Rhyme is no essential element of poetry. Versification is an art employed by the poet to make his thought more attractive. The rhyme helps the sentiment to reach the heart. A musical instrument, say a piano or an organ, is painted and gilded, not to improve its musical powers, but to make it beautiful to the eye, while its music appeals to the ear and charms the soul. Rhyme has about the same relation to poetry as paint or gold leaf to the organ or piano, and no more.

The essence of poetry is in its idealism. God has built his universe upon symbols, the lesser suggesting and leading up to the greater; and the poetic faculty, possessed by the prophet in fulness, recognizes and interprets it. All creations testify of their creator. They point to something above and beyond. That is why poetry of the highest order is always prophetic, or infinitely suggestive; and that is why the poet is a prophet, and why there is such a thing as poetic prose.

A thing is poetic when it suggests something greater than itself. Man, fashioned in the divine image, suggests God, and is therefore “a symbol of God,” as Carlyle affirms. But Joseph Smith goes further. He declares God to be “an exalted Man.” To narrow minds this is blasphemy; but to the broad-minded it is poetry—poetry of the sublimest type.

In the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, what is there of sacred efficacy in the bread and water, taken alone? There is not water enough in the ocean, nor bread enough in all the bakeries of the world, to constitute the Lord’s Supper. All that makes it effective as a sacrament is the blessing pronounced upon it by the priesthood, and the symbolism whereby those elements are made to represent something greater than themselves, namely, the body and blood of the Savior. What is done then becomes a holy ordinance, full of force and effect, a poem in action.

The same is true of baptism. Jesus said: “Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the Kingdom of God.” He meant baptism, which symbolizes birth or begetting. The priest when baptizing performs in a mystical or spiritual way the function of fatherhood. Motherhood is symbolized by the baptismal font. “Children of my begetting,” is a phrase used by the ancient apostles to characterize their converts, who are also referred to as “babes in Christ,” fed upon “the milk of the word.” Paul says, concerning baptism: “We are buried with Him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.” (Romans 6:4.) This shows that baptism, when properly administered, is a symbol of burial and resurrection—rebirth. But the symbolism must be perfect or the ordinance is void. To sprinkle or pour water upon the candidate for baptism, destroys the symbolism, or the poetry of the ordinance. It does not represent a birth—a burial and a resurrection. When the body is immersed, however,—and that is the meaning of the Greek term to baptize—descent into the grave is typified; and when the body is brought up out of the water, birth or coming forth from the grave is symbolized. To be baptized or resurrected is equivalent to being “born again.” The soul, cleansed from sin, is typical of the soul raised to immortality. Such is the poetry of baptism and the resurrection.

Jesus Christ, the greatest of all prophets, was likewise the greatest of all poets. He comprehended the universe and its symbolism as no one else ever did, and he taught in poetic parables, taking simple things as types, and teaching lessons that lead the mind upward and onward toward the ideal, toward perfection. We must not despise poetry; it is indispensable, even in practical affairs. The Gospel of Christ is replete with poetry. None but the ignorant pass it by as a thing of naught.

Whitney, Orson F., The strength of the “Mormon” position.

Deseret News Press, 1917

Whitney has more to say, of course, but the above is, I think, one of the strongest statements in support of literature from a General Authority that I’ve seen (Whitney was called to the Quorum of the Twelve in 1906, so this statement was written while he was an Apostle.) I particularly like the connect of poet with prophet.

Perhaps, as we start this year, we can find a way to live up to Whitney’s views of literature.

————–

“Situating Sonosophy: De/constructing Alex Caldiero’s ‘Poetarium.’”

Contemporary Utah poet Alex Caldiero‘s performative mode of poetry and poetics, which he calls sonosophy, critiques conventional notions of epistemology, ethnography, language, pedagogy, performance, and poetry. It does so by maintaining what Caldiero calls a twin presence between holiness and farce, the magical and the mundane, the performance of the jester and the acts of the priest. Through this dynamic presence Caldiero aims to pivot the poet and his audience between sideshow and temple, clearing space in which to enact and to catechize the rites of language. In this space, performer and spectator at once share and disrupt simple open speech as sacrament, a subversive process that stresses the materiality of language and its origin in the physical and social relations among human bodies and communities. Caldiero consciously situates himself in this precarious position between reverence and irreverence. From this position he seeks to forge a relationship between the ridiculous and the sacred in his performances and in the minds and lives of his audience.

In this paper I will construct and briefly discuss the relational network of cultures and performance traditions in which Caldiero’s sonosophy is embedded. This network consists both of influences claimed by Caldiero and arenas within which he performs to audiences; these include, among other things: the tradition of the Sicilian storyteller (called the cuntastorie), the performance of religious rituals (specifically the Catholic liturgy and LDS temple rituals), Beat poetics (after the manner of Allen Ginsberg), and avant-garde performance movements (especially Dada). I will focus specifically on how this network is cued in Caldiero‘s 2010 “Poetarium” performance at the Utah Arts Festival* (the intro is embedded below) and on exploring where Caldiero fits within contemporary performance poetry more nationally. By so situating Caldiero, I intend to interpret his performative poetics as a site from which to interrogate the interrelated processes of poetry making, poetry performance, and performance ethnography and how these processes function in human terms. In so doing, I suggest that, through its whole-bodied performance of words, sounds, gestures, and images, this poetics has the potential to communicate profoundly and to influence spectators in ways not possible through less dynamic discursive structures.

Here’s the intro:

—————

*One set of this performance is available in five parts on YouTube.

Cross-posted here.

But I think there are many hurdles to this idea–principally because even those writing about Mormon literature don’t really know much of the literature. We talk about a few major titles, and ignore all the rest, without even any real assessment of what value they may have.

For most of the potential audience for Mormon Literature, the lack of knowledge of what has been written is accompanied by a lack of any need or desire for that literature. It simply doesn’t have much of a place in their lives.

Writing criticism, or even merely description, may, as Scott and others suggest, popularize Mormon Literature. But I don’t think this is the only approach that we can use. It would also be helpful if we used Mormon Literature in more pedestrian ways. Why not chose a Mormon poem to illustrate an idea or recognize an event? Why not use a Mormon short story to help a Sunday School lesson or expound doctrine in a talk? Mormon Literature needs to be a vital part of our everyday Mormon culture, just like Shakespeare or Keats or Twain inform our national and English-language culture.

Unfortunately, the barrier is still knowledge. Its hard to use poems, stories, novels, etc. that you don’t know about.

Still, we have to start somewhere. So, I’ll give it a try and, to recognize the holiday, post a Mormon poem:

Thanksgiving Day

With choicest meats and rarest fruits, with puddings cakes and pies,
With vegetables, and cereals the best the fields afford,
With all that mother nature from her generous store supplies,
I laden come to greet you, and provide your waiting board.

Come, gather round, both old and young, your bounteous meal partake,
And for these gifts your hearts lift up in humble, grateful prayer,
For man may plow and plant and reap, but God the increase gives,
Then thank Him for His wondrous grace, His ever watchful care.

For home and kindred, health and strength, for freedom’s blessed boon,
For waving trees and rippling streams, for birds and grass and flowers,
For sunshine, rain, refreshing breeze, and winter’s bracing air;
Oh, how the wealth of God’s great love fills all life’s passing hours!

Thank Him that we have work to do, and do it with a will,
For idle brain, or idle hands ne’er yield the heart content,
May we so live that in return for all these mercies given,
Our time, our talents and our strength be in His service spent.

Exit.

[Published in the Young Woman's Journal, v6 n4 p164; January 1895.]

This was the earliest poem I’ve found so far that talks about Thanksgiving Day (not that I’ve searched very hard). Its not the only one. Ardis Parshall at Keepapitchinin has posted many more recent Thanksgiving items over the past few years. She is doing exactly what I’m suggesting — finding and using Mormon material again. Not all of it is great, but the issue really isn’t whether or not its great. The issue is whether or not it is culturally relevant; whether it speaks to us today. I don’t know if the above poem does. Perhaps by posting it here we can try it out and see.

One of those that aren’t well known is the early editor of the Millennial Star, Thomas Ward. As editor, his service to the Church was substantial and his poetry graced many of the issues he edited. He also served temporarily as President of the British Mission and was beloved by Mormons in Britain. But, unfortunately, his life story ended tragically.

Ward was educated and worked as a schoolteacher and was a Baptist preacher before joining the Church in 1840 and serving as a local leader. When Parley P. Pratt returned to the U.S. in October 1842, Ward served as his replacement for a year, until Reuben Hedlock came to take over the mission. After this, Ward served as a counselor in the mission presidency while continuing to edit the Star.

Ward served as editor of the Star from 1842, when he served as Mission President, until October 1846, when Orson Hyde arrived to take over the mission from Hedlock.

However, it is the circumstances behind this change that led to Ward’s tragedy. In 1842 Church leaders developed a plan to ease the cost of Mormon emigration from England, under which British Saints would  send manufactured goods to Nauvoo for sale. The Saints would eventually be paid in property in Nauvoo, and the proceeds from the sale of the goods would pay for immigrants to come to the U.S.

While this plan was never implemented, three years later it spawned in the mind of Hedlock what was called the “British and American Commercial Joint Stock Company,” an enterprise also meant to assist emigration. Accepted by Church members at a conference on April 8, 1845, it took until May 1846 to obtain British government approval. During the following months, the company was promoted in the Millennial Star, but when the Quorum of the Twelve in Council Bluffs learned of the company, however, they thought that Hedlock and Ward had exceeded their authority and disfellowshipped them, dispatching Parley P. Pratt, John Taylor and Orson Hyde to investigate. They found that many of the expenditures seemed excessive, and that Hedlock had received a loan of £504 for which he refused to provide an accounting. Stockholders received less than 14% of their money back.

While Ward was still loved by the British members he had tried to serve, his disfellowshipment and release from the Mission presidency must have been devastating. Just 5 months later, on March 5, 1847, Ward was dead. B. H. Roberts credits his death to “the errors he made,” but his obituary credited it to dropsy. But, despite his fall from grace, Ward was apparently faithful to the end.

His poetry portrays this faith. The following poem, The Present and the Future, published in the March 1842 issue of the Millennial Star, is a good example of Ward’s work. In a sense, it may also present a hope for Ward, that he too will ‘triumph in eternal day.’

The Present and the Future

I gaz’d upon a beauteous sky,

Emblazon’d by the setting sun;

But sullen clouds came floating by

Ere yet his downward course was run.

I thought that ev’ry changing scene

Might be for man’s instruction giv’n;

I thought of what lay yet unseen,

The pure, unfading light of heav’n.

.

I saw a lovely fair one, smile,

In youthful charms, with ev’ry grace;

Time roll’d along a little while,

The grave was then her dwelling place.

I thought of that triumphant hour,

When light shall pierce the cavern’d tomb;

And when the Saviour’s mighty pow’r

Shall guard his ransom’d people home.

.

I mark’d the man of faithful heart.

Who nobly for the truth had stood;

Receive from men a traitor’s part.

Nor died their malice with his blood.

1 thought of that decisive day,

When truth shall have her triumph too;

When God shall by his pow’r display

The secrets of the heart to view.

.

Yes, there’s a clear, unclouded sky.

A land where shadows never come;

Where joys seraphic never die;

It is the Saints abiding home;

A clime which death shall ne’er degrade,

Nor find corruption’s worm a way,

Where truth shall ever stand display’d,

And triumph in eternal day.

While I’m not desperate, unlike what the title of this post suggests (hey, a good title is more important that accuracy, isn’t it?), I do have some hope that this work can be found. Unlike many lost works, we actually know quite a bit about this one. But the only newspaper that I know included the work is largely gone — just a few issues exist in libraries.

Normal library searches for Eliza or the Broken Vow turn up nothing. Searching worldcat, for example, just turns up Omer’s The Latter-day Saints. And searching for the author “Omer” turns up an impossible list of authors and works.

Part of the initial mystery for those who encounter the above reference to this lost work is the identity of its author. Fortunately, a lot of research has been done into early Mormon monographs, especially by Peter Crawley, author of A descriptive bibliography of the Mormon Church, a two-volume (so far) work that describes each monograph published up to 1852. There, Crawley establishes Omer’s identity as Lyman Omer Littlefield, noting that Littlefield claimed authorship in his later memoir, Reminiscences of Latter-day Saints, published in 1888.

Crawley also notes that Littlefield, who participated in Zion’s Camp, became a printer in Missouri, working as an apprentice for the Upper Missouri Enquirer. After the Saints were expelled from Missouri, Littlefield moved to Illinois and briefly worked in Rushville, Illinois for a newspaper called the Illinois Republican. It was in this newspaper that he published Eliza or the Broken Vow probably in 1840.

In Reminiscences, Littlefield describes his removal to Illinois this way:

One day, at noon, I was the first of all the employees [at the Missouri Enquirer] to return from dinner. While near a “standing galley,” from which I was about to lift some type for distribution, a voice, clear and distinct, said, “you must go to Illinois and marry a young widow.” This was indeed strange and excited my surprise, as no person was visible in the room. I knew not how to understand it. Neither did I know a “young widow” in that State. However, after a few days, the circumstance passed out of mind.

Soon after I purchased a pony, (Santa Fe by name) a saddle and bridle,”and, with a few dollars in my pocket, started upon my journey to Illinois.…

… I crossed the river, where I was soon made happy in the society of many of my exiled friends. I found my father and family quite comfortably situated, on a farm he had rented, about one and a half miles east from the city.… I found temporary employment in the office of the Quincy Argils.

Among many other acquaintances, I found Lysander Gee, who had been a Far West associate. Enquiring of him of the whereabouts of many friends, I asked concerning the residence of our friend Samuel Kingsley. Said he, “he has been dead a few months and his’wife and sisters are living but a few blocks from us.” Accompanied by him, I soon made them a call. Mrs. Kingsley had a babe then about’rive months old. She informed me she had buried her husband near Beardstown, on the Illinois river, and, being left among strangers, she concluded to remove to Quincy and live with her sisters-in-law. I called several times at that residence. That lady and myself attended a few parties together, and, not to be circumlocutional, right here it might as well be told the reader in plain words, that, in due time, Mrs. Kingsley, at my suggestion, consented to substitute the name of Littlefield for that of Kingsley.… Singular enough the occurrence of my hearing the voice in the printing office in Liberty had not occurred to me until that prediction thus had its fulfillment.

The all absorbing question then was how and where wore, we to live? We were both poor; I was out of a permanent situation in business; but we were young and willing to employ our energies in the accumulation of the comforts of life. Just at that time I saw in a newspaper an advertisement stating that a printer was wanted at Rushville, Schuyler County, to take the charge of and print a Democratic paper in that place, the office and material being then in position for immediate operation. 1 told my wife that was our opportunity. She was of my opinion, as is always the case with a devoted wife during the honeymoon period. Leaving her at my father’s home, 1 took the stage for Rushville, where Hon. Mr. Richardson, the proprietor, made au agreement with me. A paper had been printed there entitled The Illinois Republican, and I continued it, retaining the same title.

[While Littlefield's account may seem a little off-topic, there is a connection to Eliza or the Broken Vow that will become clear later.]

About a year later, early in 1841, Littlefield moved to Nauvoo and began working for the Church’s newspaper, the Times and Seasons, and by June 15th, the poem The Latter Day Saints was published in a 16 page pamphlet. Littlefield went on to serve a mission in England in 1847 and 1848, where he worked for the Millennial Star, and then worked in Iowa for the Council Bluffs Bugle and Crescent City Oracle for ten years before immigrating to Utah in 1860. Not surprisingly, he found work in Utah at a series of newspapers, including the Deseret News and Salt Lake Daily Telegraph, before moving to Smithfield, Utah (near Logan), where he passed away in 1893.

Elsewhere in Reminiscences, Littlefield makes clear that Eliza or the Broken Vow was published in The Illinois Republican. Unfortunately, as far as I can tell, few, if any, issues of the newspaper exist. Library catalogs do report having copies of some scattered issues, but there doesn’t appear to be more than a handful of issues in existence. The catalogs don’t even know when the Republican ceased publication.

Where does this leave Eliza or the Broken Vow? It is still possible that the relevant issues of the Republican could turn up somewhere—in a family collection, as part of someone’s papers or among the collection of a small library whose catalog isn’t on the Internet (much like the LDS Church History Library was not on the Internet until earlier this year). Another possibility is that Eliza or the Broken Vow was reprinted in another publication, as frequently happened at the time (especially since Littlefield worked as a printer for several subsequent publications, many of which have not been indexed yet). Another possibility is that Littlefield kept a copy of Eliza or the Broken Vow in his personal papers, which, if extant, may be in the possession of family or an uncataloged archive. Perhaps a long shot, but still possible.

Littlefield did, however, leave what amounts to a summary of Eliza or the Broken Vow in the following somewhat personal excerpt from Reminiscences:

In the Missouri Enquirer office… ample opportunities were afforded for meditation, as the past and present came up for review. Joseph and his fellow prisoners [in Liberty Jail]… were actually, so to speak, within a stone throw of the place of my employment.… For me or any others of our faith in that place to have tried to aid* them would have been useless, if known to the people. There were those, however, who did aid them in a certain way.

Just across the street, directly opposite the jail lived a family of Latter-day Saints, who were full of sympathy for their imprisoned brethren. This family befriended them in the only way within their power. Having heard it whispered that their food was not, at all times, of a very good quality, they, as often as convenient, and when safe to do so, found means to pass to them through the prison grates, (which could be reached by a person standing upon the ground from the outside) various articles of food, such as cakes, pies, etc., which they themselves prepared. This had to be done very cautiously, under the cover of night. The names of those who performed these good Samaritan-like deeds, were Samuel Kingsley and his wife Olive Martha; also his sisters Rachel, Eleanor and Flora. The doubtful character of the food sometimes placed before the prisoners, by those to whom that duty had been assigned (it is said that human flesh had actually been given them to eat) doubtless caused them to duly appreciate and relish these wholesome repasts, knowing, as they did, that they had been carefully prepared by the hands of sympathizing friends.

We will here digress a little and relate a melancholy episode connected with the termination of the earthly existence of Miss Eliza Kingsley, who. was the sister of Brother Kingsley, just named. The circumstances, briefly related, are as follows:

Sister Eliza’s age, at the time of her demise—which took place in Liberty—was perhaps a little over twenty years. In appearance and manners she was highly prepossessing. Her character was above reproach. She had been for some time under engagement of marriage to John McDaniel, a merchant of Liberty.

Twice the wedding day had been fixed upon, and each day the marriage had been postponed; the first time, in consequence of the death of Mr. McDaniel’s mother, which was a legitimate reason; but the second ceremony was prevented only by some alleged important business matter. He gradually grew indifferent and finally absented himself altogether from her company.

Her affections were firmly fixed upon him and an abandonment on his part was what Eliza could not endure. She sank into a settled melancholy and her declining health was noticed with alarm by her friends. She was usually reticent about the occurrence, only alluding to it in the presence of her most intimate friends and those whom she knew were conversant with the circumstance.

While laying very low upon her bed of death, she frankly spoke of her sad condition and blighted hopes to her friend, the writer. Earth, to her, was henceforth bereft of enjoyment, and she felt willing to seek a place of rest in the bright world beyond, where she hoped to have strength and knowledge sufficient to counteract the sting of disappointed hopes that had darkened her earthly path. Death came to her relief and she welcomed the messenger without any expressions of regret.

Her remains were conveyed, by her friends, to the burial ground at Far West, some forty miles distant, that they might rest where the ashes of the Latter-day Saints reposed. When we had performed the sad rite of burial we returned to Liberty, where we again resumed the cares of life.

But there is a sequel to this episode which must not be omitted: John McDaniel, not long after her death, took a trip out west to Santa Fe. Soon after his return he was arrested, charged with the murder of a Santa Fe trader, for his money. He was tried, convicted and finally hung for the crime in the city of St. Louis, Missouri.

These facts were subsequently chosen as the foundation of a romance which was published in the Illinois Republican, entitled Eliza, or, the Broken Vow.

While Littlefield calls Eliza, or, the Broken Vow a “romance,” I don’t think we can take that to mean that it is prose. It is possible, perhaps even likely, that it is a romance told in poetry. Still, with Littlefield’s co-workers at the Times and Seasons claiming that Littlefield’s work showed “evidence of poetic genius,” it would be interesting to read it.

And so, I am, although not desperately, seeking Eliza.

Favorite review: “Modern Mormon Family: Angela Hallstrom’s Bound on Earth” by Scott Hales. I find Scott’s writing style quite winning and charming in this review.

Favorite essay*: “Wrestling with God: Invoking Scriptural Mythos and Language in LDS Literary Works” by James Goldberg. His other essay is funnier and more interesting, but this is solid, critical (and critical) work. I haven’t read something that feels like it really moves the field in awhile. This does — both descriptively and prescriptively.

Favorite poem: “Disco Hero” by Liz Chapman. Uniquely Mormon, very funny, and totally approachable. Just what I need from poetry that appears in Mormon journals.

Favorite short story: “Flight” by Courtney Miller Santo. I love that it’s an old couple and how their oldness and their coupleness plays out and how real, yet unique, yet fictional it seems. I enjoyed the background presence of the mommy blogger daughter (although it’s maybe a little too hammered home in the end). The imagery with the hummingbirds somehow feels like it’s adding to the whole mix without screaming allegory. Very nicely done.

*Note that I’m bundling the critical essays and creative nonfiction, which I probably shouldn’t, but I see them as all on the same continuum and so react to them as such.

I’ve just finished reading “Would that All God’s Children Were Poets” by Casualene Meyer (follow the link and scroll down to p. 173), poetry editor for BYU Studies. In this short article she reflects on her responsibility for choosing what poems to publish in the journal and which poems to award prizes in the journal’s annual poetry contest. She touches on what I think are some powerful ideas about the relationship between poetry (and the human aesthetic experience in general), religion, and service to others. I won’t explore these thoughts today, but I’ve invited them into my ruminations about poetry and my writing of poetry, my own editorial responsibilities, and the virtue of words (also here), so I may return to them more in depth later.

For now, however, as a means to open a conversation, here’s Casualene:

As poetry editor, I would do well to assume that all poetry I receive is a valiant effort in verse, so how, given so much desire on the part of the poets, could I choose a “winner,” especially if poetry is a matter of the heart and of preference, and it would be quite heartless and preferential to say some poems are worthy and others are not? The reality is that sincerity of heart does not equal quality of art, and sometimes bad poetry happens to good people. [Note: I love that line!]

If one draws a parallel between poems and “spirits,” a verse from the Book of Abraham helps illustrate in some degree why all poetry exists in a hierarchy, and that some can and even should be deemed noble and great, or prize-worthy: “And the Lord said unto me: These two facts do exist, that there are two spirits, one being more intelligent than the other; there shall be another more intelligent than they; I am the Lord thy God, I am more intelligent than they all” (Abraham 3:19). The task, then, of the poetry editor for BYU Studies is to try to discern among all the poems received which are the stronger, and even the strongest, and recommend them for prizes and publication. All poetry is not created equal, so it is not just a matter of granting open admission to a poetry pantheon for any verse that exists; some poetry should be not only appreciated but actually admired, and like the criterion that “he that is greatest among you shall be your servant” (Matthew 23:11), the best poetry serves readers with the greatest substance and purity. Good poems may touch us, and earnest readers, like the woman who touched the border of Christ’s garment, instinctively seek them out and touch them. In turn, the good poems give us a portion of their power and virtue, leaving us healed.

Eternal intelligence and the workings of language. Editorial practice as discernment. Poetry (and language) as service. Poetry (and language) as possessors and expressions of power and virtue with the potential to heal.

Thoughts?

But I’m getting ahead of myself—I’ll save my review of Karen’s work for a day in the not-so-distant future. Today it’s time for a little Q & A with Karen, Pushcart-nominated poet, journal editor extraordinaire, and virtual friend. She has been the featured poet in The New Formalist and Unfettered Verse: A Journal of Poetry, has made frequent appearances at Wilderness Interface Zone, and has two collections of poetry that occasion this interview: Dove on a Church Bench, which was released in April by Punkin Books, and Lavender Song, which will be released later this month by Fortunate Childe Press.

What follows is the result of a back-and-forth Karen and I shared via email over the past month or so. I want to thank her especially for humoring my string of follow-up questions!

———-

First of all, why did you choose to write poetry?

Fifteen years ago I was trying to think of a unique gift for my brother’s birthday. I decided to write a poem about our childhood experiences on the family boat, and described a trip to Catalina. He seemed quite amused with the sentiment, and kept it in his son’s room for several years. After that I began writing a few poems here and there—frankly, I had no idea what I was doing. It wasn’t until I became seriously interested in poetry, five years ago, that I discovered how inconsistent my meter was and the overwhelming fact that all my poems up to that point were, well, awful.

Had you written poetry before this?

No. I didn’t read it either.

What prompted you to deepen your interest in poetry and how did you pursue this interest? In other words, how did you begin to develop your craft?

My husband read a poem of mine for a church event and it was well-received. Up until that point I had about ten poems under my belt. So I placed a long love poem, complete with archaic language, disastrous meter and poor rhymes on a poetry board (the nastiest one around, I’m told), and anxiously waited for my critique. They took my 20 verse poem apart line-by-line, using terms that I couldn’t even understand. I almost had a heart attack. After about six months of brooding, I decided to study poetry seriously—for me that meant jumping back to the poetry boards and letting them critique more of my work. It’s a painful process, but I have learned quite a bit in four years. I spend almost forty hours a week involved in poetry-related projects, aside from my full-time job in the “real world.”

When did you begin calling yourself a poet?

After two years of writing, I finally got up the courage to send out some poetry for consideration. I mailed poems out to five journals—it was about a month’s wait and all the notices came back to me in the same week. Three-out-of-five magazines accepted my work. I was so excited—I think at that point I believed I had potential, but didn’t actually call myself a poet until I had my first chapbook published a year later.

What gave you the courage to start submitting poems?

I had a friend who started submitting her poems to magazines, and she encouraged me to do the same. I followed her lead. We have a similar style, so many of the journals that accepted her poetry were open to publishing my work.

Who/what are your major poetic influences?

I still read some traditional poetry—including Poe and Tennyson. But I try to read as much contemporary poetry as I have time for. Some of my favorites are Jane Kenyon, Gjertrud Schnackenberg, Dana Gioia, Denise Levertov, Wallace Stevens, Elizabeth Bishop, Kimberly Johnson, and William Carlos Williams. My house is filled with poetry books; I have a big problem parting with them.

Of these poets, who has had the greatest, most lasting impact on your writing? Also, what draws you to a poet’s work? For instance, I know you recently discovered Kim Johnson (who is one of my lasting poet crushes). What was it that first struck you about Kim’s poetry?

I was completely captivated by Tennyson’s “In Memoriam” when I first read it and I still love to use that rhyme scheme (ABBA) whenever I can, so that made an impact. Jane Kenyon is another that I enjoy reading; her work is heartfelt and honest. Kim Johnson: I was impressed by that fact that her poetry is quite sophisticated and yet spiritually inclined. One of my favorites is “Ode on my Belly Button.” I think seeing Kim’s poetry become so universally accepted has been a great inspiration to me. [As for greatest poetic influences,] I don’t think I can point to anyone in particular, but perhaps each one of these poets has influenced me in some way.

It seems to me you’re a fairly prolific writer, with poems published all over and a number of chapbooks and collections to your name. Will you walk me through your writing process—from a poem’s conception to its publication?

Often the first line comes into my head from nowhere and I build on it. Those poems are effortless and need very little editing when they are finished. I consider them a gift. But that is not the norm for me, unfortunately. Most of the time I have to shut myself into a room and start reading or writing, hoping I can come up with a few ideas. I have always had problems with concentration and I need complete solitude and silence when I write. That limits me to evenings and weekends. Sometimes little interactions with people during the day that make an impact on me turn into wonderful poems. My family’s quirks make great subjects for light verse—the cats included.

After I write a poem I post it on an online workshop or a poetry site and let them critique it. I’m famous for missing little things, so I appreciate comments and observations from other poets. When I feel the poem is right, then it’s submitted to a journal. After I have 25 or more published poems I will send them to be considered for a small chapbook. If I have 60 or more, I will make a larger manuscript and mail it off and hope someone will accept it for a book.

You mention your need for solitude—which is something to which I think many writers can relate—yet, so many of your poems seem to be about connecting with others. How does your need for solitude relate to and even inform your drive to connect, to build relationships?

I think I am a rather complex person. I come from a family that is uncomfortable with “feelings” and I tend to be emotionally reserved (maybe that’s why I married a Brit), yet many of my poems are about relationships and the complexities that evolve from them. I’m the same with nature: I write about lovely scenes, yet I cringe at the thought of walking down a dusty path for the sake of being outdoors. I have developed a healthy balance with solitude. Now that my children are gone and the house is quiet, my husband and I have our little hobbies to keep us content. I have plenty of writing time these days.

You also mention that you’re a member of an online writing group. How have your interactions with this group shaped your approach to writing and revision? And because I’m curious: how do you judge a poem’s level of completion?

Yes, I believe poetry boards can be very helpful, but one needs the right temperament and personality to hang in there and not be discouraged by aggressive critiques. The friends I know that have grown the most over the years have stayed actively involved with some type of workshop. Some of the best critiques are given by poets that don’t write in styles that I appreciate. It’s hit-and-miss as far as applying what has been said. At some point I have to draw the line, stop revising, and learn when the poem is going the wrong direction. Putting it aside for a few weeks helps.

What do you consider your major responsibility as a poet?

I have personal guidelines that I follow regarding content. For the most part, I tend to write mainstream poetry. I was converted into the LDS church 17 years ago. Prior to that, I had been raised a Seventh Day Adventist, then joined the Baptist church, and later the Unitarian Church. My favorite types of poems to write are formal verse in a lyrical style. However, I try to keep up with my free verse, and although I like considering myself a formalist poet, the truth is, I’m quite versatile.

If you don’t mind sharing: what are some of the guidelines you’ve set for yourself regarding content?

I don’t use swear words and try to stay away from creating images that are not in compliance with our church standards.

As you write, do you feel some degree of obligation to poetic forms? To language? To an audience?

I’m torn between formal and free verse. I learned form first, which may have been the harder path, but now my free verse has a lyrical element that I appreciate. I started the magazine [Victorian Violet Press] to give formal work a place to land; I want to further good formal poetry. I hope my audience likes what I like, so I don’t incorporate work that is too far outside my own personal taste. I try not to lose my own “voice” when I write, regardless of it being a tender poem or a satirical poem.

Speaking of your desire to “further formal poetry,” you have a collection of formal verse coming out this month titled Lavender Song. Tell me a little about this collection—for instance, how you feel about it, how it came into being, where you feel it fits within your body of work and within the field of contemporary American poetry.

I’m still finding my way with formal verse, trying to establish my voice. I swing between “everyday talk” and a lyrical voice, depending on my mood and where I want to submit the work. Lavender Song is a set of 45 poems, and half of them have come out of Dove on a Church Bench, which is a mixture of free verse and formal poems. Fortunate Childe Publications, a small publisher known for creating beautiful books, will be publishing it later this month. I think this is my best formalist work to date. So I am very happy having it all put together in one collection.

What do you consider your major responsibility as the editor of a poetry journal?

When I first started the magazine, my goal was to blend free verse poetry with formal poetry with the hopes of creating a wider readership. I formed two sections, one for each. As the magazine evolved and I discovered the commonalities in the poetry I chose to publish, as well as the diverse set of people that I accepted it from, I decided it would be nice to seek out some mainstream LDS writers to include. We are told that music reaches everyone through the Spirit, and I believe that all art has the ability to transcend across differences. The magazine’s goal is to publish any artist (vocalist, painter, photographer, musician) who has a spiritual element to their work.

What kind of readership did you envision for Victorian Violet? How has that vision evolved? You point to the diverse group of people from whom you accepted poems—has this diversity informed your vision for the journal and your relationship to poetry in general?

Getting to know some of the poets on a casual basis who contribute to the magazine has helped me become aware of their various backgrounds and religions. It is interesting to me that I choose poems that reflect hope. Some of the writers are atheists, Jewish, Catholic, LDS—whatever they are, they seem to appreciate life and their poetry has a common element that I feel is uplifting in some way. My vision for the journal is to help writers, vocalists, photographers and musicians in their efforts to further their craft, while creating a wider readership for the magazine.

How (if at all) does your connection to Mormonism inform your reasons for writing poetry? And how (if at all) does this connection inform what you write about and the language and imagery with which you write about it?

A large portion of my work includes images of nature, trees, flowers, birds. Ironically, I am not a nature person. I was raised in Orange County, California. We drove everywhere, and my idea of fun was a day at the shopping center. I can’t tell an oak from a walnut tree. My husband’s family lives in England and after years of traveling over there, and being forced to walk through the countryside at a snail’s pace, I have actually started to enjoy walking. Many of my nature poems include scenes from the British countryside. I don’t think my religion influences my reasons for writing, but I do justify all my hours at the computer by telling myself I am developing my talent.

Could you elaborate on how your use of natural imagery is informed by your connection to Mormonism?

There definitely is a spiritual aspect to my poetry, and I think it comes, in part, from an appreciation for the beauty in the world around me. When I joined the LDS church I began to explore the concept of all things being created spiritually before they were formed physically. There is a familiar aspect to nature that I recognize and connect with in some innate way, even though I don’t have much knowledge of it. When I write formal poetry I become more descriptive and detailed about that imagery. Writing about beauty becomes an affirmation to me of the existence of a Heavenly Father, one who has given us this world for our enjoyment, with its neverending variety of colors and textures—a world that has often been a catalyst of inspiration for artists throughout the ages.

In the title poem of your latest collection, Dove on a Church Bench, you focus on what I read as a very “familiar” Mormon ritual—the passing and receiving of the sacrament—and you mention another—the formal blessing of little children. Since you’ve in part re-created the “sacramental hour” in your poem and placed that poem as the centerpiece of your collection, do you think these rituals, which are intended to bind us to God and to our kin, relate to the making and the sharing of poetry? If so, how?

I sometimes let my religion spill into my verse, but when I do, I prefer to use metaphors and symbols as backdrop for a story or to enhance the mood—it’s never intended to be “in-your-face didactic poetry.” I enjoy the architecture of cathedrals and stained glass scenes above the pulpit. In “La Sierra 1946 [1942]” I found myself dwelling on the fact that my mother was praying in the little chapel every day, and there she developed the spiritual strength she needed as a young woman. When I wrote “Dove on a Church Bench” I focused on the differences between outsiders and members—and how an unkempt child was perhaps the real dove in Heavenly Father’s eyes. I like rituals; they are comforting and remind us of the past without turning a poem into something too sentimental.

Do you see a connection between poetry and ritual, especially in formal verse where the language is more ritualized than in, say, free verse?

I have always had difficulty with following directions, and I hate being told what to do, so it is really odd that I would gravitate toward writing in form—with all its many rules and restrictions. As far as rituals go, well, I’m strange. I find I don’t do my chores or anything the same way, or on a regular basis. (Then again, I like all the people and things around me to remain constant.) I also enjoy poems that have repeating lines. I find comfort in detailed work, putting together intricate poems and reading them. I worked for about 18 months to try and write free verse. I had some good success with most of it, but I didn’t feel that my work stood out much in the big scheme of things. I made a conscious decision about 9 months ago to get back into writing formal verse, and I am quite content to be on that path.

This poll is completely non-scientific, and I’m quite sure that most of those who enter don’t read AMV, but for those that do, please take a moment and fill out the following. Also: this poll (or rather series of polls) is more oriented towards fiction writers (who may also be poets and essayists). If there is interest in polls that come from the point of view of poets or essayists, let me know, and I’ll set something up.

So here’s what I’d like to know: