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***This is the fifteenth
in a never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris
Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote
that specific poem.
Backstory of the Poem
“Ode to Disappointment”
by Marilyn Kallet
Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the
moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? Where were you when you started to actually
write the poem? And please describe the
place in great detail. I was privileged to be on a professional writing
retreat in Auvillar, France, October, 2015. My goal was to write new poems. The
Virginia Center for the Creative Arts owns property in Auvillar; in Southwest
France, on the pilgrimage route of St. Jacques of Compostelle. (Top Left: Marilyn Kallet in France. Copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet. Top Right: Marilyn Kallet in the Auvillar, France Studio. Copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet.)
They built a modern
studio for writers and painters. Two doors down, in a rehabbed 17th century
house, they lodge writers and artists. My first visit there as VCCA Fellow was
decisive. My studio overlooked the shape-shifting Garonne River, (Left: Photo attributed and copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet) and I fell in
love. That was 2017.
I proposed a workshop to VCCA: "O Taste & See: Writing the Senses in Deep France."
This year marks my tenth year of leading the workshop. Warning: the place,
people, food and wine are addictive. (Right: O Taste & See Farewell Dinner. Photo attribution and copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet.)
Over the years, the
University of Tennessee has often helped to foot the bill for my writing residencies.
The Professional Development grant program has provided travel and research
grants; the English Department's Hodges Fund has been even more generous. In
short, I've been spoiled! (Left: Marilyn Kallet's University of Tennessee photo.)
I was sitting in "my" studio in Auvillar,
on October 30, 2015, ready to click on the email from the Graduate Office that
hosts the PD grants. The Garonne was green and gold and snaky. The plane trees
and poplars along the riverside were turning bright gold. (Right: Auvillar, France photo attributed and copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet.)
I opened the email,
and it began, "The committee has decided not to fund your professional
development grant." Then there was a line about giving newer applicants a
chance. I went into shock for about three minutes, then started to write my poem!
The committee's line of rejection is obviously the opening line of my poem.
After that, I made up the rest of the letter's wording. (Left: Auvillar Gold attributed and copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet.)
Neruda is one of my
literary companions. I have read his odes over and over. Often I travel with a
volume of his work. He wrote odes––praise poems––to everything: his socks, his
critics, his solitude. The art of writing praise poems to disappointments came
from him. It's a good skill for a writer to have! (Right: Pablo Neruda recording his poetry in 1966. Public Domain.)
The poem was published by Plume, in their Anthology
4, 2016. And this month it will appear in my new book, How Our Bodies Learned,
Black Widow Press. Sweet revenge!
The ability to
transform life's blows––big and small––into song, into story, and art––that's a
poet's alchemy!
What month and year did you start writing this poem?
October, 2015. The
turning leaves were uplifting. As Shakespeare wrote, "That time of year that mayst in me behold..." Perfect
set-up for a disappointment, no? What the light tone of the poem doesn't
tell the reader is that the poet will going to Paris in November. That the
second night of her stay in Paris, November 13, there will be a terror attack.
That all the days and nights in Auvillar prior to Paris will indeed be
paradise, compared to what will hit the fan in November. My poems in Auvillar,
and the ones from the time of the Paris attacks, are in the new book. We poets
compose lyrics, yes. But sometimes we are called upon to bear witness. Then our
writing is closer to journalism than to songwriting. We must be ready for those
times, too. (Above Right: Marilyn Kallet in Vienna's Jewish Quarter. Copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet.)
How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And
can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) Were there any lines in any of your rough
drafts of this poem that were not in the final version? And can you share them with us?
I composed this poem in two drafts. The body of the poem came out whole.
There was an extra phrase in the original. After the line, "We suspect it
touches itself," I originally included "Private parts." Not
necessary, as that is implicit in the self-touching. And the line about Keats,
"He mined his own sources," originally read, "He had his own
sources." Revision often involves tightening and revving up the verbs.(Top Right: Marilyn Kallet in October of 2015. Copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet. Left: John Keats painting attributed to William Hilton.)
What do you want readers of this poem to take from this poem? Poetry can be a consolation, an antidote––whether
it sings about a personal disappointment––or a national political disaster.
Poetry bears witness and transforms. The blues have always embodied both sorrow
and laughter. (Right Marilyn Kallet holding her latest poetry collection How Our Bodies Learned. Copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet.)
Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? "Other applicants may be newer," suggests that they may also be
younger. Ouch!
Your biography? I was born in Montgomery, Alabama. My mother was
from Alabama. She met my Brooklyn-born father when he was stationed at Maxwell
Field, during WWII. I was three years'old when they moved to New York. My
mother never forgave my father for the move. She was always cold in New York.
The minute my father died, she moved back to Montgomery.
They made the mistake
of sending me to Tufts University in Boston, during the 1960's. I came home
radicalized and critical of their politics. I went to Rutgers for my MA and PhD
in Comparative Literature. Back in those days, Comp. Lit at Rutgers was a
patriarchal haven. Our program director had a poster of himself fighting the
bulls at Pamplona. He said he had only ever enjoyed fighting bulls and being
captain of a submarine. Once, he asked me for a drink to the Harvard Club. He
opened the conversation by saying, "Robert will always be a better poet
than Elizabeth." (Top Right: Marilyn Kallet in the 1960s. Copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet. Bottom Right: Book about Robert Lowell and Elizabeth Bishop's correspondence with one another.)
With Judith Ortiz
Cofer, I edited a book of essays about the obstacles that women writers faced: Sleeping With One Eye Open: Women Writers
and the Art of Survival, U of Georgia Press, 1996. My essay was about
surviving Rutgers!
I have been teaching
at the University of Tennessee since 1981. When I arrived here, I met my
husband, Lou Gross, a nice Jewish boy from Philadelphia. He directs NimBios,
the National Institute for Math and Biological Sciences. Our daughter, Heather,
lives in Atlanta with her husband, Mark Hanselman. She's the best copy editor I
know and Mark is an engineer. They rescue animals. (Right: Marilyn Kallet, daughter Heather, and husband Lou Gross. Copyright granted by Marilyn Kallet.)
Ode to Disappointment
“Dear
Marilyn,
The
committee has decided
not
to fund your Professional Development
proposal. We think you are already developed.
Other
applications have risen to the top,
like
chicken fat on cooling soup.
Other
applicants may be newer,
less
developed, but more promising,
more
professional. Poetry
is
not professional. Poetry sits alone in a dark
room
and who knows what it does?
We
suspect it touches itself.
You
don’t need a grant to write poetry.
All
you need is a pen and a bottle.
Cheap
swill. Think Bukowski,
We
never offered him a dime.
Or
Keats. We did not fund him. He mined his own
sources.
You can find your own cash. Your husband,
for
example, got the best raise ever this year,
because
he scares us. We don’t mean he’s violent,
just
that he never shuts up and his criticisms
are
professionally developed. So go home and
sleep
with your rich dick, we mean your spouse.
See
how that works out. We have faith in your
ability
to surmount us.”
Elizabeth Bishop
Black Widow Press
Facebook Page
Black Widow Press Web
Page
Judith Ortiz Cofer
Marilyn Kallet’s
Facebook Page
Marilyn Kallet’s Web
Page
John Keats Web Page
Robert Lowell Facebook
Pablo Neruda’s Facebook
Page
Plume Anthology Web Page
Rutgers Web Page
William Shakespeare Web
Page
Sleeping
With One Eye Open: Women Writers and the
Art of Survival
Tufts University
The University of
Georgia Press
The University of
Tennessee
Virginia Center for the
Creative Arts
BACKSTORY OF THE POEM LINKS
001 December 29, 2017
Margo
Berdeshevksy’s “12-24”
002 January 08, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “82 Miles From the Beach, We Order The Lobster At Clear Lake
Café”
003 January 12, 2018
Barbara
Crooker’s “Orange”
004 January 22, 2018
Sonia
Saikaley’s “Modern Matsushima”
005 January 29, 2018
Ellen
Foos’s “Side Yard”
006 February 03, 2018
Susan
Sundwall’s “The Ringmaster”
007 February 09, 2018
Leslea
Newman’s “That Night”
008 February 17, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher “June Fairchild Isn’t Dead”
009 February 24, 2018
Charles
Clifford Brooks III “The Gift of the Year With Granny”
010 March 03, 2018
Scott
Thomas Outlar’s “The Natural Reflection of Your Palms”
011 March 10, 2018
Anya
Francesca Jenkins’s “After Diane Beatty’s Photograph “History Abandoned”
012 March 17, 2018
Angela
Narciso Torres’s “What I Learned This Week”
013 March 24, 2018
Jan
Steckel’s “Holiday On ICE”
014 March 31, 2018
Ibrahim
Honjo’s “Colors”
015 April 14, 2018
016 April 27, 2018
Beth
Copeland’s “Reliquary”
020 June 16, 2018
Charles
Rammelkamp’s “At Last I Can Start Suffering”
022 July 13, 2018
Julia Gordon-Bramer’s
“Studying Ariel”
023 July 20, 2018
Bill Yarrow’s “Jesus
Zombie”
025 August 01, 2018
Seth Berg’s (It is only
Yourself that Bends – so Wake up!”
The Underground Stream is dedicated to Connie Cairns (Right). For years, she ran the Thomas Merton
sessions, giving me a lift there each time.
I was privileged to repay her kindnesses to me, with the
dedication. Connie is one of the
planet’s loving souls. We still catch up
every now and again for a cuppa.
For me, the most emotionally fraught poem in The
Underground Stream is “Paralytic
Mountain”. It was penned in the
mid-1980s, and in some ways it documents a friendship that quickly went
wrong. Elaine Hill and I parted
acrimoniously. As a part of processing
that time, “Paralytic Mountain”
helped me to deal with anguish. I did
not feel I could make it public until now. (Right: Thomas Merton)
