Jack Foley – Page 2

Two Seafarers

Jack Foley gave me two versions of The Seafarer, an Anglo-Saxon poem translated by Edwin Morgan and Ezra Pound. Morgan’s version was an easy read, as his was written in modern vernacular. Pound’s character came off as the voice of the ancient. His words were succinct and crafted, and carried a sense of drama throughout.

The same seafarer was a lamenting old man in one and a stately persona in another. Except for a few images, these pieces gave me two distinct impressions of the character.

In school we are taught to write “properly”, but what does it take to write powerfully, to achieve a distinct style and voice?

To Write a Fugue

My piano students give me sour faces when I mention J.S. Bach. With good reason. Even his simplest pieces are deceptively difficult. The more advanced students grind their teeth when they have to tackle his fugues. They usually start out strong, but by the middle of the piece they have used up all their energy. I can feel their lead-weighted fingers going into spasms and the music would sag like a corpse being dragged to its final resting place.

There is a sense of playfulness in a fugue, where different voices “chase” each other, constantly morphing and colliding, appearing and disappearing. When Jack Foley talked to me about “multiplicity,” my mind went to the fugue, where a single entity spins and splits and manifests into different elements.

It must have been six months now since I told Jack I wanted to write a fugue—not a music composition, but a poem. Sometimes the brewing period does take that long. Friday (3/16) I sat down and wrote Fughetta (little fugue).

“I can’t help but think this is my break-through poem.” I told Jack.

He agreed.

Higgins and Doolittle

Maybe marbles are what I need to put inside my mouth. I cannot roll my “r”s. Sometimes it is an effort to say words that begin with or contain “w” and “v”; but “r” is especially difficult, if not impossible. It is because these articulations are not present in Cantonese, which is my mother tongue.

When I don’t pronounce words correctly people misunderstand me and my poetry (poultry). I used to live in Danville (Denver), and people wonder how I commuted to work in San Francisco every day. Wall/war, food/fool, etc. The toughest yet, are “coin” and “corn”.

Jack Foley listens to my reading and points out the subtle differences in pronunciation. Movement and placement of the tongue are crucial in delivering the right sound. Today I practice my “r”s with my tongue rolled up but each time it unfurls it goes flat without a ring.

“We Shall Be Changed”

"You must change your life." Rainer Maria Rilke.

” Did they change your life?” Jack Foley asked me, commenting on someone’ s poetry. I never thought of poems being life-changing. At least it is not what I think about when I attend a reading or pick up a collection of poetry. “Life-changing” is a tall order. Do poets set out to change lives when they write? If not to change others, does the poet’s writing change the poet? If a poem is to have a place in the universe, what part of the alchemy does it play?

There are poems that I remember. I remember them because they are meaningful to me. They are meaningful because they touch a part of me that was not touched before. If I get a glimpse of something unknown, I have already changed.

“…but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.” (1 Corinthians 15:52)

Dead Poet Speaks

The page said, “Read me.”

I read.

“No,” it said, “READ.”

Read. Meaning, out loud?

“Yes. READ OUT LOUD.”

So I did, sitting in my car parked on a Berkeley sidewalk, I read Robert Duncan’s introduction to his book of poems, Bending the Bow, out loud. His words flowed out of my mouth. His thoughts on the Vietnam War, the reader, equilibration… elegant and moving. He wrote his work to be read, out loud.

I first came across Robert Duncan’s name when I was leafing through Jack Foley’s Visions and Affiliations, A California Literary Time Line Part I. Duncan called his poems “passages”. Recently Jack gave me Bending the Bow. “You have to read Duncan.” He said.

Duncan wants me to hear the music of his work. I looked out to the bright winter sky. Yellowing leaves scattered about by the order of the breeze . Duncan might be just outside my window tapping the rhythms with his fingers. Without a physical body he managed to speak through another’s mouth and lived again.

Foley’s Books Review

Many years ago at a workshop I was asked to describe who I am. I thought it was easy, as I had considered myself a musician and a lover of music. But when I wrote the word “music” down it just wasn’t right. There was no excitement or energy in my claim. Genuinely puzzled, I stayed up all night, thinking; and when I could barely open my eyes one word slipped into my mind: “adventure”. Then, another: “unpredictable”. These words aroused in me a strange kind of exhilaration and I realized who I am was not what I do and love, but my nature.

I met Jack Foley at John Rhodes’ SF Poetry TV show. When he showed an interest in my work we quickly became friends. Jack with his inexhaustible knowledge guided me into the jungle of possibilities to explore the self, the mind and its multiplicity.

As I write this, yesterday has turned into today. I want to remember this date: November 18, 2011. It was significant in my poetic journey because Jack has written a commentary about my book of short stories (Babouche Impromptu) and some recent poems. It was posted on Alsop Review. I have re-posted the piece on this blog under “Reviews”. It is the first significant commentary of my work written by a critic who understands where I’m coming from, and leaves the door open to where I’m going.

Photo by Koichiro Yamauchi.