Shadows of Moments:
A Review of Paul E. Nelson’s American Sentences
First
published in Raven Chronicles Journal
#23, November 2016, pages 233–239. +
American Sentences
by Paul E. Nelson
Apprentice House
Loyola University Maryland
4501 N. Charles Street, Baltimore, MD 21210
www.ApprenticeHouse.com
ISBN 978-1-62720-067-7
2015, paper, 118 pages, $11.99
“A writer, I think, is someone who pays attention to the
world.” —Susan Sontag
“For the person with attention,
every day becomes the very day upon which all the world depends.” —Rami M. Shapiro
“The fewer the words used, the
more concentrated the attention; and the greater the concentration, the greater
the power.” —David Lambuth
In his introduction to American Sentences,
Paul E. Nelson writes that the book’s poems are “the fruit (sometimes rotten)
of an effort to cultivate awareness” (8). Indeed, the poems in this book are
the result of a daily writing exercise, with some poems understandably succeeding
more than others. Yet they are presented as a way of accepting what comes,
noting that “the process of such a practice . . . sharpens perception
and therefore deepens consciousness” (10). It’s a practice that others may well
want to try. And even if not, the book makes for a stimulating, diary-like read,
at times feeling voyeuristic. These pages are filled with energy,
inventiveness, anger, love, and often blunt observation. This is a book of
noticing, of paying attention.
The form, of course, is American
Sentences, a variation of haiku invented by Allen Ginsberg. It amounts to
seventeen syllables in a single line, but pays little or no attention to other
haiku techniques or aesthetics, many of which are seldom understood or taught
in the West. Ginsberg’s examples are unflinchingly honest, and Paul follows in
these footsteps, yet makes the form his own by presenting his own life with
concrete details. American Sentences
features 745 examples selected from more than 5,100 one-line poems written daily
over fourteen years (and Paul is still going). “Unlike traditional haiku,” Paul
says, “there is no seasonal reference and the content may often be more
appropriate to the senryu,” but observes that including the date with each poem
“is a way of communicating the season” (4). He advises that “American Sentences
work best when there is an AHA! moment” (7). It has that much in common with
haiku. The introduction also quotes Ginsberg as saying that “Any gesture we
make consciously, be it artwork, a love affair, any food we cook, can be done
with a kind of awareness of eternity, truthfulness. . . . It captures
the shadow of a moment” (1). And that’s what this book is—the shadows of
moments, a selection of poems spanning more than a decade of daily writing
practice, yet just a glimpse—all of which, as Paul says, chronicle post-modern
velocity.
Ginsberg’s poetic invention has
not been written by many people, and certainly not in as sustained a way as
Paul has done with his practice, documented in this book. Perhaps no one else
has done more to promote the form, either. Paul runs the
www.americansentences.com website [it now redirects to http://paulenelson.com/american-sentences-2/] and, at my invitation, spoke about American Sentences
at the 2005 Haiku North America conference in Port Townsend, Washington. He’ll
often share his Sentences at poetry readings too—he’s the American Sentences
guy, even while he also writes mostly longer poetry. His book collects
selections from each of fourteen years starting in 2001 (ranging from 16 to 92 poems
for each year), and the poems repeatedly show a sensitivity to and awareness of
everyday life in all its manifestations. They echo with haiku as a literary
practice, even while they differ. Here are three examples (not always seventeen
syllables, but usually):
7.17.03
My binoculars scan the coastal
mountains then WHOA! A GIANT EAR!
7.24.07
Morning sun reflects off sidewalk
slug trails as I drag my ass into work.
1.13.12
Useless! Useless! – flossing in
the mid-day, eating popcorn at night.
That last poem alludes to a Kerouac haiku. Many other allusions and contexts
abound in these poems. One is the setting of the Seattle region, with
occasional forays elsewhere, so when we see a reference to the “International
District,” we know it means a specific neighborhood in Seattle. Another context
is the people in the author’s life, many of whom are specifically identified by
first and last names, or just by first name, whether they are Seattle locals or
people on television.
2.20.03
Sherry Marx reports of the peace
protestor who broke a man’s nose.
7.16.04
Martha Stewart’s prepared for her
jail term – she’s on a low carb diet.
5.20.06
Carolyne says: I don’t know what to say and then she
keeps on talking.
6.13.08
Sam takes his Thursday pills on
Friday – washes ’em down w/ tequila.
Some poems may seem to fall flat, being just so-what records,
but Paul readily admits that on some days it was a stretch to do his daily
discipline. The poems range from dark to witty, joyous to gritty, producing a
collection of variety, embracing different emotions with a kaleidoscope of
images. In this context, some selections are more closely aligned to haiku and
the haiku moment.
3.10.02
Shimmer of the hot springs pool as
reflections of raindrops intersect.
3.12.05
Watching insects swirl in
afternoon sun – no plum blossoms falling.
12.14.11
The passing bus ripples the maple
tree reflection in my teacup.
Other Sentences are “found” poems, or they record the wit of others. But then,
aren’t most haiku “found” also, through the living of daily life?
4.28.05
At Green Valley Meats a smiling
bunny sign says Trespassers Butchered.
9.17.07
Graffiti on an old fridge in New
Orleans: Make Levees, not War.
5.11.14
Billboard in Idaho on I-90:
“Jesus, the call that never drops.”
Some poems may be overly private, but including them amplifies the diaristic
nature of this every-day discipline and the oddities of daily life.
3.29.05
Charlie told us: If you hear gurgling noises it’s my leg
falling off.
1.24.07
The look on RR’s dream face when
the army crushes a piano.
12.28.10
Everything he says in his phone
chat’s in Igbo except for “Craigslist.”
Other poems reflect the news, offer aphorisms or jokes, or are profoundly
sad.
3.12.04
After the terror bombing cel
phones ring next to corpses in Madrid.
8.01.06
Everything is empty but some
things are more empty than others.
5.26.09
I tell April to flesh out her poem
about anorexia.
5.11.14
Just to take the shine off Ma one
last time, my Dad dies on Mother’s day.
These and other Sentences show lifefulness, honesty, and an endless openness to
whatever happens—not just to the experiences of life, but an openness to
whatever ends up in the poems. In that regard they have much in common with
Ginsberg’s approach to this form as well as to haiku. It’s an exploration of
the aesthetics of Open Form, or what Charles Olson called “composition by field,” which
Paul explains as being “what comes into one’s consciousness,” underscoring that
“The practice of writing a daily American Sentence will change that field, if
one is open to change” (9).
Poet John Olson provides an
appreciative blurb to start the book that is worth a mention. He says “Emphasis
[in the poems] is on the image, rather than rhetoric or lyricism. Unlike the
haiku, however, which is a highly bastardized form in English, they’re more
suited to the American idiom,” and that they “don’t have the aesthetic
stiffness of the haiku as they are practiced in English.” One has to wonder
what he means by haiku as they are practiced in English, and the degree to
which he is aware of the leading English-language haiku journals and
anthologies—and their tremendous breadth and range. Has he read Haiku 21, Modern Haiku, or the recent Norton
anthology, Haiku in English: The First
Hundred Years? Such work is dramatically far from stiff or bastardized.
Rather, I’m guessing that he means all the pseudo-haiku that infects the
Internet, perpetuating myths of haiku in English—indeed, highly bastardized. But
then, none of that should be given attention, and it would be more rigorous to compare
Paul’s work to literary haiku (in English) rather than bastardizations. It stands up for its
energy, its imagism, its openness, its shadowed revelations of the human
condition.
And yet, a comparison to haiku
isn’t necessary at all, because American Sentences stand on their own, distinct
from haiku, whether in Japanese or English. One could argue that the American
Sentence form itself is a bastardization of literary haiku, especially with its
omission not only of season words (kigo),
the two-part juxtapositional structure (kireji),
and other techniques vital in English and Japanese. But American Sentences
offer their own clear rewards and potentials, and Paul has mined them deeply,
being open to imagistic clarity, randomness, spontaneity, wittiness, and
thoughtful contemplation, not to mention the discipline of regular composition
as a poetic practice. This is a book that welcomes whatever life has to offer,
in all its highs and lows, and it shares the shadows of these moments for others
to revel in. Paul E. Nelson’s American Sentences are in love with the world.
2.14.14
Better write down today’s American
Sentence before I get drunk.
|
