{"id":42711,"date":"2012-11-30T10:30:32","date_gmt":"2012-11-30T15:30:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=42711"},"modified":"2012-11-30T08:14:04","modified_gmt":"2012-11-30T13:14:04","slug":"what-we%e2%80%99re-loving-steles-cellpoems-converse","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/11\/30\/what-we%e2%80%99re-loving-steles-cellpoems-converse\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: <em>St\u00e8les<\/em>, Cellpoems, Converse"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/11\/628x471.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-42718\" title=\"628x471\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/11\/628x471-207x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"207\" height=\"300\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/11\/628x471-207x300.jpg 207w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/11\/628x471.jpg 325w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a>I\u2019ve been nosing around in Robert Hass\u2019s recent collection of essays, <em><a href=\"http:\/\/www.indiebound.org\/book\/9780061923920\" target=\"_blank\">What  Light Can Do<\/a><\/em>, which itself noses around in such subjects as writing from California, Korean poetry, landscape photography, and Immanuel Kant. There are some pleasurable moments in essays on the poet Ko Un and on Laura McPhee\u2019s photographs of the Salmon River, which winds through the Rockies and into Washington. But I found bliss in Hass\u2019s mediation on Robert Adams\u2019s photographs of the\u00a0Los Angeles Basin in the late seventies and early eighties. Just before the end, Haas includes a haiku\u2014so appropriate to the city\u2019s\u00a0spare, industrial haze\u2014whose author he has forgotten: \u201cCut flowers \/ in the drainage ditch\u2014 \/ they\u2019re still blooming.\u201d <strong>\u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n<div><img decoding=\"async\" id=\":2fj\" src=\"https:\/\/mail.google.com\/mail\/u\/1\/images\/cleardot.gif\" alt=\"\" \/>What does classical Chinese sound like when imagined by a French modernist poet and translated into English? Victor Segalen, a medical doctor and theorist of exoticism, published the first edition of <em>St\u00e8les<\/em> in 1912, in Beijing. (A stele is an upright slab with an  inscription; a <em>st\u00e8le<\/em> is a genre invented by Segalen.) Each poem in the book is surrounded by a black border and reads\u2014spookily\u2014like a lyric carved into stone: \u201cTo fuse everything, from the east of love to the heroic west, from the south facing the Prince to the too-friendly north\u2014to reach the other, fifth, center &amp; Middle \/\/ Which is me.\u201d\u00a0<strong>\u2014Robyn Creswell<br \/><\/strong><\/div>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Stuck in the crush of traffic entering New York City on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, I scanned the radio stations for something to dispel my driving-induced blues. When I settled on WNYC, I found myself listening to <a href=\"http:\/\/www.theawl.com\/2010\/08\/the-story-of-connie-converse\" target=\"_blank\">a special on Connie Converse<\/a>, a demure and enigmatic singer-songwriter active in the nineteen fifties who was rediscovered when an album of her music was released in 2009. The delicate tunes, in which finger-picked guitar accompanies Converse\u2019s quirky lyrics, made me wish she\u2019d been able to record more than these few tracks, which were preserved on reel-to-reel tape by a friend of hers. What\u2019s known of Converse\u2019s life story only makes the songs, which are often meditations on the lives of solitary or independent women, more haunting. <strong>\u2014Emma Goldhammer<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>If Frost is right that free verse poetry is as inane as netless tennis, then tweetable poetry is the reverse: tennis played over a twenty-foot high sheet of plywood with greased oars for rackets. This is the fun and startling awesomeness of <a href=\"http:\/\/www.cellpoems.org\/\" target=\"_blank\"><em>Cellpoems<\/em><\/a>, \u201ca poetry journal distributed via text message\u201d that imposes a 140-character limit upon its bold contributors. This sounds like a novelty that could\u2014at best\u2014be good in spite of itself, but <em>Cellpoems<\/em> is so well curated that it\u2019s just the regular kind of good. Scoff about the death of artistic ingenuity in the digital age all you like. But you\u2019ll risk entombment alongside the guy who rage, raged against the development of the villanelle. <strong>\u2014Samuel Fox<br \/><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>In a death match between a fifteen-pound monkey and a vicious, highly trained pit bull, who do you think would win?\u00a0To find the answer, consult the <a href=\"http:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Monkey-baiting\" target=\"_blank\">Wikipedia report <\/a>on the vile nineteenth-century British practice of monkey-baiting, which has received my vote for Wikipedia\u2019s finest article. As it turns out, small monkeys can easily defeat ferocious fighting dogs, particularly when armed with small clubs. Yes, the piece is filled with revolting details that make even non-PETA members aghast at the cruelty of Georgian England, but there\u2019s also something deeply satisfying in this rich David versus Goliath narrative.\u00a0I can\u2019t help but feel that these little monkey gladiators were fighting for the genetic home team, viscerally portraying the triumph of brains over brawn and acting out the entire drama of evolution in the process. To me, the victories  of the great monkey fighter Jacco Maccacco are just one step away from Beowulf slaying the monster that preys on primal human fears. It\u2019s horribly perverse, but the thought of Mr. Maccacco perched atop a dog\u2019s back using his club to bash this symbolic Grendel\u2019s head makes me just a little bit less afraid of the dark. <strong>\u2014Graham Rogers<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>[tweetbutton]<\/p>\n<p>[facebook_ilike]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I\u2019ve been nosing around in Robert Hass\u2019s recent collection of essays, What Light Can Do, which itself noses around in such subjects as writing from California, Korean poetry, landscape photography, and Immanuel Kant. There are some pleasurable moments in essays on the poet Ko Un and on Laura McPhee\u2019s photographs of the Salmon River, which [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[9343,9342,9345,9346,9344,9347,46,165,9348,6891,9349],"class_list":["post-42711","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-cellpoems","tag-connie-converse","tag-immanuel-kant","tag-ko-un","tag-korean-poetry","tag-laura-mcphee","tag-music","tag-poetry","tag-robert-adams","tag-robert-hass","tag-victor-segalen"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>What We\u2019re Loving: St\u00e8les, Cellpoems, Converse by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta 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