• Contemporary antiquities
• Elevated valley
• Stupid genius
• Utopian nihilist

That last one is a real-world example. I can’t think of any that I’d have thought of at 21, but “utopian nihilist” is the type of phrase that I’d have enjoyed coming up with. I didn’t conjure this one, however. Milo Martin did.

Milo Martin is a West Coast slam poet who has traveled extensively in Europe as a touring poet. He is also the founder of the Utopian Nihilist poetry movement. Their principles are intriguing and exist as a list of 26 proclamations, to be found in the back of Martin’s debut book of poems, Poems For The Utopian Nihilist.

Here are a few hand selected verses from the Utopian Nihilist Manifesto:

• We are born Utopians; it is through the scarring of socialization that some of us become Nihilists.
• The Utopian sees the wine glass as half-full whereas the Nihilist sees it as half-empty. The Utopian Nihilist sees a libation suitable for consumption and ponders the history of the grape.
• Eclipse the obstacles. That which is undeniable cannot be denied.
• Do not consternate so much about the creation of art; make it the way that your pristine genesis mind initially bloomed it. Judge not self, lest thee be judged. Employ disregard.
• Vehement resistance to common ideas and swimming against the stream is our moral obligation.
• Democracy is dead, once a beautiful ideology.
• Hierarchies are illusory man-made constructs.
• Happiness is temporal and should be treated as such, knowing that there is also much pain and consternation to be experienced in balance. We are the supersonic Samsara sponge. This is our job as cheerful proletarians. As Utopian Nihilists. To soak up the paradox; to snort up the salt and pepper of things.

As you can see, there’s nothing original there, only the repackaging of things already said. So is Martin’s poetry. You can read the full review of Poems For The Utopian Nihilist here.

1. The struggle is in maintaining a balance between the narrative and the poetics
2. Too much narrative and the poem becomes prosaic
3. Too much poetry and the poem will lilt into lyrical patterns that kill the narrative
4. Employment of fiction writing techniques are necessary, but they can get in the way of the poetry if you let them
5. Double risk of saying too much or leaving something out

The essence of narrative poetry is such that you have a story to tell, but the way in which you wish to tell the story is not traditional. In other words, the poem becomes a story without becoming fiction. If it were fiction then it wouldn’t be a poem, but it must contain fiction, or fictional elements, in order to achieve the narrative effect. Even lyric narratives must incorporate some element of fiction telling or the narrative is no longer narrative.

I am currently struggling through an experimental narrative poem that is causing me to think more deeply about what a poem is, how a poem should be structured, and why the narrative form is necessary. The poem is based on my experience as an Iraq War officer who was against the war on moral grounds but chose to participate rather than break the law in an act of civil disobedience as so many others have done. The story itself is fictional; the “truth” part is the emotional-philosophical basis upon which its message is communicated.

My Current Narrative Poem Struggle

Initially, I wrote the poem in three-line strophes and it felt contrived. I thought the poem was too stilted and therefore restructured it. I am now taking it into a totally different direction, using experimental techniques, backward lines, angled verses, concrete elements, and formal line units interspersed between free verse lines. It’s working much better, but I’m still not satisfied.

I have a particular style of writing that is unique. I didn’t develop it. It comes naturally. I’ve always been able to tap into this style in one way or another and draw from different parts of my being (intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and intuitive) in such a way that they play nicely together. Sometimes they struggle against each and sometimes they compliment each other, but they are always all involved. What I’m trying to achieve with this poem is a message, a philosophical proclamation that doesn’t come out preachy or didactic. That’s a tough thing to do in any work.

The narrative is necessary for POV, a fictional technique embodied in my natural lyrical style. But it’s a long poem.

As it stands now, the poem is 13 full 8 1/5 X 11 pages with normative 1-inch margins all around. Some of the lines are short, some long. Some are merely one word in length. The stanzas are all different lengths and there is no set metrical pattern throughout the poem. The meter often changes and changes often. Furthermore, there is a setting as in fiction and several characters, each with their own POV and developed personalities. Then I toss in some metaphors and traditional poetic devices like rhyme, near rhyme, internal rhyme, assonance, consonance, repetition, synecdoches, etc. You get my drift.

The problem I’m having is this: Keeping the narrative moving through execution of action (both narrative action and action of language) without making it look and sound ridiculous. I suppose it’s the same struggle that many fiction writers find themselves in when they reach a chapter or a point in their story where they don’t know where to go with it any more. You know it’s not finished but you’re not quite sure what it needs. I’m at that point.

I think it may actually be that I know what it needs. I just don’t know how to give it what it needs, if that makes any sense. Like a man who knows his wife needs a hug but he is incapable of allowing himself to give into the temptation to share that emotional moment with her, be it out of pride, insecurity, or just lack of know-how. I am there and I’m not quite sure why. The poem needs an injection of something but I cannot say what kind of injection because I haven’t diagnosed the problem properly. Have you ever been there? What did you do?

The Too Much-Too Little Dichotomy

I am trying my hardest to maintain a balance between saying too much and telling the whole story. With any narrative, whether it be fiction, poetry, or nonfiction, you have an obligation to the reader to tell everything that is important. You don’t have to tell everything there is to know, but you must tell everything that is important to the story. Otherwise, the reader won’t have a good experience.

Nevertheless, you’ve got to keep it short. Brevity is key in any writing. Say what needs to be said and get out. So my struggle is there, how do I keep it as short as it needs to be and still say everything that needs to be said? In general, a story should tell itself. I’ve always believed that and still do.

I’ve had hard poems to write before. I’ve have some poems so easy to write I couldn’t believe they were actually poems. But this poem is hard. I think it’s hard because of the narrative imperative. It won’t work simply as a lyrical poem, but as narrative it works splendidly. I just wish I could get it off my chest and get on with living.

“I think it is important to remember why we are here,”

The implication here is that the war in Iraq is somehow to defend the nation. Here it is again, in the words of his poem, titled “Allegiance to the Same”:

Today we’ll stand and be counted (sic) We’re crossing the line in the sand (sic) Regardless that (our) days may be numbered, we’ll fight and defend our great land

I’ve got no problem with poetry that honors fallen soldiers. Fallen heroes have always been a subject of literature and I suspect they always will be. But a poem must at least be honest about what it stands for and it should communicate something meaningful about the experience. To refer to the Iraq War as a defense of “our great land” is nonsense. “Why we are here” has nothing to do with national defense; it has everything to do with ignorance, hubris, and fear peddling.

When I reviewed Brian Turner’s Here, Bullet, I was pretty critical. I am, I admit, a rather harsh critic. If so then it’s because I love great literature and when I find it I don’t mind jumping in the air, clicking my heels together and looking like an idiot. I challenge soldier-poets to make me do that. But even Turner’s poetry is somewhat poetic and well written, and he doesn’t sugarcoat the shit with ear-tickling party-line business.

Why Supporting The War In Iraq Is A Sin
As a soldier who served in Iraq myself, I realize that fellow soldiers deserve the respect and commitment of those with whom they served. Fallen soldiers should be given their credit and those who serve well, theirs. But the purpose, the raison d’etre, of the war itself is a different thing altogether. And from what is public knowledge concerning the events that lead up to it, the justifications given by the decision-makers who are responsible for putting us there, and the reasons why we are still there have nothing to do with honoring the fallen or injured soldiers who may or may not necessarily be “heroes” in the strict definition of the word. In other words, to refer to this war in any way as a “defense of our great land” is just plain nonsense.

To further elucidate the sinfulness of the position that this soldier has taken, as a Christian he should be standing up for the truth of something and not the popular myth, nor in participating in the national pride that has bandied about our flag in the name of the Lord (which I consider the greatest sin of our age). Rather, he should seek to understand the nature of justice and encourage the decision-makers who represent him in Washington to use his service in the military for that purpose and for no other.

The only justification for the War in Iraq that even comes close to that end is the argument that unseating Saddam Hussein in the manner that was done was an act of retributive justice for the acts of ethnic cleansing he perpetrated upon the Kurds, but even that argument falls in shallow water when you consider how many years went by that nothing was done about it. But that wasn’t even an asserted justification until after the fact when it became common knowledge that the stated justifications were all bogus.

My Hope As A Soldier-Poet
One of the reasons I have not submitted the manuscript of Rumsfeld’s Sandbox to any publishers to date is because I still have this nagging feeling that somehow it isn’t ready even though I’m emotionally ready to give it up. I have made the mistake of publishing too soon and I don’t want to make that mistake again.

In my mind, war poetry must first and foremost be poetic and not merely an emotional appeal to pride based on shallow sentiment. Poems like “War is Kind” with its ironic simplicity, “Dulce et Decorum Est” and its bold insistence that dying for one’s country is the greatest glory is an old, old lie, and “The Charge Of The Light Brigade” do that. These are poems that are first poems and if anything else then only secondarily. That’s the kind of poetry, as a poet who has served in combat, that I hope to write.

My initial reaction, some readers will know, was quite negative. But I’m afraid it was overly harsh. There are a lot of complexities in his verses that my initial reaction didn’t pick up on and that were difficult to pick up on in the first reading, so I gave myself four readings of the material to soak it in. After the fourth reading I’ve discovered that my first impressions were largely on the mark, but I did find some reasons to like the book.

Writing positive reviews are easy and negative ones aren’t much more difficult. With a positive review you just have to find the best examples of why you like a book and include those with your observations. It doesn’t take as much sweat. My review of Patrick Carrington’s Thirst is a good example.

Negative reviews don’t present much of a challenge either. Just as in positive reviews, you look for the best examples to illustrate your overall impression and make your case. Methinks I See My Father is an example of this type of review.

A mixed review is difficult because you have to find good examples of both extremes – the good and the bad – and if you find some level of mediocrity in a work as well then you’ll have to find the best examples of those. In some cases, as it was with Here, Bullet, you find examples of good, bad, and mediocre in a single poem, further complicating the review process. Then you have to determine whether or not you don’t like the work, or if there are certain parts you don’t like more than others, because of a prejudice or an aesthetic preference or if there is truly a problem with the poetry. In the case of Turner’s Here, Bullet, I think it is a mixture of problematic devices and my own aversion to realistic-imagist poetics and some elements of postmodernism, both of which are prevalent. But there are historical and cultural reasons to read Turner’s poetry. It isn’t necessarily all about the aesthetics. There are many things I could have brought out in my review that I chose not to mention because of space considerations – I didn’t want to write a book.

The first paragraph of the review is reprinted below. I hope you’ll click the link and read the rest of it.

Brian Turner’s Here, Bullet is a veritable image gallery of tactical observations. Well structured as a compilation and equally well packaged as the poetic memoir of a soldier who has been there and seen firsthand the surreal nature of 21st century warfare rather than the sound bite version from CNN, Turner’s voice is unique and credible, but that is its limit.

Read the rest of my review of Here, Bullet.

I guess that depends on what you mean by “liberal.” Ezra Pound has often been criticized for his fascist views. Not exactly the darling of liberalism. But aside from the conservative/liberal dichotomy, Perillo’s post is boldly shallow in another way. She actually had the audacity to write this sentence into a paragraph at the end of her post:

Maybe this is why there is not much good poetry written about war (OK: Homer) compared to the bulk of good poetry written about love.

That’s an awfully nutty thing to say on a poetry blog. I’ve read countless love poems that were mere drivel. But the volumes of good war poetry can be stacked to the moon. Stephen Crane’s “War Is Kind” comes to mind. Walt Whitman wrote some fabulous poems during the Civil War and many of them have withstood the test of time in the American narrative of poetics. One of my favorite poems is “The Charge of the Light Brigade” by Tennyson.

If we remove the classics we can still find good war poetry being written today, though admittedly not by many total liberals. But they aren’t all written by fascists either.

I said I wouldn’t discuss Brian Turner’s Here, Bullet again until I finished my fourth reading of it, which I did last night. I am not ready yet to publish my review, but he has a few good poems on war in that book, the latest of the war poets worth a read. The title poem itself probably has the most widespread recognition but I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s the best poem in the book despite it’s being a good read. Virtually every war of the 20th century produced at least one poet who wrote on war quite effectively and worth a read. So this business about where is all the good war poetry was really just kind of silly.

Are poets too liberal? Some of us, I suppose, but if we consider that liberalism (classical liberalism, at any rate) has always been about individualism and free markets then I’d say we’re probably not liberal enough. And I’ve never understood why war has been lumped into the laps of conservatives. Liberals start wars too and they’re not always to save the poor from poverty.

• Siege
• I Like War
• 20 Acres

I had a great time on Belinda Subraman’s radio show and I hope you’ll listen to it. You can hear Belinda Subraman’s radio show in one of two ways. You can listen to it on Belinda’s website or by downloading the World Class Poetry Toolbar.

The toolbar is safe from any vicious malware and spyware. Perfectly safe and secure and a lot of fun!

Also, I got a chance to interview the Romantic Poet of the Internet, William F. DeVault, in this week’s issue of Hyperbole e-zine. You can read the interview and watch some of William DeVault’s poetry videos at World Class Poetry.

Today, I went to Baltimore and rode the Metro from Owings Mills to the airport and back. My step daughter came in to visit us for the summer. We decided this past year to start using the Metro instead of driving all the way to the airport from our home in South Central Pennsylvania. I’ve written about it before, briefly.

I took along Brian Turner’s Here, Bullet. The book was published in 2005 while I was in Iraq. I have been preoccupied the past two years with other concerns and have not prioritized its reading, but it has been on my reading list since I discovered it late in 2006. I had, of course, read the title poem and a few others and have even critiqued “Here, Bullet” on this blog.

One might be tempted to think that I didn’t like the poem, based on my pointing out what irks me about it. That’s not the case. I think it is one of Turner’s strongest poems. Except for those last two words, which represent what I think is his biggest drawback. He says too much.

There are times when I want to hack and slash his poetry and rewrite it. As another reviewer noted, his poems have the feel of a news report. As a veteran of the Iraq War myself, I felt obligated to read Here, Bullet. I can imagine that other war poets of the past felt the same way of their poet-peers, if they stayed alive long enough to be able to enjoy them (Wilfred Owen didn’t). But I don’t much consider myself a war poet. I would much more prefer to say that I am a poet who has been involved in military action (I hesitate to call it a war).

But I digress. Turner’s poetry is not on the level as, say, Wilfred Owen, who was quite graphic, or Siegfried Sassoon (not that mine is). He has poems that I like, but there are many that I don’t simply because they tell more than they show.

As for me, I’ll soon be sending out manuscripts of Rumsfeld’s Sandbox. I will also be seeking publication of some individual poems from the collection, in addition to those that have already seen publication. Below is one that I consider one of my strongest. I’d like to hear your reactions. “Carcass” was originally published at Voices in Wartime.

Carcass

He lies lifeless,
worthless as a goldfinch.
The blood map of his young life
trickles down his face.
You see the sharp
exit wound of happiness
in his crown, a testament
to the stupidness of war.
The bird in her cage sings
the afterlife and you wonder if,
when you enter heaven,
she will have confessed your sins
for you before you get there.
Sometimes the enemy taunts you
through your own fears, your failures,
your desires, and comes back
through the mirror of the other man.
The void of his countenance
yells at you through the eyelids
of the future, becomes the visage
of your own losses, your gullible
hopes, and the sacred part
you would play in their demise.
Then you hear through sobbing
gasps for breath the words
that will ring in your heart
forever, lingering like a sad rain:
“It’s time to call for backup, sir.
The camp is not secure.”

Somehow, I always feel my own work is unfinished. Maybe it is.

(Source) “Split this Rock calls poets to a greater role in public life and fosters a national community of activist poets. The festival will feature readings, workshops, panel discussions on poetry and social change, youth programming, films, parties, walking tours, and activism, while we debate and assess the public role of the poet and the poem in this time of crisis.”

I have mixed feelings about these kinds of mixture of poetry and politics. I’m not sure what the debate is about. My role as a poet is to write poetry. If I address a public issue or take a political stand then it’s no different than if I write about loving my wife or eating a bowl of chili. The impact my be stronger or weaker depending on how I express myself, but a poem is a poem.

The Split This Rock Poetry Festival does look like a grand event, though. What I can’t figure out is why it costs $75, $85 after March 10. What is the money going toward? Judging by the list of featured poets, it looks like the event will draw a crowd. I mean, there are some big names in there: Jimmy Santiago Baca, Robert Bly, Lucille Clifton, Mark Doty, Carolyn Forche, Sam Hamill, Galway Kinnell, Naomi Shihab Nye, Sharon Olds, Alicia Ostriker, and Sonia Sanchez. And those are just names that I recognize.

It’s not that I don’t think peace and justice are worthy causes, but whose definition of justice is being promoted here? Looking at the names again, I’d say it isn’t President Bush’s. And that’s the problem. I see this event as being a propaganda movement against the neo-conservative dominance of the past eight years. That puts poets like me in a rather precarious position.

On the one hand, I’m supportive of any movement that is against the Iraq War. Unfortunately, too many poets who involve themselves in these types of “witness and resistance” movements are anti-war in all its nuances. Extreme liberals, of which there are many in poetry circles, like extreme conservatives, only see one view: Theirs. One can hardly reason with minds that see the world through a single lens. That’s what makes cavorting with them a difficult decision.

I’d like to be able to attend a political rally that stands against unjust war yet affirms the necessity of just war. Unfortunately, if such a rally existed, it likely would not be hosted by poets. Is there a way to make sense of this?

I could probably have gone to college on scholarship, but I likely would not have been chosen for the college of choice and would likely have not received a full scholarship, which would have made it difficult to complete any degree. At 18, I didn’t have sufficient direction and drive anyway.

I was a writer then, but not of poetry. The Army helped me to gain 20 pounds and the discipline necessary to succeed in other things. For the most part, it was a positive experience. I got to let loose on some hormones I had kept in bottles, satisfied my thirst for adventure by attending airborne school, and developed enough confidence to know that I could achieve things that other men my age had achieved. I was a man and the Army taught me that it was OK. I needed no one’s permission for that.

How I Fell In Love With Poetry
The Army’s college education fund at the time was called VEAP (Veteran’s Education Assistance Program). To qualify for benefits, I was required to put away $100 per month toward college and the Army would match it 2 to 1. I maxed out my benefits and when I mustered out in April 1987, two months ahead of the end of my enlistment contract due to Ronald Reagan’s “early out” policy, I went to college.

My major initially was Interdisciplinary Studies, otherwise known as Liberal Arts. I signed up for as many creative writing workshops as the rules for my declared major would allow. That meant a fiction writing workshop and a couple of poetry workshops. I excelled at both, but I fell in love with poetry right from the start. I blame it on Sharon Olds, whose book Satan Says made a profound impact upon me, and Sheryl St. Germain, my workshop instructor, who was very encouraging. I knew I had the gift by certain reactions of my fellow workshop attendees, other students at the University of Texas at Dallas.

Why Being Wrong Makes Good Poetry
I joined the National Guard because I had remembered the positive experience I had being in the Army as a young man. I left with dignity, confidence, and a set of sergeant stripes, which meant that I could maneuver within the bureaucratic system without tipping the boat.

After having spent some time living and working as a civilian, I felt the need to commit myself to a worthy cause. The study of political philosophy was leading me in the direction of conservative libertarianism and I did not want to go active duty again. I had other plans with my life and the military was not my full-time goal. I did want to serve my local community because that is where I thought a man of action should put his strongest efforts. I still believe that.

I was dating a National Guard member at the time and inquired about it from her commander, who made it seem like a decent part-time profession. I considered the cost and realized that I did not want to be sent on certain types of missions that were becoming more and more prevalent – Bosnia, Kosovo, and the like. I felt like the National Guard would be less likely to be called to those types of missions and considered that I might be able to put some of my skills to use serving my local community while accepting the challenge of acquiring new skills for the future. It seemed like a good idea.

I could not have been more wrong. When President Bush announced in March 2003 that the U.S. was waging a “pre-emptive” strike against Iraq, I was overcome immediately with grief and nervousness. Nervous that I would somehow be used for such a crime and grieved that such a move meant the death of the type of conservatism that I had come to respect. Bush’s preventive war philosophy, which he misnamed “pre-emptive” was wrong. I knew it. My studies of just war philosophy told me that it was not right. The conservative philosophy that had dominated the president’s own party for much of its history said that it was wrong. I could not understand why a “strict constructionist” was running down that path. It still befuddles me.

Sure enough, in June 2004, more than a year after my commander in chief had declared victory, my unit was activated for service. It was just as I had feared. That was the year the insurgency picked up speed and that year would be the year that would determine the nation’s length of stay in the war-torn nation where civilization began. We trained for six months for a mission that had not yet been defined. It was lunacy and I knew it. Like a lunatic, I served with two heads – one in the Kevlar and the other embedded in the spirit of St. Augustine.

After Christmas, the 2/112 AR, 56 BCT, Texas Army National Guard, took flight to Kuwait. By February we were in Al Taqaddum, Iraq, close to where some of the heaviest action was taking place at the time. I spent the entire year (2005) there, the bloodiest year (at that time) of the war yet. In almost every way, that year was a big step up from the previous six months of insanity. Nothing we had done during training at Fort Hood, Texas became important to us. We were in a different world and everyone knew it. Nevertheless, the most grueling parts of it all became an art to me. I turned it into poetry and wrote a good collection of poems that year. I’ve spent the last two years revising and reworking what I put into words then. One such poem, “Cigar,” is a reflection of that experience.

Some Notes On “Cigar”
During our year in Iraq, two other officers and myself – Captains Robert Briscoe and Scott Simms – would step outside late at night while one of us worked a shift as Battle Captain in the battalion TOC and enjoy a cigar together. We would spend that time talking about politics, our lives, beer, women, or any number of other things that would take our minds off of the events of the day. It was a time for us to leave the enlisted men without a set of eyes looking over their shoulders and as much a time for us to unwind and just be ourselves. Sometimes we’d be accompanied by other officers and sometimes it would just be us. Those were some of my favorite moments and I looked forward to them. “Cigar” came out of those moments with my fellow slaves and is now a matter of public record. You can read “Cigar” at The New Verse News. I hope you like it.

• Love and War
• Battlefield Confession
• Life

There are events that happen that will always cause you to remember where you were when you heard about them:

• Kennedy’s assassination: I wasn’t born yet.
• Nixon’s resignation: I was six years old so I was in front of the tube watching it unfold live.
• 911: In the car on my way to work as a journalist at Today Newspapers.
• Bush’s victory over Gore by Supreme Court decision: At Fort Knox, training to be a tank platoon leader.

I remember so vividly that I could not focus on my studies at Fort Knox because I’d rather have been reporting and writing about the historic incident. Though it was not within the realm of my duties as a small town reporter, the event had a lot more relevance to my life as a citizen of my country than anything that was going on at Fort Knox. I remember questioning why I had joined the National Guard when every minute of my service was going to render the Constitution I swore an oath to defend and protect a worthless piece of hemp that others in higher positions of trust were not even defending. I still feel that way.

In 2004, my Guard was activated and I spent all of 2005 playing in Rumsfeld’s Sandbox. It was the last straw. I could no longer justify spending my time defending the Constitution when the highest officers of the nation’s defense were not themselves defending. Not only were they not defending the Constitution, but they were doing all they could to dismantle it. And there I was, in my desert camos, remembering the day I joined the National Guard because I wanted to do my part to defend the nation. My service was all in vain.

If there is anything good that came from my experience in the National Guard, and Iraq in particular, it’s that I managed to write enough poems that year to put into a book. I am currently revising and compiling these poems and preparing them for publication. I would like to receive feedback from a handful, select few poets of some stature willing to critique before I submit them to publishers. If you think you might be interested in reading my pre-publication manuscript and give me the harshest critique that you can muster then contact me through the form on this web page. Be sure to include your qualifications. I am only selecting a handful of people to assist me and each person who does so will receive a free copy of the book upon publication and a mention in the acknowledgments.