“She didn’t want to be put in a box, but she was clearly part of communities. She wanted to be acknowledged by her mentors—William Carlos Williams and Robert Duncan—but she didn’t want to live in their shadows. She was using and being aware of her femaleness as access, but not wanting to be just a girl, or the only girl with the boys, or the “feminist poet.” And yet, when she was the poetry editor for the Nation, she published more women than anyone had before.”
Rebecca Brown on resurrecting Denise Levertov (Via The Stranger)
“As a result of this trained self-censorship, at least in my experience, people in charge of literary events are used only to hearing the voices of men, so they simply don’t bother to make sure there is parity in the discussion. I don’t mean to suggest that it is women’s fault that they don’t wave their arms hard enough. The fault is in an absence, an absence of attention: the moderators just don’t notice that we are there.”
Ban Men From Literary Readings (via Jezebel)
“The same questions and problems continue to manifest themselves. I remember reading some Aristophanes play where the narrator is basically saying that the other playwrights who are so popular—the shit that’s getting all the acclaim—is just worthless commercial stuff. So even that idea is old—I’m real, they’re not real. That flipped me out, but it was also really soothing. All this angst, all this stuff we all feel, is just tied to making art. It’s so ancient. These discussions we’re having, people have been having them for a long time. Not that the work hasn’t changed—of course it has—but these fundamental things are the same. We’re still just humans creating.”
Paul Beatty on the eternal nature of The Sellout (via Paris Review)
PM: What’s this Seventeen magazine ruse?
MW: He published a couple of poems in the magazine under the assumed (yet familiar to Stanford fans) name of Francis Gildart. There were two poems accepted, but so far I’ve only seen proof that one of them was published. Subsequently, it was publicized in a small town paper in Arkansas that a local girl had published in the magazine, but that a local reader could not find trace of the poet. Looking at the poem it’s clearly Frank, and it turns out that he sent it there because they paid. There will be ephemera concerning this in Hidden Water.
Fable and fact—an editor’s perspective on the poetry and cult of Frank Stanford. (Bomb Magazine)