31 New American Poets

The news that stays news.


Another view of new American poets. 
31 New American Poets
Jack Anderson
G Bishop-Dubjinsky
Besmilr Brigham
Victor Contoski
Gail Dusenbery
Dave Etter
Gene Fowler
Dan Georgakas
John Gill
John Haines
Phyllis Harris
Jim Harrison
Robert Hershon
William M. Hoffman
Emmett Jarrett
Sister Mary Norbert Körte
Robert Lax
Ethel Livingston
Dick Lourie
Clive Matson
Jason Miller
Doug Palmer
Marge Piercy
Alex Raybin
Joel Sloman
Lynn Strongin
John Unterecker
John Stevens Wade
Nancy Willard
Keith Wilson
Jay Wright 

Anthologies are always an argument.  This was Ron Schreiber’s argument, published in 1969, with an introduction by Denise Levertov.  Schreiber left out, which might have changed the longevity of this anthology, poets from Donald Allen’s The New American Poetry and Robert Kelly’s A Controversy of Poets, because he wanted to bring newer poets into the mix.  By and large, his argument didn’t go far, but this anthology did bring John Anderson, John Haines, Jim Harrison, Marge Piercy, Nancy Willard, and Jay Wright to the conversation, and they stayed around awhile.  What’s interesting, with these six, is that he was pitching this as something of an outsider, experimental anthology, and the writers that lasted from it are not remembered now as experimental poets.  That’s six from 31, though.  Time is hard on anthologies. 
He writes of these poets as writers of “Direct Verse”:
“What is happening with direct verse is a continual discovery of new forms.  And new forms are important because the form of a poem is the vehicle for its content.  As forms expand, so does the vision of poets.  . . . .

Well, the poets here are worth listening to, not just for the ways they sound but because they see clearly.  . . . .  and all have found those places where the spirit can exult on rage.”
Here are a couple interesting poems, to give you a feel for the aesthetic position:

PerspectiveVictor Contoski

 I love peopleshe said
from a distance. 

Everything in perspective. 
Look over there toward the horizon. 
No, no.  More to your left.  Right where I’m pointing. 

See it now, that black dot in the landscape? 

That’s my love. 

 
‘In the most lightsome darkness’Sister Mary Norbert Körte


How I would be some night-creature of Godwho moves contained in his
quiet          from mulberry to privet
with little hesitation
                             the stumble alien to his feet
his swift going sure in
                    circle, pace, and halt
the step slow as need summons

He knows, this shuttered being without learning          he culls his black
hours          presses them well
                                                  to hunt
to find his seeking

How I would be some night-creature of God