A
n n e
W a l d m a n : K e e p i
n g T h e W o r l d S a f e F o r
P o e t r y
N
a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 5 :
S p e c i a l E d i t i
o n
EILEEN MYLES
Anne in the air
What could be better than toasting Anne in the air between cities. I open my
computer on the tray table and the fact it is empty, red line around the
circumference of the blinking battery. I write Anne by hand. More than cake I like
pie because you make it by hand. I sat in Anne’s backyard once about 1998 eating
chicken like adults. I had arrived. We were talking about energy & she said she’s
probably going to die when Allen did like him because she lived her life in a similar
way. She meant constant touring & I thought of Anne’s flesh like a candle
shamelessly squat & low. I mean I’ve never thought of Anne as squat & low but I
understand burning one’s own flesh which frightened me in my forties having
decided not long before to not die of drugs & drinking seeing now one could die of
work. Though now I think not bad: rather beautiful it being the crime the addiction
of the finest women. I know, the one Anne Waldman her. I came all over her latest
book her masterpiece, Gossamurmur. I’ve probably fallen down all over three books
of Anne’s out of the many, and most essentially of her who I never stop to think now
I will she is one of my all time favorite artist: let’s say it now. The best. Anne’s the
best. Let’s say it now it’s delicious. Gossamurmur. Yep. I loved this book because
there was such humor in it and chicanery a double Anne it had a magical blinking
axis: a myth of a book & like Anne it works. I hate messy long poet songs that do
nothing but think about themselves. This is a high functioning funny epic about
having a career, paranoia & power. It’s something else a masterpiece of late career.
Some artists pray for this book. Anne simply has it. I wish Anne would just rest and
be waited on by young poets & wild animals in the aftermath of this book. But she
won’t have it. No. She must go on. Travelling to China somewhere else. Singing her
candle low. Deep. Anne Waldman whale-ee-song. You did this to me. You know that
gem of mid career. Prose & poetry meet in the vestibule of love & hurt. Anne taught
me that a lover must be proud & show the world his/her wounds. Love is a
triumphant fancy the candle burns brightest maybe at love & birth - birth of a
human, a poem. A star. Waldman! Wood’s man. What meanest “Anne”? I don’t know.
The early Waldman troubles me because I am for years in search of a line I have
remembered always:
It goes something like this:
O World! Come and see me when I’m young.
I love this line so much. Because this is Anne’s greatest claim of transparency.
Transparency which I think in poetry is a radical act – the turning of self into water,
being air and ur-
& for me this line is Anne’s ur. Will she tell me where this line is? It
means to me to be somewhere, on the earth, in a poem, to be full of action &
gesturing & somehow Stein-like cognizant of I am.
I think male poets don’t need this kind of epic. History always proudly
pointing at him & screaming: he.
A man in history is always taking it for the team which is humanity, starring him, so
his third person means first. But a woman in the deepest way must know. Otherwise
how else is she to go. And go on she must. My dream since I know her (Anne) is this
moment of her youngest, this my misquoting ardor: that when she was a kid she
saw the whole show & like Tu Fu’s I am 6 she found ‘fame’ – the world’s
apprehending of you - as a vehicle, - for feminism, for bodilyness & masculine power
– for birth & worthiness & communing & pleasure & fun. I have never learned so
much from one woman in my life but I don’t think so. I follow her now burning low &
bright.
O World come & see me when I’m young
What did she mean. Inside her own time, avatar, globular multi-dimensional, newer,
full of shit, her epistemic sexiness, her poet knowing, gloaming,
always spurt her ur Anne
I care not I got it wrong
she will forgive me. Anne is wise
I genuflect to her iridescent timelessness &
ardor our poet king, at her 70th
year, without fear,
great poet lover & ruler
the radiance, our friend, Anne
waldman.