Books that are made from a collection of writings written over a long time, in this case nearly twenty years, owe much to many. One thinks of the moment in the awards ceremony when the winning actress thanks everyone she ever knew. I will try to avoid such an outpouring, tempting as it is.
I did not really find my bearings until I began to teach.
Many students, in a variety of contexts, have given me moments of unsurpassable pleasure, in the intensity of their commitments, the value they give to creative work, their openness to and curiosity about ideas, as well as their patience with the idiosyncracy of my own thought processes and the proximate nature of my knowledge. I feel myself to be more than lucky to find, in the demanding articulations of teaching, perpetual exhilaration. This book owes its existence to my hopes for them.
I was working part-time in art galleries in New York when John Ashbery asked me to teach his poetry workshop at Brooklyn College while he was recuperating from a serious illness. I am grateful to him for that, as for so much else. In 1986, while working at the Joan Washburn Gallery in New York, Robert Towers invited me to teach a class at Columbia. Bob was as subtle and judicious as he was kind, and he helped me to negotiate all manner of doubt.
My experience at City College and at the Graduate Center was seminal in many ways; to Paul Sherwin, Joshua Wilner, Martin Tamny, Joe Wittreich, William Kelly, I owe particular thanks. The experience of teaching with them continues to inform my thinking and writing.
When in 1995 I taught a semester at the Writers’ Workshop in Iowa City, one of my colleagues was the poet Arthur Vogelsang. It was Arthur who asked me to write a series of columns for the American Poetry Review, of which he is an editor. These became the seven “Night Sky” pieces at the center of this collection. Without Arthur’s invitation, they would not have been written.
I joined the Writing faculty at the Milton Avery School of the Arts at Bard College in 1991. My admiration and affection for Arthur Gibbons, the Director, is beyond qualification. The Faculty has provided me a community whose conversation, humor, intelligence and dedication has been a source of constant comfort and inspiration. Among them: Lynne Tillman; Stephen Frailey, Stephen Westfall, Peggy Ahwesh, Leslie Scalapino, Jeffrey DeShell, Lydia Davis, Matt Sharpe, Richard Teitelbaum, Amy Sillman, Nayland Blake, Blake Raine, Les LeVec, Nancy Shaver, George Lewis, David Levi Strauss.
Since 1998, I have been Ruth and David Schwab II Professor of Languages and Literature at Bard College. For David and Ruth, and for the President of Bard, Leon Botstein, I have deepest esteem, affection, and gratitude. I cannot imagine a more exhilarating and rewarding place to work.
Conversation is at the heart of these works. Many are ongoing and crucial; some are occasional but still crucial: with Diana Michener, Jonathan Schell, Thomas Neurath and Constance Kaine, Joan Retallack, Charles Bernstein, Peter and Susan Straub, Kenward Elmslie, Ed Barrett, Carla Harryman, Tom Dumm, Michael Palmer, Augusta Talbot, Norma Cole, Nan Graham, Mark Costello, Ann Hamilton, Charles Altieri, Brenda Hillman, Marina Van Zuylen, Stacy Doris, Chet Weiner, Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge. All lists are incomplete.
Tom Johnson has taught me the meaning of intimacy within the insoluble paradox of time. For him and to him, my profound, delighted love and thanks.
To my family, attenuated through loss, but remarkably resilient, this work is offered as one version of our ongoing experience: my brother David and his wife Andree; my cousins Michael, Margot and Stevenson Carlebach, Nathaniel Tripp and Reeve Lindbergh; my uncle Bill and aunt Priscilla, who took me in in the midst of their own bereavement: these persons constitute courage in the face of life’s most obdurate challenges. My sister Jennifer, who died far too soon, and her two remarkable sons, Jack and Richard, and Richard’s wife, Katherine Pope, have been life-sustaining presences.
My poetry editor for many years at Penguin, Paul Slovak, has been both generous and persevering; I am truly indebted to him for supporting this project. My agent, Lourdes Lopez, has managed, with the greatest discretion and grace, to keep many of my demons at bay. Without her, this book would not have come to fruition.
To John Brainard and Ron Padgett, my thanks for the use of Joe’s collage on the jacket.
I want to thank Camille Guthrie, Ethel Rackin, and Stuart Krimko for labors far below their talents.
Finally, two colleagues, Joan Richardson and Michael Brenson, have offered perpetual encouragement and inspiration. Their intellectual and critical acuity, personal conviction, and abiding friendship have made this work possible. This book is dedicated to them.