Reviewed by: Collaborations by Greg Masters et al Sparrow (bio) collaborations Greg Masters et al. Crony Books http://www.cronybooks.net/collaborations/ 140 pages; Print, $14.99 Olga says the cycle is overbut this house will stand Thus begins Collaborations, a book of poems written by pairs and threesomes (and occasionally foursomes) of poets in the East Village of Manhattan. Most of the poems are dated; the first, “Punk Is Dead,” is from a frosty December 2, 1978. (I’m just guessing at the weather.) All of them are cowritten by Greg Masters. The one quoted above was also by Tom Weigel. It was in 1978 that I returned to Manhattan, after almost seven years away. For a long time, everyone I met in New York had arrived in 1978. This was during the sunny, hopeful Jimmy Carter years—though Alphabet City (the eastern section of the East Village) could be explosively scary. The last dated poem in Collaborations is from an overcast March 7, 1982. (That’s another imaginary forecast.) The co-conspirator is the mythic Ted Berrigan. These poems are very “New York”—in particular, they are the writings of people becoming New Yorkers. I grew up in Manhattan, and I can sense when someone is attempting to transform into a Gothamite. It’s like learning a language: [End Page 163] With the sun and the copsAnd the drugs and the mugsGrass fortunes humid nothingSweet thigh disco nicety den (From “Living on Bananas” with Michael Scholnick and Vito Ricci.) How do you begin a collective poem? Usually with a description of the room you’re in, or a line from the conversation you’re having. One might argue that the success of a collaborative poem entirely depends on the exact moment that it starts. It’s like leaping into a turning jump rope. “Kiev” (cowritten with Tom Weigel) begins: Challah bread and a window seat.Two bowls of soup The Kiev was a Ukrainian restaurant on Second Avenue, which closed in 2006. Quite possibly, this poem was written on a placemat. In his biographical note, Bob Holman remarks: “I used to bring a portable TV to parties so we wouldn’t miss Saturday Night Live.” Is he suggesting that improv, which had recently emerged on mainstream television, was influencing poets? If so, he’s right. But the first rule of improv is, “Always say ‘yes’ to any prompt,” which isn’t true of these poetic explorations. One was free to say “maybe,” or “no,” or to change the subject entirely: Ohio, how I remember!Shook flat with thisnational phenomenon,call it Ferlin Husky. (That’s the beginning of “Untitled,” written with Gary Lenhart.) It should be remembered that these poems were composed by people surrounded by graffiti, even on the inner walls of subway cars. Collaborations is the closest I’ve seen to Cubist poetry. Though almost all the lines have semantic meaning, you feel you’re seeing a room in the shards of a shattered mirror. “Writing collaboratively was as much a social activity as an artistic endeavor back in those days,” Greg wrote in an email interview. “We were young and, for the most part, unencumbered with jobs or family obligations. . . . For [End Page 164] us back then, it was a downtown parlor game and literary team sport.” Many of these pieces are quite funny—at least according to my overactive sense of the absurd; for example: Get out of your apartment, youBritish moron. (From “The Good and the Restless,” composed with Steve Levine and Tom Weigel.) Rarely are the poems short, except for “Advice” (cowritten by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright): Now, voyageurs, wouldn’t it besilly to enjoy ourselvesat the expense of warlordswho pay for your penitence. This is perhaps the most political poem, as well. Cowriting poetic lines also seems like a form of psychotherapy for people too poor to afford therapists: Castle heartache, my Chevy for you.There’s room in the back. (From “Brown Alsatian Dirge” with Michael Scholnick and Tom Weigel.) I asked Greg how many collaborations were dropped from the book. “A good deal was left out,” he replied. “On some, the...
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Dec 20, 2022
