David Meltzer
1937 - 2016
1937 - 2016
Here is a note I wrote on David's work here in 2005.
I’ve
written on numerous occasions that the so-called San Francisco
Renaissance was largely a fiction, perpetrated in part by Donald Allen
in order to give The New American Poetry a
section that acknowledged just how much of this phenomenon rose up out
of the San Francisco Bay Area – a literary backwater prior to WW2, but
now suddenly a primary locale for much that was new. The other part –
and it’s not clear to me who, if anyone, could be said to have
perpetrated this – was an allusion back to the earlier Berkeley
Renaissance, which had been a decisive, thriving literary tendency in
the late 1940s, early 1950s. If you look at Allen’s S.F. Renaissance
grouping, you call still make out the vestiges of that earlier moment in
the presence of Robert Duncan, Jack Spicer & Robin Blaser, the
trio that had given rise to the Berkeley Renaissance while studying at
the University of California, along with, I suppose, Helen Adam, who at
the time of the anthology was something of a Duncan protégé. Yet there
are also poets representing an older San Francisco scene, such as
Madeline Gleason & James Broughton & even – tho it’s a
stretch, given what a loner he was, at least when he wasn’t actively
channeling Robinson Jeffers – Brother Antoninus (William Everson). Then
there are a group of younger poets – Richard Duerden, Kirby Doyle, Ebbe
Borregaard & Bruce Boyd – whom it’s harder to place
aesthetically, a fact that is still true some 45 years after the book’s
initial publication, as they’ve become its
least published participants. That Allen placed Lawrence Ferlinghetti
into this grouping, rather than with the Beats, suggests just how
arbitrary these distinctions were.
Given
that he was improvising & fabricating in search of clustering
principles in general, it’s curious that Allen completely missed one of
the most interesting & useful formations among the New
Americans, a western poetics that may have first revealed itself at Reed
College in Portland, and which didn’t fully take flight until the mid-
to late-1950s in San Francisco. Gary Snyder, Lew Welch & Phil
Whalen in fact were just the first of a number of poets who came out of
this aesthetic – one could probably put Duerden & Borregaard
there as well, plus three other contributors to the Allen anthology, all
of whom joined Snyder & Whalen in Allen’s curiously amorphous
unaffiliated fifth grouping: Michael McClure, Ron Loewinsohn &
David Meltzer. Beyond the Allen anthology itself, one might add Richard
Brautigan, James Koller, Joanne Kyger, David Schaff, Bill Deemer, Drummond Hadley, Clifford Burke, David Gitin, John Oliver Simon, Lowell Levant, John Brandi, Gail Dusenberry
& a host of others. In general, these poets were straight where
the Duncan-Spicer axis was gay. Perhaps most importantly, this cluster
really had no leaders as such. It was not as though some, such as Snyder
or Whalen, might not have led by example, but that their personalities
were not given to the constant marshalling of opinion that one could
identify in such others as Olson, Duncan, Spicer, Ginsberg, O’Hara or
even Creeley. This mode – lets call it New Western – perhaps reached its
pinnacle of influence during the heyday of Jim Koller’s Coyote’s Journal during
the mid-1960s. But without anything like a leader or a program, poised
midway aesthetically between the Beats & Olson’s vision
of Projectivist Verse, the phenomenon never gelled, never became A
Thing & by the 1970s already was entering into an entropic
period from which it has yet to re-emerge.
Just 23 when The New American Poetry hit
the streets, Ron Loewinsohn & David Meltzer were the babies of
that project (indeed, they’re just one year older than David Bromige
& David Melnick & eight years younger than Hannah
Weiner, all of whom would be associated more closely with language
writing come the 1970s). Loewinsohn went on to become a literature
professor & novelist, but Meltzer has hung in as a poet, with a
few side forays into music, jazz writing & erotic fiction, all
these decades. Now, with David’s Copy just out from Penguin, Meltzer seemed poised to get the attention his work is due.
Actually,
considering just how many of the Beat poets were treated like rock
stars while Meltzer, fronting Serpent Power with his late wife Tina (and
drums by Clark Coolidge), actually had a rock band long before Jim
Carroll or Patti Smith, it’s odd that Meltzer hasn’t become much more
widely known, celebrated before this. David’s Copy is at least the fourth selected poems he’s published, the others being Tens, Arrows & The Name, and
many of his earlier books were published by Black Sparrow, one of the
rare small presses to have had some volumes – mostly those by Charles
Bukowski – widely distributed through the big book chains.
There
are, I suspect, multiple reasons for this. One is that New Western
aesthetic never really broke through, even if a few of its practitioners
– Whalen, Snyder, McClure – did. A second, more important aspect is
that old bugaboo of so many poets – Meltzer’s not a compulsive
self-promoter. As the youngest of the New Americans, his timing was just
a little behind from a marketing perspective. Indeed, as Ginsberg et al
became folk icons in the 1960s, Meltzer’s first books that decade were
from small Bay Area fine presses like Auerhahn & Oyez – his one
big trade publication prior to David’s Copy being an anthology he edited in 1971, The San Francisco Poets, a
collection notably missing the Duncan/Spicer axis, including just
Ferlinghetti, Rexroth, Welch, McClure, Brautigan & Everson.
Meltzer’s first sizeable collection doesn’t appear until 1969, when he
brings out Yesod with
the British press, Trigram. It didn’t receive much distribution
stateside. Black Sparrow releases his first large collection in the
states, Luna, in 1970.
Part
of this neglect may also be due to the fact that Meltzer is Jewish.
It’s not that there were no Jews among the New Americans – Ginsberg, Orlovsky, Eigner
all come instantly to mind. But the intersection between the New
American poetry & the New Age approach to religious experience
in the 1960s (Serpent Power?) tended to mute its presence in all but
Ginsberg’s writing. Indeed, I wouldn’t be at all shocked to discover
that many readers of Eigner were late to discover the heritage of the
bard of Swampscott. In the 1960s, the Objectivists were only gradually
coming back into print. And Jerome Rothenberg didn’t really begin making
the space for an active presence for a Jewish space within American
poetics until late in that decade, during that interregnum betwixt the
New Americans & language poetry.
Finally,
Meltzer – and this I think is a sign of his youth relative, say, to
Whalen or Snyder or Ginsberg or Olson or Duncan or O’Hara et al – lacked
the kind of visible trademark of a differentiated literary style that
one associates with all of the above, and even with someone closer to
Meltzer’s age, like Michael McClure. Meltzer’s work has always been in
the vicinity of New American poetics without ever being its own
recognizable brand – as such, it would be difficult if not impossible
for a younger poet to mimic. It’s not that Meltzer lacked the chops
& more as though he never saw the need per se. In this sense,
Meltzer’s situation is not unlike that, say, of a Jack Collom, another
terrific poet of roughly the same generation who has never really gotten
the recognition he deserves. In a sense, those who were a little
further outside the New American circle – like poets in New York who
were visibly not NY
School, such as Rothenberg, Antin, Ed Sanders or Joel Oppenheimer – had
an advantage because their circumstance forced them to define
themselves in opposition even to poets whose work they cherished.
Indeed,
if there is a defining element or signature device in Meltzer’s work,
it’s that he alone among the New Westerns has an eye for the hard edges
of pop culture, something one expects from the NY School. Often, as in
this passage from “Hollywood Poems,” it’s accompanied by a tremendously
agile ear:
De Chirico without Cheracol
saw space where its dead echo opened up
a plain unbroken by the dancers.
Instead
a relic supermarket nobody shops at.
Plaster-of-Paris bust of Augustus
Claude Rains Caesar face-down beneath
a Keinholz table
whose top is blue with Shirley Temple’s saucers,
pitchers. Mickey Mouse
wind-up dolls in rows like Detroit.
All tilt out of the running without electricity.
Veils of history,
garments worn in movies, hung on
steel racks at Costume R.K.O.
R. Karo would’ve used the tower’s light.
He’d wear it as a cap to re-route lost energy.
saw space where its dead echo opened up
a plain unbroken by the dancers.
Instead
a relic supermarket nobody shops at.
Plaster-of-Paris bust of Augustus
Claude Rains Caesar face-down beneath
a Keinholz table
whose top is blue with Shirley Temple’s saucers,
pitchers. Mickey Mouse
wind-up dolls in rows like Detroit.
All tilt out of the running without electricity.
Veils of history,
garments worn in movies, hung on
steel racks at Costume R.K.O.
R. Karo would’ve used the tower’s light.
He’d wear it as a cap to re-route lost energy.
So dense with details that it rides like a list (& sounds
like a Clark Coolidge poem), this passage is actually a better
depiction of a De Chirico landscape than those one finds in John
Ashbery’s poetry. David’s Copy is filled with such moments, which makes it a terrific read.
One
might squabble with the fact that the book is not strictly
chronological, or that the first 25 years of his writing gets more
weight (over 150 pages) than does the last 25 (roughly 100), tho I
suspect that’s because more of the recent work is still in print. On the
whole, such squabbles are few. Editor Michael Rothenberg had done a
first-rate job here, smartly including bibliography & a decent
two-page bio note from Meltzer & an excellent introduction from
Jerry Rothenberg. Toward the end of the introduction, Rothenberg notes:
Elsewhere, in speaking about himself, he tells us that when he was very young, he wanted to write a long poem called The History of Everything. It
was an ambition shared, maybe unknowingly, with a number of other young
poets – the sense of what Clayton Eshleman called “a poetry that
attempts to become responsible for all the poet knows about himself and
his world.” Then as now it ran into a contrary directive: to think small
or to write in ignorance of what had come before or in deference to
critic-masters who were themselves, most often, nonpractitioners & nonseekers.
From
my perspective, it’s a shame that project never took hold, but then I
don’t think there’s any contradiction between such scale & the
desire to “think small” (or, as I might put it, to write in the present)
– that’s one lesson one takes from Zukofsky’s “A.” Throughout,
there are works that evidence an impulse to “go long,” almost in the
sense of a football quarterback, but most often they come back to the
compilation of shorter works that one might expect to see from the likes
of Whalen, Welch or Snyder. The whole of David’s Copy offers us a deeper link into that New Western poetics, even as it connects that world outward, toward the New York School & the poetics that would emerge in the 1970s & ‘80s in a journal like Sulfur. The
key, as it is in New Western poetry in general, is precisely that
desire to “think small” as Rothenberg puts it, to write in the complete
present. Meltzer is less openly Zen-like than, say, Whalen or Joanne
Kyger, but the pleasure can be every bit as deep.