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I came here from St. Louis in a covered wagon overland
Behind the matchless prancing pair of Eliot and Ezra Pound.
And countless moist oases took me in along the way, and some
I still remember when I lift my knife and fork.
--Frederick Seidel, Poem by the Bridge at Ten-Shin
With the recent publication of Frederick Seidel's Poems 1959-2009, St. Louis has yet another chance to gloat about producing more than its share of poetic talent, even though, like all those other poetic geniuses, Seidel left for college and never came back. New York probably has more of a claim on the guy (he moved there as a young man, and he's now in his early '70s) but St. Louis does surface in his work by name, and fairly often.
In a recent article, the New York Times described Seidel as "the Darth Vader of contemporary poetry." And it's true, you'll hear critics reeling off a whole bunch of alarming superlatives when describing his poems, including terrifying, disgusting, loathsome, monstrous, crass, wicked and savage. Of course, they then make a hairpin pivot and explain that his work's also luminous, tender, beautiful, uncompromising, fascinating, brilliant and stunning. Seidel writes with unapologetic delight about red Ducati motorcycles, bespoke suits, sex with young women, expensive restaurants, and friendships with celebrities like Diane von Furstenberg. He hates poetry readings and academia, and has avoided the Poetry Business for the past 50 years. Of course, he is also a master of form, and is unparalleled in his precise descriptions of existential heebie jeebies (especially when it comes to coping, or rather not coping, with aging) so the Poetry Business has had a tough time ignoring him back. His poems conjoin the horrifying and the sublime - they're made of suicide bombs and Mobius strips, superpowerful telescopes and Mel Water's bottomless hole, with a bit of the natural world (weather, birds, rain, clouds) floating around the edges. The Contemporary Review of Poetry, (which does criticize Seidel some of his too-cute rhymes) describes his contradictions this way:
"In Seidel’s poetry, privilege and wealth do not effectively insulate the speaker from third-world genocide, terrorism, and starvation; quite the opposite—those horrors are amplified. One could read many thriving American poets and not know that there is a world outside the daily suburban routine of the poet, much less one in which war and deprivation define the lives of whole populations. In this respect, Seidel, as glib as he might seem in any given line, is more engaged with the state of the world than most American poets. Further, the excesses outlined in the poems cannot truly be considered remarkable in a nation where obesity is epidemic and pornography a multi-billion dollar industry. "
If you think you can take the "ogre-like" Seidel, Macmillan maintains a really good author's page that includes audio clips of him reading his work. I haven't yet read the new book, but understand that it starts with the new stuff, ends with the early stuff, and that Seidel's trademark brutality -- as well as his brilliance -- is fully on display, no matter which end of the timeline you start reading from. --Stefene Russell
