Hayden Carruth's anthology is a definite "must buy" for me, but I still have ink dribbling down my chin from nibbling on the Norton Anthology's American Hybrid. Yes, I bought a brand spanking new edition, and "no", I am not tearing it up to feed to my Chow Chow pawing at the back door. I actually liked some of the poems in it. Some of these poets would be most welcome amidst us Plumbliners. Some of them are, to use my favorite Midwestern jargon, "damn fine" poets.
For instance, some of Donald Revell's work in this anthology appears relatively transparent, serious, and grounded. Does he use classic turns in his work? No, not all of the time. Does spirit and earthiness disappear into techno talk? No, he actually made sense to me. For example, "My Trip" seemed lucid--even though I must admit I read it while sipping on a Cabernet Sauvignon with Schubert's final symphony echoing in the background.
Here is my challenge to all of us Plumbliners: peruse American Hybrid and find one poem that reflects our Aristotelian/ spiritual/ lucid quest. Let us be tough but fair. Let us use actual examples from poetry to make our points more clear.
I must go, as my Chow Chow is whining, and I am beginning to bore myself.