Word: poetes
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Marie Menken, 57, wife of Willard Maas, an avant-garde bard who made some well-known experimental movies in the '40s, is possibly the finest film poet the underground has produced. She has a subtle feel for rhythms, a grand flair for colors and a gay wild way with a camera that leaves the eye spinning. In Lights, a 5½-minute study of Manhattan after dark, she slashes at her subject with a camera as an action painter slashes at his canvas, and the great stone city breaks up into a wriggling calligraphy of flash and filigree...
...grown man pulling a little wagon that carries his Teddy bear. At night he goes back to the abandoned factory where a gang of derelicts chases him through the cellars with a terrible silent intensity. As interpreted with a marvelous simplicity by Taylor Mead, a Beat poet, the hero is part Chaplin and part Myshkin -a holy idiot, unaccommodated...
When he is not laughing, he is puzzling over the difference between what he is told and what he painfully finds out about the way things really are. As set down with disarming simplicity by Romero, Pito's story is "the dialogue between a poet and a madman." His travels with what he calls his "prodigious flute," a pipe whittled from bamboo, lead him all through the state of Michoacan and always take him back to the village of Santa Clara del Cobre, his bitterly loved and hated birthplace...
Rejoice, perhaps. Last week was published a superb volume by a member of our generation. James Tate, 23, is the Yale Younger Poet for 1967, "one of the youngest" to receive that award, as his editors point out. He is unmistakably the best winner in at least five years, since Alan Dugan; and the Yale award itself, I would argue, is the most significant of our domestic awards, incapable of the antiquarianism to which Pulitzer judges seem so prone, and also (under Dudley Witts's lone and brilliant editorship) unthreatened by the coterie pressures and needs to compromise that seem...
...with most of the problems of identity and adaptation found in today's Japanese society. Under the chill gaze of sacred Mount Fuji, a man-made morass of concrete, steel and glass belches smoke and grime in a manner quite contradictory to the verses of the 8th century poet Akahito Yamabe, who wrote...