About admin

Laurel Ann Bogen is the author of 11 books of poetry and short fiction, including Washing a Language; Fission; The Last Girl in the Land of the Butterflies and Rag Tag We Kiss. Her newest book is Psychosis in the Produce Department: New and Selected Poems, 1975-2015 from Red Hen Press. Since 1990 she has been an instructor of poetry and performance for the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program, where she received the Outstanding Instructor of the Year award in 2008. Well known for her lively readings, Bogen has read her work at Cornell University, The Savannah College of Art and Design, The Knitting Factory (NYC), The L.A. Metropolitan Transit Authority, MOCA and LACE. She is a recipient of the Pacificus Foundation’s Curtis Zahn Poetry Prize, two awards from the Academy of American Poets and a 2011 Pushcart Prize nomination. Her work has appeared in over 100 literary magazines and anthologies.

Poor Laurel’s Almanac

I come from scoops of chocolate stars,
piled in barrels along side
the salt water taffy and sugar babies,
my reward for not complaining
behind my mother
on errands to Coulter’s Department Store,
The May Company and Sears

Not a word, I said to myself

but willed my Laurel Ann secret power
on the scenario until…

Maybe just a bit more, I heard her say.

The man behind the counter
wrapped up the bags

My mother checked her watch
spritzes Blue Grass
and applies coral lipstick
flawlessly without looking
at her mirror

I come from tap dance
classes because flackery
clack clack suited me
better than Swan Lake

I come from playing checkers
with my grandmother after school
the natural history museum
and its saber toothed tiger dioramas
tar pits everywhere
palm trees and the slant murmur
of danger

I come from spectacle
I come from excess
I come from Pony Land
because every little girl should
have one.

I am the perfect accessory.

I come from Eau de Mama,
more stink than cologne.

LA Blog #4 August 10, 2020 How to be a FLAP

What is a FLAP, you ask? It is a Famous Los Angeles Poet. And how do you become one is not all that difficult.

First make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously.

I had some early success as a poet: as an freshman I won an award from the Academy of American Poets (first place even) that gave me a very high opinion of myself. In fact, it made me fairly intolerable to be around when I started to get into where I thought I belonged in the constellation of poets.

The year was 1976 or 77. And I was what I called a Baby Poet, working several part-time jobs at the same time: slinging books at the Bodhi Tree Bookstore in West Hollywood, writing for a magazine BooksWest (which called itself the west coast version of Publisher’s Weekly), running a poetry series at the Hyperion Theater in Silverlake and whatever else came my way. Oh, and I also was writing poetry like a house on fire.

For some reason, I could not figure out, the literary world was not as taken by my poetry as I was. Despite copious submissions and tons of stamps I was not receiving the recognition I felt I deserved. I was reminded of the conversation between Lancelot and Guenevere from the play Camelot when they first meet: Lancelot is holding forth about what an superior knight he is, a gift to the world and humanity. Then Guenevere turns to him and asks him, Have you jousted lately with humility?

It occurred to me that perhaps I needed some humility-jousting lessons. I did not want to wear a hair shirt (never liked itching) . I thought that perhaps the idea of being a professional poet was irrelevant in the 1970s and that if I made fun of myself it might have a better result. Advertising one’s services or at the very least getting people to talk to you might be the way to go. I had youth and the babe-factor on my side. I had a t-shirts made that read FLAP and I wore them at all arts and literary events. FLAP stood for Famous Los Angeles Poet. When people asked me what / why I had emblazoned it on my shirt I would draw them into a conversation about poetry. After awhile, I got tired of just writing FLAP on the t-shirts so I did a few that read: 1 out of 5 Remaining FLAP. Not that I knew the other 4 or whoever they might be, but it got folks talking. People started referring to me as Laurel Ann Bogen, that famous Los Angeles poet. In fact that became one big silly breath: LAURELANNBOGENFAMOUSLOSANGELESPOET.

I laughed all my way to the book rack.

LA Blog #3 Death Valley edition — July 10, 2020

As promised, this week’s blog will demonstrate how a poem, or more specifically, how one poem, the Pushcart Prize nominated poem Death Valley 6.2 developed from an idea to a finished poem.

Let’s get started.

At the onset, I had an idea of using the idea of Death Valley as a metaphor for both the way I was feeling at the time, and for something larger than that. It would probably be useful to know that in Los Angeles, where I live, we were having one of our yearly heat waves when I started the poem. To say life was uncomfortable is an understatement.

Here is the first draft:

Death Valley

Arid moonscape
no living thing
visible in post nuclear
light —
there are days
the very letters of its name
taunt you to stay alive
and the sound of that valley,
what sound there is,
is your own voice droning
endlessly behind your shadow

Who could stand
to live in such a place
where the only embrace
you allow is the desolate highway
fleeing from you as fast as it can.

_______________________________________________________

That was my rough draft. I put my ideas, basic imagery and the tone I was attempting to achieve in this first draft, however I knew that this was a draft and there was much work to be done.

Here comes a confession: I number and keep copies of most of my poems as a teaching tool for my students (here comes the confession part) — somehow, however, I have been unable to find Death Valley 2. I will proceed with Death Valley 3.

_________________________________________

Death Valley 3

These are the penned in days
you stay alive just to taunt
the letters of its name;
and the sound of that valley
what sounds there is,
is the endless whine
of your own mocking voice

Who could stand
to live in such a place —
where the only embrace you allow
is the desolate highway itself
fleeing from you as fast as a dervish
or the memory of spring.

The husk that was once
your heart lies face up
on the valley floor —
the breath
animating the tumbleweed empties
into a hellish salvation.

Arid moonscape
no living thing
visible in post nuclear
light–

____________________________________

You will notice a few things between the two versions — for one I’ve moved some of the ideas around. For example, in the first version, I began with the arid moonscape. In my mind I was imagining a full moon in a cold blank sky. By the time I got to the third version, I realized that if I started instead with a human being (i.e. the self) I could engage a reader more easily. And being a lover of puns, I added one: These are the penned in days. What does that mean? I write most of my work with a pen first before it gets to the computer or what not.

________________________________________

Death Valley 4

These are the penned-in days
you stay alive just to taunt
the letters of its name;
and the sound of that valley,
what sound there is,
is the endless whine
of your own mocking voice

Who could stand
to live in such a place —
where the only embrace you allow
is the desolate highway itself
a ribbon of ink

The husk that was once
your heart lies face up
on the valley floor —
the breath
animating the tumbleweed empties

into the visible salvation
of post-nuclear
light

_____________________________________

The poem is getting closer now to what I envisioned when I started. I often read my work aloud to myself as I am working because I can tell where the clunkers are that way. The poet Michael C Ford shared that technique with me when I was a baby poet myself. You might not think that reading the poem aloud would do much, but just try it.

What has changed: I dropped the dervish idea almost immediately along with spring and the arid moonscape. (I will put the arid moonscape back in later) At the end of the second stanza I added a ribbon of ink (which pleased me mightily) as you will see later on.

Now, I’m not going to tell you everything there is to know about the different versions, you need to see for yourself how they change and how the changes work . Let’s go on.

_________________________________________

Death Valley 5

Who could stand
to live in such a place–
where the only embrace you allow
is the desolate highway itself
a ribbon of ink
and the sound of that valley,
what sound there is,
is the endless whine
of your own mocking voice.

These are the penned-in days
you stay alive just to taunt
the letters of its name;
the breath
animating the tumbleweed empties
into the visible salvation
of post nuclear
light.

The husk that was once
your heart lies face up
on the valley floor.

__________________________________________

Here comes the final version:

Death Valley 6.2

Who could stand
to live in such a place–
where the only embrace you allow
is the desolate highway itself
a torn ribbon of ink
and the sound of that valley,
what sound there is,
is the endless whine
of your own tattered voice.

These are the penned-in days
you stay alive just to taunt
the irony of its name;
the breath
animating the tumbleweed
empties into the visible salvation
of post nuclear
light

In the arid moonscape
the husk that was once
your heart lies face up
on the valley floor.

__________________________________________________

That’s it for tonight — if you have any questions, send me a message.

Laurel Ann Bogen

___________________________________________

One note about the title of the poem. Originally it would have been Death Valley. It would have been through six revisions. I gave it one last look-through and changed two words. So I wrote (for myself) Death Valley 6.2 (six versions / 2 words) but when I stopped and looked at what I wrote I realized that that made a cool title itself and I kept it.

LA Blog #2 June 25, 2020 / Editing Poetry

I believe a poem has a life of its own. As I write, I do not try to force it to go one way or another. I let the poem go wherever it wants and I let it go there until I feel like stopping.

Most of my poems have 10 or 12 drafts — some more. I have had some poems take me up to 15 years to finish. Egad! you think. If it is going to take such a long time, why am I doing this? Because when it feels finished, it is the best feeling in the world — better than sex, better than all the money in Fort Knox.

So, how to edit your poems?

Start like this…

Poems go through many stages in development —

First: Exploring. This is your beginning draft: where you start from. Maybe you just write down a few images or words that sound like they belong.

Second: Focusing. This is where you sharpen the unintentional ambiguity/private meaning/exaggerations and bring them into focus. One way to catch some of these is by reading your poem aloud as you write it. A poem should be like a seamless piece of cloth. If something sticks out, if it is a 50 cent word in a poem with all dollar words, it doesn’t belong. Out it should go. You may have to do this several times.

(This is where having someone you trust as a reader look at your work is very helpful. Not that writing poetry is a group effort, but it is useful to have a reader you have confidence in read what you have written. It is important that you do not ask them if they think you did this or that. The way to get the most out of their help is to ask them what they thought you were saying/trying to say. That way you are not “leading them” to say what you hope you were saying. You get the unadulterated truth, the whole truth and nothing but …)

Third: Shaping. Once you have what you think is a final draft — one that says what you want it to say, has strong images, your true voice, metaphor etc. you must decide how the poem looks on the page. Does it need short lines (good for poems that are emotional) or long lines (better for poems that are more on the intellectual side). Where do you want to break the lines? What about stanzas?

Re-read the poem aloud a few more times.

Stand up. Walk around the room. Put your poem in the drawer. Tomorrow look at it again. If it still works, Ta Da! If not, well, there is still work to be done.

NEXT WEEK: I will be bringing in one of my poems to show you how it morphed from draft to finished poem. Hope you find it useful.

Until then. Keep Writing.

Upcoming Readings, Classes and Events

Due to the Plague, my Sunday Master Class in Poetry, which has met weekly since 1989 has been unable to meet in person. Although we are muddling through via Zoom, we hope to return to our usual schedule as soon as possible. In the meantime, read lotsa poetry and write some too.  For inquiries, contact labogen@verizon.net.

The one and only Janet Klein (of Janet Klein and her Parlor Boys fame) hosted me last week for an episode of her Parlor Party online. You can hear the interview, watch the award-winning poetry video, Wings: That Which Takes Flight, listen to me read poems and talk about growing up in Los Angeles and how Gene Wilder saved my life. All you need to do is to go to YouTube and in the search engine, enter Janet Klein and Laurel Ann Bogen.

L A Blog #1 June 15, 2020

L A Blog #1 June 15, 2020

Hello. Greetings and Salutations.

Thanx for dropping by.

It occurred to me recently that after a “poetry career” of 50 years, there are some things I know. Little things that, perhaps, would never occur to person starting out in poetry, but would be good things to consider.

So, once a week, I will be blogging about things I hope you will find of interest.

For example, how poems develop. How they grow and (hopefully) are finished.

Sometimes just getting started, putting pen to paper, is the problem. In the words of Elizabeth Warren, we have a plan for that. Come back and let’s see what we can do.

The importance of editing. (Say you are a gold miner and are out panning for gold. You find a lump and, yes it is valuable, but when you polish it, it becomes even more valuable).

The difference between and merits of poetry for the page and poetry for the stage.

I will be sharing some of my favorite poems/poets whose works inspire me to want to write poetry.

Some different styles of poetry — such as list poems, pantoums, narrative poems, prose poems, etc.

As you might have noticed this website has several parts to it. So if you are looking for classes I might be teaching or readings I will be giving, they are in their own section.

So, please come back and see what there is to see. Should you be so moved as to comment, I will read your post and respond if I can.

On Word!

Laurel Ann