The Mad Poets Blog

Q. When you read poetry, who do you read and have your favorites changed over the years? 

Of course, some of my greatest inspiration comes from other poets.  When I was young, in high school, I was attracted to the Beats, Ginsberg, Corso, Ferlinghetti – maybe for the wrong reasons; though in time I found out there were many very good reasons, as well.   They were so different from the hammered and chiseled meters we were reading in school.  I recall some poems from the classroom that I liked a lot: things by Frost, Yeats, Wordsworth.   But mostly I was one of those pretentious wannabe hippies who stopped regularly into Robin’s Books, back then it was on North 13^th Street, and always walked out with something published by City Lights, New Directions, or Grove Press.   I was reading far and wide, even if I didn’t understand much of it.   What I did pick up on, though, was the magic of words, the music and rhythms.   One of the first “real” poets I saw reading poems was Robert Bly, during his Teeth Mother days.  I watched Michael McClure growl and roar at the audience at the Broad StreetY.  I heard Ginsberg sing the poems of William Blake over the drone of his harmonium. Over the years my taste in music has changed – not so much that I no longer like things I once did, but in that I now like a greater variety of styles.  “When the mode of the music changes, the walls of the city shake.”  That’s Plato.  Actually, I come to it by way of the Fugs?  Do you know the Fugs?  More influences.  Anyway, this is how it is with poetry, too.  I still go back and read Yeats.  But more often I pick up books by poets I’ve met and whose work has pulled me in: Jim Wright, Dick Hugo, Bill Stafford, John Logan, Bill  Matthews.  I read many contemporaries – it would be unfair to name them, or unfair to the ones inadvertently left out.   And I’m always looking for those poets, those poems, that are new to me, but which will spin my head around. 

Q. Cynic Press released “Near Occasions of Sin” in 2006. How did the collection come about? 

Near Occasions of Sin has been a long, long time in the making.  In 1999, Cynic Press published my selected poems, River Architecture.  It was difficult choosing the poems for that book.  At some point I decided that a second volume, one which focused on the love poems, could be put together.  I found a publisher for it almost immediately, in
Brooklyn, even before Cynic was lined up for the other volume.   But Wyrd, the god of fate, interfered – problems shut down the NY press.  More than a year had passed, and I was back where I started, and more than a little depressed.  Later, a publisher in Wisconsin put out a chapbook of mine, and hearing about the stalled manuscript, she expressed interest.  But after more than a year trying to get it together with her, she pulled out.  It looked as though Near Occasions of Sin was a cursed book, and would never see the light of day.  That’s when Cynic heard about how things were going.  They had better-than-expected success with River Architecture, and so decided to commit to the new book as well.  Joe Farley, who is Cynic Press, is a good man, a good friend.  I owe him greatly.  The book, it turns out, was more than seven years in the making – new poems added, others were dropped.  I think at some point I gave up completely on ever seeing the book in print. 

 Q. You have served as the editor of Painted Bride Quarterly and One Trick Pony. How many years did you edit these journals and what was the experience like? 

I was a co-editor of the Painted Bride Quarterly.  I was there for nearly five years in the mid-through-late 80s.  The editing-by-committee thing – I don’t think I would ever do that again.   In fact, that is why I left – not on bad terms, particularly, but unsatisfied.  In the end, I did get to edit three special issues on my own – tributes to Etheridge Knight, John Logan – and then, a few years later, a Twentieth Year Retrospective of the Best of the PBQ.    I must admit, though – editing is draining.  I was glad to get away from it for a few years.  I’m sure it interfered with my own work, too, my writing and traveling to do readings, but I honestly do not remember it that way.  I know I got to meet, in person and through the mail and telephone, some wonderful people.  I made many friends.   It was nearly ten years later when I started One Trick Pony.   I had known all along that I would do it again.  I’d been involved, in more limited ways, with other projects.  I did not want to get caught up, though, in the funding games, nor the editing politics.  I waited until I could do it myself – out of pocket, and all alone.  If an issue was bad, it would be my fault; if an issue was good, it would be my fault.  In the end, every poem was in the OTP because I wanted it there.  And I was committed to going on as long as I could afford it, as long as it was fun.  As it turns out, One Trick Pony made it through eleven issues, I like to say, each one better than the last.  We published Albert Huffstickler and Billy Collins, (Huff was on our first cover,) David Ignatow and Lynne Savitt, Afaa Michael Weaver, Naomi Shihab Nye, and Jim Daniels.  It was a tremendous experience – but health and money issues finally did it in, along with a dozen other bugaboos. 

Q. You are currently involved with Banshee Press. What is the purpose of the press and what direction do you see the press moving? 

Banshee was set up as the umbrella for One Trick Pony.  While the magazine is no more, the press is still in operation, though with no regularity, or even any plans.  There are books with the imprint, by Tom Devaney, Harry Humes, and Joyce Odam, and a handful of limited edition letterpress broadsides, by Stephen Berg, Gerald Stern, Philip Dacey, Paul Muldoon, and Denise Duhamel.  I’m sure something more will be coming, but what, and when, I cannot tell you. 

Q. How would you describe your style of writing?  

Don’t we all begin by imitating others?  I imitating Jim Wright and Dick Hugo, for example.  I’d studied for years with C. K. Williams, but, as much as I admired his work, I knew that his was not my voice.  I did love his long winding lines, though, and the music and rhythm of his poems.  I tend to think of myself as a lyric poet with a penchant for narrative.   

Q. You have read your works at various venues over the years. Do you have a favorite venue or series you like to read at? 

As a “Philadelphia Poet,” I think first of the places around town:  Bacchanal, on South Street, was the hub of the local poetry scene for many years.   Then there was the Old London, Doc Watson’s, the Kyber Pass, the original Painted Bride Arts Center (on South Street ) and its later locations (first on Bread Street , and now Vine Street .)  Among my favorite readings were ones I did at Whitman’s graveside in Harleigh Cemetery, and in his bedroom on Cooper Street.  The Y at Broad and Pine, the Kelly House at UPenn…and the bookstores, like Robin’s, and back in the day, Middle Earth Books on Pine Street.  The Open Mouth Series, created by Chris Peditto and Elizabeth June Madden back in the late 70s or early 80s, was always great fun – readings were held in literally dozens of venues, many only once.  There were bars, coffee shops, galleries….  The Delaware County Institute of Science might be my favorite place to read today, what with all the creatures joining us on stage.  Mostly, though, I liked to travel – I’ve had memorable readings in Pittsburgh, Memphis, Knoxville, Indianapolis (at Etheridge Knight’s grave,)  Milwaukee, at McGill University in Montreal, in Quebec.  And it is always a pleasure to read in New York City. 

Q. Many poets struggle to get their work published. What advice would you give to an emerging poet? 

To persevere.  It is important to not give up.  Or should I say, it is important to keep writing.  So much of publishing is about luck – getting your poems onto the right editor’s desk at the right moment.   What you need to do is make certain that all your unpublished poems are out there somewhere, coming from or going to someone.  Read the magazines, the Internet journals.  You may not see a place that will, no doubt about it, like your poetry, but you certainly will see some that, no doubt about it, won’t.  Don’t waste your time – send your work to editors who seem to be on the same wavelength.  But after you get all your poems into the mail, you can’t sit around and wait.  Forget all about your submissions – move on.   When work is returned, no longer being considered somewhere, send it out again.  This is po-biz, a necessary evil – time consuming, yes, but not terribly so, especially if you stay on top of it.  The trick is, don’t allow yourself to get tangled up in the whole submission thing.  Stay focused on the real game – writing.  It should all be about writing the poems, and not so much about getting the poems published.  Stay focused.   

Q. You have been part of the Philadelphia poetry scene for over three decades. What changes have you seen and what direction do you see poetry in Philadelphia moving? 

Don Lev and Enid Dame, the editors of the Brooklyn-based Home Planet News, once did an issue, or large feature, on the Philadelphia Poetry Scene.  This was back in the early 80s.  There was a perception then of Philadelphia poets– that they would rather stand up and be seen reading their poems, have all ears and eyes on them, and carry home in their pockets the scattered applause.  This seemed more important to them than getting their poems into print.  Sometimes, I think it is still that way.  A lot of young writers, not only in Philadelphia, but here to, have sent their best poems, once or twice, to local magazines, to APR, Painted Bride Quarterly, etc., and been rejected, and now they have given up on submitting, or sometimes, writing altogether.  Poets, none of us, can understand how anyone could not “get,” “like,” even “love,” the things we are writing.  And we are sure that the stuff getting into print is nowhere near as good as what we are writing.  Things appear to be changing, though.  Now, I am seeing the poems of a lot of the local poets in many of the better magazines.  And it is about time – there is a great deal of talent in this region.  And it is good to see it being recognized.    

Q. I have noted from time to time you conduct workshops, most recently with the Mad Poets Society. What value do you place on poetry workshops? 

I was a product of workshops.  In the early 70s, C. K. Williams ran one at the Y at Broad and Pine.  It was a ten week thing – but for some of us, it went on for a long time.  Was it four or five sessions?  The core of the group remained the same throughout – and were truly substantial poets.  Many are still writing, publishing.  I was just out of college, and had much to learn.  Charlie was tough, but he was a good first reader – what I remember most is the direction he would give to a poet, mentioning writers and books we might not have been familiar with.  This was while he was writing the poems that would go into With Ignorance, his break-out collection.  I learned a lot from him, about poetry, and being a poet.  After Charlie left, other workshops were conducted by Steve Berg, Richard O’Connell, David Ignatow  — each, of course, with a different take, a personal aesthetic.  It was a good program, and came along at just the right time for me. There is more to a workshop, though, than its leader.  One is as likely to get something from their peers as they are from the name poet at the head of the table.  Weekly workshops, weekend festivals, week-long conferences – they are all opportunities to meet poets and talk poetry.  Only good can come of that. 

To order Louis McKees latest release, “Near Occassions of Sin” please send $15.00 to Cynic Press, P.O. Box 40691, Philadelphia, Pa. 19107 or email cynicpress@yahoo.com   *Sources: Wikpedia, Schuylkill Valley Journal, American Book Review

A final note from Eileen D’Angelo:

“McKee hooks you with his conversational style and you have no choice but to let these poems get under your skin.  He isolates those feelings, connects them to his heart, and in doing so, connects them to ours.  These are poems of truth.  Sometimes, the very truths we don’t want to hear.  Consider the quiet grace of “Dog.”  “When you are away / the night is like a dog / who knows it and walks / restlessly through the house.”  In “Following Tracks,” he describes riding on a train, nothing but endless tracks and stones “shining with their bellyful of moon.”  Few poets can turn a phrase that original and distinctive.”