Posts Tagged ‘Billy Collins’

VIDEO: Bill Murray reads with poets at Poets House Bridgewalk

Tuesday, June 21st, 2011

Good poems have the power to disturb one’s complacency, says Bill Murray.

“They’re shocking. They shock people.”

The actor and comedian joined the poets Galway Kinnell, Terrance Hayes, Thomas Lux, and Eileen Myles for the 16th Annual Poets House Walk Across the Brooklyn Bridge last Monday. (videos below)

The walk is the largest annual fundraiser for Poets House, the nation’s largest poetry library. Participants walked across the bridge at sundown, and the poets gave readings at stops along the way. The event culminated with a dinner at Bubby’s Brooklyn, where the poets read again, joined by Murray.

“He’s never ever not been here, except for one year when it was impossible,” said Poets House Vice President Frank Platt. That year, Murray was instead filmed reading poems for an audience of construction workers as the new Poets House was being built.

Murray read three pieces: Sarah Manguso’s “What We Miss,” Cole Porter’s “Brush Up Your Shakespeare,” and Billy Collins’s “Forgetfulness.” (videos below)

Poets House Executive Director Lee Briccetti described the Brooklyn Bridge as “a place of mutuality and service,” noting that onlookers frequently stopped and listened to the readings.

There were special moments, she said, like when Kinnell read Walt Whitman’s “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” on the bridge, and a nearby ferry nearly drowned out part of the poem. Whitman first published the poem in 1856; the bridge was completed in 1883.

Myles, Hayes, and Lux also read poems on the bridge, and again at the dinner portion of the event. Murray had two black eyes for the reading, the result of makeup left on after an afternoon of filming Wes Anderson’s new film Moonrise Kingdom.

“It was pointed out to me by my son that I was scaring the straight people in the room – you know who you are – because I was have two full black eyes which I was given in a scene I was doing today and I forgot to take them off before I came,” he said. “This didn’t happen underneath the bridge, so I want you to know it is all safe to walk across.”

After Murray’s reading, Kinnell closed out the evening by reading the conclusion to Whitman’s “Song of Myself.”

All News

 

Billy Murray “What We Miss” by Sarah Manguso

Bill Murray reads “Brush Up Your Shakespeare” by Cole Porter

Bill Murray reads “Forgetfulness” by Billy Collins

Terrance Hayes reads “New York Poem”

Eileen Myles reads “Mitten”

Galway Kinnell reads the end of Whitman’s “Song of Myself”

Set Lists

Bridgewalk

Eileen Myles:

“February,” James Schuyler
“Healing the World From Battery Park,” Tim Dlugos

Terrance Hayes:

“Brooklyn Bridge,” Vladimir Mayakovsky
“Harlem Sweeties,” Langston Hughes

Thomas Lux:

“Greenwich Village of My Dreams,” Tuli Kupferberg
“Granite and Steel,” Marianne Moore

Galway Kinnell

“Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” Walt Whitman

Dinner Portion

Terrance Hayes:

“New York Poem”

Eileen Myles:

“Mitten”

Thomas Lux:

Bill Murray:

“What We Miss,” Sarah Manguso
Frank Platt reads a poem at Murray’s request
“Brush Up,” Cole Porter
“Forgetfulness,” Billy Collins

Galway Kinnell:

end of “Song of Myself,” Walt Whitman

 

All News


Billy Collins in Nebraska

Wednesday, September 29th, 2010

billy collinsFormer U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins, whose forthcoming collection, Horoscopes for the Dead, will be released this spring, read 30 poems at the Reynolds Series on September 27, at the University of Nebraska at Kearney. Here are the poems Collins read:

1. You, Reader
2. Grave
3. Palermo
4. The Sandhill Cranes of Nebraska
5. Feedback
6. What She Said
7. Oh My God
8. Horoscopes for the Dead
9. Unborn Children
10. Hangover
11. Monday
12. Tension
13. The Golden Years
14. The Country
15. The Nigh House
16. Splitting Wood
17. Lines Lost Among Trees
18. Morning
19. Bonsai
20. The Trouble with Poetry
21. Litany
22. Divorce
23. Refrigerator Light
24. Motel Parking Lot
25. Lanyard
26. Forgetfulness
27. Japan
28. A Dog on his Master
29. On Turning Ten
30. Nightclub

Rick Marlatt


Ballistics

Monday, October 27th, 2008

by Billy Collins
Random House 2008
Reviewed by John Deming

5_5

Ahh..the Name is Billy, Baby

collins ballistics coverAhh…Billy. Billy, Billy, Billy. Billy. Billy Collins is used to being condescended to, and that makes sense. He’s popular. Poetry’s Mitch Albom. Poetry’s Dan Brown. Poetry’s American Idol. You can find his new book, Ballistics, in the “New Fiction” (yes, fiction) section at the Union Square Barnes and Noble—so naturally, Billy Collins is suspect.

I, for example, suspect he would’ve been less successful if he’d made a choice early on to go by “William” instead of “Billy.” But none of that has anything to do with the quality of his poems, about which it can be said that the best shine like angels, and the worst revolt like a dandelion sandwich.

Most Collins poems begin with a getting-to-know-you. Our poet loves to talk about poetry, loves tercets, and spends the bulk of his time sitting home, sipping tea, gazing out the window and reminding himself how simple life is. His most fully-imagined poems crystallize at unexpected moments; “January in Paris” riffs on Paul Valery’s famous proclamation that “poems are never completed—they are only abandoned.” Our poet finds himself in Valery’s Paris, where he seduces and then “finishes” a Valery poem, likened to a young girl:

 Never mind how I got her out of the café,
 past the concierge and up the flight of stairs—
 remember that Paris is the capital of public kissing.

 And never mind the holding and the pressing.
 It is enough to know that I moved my pen
 in such a way as to bring her to completion,

 a simple, final stanza, which ended,
 as this poem will, with the image
 of a gorgeous orphan lying on a rumpled bed,
 her large eyes closed,
 a painting of cows in a valley over her head,

 and off to the side, me in a window seat,
 blowing smoke from a cigarette at dawn.

This is a charming, somehow lonely stretch, a G-rated self-important fantasy with a duality that hits the mark. Lesser poems, though, there are. “This Little Piggy Went to Market” picks up where the title leaves of: “is the usual thing to say when you begin / pulling on the toes of a small child…” At the end, he’s too cute, too freakin’ merry:

 I don’t want to be the one to ruin the children’s party
 by asking unnecessary questions about Puss in Boots
 or, again, the implications of a pig eating beef.
 By the way, I am completely down with going
 “Wee wee wee” all the way home,
 having done that many times and knowing exactly how it feels.

I wish the sweetness here were at least Garrison Keillor granddad sweetness, but it seems closer to a single Dad trying to dazzle a single Mom during Story Time at the local library.

Connecting with others, though, is important in this book. However “famous” a poet our speaker is, he is distanced from his readers. “August in Paris” plays whimsically on the reader/writer relationship; however often a person talks to the poet about his book, the transmission of poem to head takes place always elsewhere and in silence, in the mysterious space where poems live—Collins’s best poems, and the poems he loves so much and can’t stop referencing (you should know there is a poem called “The Idea of Natural History at Key West”). Collins lets us access this place with alarming graciousness, and the openness of his voice probably helps account for his popularity; as he points out in “Hippos on Holiday,” “Only a mean-spirited reviewer/would ask on holiday from what?” Collins falls so naturally into his comfort zone that he makes it look easy; none of his copycats have come close.

The only other William Collins I’ve heard of also went by a moniker—Bootsy Collins, of P-Funk and Rubber Band fame. If it’s only the blissfully cartoonish name you’re chasing, buy the 1977 funk classic Ahh…the Name is Bootsy Baby, as it is a vastly superior creative effort. But if you’re out for American poetry’s feel-good hit of the year, give Ballistics a shot.

*