From Edgar Guest to Dudley Randall to Eminem, Poetry Drives the Motor City

Detroit Literature is Not an Oxymoron

Thursday October 6th, 2022 at 1:16 PM
Nicole Tamer Gallery
Aloft Hotel
David Whitney Building

I am enjoying a perfect day exploring the District Detroit. I've taken in an awesome show at David Klein Gallery and interviewed for a situation at Ford Field. The Tamer Gallery now hosts a lively luncheon for professionals, and I wished I knew from what company. I'm cozy, sitting on a chair constructed of teakwood, blending into the scene.

The morning began with a brief meeting at Bamboo Co-Works on Washington Boulevard, a beautiful facility still undergoing renovation. The lobby doors remain under wraps behind plywood as workers add finishing touches. It was a bittersweet meeting because I handed over my sales tools after failing to make a quota. My coach talked about everything else but the failure. I admired my coach's style.

Although I won't work with this coach for now, I'll keep in touch. My coach graduated from Michigan State University three decades after my commencement from that fine institution. Let's call my coach the Poet for now. The Poet and I studied writing in the English department at State. This story touches upon Detroit because we met in this city.

The Poet Diane Wakoski joins our careers as writers together. The Poet enjoyed attending a Freshman writing class at MSU, taught by Wakoski. Rarely did Wakoski teach Freshman, so it's resume material as far as I'm concerned. Wakoski had a reputation for nurturing a circle of young poets each year. The Poet emerged from that circle. This is tantamount to being redshirted for American poetry.

Wakoski now serves as a professor emeritus at Michigan State. In 2017, I attended a reading organized by her, held in the Eli Broad Art Museum, designed by Zaha Hadid. I sat and listened as poets of her circle read. I was just happy to be in the museum cafe with bleacher seating built into the angled wall of that chamber.

The seated Padawan poets reminded me of a scene from a Jedi gymnasium, floating in the air, levitated by the Force. My friend, the Poet, might have been among them. At the end I overheard Wakoski say quietly to her husband, "I'm glad no one said anything unfortunate." That is not an exact quote. The actual words were much sharper. Yes, I held my peace and listened with respect. I enjoyed a pleasant chat with Wakoski's husband as we washed up our hands in the Zaha Hadid designed washroom.

I remember when Diane Wakoski joined the Michigan State English department as Writer-In-Residence. Wakoski began a series of readings in the old building that housed the Honors College. We gathered in the lounge on the second floor. The window behind Wakoski filled with evening light, light made variable by leaves of ivy vibrating in the breeze. I think we needed to open the windows to keep the room bearable.

Wakoski introduced students from the invited list, writers in the favored circle. One writer I noticed at the counter of Jocundry's Books at the juncture of M.A.C. and Grand River, a doomed independent bookstore. One writer I remember from the stacks of Curious Book Store, a member of the hand picked staff at the second hand and rare books bookstore.

After the features, I read one poem I had to write out from memory by hand. I don't remember applause nor a look of approval from the audience. I talked to the clerk at the Curious Book Shop. "Oh yes, I remember you. Have you considered taking a few craft classes?"

And I did. From Douglas Lawder, I earned an A for my portfolio turned in at the end of the Advanced Poetry Writing Seminar. I enjoyed coffee many times after class with my fellow poets at Bunches Coffee Shop. I landed a job as a waiter and learned to serve champagne and espresso to Lansing lobbyists with expense accounts. The half of the class attending as post graduates didn't have time to loiter. I felt I caused them to feel annoyed. They were all so accomplished! I remember their verses to this day.

Thus, I felt a few valedictory words were in order as the Poet and I said goodbye in the coffee room at Bamboo Co-Works. We had shared in Detroit the pure conversation of our little school of poets. The spacious room was alive with canvassers representing Oxfam warming up for a day, taking it to the street. I said as a parting shot, "Hey, I'm looking for your picture on the cover of Poets and Writers!"

It wouldn't be the first time. I knew the hardworking Bob Hickok from the Detroit literary circuit. He showed up with raccoon dark rings around his eyes, staying up all night to draw metal drawing dies, write databases and compose poems. "Back at you," said the Poet. I suggested to the Poet a project. Many readers of American poetry would love a short work on studying with Diane Wakoski. The Poet gave the idea the thumbs up. Now to see where the muse takes the Poet. I was impressed with how easily the Poet expressed ideas in language. I trip over my tongue lately, one of the impediments of my age. The Force is Strong in this one.

Detroit literature exists and influences the city in a subtle and powerful way. Dudley Randall of Detroit, the Black Unicorn, taught the eternal question. If one is thrown into a lock-up, is one in prison or is one in jail? The question has become a touchstone for measuring poetic talent. I answered the question incorrectly.

M.L. Liebler kept the scene afloat from the Vietnam War aftermath to now, taking the show from the Wayne State to the Detroit Institute of Arts to the Detroit Opera House to the YMCA. I won't say which institutions threw out ML Liebler's poetry readings. Kathe Koja has located immersive literary experiences in Detroit mansions, especially the experience that became the novel Under the Poppy. Literature lives here, and we all feel its sway. We sway, at times unaware of the source.

Let's end with a present example. Nicole Tamer has been flitting around the Nicole Tamer Gallery off the atrium of the Aloft Hotel. The Matthew Giffin and India Solomon show went up on the walls last night. Tamer has been placing the name and price cards by each work in the well juxtaposed show, balancing Giffin and Soloman. So I told the curator a Paul Bunyan story from Detroit's past.

David Whitney, builder of this skyscraper, made a fortune in the lumber business. So people tried to describe the wonderful building on Woodward Boulevard, next to Grand Circus Park. One story claimed that Paul Bunyan pulled a sore tooth out of the jaw of Babe the Blue Ox. The yank propelled the tooth all the way to this prime real estate. Whitney, seeing the opportunity, carved windows, rooms and halls into the tooth. You can look it up.

Babe the Blue Ox Has a Tooth in Detroit