Celebrating the Ingredients
Or why you should stop feeling like you have to "understand" art
I felt a cleaving in my mind As if my brain had split; I tried to match it, seam by seam, But could not make them fit. The thought behind I strove to join Unto the thought before, But sequence ravelled out of reach Like balls upon a floor. —Emily Dickinson
Dear Friends,
Recently, I had the opportunity to experience the work of choreographer Andrea Miller and the dancers of her company GALLIM at the Harris Theater here in Chicago, and I found myself remembering why I love modern dance so—and why I have often been drawn to collaborations with dancers and choreographers in my work (speaking of which, I’m lonely for such collaborations again…just sayin’).
I’m always surprised when talking with another poet, and they say something along the lines of I should see more modern dance, but I don’t really know what to make of it. This, of course, is another version of what we frustratingly hear all the time as poets—I want to read poetry, but I don’t understand it. I feel like the emphasis on understanding is preventing so many people from enjoying and experiencing not just poetry but the variety of art that exists in the world, such as dance, experimental music, or abstract painting. Even those of us who spend our time immersed and versed in one discipline and recognize that every artwork need not tell a story or be representational, still often find ourselves trapped by the false idea of needing to understand a piece of art if it’s in a realm outside our own.
Here’s my plea. Let’s free ourselves of this idea.
For me, what makes modern dance amazing is that it strips dance down to its fundamental ingredients—the shapes that bodies can take and the motions that bodies can make—and reimagines it front and center. When I watch a dance piece, I observe the architecture of the dance—both for individual dancers and as a group—and I notice repeating and building patterns of gestures, undulations, or transfers of weight. All of this, of course, is anchored by the music and lighting, set and costumes, or lack thereof (some of the best pieces shine because of their spareness, by letting the dancer just dance). Together, it’s about creating an energy, a feeling that you take in, that you open yourself to. And maybe, just maybe, if you just let it happen, Emily Dickinson’s “cleaving of the mind” will come.
When I stand in front of a Rothko painting, such as the Seagram murals, I feel myself vibrate, physically and emotionally. That’s the ultimate for me. Like modern dance, modern painting is painting stripped down to its essential ingredients—color and texture. It isn’t about sense, but the senses. We don’t make something of it; instead, it makes something of us.
As my bedtime reading, I’ve been traveling through Francesca Wade’s Gertrude Stein: An Afterlife, which speaks to how Stein similarly sought to make poetry new by experimenting with its very textual and grammatical building blocks.
“Each word in [Stein’s] Tender Buttons . . . was recognizable in itself, but here words follow others not to advance any story, but to propel the text forward through verbal echo, surprise, or pure insistence. . . . Tender Buttons is a celebration of mutability, a rejoinder to the rules, where words are set free from the shackles of meaning and grammatical function, made unfamilar, and charged with power to make the world afresh.”
Whether you’re reading a poem or listening to a drone composition that reverbates with found sounds, it is precisely the allure of surprise and the unfamiliar that makes them successful, powerful, and engaging. If we stop asking what it means and start asking what we feel, perhaps we’ll all find our way to the forms of art that we didn’t realize we needed and that speak to us even though we thought they were beyond our grasp.
I’ll leave you with an inspiring sample of GALLIM’S “Bodies of Matter.”
Until next time.
—Carrie
Coming in April: The Book of Marys and Glaciers
Pre-Sales, Events, Review Copies
“Adams' fifth full-length collection is a work of observation, connection, and expansion. Through three sequences, Adams guides the reader through a tour of language and imagery so specific and surprising that one is encouraged to linger on each page. . . . The result is the sense that one is holding a precious object.”—Sara Verstynen, Booklist
Preorder The Book of Marys and Glaciers now, and it will ship when it releases in March. Use the code UCPNEW to take 30% off when ordering here. And, if you’d like a review copy or want to talk about scheduling an event, please be in touch.
Where you can find me
March 4-7, Baltimore, Associated Writing Programs (AWP)
April 18, New Orleans, NOLA Poetry Festival, Black Ocean reading & panel
April 21, Iowa City, Prairie Lights, with Nathan Hoks
May 14, New York, Poets House with Tessa Bolsover, Joe Hall, Nathan Hoks, and S. Whitney Holmes
More dates to come.
Italian Comfort Food in Bowl: Pastina Soup
Though we’ve been experiencing a February thaw here in Chicago this week, I am certain the bone-chilling days aren’t yet behind us for the season. So, here’s a simple soup for when you need something to warm you from the inside out.
Pastina Soup
Ingredients
2 tablespoons olive oil (or a combination of olive oil and giardinnera oil if you’re me)
1 small yellow or white onion, diced
2-3 carrots, diced
3-4 mini sweet peppers or 1 small red bell pepper, diced
2 celery sticks, diced (or 2-3 tablespoons of dried celery, which is my preference these days for ease)
5 cups of vegetable broth
1 Parmesan rind (optional, but if you’re not keeping these in your freezer, do)
1 1/2 cups of pastina (small pasta shape; ditalini is most commonly available)
Grated Parmesan (to taste)
Red pepper flakes (to taste)
Steps
Heat olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven.
Add onions, carrot, celery, and peppers, and lightly carmelize.
Add broth and parmesan rind (if using) and simmer for 15 minutes until the vegetables are very tender.
Move vegetables and some of the broth to a blender and blend until smooth.
Return blended vegetables and broth to the pot and add the pastina and red pepper flakes.
Cook for about 7 minutes or until the pasta is cooked through.
Add salt and pepper to taste.
Garnish with Parmesan cheese to serve.
Upcoming Poetry & Biscuits Reading
Mark your calendars! And send me your ideas for readers!
March 13, 2026: Mary Ardery, Teresa Dzieglewicz, Liam Heneghan, Rosalie Moffett, Laura Paul, Paul Martinez Pompa, and Dawn Tefft
May 1, 2026: Timothy Ashley Leo, Erika Meitner, Christine Poreba, Elizabeth Zuba, and Anna Zumbahlen
July 24, 2026: Keith Jones, Winshen Liu, Kathleen Rooney, and Rodrigo Toscano
September 2026: Naoko Fujimoto, Yvette Nepper, Christy Prahl, and Sara Wainscott
November 2026: Meghan Malachi, Ben Niespodziany, and Jacob Saenez