Right now I am sitting in my classroom as part of an "Open House" for parents, wherein it is likely no parents will show up (at least to my classroom). I am listening to John Lee Hooker and behind me, the sun is setting and the magic hour is about to begin. All hail John Lee Hooker and his guitar, his ability to escape the 12 bar blues format, and that incredible voice.
This is National Poetry Month and this is the least poetic I have felt in a long time. I am stuck, you see. I am stuck on a few poems for my Springville manuscript, and I just can't get them into the right context. I have resorted to doing about 7x the research I normally do for such a poem of this kind and I still can't find a way to talk about it. I have the first section down, but I cannot divorce myself from the story enough or something. I want to incorporate real words written by people who were there, making it into a hybrid of found poem and original composition, but I still need to write the poem part of the poem so I know where to insert the text. I have talked about this before. Somewhere in this is my belief I am not a good enough poet to write the poem which deserves to be written, but at the same time I am of the opinion I am the person meant to write the poem. Does that mean it's a waiting game? Maybe. What I do know is I cannot seem to write other poems right now because of this poem and the others which will not allow themselves to be written.
Six months ago, Burnt Bridge accepted four of my poems for their "upcoming issue," but now I read they no longer accept unsolicited poems. I have tried to find some other way of contacting them by looking up the editors and searching all of their pages, but I cannot locate an e-mail. I am wondering if they are in fact going to use my poems or if I have been cast into purgatory. If you happen to know how to get hold of them, please contact me via FB. I would appreciate it.
A few posts ago I mentioned I m a little peeved at the poetry community. I am still a bit upset, but I have decided it is mostly my own fault for putting too much faith in others rather than any specific act committed. Usually that is where I end up, knowing I was too naive, too optimistic. I am not letting anyone off the hook, but I am coming around to the idea I can't do anything about all of the bullshit, and I may as well just move on. This poem really sums up how I feel about the poetry community right now:
Hey, by the way, I have a lot of copies of my book, Friday in the Republic of Me, so if any of you are interested in buying a copy, just let me know, either here or on FB, and I will tell you how you can buy a signed copy. It's $11, shipping included, and I will sign it in green ink, anyway you want. The book is a mix of humorous and serious political poems. As George Bernard Shaw once said, "If you are going to tell people the truth, you had better make them laugh." If you don't want a copy of my book, I have to wonder what your problem is, really. Seriously. What is your major malfunction? This book has some incredibly good poems in it, not to mention one kick-ass title and cover image. What are you waiting for?