This post is inspired by a new discovery. Eduardo Corral linked to this blog and I liked the discussion Ryan has there, so I am going to write a response of sorts. Now I know I have told this story before, but I believe in retelling some stories, and every time I tell this story, it changes a little which is a good thing.
One small piece of business:
My poem, "Ode to Neruda (Esperanza)" has been accepted for inclusion on the 99 Poems for the 99 Percent Blog. Go have a look here to see the other poems on the site. I will be certain to let you all know when my poem is up on the site.
* * *
I started writing when I was about 15 or 16. I was trying to find something that was mine, and I really stumbled into poetry almost by accident. I was acting in drama class and trying out for plays, and I was debating in class and at debate meets across the state, but those things weren't really mine in the way I wanted something to be mine alone. I say I stumbled into poetry because there were exactly three books of poetry in my home, and those three books of poetry were more praised for the connection to family than for the poetry inside of them. I honestly cannot tell you why I found myself reading through those books. I was an unremarkable student, and to read on my own was part of my family culture, but poetry was not (and still is not) part of my family's reach when it comes to reading.
I grew up with my grandparents after the age of 7. Both my parents were living, but I was with my grandparents while my father had my older sister and his other kids with his second wife some 15 miles away. It may as well have been an entire continent because I had little to do with them, going months at a time or perhaps a half a year without seeing them. I think I was looking for something which could be mine because I was not confident I could ever count on anyone else for my happiness, and everything I tried up to that point still relied on somebody else or other, external conditions. Poetry could be just mine, and I could take it anywhere I was going to go.
That first book? The Complete works of Henry Wordsworth Longfellow. I have no idea where that book is now, but that was the one. For a teenager of the 1980's it was an odd choice, but we go to what we have, and I had his book. The book most likely belonged to my great-grandmother's sister, she being a teacher, and as I said before was in my grandparent's home for the familial connection. In the book was story after story, lyric poem after lyric poem, and of course the biggies: Tales of a Wayside Inn, Evangeline, and The Song of Hiawatha. Years later I would eventually buy my first book of poems, Lawrence Ferlinghetti's Endless Life, but there is only ever on first book. What I remember most is that I was almost afraid of Longfellow. I would thumb through the pages and read pieces and snippets, too afraid to fully commit myself. I now believe I was afraid of people finding me reading the book, and so I reacted by only sneaking glimpses and sneaking the book away.
The strange truth is that in a family of readers (and my genetic ties to this family are uncertain at best) I am the only person who actually writes much more than family history. Oh, I am certain I have brothers and sisters and cousins (I have 12 brothers and sisters, and literally hundreds of cousins) who write stories and poems like a lot of kids do, but I am probably the only person who actively seeks out publication on a regular basis. My family has a tradition of writing family history. We share stories and we are constantly mining each other for memories and clues which will flesh out an accurate picture of who we are as a family (it is a very typical Mormon thing to do) but there are no others I can think of who write apart from these family histories and perhaps school and college assignments.
By the time I had decided I wanted poetry, I had also decided I was going to join the army. My standing as a student was dismal, and there was no way I could ever convince any school to let me attend with the gpa I had. Never mind the fact I had never taken the ACT. If I wanted to go to school, I would need to start off by going into the army. Being a poet in the army is not as difficult as it might sound. Most people in the army love to talk and tell stories. There is a real oral tradition in the military which is fully supportive of poetry, though I will admit many people in the army would not immediately make that connection. It was while I was in the army that I started to buy a lot of books and start writing poetry. Unfortunately, I was not reading as much poetry as I should. I remember mid-way through my appointment in Texas, I had purchased The Early Works of Ezra Pound and the Selected Neruda. I was reading them and I suppose if a poet was going to limit his or her self in reading, that poet could do a lot worse than those two. I remember pissing off an officer by talking about Ezra Pound, and impressing the mother of a girl I liked when I mentioned Pablo Neruda. Both good omens.
However, I was too busy writing the bad poetry of my youth to understand that if I was going to be serious in my life as a poet, the best thing I could have done was read for 120 years before attempting my first poem. I have been trying to catch up ever since. Yes, it was hubris. I was convinced I had this poetry thing down and my career at the top of the literary heap was waiting for me upon my release from the military. Oh, I would go to college and take off a semester every now and then in order to promote my latest book, but I just knew I was destined for greatness. That all stopped when I started to get hate mail from editors. My second mistake it seems, was to start submitting my poetry 10 years before I should have. Every time I tell this story I mention the hate mail I received. Every time I mention it, I get somebody asking me if I really did get hate mail, or if I am exaggerating for dramatic effect. Yes, I did in fact receive hate mail from editors. However, I will also say I received some encouragement from a couple editors who had the patience of angels, and thanks to them, I kept writing, kept getting better, and kept submitting knowing full well I would receive too many rejections to count before I ever had any success in being published.
That's how it went for some time. When I found myself in college, I submitted to the school's literary yearly and had two poems accepted. One was selected as the best submission received. I was in heaven. I was on my way now. Nothing could stop me. Well, nothing except the three years it took to receive my next acceptance, and the three years it took me to receive my next acceptance after that. By that time I had learned my lesson. This poetry thing was going to be an up hill struggle for the rest of my life, and I really think that's one of the best things about poetry for both the poet and the reader.
So why all of this reflection? Well, when I read Ryan's account, I was taken back by his language. I have no gift for his kind of language when I talk about my art. There is very little art in my art, and even though I tend to say these sorts of things in a perfunctory manner, it rises up from the same feelings, the same desire to share with the reader.
Next time I will talk about the process I went through to get my first chapbook and first full length book out into the world. After that, is anyone's guess.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
The Lurning Curve
I have been typing out a few poems by poets I admire. Gary Short, Linda Pastan, Sandra Beasley, Sandy Longhorn, Kenneth Brewer, Zachary Schomburg. I have been trying to reinforce my understanding of the strophe's expression in line and how line breaks affect the presentation. Well, I have if that really is a thing. If I just made it up, then pretend I didn't say anything about why I was doing it.
I say that because I just received a letter from a friend which punctuated the fact that I lack the training I see in most of the poets I know. I have had exactly one poetry course (one course specifically about poetry) and one creative writing class in my entire life and I often feel as if I lack the vocabulary to discuss poetry with all of you. Now, I have long been an advocate of not thinking of an MFA program as something more than a place to read, write, and read and write some more. I believe poetry, more than any other writing genre, is a product of the whole. In short, our lives in their entirety are part of the curriculum of poetry. However, I can't help but think there is something constructive about being in an environment where everyone speaks and expands their vocabulary and understanding. Whenever my friend writes me, it is very clear my understanding of poetry is extremely myopic and site specific.
For me, AWP would be a chance to see poets being people and gathering together, seeing their duality---that of poets in panel discussions and readings, and that of people simply congregating because of a similar interest and allowing the topic of conversation to travel organically, without the constraints of blogs or literary journals.
But we take what we can get, and what I get are letters from friends, teaching me a few ideas at a time.
* * *
So, what did I learn from copying poems out for myself? Quite a bit.
Take for example Sandra Beasley's poem, "Making the Crane." First off, it's not "Unit of Measure" which was featured in the 2010 BAP. I mention this because I like working with poems which might not get all the attention like others.
I love origami, and that's what the poem is about on the surface. There is a certain amount of magic in the poem, a sensuality rarely expressed at such an intimate level. Beasley feminizes the crane, provides multiple incarnations of the crane and discusses a process, and in that there is almost a guide by which one can learn about the feminine itself, not simply origami. By typing it out I was able to hear the poem better, strip away the artifice of the poem and literally feel how precise Beasley's language really is.
In Sandy Longhorn's "Nights When it Rains" I learned about cadence. I learned about pace in a poem. I could see a poem about attachment, how details can carry the momentum of a poem. And if that wasn't enough. I caught a glimpse of how to avoid crass sentimentality when writing a love poem---how quiet confidence can trump exaggeration even at the height of passion.
* * *
What remains is to see how these small lessons find their ways into my own writing. After all, isn't that the hope? Isn't it the the goal to be affected in the best way possible by the best poetry?
I say that because I just received a letter from a friend which punctuated the fact that I lack the training I see in most of the poets I know. I have had exactly one poetry course (one course specifically about poetry) and one creative writing class in my entire life and I often feel as if I lack the vocabulary to discuss poetry with all of you. Now, I have long been an advocate of not thinking of an MFA program as something more than a place to read, write, and read and write some more. I believe poetry, more than any other writing genre, is a product of the whole. In short, our lives in their entirety are part of the curriculum of poetry. However, I can't help but think there is something constructive about being in an environment where everyone speaks and expands their vocabulary and understanding. Whenever my friend writes me, it is very clear my understanding of poetry is extremely myopic and site specific.
For me, AWP would be a chance to see poets being people and gathering together, seeing their duality---that of poets in panel discussions and readings, and that of people simply congregating because of a similar interest and allowing the topic of conversation to travel organically, without the constraints of blogs or literary journals.
But we take what we can get, and what I get are letters from friends, teaching me a few ideas at a time.
* * *
So, what did I learn from copying poems out for myself? Quite a bit.
Take for example Sandra Beasley's poem, "Making the Crane." First off, it's not "Unit of Measure" which was featured in the 2010 BAP. I mention this because I like working with poems which might not get all the attention like others.
I love origami, and that's what the poem is about on the surface. There is a certain amount of magic in the poem, a sensuality rarely expressed at such an intimate level. Beasley feminizes the crane, provides multiple incarnations of the crane and discusses a process, and in that there is almost a guide by which one can learn about the feminine itself, not simply origami. By typing it out I was able to hear the poem better, strip away the artifice of the poem and literally feel how precise Beasley's language really is.
In Sandy Longhorn's "Nights When it Rains" I learned about cadence. I learned about pace in a poem. I could see a poem about attachment, how details can carry the momentum of a poem. And if that wasn't enough. I caught a glimpse of how to avoid crass sentimentality when writing a love poem---how quiet confidence can trump exaggeration even at the height of passion.
* * *
What remains is to see how these small lessons find their ways into my own writing. After all, isn't that the hope? Isn't it the the goal to be affected in the best way possible by the best poetry?
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Fragments
I guess what I've got going on right now is a little bit of a measured rest. I have very little actual work today, to accomplish during my preparatory time, so I am listening to music and letting my thoughts wander and stray. I decided to go ahead and write. If I am going to let my thoughts out into the universe, I may as well write them and practice what I need to practice.
1. I spent the day in Salt Lake, yesterday, at various locations related to the Veteran's Hospital. My headaches have taken a weird shift in their appearance, interrupting a daily routine I have known for more than a decade, so I needed to re-connect with the VA and start down the path of taking care of this.
Now, having been away from the VA for more than 12 years, I needed to go through my entire narrative for the new nurse practitioner, who is going to be my primary care-giver at the VA. She had to do a lot of typing and she asked a lot of really good questions. However, that is probably the best of my experience in coming back to the VA for help. At almost every other level it is a royal pain in the ass, and I have to tell you, I am already remembering why I thought my departure so many years ago was not all that bad of a thing. Everything from take a number for almost every small procedure, to witnessing the golden standard for bureaucracy at every turn is par for the course when dealing with the VA. It's a middle management world, and woe be the person who forgets that little morsel of truth while running the gamut of actually accomplishing anything there within.
2. I spent a considerable amount of time with a childhood friend yesterday, too. It was actually want made about a fourth of my dealings with the VA tolerable. We told each other stories and had a good time talking about old friends and new developments in our lives. One of the establishing themes of our time together was how we both had learned how to stop worrying so much about the things in life which make us angry. Now you know I constantly worry about my writing and my varied ability to effectively communicate with my poetry, but that isn't what I am talking about here. I am talking about the issues of being people, living and loving the people in our lives, and accepting the reality of what we have made of our worlds. It was a wonderful time and I am so happy to have been able to re-connect on that level.
3. I am back here at school, looking around and I am feeling renewed for the new semester. With the 40 minutes I have left in my prep period, I am feeling pretty good about the world in general. Becky and I are gearing up for some major changes and there will be more on that later, but I am starting to work out a lot of other issues and get some new energy from them. My biggest concern is keeping the energy I need for my current book project. I have pretty much written off Sailing this Nameless Ship as a failed diversion. I will count it as therapy, but it will more than likely never be published. Not that I wouldn't love to see it in print, but I have pretty much figured out that nobody likes it enough to see it published. I am certain some out there will say I just need to re-imagine the manuscript in some manner, give it an overhaul, but I know better, and if I don't, then it will take a miracle to convince me otherwise.
4. Somewhere lies the answer.
1. I spent the day in Salt Lake, yesterday, at various locations related to the Veteran's Hospital. My headaches have taken a weird shift in their appearance, interrupting a daily routine I have known for more than a decade, so I needed to re-connect with the VA and start down the path of taking care of this.
Now, having been away from the VA for more than 12 years, I needed to go through my entire narrative for the new nurse practitioner, who is going to be my primary care-giver at the VA. She had to do a lot of typing and she asked a lot of really good questions. However, that is probably the best of my experience in coming back to the VA for help. At almost every other level it is a royal pain in the ass, and I have to tell you, I am already remembering why I thought my departure so many years ago was not all that bad of a thing. Everything from take a number for almost every small procedure, to witnessing the golden standard for bureaucracy at every turn is par for the course when dealing with the VA. It's a middle management world, and woe be the person who forgets that little morsel of truth while running the gamut of actually accomplishing anything there within.
2. I spent a considerable amount of time with a childhood friend yesterday, too. It was actually want made about a fourth of my dealings with the VA tolerable. We told each other stories and had a good time talking about old friends and new developments in our lives. One of the establishing themes of our time together was how we both had learned how to stop worrying so much about the things in life which make us angry. Now you know I constantly worry about my writing and my varied ability to effectively communicate with my poetry, but that isn't what I am talking about here. I am talking about the issues of being people, living and loving the people in our lives, and accepting the reality of what we have made of our worlds. It was a wonderful time and I am so happy to have been able to re-connect on that level.
3. I am back here at school, looking around and I am feeling renewed for the new semester. With the 40 minutes I have left in my prep period, I am feeling pretty good about the world in general. Becky and I are gearing up for some major changes and there will be more on that later, but I am starting to work out a lot of other issues and get some new energy from them. My biggest concern is keeping the energy I need for my current book project. I have pretty much written off Sailing this Nameless Ship as a failed diversion. I will count it as therapy, but it will more than likely never be published. Not that I wouldn't love to see it in print, but I have pretty much figured out that nobody likes it enough to see it published. I am certain some out there will say I just need to re-imagine the manuscript in some manner, give it an overhaul, but I know better, and if I don't, then it will take a miracle to convince me otherwise.
4. Somewhere lies the answer.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Forced Break
I am on a mini hiatus in my classroom. The students i have now have already taken their final, and I have a strict policy of grading exams in front of students of the same or like subject class. As all I have for grading is the same kind of test these kids have already taken, I am not grading right now. With that in mind, I am taking a little time to work on my Springville project. Here are the stats so far:
I have 22 poems written for the book. This may sound like a lot, but every time I write a poem or two, I keep expanding my scope, realizing that if I am going to write the book I want written, I am going to be in the high 90+ page count before I am finished. And with my need to over-write in order to have the strongest manuscript possible, I am looking at a lot more writing ahead of me. The more I write and the wider my scope becomes, the more research I have to do. Whenever I research, I widen my scope and write more. A vicious circle.
Another issue is I have envisioned a three part manuscript, and I have started to put new poems in their appropriate place, but the more I look at it, the more I keep thinking I am writing primarily for the first section, and none of what I want to come for the other sections is getting written. That might be normal, but I suspect I am fighting for a non-sectioned book again, and all of the section two and three poems are meant to be a part of a different manuscript. My evidence? 15 of the poems go in the first section, and almost all of the other poems can be a strong part of the manuscript if I went the way of having no sections.
I am here to tell you something you already know: Any writing is good writing, and any writing is better than no writing. What remains to be learned is what one does with that writing. Michael Meyerhofer's little essays on the matter are among my favorite. He always puts writing in a great perspective. I am using one of his latest essays in my Honor's course, as part of their semester final exam. I want them to concentrate on the subject of revision and crafting their writing as opposed to simply doing it once and walking away. I will be sure to let you know how I think they did answering to that question.
* * *
I am waiting for my proofs for my latest chapbook, Friday in the Republic of Me. I have a few edits to make, but I am really anxious to see what the cover looks like. I have also decided to buy green pens to be shipped with the book as it sells. I am going to sign the book with green ink and send a pen. I think I will also be designing little cards to go with the book as ephemera. It went over really well with my last book, and I want to make sure people buy books from Foothills. They need the money.
I am, for the publicity, considering doing a subversive giveaway, too. I want to find people willing to sneakily give my book away to unsuspecting people. Keep that in mind. If you are willing to give away the book in a surreptitious way and write about it, let me know.
There are other things I want to do, but those ideas aren't as well formed, so you will have to wait to see any of those.
* * *
The saga of my trying to give my hometown library a copy of my book is ongoing. So far I have twice spoken to librarians about donating my book. All I asked was that they notify me if the book was placed in the permanent collection or if they decided to sell it as part of their continual silent auction. Never mind the librarian at my first meeting with her told me she would have to read it to make certain it was an "appropriate" addition. Never mind that the book is about the very town for which the library serves. At my second meeting all of the key people were on vacation, but it has been a month since that meeting and I still have heard nothing. I will tell you this: I will gladly match up the politics and dirty pool activities of any small town with any national election campaign.
More from the other side of the culture warp when I have time.
I have 22 poems written for the book. This may sound like a lot, but every time I write a poem or two, I keep expanding my scope, realizing that if I am going to write the book I want written, I am going to be in the high 90+ page count before I am finished. And with my need to over-write in order to have the strongest manuscript possible, I am looking at a lot more writing ahead of me. The more I write and the wider my scope becomes, the more research I have to do. Whenever I research, I widen my scope and write more. A vicious circle.
Another issue is I have envisioned a three part manuscript, and I have started to put new poems in their appropriate place, but the more I look at it, the more I keep thinking I am writing primarily for the first section, and none of what I want to come for the other sections is getting written. That might be normal, but I suspect I am fighting for a non-sectioned book again, and all of the section two and three poems are meant to be a part of a different manuscript. My evidence? 15 of the poems go in the first section, and almost all of the other poems can be a strong part of the manuscript if I went the way of having no sections.
I am here to tell you something you already know: Any writing is good writing, and any writing is better than no writing. What remains to be learned is what one does with that writing. Michael Meyerhofer's little essays on the matter are among my favorite. He always puts writing in a great perspective. I am using one of his latest essays in my Honor's course, as part of their semester final exam. I want them to concentrate on the subject of revision and crafting their writing as opposed to simply doing it once and walking away. I will be sure to let you know how I think they did answering to that question.
* * *
I am waiting for my proofs for my latest chapbook, Friday in the Republic of Me. I have a few edits to make, but I am really anxious to see what the cover looks like. I have also decided to buy green pens to be shipped with the book as it sells. I am going to sign the book with green ink and send a pen. I think I will also be designing little cards to go with the book as ephemera. It went over really well with my last book, and I want to make sure people buy books from Foothills. They need the money.
I am, for the publicity, considering doing a subversive giveaway, too. I want to find people willing to sneakily give my book away to unsuspecting people. Keep that in mind. If you are willing to give away the book in a surreptitious way and write about it, let me know.
There are other things I want to do, but those ideas aren't as well formed, so you will have to wait to see any of those.
* * *
The saga of my trying to give my hometown library a copy of my book is ongoing. So far I have twice spoken to librarians about donating my book. All I asked was that they notify me if the book was placed in the permanent collection or if they decided to sell it as part of their continual silent auction. Never mind the librarian at my first meeting with her told me she would have to read it to make certain it was an "appropriate" addition. Never mind that the book is about the very town for which the library serves. At my second meeting all of the key people were on vacation, but it has been a month since that meeting and I still have heard nothing. I will tell you this: I will gladly match up the politics and dirty pool activities of any small town with any national election campaign.
More from the other side of the culture warp when I have time.
Monday, January 16, 2012
So, This morning
I accidentally wrote a prose poem. This is one of my favorite things about being a poet.
I was reading from some new chapbooks I received in the mail over the three day weekend and out of nowhere a poem started to come to the surface. I started writing it, title first (which I hardly ever do) and all of a sudden I started to integrate it with some other fragments more than two years old from another notebook. Somewhere in the middle I realized I was actually writing a prose poem but I continued to write line by line, paying attention to breaks. This too, was strange. Normally I know ahead of time if I am going to be writing a prose poem, and normally, I will start over if I decide on a format change mid-point.
Of course only time will tell if I like it enough to send out into the world to withstand almost certain rejection, but that really isn't the point. This poem caught me by surprise, and what a lovely thing that is to have happen at random. It makes me think of very specific lessons about writing to always keep in mind:
1. Be ready for the muse with pen and paper, if you in fact believe in the muse at all.
2. Carry a book of poems with you. You never know when you might have time to read a poem(Thank you, Ed Hirsch), and where one good poem ends is always a good place to start a new poem.
3. There is no right way to write a poem. Beginning to end; end to beginning; like a wellspring flooding the meadow. It's all the same.
4. Be flexible in your writing. Let the poem lead you for at least the first hour, before you ruin it by trying to tell yourself what it should really be.
5. Remember poetry is not an end sum activity and defies a balance sheet. There is always room in this world for another poem.
I was reading from some new chapbooks I received in the mail over the three day weekend and out of nowhere a poem started to come to the surface. I started writing it, title first (which I hardly ever do) and all of a sudden I started to integrate it with some other fragments more than two years old from another notebook. Somewhere in the middle I realized I was actually writing a prose poem but I continued to write line by line, paying attention to breaks. This too, was strange. Normally I know ahead of time if I am going to be writing a prose poem, and normally, I will start over if I decide on a format change mid-point.
Of course only time will tell if I like it enough to send out into the world to withstand almost certain rejection, but that really isn't the point. This poem caught me by surprise, and what a lovely thing that is to have happen at random. It makes me think of very specific lessons about writing to always keep in mind:
1. Be ready for the muse with pen and paper, if you in fact believe in the muse at all.
2. Carry a book of poems with you. You never know when you might have time to read a poem(Thank you, Ed Hirsch), and where one good poem ends is always a good place to start a new poem.
3. There is no right way to write a poem. Beginning to end; end to beginning; like a wellspring flooding the meadow. It's all the same.
4. Be flexible in your writing. Let the poem lead you for at least the first hour, before you ruin it by trying to tell yourself what it should really be.
5. Remember poetry is not an end sum activity and defies a balance sheet. There is always room in this world for another poem.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
10 More Books I Would Love to Own
As it turns out, the post I did on imaginary books everyone should own was immensely popular. I had over 450 hits on my blog the day after I posted it. I know it's not likely I will get a repeat of that success, but I do love doing these things. So here's another round:
1. Huntsman, John. How Not to Run for President But Convince 5% of the GOP You Really Are: A Where's Waldo Supplement. Little Brown & Co, (2012).
2. Gingrich, Newt. The Dirty Truth About Minorities. John Birch Society Press, (1996).
3. Bachmann, Marcus. The Straight Man's Guide to Everything Fabulous. Bravo Network Publishing, (2012).
4. Evans, Justin. Bringing Corporal Punishment Back to the Public Schools & Other Essential Elements of Education. Imbecile Press, (2010).
5. Kardashian, Kim. How to Achieve Fame in Three (or fewer) Sex Scandals. Attention-Whore Press, (2011)
6. Jenner, Bruce. A Season in Hell: New & Selected Poems 2007-2001. Copper Canyon Press, 2012.
7. Santorum, Rick. What's in a Name? The Almost Completely True Confessions of a Homophobe. Crazy Lazarus Publishers, (2005).
8. Winfrey, Oprah. The Art of Manipulating the Answer: How to Remain the Most Important Person in Any Conversation or Interview. Harpo Productions, (2005).
9. Cheyney, Dick. 101 Places to go Pheasant Hunting. Harper Collins, (2008).
10. Rove, Karl. The Mane Idea: A Collector's Guide to the My Little Pony Universe. Harcourt, (2011).
1. Huntsman, John. How Not to Run for President But Convince 5% of the GOP You Really Are: A Where's Waldo Supplement. Little Brown & Co, (2012).
2. Gingrich, Newt. The Dirty Truth About Minorities. John Birch Society Press, (1996).
3. Bachmann, Marcus. The Straight Man's Guide to Everything Fabulous. Bravo Network Publishing, (2012).
4. Evans, Justin. Bringing Corporal Punishment Back to the Public Schools & Other Essential Elements of Education. Imbecile Press, (2010).
5. Kardashian, Kim. How to Achieve Fame in Three (or fewer) Sex Scandals. Attention-Whore Press, (2011)
6. Jenner, Bruce. A Season in Hell: New & Selected Poems 2007-2001. Copper Canyon Press, 2012.
7. Santorum, Rick. What's in a Name? The Almost Completely True Confessions of a Homophobe. Crazy Lazarus Publishers, (2005).
8. Winfrey, Oprah. The Art of Manipulating the Answer: How to Remain the Most Important Person in Any Conversation or Interview. Harpo Productions, (2005).
9. Cheyney, Dick. 101 Places to go Pheasant Hunting. Harper Collins, (2008).
10. Rove, Karl. The Mane Idea: A Collector's Guide to the My Little Pony Universe. Harcourt, (2011).
Friday, January 13, 2012
Mmmmmmm, that's good.
Last night, we ate a variety of German sausages, thanks to the wonderful thoughtfulness of my wife, Becky. For those of you who have ever lived in other countries, there is something wonderful about having the opportunity to once again eat the authentic food you learned to love. For me, it is German food. Now don't get me wrong, I like some of the American attempts, say Johnsonville Brats, but there is just something about the texture and flavor of various authentic German meats which Americans just cannot get right. It's a universal truth. When I lived in Germany, Germans were nuts over Wonderbread, Levis, and Saltwater Taffy. Don't ask me why, that's just the way it is.
Now for years I have been able to get Toblerone chocolate bars. After all, I had first learned about them when I was still in high school, so they are a semi-regular thing in America. But sausages are not. Various cheeses are starting to make their way into our everyday culinary vocabulary, but not German meats. That's why last night was so wonderful. Becky bought the small assortment of various sausages, German mustard, and real kraut, and it was all just so amazing.
Thank you, Becky, wonderful wife of mine, for buying me delicious food which takes me back to my days living in Germany.
Now for years I have been able to get Toblerone chocolate bars. After all, I had first learned about them when I was still in high school, so they are a semi-regular thing in America. But sausages are not. Various cheeses are starting to make their way into our everyday culinary vocabulary, but not German meats. That's why last night was so wonderful. Becky bought the small assortment of various sausages, German mustard, and real kraut, and it was all just so amazing.
Thank you, Becky, wonderful wife of mine, for buying me delicious food which takes me back to my days living in Germany.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Hurdy Gurdy
For the past day or so I have been reading through a new collection of poems by William Kloefkorn and David Lee. This is their fourth book of poems together and it will be their last, as Bill passed away early last year. I will be writing an official review of the book some time in the near future, but right now I am stuck on the simple elegance of Bill's poetry. Each poem I read is a celebration of the basic elements from which we build a life, which he built a life. I look at the poems after I read them and I am startled at how fast they go, how quickly they creep into me and how subversive they are. I cannot get past the overall conceit---that even a simple, quiet life can be recorded with such impact.
It's the hurdy gurdy. When someone explains what a hurdy gurdy is, an instrument played by cranking, there is a deception. Pull back the workings of the instrument and there are dozens of things going on at once, and none of them are what is expected. Bill hardly needed an event to write a poem because he made the poem the event. And still that isn't enough. Bill did not go into the darkness of the void without a road map. Every poem, every line, and indeed every word, as so many have said before me, is part of a precise image Bill brought into being. Poetry is art, and art is imitation, but Bill's poems have an astounding clarity. Bill is quite simply, the hurdy gurdy man.
It's the hurdy gurdy. When someone explains what a hurdy gurdy is, an instrument played by cranking, there is a deception. Pull back the workings of the instrument and there are dozens of things going on at once, and none of them are what is expected. Bill hardly needed an event to write a poem because he made the poem the event. And still that isn't enough. Bill did not go into the darkness of the void without a road map. Every poem, every line, and indeed every word, as so many have said before me, is part of a precise image Bill brought into being. Poetry is art, and art is imitation, but Bill's poems have an astounding clarity. Bill is quite simply, the hurdy gurdy man.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Naive
Most of what I am thinking right now is just how naive I have been for the past 20+ years of being a poet. I just got finished reading an interview of a poet who is just a little younger than I am, brilliant, and so much more in tune with what it takes to be a successful poet. This right on top of being denied the opportunity to read at a community college because my name isn't on a certain list of "approved" writers by the Nevada Arts Council. Color me embarrassed.
Here I thought I was beginning to make some headway with my choice to become a poet and enter into the world of poetry and the more noble aspects of professional activity found within the poetry community. But that's just a pipe dream, and though I have always known about hard work, difficult times, and the uphill battle that is publication, I have just hit the walls of Jericho, and I came all this way not knowing I needed a trumpet.
The interview I read punctuated the fact that I am not part of the anointed. Now I always knew I would never be a 'name' poet, never win any fellowships, and if I was to ever get any sizable grant, it would be a miracle right out of scripture, but that's not why I have stayed with poetry all of these years, so it never really bothered me. What got me was this interview dropped some names (but not in any way I would give fault) and I realized I have no writers I can name in the same way. This poet heaped praise upon these other poets, gave them credit for motivation and work which enabled an entire manuscript. I have nobody with whom I can work and say such things.
Poetry is most often a solitary thing. We poets live and struggle in our own hearts and minds, and maybe that's why we crave companionship with other poets---not to co-write, but to co-habit the same terrain that is poetry. The interview made me look around. Of course I began to think about my mentor, Dave Lee. He has had tremendous relationships with poets. Two such relationships have torn him apart in recent years with the deaths of his dear friends, Kenneth Brewer and William Kloefkorn. And while I mourn with my friend Dave, it is with him I mourn, because I only knew these men in passing.
My realization is that I lack the kinds of relationships which create a bond and a support network among poets. Some might say because I am a poet I should be happy in my loneliness, but that isn't so. This is not the kind of emptiness which feeds artistic drive. Others might say more correctly, that I have been my own worst enemy. I have tried to support other poets, read and critique, play cheerleader, and create friendships. I believe I have been successful up to a point, but have in the end, been unable to make that leap of faith which might draw me close to other poets and form the relationships which would help me to reach even further. And it has been my fault, too. I am not an easy person to interact with for very long. I talk too much and wear out my welcome far too easily.
I perpetually feel as if I came to the dinner party ten minutes late and everyone else has already started their conversations. They are too busy to backtrack and I am simply too simple-minded to catch on in the middle of a conversation. It's not the secret handshake I am looking for (that's what I was talking about two days ago) but I look around and I all I can find is a seat at the kid's table.
I have been naive to think I might be allowed to create a working world of poetry in which to live.
Here I thought I was beginning to make some headway with my choice to become a poet and enter into the world of poetry and the more noble aspects of professional activity found within the poetry community. But that's just a pipe dream, and though I have always known about hard work, difficult times, and the uphill battle that is publication, I have just hit the walls of Jericho, and I came all this way not knowing I needed a trumpet.
The interview I read punctuated the fact that I am not part of the anointed. Now I always knew I would never be a 'name' poet, never win any fellowships, and if I was to ever get any sizable grant, it would be a miracle right out of scripture, but that's not why I have stayed with poetry all of these years, so it never really bothered me. What got me was this interview dropped some names (but not in any way I would give fault) and I realized I have no writers I can name in the same way. This poet heaped praise upon these other poets, gave them credit for motivation and work which enabled an entire manuscript. I have nobody with whom I can work and say such things.
Poetry is most often a solitary thing. We poets live and struggle in our own hearts and minds, and maybe that's why we crave companionship with other poets---not to co-write, but to co-habit the same terrain that is poetry. The interview made me look around. Of course I began to think about my mentor, Dave Lee. He has had tremendous relationships with poets. Two such relationships have torn him apart in recent years with the deaths of his dear friends, Kenneth Brewer and William Kloefkorn. And while I mourn with my friend Dave, it is with him I mourn, because I only knew these men in passing.
My realization is that I lack the kinds of relationships which create a bond and a support network among poets. Some might say because I am a poet I should be happy in my loneliness, but that isn't so. This is not the kind of emptiness which feeds artistic drive. Others might say more correctly, that I have been my own worst enemy. I have tried to support other poets, read and critique, play cheerleader, and create friendships. I believe I have been successful up to a point, but have in the end, been unable to make that leap of faith which might draw me close to other poets and form the relationships which would help me to reach even further. And it has been my fault, too. I am not an easy person to interact with for very long. I talk too much and wear out my welcome far too easily.
I perpetually feel as if I came to the dinner party ten minutes late and everyone else has already started their conversations. They are too busy to backtrack and I am simply too simple-minded to catch on in the middle of a conversation. It's not the secret handshake I am looking for (that's what I was talking about two days ago) but I look around and I all I can find is a seat at the kid's table.
I have been naive to think I might be allowed to create a working world of poetry in which to live.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
On a more serious note: Buy Books
Yesterday, I created a list of fictional books to poke fun at the end of year lists being created, all talking about the best books of poetry from 2011. Well, it's the new year, and t he talk now is about resolutions. Instead of coming up with a list of fake resolutions today (meaning I will probably make on in a few days) I am going to offer a resolution to you all. Now it has to do with books, but I thought I would add a little twist, so hold on.
I submit that each of you should find a press from which you have never purchased a book and buy one or more of their titles directly from them.
I also submit that you go back to a press who had published a book of yours and buy a title which you might not consider otherwise.
Yes. I said it. I want you to go buy books you have no idea as to whether you will like them or not. If all you ever buy are the book you know you will like, then you are killing the art of writing. if you only buy from presses you know, then you are killing the printed word.
So what if you end up not liking the books you buy.
So what if you don't like reading essays or short stories.
If that's the case, give the books away. I can tell you if more writers bought more books, we wouldn't have to worry half as much as we do about how many copies our own books will sell. I have been pretty fortunate in that most of the books of poetry I buy are ones I enjoy. However, for that small percentage of books I don't enjoy, I either find someone to send the book to (at my expense) or I keep it around until I find someone to send it to (at my expense).
People need to get over themselves when it comes to buying books. The only person that matters when it comes to your personal library is you. If you were to come to my classroom and look at my book shelf of poetry books, you would notice I have no outwardly discernible method of organization. If you looked closely, you would see I have a highly organic system of organizing my poetry books which changes at whim at least once or twice a month. Who cares if you have all of the so-called 'name' poets in your shelves? Seriously. Who are you going to offend if you happen to have a chapbook or book of poems on your shelf by someone nobody else has ever heard of? Hey, if you own one of my books you have probably already lowered your standards, and you may as well make some stranger happy by buying their book, too.
I just bought three books from Foothills Publishing. They arrived yesterday, and they are gorgeous. Right now I have A Field Guide to Trees by Bill Lavender on my desk, and the art (exterior and interior) is marvelous. The poems are lovely, and the design aesthetic breaks new ground as to what I previously thought possible.
Go out and buy some books you would not have normally considered!
I submit that each of you should find a press from which you have never purchased a book and buy one or more of their titles directly from them.
I also submit that you go back to a press who had published a book of yours and buy a title which you might not consider otherwise.
Yes. I said it. I want you to go buy books you have no idea as to whether you will like them or not. If all you ever buy are the book you know you will like, then you are killing the art of writing. if you only buy from presses you know, then you are killing the printed word.
So what if you end up not liking the books you buy.
So what if you don't like reading essays or short stories.
If that's the case, give the books away. I can tell you if more writers bought more books, we wouldn't have to worry half as much as we do about how many copies our own books will sell. I have been pretty fortunate in that most of the books of poetry I buy are ones I enjoy. However, for that small percentage of books I don't enjoy, I either find someone to send the book to (at my expense) or I keep it around until I find someone to send it to (at my expense).
People need to get over themselves when it comes to buying books. The only person that matters when it comes to your personal library is you. If you were to come to my classroom and look at my book shelf of poetry books, you would notice I have no outwardly discernible method of organization. If you looked closely, you would see I have a highly organic system of organizing my poetry books which changes at whim at least once or twice a month. Who cares if you have all of the so-called 'name' poets in your shelves? Seriously. Who are you going to offend if you happen to have a chapbook or book of poems on your shelf by someone nobody else has ever heard of? Hey, if you own one of my books you have probably already lowered your standards, and you may as well make some stranger happy by buying their book, too.
I just bought three books from Foothills Publishing. They arrived yesterday, and they are gorgeous. Right now I have A Field Guide to Trees by Bill Lavender on my desk, and the art (exterior and interior) is marvelous. The poems are lovely, and the design aesthetic breaks new ground as to what I previously thought possible.
Go out and buy some books you would not have normally considered!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
10 Books You Should (not) Buy Right Now
So I thought I would give in and create a list of books. That this list is made up entirely of non-real books is immaterial. I love every single one of them.
1. Evans, Justin. Puritans Shmuritans: How Unitarian Liberalism Ruined America for the Evangelical Conservative. Harper Row, (2008).
2.Rove, Karl. Karl Rove's Pick-up Guide for Pasty White Men With Glandular Problems and Mild Retardation: An Autobiography. Flashfiction Press, (2010).
3. Hart, Gary. Getting Off on the Cain-Train: An Expose to Sex Scandals in 20th Century American Politics. HighTimes Books, (2011).
4. Bachmann, Michele. Carbon Dioxide and the World of Tomorrow: A non-Science Type Discusses the Demonization of Carbon Dioxide's Alleged Ill-Effects. Simon & Shuster, (2009)
5. Bachmann, Michele. Making Denial Work for You: Living With a Closeted Homosexual. Bantham Paperbacks, (2001).
6. Evans, Justin. Making Sense of Non-Linear Equations in Quantum Sub Systems of Neon Gas in Excited States Relative to String Theory and Multiple Dimensions, Kids Edition. Little Golden Books, (1995).
7. Gandhi, Mohandas. 30 Ways to Kill a Man with a Pool Cue (Deathbed Edition). Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, (1948).
8. Aquinas, Saint Thomas. Summa Theologica for Dummies. For Dummies Press, (1274).
9. Bush, Laura. Curious George Visits the White House: A Memoir. Signature Books, (2010).
10. Anonymous. Ha! An Investment Banker's Guide to Avoiding the 99% (Maps Included). Fender & Fender, (2011)
1. Evans, Justin. Puritans Shmuritans: How Unitarian Liberalism Ruined America for the Evangelical Conservative. Harper Row, (2008).
2.Rove, Karl. Karl Rove's Pick-up Guide for Pasty White Men With Glandular Problems and Mild Retardation: An Autobiography. Flashfiction Press, (2010).
3. Hart, Gary. Getting Off on the Cain-Train: An Expose to Sex Scandals in 20th Century American Politics. HighTimes Books, (2011).
4. Bachmann, Michele. Carbon Dioxide and the World of Tomorrow: A non-Science Type Discusses the Demonization of Carbon Dioxide's Alleged Ill-Effects. Simon & Shuster, (2009)
5. Bachmann, Michele. Making Denial Work for You: Living With a Closeted Homosexual. Bantham Paperbacks, (2001).
6. Evans, Justin. Making Sense of Non-Linear Equations in Quantum Sub Systems of Neon Gas in Excited States Relative to String Theory and Multiple Dimensions, Kids Edition. Little Golden Books, (1995).
7. Gandhi, Mohandas. 30 Ways to Kill a Man with a Pool Cue (Deathbed Edition). Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, (1948).
8. Aquinas, Saint Thomas. Summa Theologica for Dummies. For Dummies Press, (1274).
9. Bush, Laura. Curious George Visits the White House: A Memoir. Signature Books, (2010).
10. Anonymous. Ha! An Investment Banker's Guide to Avoiding the 99% (Maps Included). Fender & Fender, (2011)
Smart enough
It's a strange feeling I keep having, this knowing I am not smart enough to write some of the poems I want to write. Now, before you get to thinking I am just writing another derogatory and down-on-myself post, I want to tell you I think it is essential for a poet to always try and reach beyond his/her abilities. It is the stuff good poems are made of, and it is where I like to be most of the time.
Take for example, my latest project---another Springville book of poems. there are several poems I know need to be written which I have no clue as to how I will actually achieve that thing. Namely, I don't know how to write some poems for my current book. I also know several of the poems I have already written will need to be re-written to match better with those poems which I write later. It is a two way street I drive upon, for the poems I have yet to write need to sound very much like what has already been written because I am writing a collection which will include lyric, narrative, and persona poems, but every poem needs to sound like me, and all the poems need to be elastic in that sense so they may evolve together to create the eventual manuscript I want.
There is of course t he failure, too. My previous full length book manuscript, Sailing This Nameless Ship, will probably fade away because I was not good enough to write the poems I wrote---both poems and book taking the punishment for my inabilities. Some day I may have the patience and ability to return to those poems, but I do not have what it takes right now.
So I return to my point, that most often, I find myself lacking only once I have waded knee deep into the poem of the moment. More times than not I get 75% through a draft before the sudden (and frustrating) realization that I am out of my depths hits me. I think the water/drowning reference is most correct. When I can't finish a poem I want to finish, I feel waterlogged. I feel as if I have taken water into my ears and I cant get it out. I feel as if I have raced 20 laps in an Olympic sized pool only to come in second or third place. Even though that feeling is frustrating, it isn't what really makes me upset.
What takes me for a ride every time is knowing I am not quite smart enough, that the poem I want to write is only one or two IQ points away. I can see it but I cannot reach it.
I am not a poet known for layered and rich use of language. Most of my poems, make use of a straightforward, simple language. My poems are rarely extended metaphors for greater, otherworldly strophes. Nobody needs to remind me that I am not Mark Strand or Dorian Laux. And I don't mean to imply they or their kind are deliberately opaque. I know of few contemporary poets who say to themselves I don't want anybody to understand what I am writing. I am merely saying my strength in writing is not in the rich and textured use of language of many poets. My conceits are rarely of the kind which inspire amazement. I like simple themes and simple execution. When I try complexity I will more times than not, choose a self-aware humor as the vehicle for the subject matter of the poem. It is not a thing I can easily sustain.
Therein lies the strange conclusion. I am not unable to be complex, layered, or 'deep.' It's because I never take seriously my forays into complexity that I often feel unequal to the task when I need to be serious in my writing. The lack of practice precludes me from practicing the writing of those poems, which in turn slows my progress in becoming smart enough to write the poems I need to write.
Take for example, my latest project---another Springville book of poems. there are several poems I know need to be written which I have no clue as to how I will actually achieve that thing. Namely, I don't know how to write some poems for my current book. I also know several of the poems I have already written will need to be re-written to match better with those poems which I write later. It is a two way street I drive upon, for the poems I have yet to write need to sound very much like what has already been written because I am writing a collection which will include lyric, narrative, and persona poems, but every poem needs to sound like me, and all the poems need to be elastic in that sense so they may evolve together to create the eventual manuscript I want.
There is of course t he failure, too. My previous full length book manuscript, Sailing This Nameless Ship, will probably fade away because I was not good enough to write the poems I wrote---both poems and book taking the punishment for my inabilities. Some day I may have the patience and ability to return to those poems, but I do not have what it takes right now.
So I return to my point, that most often, I find myself lacking only once I have waded knee deep into the poem of the moment. More times than not I get 75% through a draft before the sudden (and frustrating) realization that I am out of my depths hits me. I think the water/drowning reference is most correct. When I can't finish a poem I want to finish, I feel waterlogged. I feel as if I have taken water into my ears and I cant get it out. I feel as if I have raced 20 laps in an Olympic sized pool only to come in second or third place. Even though that feeling is frustrating, it isn't what really makes me upset.
What takes me for a ride every time is knowing I am not quite smart enough, that the poem I want to write is only one or two IQ points away. I can see it but I cannot reach it.
I am not a poet known for layered and rich use of language. Most of my poems, make use of a straightforward, simple language. My poems are rarely extended metaphors for greater, otherworldly strophes. Nobody needs to remind me that I am not Mark Strand or Dorian Laux. And I don't mean to imply they or their kind are deliberately opaque. I know of few contemporary poets who say to themselves I don't want anybody to understand what I am writing. I am merely saying my strength in writing is not in the rich and textured use of language of many poets. My conceits are rarely of the kind which inspire amazement. I like simple themes and simple execution. When I try complexity I will more times than not, choose a self-aware humor as the vehicle for the subject matter of the poem. It is not a thing I can easily sustain.
Therein lies the strange conclusion. I am not unable to be complex, layered, or 'deep.' It's because I never take seriously my forays into complexity that I often feel unequal to the task when I need to be serious in my writing. The lack of practice precludes me from practicing the writing of those poems, which in turn slows my progress in becoming smart enough to write the poems I need to write.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
The Rundown
I am terrible at keeping records, but this seems to be the thing to do, letting all three or four of you know how my year went. So here is the unofficial tally of how 2011 went down for me in the realm of writing and publishing.
Other than spending quite a bit of the year mired in a writer's block, I would have to say 2011 was quite good to me and for me. You hear a lot of negativity from me n this front, but I still managed to end this year in the plus column.
a) As far as I can reckon, I had about 30 rejections. That means I had to send my work out to at least 30 places, which for me is a Herculean feat.
b) I had 4 poems accepted to a single journal. Not only was this a record for me, the poems mark a starting point for my latest manuscript project . Another success.
c) I had an essay accepted and published, as well as a few photographs. Having non-poetry work accepted is always something to make me happy.
d) I had a chapbook of poems accepted for publication---Friday in the Republic of Me will be my entry into the socio-political realm of poetry, and I expect you all to fall in line and buy a copy.
e) I have written at least 10 poems for my new book in the past two months---probably more, but 10 is a safe estimate.
* * *
Today I have been writing a letter to my friend and mentor, Dave Lee, thanking him for some really great notes on a few poems I sent him from my latest manuscript. I also got to drone on about other writing stories he doesn't read here (because he doesn't do the Internet), and that has been good because letter writing is something we all should do more of these days.
* * *
Some good news: Kelly Russell Agodon's e-anthology, Fire On Her Tongue, is the number one seller over at Amazon's Hot 100 Poetry titles. She co-edited the anthology with Annette Spaulding-Convey, and I know a lot of the names mentioned. I don't have an e-reader, so I will be looking into the possibility of getting a pdf and buying it with Paypal, but you all should hop on the bandwagon and buy a copy. Kelly has always done a wonderful job for the cause of poetry, and I am certain this anthology is no exception.
* * *
My sister gave me a book, which is no real surprise, but what is of great interest is which book she gave me. She gave me The Utah Photographs of G.E. Anderson. He was a photographer based in Springville, Utah from the late 19th century through the first quarter of the 20the century. The book, written and compiled by Rell G. Francis, highlights some of the best photographs taken during this era of U.S. history and provides a lot of stories related to the photographs, which is far more than most books of this kind. From it I can expect to have a much broader and deeper understanding of Springville history, from which all my new poems are coming. Thank you, Corey.
* * *
In a few days, Tuesday to be specific, I will be going back to school to finish up the first semester. I expect to have a lot of fun with my English classes finishing up Hamlet and discussing the French Revolution with my sophomores.
Here we go, new year, here we go.
Other than spending quite a bit of the year mired in a writer's block, I would have to say 2011 was quite good to me and for me. You hear a lot of negativity from me n this front, but I still managed to end this year in the plus column.
a) As far as I can reckon, I had about 30 rejections. That means I had to send my work out to at least 30 places, which for me is a Herculean feat.
b) I had 4 poems accepted to a single journal. Not only was this a record for me, the poems mark a starting point for my latest manuscript project . Another success.
c) I had an essay accepted and published, as well as a few photographs. Having non-poetry work accepted is always something to make me happy.
d) I had a chapbook of poems accepted for publication---Friday in the Republic of Me will be my entry into the socio-political realm of poetry, and I expect you all to fall in line and buy a copy.
e) I have written at least 10 poems for my new book in the past two months---probably more, but 10 is a safe estimate.
* * *
Today I have been writing a letter to my friend and mentor, Dave Lee, thanking him for some really great notes on a few poems I sent him from my latest manuscript. I also got to drone on about other writing stories he doesn't read here (because he doesn't do the Internet), and that has been good because letter writing is something we all should do more of these days.
* * *
Some good news: Kelly Russell Agodon's e-anthology, Fire On Her Tongue, is the number one seller over at Amazon's Hot 100 Poetry titles. She co-edited the anthology with Annette Spaulding-Convey, and I know a lot of the names mentioned. I don't have an e-reader, so I will be looking into the possibility of getting a pdf and buying it with Paypal, but you all should hop on the bandwagon and buy a copy. Kelly has always done a wonderful job for the cause of poetry, and I am certain this anthology is no exception.
* * *
My sister gave me a book, which is no real surprise, but what is of great interest is which book she gave me. She gave me The Utah Photographs of G.E. Anderson. He was a photographer based in Springville, Utah from the late 19th century through the first quarter of the 20the century. The book, written and compiled by Rell G. Francis, highlights some of the best photographs taken during this era of U.S. history and provides a lot of stories related to the photographs, which is far more than most books of this kind. From it I can expect to have a much broader and deeper understanding of Springville history, from which all my new poems are coming. Thank you, Corey.
* * *
In a few days, Tuesday to be specific, I will be going back to school to finish up the first semester. I expect to have a lot of fun with my English classes finishing up Hamlet and discussing the French Revolution with my sophomores.
Here we go, new year, here we go.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas Eve 2011
I am awake way too early this morning, but my oldest son decided to have a sneezing jag while watching some television and I am up---for at least a little while. I will be able to take a nap later if I feel like it (and I will) but for now I am up and about.
I have not written a single poem or even a part of a poem during this entire week off from school. It has been a strange break so far, and I really don't know how else to put it. I have felt more run down these past five days than I ever have, and it feels much more than simply getting old. I am not well, but I cannot put my finger on anything specific.
Still, the family is doing okay. I made my world famous chocolate chip cookies yesterday. The secret is in how long you creme the wet ingredients. I blend the mix for at least an extra 4-5 minutes before adding the flour, baking soda and salt. This time around I used two different kinds of chocolate chips (milk chocolate and semi-sweet) and two kinds of nuts (crushed hazel and almond slivers) which has created a nice texture and a good chocolate experience overall. I also got to use our homemade vanilla for the first time. Becky has been able to use it a couple of times, but yesterday was my first. For those of you who don't know, we bought some vanilla bean pods and some artisan vodka to make our own vanilla. It just takes about six weeks of patience. Next time we are going to make it with bourbon to see which we prefer.
So, presents are wrapped and ready for delivery. Becky did all of the major work last night instead of tonight, which will make things easier for sure when trying to get our youngest off to bed tonight. It can be an early night for everyone. After, we are off for the Land of Mo once again for a few days so we can spread our own version of Christmas cheer to our relatives. And then, it's back to school and back to Hamlet. Back to students and back to more writing.
Be well this season, and all the best.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Christmas Break: Update & Random thoughts
A lot of thinking is going on with me right now, though I can say not too much action. I am in vacation bliss mode. There is a rumor going around these parts cookies will be baked later this evening (which includes my patented chocolate chip cookies) but it's too early in the evening for conjecture like that. In the mean time, I am satisfies to be watching movies, listening to The Grateful Dead, writing a post on my blog, editing my poems ---really anything that isn't school related.
To paraphrase something I read a few fays ago:
"I woke up this morning feeling awesome because I didn't have to be at school. True story."
* * *
In a few minutes, the oldest boy will be sent to the grocery store to purchase some quick-to-fix food and I will put in another movie into the dvd player. Of course it will make the evening even more awesome that this afternoon was, and certainly better than early morning was. I haven't really written a new poem for the new book in a couple of days, but that's okay, as I am under no contract I know of, as my position in the poetry world is more advisory than anything else.
What I am thinking about is the recording session I completed. You know the one, where I read all of the poems from Town for the Trees. I am wondering how much work my friend is really going to have to do to make my voice and the recording in general sound good enough to make into a book. I am thinking of setting up a paypal account in order to facilitate sales (what sales may come) in an easy format. My friend is going to be giving me a few "master" recordings so I can put them on cd's and install as a set of downloadable mp3's. I am going to be able to host the files through Hobble Creek Review, which should be a great deal---anything to be able to get more of my poetry out into the world.
* * *
I am re-reading my Springville History books trying to find the stories within I can translate to my book. The more I think about it, the more I think what I am trying to write is really two different books. I keep coming across sentiments and ideas for poems and I have barely moved past the fourth chapter in the first book. It feels like one really big book, or two smaller books. I need to remember my own advice and over-write so I can make the choices the book needs as opposed to trying to satisfy my own ego.
* * *
My god, The Kinks are amazing!
* * *
I am ready for this year to be over. I am ready for 2011 to be a memory. I have learned a lot about so many things and I have gone through quite a bit, but for most of the year I did not write a single poem and I can do without that feeling for the rest of my life, if you know what I mean. This is the year I got old, and I would rather forget that, if it's okay with all of you.
* * *
Time to go.
To paraphrase something I read a few fays ago:
"I woke up this morning feeling awesome because I didn't have to be at school. True story."
* * *
In a few minutes, the oldest boy will be sent to the grocery store to purchase some quick-to-fix food and I will put in another movie into the dvd player. Of course it will make the evening even more awesome that this afternoon was, and certainly better than early morning was. I haven't really written a new poem for the new book in a couple of days, but that's okay, as I am under no contract I know of, as my position in the poetry world is more advisory than anything else.
What I am thinking about is the recording session I completed. You know the one, where I read all of the poems from Town for the Trees. I am wondering how much work my friend is really going to have to do to make my voice and the recording in general sound good enough to make into a book. I am thinking of setting up a paypal account in order to facilitate sales (what sales may come) in an easy format. My friend is going to be giving me a few "master" recordings so I can put them on cd's and install as a set of downloadable mp3's. I am going to be able to host the files through Hobble Creek Review, which should be a great deal---anything to be able to get more of my poetry out into the world.
* * *
I am re-reading my Springville History books trying to find the stories within I can translate to my book. The more I think about it, the more I think what I am trying to write is really two different books. I keep coming across sentiments and ideas for poems and I have barely moved past the fourth chapter in the first book. It feels like one really big book, or two smaller books. I need to remember my own advice and over-write so I can make the choices the book needs as opposed to trying to satisfy my own ego.
* * *
My god, The Kinks are amazing!
* * *
I am ready for this year to be over. I am ready for 2011 to be a memory. I have learned a lot about so many things and I have gone through quite a bit, but for most of the year I did not write a single poem and I can do without that feeling for the rest of my life, if you know what I mean. This is the year I got old, and I would rather forget that, if it's okay with all of you.
* * *
Time to go.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Progress
I received a letter from my friend, Dave Lee, yesterday. It's a strange thing, having one of his letters show up from time to time because whenever one does, my entire world comes to a halt and also immediately spreads out into the infinite. This paradox is a simple one. I love hearing from him no matter what. Letters of the sort he writes are so rare these days that within them is contained an entire universe which has become anachronistic in nature---a time gone by, when people actually conversed in full sentences and complete thoughts. It's like opening a window into a world the both of us can look into and almost, if we stretch up high enough, see each other over the horizon.
Over the years I have come to treasure his letters which come, packed to the brim with an exuberance no e-mail or text could carry. I don't know how he feels about my letters, but I do know there are fewer of us who are writing like this than t here have ever been, and we aren't getting any younger. I seem to be in the middle. I am at a point where I have embraced e-mail and the technology of the blog. I enjoy Facebook well enough, but I do not tweet, and I don't think I will easily make the transition to the next thing or the thing after that. Well, Dave is stuck in the world of snail mail, hand-written letters, and telephones.
Well, that is until now. As it turns out Dave's letter was to tell me he has just signed contracts for nine (9) of his book to be transformed into ibooks, which will be a wonderful thing for him to experience. It's a move certain to make Collin Kelley proud, to see a confirmed book-dust bibliophile allow his literary children hit the digital frontier. I know there are a few people out there wondering why I am even mentioning this, but anyone who knows David Lee would tell you that even a year ago, this sort of thing would not even be a thing he might consider. It's a really big step for him, and it's a really great advancement for all of us because when I get a reader I will be able to carry one more of my favorite poets with me wherever I go.
* * *
There is no new word on my chapbook, but then I really didn't think there would be anything to report until the new year. Not for at least a few months yet. I will say I now have several more poems for the new book. The ideas just keep on coming and so do the poems. I am taking deliberate steps to try and keep everything in perspective, but I have quite a few pages already and I feel like I am barely scratching the surface of what this project is supposed to be. If everything goes according to plan I will be finished with the drafting in a year and I will have at least 100 pages from which to craft a book. I have started to show my new poems to a few people, but I really want to just enjoy how the poems are coming to me.
Time to go.
Over the years I have come to treasure his letters which come, packed to the brim with an exuberance no e-mail or text could carry. I don't know how he feels about my letters, but I do know there are fewer of us who are writing like this than t here have ever been, and we aren't getting any younger. I seem to be in the middle. I am at a point where I have embraced e-mail and the technology of the blog. I enjoy Facebook well enough, but I do not tweet, and I don't think I will easily make the transition to the next thing or the thing after that. Well, Dave is stuck in the world of snail mail, hand-written letters, and telephones.
Well, that is until now. As it turns out Dave's letter was to tell me he has just signed contracts for nine (9) of his book to be transformed into ibooks, which will be a wonderful thing for him to experience. It's a move certain to make Collin Kelley proud, to see a confirmed book-dust bibliophile allow his literary children hit the digital frontier. I know there are a few people out there wondering why I am even mentioning this, but anyone who knows David Lee would tell you that even a year ago, this sort of thing would not even be a thing he might consider. It's a really big step for him, and it's a really great advancement for all of us because when I get a reader I will be able to carry one more of my favorite poets with me wherever I go.
* * *
There is no new word on my chapbook, but then I really didn't think there would be anything to report until the new year. Not for at least a few months yet. I will say I now have several more poems for the new book. The ideas just keep on coming and so do the poems. I am taking deliberate steps to try and keep everything in perspective, but I have quite a few pages already and I feel like I am barely scratching the surface of what this project is supposed to be. If everything goes according to plan I will be finished with the drafting in a year and I will have at least 100 pages from which to craft a book. I have started to show my new poems to a few people, but I really want to just enjoy how the poems are coming to me.
Time to go.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Back from the Land of Mo, or, Why I no longer teach middle school/Junior high aged kids
You know what's awesome? Going halfway through your first lecture on day one day as a guest in your friend's classroom before discovering you did in fact catch the flu from your six year old son and being forced to locate the nearest bathroom in order to expel everything you've eaten in the past 18 hours.
Yes. I became physically ill in first hour of a full day of talking poetry with 7th and 8th grade students. Now, for those of you who do not know, I am not quiet while in the act of being physically ill. The sound I make when in the act of 'regurgitation' is akin to the African Lion's roar. To be honest, I was genuinely surprised nobody from the school came in the to the boys room like villagers carrying torches and pitchforks looking for the monster which was obviously transforming behind the second stall.
After rinsing my mouth, I returned to the school where I had the joy of talking poetry with these kids almost non-stop for the next six and a half hours. Some highlights include the following:
Being asked what my favorite color is EVERY hour of the day. Sometimes, more than once.
Being asked why I wasn't wearing a shirt which happened to be my favorite color.
Being asked what my favorite animal is.
Being asked my opinion on Wikipedia.
Being asked my opinion on Justin Bieber.
Now, there were plenty of students who asked plenty of great questions about poetry. Some of the better questions about poetry led to discussions about my ideas of the hidden narrative, the creation of a narrator, and the importance of lying in poetry---so the fact is the first day went quite well, all things considered.
Part Two: Things turn weird
Day two was a lot better. I was able to get the kids to write a haibun for their workshop. It's a pleasant twist on the familiar "I see" poem, using that poem to inform the prose paragraph of the haibun and then writing a haiku inspired by the paragraph. Needless to say, things went a lot smoother on day two.
I also received a phone call right in the middle of one of my workshops from my school back here in Nevada, asking me about the eligibility of a student. Now these were the first 'days off' I have had in a few years, and to receive this phone call on top of everything else going really put the zap on me.
I will say this, before you think I am just complaining. I had a lovely time both talking poetry and spending time with my friend, Scott. I can see doing this on a semi-regular basis, as long as I have time to rest between stints. And it would definitely be a plus if I didn't get sick next time.
Part Three: Good News
Yes. I became physically ill in first hour of a full day of talking poetry with 7th and 8th grade students. Now, for those of you who do not know, I am not quiet while in the act of being physically ill. The sound I make when in the act of 'regurgitation' is akin to the African Lion's roar. To be honest, I was genuinely surprised nobody from the school came in the to the boys room like villagers carrying torches and pitchforks looking for the monster which was obviously transforming behind the second stall.
After rinsing my mouth, I returned to the school where I had the joy of talking poetry with these kids almost non-stop for the next six and a half hours. Some highlights include the following:
Being asked what my favorite color is EVERY hour of the day. Sometimes, more than once.
Being asked why I wasn't wearing a shirt which happened to be my favorite color.
Being asked what my favorite animal is.
Being asked my opinion on Wikipedia.
Being asked my opinion on Justin Bieber.
Now, there were plenty of students who asked plenty of great questions about poetry. Some of the better questions about poetry led to discussions about my ideas of the hidden narrative, the creation of a narrator, and the importance of lying in poetry---so the fact is the first day went quite well, all things considered.
Part Two: Things turn weird
Day two was a lot better. I was able to get the kids to write a haibun for their workshop. It's a pleasant twist on the familiar "I see" poem, using that poem to inform the prose paragraph of the haibun and then writing a haiku inspired by the paragraph. Needless to say, things went a lot smoother on day two.
I also received a phone call right in the middle of one of my workshops from my school back here in Nevada, asking me about the eligibility of a student. Now these were the first 'days off' I have had in a few years, and to receive this phone call on top of everything else going really put the zap on me.
I will say this, before you think I am just complaining. I had a lovely time both talking poetry and spending time with my friend, Scott. I can see doing this on a semi-regular basis, as long as I have time to rest between stints. And it would definitely be a plus if I didn't get sick next time.
Part Three: Good News
On Friday, I paid my friend to record me reading my book. We hunkered down in my grandmother's basement with his $5,000 portable recording studio and we knocked out the entirety of Town for the Trees. I know I made a few mistakes, but my friend is a genius and I know he is going to make me sound incredible and the entire project as professional as is humanly and technologically possible. That means in the near future you will be able to purchase the audio book version of TFtT and quite possibly hear my voice reading my poems for the first time. How awesome for you!
Monday, December 5, 2011
Submissions & Ramblings
I don't know about you, but I really have grown weary of snail-mail submissions. So far, I have decided against submitting to three different presses in the past two months because they require me to print up pages and trot down to the post office and mail by hand a fat envelope to them, complete with poetry and SASE---which no doubt would come back with fodder for subscription and contests, and book release notifications. It's not the money, either. It's the useless stuff I get with my rejections that keeps me from snail mail submissions. As evil as it sounds, I cannot submit to every journal to which I submit, and I think most of these journals could stretch their budget a lot further if they didn't spend so much money sending me requests for subscription with every submission I make. Well, used to make. It's the zero amount of anxiety I get trying to figure out ahead of time when I can expect one of my own envelopes back in my p.o. box, and if I will have to wait until Monday or Tuesday because I wasn't able to get to the post office over the weekend. The money is nothing when compared to all of the other stuff which accompanies the postal submission process, and I am glad to know other people do not submit by mail these days, too. Fewer submissions all the way around. So I don't get to submit to Poetry (Have they gone over to an on-line manager yet?) It's not like the editors were lining up to see if my poetry would go better before or after Richard Howard or Mark Strand.
Speaking of Poetry, how is it they have the gall to try and charge me full price when they ask for subscriptions? With all of the money they have in their pockets, they should be selling subscriptions at cost. I mean that. You can quote me on that because it's exactly what I would do if I was in charge. Cost + 0.
* * *
I keep seeing lists of books which were the best of 2011, so here's my list:
Collin Kelley's Slow to Burn
Dean Young's Fall Higher
Got it? I bought more books than that, but I have to tell you I did not buy any books in 2011 better than these. That isn't to say no other books were well written, or I wasn't pleased to read other books, but those were the best. Those are the ones I went back to time and again, and those are the books I will remember past the new year.
By the way, Collin has a new book of poetry coming out from Sibling Rivalry Press. It's going to be called Render, and I am really looking forward to it.
* * *
I think I am looking forward to a few other books coming out, but I am never good with these sorts of things, so I had better just let it go at that. I will be talking about books as they come my way.
* * *
My own writing is coming along slowly but most certainly. I have had four poems from my new Springville book accepted for publication. I will keep you all informed as to that. Having written about 15 poems for the book, mostly the ones centered around the covenant of settling and work, I am trying to contextualize a few 'stories' into poems. In addition to finding my own voice for telling these narratives, I have to find a way to tell the best story, and that can mean me changing what really happened---essentially leaving the facts behind. Because there are people (my grandmother included) who prize their heritage and lineage through the town of Springville. this will certainly make some people upset. The fiction I have to create needs to be good enough for me AND my imagined critics.
* * *
I have been pouring myself over my new chapbook manuscript since it was accepted for publication. I am looking for the words which stick in my side. I am looking for all of the sharp edges I don't want. I am looking at the ordering if the manuscript. What gets me is there are changes on all levels I suddenly want to make, and I don't know if that's good judgment or the jitters.
* * *
Time to go, I guess.
Speaking of Poetry, how is it they have the gall to try and charge me full price when they ask for subscriptions? With all of the money they have in their pockets, they should be selling subscriptions at cost. I mean that. You can quote me on that because it's exactly what I would do if I was in charge. Cost + 0.
* * *
I keep seeing lists of books which were the best of 2011, so here's my list:
Collin Kelley's Slow to Burn
Dean Young's Fall Higher
Got it? I bought more books than that, but I have to tell you I did not buy any books in 2011 better than these. That isn't to say no other books were well written, or I wasn't pleased to read other books, but those were the best. Those are the ones I went back to time and again, and those are the books I will remember past the new year.
By the way, Collin has a new book of poetry coming out from Sibling Rivalry Press. It's going to be called Render, and I am really looking forward to it.
* * *
I think I am looking forward to a few other books coming out, but I am never good with these sorts of things, so I had better just let it go at that. I will be talking about books as they come my way.
* * *
My own writing is coming along slowly but most certainly. I have had four poems from my new Springville book accepted for publication. I will keep you all informed as to that. Having written about 15 poems for the book, mostly the ones centered around the covenant of settling and work, I am trying to contextualize a few 'stories' into poems. In addition to finding my own voice for telling these narratives, I have to find a way to tell the best story, and that can mean me changing what really happened---essentially leaving the facts behind. Because there are people (my grandmother included) who prize their heritage and lineage through the town of Springville. this will certainly make some people upset. The fiction I have to create needs to be good enough for me AND my imagined critics.
* * *
I have been pouring myself over my new chapbook manuscript since it was accepted for publication. I am looking for the words which stick in my side. I am looking for all of the sharp edges I don't want. I am looking at the ordering if the manuscript. What gets me is there are changes on all levels I suddenly want to make, and I don't know if that's good judgment or the jitters.
* * *
Time to go, I guess.
Friday, December 2, 2011
A Little Freestyle & Some Big News
Today is a pretty good "School" day for me. I get to talk about Hamlet with my English students and my history students are taking a test. It really is the kind of day I like to have. I really don't look forward to grading the tests, but even that is always easier than I admit to myself once I get started. Besides, I am going to be giving tests today and on Monday, and I really don't have to grade anything until Tuesday, because almost half my students today are gone for one reason or another and I will be seeing them to take their tests on Monday or Tuesday after school. I never grade tests or essay until I have all (or a vast majority thereof) because I enter all the grades in at once and I really hate to sit down to grade more than once if I can help it.
This time next week I will be in Utah again. I am going to be conducting a reading/workshop in my friend's English classes. He teaches 7th grade English in a charter school and has his students all worked up over poetry. I will be taking two days and going there to talk poetry and also talk to his public speaking classes about the reading of a poem. I'm getting more excited every day thinking about what I am actually going to say to them. I have decided to talk to them about the importance of the lie in poetry. I know a lot of people, especially Collin Kelley, emphasize the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in their poems, but I can't go along with that. And just to be clear, I do make a distinction between the fiction of a poem and the lie I find so essential.
* * *
I just learned, this very moment, Foothills Publishing has accepted my manuscript, Friday in the Republic of Me, for publication. No word yet as to when it will be coming out, but I am thrilled because this book will be my little addition to the political arena of the day. I can only hope it will be out in time for the 2012 Presidential Election.
This is the picture I want to use for the cover, though I have other pictures chosen as back-up images.
Poems you can look forward to, include:
This time next week I will be in Utah again. I am going to be conducting a reading/workshop in my friend's English classes. He teaches 7th grade English in a charter school and has his students all worked up over poetry. I will be taking two days and going there to talk poetry and also talk to his public speaking classes about the reading of a poem. I'm getting more excited every day thinking about what I am actually going to say to them. I have decided to talk to them about the importance of the lie in poetry. I know a lot of people, especially Collin Kelley, emphasize the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in their poems, but I can't go along with that. And just to be clear, I do make a distinction between the fiction of a poem and the lie I find so essential.
* * *
News Flash
I just learned, this very moment, Foothills Publishing has accepted my manuscript, Friday in the Republic of Me, for publication. No word yet as to when it will be coming out, but I am thrilled because this book will be my little addition to the political arena of the day. I can only hope it will be out in time for the 2012 Presidential Election.
This is the picture I want to use for the cover, though I have other pictures chosen as back-up images.
Poems you can look forward to, include:
Abracadabra
Lost in Wikiburbia
After the Photograph of the Lynching of Tom Shipp and Abe Smith
Contemplating Diego Rivera’s Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park
Ode to Neruda (Esparanza)
Friday in the Republic of Me
In My Dreams I am Always Running with the Dead
What I Remember about Desert Storm
* * *
I will be sending a lot of people e-mails about this book, so if you are interested in keeping tabs on this book but you don't hear from me, be sure to let me know. I will add you to the loop, so to speak.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Always a Bridesmaid
I just took a quick little look at my poetry bookshelf which sits behind my teacher desk. I would say that I have an office, but besides being a lie, I want to communicate the image of the destitute and beleaguered high school teacher. What did I see? Well, aside from a meager collection of poetry (barely three full shelves) I saw the many anthologies to which I am addicted. I say addicted because as a teacher with a budget, I often buy anthologies because I get more poetry for my money---something most other poets know nothing about, or so I have heard.
Still, that isn’t what struck me most when I saw all of these anthologies. What I really felt was the absence of any of my poems within those anthologies. Now I know I will never be included in many of the anthologies I own. That is the lot of most poets---even ones greater than me. What I am upset about are the many anthologies of specialized and so-called niche subjects for which I have submitted and been rejected from. I am slowly coming around to the fact I will never have that particular credit inside any of my biographies within the various journals who do accept my work.
Now, I know some poets who would tell me I am simply being vain for even thinking about being included in any anthology, or that I am in poetry for all the wrong reasons for even broaching this subject. Well, first, this post is not to be taken seriously--- I am writing this post in jest, so simmer down, people; and second, I am just being a little snarky in response to the many rejections I have had at the hands of editors who, in my opinion, overstate their willingness to include the best poems in said anthologies.
Yes. I said it. Some editors are not looking for the best poems to anthologize. Some editors are looking for the best “names” to include in an anthology in the hopes they can put in their cv one day an editing credit for such and such anthology with “all the biggies.” Right this moment I am looking at an anthology to which I submitted and was of course rejected from, which bears no resemblance of an effort of quality of work. Oh, all the names are there---all the names which should count. But you know what? I can smell a turd like everyone else can, and that particular anthology is a turd. Maybe I am supposed to be happy I was rejected because my name wasn’t big enough.
I suppose it’s my own fault. I mean, when I saw the announcement (and you rarely ever hear of these announcements until it’s too late to submit because poets guard them like a nun guards her virginity) I assumed anyone could submit and have a reasonable chance of being taken seriously. I was wrong. The announcement should have read: “Send in your poems if you are somebody we’ve heard of.” I went ahead and bought the anthology and now I own a collection of mostly second rate poems (with a few good poems) by “name” poets. Why should I care? Because I buy anthologies to get a good selection of poetry for the money I can spend, and when I know what I sent in was better than what was published I lose a little more faith in the editorial process.
What now? Well, I own a few contemporary anthologies which will never be dog-eared, will never be pulled off my shelf and shared with an eager student, will never remind me of why I love poetry.
Now I will always submit to anthologies for which I believe my work to be appropriate, and I will always accept the fact I will be rejected time and time again. It’s what poets know to be true. I will keep trying to impress upon editors with my take on subject specific writing, and no, I won’t be doing it solely for the ability to note in my bio I have been anthologized. I will submit time and time again because I want to join in the chorus of voices, singing in a choir of commonality with an uncommon voice among many.
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