What Bothers me (At the Moment)

A little while ago on Facebook, I asked for anyone wanting to debate me over the issues relevant to what has been going on in the world over the past few days, they do the following:

1. Bring facts, not rhetoric.

2. Organize your thoughts.

3. Learn how to stay on subject, and stick to specifics as opposed to generalizations.

4. Learn the basics of the more common logical fallacies.

I even provided a link to the skeptics guide.org, to read about common logical fallacies.

So why and I harping on this again?  Because I ran into a Ron Paul Supporter who came up with 26 reasons why President Obama is causing the downfall of the United States of America.  That's right.  President Obama is single-handedly responsible for America's downfall.  

Now before I list some of these gems of so-called political facts (most were in truth rhetoric) please let me be clear about this:  I am very much in favor of the loyal opposition.  I believe it is only natural to have political diagreements with their leaders.  I had them with President G.W. Bush and his administration, and I personally know a lot of people who do not agree with President Obama.  I am okay with that.  However, I am not okay with what is going on with most of the discussion about President Obama conducted by the most vocal conservatives.

For one, when trying to explain why President Obama represents the downfall of the U.S., it's best to avoid listing things the President did not accomplish, which you were against in the first place.  I am supposed to see your point, that the President, is for all intents and purposes, the worst thing for the U.S. because the President failed to do things you were against in the first place?  How does that work?  

For another thing, why is it whenever I ask for facts and figures, most of what I get is rhetoric and political bias?  We all know statistics can be manipulated, but they are a baseline, which promotes debate.  All rhetoric accomplishes is to burrow one's self deeper in, like a tick.  If you make a claim, give a source.  And by the way, I use quotes because I like the ideas behind them, but I do not use them as factual evidence and support for my arguments beyond demonstrating how other people think.  How is it you can trust your sources?  Look them up.  Do a little digging.  I realized a few days ago why talking about all of this stuff makes me so tired.  I try and do research when I bring up a point.  When somebody provides a quote or a "fact,"  I look it up to see the quote in context.  I read about that "fact" and try to see where else it leads.  I get criticized some times because it takes me a while to compose my response.  I have been told on more than one occasion I must be "reaching" or grasping at straws because it takes me a long time to respond.  Well, 1:  I am doing the work, and 2:  I am a poor typist.  Some people need to learn that a well thought out, reasoned response is a good thing, not a show of poor critical skills.

So here is a sampling of a few reasons why President Obama is the "downfall of the U.S."  f anyone wants the complete list (because I don't want anyone claiming I am just cherry picking here, send me a private message and I will send it to you as soon as possible.

1) Poor reaction to the BP Gulf Spill

2) Extending the Bush tax cuts

3) Guantanamo is still open (which I do think is disappointing)

5) Failure of the DREAM Act

14) Attacking John Boehner for smoking, even though Obama himself is a smoker

16) Giving a half a billion dollars to Solyndra, only to see them buckle up within a year

18) His $800+ billion stimulus, which was supposed to keep unemployment at seven percent, has not stopped it from rising to 9.1%

19) His $450 billion jobs plan is supposed to create a million jobs. Do the math, and that means government will spend $450,000 PER new job created. The private sector can hire ten workers for $450,000 - government possibly, perhaps hires one - maybe, and then only temporarily. Once the road or bridge is built, the worker is laid off. Herbert Hoover tried the same thing, using public works projects to spur employment - guess what, it didn't work. The Great Depression got worse. 

21) Wasting his first two years, with Democratic control of the House and Senate, on a controversial health care reform bill that squandered his popularity. He might have been better served to focus on the economy!

25) Having a cabinet and advisers full of people who do not pay their taxes, and who talk about the inspirational speeches of Mao.

26) One of his first acts as President over-turned the Mexico City policy, allowing the federal government to fund abortions performed in other countries. He enters office with an economy going over the cliff, but priority number one is opening federal funding to abortions performed overseas. That is not exactly my idea of getting our financial house in order.

* * *

This is what I am up against.  Where do you start?  When one side is tacitly allowed to list rhetoric as arguments without fact checking or providing sources, it gets annoying.  With a list of 26 items, it feels like some poor attempt at presenting what is hoped will be a wall of insurmountable arguments.  

I responded to all 26 in kind, with what I hoped was logical rhetoric, but it's time to start rejecting the premise of these kinds of so-called arguments without real evidence to back them up.  It's time to make these kinds of conservatives do the prep-work themselves.

How I Know I am a Poet

All of my writing life I have been constantly leaning to one extreme or the other regarding my status as a poet.  Am I a poet, or am I a person who happens to write poetry.  Is one of those things better that the other?  Well, I am not going to be trying to answer which is better, but I am going to try and explain why I am in the camp I am in:  That of being a poet.

First, I need to say I am not a poet because I read poetry, nor am I a poet because I read a lot of poetry.  No, there hasn't been some sudden explosion in the numbers of people who read poetry for the love of reading poetry, but I think it takes more.  So am I a poet because I write poetry?  Some might say yes, or at least say writing poetry is a definite step in the right direction to becoming a poet.  Still, writing poetry is not why I currently believe myself a poet.  Here then are a few reasons why I am a poet:


1.  Poetry gets more difficult for me to write every day and I am still in love with the idea I can some day write a perfect poem.

Why does writing poetry get more difficult?  Because every time I come to poetry something has changed, like my understanding of poetry and like my expectations of myself and what I want poetry to give me.  You see, the more I know about poetry, the more I have to hold myself accountable for what I write.  I am still going to write terrible and awful poems, but the more I know about poetry, the more time I spend making sure I am doing everything I know to make the poem right.  The more time I put into that activity means the more I expect from myself.  I don't want to keep making the same mistakes over and over, especially when I should know better.  The more work I do, and the more I expect from myself adds up to my wanting more from poetry.  I want poetry to continually surprise me, and I want my poetry to be the kind in which I can delight.  The it starts all over, because the more I expect from poetry means I am forced to learn more about it so I can be prepared to come to poetry with my very best efforts.


2.  I literally hear many of my poems.  They come to me (either in fragments or complete) at the most odd moments and I instinctively know there is only one thing to do with them---write them.

It's as simple as that.  You may not think anything of it, but I strongly believe there is some sort of mystical connection where creativity is concerned.  Do not make the mistake of equating intelligence with creativity.  I think creativity is both a component of intelligence and an independent agency, operating somewhere in the human mind.  For those of you who are scientifically inclined, think about the spooky nature of quantum connectivity.  There is something bigger at play with creativity (and my poetry, specifically) than simply the mechanical work involved.

When I fail to write one of the poems which come to me (and not all of them come to me in the way I described above) I feel as if . . .no, I know with a certainty I have wasted an opportunity.  How big an opportunity I cannot say because it is impossible to compare something which exists to something which does not.  All I know is I feel as if I have let something, a part of me go, which can never be retrieved.


3.  When I write a poem, I feel more than just good.

When I write a poem, even a mediocre poem, I feel as if I have slipped into some concrete, real groove.  I feel a sense of relief.  I feel in tune with the universe because for a brief moment, I am literally in the right place at the right time.  To add to that, so few things in my life make me feel that way.  It's poetry, family, teaching, and a few friends.  That's it.  Nothing else comes close on such a consistent level.

Other poets know what I am talking about---any artist does, too.  The universe slows down for a few moments and there is a real sense of belonging, as if one's place in the universe is assured and acknowledged.

There is also this:  Wen I feel like I do when I have written a poem which works, I am taken back to my first reason.  I want the challenge of having that feeling again, knowing the whole time it will be more difficult than the last time, and that I will more than likely be beaten.

Do you know what?  It doesn't matter.  What matters is I keep coming back, and that's why I am a poet and not somebody who happens to write poems.  

More of the Same

Right now I am thinking about books.  My books.  Not the books I have written, but the books I am writing.  After all, in the writing world, it's not what you have written, but what you are writing.  Remembering that has on more than one occasion pushed me into creating some really fine writing.

I am talking specifically about my manuscript, Sailing This Nameless Ship, and my current manuscript in progress about my home town of Springville, Utah.  Now, I know on some level you are sick and tired of listening to me talk about these two projects, but this is part of my process.  So if you've had enough of me talking about them you should feel free to leave this blog.

* * *

Recently I received some really good notes for Nameless Ship.  A poet friend read it for me and gave me some really wonderful advice and specific edits.  I have already made a lot of those changes and I have to sit and think regarding the others related to structure.  One suggestion is regarding making a longer poem out of a series of themed poems.  If I do that, the entire structure of the poem needs to be changed.  Now I am not opposed to changing the structure.  In fact, I am more nervous about the prospect of a long poem than I am about the restructuring of an entire manuscript.  I realized my fear while reading Sandy's post on the subject. I am not a long poem kind of poet, and I am always afraid the wheels might fall off the poem and losing the reader as a consequence.  I have written very few long-ish poems (which are not long at all) and every one of them makes me nervous.

I also have to get used to the idea I need to start submitting it again.  I need to bite the bullet and start researching presses again and sending it out for consideration.  No matter how I try, I can't blindly submit this book to every contest under the sun.  I will also be honest when I say this book is a strong candidate for a self-publishing crossover for me.  More than a third of the poems have been published in journals, and one was actually nominated for Sundress Best of the Net.  There are a few small prosy bits I still need to fix, and I will give presses another go around.  However, if I find no joy (hereafter defined by any positive feedback, not necessarily acceptance for publication) I am going to learn a few things from people I know about the process of a good book experience at Lulu, and do it up right myself.  It isn't a lack of patience, either.  I need to get the manuscript out of my system.  I need to find out if I wasted more than a year of my life.  Well, that's not entirely accurate.  According to most of the known universe I did waste m time.  It's not about fame, either.  Here's what I have to say about that:

Being a famous poet is like being the most popular member of an AA meeting without all of the perks, like stale coffee and regimented sobriety.

My Springville book is coming along.  I haven't written new poems for it in the last week or so because I have been trying to write songs as lyricist for a group started by a couple friends.  Boy, and I a terrible song writer!  I finally penned a Scott Walker clone, though it's probably a clone of the guy who Scott Walker covered extensively in his first two solo albums.  I forget that guy's name.

I really am making progress, though.  I have 33 poems written and a solid picture of what the book is supposed to look like in its finished form.  My one hindrance still remains: The narrative poem.  Some days I lie to myself, claiming my short, lyric poems weave a narrative tapestry, which serves to tell a story, but the fact remains I cannot write a decent narrative poem to save my life.  Lord knows I have tried, but I cannot get blood out of this old turnip, and I really should stop trying because it is rather embarrassing to watch.

Still, I shouldn't have problems getting this book published eventually.  A lot of people tell me I am lucky to have the people at Foothills Publishing, and they are right of course, but I will be submitting it elsewhere, too.  With four books out from Foothills already, I do not want them to think I can just send them anything and they will jump to.  My biggest obstacle with this manuscript so far, has been a universal lack of interest in any of the individual poems I have been sending out.  So much so, I have actually stopped sending any of them out to anyone.  That is, until I can finish more of the poems which are supposed to be in the final section of the book.  The fact is the first two sections of the book are very much like a concept album (strictly for the analogy because as I stated earlier, I am a terrible song writer) and the appeal is not entirely there.  I don't want to give too much away too soon, but the closest structural element to a traditional book of poems this manuscript comes to is it's three primary sections.

* * *

Well, that's enough from me.  You've all got better things to do I'm sure.

The Rundown

1.  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/06/06/how-amazon-saved-my-life_n_1575777.html?ref=books

My wife pointed me to this article about the new revolution of e-book publishing.  Among other things, it points to how the traditional publishing world is going to have to take a bite of a huge shit sandwich if they don't revise their tactics.  And let's be honest, their tactics (or motives, sympathy, or interests) aren't very often in line with the author.

For example, this article relates to the inequality of the publisher when it comes to royalties and the process of taking advantage of the e-book revolution.

Collin Kelley has been talking about this for quite some time---how the self-publishing revolution has been revving up and getting ready to explode.  Well, it's happening now, and if you don't want to believe it, then you are being willfully ignorant.

I really don't know how I will fit into the self-publishing/ e-book publishing world.  I have a difficult time with doing everything myself when it comes to how I want my work perceived.  I published a collection of my letters to Karl Rove by myself, but I really don't look at that as being serious.  I did okay for a first effort.  I occasionally read a typo or a phrase I would like to revise, but that's okay because I am not looking to make my name on that collection.  However, I am hesitant to really jump in with both feet when it comes to my poetry.  I'm pretty much old-school when it comes to my poetry, stuck in the adage "if it isn't good enough for somebody else to commit time and money for, then it isn't worth publication."  But you know what?  That's my shortcoming, my disability.  It's also very un-American.  I should be willing to put in the time and effort (I am capable) and then be willing to allow the market to make the distinction. of whether my work was worthwhile.

Another one of my doubts from being old-school, is the notion that I want to hold in my hands the real thing. I want to have a real paper, perfect bound record, and I will always prioritize that real book higher than any electronic file contained in an electronic reader.  It isn't just that poetry formatting is in its infancy and takes considerably more work, it's the tactile sensation of a book. But again, that's my problem, and the distinction is shrinking every day in this age.  Soon enough there won't be any of us left, and I have to be okay with that because it's going to happen until publishing is 98% electronic, and 2% print.  I'm sure of it.


2.  I have been asked to join with a group of musicians.  I am supposed to be the lyricist, and my isolation is really a handicap.  I am listening to music on Spotify to help me get in the mood, and I am talking back and forth via Facebook, but I am having quite a challenge translating my writing style into the style required for song lyrics.  I like a challenge, but my biggest fear is to turn out to be a really shitty lyricist and being a lump of dead weight.  I think I need to look up some information on song writing.


3.  My own publication is in a real dry spell.  I have not published a single poem in over a year, if my records are correct.  My chapbook came out earlier this year, but I am having a real devil of a time getting any of my new poems published.  Not a single poem from my latest manuscript has been picked up for publication and I have suddenly become gun shy when it comes to them.  I am terrible at making assumptions.  My biggest one is that with all of the rejections I have had, it is an indication other journals simply won't understand what I am trying to do with my manuscript, and that in order to 'get it' a person needs to see everything together.  That, with the reality of running into so many roadblocks with my last manuscript (huge immediate success with individual poems but not even a second glance at the manuscript as a whole) makes me doubt almost everything I have written in the past four years.  Maybe these book projects are the perfect time to jump into the world of self-publishing.   Maybe . . .

Well, that's what is going on right now.  I hope things are going well with you.  I am still pining for a good old fashioned game of AD&D, and I am crawling ever closer to finishing that second book of Springville.  I will let you know more as the weeks and months pass by.

See you on the flip side.

Credit Where Credit is Due

Tonight I am taking a few minutes to praise one of the unsung heroes of my journey as a poet.  I have often talked about the books I have read, the other poets and writers I have admired, and the teachers in my life, bur I have neglected one area of my past long enough.  That's right.  I am talking about Advanced Dungeons & Dragons.  That's AD&D for those of you who want to pretend to be in the know.

Then

(The only unrealistic aspect of this image is there is clearly a woman playing)

Now

(The only unrealistic aspect of this image is there is clearly a woman playing)

Now, I am being completely serious.  AD&D gets a big portion of the credit for my desire and ability to write poetry.  All through my teen years, while I slogged through the repetition of school and the outsider aspects of living in a rural Utah community, I was able to loose my creativity by way of fantasy and role playing games.  As I look back, I firmly believe it was playing these games which stretched my imagination, giving me the capacity to explore poetry with both determination and curiosity.

I can hear some of you now:  

But you don't write poems about the fantasy world.  In fact, your poetry doesn't really play with language.  How can you say playing a kick-ass game like AD&D helped you become a poet?

Well, I will cite Roger Waters from Pink Floyd.  When he was asked about the band Radiohead as being the intellectual child of Pink Floyd (arguably one of the more experimental rock bands extant) he had the following to say: (I paraphrase)

"I listened to some of their music.  My son gave me some to listen to, and I liked some of it, but there is a point where I turned it off and started listening to my Neil Young."

That's right.  One of the greatest innovators in all of rock history listens to Neil Young.  He was making a point, but the point is well made.  Good music is still good music, regardless of its origin.  With that in mind, I put it to you that any creative endeavor, regardless of its bent, is a positive influence upon creative efforts.  I don't have to study Lang Po or the most adroit creators of intellectual poetry to get better as a poet, and just because I credit fantasy role playing games for my ability to write, it does not mean I must write within those confines.  Think about Ron Silliman.  Ron writes L-A-N-G-U-A-G-E Poetry, but how do you think he is able to critique other genres of poetry?  That's right.  He reads everything he can.  It's the same for me.

* * *

My biggest regret is there are no other AD&D players in my small town. It has been years since I have had a chance to play a decent session of AD&D, and I fear it will be many more years before I can again, if at all.  So Hail, Hail to the Dungeon Master, and all the friends from my youth who helped me then form the creativity and curiosity helpful to my poetry writing now.

Political Dirty Tricks: The Home Version

So, I just got off the phone with a fundraiser working for Mitt Romney. I acted like a senile old man (complete with voice and generational references), flubbed the credit card number, and pretended to have an argument with my elderly wife, Helen---all to waste the GOP's time. I took this fundraiser off the net for at least five full minutes of b.s., and I feel so incredibly happy. Yes. I do this kind of crap whenever I can and it is so much fun!

Becky handed me the phone and I had a few seconds to get myself ready.  Still unsure of how far I would take the whole thing, I decided I would simply try to take the caller for a ride. 

Now, you need to know I have had this call before, and what the Romney campaign does is say you can get a bumper sticker for $3, and then after you press "1" to continue, ask you for $100-$200.  That's where I started.

What follows is the best approximation I can recall as to how our conversation went.  What surprises me most is the desperation of the Romney Campaign to, above all else, hold on to this call in the face of its absurdity. They must really be desperate for the money.

My Conversation with Mitt

The Players:

Fundraiser:  Woman, college educated, mid-late 30's.  

Old Man:  Man, late 70's or early 80's.  Married.  Voice similar to my grandfather's, but without the confidence and swagger he had.  Think of a man on the verge of being diagnosed with the early symptoms of Alzheimer's.

Son:  Belligerent, out of work basement dweller.

__________________________________

Scene:  Late 1970's Ranch Home.  Evening.  The phone rings.  

* * *

Fundraiser:  Can we count on your support for a maximum donation for $1-200?

Me:  You just said the donation was $3.  Why is it $100 now?

FR:  The $3 is to get the bumper sticker.  We . . .

Me: (interrupting) I like bumper stickers.

FR:  That's nice.  We are committed to getting Barack Obama out of the White House. With . . .

Me: (interrupting again)  Good! My grandfather always hated bumper stickers, but I like them.  I have a lot on my car.  I want one.  What do I have to do?

FR: Well, you can give a donation by way of a credit card.  Master Card, Visa . . .

Me:  (interrupting again) I have some of those.  Let me go get my Wallet.  My wife has all of my things.  She takes care of all of the bills.  I have a Discover Card.  Can you use a Discover Card?

FR:  Any card is fine.

I set the phone down to go get my wallet.  I return.  Read off the wrong number (of course) and wait.

FR:  There seems to be a problem with the number.  Can we read back the numbers four at a time to see if there was some mistake?  The first four XXXX.  Is that right?

Me: Yes.

FR:  The second four are XXXX

Me:  I read the right numbers.  I have excellent vision.  I don't know why you'd think I can't read my own card.

FR:  No sir. You don't understand.  I might have made a mistake typing in the numbers and I want to make sure I did my job right.

Me: Oh, Okay.

FR:  The next four numbers are XXXX?

Me: Yes

FR: And the last four numbers are XXXX?

ME: Yes

FR:  And the expiration date is XX/XX?

Me: Yes.

FR: (after a short pause)  The computer is coming back saying that is a bad number.  Do you have one of those other credit cards?  We can use another one.

Me:  That doesn't make sense.  My wife always pays the bills on time.  Let me go get another credit card from my wife.  She keeps all my things.  She takes care of all the books.

(off-line, but with the phone close enough for her to hear)

Helen!  Where's my damned Discover Card?  I've got this lady on the line and she needs . . . Did you forget to pay the bills again?  The other card doesn't work . . .  I need that card . . .  I don't care!  Did you give our credit card to our son again?

At this time, I have to give a nod to my son Kaelan, who, like a brilliant Improv Actor, came out and joined into the fun

Son:  Dad!  Shut up!  Just stop yelling!  I don't have your . . .

Me:  (in the receiver) I am going to have to call you back.  I've got a situation here.

END

* * *

Becky says she is never going to give me the phone again.

By the Numbers

Recently (well, last night) I talked about low acceptance numbers.  I am sitting at an approximate 2.5% acceptance rate for the past 18 months.  However, that's not the number which really bothers me.  I have gone years without a publication, and in the past two years I have seen a full length book and  chapbook come out from Foothills Press.  I am, as far as books go, a very good run of it.

No.  What bothers me is the fact I have not had a single poem from the new manuscript published.  Not one.  Not  a single poems has appeared from the 32 poems I have written for the manuscript, and that is not good at all---under any conditions.  Why?  My usual pattern is to have great success with the individual poems I write but struggle with manuscript acceptances.  Take for example, Sailing This Nameless Ship, my latest complete manuscript to sit in dry dock, so to speak.  37% of the poems in that manuscript were snatched up in a relatively short time.  My acceptance numbers then were phenomenal.  Where has the manuscript gone?  To literally dozens of presses, and far more contests than I care to admit paying for.  What has been the result?  Nothing.  No hyperbole needed.  It has fallen on its face.  I started sending out the manuscript in it's mature form more than two ears ago, and as each day passes, my biggest fear for it becomes one day stronger.

Now take my latest effort, a book of poems written about the history of Springville.  Not an easy sell, but I pulled it off with Town for the Trees---twice.  The big problem is it was difficult as hell to get that book accepted for publication, and that's with nearly every poem in that book having been published prior to being submitted for consideration as a whole.  Here, I have been submitting these poems for more than a year as they get written and the one acceptance I received last year, turned into a rejection when the journal made the decision to focus solely on short fiction.  No "we will still publish your work" or even more than a "sorry for forgetting you for eight months."  My biggest fear is that I will get to the end of this manuscript, which is still 30 poems away from being finished, and have nowhere to shop it around because nobody will have seen any of the poems inside of it.  They won't want it, either, because this time, nobody has wanted any of the individual poems within.  It will represent another two years of my life, working on  very specific manuscript, coming to nothing.

What terrifies me is I think I am getting better as a poet.  If that is true, my getting better, then what is wrong with my writing?  Maybe I need to start drinking.

Stress, in all its splendor

That's right.  I am feeling the crunch of the last days of school.  I've got finals to give, finals to grade, and I have been getting about five times the normal number of phone calls I normally get.  (Just so you know, people at this school know not to call me for the hell of it because in addition to throwing me off my rhythm, it just really pisses me off to have my time wasted.)  I am about to go nuts with all of this stress.

The only thing I can say I have accomplished, is all of my personal books are locked up in my cabinets.  For those of you who don't know how this works, I have way too many books to clutter up my house, so years ago it was decided I would keep all of my poetry, history, and craft books at school, where I am much more likely to actually have a free moment or two to read on occasion.  When I am working on a particular set of poems, I will choose two or three books to make the journey home each night, and then they get returned when I am finished.  Every summer, I pick out a few books to take home with me and the rest get locked away until the new school year.  If I am desperate, I can come down to the school to get into my cabinet.  But mostly, if I want new poetry to read, not having many poetry books around, motivates me to buy new poetry from friends and new discoveries.

On top of all that, my son is graduating, and I am giving the Faculty Commencement Address.  I am still putting the finishing touches on that, which is bothering me.  I should have knocked it out of the park weeks ago, but I am still working on the finer points.

In fact, I am so busy right now, I don't have time to work on this post.  I have to go. 

What I wanted to talk about was . . .

To let you know, I have been taking an active role in minimizing the anger I normally express on my blog.  On several occasions in the past couple of weeks I have held myself back from ranting and raving.  I don't know.  Call it the new me.  I opened this blog with the promise of becoming more gentle, more positive in my posts.  It's just taken a few months for me to finally catch up to that goal.  If you have been along for the ride (and I know there are two or three of you who stop by and read my blog from time to time, you may have noticed some small changes.

Well, today was going to be another one of my rants.  That is until I caught myself.  I had actually carved out time for me to sit at my computer and compose a few well thought out paragraphs and send it out into the world.  I will also tell you I was hoping my rant would reach its intended target.  I was pissed off.  Unfortunately, I was pissed off because of what I was doing, not because of what other people were doing.  Once I realized that, and a few other key ideas, I was able to make the very clear, reasoned decision to simply "let it go."  In its place, you get a little bragging.

Without getting into too much detail I will tell you this:  Once I decided to not write the rant, everything started to unravel.  I simply walked away from a situation that, if I had taken the time to write and publish, would have actually made me even more angry than I originally was.  I would have begun to work myself up into a frenzy and quite possibly created anger on several new levels.  This doesn't mean I won't ever rat again, nor does it mean I have entirely left the Dark Side.  It just means I was able to recognize this particular episode was decidedly not a healthy situation for me to develop.

There ends the lesson. 

Right now

I am teaching Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem, "Ulysses" and this is the song I play when my students struggle to make a connection to the term, hungry heart.  It seems to work fine and some of the kids are surprised to see modern song writing (well, modern in relative terms) taking cues from classic literature.

I just thougt I would share.

* * *

It's the end of the year run to the finish line for me.  I have my Sailing This Nameless Ship manuscript out to a few places, and I am doing some more reading to help me write some of the poems for my latest Springville manuscript.  I am, however, putting all of my writing efforts into creating a speech.  I was recently asked if I would deliver the faculty speech at this year's commencement exercises.  This will mark the second time I will be giving the speech, and I am doing my best to avoid sentimentality and an endless string of pop-psychology advice axioms.  I am still not sure how it's going to work out.  I may have to fall back on cliche if I cannot do something to my liking.

* * *

I had to re-submit my Nevada Arts Council Grant because I had not titled the uploaded documents correctly.  Such is life.  I still maintain this system is easier than mailing everything in with duplicates.  The most difficult part is, strangely enough, signing the verification letter with blue ink.  There never seems to be a blue ink pen around when I need one, and the instructions are immutable.  No red ink, no green ink.  Just blue.  I asked for my panel comments again this year because I am a masochist.  Again: Such is life.

See you all on the flip side.

Wherein the Poet Speaks of Saddles

I have started to send in work again from my latest manuscript.

After having a journal reject my work from that manuscript, after having giving me the distinct impression that it had been accepted was quite a blow.  Before today, the only poems I have had out in the world were some prose poems, which have nothing to do with any of my writing projects.  Just today, I sent out three sets of poems to some journals, and I plan to do a few more before the week is out.

I have to get my once-accepted-now-rejected poems back into circulation, but these poems, from the Springville manuscript are not really the "general" submission type.  The poems in the book are so intimately entwined with each other, it is a real task to prepare a submission packet which demonstrates that relationship and also draws in some sense of general appreciation of poetry.

It used to be I would have a dozen or so poems hanging around and I could simply go by tone when making a packet for consideration.  I would choose half a dozen journals and mass submit those poems.  After, I would create a secondary packet and repeat the process.  Once I had submissions out to perhaps a dozen places, I would wait for the rejections and either send out the same pages to another journal, or create a third, hybrid of the previous packets.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

With my last two full length collections (Sailing This Nameless Ship & the Springville book) I have found it necessary to create a context within the 4-5 poems I am usually allowed to submit.  Try submitting a three part poem which a) uses two longer quotes from a newspaper article and a book, b) details the apostasy of a man from a small Utah Mormon community, c) describes the murder of said apostate, while d) all the while the poem itself attempts to fit within the greater patchwork of poems describing the early struggles of Utah pioneers.  Go ahead.  I will wait for you to figure out which poems I am supposed to submit in the same batch. 

Now I know someone out there is saying, "If the poem is good, it won't matter what it looks like or how it's structured, and it should be able to stand on its own."  No offense, but that's bullshit, and most of you know it.  When you are creating a manuscript you know full well certain poems will not mean anything without other poems which surround it.  It's just the way it works, and this reality is my constant reminder I am not simply creating a space for a group of like-minded poems to reside.  I am creating a manuscript with a deep, thematic base.

So I will be continuing to put the poems I have in as many different combinations as I can possibly think of and sending them out.  What I really need is a group of editors to solicit from me a dozen or so poems.  But then, don't we all?

Artists asking for money

So I got my Nevada Arts Council Grant application off the other day.  This year, we file electronically and mailed in the signature form.  This year's work sample consisted of nine poems and ten pages.  I asked for advice from a wide range of people as to which batch of poems were my strongest (I always create two entirely unique batches of sample work) and the general consensus was I should send in the ones I felt best about.  The thing is I like all of my poems once they pass a certain threshold.  I can't help it.  If I finish a poem, there is an 85% chance I am going to like the poem and will never be able to really see the flaws because I see it as every other poem's equal---whether it be truly worthy or deeply flawed.  I am an idiot when it comes to that sort of thing.  I have long believed the guiding hand of an editor is my best bet and it has always been my misfortune to have never worked with a hands-on editor.

Even with all of the anxiety of choosing the right poems it was a relatively easy process to send in my poems this year.  All we had to do was convert each poem into a .pdf and upload it to the Nevada Arts Council site, where most of our information already was after registering last year.  No multiple copies, no paper-clips, and certainly a speedy process.  Not living in the Reno/Sparks or Las Vegas/Henderson area will cut down my chances of being selected.  Strangely enough, everyone else in the entire state not named Brian Turner (Here, Bullet and Phantom Noises) will have a difficult time getting a grant in literary arts this year.  Brian moved here last year and this is the first year he is eligible to apply under the residency requirements.  That's okay.  If I am not going to be selected, I'd much rather go through the process knowing his work is being recognized.  That's right.  You heard it from me:  If Brian Turner happened to apply for the Nevada Arts Council Grant, you can bet he's going to receive it.  He's quite simply the best poet living in the state of Nevada, and I can say that in all honesty and in true admiration for both him as an acquaintance and a poet.

So why do I apply every year?  I apply every year because I am always becoming a better poet.  Now I am being serious here.  Not everyone becomes a better poet, but I have been getting better as the years go by.  I am learning more and more, and once you get to a certain level, it's about what thrills the panelists most.  Some day it will be my poetry.  The money, if I ever am selected, will be nice, but not nearly as much as being recognized by my peers on that level.

* * *

I have been asked by the graduating class of 2012 to deliver the Faculty Commencement Address, and I accepted, which means I will be shifting my creative energies towards that goal for the next few weeks.  For those of you who are familiar with what happened here a year ago, you know I have a little bit of maneuvering to do.  Navigating loss adds a few twists and turns.  I will certainly let you all know how things are going.  I plan to try and get a first draft started this weekend, in-between some of my other scheduled activities.  I will talk to you all quite soon, I am sure.  I feel the need to be chatty, which has the potential to either be fun or frightening.

Progress (if that's what you want to call it)

Manuscript title Change:  

I am officially on my second manuscript incarnation, and have created the first real title for the manuscript.  It feels good, and I really think it has some staying power.  Yes, I am too superstitious to tell you what that title is right now.  Just know it is no linger "my Springville Book," any longer.

Poem Count:

As of this writing, I have 29 poems in the manuscript, plus two or three hangers-on, which still have a chance to eventually be included, depending on how they do or do not shape up into something better.  This number includes four poems whose primary composition took place in the month of April, the cruelest month.  I estimate I need to write approximately 30 more poems at a minimum before I can call the manuscript as operating at it's optimal fighting weight.  It will be with at least 60 poems when I will see this manuscript as being ready for serious revision (even though it is my habit to begin revision from the very first and continue throughout the drafting process.)

Structure Notes:

The book is back to being composed of three sections, and here I get a little nervous, for I am attempting to write each section with its own distinct voice, while maintaining several threads of continuity.  I should admit here I am much better at envisioning what I want the book to be than I am at actually being able to create it in accordance with what my mind sees.  The first section is constructed primarily in the second person, while sections two and three are rooted in the first person, but only one of those people is my familiar Springville narrator.  The other voice, for section two, is a real person who is not me and is not famous, so there is very little information to go from when constructing his narratives.


Good News:

I am closing in really well on a more contemporary, mature voice for the book's third section. 

I have almost completed the first section.

I actually feel good about the poems I have been writing in the last month or two.


Not so good news:

I still have a ton of work left with the poem about the Springville murder of 1857.

There are so many stories I want to tell but cannot because the only way I see fit to contextualize them is to write too much like my friend and mentor, Dave Lee, and I am afraid I won't be able to figure them out in time.

* * *

Well, there you have it.  It's all the news I feel comfortable about sharing with you regarding my latest poetry manuscript, formerly known as my Springville Book.

I have said this before, but here it is again:  I have another manuscript in my bag, and if any of you are considering a swap for your manuscript-in-progress, send me a note.  I am more than willing to trade with you.

Sidewalk Chalk Poetry

Today, I took my honors English class out to the front of our school and we wrote poems on the sidewalk.  It was a guerrilla art project, in that we only alerted the Principal, the Building Supervisor, and a few key faculty members we were going to do it.  Waiting until after everyone had settled into class, we snuck (sneaked) out with our poems and chalk, spending the remainder of the class period writing poems on the sidewalk.

What impressed me most was the wide range of work my students chose to copy out.  A week ago, I pulled a bunch of my poetry books off my shelf and let my students explore them, looking for poems which caught them off guard or made them think.  Here is a partial list of the poets they chose:

William Blake
Edgar Allan Poe
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Robert Frost
2Pac
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Linda Pastan
Etheridge KnightDylan Thomas
Pablo Neruda
W.S. Merwin


Kelli Russel Agodon
Charles Jensen
Peter Pereira
Kathleen Kirk
Steven Schroeder



See those names at the end, there?  Who says contemporary poetry is dead? 

The kids had fun and I had a blast watching them work around each other, doing their best to work next to each other and modify their writing to circumnavigate the cracks in the sidewalks.  Some students chose multiple poems and others worked on single, long passages, and everyone helped everyone else.  After we had filled out all of the available space, we went back and drew lots of little pictures to go with the poems and then invited the office staff and other 'free' faculty members to come out and take a look at what we had done.  At the appointed hour, the students left for the day and were met with dozens of poems and fragments of poems, courtesy of the WWHS English III/IV Honors Class.

Winding Down

I have been doing very little poetry writing this month.  A few poems here and there, which translates to abouyt two or three I want to use in my latest manuscript. 

What have I been doing? 

A whole lot of missing school and trying to catch up.  I have also been reading a lot of submissions for Hobble Creek Review.  I have had a lot more this issue than in the past, but I think I will still have about the same size issue to give you all when everything is finished.

I am still trying to get myself away from the specifics of my Springville manuscript.  It's hurting my creativity too much being so pointed with my writing.  I need to have the freedom to write what I want to write and not worry about whether it fits into the manuscript.  Instead, everything I start to write ends up being pointed right at the book.  Worse still, I know which section the poem is supposed to be in and I almost immediately know exactly where it is supposed to go.  Some people might make the claim I am simply channeling, much like Blake, but I don't buy it.  I m not a mystic poet, nor do I think I have the ability to channel anything without a remote control in my hand.

I am having so much trouble with my manuscript, I am thinking of hiring out an editor to look at what  have and reign me in or kick me in the backside---whatever is needed.

* * *

 

This is the visual representation of my poetry life this month.

Random Thoughts (redux)

Right now I am sitting in my classroom as part of an "Open House" for parents, wherein it is likely no parents will show up (at least to my classroom).  I am listening to John Lee Hooker and behind me, the sun is setting and the magic hour is about to begin.  All hail John Lee Hooker and his guitar, his ability to escape the 12 bar blues format, and that incredible voice.

This is National Poetry Month and this is the least poetic I have felt in a long time.  I am stuck, you see.  I am stuck on a few poems for my Springville manuscript, and I just can't get them into the right context.  I have resorted to doing about 7x the research I normally do for such a poem of this kind and I still can't find a way to talk about it.  I have the first section down, but I cannot divorce myself from the story enough or something.  I want to incorporate real words written by people who were there, making it into a hybrid of found poem and original composition, but I still need to write the poem part of the poem so I know where to insert the text.  I have talked about this before.  Somewhere in this is my belief I am not a good enough poet to write the poem which deserves to be written, but at the same time I am of the opinion I am the person meant to write the poem.  Does that mean it's a waiting game?  Maybe.  What I do know is I cannot seem to write other poems right now because of this poem and the others which will not allow themselves to be written.

Six months ago, Burnt Bridge accepted four of my poems for their "upcoming issue," but now I read they no longer accept unsolicited poems.  I have tried to find some other way of contacting them by looking up the editors and searching all of their pages, but I cannot locate an e-mail.  I am wondering if they are in fact going to use my poems or if I have been cast into purgatory.  If you happen to know how to get hold of them, please contact me via FB.  I would appreciate it.

A few posts ago I mentioned I m a little peeved at the poetry community.  I am still a bit upset, but I have decided it is mostly my own fault for putting too much faith in others rather than any specific act committed.  Usually that is where I end up, knowing I was too naive, too optimistic.  I am not letting anyone off the hook, but I am coming around to the idea I can't do anything about all of the bullshit, and I may as well just move on.  This poem really sums up how I feel about the poetry community right now:

Hey, by the way, I have a lot of copies of my book, Friday in the Republic of Me, so if any of you are interested in buying a copy, just let me know, either here or on FB, and I will tell you how you can buy a signed copy.  It's $11, shipping included, and I will sign it in green ink, anyway you want.   The book is a mix of humorous and serious political poems.  As George Bernard Shaw once said, "If you are going to tell people the truth, you had better make them laugh."  If you don't want a copy of my book, I have to wonder what your problem is, really.  Seriously.  What is your major malfunction?  This book has some incredibly good poems in it, not to mention one kick-ass title and cover image.  What are you waiting for?

Well, that's about it.  I'm about all randomed out for now.  Go do some fun poetry shit and don't stay out too late.

Impromptu Poem

Dusk

1.

Bone white ash,
scent of rain, evening lilac.

Ribbons of wind
confusing the landscape,

kicking up dust
for a hundred year storm.


2.

Silence troubling the air.
Nothing new,

nothing learned or gained
throughout the night.

Everything has turned
from white to black.

.

Random. Stray. Thoughts.

1.  As most of you know I m a teacher in a small town.  Not only that, but the town in which I teach is too small for a Wal-Mart.  The closest Wal-Mart is 120 miles away.  The town where I teach is a border town.  The town where I teach is a casino town.

When my students proclaim they are going to go out and conquer the world, just as in any school, all of the teachers know approximately 85-90% of them are going to do no such thing.  All teachers know a few essential truths, and unfortunately one of those truths is most of our students are going to lead very ordinary lives, regardless of their claims.  So what's the big deal?  In my town, an ordinary life means working at one of the casinos once you are old enough to do one of the following: work in one of the restaurants/buffets, deal blackjack, be a cocktail waitress, or house-keeping.

Occasionally we have students who simply do not make it to graduation before the outside world beckons to them.  Nevada has one of the worst graduation rates in the nation, and living in a town of itinerant (relatively speaking) workers, does not make the community's efforts of establishing a sense of value in education any easier.  A class of approximately 90-100 students will come to my school in the 7th grade, and by the time they are seniors we will have about 50-55 left who are on track to graduate.  That's what we are looking at this year.  If we are lucky, we will have about 55 students graduate.

Of those 55, I'd say 15-20 are going to be going straight to college.  This number includes vocational and technical schools.  The rest?  Most of the rest will settle into their lives right here in town.  Most already have jobs, and quite a few of them have already been working full time.  It's a matter of economics.

So where is all this talk leading?  Well, I will tell you.  There is an unspoken contract between teachers and former students who have dropped out or have failed to make good on their promise to conquer the world in a small town such as mine.  The teachers forget all about the heartache and frustration those students caused us, and they forget about all of our nagging and tirades.  It's part of the contract.  When a former student checks me at the buffet or at the grocery store, I thank him or her with a genuine thank-you.  They are in the so-called 'real world' now, and they are providing me a service.  It's part of the contract.  When they come to me and ask for advice about getting back into school, I give them honest advice hoping they are actually going to listen this time, even though I know the chances are minuscule at best.  They mollify me by pretending to listen,putting on their best listening act.  It's all part and parcel of the contract.

Right about now, Spring Break, I am once again gearing up for the latest round of how things work in my town.



2.  I just bought three books of poetry from The King's English Bookstore earlier today.  All of the books I bought were by authors with a Utah connection.

a.  Jacqueline Osherow's Whitethorn

b.  Danielle Cadena Deulen's Lovely Asunder

c.  Kimberly Johnson's a metaphorical god


I will try to review all three eventually, but I wanted to introduce them anyways.  I have heard of Osherow and I have heard about a metaphorical god, but Lovely Asunder is a new one for me.

I also bought Helen Losse's book, Mansion of Memory, and I am certain it's going to be a good read.  I will let you know about that, too.



3.  I am not going to be participating in Kelly Russell Agodon's Big Poetry Give Away.  I am not feeling it this year, and I would rather not get in the middle of all of that. Last year I had books which went unclaimed and books returned to me because no such address existed.  Is it really that hard to follow through when you sign up to get a free book?  I will not be entering my name, either, because it wouldn't be right for me to do that when I am not going to be giving anything away.

I am feeling a little selfish right now, and that has something to do with it.  I am struggling to get back into the swing of writing my latest manuscript, and I need to spend time writing it rather than doing a lot of worrying about National Poetry Month.  That means I probably won't be trying to do NaPoWriMo, either.  I don't mean I won't be writing poems.  I just mean I won't be taking the daily challenge.

I am also trying to figure out how to better market my latest chapbook, Friday in the Republic of Me.  And yes, I understand the irony of saying this mere seconds after I stated I will not be giving away a copy of the book this coming month.  Again, I am in a weird mood, and I am a little more than on edge about the poetry community right now.  Having said that, I will let your imaginations go to work, because I am not elaborating any further.



coda

Today officially kicks off our Spring Break.  I don't know what that means for my blog.  I might get really hyper and post at every available moment, but I doubt it---that's what I have Facebook for these days.  However, I may still post a few times just to see what happens.

Book Review: Eduardo Corral's Slow Lightning

This review is more high praise than anything else.  I have said it before, but I refuse to waste my energy writing bad reviews.  I prefer to write reviews where I can heap on praise and admiration.  Here is yet another example.  I am certain this review will not influence many people to go buy the book.  In my own way of thinking, Slow Lightning by Eduardo Corral is probably the most anticipated book of poetry in the past several years, and rightly so.  We have all witnessed what talent and integrity amount to in the publication of this book, and that is just the way it is.  However, if you are on the fence about this book, know now I have nothing bad to say about it.  It is about as perfect a book can be, and in my humble estimation the very reason why the Yale Series of Younger Poet may still call itself relevant.

 * * *

Slow Lightning

Eduardo C. Corral

76 pp.,  Yale University Press

forward by Carl Phillips

ISBN: 978-0-300-17893-7

$18.00

I am probably the quintessential fool for telling any of you about how wonderful Eduardo Corral’s poetry is.  After all, most any of you who are reading this review have known this for years, and we have all been anticipating this book for quite some time.  However, I am going to put effort into something which should need no effort:  Convince you to buy Eduardo’s book, Slow Lightning.  Before starting, I must say my knowledge of Eduardo the poet is far greater than my knowledge of Eduardo’s poetry.  Prior to reading this book, I had only seen a handful of his poems in various on-line journals.  In this telling I can assure you there is something synergistic about reading his book as opposed to reading one or two poems catch-as-catch-can.

My first look at Slow Lightning was sporadic.  I usually thumb through a book before I start reading it seriously.  It gives me a sense of what I am going to be able to expect.  I stopped on occasion, read a poem or two, and then would look at how individual poems are structured.  Normally this gives me a good sense, like I said before, but with Corral’s book, it was no preparation at all.  Oh, I knew his poems were going to slip between English and Spanish, and I knew some poems for formatting were printed on their sides, but those things, if you will allow, are cosmetic.  Important in the final analysis, yes, but cosmetic.  What I am talking about here is language.  I am talking about Corral’s ability to be expansive and terse; formal and informal; elegiac and joyous. 

I wish I could avoid talking about contradictions in this quasi-review.  I wish I could give you a straightforward analysis of the poems and structure of the book, but my saying expansive and terse, elegiac an joyous are only a beginning at best.  I hesitate to say something superficial such as confessional, but these poems are so intimate and personal I find it difficult to ignore their immense presence as I think back on them.  Corral finds the most apt places in his poems to divulge this information, and much of what he reveals is hidden in the context of narration, which belies its significance until you are right on top of it.  By then it is too late.  You can do nothing to prepare yourself and you cannot deflect any of the impact.

On the other end of the spectrum is Corral’s ability to create grand moments of language.  He directly references Frida Kahlo in the title of one poem, but it is in another I see what I take to be connective tissue between Kahlo and Corral’s work.  In the closing lines of “Temple in a Teapot (aqui esta el detalle)” I found this:

Canaries flit from branch to branch in a pear tree

wing bones knitting the blood inside their bodies

into ruby handkerchiefs in the breast pockets

of the handsome men who shoulder her coffin

Corral is not referring directly to Kahlo, but I feel a transcendence of sorts, a transference from the woman in his poem to Frida Kahlo.  I would at least like to believe these lines have some otherworldly connection to the paintings of Kahlo and perhaps, Diego Rivera.

Slow Lightning tells stories, offers powerful imagery, and is supremely confident in its construction and tone.  Part of that must be due to Corral having lived with the manuscript so long, but as far as first books go, there is a maturity which goes far beyond time.  Every page and poem is evidence; each makes the reader more aware of why this book was selected for the Yale Series of Younger Poets.  Looking back, now having read the book in its entirety, I not only see a book worthy of reading again, I also see the announcement of a new voice to be reckoned with within the poetry community.  Having known Eduardo Corral as a poet and now knowing his poetry on a much better level, I look forward to more of that voice with great anticipation.

Book Review: Paisley Rekdal's Animal Eye

Animal Eye

Paisley Rekdal

86 pp., University of Pittsburgh Press

ISBN: 978-00-8229-6179-6

$15.95

This is the first book I have purchased written by Paisley Rekdal, but I can assure you it won’t be the last.  From the beautiful, startling first line of the first poem, “Why Some Girls Love Horses,” through the dizzying splendor that is contained in the long poems “Wax” and “Easter in Lisbon,” I have been captivated by the sheer confidence and energy of Animal Eye, and I want more.  Set partially in the context of questions, Rekdal moves quietly along to satisfy her own curiosity while sparking that of the reader. Coming along for the ride is her wonderfully unique phrasing and diction, which is a pleasure all on its own.

My initial reaction to this book is to its immensity, its dense language, how each poem asks the reader to immediately go deeper than one might imagine or think necessary.  For example, in the poem “Nightingale,” Rekdal wastes no time in setting the scene.   There is a boy at a window at night waiting for a bird and the next moment we are waiting with the boy as the poet makes allusions to Odysseus.  That isn’t to say Rekdal ignores the precise and new image in favor of transporting the reader.  Read how she describes the bird, folding the specific imagery into the poem as a whole:

        I can sense its gold eye,

the throat encrusted with glass.

I can hear the water slapping

the white sides of the shore.

In other places Rekdal employs, as the title of the book suggests, animals (and specifically the eyes and how they might see the world).  However, she is mindful not to belabor the point, only using the imagery when it is best.  For example, in the poem “Voyeurs,” which discusses a thoroughbred, I cannot help but see the large black, glassy eye of a horse, though no such image is used in the poem.  It is as if Rekdal knows what we will see on our own and knows when she does not need to take us directly to an image.

Travel is obviously part of Rekdal’s vocabulary as a poet.  Two of the poems, those mentioned above, constitute entire sections of the book, and while they are not by any means traditional narratives, the reader should immediately sense important stories (and questions) are being shared.  The poem “Wax” begins in ekfrasis, a reaction/discussion of the wax figure of Jean-Paul Marat created by Madam Toussad just after his assassination, but according to Rekdal’s formula, the poem quickly moves into a much deeper contemplation while still holding to the narrative as a guide for the reader. 

For too many reasons to mention, my favorite poem in this book is “The Orchard.”  I admire most everything about it.  It is about family, it is about honesty, it is about the culture clash evident between the generations, and it is about memory.

                                      My grandfather was good,

I remember, at fixing bicycles and shelves,

he could replace a car clutch and once

devoted an entire basement wall to a series

of aquaria he’d built himself and stocked.

None of these interests did he pass on to his children.

He sat instead quietly through dinner,

fingering his dish of salt plums, slipping each

from its waxed wrapper to suck the meat to a pulp

full of the brined tart juice of summer.

Coming away from these poems, this book, I am pleased there is more than enough reason to return again.  One reading is certainly not enough to fathom the wonderful depth here, and I would put it to you to commit yourself to knowing this before you start.  These poems will demand of you something more than a lot of what is newly available in the poetry world.  Still, you should not fear that commitment because Animal Eyes will welcome you, treat you as a worthy participant in the genuine curiosity and wonder expressed here.  The real question will be which, if any answers you come to, and if in turn you are willing to share.  You should get a copy of this marvelous book and see for yourself.