It's a song. No, it's a stone. Well actually, it's a river.
The fact is I am writing again, though I have gone a few days without drafting anything, but I wanted to get into the discussion as of late about Erika Meitner's journal post here and which has been touted around the bloggy blogosphere and Facebook. If you haven't read it, it's all about what she learned while reading manuscripts, screening the first round of a contest and forwarding the best to the next level. Meitner talks about the various 'types' of manuscripts which seem to be in vogue and the hundreds of manuscripts she was happy (I think she at least implied she was happy) to read through as part of this gig.
The problem is I wasn't as wowed as everyone else seems to be at reading this article. In fact, I really hated it. Now before you go there, let me tell you I did not hate it because of anything Meitner said, or even how she said it. I hated it because I am already terrified enough as it is over the prospect of poetry contests without knowing what goes through a screen-er sees. I really have no use for knowing that all of my efforts in trying to put together a manuscript have been reduced to one of seven stereotypical classes of poetry manuscript "kinds." Getting away from the Creation theories for a moment, I already know there is nothing new under the sun. I just don't want to be reminded of it as I am trying to feel good about what I am doing as a poet. The truth is, as I pointed out with the whole BlazeVOX ruffle, it's right there on the shelf among laws and sausage: I don't want to see how poetry manuscripts are made. I think there should have been some kind of spoiler alert because what I thought was going to be a discussion of how better to order my manuscripts really became a discussion of how unimaginative I have been with my latest manuscript, and after reading the article I genuinely felt like I should do all of the following:
1. Delete any file with any association with my second manuscript (which would now include deleting this blog post).
2. Bury or burn every scrap of paper which is testament to my manuscript's existence.
3. Walk away and never speak of said manuscript ever again.
I also have to say this. Of all the people I saw praising the article, all have thus far been women. Now before you go there again, let me say I bought Erika Meitner's book, Makeshift Instructions for Vigilant Girls, and I am enjoying it. She is one helluva poet and my making the comment about those who praise her article has nothing to do with misogyny. Meitner is a far better poet than I will ever be and I have no problem saying that. What I am getting to is that Meitner has probably revealed something women poets think of as an essential key to the process of understanding contests and has said it in a way women poets can identify with more readily than male poets. There is also the distinct possibility that I am simply a jackass for thinking and/or saying it out loud.
However, the truth still remains---my truth. I don't like it when I see my efforts minimized to a trite classification, even if it is done to survive reading several hundred manuscripts in a short span of time. Does Erika Meitner owe me an apology? No. In fact, Hell no! I do not take offense in what she says or how she said it. Remember? My hang-ups are my own. I simply felt so strongly in the negative, I had to tell someone, anyone, I do not like it. Now you can go there if you want.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
The ice is breaking
I've been doing pretty well for the past three days. Jeannine has just posted about the November Doldrums, and I must admit I was going through some pretty rough moments for the past month or so, but I have begun to write again and all seems okay in the world. I have gone a long time without writing before, but late September and into October I was rally beginning to question the source of my block, because instead of lacking the words or being frustrated at every attempt, I simply was not burdened with even the slightest desire to write for almost this entire year.
There were a few drips and drabs, as I have mentioned, but really no inspiration, no truly creative ideas. That stopped two days ago, when I wrote something for Robert Brewer's November Poem-a-Day challenge. I wrote a poem to meet the prompt, and then I fooled around with a few fragments. Yesterday, I wrote three drafts and a few fragments! This morning, I just finished a draft in response to today's prompt. What is exciting is not the drafts themselves---most will need a lot of work to even be passable---but rather the fact I have ideas to write again. I am being inspired to write and that makes me happy om so many levels.
So, what shook my brain loose? What started the flood? I really don't know. Something inside me simply clicked with what I have been reading and the anxiety left, being replaced with the urge to write as well as ideas to put into action. I really think I've still got a few bumps and bruises to go through int he next few weeks, but right now I am just so thrilled I am writing again. Even if the poems stop coming, for now, these past few days will have been a reminder inspiration is here inside me, waiting to get out.
There were a few drips and drabs, as I have mentioned, but really no inspiration, no truly creative ideas. That stopped two days ago, when I wrote something for Robert Brewer's November Poem-a-Day challenge. I wrote a poem to meet the prompt, and then I fooled around with a few fragments. Yesterday, I wrote three drafts and a few fragments! This morning, I just finished a draft in response to today's prompt. What is exciting is not the drafts themselves---most will need a lot of work to even be passable---but rather the fact I have ideas to write again. I am being inspired to write and that makes me happy om so many levels.
So, what shook my brain loose? What started the flood? I really don't know. Something inside me simply clicked with what I have been reading and the anxiety left, being replaced with the urge to write as well as ideas to put into action. I really think I've still got a few bumps and bruises to go through int he next few weeks, but right now I am just so thrilled I am writing again. Even if the poems stop coming, for now, these past few days will have been a reminder inspiration is here inside me, waiting to get out.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sustineri Ira: More thoughts on Hunter S. Thompson
Reading some old Hunter S. Thompson, I am struck by his ability to sustain his anger and loathing for a thing to the Nth degree, until both he and the reader have reached their logical conclusion. In short, the evil we see in the world, after everything has been said and finally tallied, remains us. We are the evil. The world is fine, and most people in the world would be fine if we could just mind our own fucking business.
Thompson, I believe, wanted to believe in a world conceived by John Locke, a world where the natural state of man is goodhearted and without malice. What tore up Thompson was the idea the whole world may have wanted to have the freedoms which Locke described, but played the game as if Thomas Hobbes' ideas of absolute rule was the means by which you take control and achieve said Locke like freedoms. Look at everything Hunter Thompson wrote. See how he injected himself in the story, felt obliged to never shy away from truth, even as he created a fiction for the reader to enjoy.
Some might say Thompson suffered from hyperbole, that he exaggerated and told outright lies in order to create shock and dismay among the readers. I say he was simply trying to express his dismay, his inability to find the same raving lunatics everywhere he went. as early as high school he was speaking of the doomed, highlighting the difference between those who were on the winning side of the social order and the rest of us, the doomed. Think Lenny Bruce. Think George Carlin. I believe the world chewed up Hunter Thompson and shit him out like it does with all of us, but he just wasn't as willing to brush himself off and get back in line like so many of us are. He had probably had enough in his childhood and did what most of us want to do: He found a way to live and work outside the system. Not out of any innate desire to fuck it up for the rest of us, but merely out of a desire to maintain some level of sanity.
Drugs? Violence? Insanity? These weren't a cover or a mask, they were a method of knowing when something wasn't quite kosher. If he encountered something which seemed level and he was stoned, something was wrong. If something sounded too good to be true and he was straight, then something was amiss. I think his so-called persona was a means of possessing a traveling, deeply personal touchstone. With his work as a writer objectivity became useless because there is no objectivity in the world he traveled.
* * *
My love of Hunter Thompson runs deep.
For me, you have to go back to my last year of high school. I found (I can't remember where---probably at some yard sale) a ratted copy of Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, '72 and it was a lightning rod for me. I had no idea I was such a political junkie, but there it was. I was hooked. I was a debate club/drama club geek and everything else in school meant very little compared to those activities, but with that book came a flood of consciousness. I was only seventeen, but I already knew something was going on with the way Thompson described what was happening. Suddenly I was writing an underground paper, making fun of everyone from Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell, Jim Bakker, and the evangelical right, all the way to Moamar Ghaddafi. It was liberating. Suddenly I was one of the kids with something to say. I took on debate with a vengeance, going balls to the wall in Lincoln-Douglass Debate and ripping everyone else a new asshole in Team Policy Debate.
I was just fooling around with poetry back then. I had no idea it was going to be what I would come to focus on, but I fell in love with writing and pointing out the absurdities of the world at large. I had no idea it was going to be anything, nor did I ever really care if it took me anywhere. I was having fun, and when you are having fun, then, as Hunter might have said, the screwheads could just go fuck themselves.
It really was that simple. When I got into college I took to my writing classes like a vengeance. I knew I was not going to be a journalist, but I still pimped myself out to the college editorial board and hung out with all of the staff writers, though i never became one of them. I was too busy bullshitting my way through the meetings and having too much fun messing with the minds of naive Utah college students to really be a part of that. Remember, I had been in the army by this time. I had seen the world outside the borders of Mormondom, and I was there to light a fire beneath some asses. Eventually though, I had to make a choice, well several really, and I chose to go a different way. Why would I follow Hunter Thompson. He had already stomped the terra firma far better than I could, and to mimic his style for a few essays was one thing (as this is a faint shadow of his style) but if I was going to be myself, I needed to take what I learned from Hunter, not simply try to keep up with him.
I decided to take that edge he gave me and apply it to the classroom. As a teacher I try to keep my students guessing just a little bit. Is this old, fat, balding man going to go completely nuts by the end of the hour or is he going to be able to hold it together? It may not be Gonzo journalism, but it's about the closest thing to Gonzo teaching out there by a long shot. "When the going gets weird, the weird turn professional," and that's what I am. I'm a professional.
Thompson, I believe, wanted to believe in a world conceived by John Locke, a world where the natural state of man is goodhearted and without malice. What tore up Thompson was the idea the whole world may have wanted to have the freedoms which Locke described, but played the game as if Thomas Hobbes' ideas of absolute rule was the means by which you take control and achieve said Locke like freedoms. Look at everything Hunter Thompson wrote. See how he injected himself in the story, felt obliged to never shy away from truth, even as he created a fiction for the reader to enjoy.
Some might say Thompson suffered from hyperbole, that he exaggerated and told outright lies in order to create shock and dismay among the readers. I say he was simply trying to express his dismay, his inability to find the same raving lunatics everywhere he went. as early as high school he was speaking of the doomed, highlighting the difference between those who were on the winning side of the social order and the rest of us, the doomed. Think Lenny Bruce. Think George Carlin. I believe the world chewed up Hunter Thompson and shit him out like it does with all of us, but he just wasn't as willing to brush himself off and get back in line like so many of us are. He had probably had enough in his childhood and did what most of us want to do: He found a way to live and work outside the system. Not out of any innate desire to fuck it up for the rest of us, but merely out of a desire to maintain some level of sanity.
Drugs? Violence? Insanity? These weren't a cover or a mask, they were a method of knowing when something wasn't quite kosher. If he encountered something which seemed level and he was stoned, something was wrong. If something sounded too good to be true and he was straight, then something was amiss. I think his so-called persona was a means of possessing a traveling, deeply personal touchstone. With his work as a writer objectivity became useless because there is no objectivity in the world he traveled.
* * *
My love of Hunter Thompson runs deep.
For me, you have to go back to my last year of high school. I found (I can't remember where---probably at some yard sale) a ratted copy of Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, '72 and it was a lightning rod for me. I had no idea I was such a political junkie, but there it was. I was hooked. I was a debate club/drama club geek and everything else in school meant very little compared to those activities, but with that book came a flood of consciousness. I was only seventeen, but I already knew something was going on with the way Thompson described what was happening. Suddenly I was writing an underground paper, making fun of everyone from Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell, Jim Bakker, and the evangelical right, all the way to Moamar Ghaddafi. It was liberating. Suddenly I was one of the kids with something to say. I took on debate with a vengeance, going balls to the wall in Lincoln-Douglass Debate and ripping everyone else a new asshole in Team Policy Debate.
I was just fooling around with poetry back then. I had no idea it was going to be what I would come to focus on, but I fell in love with writing and pointing out the absurdities of the world at large. I had no idea it was going to be anything, nor did I ever really care if it took me anywhere. I was having fun, and when you are having fun, then, as Hunter might have said, the screwheads could just go fuck themselves.
It really was that simple. When I got into college I took to my writing classes like a vengeance. I knew I was not going to be a journalist, but I still pimped myself out to the college editorial board and hung out with all of the staff writers, though i never became one of them. I was too busy bullshitting my way through the meetings and having too much fun messing with the minds of naive Utah college students to really be a part of that. Remember, I had been in the army by this time. I had seen the world outside the borders of Mormondom, and I was there to light a fire beneath some asses. Eventually though, I had to make a choice, well several really, and I chose to go a different way. Why would I follow Hunter Thompson. He had already stomped the terra firma far better than I could, and to mimic his style for a few essays was one thing (as this is a faint shadow of his style) but if I was going to be myself, I needed to take what I learned from Hunter, not simply try to keep up with him.
I decided to take that edge he gave me and apply it to the classroom. As a teacher I try to keep my students guessing just a little bit. Is this old, fat, balding man going to go completely nuts by the end of the hour or is he going to be able to hold it together? It may not be Gonzo journalism, but it's about the closest thing to Gonzo teaching out there by a long shot. "When the going gets weird, the weird turn professional," and that's what I am. I'm a professional.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Gone Gone Gone
I have just deleted my old blog, though I suspect that is entirely impossible with the world of the Internets. It is something I will probably regret doing, but I am getting used to that these past months.
The real question is if anyone will notice. As it is, I have hardly any readership on this blog and I suppose I deserve that, seeing how dark I have become without regularly writing poems over the course of this year.
The real issue for me is that I always seem to be chastised for the things I want. I wanted to write a book of poems completely unlike anything else I have written and I can't for the life of me find anyone to give it more than a glance, leading me to believe I have given birth to a world-class turd of a manuscript. I wanted to write another book on my home town, more comprehensive and with deference to its people and history and for my hubris have been met with a 10 month writer's block.
“No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well...maybe chalk it off to forced conscious expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
The real question is if anyone will notice. As it is, I have hardly any readership on this blog and I suppose I deserve that, seeing how dark I have become without regularly writing poems over the course of this year.
The real issue for me is that I always seem to be chastised for the things I want. I wanted to write a book of poems completely unlike anything else I have written and I can't for the life of me find anyone to give it more than a glance, leading me to believe I have given birth to a world-class turd of a manuscript. I wanted to write another book on my home town, more comprehensive and with deference to its people and history and for my hubris have been met with a 10 month writer's block.
“No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well...maybe chalk it off to forced conscious expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Too much work
One of the things I seem to rebelling about in this world of poetry is how there is always something I seem to be forgetting. No matter how much I do, how much I seem to get through and over with, I always find something I am not doing. Maybe what I am feeling right now is an overload and instead of concentrating on the fact I am not doing much writing, perhaps try to see if there is any energy I am diverting away from writing which is going to the unnecessary.
I joined Good Reads, but i don't know how it all works, and how I am supposed to keep up with what's on my shelf, what I am reading now, which books I need to go through and rate, making friends like on Facebook, and uploading book covers. Recently I stumbled back into Good Reads and noticed one of my books was credited as having been written by someone else entirely. I had to plead ignorance and have a friend fix it for me. Apparently I'm a nobody over at Good Reads because I don't have editor status. Other friends have graciously added book photos and informed me of good feedback, but I am simply lost.
I joined Facebook and I love learning about new presses and 'friending' them. After, I research them and decide if I am going to submit to them. I like thinking I am gathering this information because I will gladly pass it on to anyone who is asking for a direction to go. But that's only the start of it. I enjoy being a part of the writer community on FB, and some of my on-line writer friends and I share more than 100 common friends. Wow! How could you not like networking like that? But wait, there's more! I also have an "author page" and a page for my press, Hobble Creek Review, which adds a whole new dimension to this creative life of mine.
I also have a page on Google +. Is that awesome or what? No, I'm serious. Is it awesome, or am I the butt of some horrible practical joke? Google+ seems to be a bridge too far for me. I an't tell you how many requests I get for Linkedn (I think I have half a profile thee, but I must admit I would rather poke a hot needle in my eye than ever go back), and of course there's Twitter. Next week, we will be all feeling the pressure to join in on Conference Call, the new app that lets you talk to as many friends as you can at once.
It really gets to be too much. How many people have 'liked' my pages? How many people are talking about my pages? How many virgins have been sacrificed to my Facebook image in hopes of a better harvest?
I am also tired of reading about the big C&C: Craft and Criticism. I have talked about being snow blind, and I am in the middle of that right now. I cannot sit down and really enjoy reading right now. There are a few poets I can read no matter what, but for the most part, the new books I have purchased (both books of poetry and books on theory/criticism) have yielded me nothing. Dean Young's Fall Higher and Collin Kelley's Slow to Burn seem to be the exceptions. Most everything else in poetry I can read and see an intellectual aesthetic, but nothing is punching me in the gut. As for criticism, I am simply unable to comprehend what I am reading. I honestly cannot follow what is being said. What's more, I know on some level, and for some portion, the fault lies with me, not the poets.
And then there is all of the competition between poets. We keep saying we want to be a community and we want to support each other, but what do we do instead? We submit in secret. We hide submission calls to new journals and anthologies, pray our poet friends don't find out about that new book contest from the new press we found by way of "insider information." I know I have been guilty to some extent, keeping secret the places I submit my book manuscripts to, and after all, some secrecy is alright. I mean, I did all the work. I researched and I figured out which presses were a good fit, and I should benefit from that. But is that all there is to it? rarely do I ever see anyone talk about an anthology's submission call. More times than not I read about somebody getting accepted or receiving their contributor copy. The fact is I believe it is too much work to be a poet with everything I have to learn, creating a total world profile, and simply learning my craft, to have to still put up with the competition other poets throw in my face.
It is simply all too much work for me, and I keep coming back to the idea of just giving some of it or all of it up for the solitude of what I had five or six years ago.
I joined Good Reads, but i don't know how it all works, and how I am supposed to keep up with what's on my shelf, what I am reading now, which books I need to go through and rate, making friends like on Facebook, and uploading book covers. Recently I stumbled back into Good Reads and noticed one of my books was credited as having been written by someone else entirely. I had to plead ignorance and have a friend fix it for me. Apparently I'm a nobody over at Good Reads because I don't have editor status. Other friends have graciously added book photos and informed me of good feedback, but I am simply lost.
I joined Facebook and I love learning about new presses and 'friending' them. After, I research them and decide if I am going to submit to them. I like thinking I am gathering this information because I will gladly pass it on to anyone who is asking for a direction to go. But that's only the start of it. I enjoy being a part of the writer community on FB, and some of my on-line writer friends and I share more than 100 common friends. Wow! How could you not like networking like that? But wait, there's more! I also have an "author page" and a page for my press, Hobble Creek Review, which adds a whole new dimension to this creative life of mine.
I also have a page on Google +. Is that awesome or what? No, I'm serious. Is it awesome, or am I the butt of some horrible practical joke? Google+ seems to be a bridge too far for me. I an't tell you how many requests I get for Linkedn (I think I have half a profile thee, but I must admit I would rather poke a hot needle in my eye than ever go back), and of course there's Twitter. Next week, we will be all feeling the pressure to join in on Conference Call, the new app that lets you talk to as many friends as you can at once.
It really gets to be too much. How many people have 'liked' my pages? How many people are talking about my pages? How many virgins have been sacrificed to my Facebook image in hopes of a better harvest?
I am also tired of reading about the big C&C: Craft and Criticism. I have talked about being snow blind, and I am in the middle of that right now. I cannot sit down and really enjoy reading right now. There are a few poets I can read no matter what, but for the most part, the new books I have purchased (both books of poetry and books on theory/criticism) have yielded me nothing. Dean Young's Fall Higher and Collin Kelley's Slow to Burn seem to be the exceptions. Most everything else in poetry I can read and see an intellectual aesthetic, but nothing is punching me in the gut. As for criticism, I am simply unable to comprehend what I am reading. I honestly cannot follow what is being said. What's more, I know on some level, and for some portion, the fault lies with me, not the poets.
And then there is all of the competition between poets. We keep saying we want to be a community and we want to support each other, but what do we do instead? We submit in secret. We hide submission calls to new journals and anthologies, pray our poet friends don't find out about that new book contest from the new press we found by way of "insider information." I know I have been guilty to some extent, keeping secret the places I submit my book manuscripts to, and after all, some secrecy is alright. I mean, I did all the work. I researched and I figured out which presses were a good fit, and I should benefit from that. But is that all there is to it? rarely do I ever see anyone talk about an anthology's submission call. More times than not I read about somebody getting accepted or receiving their contributor copy. The fact is I believe it is too much work to be a poet with everything I have to learn, creating a total world profile, and simply learning my craft, to have to still put up with the competition other poets throw in my face.
It is simply all too much work for me, and I keep coming back to the idea of just giving some of it or all of it up for the solitude of what I had five or six years ago.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Hobble Creek Review: Pushcart Nominations
It’s about time to let you all know Hobble Creek Review has made its nominations for the Pushcart Prize. Here they are:
Please go have a read, and if you know any of these really fine writers, please drop them a line and congratulate them. Every little bit helps out.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
House Cleaning
You know I usually count myself among the slow kids when it comes to picking up new concepts, but I am even slower than that when it comes to learning how to organize my life as a poet and deal with the mechanics of the poetry business. It is with this in mind that I announce my discovery of putting various poems I write into distinct and separate folders which are named for various projects I have decided to begin. Note how I said begin, and not finish.
I came to this idea t his morning after conceiving of yet another writing project. What amazes me is how easily I can come up with new projects all the while I am still struggling to complete two projects I think has some real momentum. Of course the second project of the two is itself, already a demonstration of my procrastination as a poet.
I have my Springville book to return to, for which I only have about 10 pages solid writing to account for, and now I have my 'other voice' book manuscript, which has about 35 poems and more than 50 pages of solid writing behind it. And though that is a distraction, I have come up with a third manuscript idea to distract me from my first two. Hence my new system of poem organization, which many of you probably tried to tell me about on many occasions.
As such, I have made a command decision to simply write poems for a few months. Write poems or fragments of poems as they come. When I have finished a poem, I will put it in the appropriate folder and leave it alone. Every few months I will revisit each of my book projects and see where I stand with each.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
* * *
I told Sandy Longhorn I was going to try and talk about this next subject because I have been trying for the past week or so to put my thoughts into order and a context which would be both honest and meaningful. It is the subject of finding value in my own work as a poet.
One of my biggest flaws as a poet is that I have a difficult time charging money for my books and services as a poet. I feel guilty about charging people for my books and I need to stop doing that. I certainly don't expect a lot of you to understand this, but I have a difficult time looking at my own work and putting a monetary value on it. I can put a value on the work and labor Foothills Press puts into creating my books because they have and I try to encourage people to buy books from them at full price to help them out as much as possible, but I balk as soon as the money comes to me.
This isn't a virtue. It isn't as simple as saying I am an artist and I believe in the free exchange of art. I strongly believe in being paid for my work and efforts but I have an even more difficult time coming to terms with my own sense of worth as a poet. I guess there is a part of me which still thinks I am on the outside, even though I have had quite a bit of success, and certainly have been met with a good amount of friendship within the poetry community.
Lately, this is what consumes my writer's block. I am writing poetry in drips and drabs (two and a half poems in the past two weeks, plus the haiku/senryu in a previous post) but it is my fear of not meeting the standards of those friends and their work which has paralyzed most of my abilities. Suddenly I am afraid that someone or even I will try to make a comparison of worth because of this contest or that fellowship. or which press is publishing whose book---things for which I am not even competing. And all along the way---every step of this long journey---is the very simple and very real fear that I will never be the poet I should be, that I will never be good enough.
What makes this all so frustrating is that while I am in the depths of writer's block, I begin to believe those things about myself and the whole reason I am blocked is because I am no longer a good enough writer to write poetry on the level I want to write it.
* * *
Even with all of this, I have been doing well in the submission department. I have quite a few out, and I have several different packets of poems out in the world. My usual, as I have explained is to only have four or five poems out at a time, but to have them all over the place. Now, I must have 12-15 poems out in the world to 15-16 places. I was really pleased with a response from Quarterly West, who responded only a week after I sent them work. I was rejected but encouraged to send work again in the future. Even without the encouragement I was pleased because they responded quite fast. Of course that's what all poets like.
Other places have been taking their time. I sent off a request for an update since one press asked for a nudge if they took too long. I was happy to learn they are still considering my work. I am still in love with submishmash as a poet, but I do not share that affinity as an editor. Well, not for a little one horse publication like HCR.
I came to this idea t his morning after conceiving of yet another writing project. What amazes me is how easily I can come up with new projects all the while I am still struggling to complete two projects I think has some real momentum. Of course the second project of the two is itself, already a demonstration of my procrastination as a poet.
I have my Springville book to return to, for which I only have about 10 pages solid writing to account for, and now I have my 'other voice' book manuscript, which has about 35 poems and more than 50 pages of solid writing behind it. And though that is a distraction, I have come up with a third manuscript idea to distract me from my first two. Hence my new system of poem organization, which many of you probably tried to tell me about on many occasions.
As such, I have made a command decision to simply write poems for a few months. Write poems or fragments of poems as they come. When I have finished a poem, I will put it in the appropriate folder and leave it alone. Every few months I will revisit each of my book projects and see where I stand with each.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
* * *
I told Sandy Longhorn I was going to try and talk about this next subject because I have been trying for the past week or so to put my thoughts into order and a context which would be both honest and meaningful. It is the subject of finding value in my own work as a poet.
One of my biggest flaws as a poet is that I have a difficult time charging money for my books and services as a poet. I feel guilty about charging people for my books and I need to stop doing that. I certainly don't expect a lot of you to understand this, but I have a difficult time looking at my own work and putting a monetary value on it. I can put a value on the work and labor Foothills Press puts into creating my books because they have and I try to encourage people to buy books from them at full price to help them out as much as possible, but I balk as soon as the money comes to me.
This isn't a virtue. It isn't as simple as saying I am an artist and I believe in the free exchange of art. I strongly believe in being paid for my work and efforts but I have an even more difficult time coming to terms with my own sense of worth as a poet. I guess there is a part of me which still thinks I am on the outside, even though I have had quite a bit of success, and certainly have been met with a good amount of friendship within the poetry community.
Lately, this is what consumes my writer's block. I am writing poetry in drips and drabs (two and a half poems in the past two weeks, plus the haiku/senryu in a previous post) but it is my fear of not meeting the standards of those friends and their work which has paralyzed most of my abilities. Suddenly I am afraid that someone or even I will try to make a comparison of worth because of this contest or that fellowship. or which press is publishing whose book---things for which I am not even competing. And all along the way---every step of this long journey---is the very simple and very real fear that I will never be the poet I should be, that I will never be good enough.
What makes this all so frustrating is that while I am in the depths of writer's block, I begin to believe those things about myself and the whole reason I am blocked is because I am no longer a good enough writer to write poetry on the level I want to write it.
* * *
Even with all of this, I have been doing well in the submission department. I have quite a few out, and I have several different packets of poems out in the world. My usual, as I have explained is to only have four or five poems out at a time, but to have them all over the place. Now, I must have 12-15 poems out in the world to 15-16 places. I was really pleased with a response from Quarterly West, who responded only a week after I sent them work. I was rejected but encouraged to send work again in the future. Even without the encouragement I was pleased because they responded quite fast. Of course that's what all poets like.
Other places have been taking their time. I sent off a request for an update since one press asked for a nudge if they took too long. I was happy to learn they are still considering my work. I am still in love with submishmash as a poet, but I do not share that affinity as an editor. Well, not for a little one horse publication like HCR.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Hobble Creek Review Issue 14 is now up and live!
Hobble Creek Review is now live, featuring a special tribute to William Kloefkorn. Please stop by and have a read. We are featuring the following writers and poets:
Kristin Berkey-Abbott
C.E. Chaffin
Michael Diebert
Richard Fenwick
Timothy Gray
Ruth Gooley
Ruth Gooley
Rick Harris
John Philip Johnson
Alie Kloefkorn
Linda Lambert
Dave Lee
Jon D. Lee
Kelly Madigan
Linda Lambert
Dave Lee
Jon D. Lee
Kelly Madigan
Tamara Madison
Friday, October 14, 2011
Writer News: New Format
Follow this link to learn more.
It's strange I get sort of excited about this kind of news because I really never think in terms of how wide spread ibooks or Kindle can be. Do I expect my book to go viral and be this amazing phenomenon? No. Not at all. I just think that its pretty neat someone could potentially run across my book and consider buying it---someone who in all likelihood would never have that opportunity without e-publishing.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Pop Culture Haiku & Senryu
Quentin Tarantino
Reservoir Dogs (redux)
This time we get
the diamonds all the way
to Mexico
Pulp Fiction
Jules and Vincent
walk out of the cafe
dignity intact
Jackie Brown
Oh, brown sugar---
Pam Grier on the big screen
still turns me on!
Kill Bill (vol. 1 & vol. 2)
A single sword cut
severing the pale moon
from its orbit
Inglorious Basterds
A trail of death
behind enemy lines:
"Business is a boomin'!"
.
Reservoir Dogs (redux)
This time we get
the diamonds all the way
to Mexico
Pulp Fiction
Jules and Vincent
walk out of the cafe
dignity intact
Jackie Brown
Oh, brown sugar---
Pam Grier on the big screen
still turns me on!
Kill Bill (vol. 1 & vol. 2)
A single sword cut
severing the pale moon
from its orbit
Inglorious Basterds
A trail of death
behind enemy lines:
"Business is a boomin'!"
.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The Gospel of Poetry
Over at Jeannine's blog, she's talking about "poetry evangelism" by going to cons to show there is poetry in the world which has an out of poetry community appeal. It reminds me of a few friends. First is long-running topi, friend, and mentor, Dave Lee. Dave, for as long as I have known him has been an evangelical for the gospel of poetry. For those of you unfamiliar with the meaning of the word "gospel," it literally means the "good news." I think all poets should be traveling evangelical ministers for the gospel of poetry. And if one cannot travel, then one should build a pulpit in the front yard and preach to those who walk or drive by. Dave has spent his life going anywhere he was asked (even to a few of my classes) to talk abut the wonderment and beauty of poetry.
Years ago, literally a few days before 9/11 happened, Dave was being considered for the U.S. Poet Laureate position. This was when Billy Collins was selected, and Dave was in Washington D.C., where he and Billy, and another poet had breakfast with the President. I think Dave would have made a wonderful Laureate because it would have opened up to him a much larger platform to talk about what he already believed about poetry. Still, when Collins was selected, and we spoke on the phone (I had called to track him down to make sure he was okay because of the attacks) we talked poetry. He read and re-read a new poem to me. We talked about poetry, and Dave told me I had to go out and get Billy's book of selected poems. You see, he wasn't bummed about not having a larger platform. He was excited because he had discovered a new poet to read, support, and mention in his sermons.
The other person is William "Bill" Kloefkorn. Not by coincidence he was a dear friend of Dave's and so willing to help with anyone who showed even the smallest spark of interest in poetry. Bill was quite famous for being a champion of the writer, and went to considerable lengths to make each writer he worked with feel worthy of the task at hand and very capable of creating poetry which was both well written and true to the voice of the poet.
I have said before how Bill was instrumental in my getting my first chapbook into shape. He helped pare it down into a real chapbook, something with real meat and bone in its structure. He spent a considerable amount of time with me, which is what he did with anyone who asked him for help. We began to bond on another level when we both talked about having been in the military, though that was never a focal point for us. Instead, we chose to make fun of Dave's girlish penmanship. It was Bill, I believe to this day, who opened up the door to my first chapbook being published. I think he was the one who told me about Mark Sanders, who ended up awarding my book with the Main-Traveled Roads Chapbook Award. Bill continued to respond to my letters over the years, sending me poems and encouragement. For him, it was always the next poem which mattered most, and that made him an endless fountain of guidance and inspiration.
Right now, I am putting the finishing touches on the next issue of Hobble Creek Review. It's a special issue, featuring quite a few writers from Nebraska and other places who knew Bill Kloefkorn, Dave Lee included. I may not be able to travel around much and preach the gospel of poetry as much as I would like, but I have built my own pulpit, and with it, I am going to preach a sermon or two for Bill. He certainly deserves more than what I can give him, but I am going to give him what I can. In the next week or so I will be announcing the release of Hobble Creek Review. I hope you will all come by and take a look, as this is my contribution to the gospel of poetry.
Years ago, literally a few days before 9/11 happened, Dave was being considered for the U.S. Poet Laureate position. This was when Billy Collins was selected, and Dave was in Washington D.C., where he and Billy, and another poet had breakfast with the President. I think Dave would have made a wonderful Laureate because it would have opened up to him a much larger platform to talk about what he already believed about poetry. Still, when Collins was selected, and we spoke on the phone (I had called to track him down to make sure he was okay because of the attacks) we talked poetry. He read and re-read a new poem to me. We talked about poetry, and Dave told me I had to go out and get Billy's book of selected poems. You see, he wasn't bummed about not having a larger platform. He was excited because he had discovered a new poet to read, support, and mention in his sermons.
The other person is William "Bill" Kloefkorn. Not by coincidence he was a dear friend of Dave's and so willing to help with anyone who showed even the smallest spark of interest in poetry. Bill was quite famous for being a champion of the writer, and went to considerable lengths to make each writer he worked with feel worthy of the task at hand and very capable of creating poetry which was both well written and true to the voice of the poet.
I have said before how Bill was instrumental in my getting my first chapbook into shape. He helped pare it down into a real chapbook, something with real meat and bone in its structure. He spent a considerable amount of time with me, which is what he did with anyone who asked him for help. We began to bond on another level when we both talked about having been in the military, though that was never a focal point for us. Instead, we chose to make fun of Dave's girlish penmanship. It was Bill, I believe to this day, who opened up the door to my first chapbook being published. I think he was the one who told me about Mark Sanders, who ended up awarding my book with the Main-Traveled Roads Chapbook Award. Bill continued to respond to my letters over the years, sending me poems and encouragement. For him, it was always the next poem which mattered most, and that made him an endless fountain of guidance and inspiration.
Right now, I am putting the finishing touches on the next issue of Hobble Creek Review. It's a special issue, featuring quite a few writers from Nebraska and other places who knew Bill Kloefkorn, Dave Lee included. I may not be able to travel around much and preach the gospel of poetry as much as I would like, but I have built my own pulpit, and with it, I am going to preach a sermon or two for Bill. He certainly deserves more than what I can give him, but I am going to give him what I can. In the next week or so I will be announcing the release of Hobble Creek Review. I hope you will all come by and take a look, as this is my contribution to the gospel of poetry.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Sophomore Slump
I really am wondering about the sophomore slump. From all appearances and signs, it looks to me as if I am going through exactly that. The realm of film has a lot of evidence to back up the notion of an artist's second effort, especially those of directors, is less than stellar or are somehow decidedly more difficult to create. In my case, I see the same patterns.
My second chapbook was probably published a year too soon. Along those same ideas, I am fearful the manuscript I have out making the rounds (Sailing This Nameless Ship) is simply not good enough. I had a major flash of success, getting some 20 or so poems published from the manuscript in a relatively short period of time. 2009-2010 was a really great time for me as far as that manuscript goes, but now, it has been almost a year and a half since any other poems from the manuscript have been accepted for publication. It’s as if the manuscript has stalled out.
Then there is my new flight of fancy, the new manuscript I have been toying with for a little while now, which may be just that---a distraction. I know the pattern well. I get about 90% finished with something and then I can’t easily bring myself to finish the last 10%. I get restless and move on to something else. For a long time I have been trying to understand why I do this. I wish I had a definitive answer, but I really think I am afraid to finish something because I don’t want to let anything go once and for all. I think I have a need to hang on to things, even after it’s time to let them go and allow myself to move on.
Then there is my current lack of writing, poems only coming in drips and drabs, rather than my usual trickle. I’ve talked about this before, but I think it’s related to what I am talking about today. Even when I am not writing much of anything good, I am usually still writing. However, I think I am both stuck on the idea my second manuscript needs to move forward before I can, and the idea that I am afraid to really finish anything concrete or measurable. I know poetry is a thing one should not measure. I am referring to the idea of completing a thing as opposed to measuring the worth of quality or quantity.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Novice
One of the things I am getting used to, or rather learning as I go, is the process of asking people to let me read at their function or school. I told you all about being able to read at the Hollow Earth Conspircay event a while back, but that was an invitation which came out of the blue. What I am experiencing now is an entirely different animal.
Summer before last, I attended a writer's workshop, geared for teachers. The idea of the workshop (four 4 Day weeks) was to give teachers the opportunity to grow as writers themselves so they in turn could help their students grow as writers. I met a friend who was on one of the various committees for Great Basin College which set up events. Among the things they control is having guest readers come to the college. My friend suggested that with my book coming out in 2011, it would be cool to have me come out. We tentatively began work on getting me there. Well, my friend is no longer on that committee, and the college is 110 miles away, so I had to send my "proposal" by e-mail and have it read in absentia. Her is where I pulled my first rookie mistake. I should have had a sample of my work prepared to accompany my proposal for a workshop and reading. Instead, some of the members expressed a desire to see some of my work, and I had to quickly gather a few poems from my books to send along. No sweat there, but the format was in the least, lacking a professional appearance.
I also missed out on suggesting to the committee that I teach a continuing ed class as an alternative to the committee funding me. Again, that suggestion came from my contact. I had only asked for $150 or so because I am not well known, and all I really want is enough to cover gas and buy dinner, but if I had known about the continuing ed thing (which the teacher gets a whopping 70% of the course costs at the college) I would have been selling that up and would have come across as more knowing than I really am. "Oh the places you'll go."
So what I want to know is what advice you can offer me, other than what I've just learned, which will help things go smoother the next time I apply to be a reader. Any advice will help and be dearly appreciated.
Summer before last, I attended a writer's workshop, geared for teachers. The idea of the workshop (four 4 Day weeks) was to give teachers the opportunity to grow as writers themselves so they in turn could help their students grow as writers. I met a friend who was on one of the various committees for Great Basin College which set up events. Among the things they control is having guest readers come to the college. My friend suggested that with my book coming out in 2011, it would be cool to have me come out. We tentatively began work on getting me there. Well, my friend is no longer on that committee, and the college is 110 miles away, so I had to send my "proposal" by e-mail and have it read in absentia. Her is where I pulled my first rookie mistake. I should have had a sample of my work prepared to accompany my proposal for a workshop and reading. Instead, some of the members expressed a desire to see some of my work, and I had to quickly gather a few poems from my books to send along. No sweat there, but the format was in the least, lacking a professional appearance.
I also missed out on suggesting to the committee that I teach a continuing ed class as an alternative to the committee funding me. Again, that suggestion came from my contact. I had only asked for $150 or so because I am not well known, and all I really want is enough to cover gas and buy dinner, but if I had known about the continuing ed thing (which the teacher gets a whopping 70% of the course costs at the college) I would have been selling that up and would have come across as more knowing than I really am. "Oh the places you'll go."
So what I want to know is what advice you can offer me, other than what I've just learned, which will help things go smoother the next time I apply to be a reader. Any advice will help and be dearly appreciated.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
New Territory
So a few days ago I was talking about how I was finding it difficult to put together a manuscript of poems because of the diverse nature of the poems I have written. Well, as I was starting to put together the next issue of Hobble Creek Review (which will be featuring a tribute to poet William "Bill" Kloefkorn), I decided to go ahead and give it a go. Thus far, I have about 35-37 poems I feel good about, which equals somewhere in the neighborhood of 55 pages, which includes front matter. That leaves about 10 poems or so for me to feel comfortable about calling it a real manuscript of poems. I know I tend to work on the smaller side of manuscript length, but that's just me. Besides, I think with about 65 pages, I will be in the 72 page final count neighborhood, and that's just fine with me. Then comes the work I will find most difficult: Being willing to continue to work on the manuscript, willingly throwing out weaker poems as I write stronger poems more in line with what the book should be.
I need to always keep in mind my loyalty to the poem is paramount. After comes loyalty to making the best manuscript. Finally, I need to do my best to place the manuscript with the best publisher for the work, rather than finding the closest person. At no point in that structure do I have room for loyalty to my ego, nor should there be. If anything my ego needs to be in place to ensure the best book possible comes from all my efforts.
What comes next? Poetry. I need to write a lot of poems. Now this may sound strange but I want to write the kind of poems which are the result of quirky prompts, and this is where you come in, dear readers. I am asking for any of those strange little prompts you have seen or created which make for delightfully weird poems. If you know any, please send them my way. I will be making the same request on FB, so you can send them to me there, too, if that's how you want to do it. Also, I am always up for a manuscript swap when I get to this point because I am curious to see if there is anything I am missing. So, if you are interested in that, please let me know. I will offer a clean, fresh look at your manuscript and notes in whatever form you want.
I need to always keep in mind my loyalty to the poem is paramount. After comes loyalty to making the best manuscript. Finally, I need to do my best to place the manuscript with the best publisher for the work, rather than finding the closest person. At no point in that structure do I have room for loyalty to my ego, nor should there be. If anything my ego needs to be in place to ensure the best book possible comes from all my efforts.
What comes next? Poetry. I need to write a lot of poems. Now this may sound strange but I want to write the kind of poems which are the result of quirky prompts, and this is where you come in, dear readers. I am asking for any of those strange little prompts you have seen or created which make for delightfully weird poems. If you know any, please send them my way. I will be making the same request on FB, so you can send them to me there, too, if that's how you want to do it. Also, I am always up for a manuscript swap when I get to this point because I am curious to see if there is anything I am missing. So, if you are interested in that, please let me know. I will offer a clean, fresh look at your manuscript and notes in whatever form you want.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Happy News: Blowing my own horn
I was just informed four of my poems were accepted for publication at Burnt Bridge. The poems taken were ones dealing with the early history of my home town. I was most surprised that all four were taken because of their narrow scope. Still I am tickled and pleased somebody found enough in them to think each was worth shaing within their community. More news will be arriving as I get it myself.
I hope all is well with you. Please don't be shy about telling me of your recent successes. Let's get this party started right!
I hope all is well with you. Please don't be shy about telling me of your recent successes. Let's get this party started right!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Baby Steps?
Taking things a step further that my recent mini-success in writing a poem after such a long drought, I have been looking at a lot of my poems which I have written since 2008 and in the same essential voice as those found in my book, Working in the Bird House, and I notice that I certainly have enough to start fashioning a chapbook from. What gets me every time out of the gate is the fact that I want my chapbooks to be something more than a place for a group of poems to reside. I want the book to be about something. I want them to come together and create collective identity.
Now, two or three of my more successful poems ("Contemplating Diego Rivera's Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park," "After the Photograph of the Lynching of Tom Shipp and Abe Smith," and "In My Dreams I am Always Running with the Dead") are of a more serious political nature. The other poems I like, or would like to start working into a chapbook manuscript are not at all serious. They are more lighthearted, tongue-in-cheek, and clash with the above poems. Of course the obvious answer is to discard the three poems which are more serious. Unfortunately, they are the poems which have a unity of theme, where as the other poems are simply a bunch of poems. So, do I try to create more poems which reinforce their serious nature, or do I try to create a framework for the other poems which are lighter?
All this is happening at the same time while I am still trying to create poems for my second Springville manuscript. Well, that was the idea before this long drought of not writing hit me. It always seems to be my fate to make plans, only to be metaphorically stomped into the dust. As far as that manuscript goes, I have about 10-12 pages of poems and that's about it. If I get my head screwed on straight I could write 10-12 more and try to create a chapbook out of that material. Stranger things have happened to me in this writing universe.
What would I like to see? I'd like to see my manuscript, Sailing This Nameless Ship picked up in the next six months to a year. I would like to see me returning to writing poems for my planned Springville manuscript, and I would like to write about 20 more poems in the voice of WITBH so I can start creating a manuscript of poems which employ my more contemporary voice. I would also like to crack the nut of the anthology. I have been getting closer. I got as far as the final cut on an anthology of poets in the West, and that would have certainly been awesome. So, if you think I have anything that would fit into the mix of some anthology you have knowledge of, please let me know. And yes, I do know that a lot of poets are hesitant to share that sort of info because they feel it lessens their chances. You know what? Poetry ain't a competition, so that kinda sucks.
As it is, I have been submitting like crazy. Submishmash continues to be a wonderful means of easing my neurosis. I can check up on the many submissions and see which have begun the review process. It's also beginning to shape my submission habits. I am less and less likely to submit to journals with their own submission manager. I have never been the best at keeping records and without either an e-mail record or Submishmash, I am prone to forgetting a couple of places I have submitted. It happened just a week ago. I submitted my book manuscript to several presses and I got distracted in the middle of the process and I forgot a press which had its own manager. The reality is they will most likely pass on the book, but I need to keep track. For me it is better to either send it via e-mail, by way of Submishmash, or not at all.
Well, I've bent your ear long enough. Talk to you all later.
Now, two or three of my more successful poems ("Contemplating Diego Rivera's Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park," "After the Photograph of the Lynching of Tom Shipp and Abe Smith," and "In My Dreams I am Always Running with the Dead") are of a more serious political nature. The other poems I like, or would like to start working into a chapbook manuscript are not at all serious. They are more lighthearted, tongue-in-cheek, and clash with the above poems. Of course the obvious answer is to discard the three poems which are more serious. Unfortunately, they are the poems which have a unity of theme, where as the other poems are simply a bunch of poems. So, do I try to create more poems which reinforce their serious nature, or do I try to create a framework for the other poems which are lighter?
All this is happening at the same time while I am still trying to create poems for my second Springville manuscript. Well, that was the idea before this long drought of not writing hit me. It always seems to be my fate to make plans, only to be metaphorically stomped into the dust. As far as that manuscript goes, I have about 10-12 pages of poems and that's about it. If I get my head screwed on straight I could write 10-12 more and try to create a chapbook out of that material. Stranger things have happened to me in this writing universe.
What would I like to see? I'd like to see my manuscript, Sailing This Nameless Ship picked up in the next six months to a year. I would like to see me returning to writing poems for my planned Springville manuscript, and I would like to write about 20 more poems in the voice of WITBH so I can start creating a manuscript of poems which employ my more contemporary voice. I would also like to crack the nut of the anthology. I have been getting closer. I got as far as the final cut on an anthology of poets in the West, and that would have certainly been awesome. So, if you think I have anything that would fit into the mix of some anthology you have knowledge of, please let me know. And yes, I do know that a lot of poets are hesitant to share that sort of info because they feel it lessens their chances. You know what? Poetry ain't a competition, so that kinda sucks.
As it is, I have been submitting like crazy. Submishmash continues to be a wonderful means of easing my neurosis. I can check up on the many submissions and see which have begun the review process. It's also beginning to shape my submission habits. I am less and less likely to submit to journals with their own submission manager. I have never been the best at keeping records and without either an e-mail record or Submishmash, I am prone to forgetting a couple of places I have submitted. It happened just a week ago. I submitted my book manuscript to several presses and I got distracted in the middle of the process and I forgot a press which had its own manager. The reality is they will most likely pass on the book, but I need to keep track. For me it is better to either send it via e-mail, by way of Submishmash, or not at all.
Well, I've bent your ear long enough. Talk to you all later.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Update
Well, I guess I posted my miserable state one day too soon. As I was settling down with The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, I grabbed Dean Young's Fall Higher to comfort me through the commercials. Right before the show started I began reading Young's poem, "Scarecrow on Fire" and everything just clicked. I rushed to my bedroom to begin drafting a poem. I ended up missing the first half of The Daily Show to get the short poem into one of my notebooks.
The process was nothing less than magic, as most of you are already aware. The poem came to me as one complete unit. Simple. Straightforward, and direct. Fortunately for me, most of my poems are on the shorter side, so the experience felt whole, complete. I walked out of the bedroom in a bit of a haze, as this really was the first natural poetry writing I have experienced in about a year. I had tinkered, but this was the first new poem for me in quite some time. As I write this I am still feeling the lingering tickle of endorphins in my body.
The process was nothing less than magic, as most of you are already aware. The poem came to me as one complete unit. Simple. Straightforward, and direct. Fortunately for me, most of my poems are on the shorter side, so the experience felt whole, complete. I walked out of the bedroom in a bit of a haze, as this really was the first natural poetry writing I have experienced in about a year. I had tinkered, but this was the first new poem for me in quite some time. As I write this I am still feeling the lingering tickle of endorphins in my body.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Snow Blind
I think I have forgotten how to write poems. Well, that's a bit over the top. I should say I think I have forgotten how to find myself into a poem I am trying to write. Huge difference.
I know I go through writer's block as regular as clockwork, but this time i am really overdue to start writing again and I just can't seem to get started. I am sitting at the computer waiting, I go off on my own and wait, and I am reading for inspiration, but I get nothing. It's getting to be quite frustrating.
I am even starting to go snow blind with what I am reading. Usually I get inspired to write little poems based upon poetry I read, but I am drawing a blank. Just a big blank.
I know I go through writer's block as regular as clockwork, but this time i am really overdue to start writing again and I just can't seem to get started. I am sitting at the computer waiting, I go off on my own and wait, and I am reading for inspiration, but I get nothing. It's getting to be quite frustrating.
I am even starting to go snow blind with what I am reading. Usually I get inspired to write little poems based upon poetry I read, but I am drawing a blank. Just a big blank.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Rudie Can't Fail
There is a lot of discussion about rankings of MFA programs and the like, and some very good poets, both MFA graduates and non-MFA graduates have weighed in, mostly all affirming the MFA is merely one path on the way towards becoming a better poet. Of course they all sing the same tune: The MFA's real value is in the time a program gives one to think about poetry, read poetry, read and write essays on poetics, and yes, write poetry. However, I think there still remains a few things left unsaid, especially for those writers who have chosen, for whatever reason or reasons, to not go the MFA route.
I really don't know how this is going to go over, but I would like you all to know, as you start reading this post, I am sincere. Not sarcastic, not mean-spirited, and certainly not as an inside joke. I am writing this from the perspective of a poet who has had a modest amount of success without having gone the MFA route.
I used to wonder if I was ever going to be the kind of poet who wrote books about the craft of writing, write essays on the writing process or the teaching of writing (you know the kind that you get in your college writing courses or your methodology courses) but I quickly discovered that my life outside of collegiate academics was going to be a huge handicap in that regard. It took me a while to get over that. I was, if I can be honest, a bit put out about that and I a small part of me began to mourn the loss of whatever non-poetry contribution I might have been able to make. But then I eventually got over the fact that I was not going to have any real influence in the world of poetry. How did I do it? I realized that very few poets, regardless of graduate credentials ever get the opportunity to weigh in on the matter of poetics. This is not the same thing as never willing the Pulitzer or winning a Pushcart. I have been nominated for the Pushcart, but that was probably something which came to me 5 or six years too early. The truth as I see it is this: I may have plenty to say as far as poetry goes, but sooner or later it really only matters if I am going to listen to my ideas because in the end, it's really only my poetry that matters, or should matter.
It was a strange time, I will admit, when I thought my ideas would be taken seriously by writers. I thought if I joined in enough conversations I might accumulate some level of gravitational pull and some day be asked for my opinion on various issues of poetics. It wasn't for a while that I discovered I would never have that sort of career, if one can even refer to a life in poetry as a career. What I slowly discovered was by making the decision to remain outside of the system of higher education I was closing the door on having a voice in those sorts of things. That is, if I ever had a chance to have a voice in those matters. Hard as it may be for some poets to hear, we need to hear our chances at shaping poetics is slim to none even if we are amazing poets and thinkers. I believe this is one reason functions like AWP are so popular and the MFA is so highly debated. These things give poets the chance to feel as if they (each of us?) have a say in the direction our chosen fields take. But let's be honest for a moment or two. Having a panel at AWP may be a fun prospect, but that isn't where real change takes place. It's more celebratory collaboration and rรฉsumรฉ padding than it is real insight into the real issues of pedagogy and heuristics. Having an MFA offers much the same when looked at through the lens of professionalism. The MFA for most writers is a feeder route degree into the grown-up pool of creative writing. It's like Mr. Miyagi's black belt. It says you are serious enough about writing to deserve a second look. What you do from there is up to you, but don't expect anyone to put aside what they are doing to pay attention to you for too long.
My life as a poet became considerably easier when I gave up the dream of making a difference to anyone other than myself and looked to simply wanting to be a part of the community. Therein was the good, the bad, and the ugly. Without the burden of trying to say something of importance I was able to concentrate on saying something important to me. However, that meant I had to come t terms with being the kind of poet I am, getting rid of yet another set of false impressions and accepting something still closer to how the real world operates. At times I swear I have made a profession of giving up my preconceived notions---not just in poetry, but most every aspect of my life. Further, I had to accept the reality I had never said much of any real consequence as it applied to writing theory.
Still, we all crave to be an active part of our community. Imagine the family doctor. I doubt the family doctor looks at the heart surgeon and feels slighted that he never focused on surgery. Most likely that family practitioner is quite happy with the fact the experience of going through college, medical school, residency, and internships. Just like there are different kinds of doctors, there are different kinds of poets. Some who have an MFA and/or a PhD, and those who don't. Some who make a big splash in the poetry world, and those who barely break the surface or cause a ripple. Find out what kind of poet you want to be.
And you will have those people who argue that it matters where you go to get your MFA the same way it matters where your doctor went to medical school. After all, I like TGIF as a concept, but I would be really uncomfortable with anyone who graduated from the TGIF Medical School of Barbados. At the very least I would be checking the diploma to make sure I didn't see any BBQ smudges. To these people I would remind them, poetry isn't medicine, and medicine is not poetry. They are not analogous. With poetry you don't need a degree because nobody's life is at stake, and it doesn't matter where you get your MFA degree from if your real goal is poetry. If you are really interested in poetry it shouldn't matter if the program costs you $8000 per year at a state school with in-state tuition, or $22,500 per year at a private institution. Figure out how much you are willing to spend on the opportunity to study poetry and find a school you think you will enjoy. Those rankings? Yes, I know that grant money is important and having money makes a difference when you've got bills to pay, but if you are really interested in poetry and money is an issue, then it should be your goal to find a cheap program and not worry about how many book prizes your program has amassed. Oh, just one more little factoid to nail the coffin shut: I teach high school in Nevada. I have a Master's degree, and I will most likely make more money than you ever will if you decide to teach college. Being a poet should never be about the money.
In short, it isn't just the ranking of MFA programs which is wrong, nor is it the criteria upon which they have been ranked which gets me going. It's the fact that too many people have become dissatisfied with all of the possibilities out there in the world. Just like politics, we have allowed ourselves to be sucked into the either/or fallacy. To earn the MFA or to not? That is the only question, and we continue to play into that instead of rejecting the premise that poetry should have anything to do with anything except what we, ourselves as individual poets say it should be. I for one refuse to answer that question because it is too private an answer to discuss in public.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Collin Kelley does an Interview with me
Over at The Modern Confessional, Collin Kelley has posted an interview with me, where he asks some pretty interesting questions. Go have a read and maybe you might find out where I stand on a few issues.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Today in the Mail: Collin Kelley's Slow to Burn
When a chapbook, or any book receives a second life it is an event worth celebrating. Slow to Burn by Collin Kelley being released by Seven Kitchens Press is especially noteworthy for many reasons. First among these in my mind is that after reading Slow to Burn, I cannot bring to mind any other out of print chapbook (and few currently in-print chabooks) as worthy of a second life.
You all know Collin and I have a lot of dealings together. I have published his poetry, reviewed his poetry, he has interviewed me, and I him. We have also played town crier for each others' successes. Some might think that means whatever I have to say is muted because it appears we have an on-going mutual admiration society. Well, so be it. The truth is I am deeply flattered by what Collin has had to say about my work and his support is greatly appreciated, but that in no way diminishes the power of his poetry and stunning language found within Slow to Burn.
In the recent past there has been a lot of talk of Slow to Burn's ability to connect with pop culture, so I am going to ignore that aspect of the book, although I will say one thing before moving on. If you are in your late 30's or early 40's (as I am) you cannot help but be reminded of your childhood and young adult life when reading this book.
No, what I want to concentrate on here is the absolute clarity of image Kelley seems so in tune with for the poems found in this collection. In the poem "Ian" Collin speaks to the rush of young love and the necessity of surreptitious activity. Speaking of a hastily written love note, he completes the underlying image with this lines:
Then you wrote me a note on scrap paper,
scribbled desire in the margins:
I've wanted to kiss you forever.
You would burn these words later like a spy.
In the poem "Duality" Kelley introduces the subject of suicide. Certainly suicide is often written about, and there are a lot of poets who do the topic justice, but I would be remiss if I did not mention how unique Collin's take on the subject is, how the poem finds a completely new direction, both horrific and strangely compassionate. With these lines, the poet creates a new dynamic:
No one understands this war,
the way it tastes, like copper pennies
in your mouth, like blood.
The precision of imagery continues throughout the book. No matter what shape the poems take, Kelley is able to ensure that they are crafted around the images he wants you to see and the way he wants you to see them. While we have all come to expect such exact and meticulous care in the chapbook form, there is a subtle difference here. Here, Collin is making certain you can connect these stories to your own, and in doing so he must (and does) successfully walk the thin line of universality and new language.
In the end it is Kelley's precise language which sells me. This book, for me, is a personal record of growth, and to read it is to read a biography of sorts. The stories in this book might always be compelling to hear, but the language Collin uses is what elevates them to being more than private anecdotes. He takes on his personal journey and makes it both (as Karen Head alluded in her introduction) accessible and complex. What is revealed to me, is there is nothing simple about navigating the years of our youth and that is as about as universal a theme one can have in contemporary poetry. Slow to Burn is a gift no matter where you can find it. Having found it here, I am compelled to offer my most sincere recommendation for both Collin's poetry and Seven Kitchens Press wonderful work.
You all know Collin and I have a lot of dealings together. I have published his poetry, reviewed his poetry, he has interviewed me, and I him. We have also played town crier for each others' successes. Some might think that means whatever I have to say is muted because it appears we have an on-going mutual admiration society. Well, so be it. The truth is I am deeply flattered by what Collin has had to say about my work and his support is greatly appreciated, but that in no way diminishes the power of his poetry and stunning language found within Slow to Burn.
In the recent past there has been a lot of talk of Slow to Burn's ability to connect with pop culture, so I am going to ignore that aspect of the book, although I will say one thing before moving on. If you are in your late 30's or early 40's (as I am) you cannot help but be reminded of your childhood and young adult life when reading this book.
No, what I want to concentrate on here is the absolute clarity of image Kelley seems so in tune with for the poems found in this collection. In the poem "Ian" Collin speaks to the rush of young love and the necessity of surreptitious activity. Speaking of a hastily written love note, he completes the underlying image with this lines:
Then you wrote me a note on scrap paper,
scribbled desire in the margins:
I've wanted to kiss you forever.
You would burn these words later like a spy.
In the poem "Duality" Kelley introduces the subject of suicide. Certainly suicide is often written about, and there are a lot of poets who do the topic justice, but I would be remiss if I did not mention how unique Collin's take on the subject is, how the poem finds a completely new direction, both horrific and strangely compassionate. With these lines, the poet creates a new dynamic:
No one understands this war,
the way it tastes, like copper pennies
in your mouth, like blood.
The precision of imagery continues throughout the book. No matter what shape the poems take, Kelley is able to ensure that they are crafted around the images he wants you to see and the way he wants you to see them. While we have all come to expect such exact and meticulous care in the chapbook form, there is a subtle difference here. Here, Collin is making certain you can connect these stories to your own, and in doing so he must (and does) successfully walk the thin line of universality and new language.
In the end it is Kelley's precise language which sells me. This book, for me, is a personal record of growth, and to read it is to read a biography of sorts. The stories in this book might always be compelling to hear, but the language Collin uses is what elevates them to being more than private anecdotes. He takes on his personal journey and makes it both (as Karen Head alluded in her introduction) accessible and complex. What is revealed to me, is there is nothing simple about navigating the years of our youth and that is as about as universal a theme one can have in contemporary poetry. Slow to Burn is a gift no matter where you can find it. Having found it here, I am compelled to offer my most sincere recommendation for both Collin's poetry and Seven Kitchens Press wonderful work.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Being a Lemming: BlazeVOX Rant
Being the spineless follower I have always been, I will now say a few things about the whole BlazeVOX controversy.
Disclosure: I have submitted a manuscript to BlazeVOX. That is the extent of my relationship.
I have been saying this for a long time, but I think it needs to be said again. And I quote:
Disclosure: I have submitted a manuscript to BlazeVOX. That is the extent of my relationship.
I have been saying this for a long time, but I think it needs to be said again. And I quote:
What I would like to see happen is poets entering contests at presses with which they can see themselves creating a real working relationship. I think poets should find other ways to support the small press than rationalizing their contest reading fee as support. Poets should support presses without the ulterior motive of submitting to them. We all should buy more books just to buy and read them. More presses would survive that way. I think poets should seek out presses more actively and take the time to learn about them. Because of Facebook, I rarely go a week without looking at some new press and exploring their mission. Do I submit to every press I come across? No. I query, I ask myself questions, and I weigh my options. But having heard of presses I can suggest them to poets I know, and I hope other poets might do the same for me.
It doesn't happen on its own, dear reader. The world of poetry is not a perpetual motion engine, and I don't think anyone should fool themselves into thinking that. Could BlazeVOX have done a better job communicating that they depend on authors to subsidize their work? Of course. But having had some experience with editors who lack communications skills (three different editors for two different manuscripts) I can tell you there is a lot of information which gets lost in the airwaves and garbled in transmission.
Oh, the utter offense at being faced with the realities of the poetry business with one's first poetry manuscript! Oh, the Horror! The Horror! Well, Mr Kurtz? He dead. Strangely enough the world still marches on and you either buck up, little camper, or you fall by the wayside. I read the blog in question and I read the e-mail in question (and of course I did not really notice the typos) and there in plain English was the option to back out of the deal with no hurt feelings or end to any working relationship in the future. Take it or leave it, Opie, but you don't live in the skewed world of Mayberry, MFA, any more.
When I found out my book was being published by Foothills, I immediately committed the sum of $300 to buy more books. Why? That's how Michael Czarnecki makes his living. This isn't amateur hour any more. It's what we call patronage. When I had to back out of my previous contract because I was unwilling to go with an e-book only format I was heartbroken, and my editor was certainly disappointed, but you know what? We both go over it. You make choices you can live with because one way or another you will be doing exactly that.
Shut yer whining. You've got your MFA and now it's time to put on your big boy pants and get a fucking JOB. One hint: Your job is not Town Crier. Go teach freshman comp until you decide you need your PhD. so you can teach a few lit courses every year to break things up. Why? Because after 25 years of trying to be a better poet I really don't have time to hear about how the big nasty press asked you for $250 to help out with the costs of publication---and at one helluva discount towards future book purchases.
I'm gonna go listen to the mutherfuckin' Clash.
Ramblin' Gamblin' Willie
I went out last night to dinner with the wife, and in a strange fit of hedonism and excess, we decided to play some slots. The decision ended up making us a tidy little sum of money, and for my part I immediately began to dream of the books I could buy because of my newly found patron. Here then, with a little help from a few select people I trust to help me with such decisions, is a list of the books I have just ordered:
Slow to Burn by Collin Kelley
Kindertotenwold: Prose Poems by Franz Wright
Talking about Movies with Jesus by David Kirby
We Are Starved by Joshua Kryah
American Busboy by Matthew Guenette
Transfer by Naomi Shihab Nye
Makeshift Instructions for Vigilant Girls by Erika Meitner
The Odicy by Cyrus Console
The Art of Recklessness: Poetry As Assertive Forces and Contradiction by Dean Young
The Art of Description: The World into Word by Mark Doty
The Art of Attention: A Poet's Eye by Donald Revell
The Best American Poetry: 2011 edited by David Lehman &
The Monkey and the Wrench: Essays into Contemporary Poetics edited by Mary Biddinger & John Gallaher
* * *
Mothers, don't let your daughters go to the House of the Rising Sun. They may end up with a man who thinks books are a worthy thing upon which to spend their winnings.
Slow to Burn by Collin Kelley
Kindertotenwold: Prose Poems by Franz Wright
Talking about Movies with Jesus by David Kirby
We Are Starved by Joshua Kryah
American Busboy by Matthew Guenette
Transfer by Naomi Shihab Nye
Makeshift Instructions for Vigilant Girls by Erika Meitner
The Odicy by Cyrus Console
The Art of Recklessness: Poetry As Assertive Forces and Contradiction by Dean Young
The Art of Description: The World into Word by Mark Doty
The Art of Attention: A Poet's Eye by Donald Revell
The Best American Poetry: 2011 edited by David Lehman &
The Monkey and the Wrench: Essays into Contemporary Poetics edited by Mary Biddinger & John Gallaher
* * *
Mothers, don't let your daughters go to the House of the Rising Sun. They may end up with a man who thinks books are a worthy thing upon which to spend their winnings.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
First Book Interview
Keith Montesano, over at First Book Interviews, has posted the interview he did with me. Please go have a look. Please let me know what you think and please pass on the word to those who you think might be interested in reading the interview and/or my book.
Thank you all.
Thank you all.
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