Business

It's been a while since I posted so this one is going to be all over the place.

First off: A shout-out to George Carlin. I have been listening to him for 30 years. Yes, that number is right. I was also watching SNL as a nine-year-old. I am going to miss George. The album which hit me first was his Toledo Window Box. I was hooked immediately. go to John Gallaher's page to see some youtube clips of George.

Speaking of Mr. Gallaher, we have recently been trading poems about Richard Hugo and talking submissions. Well, he's been sending me poems about Hugo. I sent him some strangled doggerel about Hugo. He spoke of submitting to the big time presses like Four Way Books or Copper Canyon. I hope he doesn't mind me summing up his ideas, but he says that a poet has to go for those places, aiming high. In essence he says it's essential. Another friend just told me that her dream press would be Copper Canyon. And while I agree FWB and CC are both wonderful places to find books (read C. Dale Young's The Second Person and Peter Pereira's What's Written on the Body, respectively) but I just can't jive with that sentiment the way I should.

I don't know where the failing is. Is it in me or is it in me as a poet? I tend to think the failure is in me. I just don't see my poetry as being the kind that these prestige presses would be interested in. It's a strange place to be, trust me. On the one hand, I have the ego of a poet who thinks what I am writing is worth public scrutiny. I am at the point where I have stopped submitting my poetry to places where I know it will be accepted and only sending it to places I in which want to see my work appear. It makes for a lot of rejection, but a happier me. On the other hand, I have a huge inferiority complex when it comes to submitting my poetry which competes for my attention. Places like Copper Canyon or Alice James are like the Holy Grail in my mind. Only the immaculate are allowed to attain them, and my poetry is simply not on that level.

The argument can be made that I would be helping to support the presses with my $15-$25 reading fee donations (Tupelo you are friggin' insane with a $45 fee) and that it's not like these editors would be making fun of me. This presents another conflict. I want a fighting chance. I want my money to go to some use, but I want to at least ave the internal justification for sending my money that I have at least some chance to be accepted. That, and yes, I really do feel that some of these places would be making fun of me. It's not unheard of as has been recently exposed. Oh, I know that a vast majority of editors would simply send a form rejection to my manuscript, that most wouldn't even dare to laugh at my book or poems out of a sense of mutual professionalism. I know poetry editors are better than that. I know the fear is mostly imagined inside my head, but I still suffer from it.

Again, I fear that my complex is hitting me hard now that my book manuscript is a reality. I have been very selective in sending out my book. Today, I am about to mail out what I think (if I am keeping count correctly) my third query. This one is by snail mail. The tally is four presses with a manuscript sent, three queries. I did send out a death notice of sorts to one press who has been stringing me along for several years. The editor apparently liked my work enough to keep asking for it and for me to keep sending it down the line, but did not ever respect me enough to say one way or the other if she was going to do anything about it. At least a "no" is a known. My response was to send out the final version of the manuscript to her over the weekend and tell her that if she didn't like this version, she wouldn't be hearing from me again. So I did flex my muscles and ego a little bit.

I know I am probably going to poet hell by admitting these things to you. I should be a better poet---better at the business of poetry. I guess I am still learning. Let me know what you think.

On the journal front, I still have two in the win column: If, and Lark. I have poems out to two or three places still (my new poems and an oldie). Once I hear back from them I will be sending them out for another go-around. This job never ends.