first dreams in new house

Chris, Gideon and I looked around a store to get items to help organize our house. It seems like a home store, but I bought a purse here recently. I spoke to the saleswoman. One of us commented about the Banana Republic was back in it's original spot in the mall. I had forgotten that it moved to the other (less used) end. I said that end of the mall felt like a totally different mall. The saleswoman agreed.

* * *

We moved out of our house mid-morning and into our new house. The old owners of our new house moved right next door. The man was older, shirtless with a big fat belly. I didn't like the former owners living so close to us. Our old home seemed to be nearby too. The new owners moved in. I wasn't sure for who, but for one (or more) of us these homes were a transitional space until we moved again.

* * *

I sat in a Poets and Busboys waiting for my former poetry teacher to arrive for a one-on-one meeting. I held the Poets and Busboys pencil that he gave me, still unsharpened. I remembered that he introduced me to this place before he had his falling out with it.

(Poet 1) and (Poet 2) joined me at my table. Maybe they were meeting with my former teacher too. The two poets talked about an amazing, brilliant woman who seemed to be able to do everything. She was a poet, the most alluring and sexy stripper who men relentlessly pursued, a Playboy model who drove men wild when they saw her nude photographs and now she was a conductor. She did everything except have children, which they said was because she was too smart for men. She was to be joining them soon.

Poet 1 and Poet 2 excused themselves from my table. I got sleepy and slumped over at the table as I waited for them to return. Poet 1 brought me a cup of coffee. I saw that she and Poet 2 joined this amazing woman at another table. This amazing woman had red hair, was middle aged and a little heavy. She didn't necessarily look the part, but I knew this was her. I felt left out that Poet 1 and Poet 2 left my table for her's.

ntm

I made an announcement over at No Tells about the future of No Tell Motel. It's a time of new directions. I'm excited and hopeful about entering this new phase.

new digs

We are now the owners of a fabulous new (to us) home!




We're having some painting and kitchen work done before we move in, but this will be our residence as of July 19th. If you need the new address, backchannel.

We'll be putting our current home on the market (probably August). If you're looking for a townhouse that is both rich in poetry blog history and located in Reston, let me know. We'll offer you a very special price, just mention this blog with your inquiry.

today's poetry dream

I was in Gideon's preschool class. I planned to work on my manuscript thesis that was due soon so I could graduate. An annoying woman came in to teach the class, so I left with my packet full of poems and notebook. I opened my slim packet. It felt like there were 30-40 poems, but instead there were smaller envelops with word games and far fewer poems than I expected. All the poems needed drastic rewrites. For the thesis, I planned to show my work (first draft, final draft) and considered writing about the changes. I had a tremendous amount of work to do in a short period of time.

today's direct poetry dream

My poems were rejected at a magazine. Since I knew the editor, I asked him why. Another editor I knew, responded saying nobody else ever demanded a reason. I was angry at this response. I wasn't demanding anything, I just asked.

I considered my response to him. I decided that I'd never ask why? again.

As I sat in a car, a man walked by and told me that he didn't consider me an important part of American poetry these days because I don't write, I don't publish and I don't blog. I'm inconsequential now.

I told him that I didn't care what he thinks and that I moved on to something bigger and more important.

A police officer came up and handcuffed the rude man.

I asked the officier if he was arresting the rude man and the officier said yes.

I asked if I could tase the rude man.

The officer chuckled.

I asked if I could stick my finger in the rude man's butt.

The officer chuckled again.

Another man walked up and said he wanted to rape the rude man.

That crossed the boundary of a good joke.

The officer didn't think that was funny and took the rude man away.

never be a prisoner to your poems

I try so hard not to talk pobiz here. Usually that's pretty easy, but every once in a while I slip up and here I go dancing on that banana peel. I'm in the mode because I've been up all night working on the lecture I'm going to give next week at UC Riverside. When I was a kid, low-residency MFA programs meant staying in dumpy dorms, eating cafeteria food and hoping nobody walked into the bathroom while you were having a moment after ingesting the cuisine. But now there are low-res programs that are held at spa resorts. If that's not what God intended, I don't know what is.

Anyhoo, anyone who followed my old blog knows I'm not a fan of book contests. I think it's a crummy way to publish books. I think there are a lot of better options. I also understand why so many presses hold contests--because not enough poets buy enough poetry books. So some presses changed their business models to sell hope instead. Hope sells a lot better. As far as I'm concerned, it's a vicious cycle that too many people participate in. Poets should buy more books, review more books, in general do more to support poems by other poets in addition to their own. Clearly the money exists, if poets have the means to afford all of these entry fees, they have the means to buy books. I've written about this extensively and it's a subject I'm pretty tired of these days. Just so you know, some of my best friends have won book contests and you and I can still be friends, even if you do participate in contests. I kind of view it the same as smoking: it's a dirty, disgusting habit that will eventually kill you, but as long as you don't do it around my kid, whatevs. Free country.

Yesterday I came to this article expecting to nod my head and be all, right on, glad more people are writing about this topic. I'm not sure why I assumed that, I've read enough articles by this writer to know I generally don't agree with his assertions or logic. But we can't disagree on everything, can we?

Well, I don't know, maybe we can disagree on everything. For instance, this is flat out false:

Poetry contests are about the only remaining way to publish a first poetry book.

Not true! Every year hundreds of first collections are published outside of the contest system--in a variety of ways. I don't have hard statistics, just the books on my own shelves, but it seems to me that more first books are published sans contests than by them. Certainly a sizable percentage. If you don't know of these books, my friend, you are not reading enough. You can start with my Goodreads shelf for some suggestions. There are certainly some contest winners included, but they are by no means the majority--even in the category of first books. This list is just my personal library, not even a complete list at that. Expand your reading.

Yes, the contest system is sucky. But we are NOT prisoners to it. Not if we don't want to be.

Nobody is killing poetry.

Poetry cannot be killed.

Poetry is the cockroach of literature.

recently inherited baubles

Here's a few pieces that Gideon rescued from the Goodwill box -- including my original pre-engagement ring from high school.