Well…should I start with writing or stop with writing, and in a round about way I always do. I also consider myself a nobody in the word of poetry. I know, hang out with, studied with, talk to some of the best poets in the country. Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, Guggenheim, Whiting, Grey Wolf go hard or go home type. But yet when I meet people that say they recognized me from something or read this blog or a poem I have placed in some journal or magazine I forgot about it shocks me. I don’t know how to act or respond or what to say…
“Does this person want advice? Do they own a press?”… “Ummm but I’m just a boy from Cleveland who happened to like stories.”
I met the editor of Vinyl/Yes Yes Books who published a couple of my poems and we talked about poetry. And how she liked what I was doing. And how I came up and spoke to her. And I think every now I then a little ego stroking is good. Reassures you that what you’re doing in the world makes sense on occasion. Rejection happens way more than I like to remember sometimes and I don’t take it well when everyone I know, hang out with, studied with, talk to are doing it big.
I’ve done way more readings than I have things published. And somethings you may or may not know about me are I never learned to tie my shoes, my eyes water often, and I’m quite sure there are a couple women have tried to turn me on by rubbing my back and actually just put me to sleep.
I saw this television show where this guy caught a baby alligator and turned it upside down an stroked its belly and it went to sleep. Kind of like that. I’m a alligator like that.
Ask yourself how many red mailboxes do you ever see?
How often do you see groups of black people out kicking it on St. Patrick’s Day?
How often do you write poems that you love and only end up hating when you write another poem?
Hell how often do you write? Or love? Or not love? Or speak a language that only you know? Or tell someone you like your body? Or avoid walking in the grass? Or avoid other peoples hands? Or dance by yourself in the house by yourself? Or sleep and change your dreams? Or change your dreams? Or dream?
I’ve written 2 poems in a series of zombie poems. Zombies interest me because they don’t care about race, work in groups, have needs, don’t war each other…
I also wrote a poem to someone. Like literally an ode. I don’t think I’ve ever done this. If I have I wrote it not knowing I wrote it. Sometimes those are the best things that happen. When you do things thinking you’re doing something else. Maybe that only happens to me. I like to say sometimes I live in the moment. “In Situ.” But Arundahti really sad that.
There’s a river I’ll push a boat through some day…or maybe just sit in it…and maybe someone else said that too. For those of you that don’t know…I also don’t know how to swim…and I just wrote in the 2nd person.