I am gearing up for this master class with Mary Ruefle on Friday. There is so much work to do. I am excited about my new poems with new voices, even if they are weird.
Got one of those nice, encouraging types of rejections today. I wish I had realized earlier, before diving in head-first, the scope of the rejection that comes with being a writer, and the depth of the masochism needed to accommodate it.
It needs to snow soon. If it's going to be terribly cold it needs to be terribly pretty as well.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
A Thing I Have Learned
People who use the word "limiting" in a counter-argument against being accused of sexism or some type of privilege are always talking out of their ass.
Monday, October 29, 2012
New Old Poems
I have a few older poems I've been revising and agonizing over for a long time up at Dead Mule. Poems about religiosity and southernosity and stuff. Writing that southern legitimacy statement is a hell of a lot of fun.
This semester is breaking my mind a little bit having to think about Pound and Darcie Dennigan and Blake all at the same time--but I'm really glad that I am no longer scared of prose poems, experimentation, narrative fuckery, et cetera in contemporary poetry, thanks to the careful selection of texts by Prof. Petrosino. Writing about Ibsen, however, is a drag.
Looking forward to next semester, which will probably contain more French study than poetry classes. I think I'm going to opt out of the mixed-genre workshop in the spring. Maybe. Fiction hard. Mary no like! I'm probably going to do this French theater practicum which sounds really fun.
THERE ARE SO MANY READINGS ALL THE TIME and I can't go to all of them or even most of them.
This semester is breaking my mind a little bit having to think about Pound and Darcie Dennigan and Blake all at the same time--but I'm really glad that I am no longer scared of prose poems, experimentation, narrative fuckery, et cetera in contemporary poetry, thanks to the careful selection of texts by Prof. Petrosino. Writing about Ibsen, however, is a drag.
Looking forward to next semester, which will probably contain more French study than poetry classes. I think I'm going to opt out of the mixed-genre workshop in the spring. Maybe. Fiction hard. Mary no like! I'm probably going to do this French theater practicum which sounds really fun.
THERE ARE SO MANY READINGS ALL THE TIME and I can't go to all of them or even most of them.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Susie Asado
Today this poem is stuck in my head. It is the first poem I have a clear memory of, and I remember listening to a recording of it. Listening to Gertrude Stein has this strange, calming effect on me; I think some of the sounds remind me of hearing sermons when I was young.
Susie Asado
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
Susie Asado.
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
Susie Asado.
Susie Asado which is a told tray sure.
A lean on the shoe this means slips slips hers.
When the ancient light grey is clean it is yellow, it is a silver seller.
This is a please this is a please there are the saids to jelly. These are the wets these say the sets to leave a crown to Incy.
Incy is short for incubus.
A pot. A pot is a beginning of a rare bit of trees. Trees tremble, the old vats are in bobbles, bobbles which shade and shove and render clean, render clean must.
Drink pups.
Drink pups drink pups lease a sash hold, see it shine and a bobolink has pins. It shows a nail.
What is a nail. A nail is unison.
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
greetings
I will post things here, strange and normal. And pictures of my food that everyone on facebook is sick of seeing.
