It's January. New year. New World. And oddly enough New Me. New 63 year old me.
When I started writing I was already old - 47 - and poetry was the art form that called me. I answered and we fell in love. Knowing nothing of the official poetry world I took direction: read, read, read; write, write, write, send out work and of course - enter contests.
I'd been an avid poetry reader since I first sat entranced by Gary Snyder in a coffee bar in Marin County in 1968, and I had a terrific teacher in Doug Anderson who led a free writing group in our town. I knew nothing about submissions or contests so I just tried things. I sent out work and had some early acceptances that gave me hope that the work might communicate in some meaningful way.
After a few years I had a bunch of poems and people kept asking, when are you going to start sending out your MS. My MS? I had a bunch of poems, not a book of poems, but like so many I started sending that gaggle of geese to contests - paying hefty entry fees and trying not to be discouraged by the 'close but no cigar' fact of life which is finaling.
But each time Landscape with Silos did not win, I reworked it. I was getting some chops. I dumped earlier poems, invented new work and tried to build something that held together. I worried - because the central section of the book broke some rules, but I started to feel a loyalty to the book that wanted to be born.
Flash forward three years to a phone call that Landscape had won the XJ Kennedy Award and would be published. On the day of the call I had to write 30 letters to other contests withdrawing my Ms. 30 lost entry fees but it's important sometimes not to do the math. At least the book would happen and I finally had the approval of Big Daddy - even though I did not realize at the time that it was what I was looking for. I didn't just want approval, I wanted anointing. I wanted some mystical poet blessing thing. I wanted to be able to say "I'm a poet" without minding the smirks that often greet such a claim. I wanted in. Read More
When I started writing I was already old - 47 - and poetry was the art form that called me. I answered and we fell in love. Knowing nothing of the official poetry world I took direction: read, read, read; write, write, write, send out work and of course - enter contests.
I'd been an avid poetry reader since I first sat entranced by Gary Snyder in a coffee bar in Marin County in 1968, and I had a terrific teacher in Doug Anderson who led a free writing group in our town. I knew nothing about submissions or contests so I just tried things. I sent out work and had some early acceptances that gave me hope that the work might communicate in some meaningful way.
After a few years I had a bunch of poems and people kept asking, when are you going to start sending out your MS. My MS? I had a bunch of poems, not a book of poems, but like so many I started sending that gaggle of geese to contests - paying hefty entry fees and trying not to be discouraged by the 'close but no cigar' fact of life which is finaling.
But each time Landscape with Silos did not win, I reworked it. I was getting some chops. I dumped earlier poems, invented new work and tried to build something that held together. I worried - because the central section of the book broke some rules, but I started to feel a loyalty to the book that wanted to be born.
Flash forward three years to a phone call that Landscape had won the XJ Kennedy Award and would be published. On the day of the call I had to write 30 letters to other contests withdrawing my Ms. 30 lost entry fees but it's important sometimes not to do the math. At least the book would happen and I finally had the approval of Big Daddy - even though I did not realize at the time that it was what I was looking for. I didn't just want approval, I wanted anointing. I wanted some mystical poet blessing thing. I wanted to be able to say "I'm a poet" without minding the smirks that often greet such a claim. I wanted in. Read More