Why Did I Say Yes

That was pretty much the theme for the day.

First I needed a bit more money for summer (actually any would have been nice) so I agreed to teach 12 days of summer school.  6 hours of English. . .straight.  Now how was this a good idea?  Students who could not pass an hour of english per day are sequestered in a white walled classroom for 6 hours a day.  Who was the genius that thought that ended well?  The teacher next to me (who only has 19 students and i have 35) literally hands out worksheets and does not one ounce of teaching.  She closes the second half with movies.  I on the other hand dog and pony with this stupid integrity that says I need to teach.  So powerpoints, activities, collaboration.  I’m hitting all the dog and pony shows.

Then A friend called.  I so should have said no.

Then an ex-called.  I so should have said no.

Then another friend cancelled going to a poetry reading with me.  And I said no problem, when i should have said, no it’s not okay.

And now I’m doing this, when I am sure I should be saying no to this computer and doing something better for me.  Exercise?  Nah. . .that seems like work.

Perhaps I am seeing this all wrong.  Maybe I should be grateful that I have so many people that can damage from over a phone line, and some that can show up and personally inflict a little pain.  There are people that have no one at all.


Sunday is as good as any other day

So I stayed up until 3am submitting to four lit journals, Bank-Heavy Press, Carnival Literary Magazine, Verdad, and Yes, Poetry.  Of course now I go through the horrible waiting period.  To combat that I plan on submitting to even more places tonight.  My poet friends on facebook write things like “woke up to first rejection of the day”, “33 rejection this week”, and “I want to thank the publishers of . . . .for taking two of my poems for their next issue”.  So now I wait with my fingers cross and my heart set on the “I want to thank. . .”

It just dawned on me that this is the poets version of an oscar speech.  “I’d like to thank the publishers of yes, poetry for liking me.  My friends for believing me when I didn’t, and that bastard Jessie for fucking me over, so i could write these wrenching words.”

Ehh. . . .Let’s end with this gem that will not stop haunting me- – – 

What matters in the ugly dawn

her face in flashback

her cries in iambic

her  sorrow in rhyme

the alliteration of finished from forever

Submitting Poetry

So I am finally doing it. I make sure my students are published, and forget myself.  It is backwards. 

But I am sure that part of the problem is the simple fact that I hate the politics of poetry.  Well of life, in general, but yes poetry. Poetry reading that are, more often then not, numbing.  I continue to go because it is a necessity and at times someone will read that makes me very glad that I showed up.  I don’t like submitting.  Figuring out what poem is more suited to this magazine or that magazine, and hoping.  And like all humans, the rejection factor SUCKS!

Perhaps I simply do not like poetry that does not dance.  Like 98% of it, which makes this a strange world  for me to keep playing off key music in. . .

New Kidney, New Blog

New Kidney, New Blog.