Showing posts with label the Great Pumpkin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the Great Pumpkin. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

October 26: Poetic Halloween Inspiration, Paisley Rekdal, "Bats"

I know some of my disciples have missed my Poet of the Week feature, and I apologize for its absence.  I have no real excuse, unless laziness counts.  In truth, by the end of my days, I have found myself fairly exhausted, unable to formulate thought or wit into anything worth reading.

However, this week, I will try to provide a little poetic Halloween inspiration, starting with the poem below.  The Great Pumpkin arrives in a little less than a week.  There are pumpkins to carve, scary movies to watch, and candy to consume.  Perhaps a ghost or two will show up.  Maybe a zombie Bob Dylan.

Join Saint Marty and Linus in the pumpkin patch.

Bats

by:  Paisley Rekdal

unveil themselves in dark.
They hang, each a jagged,

silken sleeve, from moonlit rafters bright
as polished knives.  They swim


the muddled air and keen
like supersonic babies, the sound


we imagine empty wombs might make
in women who can't fill them up.

A clasp, a scratch, a sigh.
They drink fruit dry.

And wheel, against feverish light flung hard
upon their faces,

in circles that nauseate.
Imagine one at breast or neck,

patterning a name in driblets of iodine
that spatter your skin stars.

They flutter, shake like mystics.
They materialize.  Revelatory

as a stranger's underthings found tossed
upon the marital bed, you tremble

even at the thought.  Asleep,
you tear your fingers 

and search the sheets all night.

 
 
Boo!

Thursday, October 31, 2013

October 31: Rain Like a Bastard, Happy Halloween, Tricks and Treats

Boy, it began to rain like a bastard.  In buckets, I swear to God...

As Holden says above, it's raining like a bastard right now.  It's around 9:30 p.m. on Halloween night.  It has been a long day of holiday festivities.  Costume parades.  Tricks and treats.  Ferrying my kids from one friend's house to another friend's house.  My son was so tired that I had to carry him from my car to the house.  My daughter, remarkably, had an unmoody day.  No surprise tantrums.  No whining and crying at bedtime.  When we got home, she watched the Great Pumpkin and Charlie Brown.  Then she took a shower and went to bed.  No drama, whatsoever.

Me, I'm sitting in my living room, listening to the rain on the window behind me.  I'm beat.  I'm ready for this day to be over and for things to return to normal.  I'm also ready to raid my kids' Halloween candy in search of a Milky Way.

Tomorrow is the first day of November.  Thanksgiving month.  On Saturday, I'm going to clean out my front porch and put up my Christmas decorations.  That's right, I said Christmas.  I don't believe in waiting until the last minute.  In fact, my goal is to be the first person on our street ready for Christmas, inside and out.

Saint Marty isn't competitive.  He just loves making his neighbors feel inadequate.

My two little ghosts

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

May 22: Publishing and Luck

For all would-be writers who read this blog, I have some wisdom to share.

Getting published depends quite a bit on contacts.  I have published one book and some poems in a few pretty good journals and magazines.  The publisher of my book was a friend of a colleague at the university where I teach.  Several of the editors of the magazines where I've placed poems were acquaintances, poets I met at readings, and, again, friends of colleagues.  That doesn't mean that I was published simply because of my contacts.  No.  My work had to stand on its own, as well.  The contacts simply opened the doors.  It was up to me to land the publication.  I have more rejections than publications, believe me, and most of them are from contacts.

I have wanted to be a professional writer ever since I can remember.  I have learned that getting published is about 50% talent and 50% luck.  The talents helps quite a bit, but it's also about a manuscript landing on the desk of an editor at just the right time.

I have worked as an editor for a couple of literary journals.  The selection process for these publications is/was highly subjective.  Good poems can get rejected.  Bad poems can get accepted.  It all depends upon the first person who reads the manuscript.  Now, most editors are experienced readers (and usually writers themselves).  They generally know what they're doing.  They recognize quality work.  It all boils down to personal aesthetic.  I think that's why books like Poet's Market always recommend reading an issue of a journal/magazine before submitting to it, so you know what kind of stuff the editors favor.

I don't have a great track record when it comes to publication.  I have been very lucky.  The first publishing house to which I submitted my first book accepted it.  That was luck (plus a little talent).  I'm beginning to think my luck has run out recently.  I sent out ten or twenty poetry submissions last summer.  I got ten or twenty of rejections.  One magazine never even replied.  I've also entered two or three writing contests in the past year, as well.  Let's just say my rejection record stands firm.

The most important thing I can tell young (and not-so-young) writers is to never get discouraged.  Keep sending out manuscripts.  Don't think of rejection as failure.  Think of it as one step closer to publication.  Luck always changes.  You have to believe in yourself, or nobody else will.

Saint Marty believes in himself.  He also believes in Santa Claus and the Great Pumpkin.

Join me in the pumpkin patch