A couple of days ago I got a postcard in the mail with my own writing on it: my address on the right, and on the left side, a note stating that Slick Little Western Canada Literary Magazine had received my poetry submission. Under my black gel pen the poetry editor had added his note thanking me for the submission but "regret that we cannot offer submission."
There are lots of possilbe reasons why my little piece of art didn't make it. Maybe they were full up their eyeballs with poems this quarter, or it didn't fit the season or theme, or they just plain didn't like it.
I've noticed a trend in poetry. I don't know how to describe it though, being unedyoumacated like I am. It seems that poetry today must NOT rhyme and further, mayn't have any rhythm of any kind. There can't be any form. It reads like a series of sentences that have been chopped up into lines regardless of where the punctuation falls.
In Canadian poetry it looks like there have to be references to rocks, dirt, water, and bleached animal bones in order to qualify.
Oh, and throw in the odd piece of rusty farm implement too.
Well obviously I'm good with those things. The use of strings of words that don't normally go together? Totally up with that too. No problem.
However. I don't know. I don't get it. I commented earlier this week on a blog I read that I have an uncomfortable relationship with poetry and I guess this proves it.
I sat my butt down for some WRITING THERAPY and did a little experiment. I took something I wrote in the middle of winter as a fast exercise in catharsis- just write like mad for a few minutes. This is what I came up with:
drive
Why are you all crowded around me? Where’d you all come from and where are you going?
The world moves too slow for me. Cars creep by and then languish in front of me. I am trapped. A lane on either side and full of somebody else. I deserve a clear spot ahead- who the hell do you think you are, commuter? It’s not your road.
Space- as soon as it opens it closes. check and check again. Make my move before my competitor does. I have to get away. They’ll trap me. I can’t breath.
Freedom rises- break from the crowd and make my offramp escape. Eat my tire shreds, ****ers.
January 18 2007
Then I turned it into something else:
drive
Why are you all crowded around me? Where’d you all come
from and where are you going?
The world moves too slow for me. Cars creep by and then
languish in front of me. I am trapped. A lane on
either side and full of somebody else. I deserve
a clear spot ahead- who the hell do you think you are,
commuter? It’s not your road.
Space- as soon as it opens it closes. check and
check again. Make my move before my competitor
does. I have to get away. They’ll trap me. I can’t breath.
Freedom rises- break from the crowd and
make my offramp escape. Eat my tire
shreds, ****ers.
April 18 2007
I examined it. And decided it still wasn't EDGY or MODERN enough. I looked at one of the poems published in Slick Little to see what was going on. It looked like a a paragraph's worth of sentences simply split into stanzas of three lines. So. Hmm. Back to work. And here it is:
drive
Why are you all crowded around me? Where did you
all come from and where are you going? The world
moves too slow for me. Cars creep by and then
languish in front of me. I am trapped. A lane on
either side and full of somebody else. I deserve
a clear spot ahead- who the hell do you think you
are, commuter? It’s not your road. Space- as soon
as it opens it closes. check and check again. Make
my move before my competitor does. I have to get
away. They’ll trap me. I can’t breath. Freedom
rises- break from the crowd and make my offramp
escape. Eat my tire shreds, ****ers.
Feeling all smug, I read it over. Ha, I thought, this just proves that poetry is a FARCE, a little joke, a bunch of people standing around chortling into their turtlenecks about how LITERARY they all are, when really all they're doing is...
Darnit, that poem actually turned out decent.
Crap.
I don't know if I can submit something that I've plastered all over the internet but I kind of don't care right now. I love writing poetry but I'm not really a poet. I write novels and in between I write short stories, none of which anybody in the business has wanted so far.
Anywaaaaays....
Yes there's a highway theme going on today. If you've lived in the country you'll know that there's a lot of time spent driving from Anywhere to Somewhere. (I don't drive much on the highway anymore.)
Here's the poem that got rejected:
ARGUING IN THE CAR
Dark envelope red blue lights
Landmarks speed past your
brewing steaming simmering wife
You could cut the tense air with a knife
driving home down the road tonight
Captive in a car for a fight
take turns being silent for fear
of never ever saying anything right
your hands on the wheel so calm and light
me sitting here feeling stupid and slight
Cold air outside warm little world
beautiful frustrating guy with
infuriating nasty lovely girl
forgive me again for the insults I hurled
cut up & stung by your careless words.
21 comments:
Those fuckers will be eating your tire treads when you get published.
Trust me on this.
Shit, I mean SHREDS. Crap.
Aw, shreds, treads, whatevs.
I will supply the ketchup to go with it, gladly!!!!
Don't ya just wish for some constructive critcism sometimes? I mean, wouldn't have been helpful to know WHY they aren't going to use your submissions? Yeah - I would be a terribly writer because I want a need little pats on the back and some positive reinforcement. It amazes me that people have the fortitude to keep it up. You amaze me Heidi!
Oh Cindy, thank you but I'm really not all that amazing. It's that I have to write. I have to. If I don't things go very wrong in my head.
I have to keep writing. And also y'know, I kind of enjoy it. Usually. Most of the time!
I do wish though for some constructive criticism. It would help. I'm a rare person who actually listens to it even if it makes my mouth twist with stubbornness. Realistically these people are so flooded with queries and submissions there's no time for comments beyond "Sorry!"
Meanwhile I work on toughening up...
maybe that poem just made them all cringey, remembering their ride to work that day....and the just wanted to forget it...
it's too good...
if i was a publisher i would have published the poem its great, so you just keep on writing them
Don't know if it struck anyone else this way, but to me it read like some veeeery cool song lyrics. :-)
ding ding ding!!!!!
(wish I had a prize for ya.)
You know what? Poetry is very specific to each person. I like classical poetry written in the 16, 17, 18 hundreds... my friend, April, likes dark spooky I-hate-my-life type poetry.
You know what I say?
Different strokes for different folks.
Keep up the good work.
Here's what I know about poetry: there are rules for kinds.
I don't write it, and I don't read much of it, but I've studied it some and there you go.
Also, I was an ed. asst. for a lit journal and can tell you that more poems are submitted to journals than fiction or essays. It's stupidly competitive.
Email me and I'll hook you up with a friend who has literally placed scores of poems in journals. Short stories too.
But whatever else you do, don't despair--you have talent and passion and that's 95% of the formula right there.
I think most poets submit their work to literary magazines because they have nowhere else to send it. I mean, how often do we walk into a book store all wild eyed and panting, "I MUST buy that new book of poetry that Oprah was pushing on her show!!!!"
Which is kind of a shame because some poetry is really brain expanding. some is beautiful.
I do think Angel is right- it depends on what each person likes!
As a person who cannot write poetry to save my soul - I really liked your poems.
(and I'll fry up some onions to go with the shreds and ketchup -lol...)
I am not "big" into poetry although I know it is an expression of one's thoughts/feelings that supposedly resonates with whoever is reading it. I read your poem and wanted more...and that is usually a good sign. Its not an Alfred Hitchkock ending but it did leaving me wondering what started the arguement and who/how was it resolved. People like to know how people "make up" lol.
Poetry never had a lot of rhyme or reason in my mind. Maybe I am too left brain or whatever. I liked the poem Hiedi but then I just an ordinary guy. If I had read it in a magazine, a smile would have come across my face because what you describe has happened with most. Hang in there!
Like painitng, poetry comes in so many different styles and I all I know is I know what I like. I like stories. I'm not so keen on the jumbled up stuff. I liked your last one best Heidi and it reminded me a bit of song lyrics too.
Well, you know, I just spit one out every now and then for therapy. I really don't consider myself a poet. There are other people who really are and i don't deserve to be grouped with them!
But I'll keep writing them for fun. Wow, thank God I still find writing to be FUN or I'd have to give this all up!
Please keep your chin up, Heidi. Your voice and spirit shine through in your writing, and one of these days someone's going to sit up and notice. :)
Someone besides all of us, that is. ;)
By the way, my many mis-spellings on my previous comment was artistic poetic dramatic licence. But you knoew that already...}
Of course. You are a dramatic artistic poet!!
Sooo.. You and yer hubby got in a fight?..In the car?.. ::snicker::
yup. At least once!
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