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I have three waves of poems rolling at once. The first wave is the oldest, poems drafted at least a year ago. These are the most fun to work on. Whatever attachments I had have grown impersonal enough so that I can tend to new possibilities, new surprises, whatever inquiries the language is signalling…

Second wave poems were drafted between 3-6 months back. I still have attachments that keep me from making the best choices. But this is also where I begin the experiments–swapping nouns for other nouns, mating two or three (or more, oh my!) poems together, collaging texts from other sources, trying out different forms and rhetorical gestures. Lots of simulating and being influenced by current interests…

Third wave poems are just drafted. They are unruly. They lack perspective. Lots of wipeouts. I should never share them with anyone but, foolishly, I do. I tend to feel too good or bad about these poems,

The point of these waves (and why I share my “wave” outlook with students) is that I can rarely claim to have writer’s block. If the third wave–the one most closely associated with inspiration–isn’t happening, I can always go to the others. There’s always something to work on.

Tomorrow I’m driving up to St. Paul with Adam Fell and Kara Candito to read in the Third Annual Great Twin Cities Poetry Read. Show starts at 7 p.m., at Hamline University. Adam is promising to drive like Ryan Gosling in Drive.

Have you read Erika Meitner’s beautiful “Elegy with Jack Daniels, maps, a lemon tree, female aquanauts, in which the ghost of Adrienne Rich appears and doesn’t vanish”?

Have you read this incredible essay, “What We Hunger For”, by Roxane Gay?

You’re welcome…

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I bet this happens all the time, that schizophrenic feeling writers feel about their work…

The last few weeks I’ve been in a groove, re-shaping old poems, drafting new ones. Work has mostly felt alright, the new manuscript finally has a concept to focus it, but last night, re-reading poems, I felt that pang of “oh man, I stink…”

My thoughts pendulum…But the truth is, new poems are rarely as good as they seem when we draft them, nor should we think of them as terrible when returning to them a short-time later. In the middle, there’s usually good news: what I have for my efforts is plenty of material to cart off to the Vermont Studio Center in June.

In the meantime, I’ve been trying to keep pace with some hard-working Wisconsin poet friends who are writing a poem a day for NaPoWiMo. One of those poets, Jacques Rancourt, has a piece on this challenge in the Potomac Review.

I’ve rediscovered a classic. First time I heard this I was 13 years old, on a train to Poughkeepsie, New York…

 

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…I finally received my “No Guggenheim For You!” email. Serious bizness. My two favorite things are…

  1. The subject line, which read, “An Important Message From The John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation.” Wasn’t that a little misleading? Shouldn’t it have read, “An Important Rejection…”? Did all those words–even “from” and “the”–really need to be capitalized?
  2. A PDF copy of the exact, 2-sentence email message, on official “letterhead”, for my “records”, with a genuine Edward Hirsch signature. Who or what exactly should I be saving this rejection for? I feel a poem coming on. Maybe a sestina. Something where the snake gets to eat its tail…

Out of 3000 applicants, 181 Fellowships were awarded. Most no doubt to struggling writers, marginalized writers, writers not already in positions of relative privilege in the world of creative writing, writers who haven’t already won the prizes, fellowships, residencies, awards, etc. In short, writers who could really use the cheddar. I’m done being a baby now…

But I’m still going places. Next Saturday (April 21) I’ll be one of 30 poets reading at the Third Annual Great Twin Cities Poetry Read. I love Minneapolis, the crown jewel of the upper Midwest. For a little back-story on this event, click here. The ever-charming, ever-energetic Matt Mauch brings this reading to life. Check out the monster flyer below. And that line-up! Oh my! Many hearts.

I don’t care what you say Guggenheim Committee of Selection… I’m still a lucky man…

Wednesday morning (9-9:50 am) I’m reading from American Busboy at the Meramec Writing Festival (this year’s theme: humor!) hosted by St. Louis Community College. Many thanks to the ever-gracious Pam Garvey (check out her killer chapbook Fear) for thinking of me and extending the invitation. My inner-busboy is buttered and ready…

Wednesday night (6-7 pm) I’m reading with fellow Saluki MFA-alum Travis Mossotti at The Wolf Public House in Ballwin, MO. Read his  poem “Crossing the Gap” over at Rattle. Then do get your hands on his Swenson Award winning (and very wise) book,  About the Dead

I hope everyone’s National Poetry Month is off to a booming start. I’m writing a poem-a-day with some fellow Madison poets. Yesterday’s poem: so-so. Today’s poem: so-so-so…

Tomorrow’s poem?

 

 

“I read Matt Hart’s latest collection, Sermons and Lectures Both Blank and Relentless (Typecast Publishing, 2012), straight through on a two-stop flight from Madison, WI, to Manchester, NH. The whole time I felt like TSA had messed up: They let me through with an incendiary device.

Is anyone writing poems like this? Is anyone even close?…”

Read the rest of my review here, via “First Takes” over at the Southern Indiana Review…