Cavalier

What happens when you have a bunch of poems that you believed in (and believed) at one point, but no longer believe in (or believe)? I'm talking about a change of heart; not just outgrowing the poems, but no longer meaning them. No longer caring about what they have to say.

Is a poet obligated to mean the poems he or she sends out into the world, or reads to the public?

I never faced this dilemma until recently.

Perhaps I didn't have enough meaning to begin with back then.

I've probably mentioned that I trashed an entire book this past year. I made the Saint Monica series into a chapbook, but that left 50-60 pages of poems that I basically abandoned after publishing most of them in journals. People have been shocked that I don't intend to make those poems into a book. I don't want to, and it wouldn't feel right. I couldn't picture myself doing a reading tour with those poems in 2012.

Kelli has some fascinating posts about the evolution of book manuscripts. I know that I need to get motivated to work on assembling/sequencing/submitting my new ms, the one I wrote to replace the one I threw away. I wonder if I'd be more motivated if I didn't work in literary publishing. I wonder if I am totally overthinking this. I wonder if I'd seem so cavalier if I were a fiction writer. Don't they throw things away all of the time?

Not jellyfish, of course.

Bird's eye.

I'm still not writing, but I'm taking pictures again, and that makes me happy. I'm using my real camera quite a bit, and the camera on my blackberry too (I figured out how to turn that evil flash off). Every day I see 2-3 things I wish I could've photographed, but either wasn't quick enough or was too self-conscious to stop and ponder. There's a lovely sewer grate with my name on it here on campus, and some day it will be mine.

Right now I'm contemplating frugality. I've never had to be especially frugal in the past, but being on my own and supporting two kids by myself, I need a crash course. I'm trying to only purchase items I really need at the grocery store. In my former life I'd cut myself a blank check for groceries and end up buying all kinds of strange items. Last week I shopped when I had barely any time, and that helped. My one semi-indulgence has been turning my creepy basement into a nice rec room. I'm hoping it will be a good investment.

Perhaps this is a personality quirk, but I always consider the week I'm currently in to be "over." So I'm already in week 11 (out of 15) of the semester. Somewhere near the end of September time sped up. It's warm here now, and though I spent several hours with the leaf blower the other day somehow my yard is all leafy again, just not quite as bad. The leaf blower had a direct effect on my handwriting, after shaking my wrist for that long, and my signature looks like the scribblings of a madwoman. I think it's funny. Thankfully I don't have papers to grade right now.

I think I had a dream about AWP Denver last night, but I don't remember any of it.

The Real Scare

Today I'm giving "working at home" a try, while various people come kill ants, measure for carpet, maintenance the furnace, and install a programmable thermostat. While this happens I plan to do some grading, and also blow the leaves out of the back yard. My yard is the width of a business-sized envelope, so hopefully this won't be too hard. I already did the front and it did not kill me.

It's strange being in my house alone. It's luxurious, and not luxurious, but mostly just creepy. Every minute of my home time is usually witnessed by at least one, if not both, of my kids. Right now I'm feeling very unsupervised. But I still need to get work done.

Without meaning to, I have entered into a phase of not writing. Perhaps it's an October thing. At any rate, there are no new poems to report. I was too tired Friday night, and so forth.

I know this is, like, twenty years too late, but I think I'm finally ready to stop trying to impress my parents. It's impossible. Even if I won the Nobel Prize my mom would still remind me that I'm not a brain surgeon. If I went back to school to become a brain surgeon she'd probably gripe about me not being the right kind of brain surgeon. It's just very disheartening when your own parents are incapable of being pleased with you.

Perhaps instead of working at home I'll go get a mohawk! That'll show 'em.

Wherein the author is unusually refreshed.

Usually I get about five hours of sleep a night, waking up at 5:30, but my daughter had the day off from school today, so I got to sleep until 6:50 (when my son woke up), and it made such a difference. Then I was somewhat non-hassled getting ready, since there was no elementary school urgency, and I took care of some household chores, and that made me really happy. Sometimes I'm baffled by the things that make me happy.

I subbed for a friend's class today, and it was a delight. I am looking forward to the days when I get to be a teacher again, and just a teacher, not 2/3 administrator 1/3 teacher. Only 2.6 more years to go. Sigh.

I am teaching these books in my Spring MFA class. I've been carrying around the copy of Harmonium everywhere I go. So far the students, with a few exceptions, are happy about the syllabus.

The Collected Poems of Barbara Guest
Meditations in an Emergency, Frank O'Hara
Ariel, Sylvia Plath
Harmonium, Wallace Stevens

Last week I was on fire in the blog department, but this week wasn't as fruitful.

What was fruitful? The chocolate-covered strawberry and apple that I just consumed.

I haven't written a poem in two weeks. Tonight I have to scrub orange juice off my hardwood floor and wall (apparently Ray really meant it when he dropped his cup the other day), but once that's done I intend to write.

Here's a new online litmag to submit to: NOP (pronounced "nope,"). The editors are a stellar bunch. Check out the call for submissions. It's not on paper!

I could be grumbling about the rain right now, but the amazing Dora Malech has two poems in THERMOS, so obviously all is right in the world.

I (almost) always root for the underdog.

There's one more week to submit to Barn Owl Review. Check out the new review of Dick of the Dead by Rachel Loden.

Happy Friday!

No Swan So Fine

This morning when I walked into Olin Hall for whatever reason everyone around me was very small. The undergraduates I passed all looked like elementary school students. Perhaps I made the coffee extra strong today?

There aren't too many days that I lament, dang, I'd like to be in Buffalo right now, but today is one of them.

For the Ohio writers out there: Rubbertop Review is now taking submissions for its second issue. Check it out!

I think I am getting used to the new camera. My old one would've picked up more definition on the gorgeous bird above, however.

I'm hoping that today is relatively peaceful so that I can continue catching up and maybe get a little time to write tonight. My kids were extra difficult to get out of the house this morning (go get your shoes so I can help you put them on // [child gets shoes and throws them into bathtub] // you are driving me crazy // [child takes socks off and runs away]).

Hopefully that's not a metaphor.

In the can.

Right now I have the rather unseemly feeling of someone who hasn't written a poem in longer than she would like to, and who probably has no time in the perceivable future to write that poem. It's kind of like when I try to get away with not washing my hair, since it looks just fine in the morning, but then ten minutes later it's abundantly clear that I will not get away with it after all.

Many people are holding conferences this week, since it's around midterm. So my work (editing, grading, reading) is often interrupted by fragments like Be sure to use some Purell or Take care now, Randy.

Perhaps I'm a little unsettled because Fall is usually my favorite season, but aside from getting a generous football fix, I've been missing out on the other things I like because it has been too cold. It feels like winter. My poor mums glare at me when I open the front door.

On the upside, I am getting used to using the camera in my new phone. I just don't know what to do about the flash. What's up with that? I imagine there's something called "settings" somewhere that can make it go away. I prefer to find my own light, thank you very much.

A little Monday sugar.

Check out the new tenth anniversary issue of Valparaiso Poetry Review. What an honor to be featured with such amazing writers. That certainly gave me a pleasant jolt on a Monday morning.

I spent part of the weekend being terribly, and inexplicably, sick. The people at the hospital were really nice to me. I remembered how much I hate morphine, at least at first. I have a nice bruise on my arm from the iv. I'm feeling a lot better now. It's so easy to forget what a blessing good health can be. I somehow managed to catch up on housework yesterday, too. I actually ironed.

Must spend some time with my door closed today, grading. But I'll be reading the VPR issue here and there as a treat.

PS: Did you know that The University of Akron Press now has a blog? Please check out An Akronism to get a glimpse into our workings. (It's more exciting than you might think. Kinda.)

Grappling.

I haven't taken any (semi) meaningful pictures lately. I have a really nice camera, but tend to use my phone for spontaneous photos instead. But then I got a BlackBerry, and everything was different, and even though the camera in it is much better than the one in my old phone, I still shy away from trying. From now on, however, I will get over it. I would like to start blogging a bit more, too.

My course adoptions are a week late. Whoops. I've had several interesting discussions with colleagues, and will be doing something different with the readings in my MFA class. Let's just say that it will be a bit old school, but in a really good way.

I spent some time in the library this morning. It's amazing how anxious I still get perusing the stacks, worrying about books being missing (several were). I used to work in libraries, so you'd think it wouldn't be a concern, but it still is. Then I read a couple of essays (Olson, Levertov) and completely derailed my to-do list. I need to get back on track now.

I've been away from my manuscript for a while, but now that I'm doing readings from it I am finally ready to think about sequencing. I'm still writing new poems for it, too. I think I will send it to 1-3 presses that I really, really admire, but I'm not going to mass-saturate. Being on the other side of things is hard sometimes. A goodly portion of the poems in the ms are forthcoming places, but I'm not sure about the overall doneness yet.

It's hard to believe that next week is week eight, and the semester is halfway over. I'll have some editorial project announcements soon. Until then, I'll be the lone orange in the vestibule above.

Adorability.

Yes, they do make Beanie Baby goats, apparently.