Little Myths

Interview with MRB Chelko

2012-02-01T06:28:00.000-08:00

MRB Chelko holds an MFA from The University of New Hampshire and is Assistant Editor of the unbound journal Tuesday; An Art Project. She has two chapbooks: The World after Czeslaw Milosz (Dream Horse Press, 2012) and What to Tell the Sleeping Babies (sunnyoutside, 2010). Her recent work can be found in Indiana Review, Washington Square Review, POOL, Vinyl Poetry, Forklift, Ohio and other journals.

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DS: When and why did you decide to writepoetry?

MC: One of my poems opens, “Thanks but I prefer to perpetuate adifficult and lonely lifestyle.” That pretty much sums up the why. When? Well, I’ve been writingpoetry rather constantly since middle school, but it wasn’t until about myjunior year of college that I became very serious about it. I was 21, drivingaround with my then boyfriend (now husband), whining about how I didn’t knowwhat I was going to do with my life, and he was like, “Are you kidding me?You’re already doing it!”

DS: What percentage of time are you “in your head,” and what percentage are you“in the real world”?

MC: Um, I think I would say I am “in my head” 95% of the time,and I am in the world 50% of the time.

DS: Please tell me about your revisionprocess. How do you know when a poem is done?

MC: My revision process varies. Sometimes I just keep writingnew poems. I don’t try to salvage anything; I just throw it all away until Iget to wherever it was I didn’t know I was trying to get. Other times Ipainstakingly whittle poems. I say whittle because I rarely add—I nearly alwayssubtract as I revise. And I trust that I’ve subtracted the right things when Ican’t remember what the poem used to be (I figure if I can’t remember the lineI cut, then no one else was going to remember it either). However, if an oldversion of the poem keeps popping into my head as I revise, I often return tothat version. How do I know when a poem is done? I don’t, really. But I’m a fanof brevity. It’s like a game of Jenga minus the last turn. I stop when, if Iremove one more piece, the whole thing will fall apart.

DS: You have been a teacher, reader/editor, and writer. How does your approachto poetry change as you take on different roles? How does it stay the same?

MC: While they are quite disparate, for me, the roles of writer,editor, and teacher are unified by a single tool box. For example, if one ofthose tools were a hammer, as a writer, I am constantly trying to develop myrelationship to that hammer—how does it feel in my hand? How many swings doesit take me to sink a nail? How can I use the hammer more efficiently, moreforcefully… When I am reading or editing, I am analyzing and evaluating otherpeople’s hammer use—what techniques do they have that impress or interest me?Are they particularly strong, agile, etc… And, when I am teaching, it’s morelike—This is a hammer. This is why a hammer is useful. This is how fun a hammercan be. How dangerous. Okay, class, now,
swing away.

DS: Please describeyour forthcoming chapbook The World,which is a series of responses to poems by Czeslaw Milosz. What did yourecognize in Milosz’s work that prompted such a project?

MC: I had, for a long time, a preoccupation with childhood—or, at least, the kindof strange and unbridled imagination that accompanies childhood. Adults are sological, so weathered, so boring. Milosz’s series “The World” was written inWarsaw in 1943—so you might imagine it would take on the devastation of itstime directly, but it doesn’t. Instead, the poems are written from a child’sperspective. The pressures of fear, death, war are felt only indirectly throughimages like white pickets “sharp, like tiny flames” and “the moons ofmountains…visible in spots, / something like goose feathers scattered on theground.” Anyhow, in December of 2010 two things were happening for me: I wastrying to quit smoking, and I was obsessing about these poems. It was the firsttime, as a reader of poetry, I felt an overwhelming urge to write back—torespond directly to something I’d read. And I needed a distraction from thesmoking. So, I locked myself in my tiny office and started rearranging thewords in Milosz’s poems, adding some of my own personal experience… and, aftera concentrated, but exhaustive, revision process, emerged as a non-smoker withher own version of
“The World.”

DS: When I finishedyour first chapbook, What to Tell the Sleeping Babies, I came up with this two-sentence description (and if youwant to blurb me, please include my middle initial): “Chelko reveals tinymysteries to us without fanfare or cuteness. Her poems continue to see whatwe’ve been missing and thoughtfully let us know.” Do you find these “tinymysteries,” or do they find you?

MC: I am and was, especially while writing the poems in What to Tell the Sleeping Babies, preoccupied by ways of seeing. For example, the poem “The Orchard Picked Over”imagines the last apple with a man inside it, but inside the man is a cloud, andinside the cloud, a girl. It’s that kind of imaginative sight that interests me—therelentlessly playful kind that reveals “tiny mysteries” in the banal.

DS: What roles do the people around you play in your poetry? How important isit for your non-poet friends and family to “get”
your poems?

MC: The friends and family of any writer are bound to be, at onetime or another, literary victims. They never know when, how, or where theymight show up as characters in a piece of writing. I write, more lately thanever, from my life. So, the people around me get plugged into poems like it ornot. I do have a handful of friends who play an active role in my writing life(most of them are also poets), and they are the people I harass with drafts andideas and theoretical rants. Other than that, I really don’t show my work tofriends and family unless they ask. It is very important to me that readers ofpoetry find my work accessible—but I am not a fan of poetic evangelism, so Idon’t try to convert my non-literary friends and family into an audience.

DS: A poet friend ofmine told me, “You’re sane, unlike most poets.” (I wasn’t sure if this was acompliment or condemnation.) How do you feel about the notion that people writepoetry to search for the solution to a problem or problems? If you aren’t ableto find a solution that satisfies you, how would you assess your work? (Say youwrite brilliant poems about failed relationships but never figure out how tohave a successful relationship…)

MC: Grace Paley said, “A writing problem is a life problem.” Ibelieve that our writing lives and our personal lives are hopelessly linked—atleast, one always seems to cruelly imitate the other. But I don’t thinksolutions are found in poetry—at least not more than Frost’s idea that a poemis “a momentary stay against confusion.” Solace is, however, found in poetry—nomatter how disturbing the verse, there is comfort in truth telling. And that iswhat poetry attempts, right? But there is something dangerous about payingattention—allowing your inner life to absorb and weigh and analyze thehappenings around you. It can make you cynical. Corroded. Difficult. It cancause you to become an emotional addict, bouncing from one great love to thenext. It can drive you to drink. To kill yourself. To hide out on a ranch inthe Southwest. It’s risky business. Thinking. But so is living. And I haven’tlived long enough to know if my writing and relationships will ultimately fail…but I am pretty damn hopeful.

DS: A high school English teacher (e.g., I) asks you to help his studentswrite poems. What are the three most important pieces of advice to give them?

MC:

Learn to write a really good sentence.

If you aren’t enjoying yourself when you arewriting—no one is going to enjoy reading your work.

“Butthat’s how it really happened!” is no excuse for a bad poem.

DS: What do youconsider your place in the “Poetry World”? Describe how your current project(or future ones) may affect
that place.

MC: Let’s define the “Poetry World” as a parade. The parade consistsof millions of ghosts, thousands of elaborate floats (most depicting love orsex or death or war or all of the above), some balloons, several hundred peopleon stilts, several hundred overweight pageant winners creeping by in antiqueconvertibles, and then there are countless exuberant young people running everywhich way tossing candy into the streets. I am one of the people tossing candy.But all that matters, really, is that the parade exists, and that it keepsmoving forward. In all of my current and future work, my only real hope is tobe a part of that great bright poetic streak through time.

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Read these poems by MRB Chelko:

"The Hairs on My Coat Belong to the Animal I Sleep With" and "Memoir"
"Definition:"
"Outside We're All"
Two poems from The World
"Six Recurring Dreams"
from Manhattations
from Manhattations
from December Songs
from December Songs
from December Songs
from December Songs

Announcement

2012-01-25T06:36:00.000-08:00

I had planned on writing a long essay about how we read so many poems but seldom know much about poets, but the heck with that:

Soon you will be able to read my interviews with poets, editors, and other literary people here. (A couple of brilliant writers have already agreed to let me go all Mike Wallace on them.) Stay tuned for further details...

--DMS

Thoughts on David Bowie Turning 65 Today

2012-01-08T08:40:00.000-08:00

I've read interviews with writers who say they don't like the word "inspiration" because it implies people or events just come along and put thoughts in our heads. (See Brian Brodeur's blog, in which he asks poets if they believe in inspiration.) To many, writing must incorporate the painstaking task of revision; we don't just stumble upon great ideas and use them to create fully formed masterpieces on the first try.

For as long as I can remember, David Bowie has inspired me, and not just in my writing. Through his various personae, shifts in musical genres, and countless other unexplained phenomena, he has taught me more than a lot of poets or novelists have. As a kid, I remember thinking I knew how men were supposed to look and behave, but then I saw Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust phase (above) and realized people didn't have to look and sound the same. Working with Iggy Pop and Lou Reed, he added depth to their feral beast and nihilist junkie caricatures. In his Let's Dance era (left), he might've seemed more accessible both musically and visually--with heavier beats and suits and ties--but he seemed to be winking at us through this period. He remained delightfully strange.

I have written three poems inspired, in part, by my feelings about Bowie. One called "Bowie Medley," co-written with Jessy Randall, pays tribute to him by juxtaposing lyrics that span his career. Another, "Poem Sparked by Scraps of Iggy Pop/Lou Reed Lyrics," is a sort of sister (or perhaps androgynous brother) poem to Bowie Medley. An unpublished poem, "Directions to the David Bowie Birthplace and Museum, Brixton," imagines if there were such a place and what it would contain.

But perhaps more significant than Bowie himself is a theme that runs through almost all of my recent writing, a theme especially apparent on Bowie's 65th birthday: aging. As an oldish father of young children, I think about aging regularly. As someone who wants to matter to other people more so than I had before, I think about it. As a music fan who sees childhood heroes soaring past retirement age, I think about it. I also remember one of the last things my grandfather told me: "I know I look old, but I feel young inside." I imagine Bowie must feel that way, as well, though he might never look old the way we humans do.

Thoughts on "success," plus Favorite Books I've Read in 2011

2011-12-26T13:16:00.000-08:00

The other day, I read an interview with one of my favorite poets, Bill Knott. In it, Knott goes on and on about how he is a failure who wishes he had chosen something to do with his life besides poetry. He provides "evidence" of his failure: No one has ever invited him to judge a poetry contest or teach at a conference. Publishers have continually rejected his manuscripts. He also mentions that although he has lived a life more challenging than that of most other poets (orphaned, spent time in an institution, etc.), he has failed because he hasn't been able to write poems about those experiences. He is so dissatisfied with the publishing world that he has become what he calls a "vanity publisher" of his work, posting everything on his blog.

Nonetheless, here is some different evidence: Since 1968, Knott has had 10 full-length books published. He received a Guggenheim Fellowship in 2003. He has taught at Emerson. Numerous poets, including Thomas Lux, Stephen Dobyns, and Denise Duhamel, have been influenced by his work. It's unclear whether anyone but Knott considers him to be a failure.

Yet The Institution of Poetry has not honored Knott the way it honors other poets, several of whom are lesser poets than Knott. This brings up a question about what constitutes success in art: Is it becoming a household name or producing transcendent work? If a poet writes several volumes of brilliant verse and shares it with no one, is he or she a failure? The expectation is that if you publish for a while, teach for a while, and influence for a while, you should receive proper recognition. Knott still remains a relative unknown, while perennial contest judges, speakers, and better sellers monopolize the limelight.

I still believe that a singular voice dominates The Institution of Poetry, a voice many high-profile editors want to hear, and voices outside that bland radius of homogeneity are often overlooked. Some of the risk-takers get lucky and poke through, but others get too frustrated and give up. The only failure of these poets who quit, though, is in recognizing their own intrinsic success. Those of us who love the eccentrics, originals, and/or visionaries need to talk more about people such as Knott--and introduce their work into our classrooms--before these poets go away and render discussions of their successes or failures moot.

Anyhow, I consider success to be work itself rather than institutional accolades, and, because I love lists, I wanted to provide my Favorite Books I've Read in 2011. Some of these are not new, but they were new to me this year. I have no idea if they have sold well or if their authors consider themselves to be successful. I certainly hope each of these poets has believed or will someday believe he or she has significant talent, if he or she doesn't already realize this. So here they are, in no particular order:

No Thanks, E.E. Cummings (Liveright, 1998): It bothers me greatly when I read the work of current poets who consider themselves "daring" or "experimental" when they seem to be copying this guy's voice, vocabulary twists, and other ideas from 70+ years ago. He might be the most influential poet today when it comes to stuff I like to read, and this book's title refers to the manuscript's initial rejection by 14 publishers.

Poems, 1963-1988, Bill Knott (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1989). I have said enough about Knott above. To read his work, go to your library and/or his website.

Looking for Jonathan, Jon Anderson (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1968). I found this book in the free bin at the Carnegie Library in my neighborhood. Free. The poem "On a Rainy Night, an Ape in Scarsdale, N.Y., Returns a Library Book" kind of pissed me off because I wished I had thought of something as fantastic as He carried the moon / like a book beneath his left arm.

Money Shot, Rae Armantrout (Wesleyan University Press, 2011). These poems provide commentary on the so-called Great Recession, tackling a number of subjects that seem to question the meaning of--have you figured out the theme of this column yet?--success or failure. Armantrout takes great risks here and always surprises.

Dick of the Dead, Rachel Loden (Ahsahta Press, 2009). I admit: I have an unhealthy obsession with Richard Nixon. Loden's poems aren't just for people like me, though. Nixon becomes a spokesman for present-day ironies, a mix of humor and horror, and we can all learn from present-day ironies.

Victims of Ted Bundy: Washington State and Oregon, Caitlin Elizabeth Thomson (Jeanne Duval Editions, 2011). These minimalist poems take the reader to a raw, uncomfortable place. They do what great poems are supposed to do: They suggest.

Letters from Room 27 of the Grand Midway Hotel, Margaret Bashaar (Blood Pudding Press, 2011). Bashaar has created Claire, an enduring persona in a world of decay. Poems take place in a haunted hotel, but we never question the slamming of windows or doors; we know they are real.

Thirteen Designer Vaginas, Juliet Cook (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2011). Cook plays with words the way most of us wish we could. Here, she comments on how far some people will go in the name of absurd vanity. These poems are fun and creepy, sometimes at the same time.

The Whiskey Rebellion, Jason Baldinger and Jerome Crooks (Six Gallery Press, 2011). I love collaborations, especially ones in which the writers create a seamless voice. Baldinger and Crooks play with our sense of history, mixing reality and myth without losing sight of humanity.

That's all for now. Happy holidays.
--DMS

This Sunday: A Night at the Bar

2011-12-01T06:48:00.000-08:00

I am so pleased to be reading bar-themed poetry with several talented people. I hope you will be able to attend. Details below.

DAY:
Sunday, December 4

TIME:
8:00 p.m.

PLACE:
Hambone's,
4207 Butler St, Pittsburgh, PA 15201

PARTICIPANTS:

Clevelanders
Dianne Borsenik
John Burroughs

Pittsburghers
Renée Alberts
Nikki Allen
Jason Baldinger
Jerome Crooks
Bobby Pajich
Daniel M. Shapiro

Band
Thee Shopkeepers

Attention, Pittsburgh-area literary and art aficionados!

2011-10-15T08:32:00.000-07:00

You really need to be at Modern Formations Art Gallery tomorrow night for Hyacinth Girl Press Presents: 2 by 4 Reading Series, The Fall Edition. Margaret Bashaar has put together a great lineup of artists who will collaborate in pairs. (As a collaborateur myself, I am particularly enthused about the format.) I hope to see many, many people at this inaugural event. Here's what's happening:

Day:
Sunday, October 16

Time:
5:30-8:00 p.m.

Place:
Modern Formations Art Gallery,
4919 Penn Avenue. Pittsburgh PA 15224

Participants:
Deena November & Renée Alberts;
Jason Baldinger & Jerome Crooks;
Wayne Wise & Marcel Lamont Walker;
Margaret Bashaar & Juliet Cook

"Apparent demise," indeed

2011-09-05T16:09:00.000-07:00

Here is the latest in the BlazeVOX story.

I don't expect to write anything else about BlazeVOX here because I still believe this is principally a sad situation, and enough people are voicing their opinions about it. I just wanted to provide an update to my last entry.

--DMS

The bizarre apparent demise of an important publisher

2011-09-05T06:58:00.000-07:00

Excuse me while I bury the lead: Two years ago, Jessy Randall and I received an acceptance letter from BlazeVOX [books] for our manuscript, Interruptions. The letter offered us a "situation," in which we were to pay Geoffrey Gatza, the editor and publisher, $250 "due to the recent economic upheaval." Gatza went on to assure us these financial woes were only temporary: "No joke, not participating in this will not mean we will not publish your work in the future!"

At the time, Jessy and I discussed the odd feeling we got from this letter. Here was a significant publisher of experimental literature, a publisher with books by people whom we admired greatly. And yet Gatza's letter forced us to question whether or not we were desperate to get our book published. We ended up passing on the "situation."

I hadn't thought about BlazeVOX again until a couple of months ago, when I was engaged in one of my time-consuming hobbies: looking through Duotrope--a website for authors looking for places to submit their work and editors who want submissions. A key criterion of being listed on Duotrope is that a magazine or journal must not require reading fees. Each time you access the website, you're shown a "random market"; it could be any journal or magazine. Anyhow, when I went onto the site, BlazeVOX popped up as the random market. Naturally, I was curious about what had happened to them in the last couple of years, so I went to the entry. At the top of the page was a note: "Please contact us if this publisher has ever asked you for large amounts of money."

Well... As a Duotrope addict and a supporter of fee-free submissions, I dug up our "situation" letter and forwarded it to the Duotrope folks. I received a short, polite response thanking me for my help. I don't know what Duotrope did, other than to change its listing, which now says, "DNQ. Reason for disqualification: They request a donation of hundreds of dollars to help with publishing costs after accepting a book."

Two days ago, I learned of another person who had received the same "situation" letter Jessy and I had gotten. Brett Ortler, co-founder of Knockout literary magazine, wrote a blog about his exchanges with Gatza. His post created an occasionally ugly series of dialogues among Ortler and people leaving comments. I believe Ortler was trying to share information with other writers who might be interested in submitting to BlazeVOX; he seemed to be giving people a heads up about fees that aren't upfront. Nonetheless, a few people who feel strongly about the past merits of BlazeVOX and its editor/publisher suggested Ortler was, at best, being a whiner and, at worst, starting a campaign against the publisher.

Then yesterday, Gatza announced he'll shut down the press at the end of the year. Some people want to blame Ortler for this, but it's absurd to suggest someone could blog about something controversial--not everyone believes the $250 fee is unethical--and cause the press to shut down the next day. It's clear the press has been in trouble for at least a couple of years--when the "recent economic upheaval" might've begun--so it's possible Gatza has finally grown weary of asking for help. Ortler's blog probably just magnified Gatza's desperation, rather than blowing the whistle on a "scam," as some blog commentators want to call it.

My overall feeling is that it's sad to see a vibrant small press sink and fall apart. Art and business have always made strange bedfellows. People who really love literature have founded presses and had to shut them down because they couldn't afford to keep them running. The big question doesn't seem to be, "Does a publisher care about his authors?" or "Is the publisher a good person?" It seems to be more about downsizing, cutbacks, and other business jargon. Writing a book might be magical, pure love, etc., etc., but getting someone to sell it for you might be something else entirely. It's difficult to go from pouring your emotions into your writing and then having to shrug and say business is business. BlazeVOX is only the latest press to prove this, though its previous track record makes the truth sting a bit more.

My book is out!

2011-08-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

Interruptions, my book of collaborative poems with Jessy Randall, has been released by Pecan Grove Press. Please click on the link in this post to read about it and/or purchase it. Jessy and I had a great experience working with Palmer Hall and Louie Cortez at Pecan Grove, by the way; I hope you will check out other books they have available.

Readings

2011-08-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

This article has been around for more than a month, but I just read it today. Although it irritates me, I have to agree with parts of it (perhaps even most of it). Please let me know what you think.

--DMS

Shorts

2011-07-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

On vacation last week, I stopped by The York Emporium, which quickly became my favorite store for used books, "Charlie's Angels" board games, and Lee Majors autobiographies. For ironic purposes (and potential poem ideas), I picked up "The Nixon 1968 Yearbook" and "Arnold's Bodyshaping for Women: A Complete Program for a Lifetime of Fitness and Beauty," by Arnold Schwarzenegger. Most important, though, I bought "The Bat-Poet," a children's-oriented book by one of my favorite poets, Randall Jarrell. If any of you have read this book, please let me know because I want to discuss it, as it is one of the best books about poetry I could imagine.
My lament for Chiron Review was somewhat off and premature, as you can see under the section "Chiron Review is in Transition."
I am looking forward to a reading tonight by Mark Spitzer, who seems to live a life I would've made up for a character, as he has a mythical beast living in his house. In addition, Pittsburghers whom I like, such as Margaret Bashaar and Jason Baldinger, will be reading. Again: It is great to live in a city that gives someone a chance to hear great writers read.
I was going to spend a lot of space here on etiquette at open mics, but anyone who reads this probably knows that if you're asked to read only one poem, don't read a three-pager, and if the guy before you reads a three-pager, don't read a three-pager, too. Side note: My collaboratrix Jessy Randall and I have a poem called "He Played the Bongos Badly" in our forthcoming book "Interruptions." That poem is based on a guy I used to see in Tucson who routinely overstepped his bounds at open mics (which are typically run by kind people who resist cutting anyone short), and it was designed to relieve me of my disgust for open-mic usurpers. It originally appeared in Octopus Beak, which was so short lived it might not have actually existed. Anyway, in lieu of the link I desire, I provide it here:

He Played the Bongos Badly

He played the bongos badly. No one could believe it. There he stood, knees bent, pounding away. The girls laughed. Then he began to cry. Not the manly, one-tear-down-the-cheek variety. Convulsive sobs. The girls stopped laughing. He bongoed along with his own crying. The tears and the beats made a duet. The girls ordered more drinks. Sipping and tuning glasses, they tapped with swizzle sticks, joining the drummer in a salvaged chord. That night, he gave up soloing.

By the way: If you have any amusing open-mic stories, do share.

--DMS

I say I hate superlatives, but...

2011-06-23T20:36:00.000-07:00

Tonight I had the best poetry experience I've ever had. No question. I attended a reading by Cave Canem poets (co-hosted by City of Asylum), with special guest--ahem--Amiri Baraka. At the beginning of the event, one of the emcees said, "We've had some difficulties with our program. Mr. Baraka's plane has been delayed. It arrived at 7:13." Come on, I thought. This is Pittsburgh. He'll get here around 8:00.

Before what I was sure would be the timely arrival of Baraka, three other poets read. Leading off was Natasha Trethewey, about whom I knew absolutely nothing. Her presenter said Trethewey's work "revisits the 'tragic mulatto' concept" through ekphrastic poetry. I was somewhat afraid of where this might go, but Trethewey made me want to go back to my manuscript and fix everything. In some of her poems, she describes seemingly innocuous paintings from the 18th century and then proceeds to reach into the paintings and remove previously unseen beauty and horror to show us. Quickly, I became fearful that she would hand the soon-to-be-on-time Baraka his mad-as-hell behind.

Next came Cornelius Eady, someone I knew a bit more about. His presenter mentioned that Eady would be reading poems about his dead father. Oh dear, I thought. He proceeded to read poems that told concise, unlikely stories about his relationship with his father. He brought the sorry SOB into the tent for all of us to meet. He took words I usually hate to hear--bone, rib, etc.--and made them matter to me. Where supposedly effective readers would've clanged on like a runaway train, the guy whispered. Again: Would the diminutive spark plug Baraka be trod upon?

Third came Toi Derricotte, on whom I've had a major poet crush ever since I bought her ingenious, painful book Captivity. One reason I wanted to move to Pittsburgh was to breathe the same air Derricotte breathes. Like the two poets before her, Derricotte uses unadorned language to explore pain, but her poems have a redemptive quality. It was as if the audience emerged stronger after listening to her. By now, Baraka might have been wishing the plane hadn't left the tarmac in Newark.

Finally, it was the sure-to-be-plane-cranky 76-year-old's turn. I have heard stories about Baraka (from at least one person who knew him), and he has been known as the barometer of African-American literature for decades. He is a pest. He has blasted highly respected works (such as "Raisin in the Sun") for being too soft. So how did he start his segment? By telling a joke about the Tea Party movement. He actually told a lot of jokes; he seemed to be--gasp--having fun throughout, while singing jazz snippets into poems, berating our political system, etc. Ultimately, following the lead of those who preceded him, he handed us our asses.

Anyhow, I'm so grateful to be in a city that can host an event like this. I kind of feel like I just attended one of those conferences where everyone gives out great ideas, but then you have to go back to work, and your turd boss makes you keep everything the way it was. Luckily, poets are their own bosses.

--DMS

A couple of great poems by people I don't know

2011-06-22T07:55:00.000-07:00

The best compliment I can give another poet (and I have told poets this before) is...

I read poetry every day. I don't like most of what I read. I like your poems. I usually proceed to make a fool of myself by trying to prove that I read a lot; the poet then skillfully avoids eye contact; etc., etc. Regardless, I know I have accomplished my goal of complimenting as honestly as I can.

Because I aim to find the unexpected, I don't have a formula for where to look or even what to look for. I tend to have a preference for humor and pop culture references, but humor/pop culture poems can come across as "cute jokes" if not executed properly. (I also like poems about animals, as well, but not cuddly cats or dead dogs.) Mostly, I want to see what I'm pretty sure hasn't been done thematically.

Here and here are two poems that stand out for me. I wish I had come up with them. They fit the "little myths" aesthetic, if there is such a thing. Enjoy.

-DMS

P.S.--Please look at the links to the right under the title "Other Writers I Like." If you have a blog or other link to your writing, please let me know, and I will add it. I can't think of any writers I know who don't write unexpected, excellent stuff, so believe me: I will add you.

Still sad about the Chiron Review

2011-06-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

A short time ago, I found out that Chiron Review had closed. Actually, I found this out from editor Michael Hathaway, who had accepted three of my poems but then e-mailed me back to apologize and say he couldn't use them. Initially, I was devastated to lose such a great opportunity, but initial reactions to problems can be misguided. The main reason I am still sad is that a great journal won't be around the way it used to be.

I have been sending out submissions since 2003, and since then, several places have disappeared. Some of these were tiny mom-and-pop style publishers that were motivated purely by inspiration, desire to make magazines for others to hold and read, etc. They must've known they would lose money, but they did what they believed in and produced maybe one or two issues.

Chiron Review was a different story. It had been around since 1982 and published a number of remarkable writers. You can read about its history here: http://www.chironreview.com/ It is sad to see it written about in the past tense.

Anyhow, I wanted to show my respect for Hathaway and his journal. I hope he is able to produce anthologies or other works, and I wish him the best.

--DMS

Welcome

2011-06-15T10:33:00.000-07:00

I am planning to use this site to showcase my writing and the writing of others. If you have a book or other publications you want people to know about, tell me, and I will put up a link to your work.

My title, Little Myths, was inspired by Robert Penn Warren, who wrote, “Historical sense and poetic sense should not, in the end, be contradictory, for if poetry is the little myth we make, history is the big myth we live, and in our living, constantly remake.” My most recent poems tinker with history, so the quote seems to fit. I welcome your myths, whatever size they are.

Best wishes,
Daniel M. Shapiro