Seventh-Inning Stretch
My mother was a Yankees fan,
had a jersey and everything;
she wore it with Keds and little
socks that didn’t match at all.
I don’t know anything about
this game, only that it made her
happy to root for someone.
In my mind, I can see the logo:
the bat, the hat, stars and stripes.
I can see her, too, if I really try, but
the image gets hazier with each
new year. I swore it never would.
With many, many thanks to complynn, who told us all about “Enter SHIFT” for returns within stanzas (and thereby stopped my growling).
Cousin Fergus
(after Who Goes With Fergus? by William Butler Yeats)
Who will go drive with Fergus now?
That’s what I’d like to know about it.
I could ask him, but he’s always
half in the bag, and the stench
knocks you back a ways. He lives
down at the end of that crooked
road, in a split-level he stole from
his aunt. He has filled it with his
leavings, the odd little dolls he
whittles, tries to give away to
children, whose sensible mothers
pull them closer, keep their hands
from reaching, reaching toward
Fergus, his dolls, his beseechings.
Who will go drive with Fergus now?
All he has left is a motor scooter,
and it can’t climb hills very well.
There are things he needs, and
I suppose I’ll drive him, though
his aunt was my own mother,
and every time I see that stolen
house, it splits my heart in two.
All right … Can any fellow poets tell me how to override the WordPress tendency to double space after each hard return? (And am I phrasing this correctly?) The only workaround I found is to manually add spaces so the text wraps to the next line. Pretty tedious. Oops — it’s worse than I thought. It’s not WYSIWYG, apparently, and so my poems went all crazy and r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r-like. I am not e.e. cummings. I am a WordPress dunce … If you know how to get around this formatting, please comment! For now, I had to go with the blasted double spaces. Grrr.
Day 8: Outdoor Poem
Egg Hunt
My mother-in-law’s dog
is retrieverish, but he points
to each plastic egg. My daughter
is sharp enough to pick up on it.
My son blunders in wet grass,
gets as many as he can
without any interspecies help.
This is the day we leave,
gray and cold, like so many
Ohio Easters of my youth.
Concrete Buddha on his tree stump
watches as we do this, all in our
pajamas, before we dress, load up
the rented car, slowly go back to
who we were before this morning,
before this search in the damp.
Day 7: Color Poem
Orange
Double hot
sparks a flame
nothing can
cool off; orange
knows its own
particular ways,
does not mind
that few people
love it, does not
wish to be loved.
It carries, after all,
its own warmth.
True color of
the leaves once
all the green is
drained away.
Once the sun-
food cells
switch off,
the leaf can
dance, show
what it was
always made
of, the secret
we never knew
until, one day,
orange told us.
Day 6: Animal Poem
Bonobo
You confuse us.
Are you a chimpanzee
that looks like a gorilla?
Vice versa? Neither?
A sign at the zoo
calls you
the “forgotten ape.”
Your rear end is hard to
forget, your genitalia
comically swollen,
on display, always
ready for action.
You are the cousin
we seldom visit, the one
who believes sex can solve
anything. You try to show us;
we watch but never learn,
never can get it right.
So, I was already doing the Poem-a-Day challenge, and then I found out today about NaPoWriMo, which is also great … and which is also this month. And I was out of town all last week. I eked out some rather lame PAD efforts from various living rooms and basements and Red Roof Inn bathrooms (free WiFi, kids sleeping, you get the picture) on the road. As a good friend just put it, I have a lot of pos to wri this mo. Indeed, I do.
Below is my effort for Day 9 of NaPoWriMo, based on the prompt to write a persona poem. I have a thing for solitary bees lately. Seriously, they’re cool. Thank one today (or tomorrow — let them sleep). I did days 8, 7, and 6 as well, and will post those *soon.* Then I’ll continue to catch up on the rest of the old prompts and keep up with the new ones. Whew!
Solitary Bee
If I find your flowers
I will fill these baskets on my legs
Sun is high day is long
I am all that I am
When I started this blog, it was with somewhat mercenary intentions. My husband and I had just fallen off the same cliff as a bajillion other Americans, in that his unemployment benefits were about to run out, with no job in sight (and no extension this time).
So I was going to be the family hero, riding in with my red pen to rescue us all by building a freelance editing and writing business — in my spare time. And … I was going to do that using the power of SEO. Someone had told me blog posts were really great for that, because each one is a new shot at climbing that Google ladder. I was going to build a great website, blog a lot, have the two things play off each other, and BOOM! Skyrockets!
Well.
What’s happened since is that I’ve been enjoying blogging about writing, and reading other people’s blog posts about writing, and about editing. And about reading. You get the drift. I’ve been enjoying it so much that the Designing Women-type business-getting drive, at least in terms of this blog, is all but gone (seriously, I envisioned myself in the shoulder pads).
So much for SEO mastery.
And yet, it’s all working, somehow. I do get freelance assignments — through good, old-fashioned word of mouth. All have been interesting, all have taught me new things — and just when I wonder when/if a new one will arrive, sure enough, it does. I am profoundly grateful.
But … If you need an editor or writer, please do let me know. My assignments thus far have run the gamut from academic proofreading to manuscript revision of all types to simply sharing some tips with an aspiring poet and nonfiction essayist.
I would particularly love to find more creative writing clients. I can proofread, give you an honest opinion, share some thoughts on where you might submit your work, and generally be your editor friend (well, OK, a friend whom you pay) who knows how it is because she’s also a writer. If that interests you, please let me know.
And if not, then please do stick around and I’ll get back to blogging about writing soon. As a matter of fact, I’m taking off my shoulder pads right now. Ahh, that’s better. Those things get heavy, you know.
I have often said that I’ll know I’ve made it when I see my name in Poet’s Market. No, not in an interview or other feature, accompanied by a suitably poetic-looking headshot … in the actual listings, where the publications name a few poets whose work they have published recently. It would be maybe a little spooky to see my name there, but it would also be really, really thrilling.
I have a long history with Poet’s Market. I may have bought my first one while I was still in high school. I know I had at least one when I was in college. I would read through all the different listings and dream, and sometimes submit poems — and once or twice, I actually got something published.
Then came the long fallow period after college. When I wasn’t writing for a grade anymore, when no one particularly cared whether I wrote poetry or not, I found it very difficult to keep doing it. I threw my energies into other things, some more worthy than others. The career-marriage-family nexus I don’t regret at all, but if I had diverted some of my attention away from horrible/engrossing daytime TV or obsessive, but not so skillful crafting, who knows what great poems I could have written during that lull, which lasted more than a decade?
I know there were at least a couple of times during those years when I bought the latest Poet’s Market but didn’t use it. It felt good, anyway, just to have it around — as if I might need it again someday. Once my writing life was restarted in earnest, I knew just what I needed to get, and I continue to buy the new one when it comes out in the fall.
I highlight, cross out, star, and otherwise make a path through the listings — a path that becomes a rough plan for where I’ll submit in the coming year. I divert from the path as needed, and sometimes I scrap the plan completely and start another one. Lately, I have been putting little hearts, in highlighter, by the publications that have accepted my work. Yes, really.
On my many trips through Poet’s Market, there are certain poets whose names I encounter over and over, and whose names have become indicators for me. That is, if I see a certain name listed, I have a sense that the publication is looking for the kind of work that I enjoy — and that maybe it would be a good home for my poems, too.
Now that I’m having a measure of success, I sometimes discover that one or more of these indicator poets is in the same publication and same issue that I am. I love it when that happens. I don’t personally know any of these poets, but I feel as if I do, and I want to thank them for helping me find my way in:
Ruth Moon Kempher (Hey, look — Lyn Lifshin is there, too.)
Please know that I’m not saying my own work is comparable to any of theirs. It’s just that nine times out of ten, when I see one of their names, it leads me to a publication that I am glad to know about and enjoy reading — whether or not it ultimately accepts any of my work.
Maybe someday, I’ll join my indicator poets in those Poet’s Market listings. Until then, it is always a pleasure to read their work, and a special thrill whenever our paths cross in the pages of a literary publication.
I’ve chosen the poems to send to one of the publications I had in mind, and now I *just* have to write the cover letter. Well … that, and do a little more editing, print the poems again, stare at them for a while longer, and carry them around with me until I’m sick of them and myself. This will involve reading poetry on public transit — my own poetry, no less — which always makes me feel a bit effete, and as if I’m hoping someone will notice. Which I’m not. Really.
But I digress … What I was going to say is that I find cover letters really difficult to write. I know they won’t make or break anything, but I fear sounding like a total jackass, and then this really might jaundice the editors’ view of my work. Will my attempt to sound humble and normal instead come across as false modesty and tweeness? Now that I have some publishing credits, how many of them can I armor myself with to make the point that other people think I’m good — or at least, have thought so in the past (butmaybemybestworkisbehindmeandI’llneverpublishanotherthing)? Past a certain point, a long string of credits must look pretty desperate, as if you believe your work can’t stand on its own. <Cough> And I don’t feel that way at all.
Writers, do you find cover letters difficult, too? Editors, what makes a good one?
And what better way to end a post on cover letters than with a list of credits? Thank you very much to the following publications, which will always hold a special place in my heart (evenifIcan’taffordtosubscribetothem AND eveniftheyhavesubsequentlyrejectedme — what’supwiththat?):
Alimentum:The Literature of Food
Cider Press Review (upcoming)
Exit 13 (upcoming)
I am now deep into another submitting phase, which means I temporarily have zero interest in writing any new poems because I am so wrapped up with looking back at the ones I’ve written in recent months, and with trying to find good homes for them — and for some that previously came back rejected but that seem to deserve another chance.
When I first got restarted writing poetry, I feared this phase. Why did I no longer feel like writing? What if I never wrote again? But now I know better than to fear it — or fight it. When I try to write during a submitting phase, the lack of engagement with what I’m doing is very apparent. It is all too clear that I’m not doing what I really want to do, which is to take another flip through Poet’s Market, get some sample copies of publications I haven’t read before, and start sending things out.
Both phases have their appeal, and each has different things that make them exciting. During the submitting phase, I love reading different publications, admiring what other poets have written, and getting a sense of whether I can imagine certain of my poems in those pages, too. I love dithering around and agonizing over which poems to send to a particular publication. I love making myself so crazy that I eventually have to pull the trigger and just send it already. And then I love the time of possibility, when every day might bring an acceptance in my mailbox — virtual or actual. That I sometimes (often) get the opposite result doesn’t dampen my excitement … or at least, not by much.
Here are a few places to which I’ve already sent poems, or intend to soon:
As for writing, the only thing I’m doing, really, is following Robert Lee Brewer’s weekly prompts — because I love them, and the community that convenes at his blog on Wednesdays.
Other than that, I am reveling in not writing a single thing. Little whiffs of ideas come up from time to time, and I feel wonderfully, luxuriously lazy because I don’t try to chase them and wrestle them into words. Why? Because I’m in a submitting phase. It feels like I’m gorging on cake frosting — and like this is totally OK.
But when you eat a lot of sweet, empty stuff, eventually it gets to be too much, and then a salad tastes really good to you again. April will bring another Poem-a-Day Challenge. Until then, I’m really enjoying March. More frosting, please!
The second I said out loud (or typed out loud, anyway) that I needed to bring in some additional freelance editing work, my wonderful friends began to respond. There were postings on Facebook walls, linkings in on LinkedIn, and various leads sent not just for me, but for James, too. A listing in a university online marketplace (also suggested by a couple of friends) led to a possible connection for some dissertation editing.
I’m still tying up all these various loose ends. I don’t even have my resume on LinkedIn. You know what? I never updated my resume after getting my current job. There’s still a hard copy of it tucked into the portfolio I carried with me to my interview — I just tucked it back in there, walked out the door, got the call that I had the job, and never looked at my resume again. That was ten years ago! Whether or not I’m able to make a go of this new venture (on top of all the ventures I already had going), I think it’s good that I have the impetus to sharpen up and make myself a little more visible.
Just to be perfectly clear, I love my current job and am grateful to have it. I’m not looking to replace it and certainly don’t want to do anything that imperils it. I’m just looking at the two weekdays off I have, plus all my other “leisure” time (ha!), and wondering if there’s a bit more I can do to see my family through its current financial crisis.
Thank you, friends, for all you’ve done and continue to do. This is not an easy time, but your connections, advice, and support have already added up to *something*. It’s all still taking shape, but I remain confident that James and I will be able to cobble something together, and maybe one connection will lead to another and another, and then … Well, you know the rest. (In case you don’t — James needs a job.) Actually, I am not at all confident in the middle of the night. I can’t tell you the whole truth, or even call my bete noire by its full name. The closest I get is to call it “impending economic uncertainty.” How’s that for euphemism?
On the creative front, the 21 poems that I needed to pare down to 20 instead ballooned to 31 and stayed there for a while. Nothing like backward progress. I finally got it down to 20, and now I *just* have to edit them.
I got the news that I didn’t win a contest (and its $1,000 prize), but there’s still one more publication I haven’t heard from, and 2011 was already a pretty good year … on that score, anyway.
First of all, now I know how to post a photo or text here at WordPress — but not both. Please bear with me as I learn my way around …
What I meant to tell you about the two rosemary-themed kitchen decor items in my previous post is that they hung for years in my mom’s kitchen. Her name was Rosemary, so I put these up and to the right of the desk where I always write (in the dining room, where we also do a considerable amount of living). It’s like she’s watching over me, and possibly reading/critiquing over my shoulder. She would not like that I said she was critical — but she was at least as much of an editor as I am. When we finally got our wireless set up, I pictured myself making the most of my newfound freedom by writing from, gosh, another room within our two-bedroom condo. Nope. Almost without exception, here I sit, typing in the dining room. Creature of habit.
This month, my main creative task is to put together a small chapbook from 10 to 20 of the poems I wrote last month for the Writer’s Digest Poem-A-Day Challenge. Chapbooks are something I’ve considered to be a logical next step for me, but they’ve proved to be a tough nut to crack. I have yet to succeed in getting one published — but I’ve found that putting them together is a good exercise, at least. I’ve now pulled together 21 poems that I like pretty well. The last cut is always the hardest.
As for writing, I’m trying to stick to my new rule of writing one poem per day. This can be tough, in both directions. I don’t always feel like writing a poem (in fact, I’m pretty tired right now, and look what I’m doing instead). There are also times when I want to write one after another after another, in hopes that if I rub enough sticks together, something will catch fire. But I learned last month that if I do one — and only one — then I focus my writing energy on it rather than on a handful of lesser attempts. It’s also more manageable once I’m in another revising phase. Trust me, you don’t want to pick through a pile of 80 to 90 poems you barely remember, a few of which *might* be worth something. For December, anyway, this seems like the way to go.
I’m still awaiting word from one more publication and one more contest entry. I have decently high hopes for the former and near-zero hopes for the latter — but it’s still fun to imagine winning it. After that, all my wandering strays from 2011 will have come home, and it’ll be time to look ahead to a new year … whatever that will bring.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 