On Unfetteredness

Handed in the thesis yesterday. Found out I passed my comprehensive exams. All that's left is grading the portfolios for my class, but regardless, I'm done with the MFA. It's a bit strange. I had no idea what to do with myself today. I read a book simply because I wanted to, went for a run, and played the banjo. Soon I'll probably start packing up this apartment, but in the meantime I'm still applying for teaching jobs, everything from private/independent high schools to community colleges to universities. I'm eager to have some sort of response and ready to go anywhere. I think I'd be infinitely less uncomfortable about moving some place new if I had a job lined up there, but that's probably just a symptom of this newfound practicality I've been experiencing.


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Had a poem, a ghazal, taken by 42Opus today. One of the first places I ever submitted back when I started in September of '07. I'm excited as it's a great e-zine and I've been trying to get more of my work available online, so yeah. More info once I have it.


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Killer opening line of the moment:

"Here I love you."

from Pablo Neruda's "Here I Love You" trans. W.S. Merwin
(Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, Penguin, 1969)


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A friend put me onto this video. Killer, I say. Download an album from Sam Holt's band for free, here.

Home Stretch

Tomorrow is my last day of classes as an MFA person. This is a bit unbelievable. But also a relief, not that I don't love being at Hollins, I'm just ready for the next step, whatever that step may be. I have a thesis more or less put together. Right now, After the Ark checks in at 59 pages of poetry (including epigraph and section headings). I think I'm going to try and trim it before sending it out into the world. Currently scoping out First Book Contests. It looks like the Crab Orchard Series in Poetry First Book Contest will be my first opportunity. Pipe dreams abound. Any approaching contests I should know about?


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Killer first line of the now:

"No balm in heaven. Bone light. Things tick as they desiccate."

from Rodney Jones' "A Whisper Fight at the Peck Funeral Home"
(Kingdom of the Instant, Mariner Books, 2002)


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Headed to DC on Friday for a show, good friends Anonymous playing at the State Theater. Love seeing these guys. Love kicking my feet and pumping my fists.


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I missed this last week, but a million congratulations to Christine Schutt as her latest book All Souls was named a finalist for this years Pulitzer Prize. I'm in the process of reading her story collection A Day, A Night, Another Day, Summer and loving it. She was the writer-in-residence at Hollins last year, and her son Will is a good friend of mine and a fellow Hollins MFAer (soon to be MFA graduate, strange), so it's great to see her get the recognition she so rightly deserves. We once played with Great Pyrenees puppies together.

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A student sent me an email today telling me she was writing a paper about my poem Laundromat, which appeared in the Autumn/Winter 2008 issue of Poet Lore. This made me incredibly happy. It's easy to forget that every once and awhile, someone will actually read these poetry journals. Sometimes the actual publication feels like an anticlimax, that is, until something like this happens, and then publication seems much more real. Now I have to formulate semi-intelligent thoughts about this poem to send to aforementioned student.


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I bought fancy paper today. I've decided I want my own watermark.

Almost Summer, Almost

It's astounding to me that April's almost over. I taught my last class at Hollins today, completely reordered my thesis, and cooked parmesean-crusted pork chops (swine flu be damned!).


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As evidenced by the above damnation, I have little to no idea what this whole pandemic thing is about, but I know I prefer calling it "swine flu" to "Mexican flu," though Israel doesn't. It's certainly scary to think about, but I'm never quite sure how seriously to take this stuff any more. I remember when West Nile, Bird flu, and SARS were going to kill us all. Let's hope this one goes the same way as its pandemic predecessors.


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A nice week. Recently found out that I've been invited to read in DC this summer as part of the Joaquin Miller Cabin Poetry Series. It seems like an amazing program they've got going. I've posted the date/time on the sidebar, though it's still tenative. More info to come on that front. Also, yesterday I recieved the Academy of American Poets prize from Hollins which was very cool, to say the least. And today while I was running, a woman complimented my pace. Put money in the tip jar when you can, the universe repays.

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Registered for the Rocky Mountain Half-Marathon in June. A great chance to run and to see some old friends. A little worried about the elevation, especially considering I've gotten a late start on training. Should be alright though, I'm not trying to break any land-speed records.


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Killer first line of the moment:

"Love's the boy stood on the burning deck"

from "Casabianca" by Elizabeth Bishop
(The Complete Poems 1927-1979, FSG, 1979)


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Bittersweet, this week. I worry for what my mind will do when it runs out of deadlines to distract it.

Day by Day Ruminations

What a very strange week: Yesterday, I finished my thesis. By that I mean that I revised all of the poems in it to the point where I can still read them without cringing. You might even say I like them. I'm proud of the work I've done while I've been at Hollins and hopeful of what might happen to this manuscript as it continues to change and develop. I think I'm going to send another wave of submissions out in the next few weeks. Someone also gave me a copy of the current issue of the Atlantic, which has my name in it for the student writing contest. This brightened my day.


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Tomorrow, I have to take my comprehensive exam. This is the test you have to pass to graduate. It covers all of the literature courses you took as a student at Hollins. Lots of essays. Not looking forward to it. Tomorrow is also the seven year anniversary of my mother's death. Every year it gets a little bit stranger. I find myself wondering if she would recognize me if she saw me on the street. It's startling to me that most of the important people in my life (speaking non-family) never met my mother. Lots I'd like to ask her, though her advice on relationships might not be the best, but it's certainly a void I've been much more aware of in the last few weeks. My dad's not exactly what you call compassionate, though he's certainly pragmatic. I've become more aware that I'm probably more like my mom in how I deal with adverse circumstances, probably overly emotional and underly (not a word, yes) practical. The thesis is dedicated to her, though there are also individual poems dedicated to my dad, Shelley, and my brother. After comps, we're going to see the Salem Red Sox play the Myrtle Beach Pelicans. This, I am excited about.


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And Saturday is my 24th birthday. It's been awhile since I could really get excited for it, probably since it's so closely associated in my mind with the day before it. A year of my life I'll certainly remember. Lots of good things happened, some bad things too, all necessary things. But we're young and that's life (at least that's what the rock and roll songs tell me).

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Sorry for the pity parade, folks. It probably doesn't make for great reading. How about the last sonnet of the Aerials sequence?:

*plish*

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Spring is springing.

As Promised

Well I said I'd post more today, though I must admit I don't have much to say. I've been listening to "Paper Planes" all afternoon, so that makes me feel pretty good.

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Many thanks to all who came out to my reading at Elon. It was great to have some new ears for old (and new) poems. I'll post one of the new ones I read, another sonnet from the Aerials sequence, disappearing soon:

*plish*


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Still applying for jobs. But as things keep moving far too quickly, I've been thinking harder and harder about just picking somewhere I want to live and moving there. I'm pretty terrified by this approaching limbo, maybe because I thought my plans were so unshakeable so recently (and we all know how that turned out). My main obstacle is all this stuff I've accumulated that I would have to put into storage (couches, tables, books and books and books) if I took off. I've thought about selling my car back because it's not necessarily part of my current budget, but I do love the car so I'll probably just take on some red numbers. Also, I still have lots of lines in the water as far as possible jobs go, though with no idea how realistic my chances are at any of them. All that pissing and moaning aside, places I'm seriously pondering, investigating, considering saying "screw it" and moving to: Laramie, Wyoming; Portland, Oregon; Waterville, Maine; Ft. Collins, Colorado. As you can see, there's a theme. I'd sort of like to get away from people for awhile, not necessarily a ranch in the woods, but certainly places with lots of open spaces. Any suggestions?


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Killer opening line of the moment:

"Evergreens have reasons"

from James Galvin's "Navigation"
(Resurrection Update, Copper Canyon, 1997)

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All I wanna do is...

Back from the Woods

Easy Star All Stars are a cover band. They did Dark Side of the Moon. They did Radiohead. Now they've reggae-tized Sgt. Pepper's. Bought the album this weekend. It has not left my CD player.

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Exhausted right now, so more posting tomorrow. I have roughly two weeks left of being an MFA student. This is simultaneously exciting and terrifying. Thesis. Comp exams. Teaching. Poems.

Route 220

Heading south on the titular state highway tomorrow morning. Looking forward to: reading at Elon, seeing folks I truly enjoy seeing, camping, practicing banjo, reading sonnets [specifically Ted Berrigan's book "The Sonnets" (borrowed from T.J. Anderson) and David Slavitt's book "The Seven Deadly Sins and Other Poems" (borrowed from Kelly Cherry)]. Insert more obnoxious name dropping here. Should be a good weekend, if you live in the area--come on out to Elon at 4:15, the Isabella Cannon Room in the Center for the Arts (on Williamson Ave. across from "The Oaks")

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Heard some good news today from a certain prestigious southern writers' conference, which I'll be attending this summer with a scholarship. I understand I'm not exactly hiding anything here, but yeah, I'm thrilled.


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Revising, revising, revising. I'm trying to separate the wheat from the chaff in After the Ark, my thesis/manuscript. I forget who, but someone in the latest Poets & Writers suggested that you should be happy with a stranger opening to any poem in the collection and reading just that poem--something I'm working towards but still miles from. It's strange looking at some of these very old poems. They feel so "talk-y" to me, not so much detached from sound-play, but certainly less interested in it, more centered on narratives. I'm reconsidering the epigraph that currently opens the collection as it may draw an inadvertent and inappropriate comparison between me and Moses. Hazard of the trade, I say.


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Killer first line of the moment:

"At the end, Rigoletto weeps for his daughter who sings"

from David Slavitt's "A Consolation for Rigoletto"
(The Seven Deadly Sins and Other Poems, LSU Press, 2009)


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Sunshine on its way, I know, I heard it in the wings.