Work was tiring today. I didn’t have my usual patience for the common misconceptions people have about pharmacy– the biggest one being: pharmacy staffs should give people refills even if a prescription is expired or out of refills. God forbid if your pharmacy staff politely points out that you’ve had a whole a month to contact your doctor for refills, which would be more efficient than waiting until the day you need the medication to ask you pharmacy staff to contact the doctor and yell at the staff because your doctor didn’t respond within your time line.
Today, I received an email from ToasterMag’s editor that he has decided to put ToasterMag on hold. The next issue, the Pride issue, will be the last. Disappointment. I’m feeling loads of disappointment. As I read his lengthy email I understand why he doing what he is doing, and it isn’t the end– just the end of a monthly ezine. At some point there will be something down the road, but I can’t really find comfort in that. I’ve been working hard on developing the creative writing portion of ToasterMag. My latest project was starting an annual contest for ToasterMag— it was all set to happen, and the talented and freaking awesome poet, Laure-Anne Bosselaar, was going to be the judge. The editor offered to make special provisions for the contest to still happen because he knows how much of my heart I had already poured in, but I don’t think I’ll take him up on it—– it wouldn’t be the same. Oh well, time to find a different way to burn some of my energy.
Now some happiness…..
Your desktop PC is well-equipped to handle
every disaster from spilled coffee to a power surge,
which is only one reason I don’t understand
how you can just stand there,
puzzling at the toes of your Reeboks,
as if you might think of an apology for yourself
or your lack of courteous love-making practices,
such as kissing me on the neck,
for instance, or taking off your tube socks,
which, after all, usually have holes, and anyway,
you told me you didn’t believe in all that shit
about mutuality of marriage, so at least you could stop
curling your lip like a frazzled Doberman
and fuck like you want to fuck
or leave like you’re never coming back.
~ Beth Gylys
from BODIES THAT HUM, Silverfish Review Press
I promised two Gylys poems a day, so here it is:
HANDS FULL OF NOTHING
The hotel lobby, a one-legged man
flops down next to me. I’m so tired
I could curl beside the fountain,
Cupid in its center, vomiting green water.
You were just on the phone, saying,
I’d like to kneel down in front of you,
my tongue between your. . . If I were there,
you wouldn’t even take me out
to get a sandwich. The one-legged man
makes his living playing bass. His laugh
sounds like a horse. I close my eyes.
I’d like to . . . If I were there, you wouldn’t even
meet me for a drink. Why do I call?
Here by nine, I drove through the night,
sunroof open, the sky a pincushion of stars.
To stay awake, I kept reaching up my hand
to grab, one more time, a fistful of wind.
~ Beth Gylys
Spot in the Dark, Ohio State University Press (2004)
~ After a bit of work on the topic, I can now announce that ToasterMag will have its first poetry contest this year! Want to know the contest name? Want to the know the name of the judge? Well, I will say the name has roots in poetry, and the judge is a very distinguished poet. If you want more than that you’ll have to check out ToasterMag in mid June.
Due to some issues with Microsoft word I have been working on retyping my interview with Marilyn Nelson. The interview is still coming; do not think otherwise!
For the rest of May I am going to share the work of Beth Gylys. To compensate for my lack of posting her poems throughout the month I’m going to post a Gylys poem every morning and evening until May 31.
If only we were always beginning to love,
my trembling need, your hands warm
pressing my back, my sides, your lips
everywhere changing me. If only I
could it so, I’d hold you in that
pose of open tenderness, something
of your face as once desiring and content
as if what your eyes had strained to find
at last fell on the thing. If only I could
always feel so rightly placed, my body
lovely because you name it so, your fingers
making me willing, supple, graced.
~ Beth Gylys
from Spot in the Dark, Ohio State University Press (2004)
Collin and Kate both tagged me for a Quote Meme— to find 10 quotes from poets that flow with my thoughts on poetry writing. I guess this is some sort of small landmark in my blogging since this is my first time doing one of these (no wise cracks CK or MM). I added an extra quote for the heck of it.
~ Anne Sexton
The title of your poem can accomplish something your poem did not.
~ Beth Gylys
Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”
~ Robert Frost
Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.
~ Paul Engle
The joy that isn’t shared dies young.
~ Anne Sexton
Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can’t practice any other virtue consistently. You can practice any virtue erratically, but nothing consistently without courage.
~ Maya Angelou
If technique is of no interest to a writer, I doubt that the writer is an artist.
A poetry articulating the dreads and horrors of our time is necessary in order to make readers understand what is happening, really understand it, not just know about it but feel it: and should be accompanied by a willingness on the part of those who write it to take additional action towards stopping the great miseries which they record.
~ Denise Levertov
Hopefully, my efforts will be a success. Send your Dekalb peeps to the blog; encourage them to express themselves.
Email me if you want to assist.