an up and coming poet

so i was introduced at kurtis' workshop to another poet, by a hardened nj poet as "an up and coming poet." i'm still grinning inside and that was days ago.

it's one of those surreal, i believed it in my heart, but here it is in three d moments. the kind of shit i live for.

plr is out. you can get a copy here. i have two poems in it.

i keep trying to get a cover shot of plr here, but it's beyond me, so just follow the link, of course, if you want me to sign it, i will oblige (though i was opposed to it once, as in all things, i come around eventually).

this publication, very prestigous, did not lose, has not lost its lustre, i must say. i'm still stoked that i'm in plr (the next two rounds). quite a feeling.

btw, i just realized, kurtis lamkin is in this edition of plr. huzzah. (check out his work here, hear him read here i couldn't access the sound link, but perhaps you can. you really must hear kurtis perform his work. it's amazing. looking at it on the page, and hearing it in my mind, two entirely different worlds. that is the important thing about poetry readings, you get the poet's voice rooted firmly in your head. then, their works are never flaccid on a page, but well, you get the idea).

lots of other greats, i'm sure.

leaning into the wind, i've got a poetry intensive coming up this weekend and i'm trying to prioritize. i haven't written save one poem for the workshop this weekend, but i'm backbuilding. storing up. preparing for the great rush of poems that will come whether i'm ready or not at the intensive.

i was explaining this to a poet who said she hadn't written in about a year and a half.

in the quiet times you're storing up. getting ready for the fertile times. don't worry about it.

if you've done it in the past,

i said,

you can do it again.

i believe this.

if you've never done it, there's no time like the present to start. everyone can write poetry. will the first trip out of the gate be publication worthy? no, but does anyone expect it to be? absolutely not.

you don't have to go public, just write.

this particular poet, when we said goodbye, looked at me as if i were the most confident person in the world. (and in poetry circles, i am), she had this, i'm going to miss you, let me hold you with my eyes one last time look about her. it surprised me. but i think we feel that way toward anyone who revives our hope. who breathes in our gaping mouth, void of breath, and returns to us the breath of life.

not that i was so pivotal, it was just what she conveyed by a glance. as if she were drinking me in one last time. curious. doesn't happen often.

i was speaking about this to a friend who actually is a poet AND attended poetry therapy.

look into it,

she said.

i don't want anyone to contaminate my waters until i can express what i'm trying to say.

i think this is potentially my master's work. because at this moment, i can't separate myself from the process of it (perhaps then i won't but i'll be farther along academically, and will be required to formulate some grand thesis. this is, perhaps the best i've got).

worked 11 hours on my feet yesterday, my fingers are splitting and bleeding from the cold (i have never experienced this before, i write now with bandages on them), it's strange, being so close to freedom and being bound. like a prisoner with a window he cannot see out of. spending all his time, clamboring about, standing on the sink, or leaning from the bunk, to just catch a glimpse of what he remembers, what he knows is out there. and will someday see.

persephone, remembering the blossoms of spring, as it is always springtime when she returns. and yet, looking about to see only sights horrendous to the eye and breathing in that which burns.

it will be well, i can feel it in my bones.
peace.