Happy Poetry Day!

Since we've been living in Iowa City, which puts us at 3 1/2 years as of February 1st, I've been working from noon until 9pm, Sunday through Thursday, most of the time. The exceptions are school breaks and the occasional Friday to make up time.

With a Friday/Saturday weekend, my social life has been strange to say the least: people are rarely free on the workday of Friday, but I am never free for any of the fun things people want to do on a lazy Sunday. I've missed Easter dinners and Super Bowls, afternoons in the park and all sorts of other activities. Working until late has it's disadvantages too: never being able to make it to readings without taking vacation time (in 3.5 years in Iowa City, I've made it to Matt Hart, Forrest Gander, Johannes and Joyelle, Lyn Hejinian and Dean Young- that's all- It's Iowa City- we get amazing readings!)

One thing I have had though, is an advantage: considering everyone, including Jennifer, has been busy most Fridays, I have spent this time as wisely as possible. Yeah, sometimes I end up playing video games or watching TV. Sometimes I end up going to the mall and sometimes I can't tell where my Friday went!

Mostly though, Friday has been my Poetry Day: the day I sit down to read thoroughly, take notes, and catch up on my own writing ideas that I've been scribbling down all week. I read blogs all week, certainly, but it is on Friday that I try to really get into what has been going on in the online poetry community we seem to be a part of (as Johannes say, "glorified thing "The Blog Writer""). I take Friday as my day that I am not an employee, but someone whose primary interest in life is an art form and everything that goes on around it.

This has taken great dedication, especially considering that I took part in the International Writing Program's Translation Workshop on Friday afternoons for the last two Fall semesters. And by the end of those semesters, I felt like I was dragging and behind and unable to comprehend what had been going on while I had been in class. I wrote during odd hours, especially at work or late at night. I read poetry only when I needed to (like reading poets at schools I applied to). I kept up with blogs and blogging, but if you look back over my posts from the last 8 months or so, the frequency is inconsistent, to say the least.

To know now, that in some small way, this has paid off, I am happy:

Last Friday, I was called by one of the MFA programs I had applied to an offered admission for next Fall. After four years of applying, most of which was to the University of Iowa's Writer's Workshop, since they're in my back yard and all, it has been a truly gratifying experience to know that giving one solid day to my "hobby" was a good idea.

But it's not a hobby as much as it used to be. The idea that everyday can be this way to some extent (minus teaching or other work related to surviving through an MFA) is such a wonderful feeling, and maybe a bit scary too. That I have at least one place saying that my faith in myself as a poet and as a person whose intellectual curiousity has led to considering language and all its trappings as the basic underpinning of our relationships and culture as a whole has been such a fantastic feeling this last week.

I'm not done though: of the 13 schools I applied to, this has been the only one I have heard from so far. I am going to do my best to keep my head straight through this process and hopefully I'll be able to pick the right school for me at this point. This is assuming I have an option, but if I don't, I have nothing but positive feelings about my one acceptance and would be honored to matriculate there this Fall.
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Poetry Day for me has been an escape to some extent, a double-life as someone who hasn't been doing what he's been wanting to do. Fridays are a way of pretending that I'm someone I am not, but hope to be. Fridays have been a way for me to distance myself from my forty hour week and keep myself from giving in to the feeling that I'd never get out of it. I had been desperate, certainly, to move on "career"-wise (assuming anything like that still exists for today's MFA graduate). But even getting into school is a wonderful step in the direction I want to go and it's a lovely feeling.
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It occurred to me last night that what had been a "hobby" for the last decade of my life, minus a few stints in creative writing classes while at Georgia, is now a "job" of sorts. This is great news! While in Johannes and Brian Henry's classes, one in Spring of 04 and the other in Spring of 05, I thrived under the pressure of needing to have something to present on certain weeks. I recall especially while in Johannes' class that my output was quite high, though obviously not all of it was stellar. I'm really looking forward to having to write, as right now, it's something I do because I want to, so, Poetry Day or not, I have to make myself do it. External pressure will make this great.
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For those keeping score, that's 1 acceptance, and 12 undecideds. I hope to hear something soon from the others.

Maximum Gaga

Available from Action Books

Normally, going to our friend's Rob and Juli's place is a real pleasure. Jennifer and I love spending time with them. We were scheduled to be at their place by 6pm, and since I got off work at 5pm, we figured we'd hit the grocery store and pick up some things we needed. Nothing too exciting: just some of the basics.

Since we had milk, we figured we'd swing by home and drop off the bulk of the purchases, save for some soy ice cream sandwiches we purchased for the evening (Juli being intolerant of lactose). I offered to run in since it was barely an arm full and noticed that the mailbox was propped open by something inside of it.

I realized that it must be an envelope from Action Books containing my dual purchase of Sandy Florian's The Tree of No and also Lara Glenum's Maximum Gaga.

Rather than take the envelope inside, I privately planned to take the books with me and hope to thumb through them while sitting at Rob and Juli's. This isn't to say that I planned for the evening to be boring, but I figured while Jennifer, Rob and Juli were busy talking about their plans for the next semester, I'd get a few minutes to begin enjoying my new purchases.

This was complicated, however, by the fact that I had gotten hit on the head within the last two hours by a 16mm film which fell from the top of a shelving unit in the basement. Greg, who I've mentioned many a time in this blog, and I have been slaving away in the basement, reorganizing films that had been displaced by the flood this past summer.

I was a little worried to say the least- what if this heavy film has completely destroyed my mental faculties? I'm hoping to start an MFA program this fall- I knew God would never allow me to be successful- but I didn't want to worry anyone too much.

Upon arriving at Rob and Juli's we check my pupils to see if they were dilating and I also took some Ibuprofen, planning on the pain to come eventually. It was around this time that Rob noticed the two books in the envelope I had brought along, commenting immediately on the cover of Lara's book.

"This is kind of freaky...and awesome!"

After dinner, we sat down, and I was still feeling a bit of fuzziness post-head injury. Nothing was wrong though, as a concussion would have manifested itself within the first hour or so, according to Jennifer's Mom, a former nurse. As we settled down to watch "Keeping Up Appearances," the BritCom, Rob and I looked over both books, especially spending time on Maximum Gaga.

Immediately, we were taken over by Lara's continuing (well, I knew "continuing" ...Rob generally isn't into contemporary poetry and certainly wouldn't know Lara's previous juggernaut, The Hounds of No) fascination with the Grotesque and Gothic themes. Part of this is an interest in the body and in carnality- certainly one of the central ideas of Gurlesque (if you're into the whole movement thing).

While I've finished reading the book, I'm not up to the review yet- I haven't written a decent review yet, certainly- but all I can say is that if you're reading this blog, you're probably someone who ought to own this book.

Review? Hopefully...eventually...

Sick Confession or, Who Reads This Anyways?

Every school had them: the kids that didn't go straight into first grade but were in a limbo year after kindergarten. At my elementary school, they called it Readiness, which, in retrospect, was kind of a direct title. I knew some folks that went into it (as in, "Where's my friend from last year?") and some folks that came out of it and they seemed cool, except that they had this issue with self-esteem (which I myself have struggled with most of my life) in the sense that they knew they were behind people their own age, suffering from the same "Where's my friend from last year?" syndrome.

Of late, I have felt the same way, like I'm greatly behind on my career or something. I feel like I'm well ahead in life, in that I'm married and in a few years, plan to start a family. All that seems to be well in progressing.

But career-wise, and maybe talent wise, I feel like I'm not developing- like I'm behind those of my numerical age group. While this isn't necessarily a bad thing, it's very easy to look around and feel that others are progressing at a good rate and look at myself and realize I am not. Three years down in Iowa City and one to go, I wonder what I can do for myself to feel better about my position. Certainly the idea of getting out of the current job and perhaps into school will *feel* like progress, but what if I don't get into school? I certainly don't think I have the energy to keep failing at my hopes of an academic career, or at least more degrees. So what will I do with my life?

I think I will keep writing, but what will be the motivation? While I'm sure many would say there is no MFA glass ceiling, they generally aren't the ones looking up through it and knocking. I suppose the question even right now is about what has kept me writing during my three years in Iowa City? Is it something I feel I'm good at, or have I stopped developing on my own? I feel like I've gone as far as I can writing by myself right now with the only feedback being the occasional Johannes response and the equally occasional "I like the poems, but they're not the right fit for issue N." While this all has helped me develop, I feel like I need some kind of dedicated time and place to write. And I'm not talking about a schedule or a sturdy table with good light. I'm talking about a place mentally where I feel like I can concentrate on writing and concentrate on reading more and more. That's really what I want to do and that's really why I want to go to an MFA program. I want someone to give me the go ahead that I can dedicate myself to it for the long haul. I want someone to validate the life I want to have. I want to plan something and have it work out!

Speaking of, I mention that because nothing I have really *planned* has worked out: everything has either literally or metaphorically fallen into my lap, from Jennifer to Iowa. While I would certainly say I've been lucky, I just want, for once, something I've worked towards to work out. Call it whiny (I know it is), but it seems like at some point, you have to make things to fall into place and can't just wait for them to happen. However, so far, I've been better off just waiting, it seems. But how long can I wait until I'm happy with something career-wise that comes to me?

Or maybe this is it. Maybe this is as good as it gets. This library job. This insurance. This life that pays the bills and helps my wife follow her career plans- maybe that's supposed to be enough for me and I'm supposed to just stop and enjoy it rather than hoping to improve. But it's kind of hard at 25 to give up and say this is it. It's equally easy at 25, I know, to say "this is how it will always be and nothing good will come to me," and that's equally stupid.

But maybe just a bit easier, eh?

Notes 6/4/07

1. News up on JC Project

2. Went to Chicago this weekend for a whole 6 hours. Ate pizza, bought chocolate. Much fun was had in seeing Jennifer's sister Margaret and meeting her boyfriend Jerel. He's a good guy.

We would have spent longer in Chicago except that I had to be at work on Sunday...or so I thought.

Showed up Sunday at noon and found the doors still locked to the library and found out we were supposed to be closed. Would have been nice if someone had last me know, say, before noon on Sunday.

Jennifer's pictures of our Chicago trip are here.

3. I want to write "light" poems, I told Johannes in an email this weekend. He recommended Italo Calvino's lecture titled "Lightness" in Six Memos for the Next Millennium. He also recommended I pick up Calvino's book Invisible Cities.

I want to write poems that desire to float away, the words held together with twine, but tied well enough to stay down, and you're amazed by this ability because you expected to see them in the the air.