I’m sending out a raft of letters to world-famous poets, we are now on first name terms with most of them.
And on the homefront, I can’t seem to get any recognition for my own work. This is why I am putting my life’s blood into this poetry venture. Nature abhors a vacuum. This discouragement I have faced is becoming chronic. I know my work strong, but it seems no one else thinks so.
Another rejection letter from the California Arts Council. I did not get the writers fellowship for a mere $2000. Only 20 out of 182 entries were funded and I’ve got to wait another four years for the next round? This is the shits.
The Korean War poems anthology will be delayed again as there is not enough work. Green Fuse is holding hostage three of my poems hostage for final round. Someone gave them poems to give to me from Yugoslavia. Word is out, and poems arrive from all over the world.
The Korean War poems anthology will be delayed again as there is not enough work. Green Fuse is holding hostage three of my poems hostage for final round. Someone gave them poems to give to me from Yugoslavia. Word is out, and poems arrive from all over the world.
I was just writing to Tomaž Šalamun, whom I had met at Poetry International, lamenting that I wasn’t even sure if my letter would reach him, wondering if there was even mail delivery as he’s living in war-torn Serbia. What of the other poets—are they even still alive? So many poets living in exile these days.
I read some poems from David Charlton, wondering where he was living when he was there, in Dubrovnik? I remember the first time I was in Belgrade, it was a sultry August night, and we ate ice cream with dark cherries in syrup. The best I have ever tasted. On my return trip, my luggage liked Belgrade so much it stayed a couple of months before returning home to me.
So far, we have 218 poems in both issues. Plus we also sent letters to every PEN organization in Africa and letters to all our Rotterdam contacts. There are so many unfinished bits and pieces to do before I do a mass mailing.
I’ve got working addresses for a third of the poets, and we still have to send copies out to the translators (many of the poems need additional polishing from English to English). If I can get their addresses that is, and then, send out thank you letters by the bushel. Sometimes I dream I am writing letters in my sleep.
I read some poems from David Charlton, wondering where he was living when he was there, in Dubrovnik? I remember the first time I was in Belgrade, it was a sultry August night, and we ate ice cream with dark cherries in syrup. The best I have ever tasted. On my return trip, my luggage liked Belgrade so much it stayed a couple of months before returning home to me.
The last time I was in Belgrade I bought an upcycled dress made from linen hand towels and the cuffs of fancy embroidered bedsheets (or what I planned to use as a wedding dress). Once I was hopeful about Oleg… Where did the love disappear to? Now burial shrouds are considered a luxury item in a war-ravaged country. My Croatian dictionary is buried under a pile of now obsolete books on Russia. Sigh.
I should keep track of my myriad correspondences with these world-famous poets: Tomaž Šalamun, Dr. Miroslav Holub, Breyten Breytenbach, Ana Blandiana, Boris Xristov, Bella Akhmadulina—How old is she now? Blaga Dimitrova, Sylvia Fischerová, Gulya Kodalini (sp?), Chenjerai Hove, Niyi Osundare, Hawad, and the contributing American poets: Maya Angelou, Gary Snyder, Robert Bly, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Diane Wakowski, Diane diPrima, Maxine Kumin—to just name a few.
I should keep track of my myriad correspondences with these world-famous poets: Tomaž Šalamun, Dr. Miroslav Holub, Breyten Breytenbach, Ana Blandiana, Boris Xristov, Bella Akhmadulina—How old is she now? Blaga Dimitrova, Sylvia Fischerová, Gulya Kodalini (sp?), Chenjerai Hove, Niyi Osundare, Hawad, and the contributing American poets: Maya Angelou, Gary Snyder, Robert Bly, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Diane Wakowski, Diane diPrima, Maxine Kumin—to just name a few.
I am keeping the dour, stone-faced postmaster at the Bolinas post office busy, if not entertained. Such exotic addresses. You’d think he’d at least crack a smile once and a while. I walk back the long way to Herman’s place on the Mesa just to clear my aching head.
So far, we have 218 poems in both issues. Plus we also sent letters to every PEN organization in Africa and letters to all our Rotterdam contacts. There are so many unfinished bits and pieces to do before I do a mass mailing.
I’ve got working addresses for a third of the poets, and we still have to send copies out to the translators (many of the poems need additional polishing from English to English). If I can get their addresses that is, and then, send out thank you letters by the bushel. Sometimes I dream I am writing letters in my sleep.
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