When One Has Lived Alone for a Very Long Time

For the first time in several years, I've realized I have so little completed work to send out.

Thus: I am currently sending nothing out. I am still generating new work, which is rough and tough, and I keep taking peeks at this other book in my life, this seemingly-finished book that I think needs more editing, revising, reshaping.

Nothing from that collection has been published. And I think only a handful of people have even seen that work.

It is hard thing to know if I have gone too far with it. How much assault can you take. Where is the line between the poignance of misery and the misery of reading bad poetry.

I'm reminded of a poem I loved in the issue of Mid-American Review, the one with Teresa's amazing poems in it. It has a long narrative title and is a short poem. I can't recall it now, here, but maybe I can post it later so you will better understand.

Meanwhile, I'm peeking at the work. I'm asking it, Are you done yet? Because mostly I want you out of my house and out of my life.

1 comment:

  1. Charles, I know how you feel (you know I know). And yes, I just read the Spencer Reese interview you linked to, below. (Thanks so much for pointing to that.) So I'm not saying it's going to take you twenty years or more like it did with him, but some people's work may be like firecrackers and with others it's a slow burn--like his. I think yours will be way, way faster to catch. But I still think we all have a lot to learn from his story, like having faith in the work and just continuing to send it out, and revise it, and send it out.... It will happen.