Jeff Shotts: 05.08.06-05.12.06
Friday 05.12.06
It seems so often the case that the business surrounding poetry is what gets discussed—too often discussed above poetry itself. I realize, looking back at this week’s entries, I have almost entirely written about issues around the submission process and the role of poetry editors and publishers, with the thought that that was what I was asked to do. I hope it’s been useful in some way. But little of it has been about poetry. Perhaps that’s best left to the poets themselves—
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Thursday 05.11.06
A Case for Disappearance
Discussions about poetry and editing like this one are dangerous: they always remind me that I can’t do this job well enough, I can’t read and culturally or aesthetically digest everything, I can’t disappear altogether as I think a good editor should, both from the texts I edit and from the list I shape.
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Wednesday 05.10.06
The word I hear most to describe contemporary poetry is “fractured.” I take this to mean that there is no one prevailing school, and that poets take full advantage of a wide sphere of influences and an array of poetic strategies, including fragmentation and disjunction. This has created a varied field of poets and also a varied field of poetry readers, and it’s meant that poetry publishers have needed to respond in order to best serve the art.
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Tuesday 05.09.06
I receive hate mail. Not frequently, but enough to register it and to register the disappointment—and sometimes the anger—poets feel in response to receiving a rejection letter. But receiving hate mail is not nearly as difficult, I find, as writing the rejection letter itself. Some writers seem to hold the notion that editors take pleasure in rejecting writers. The language of the process—submission—is, of course, problematic, as it conjures the image of writers bowing down, literally submitting, surrendering their works to the publishing gods. But almost every editor I’ve spoken to has said the least favorite part about the job is turning down writers. (Or perhaps the second least favorite thing, right after not having enough time to read published books outside of stacks of manuscripts.)
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Monday 05.08.06
Poetry is one of the ways the daily world is wonderfully made strange, and it’s perhaps all one can ask of art—to push us into wonder, outside or perhaps more deeply into ourselves. Many poets seem to write of the pleasures of familiarity, and write poems that are meant to ring in our ears as works that we feel vaguely assured by or that we’ve already heard before. I know there are readers who want this from poetry. But it’s not at all why I am moved to view paintings, or listen to music, or watch a film, or go to a play, or read a book of any genre. Or select a manuscript of poetry for publication.
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