Year Zero and a jaded old hack
I was getting some poetry ready and pinpointing places to send it, when I suddenly felt completely sickened and fed up. I slouched off for a long walk in an autumnal park. What Sogyal Rinpoche calls the Monkey Mind was reminding me that I had my first poems published when I was 22 (which I did) why are you still having to schlep around like a beginner when you've spent over half your life being a published poet? Then I remembered all the rejections I'd ever had (ignoring all the acceptances). I also recalled my life when I had made poetry my priority in my 20s and early 30s. Poverty, Bleak House-like publishers delays culminating in sickening disappointments, such as just missing out at Faber & Faber, nicely rounded off by the death of my best writer friend.
However a walk in the park and a timely call from Bob, made me feel much better. I suggested to the old Mad dog that he set up a Zen guidance hotline. He helped me to realise that no wonder that simply sending off poems gets to be such hard work, if I have been carrying around all that crap too. Time I lost all that stuff, and acted like this was year zero.
This thought cheered me up a great deal, and I returned home much more cheerful. But even this mood put under some strain by finding a fresh, albeit pleasant, rejection of my pamphlet project which contained the advice "It may be worth trying some of the smaller publishers, or indeed a small press – some works need to snowball before they’re noticed by larger publishers. I’d also recommend getting yourself known as well, if you can. In the meantime, if you have any other works in the future, please let me know." The familiar Catch 22: get yourself better known as a writer, then we might publish your writings.
Otherwise nothing but work today. Went to the chiropractor who loosened me up nicely, but hasn't fixed the back pain that it is keeping me awake at night.
The kitten however is wonderful, and is making what seems to be a full recovery. Moaned by telephone to Lorraine tonight, who was fresh from singing in the choir. Thich made me feel better. Probably not her of course, but then today was jaded old hack theme day, and I was best left to my own devices.
Below Calliope helping out today at my desk.
I was getting some poetry ready and pinpointing places to send it, when I suddenly felt completely sickened and fed up. I slouched off for a long walk in an autumnal park. What Sogyal Rinpoche calls the Monkey Mind was reminding me that I had my first poems published when I was 22 (which I did) why are you still having to schlep around like a beginner when you've spent over half your life being a published poet? Then I remembered all the rejections I'd ever had (ignoring all the acceptances). I also recalled my life when I had made poetry my priority in my 20s and early 30s. Poverty, Bleak House-like publishers delays culminating in sickening disappointments, such as just missing out at Faber & Faber, nicely rounded off by the death of my best writer friend.
However a walk in the park and a timely call from Bob, made me feel much better. I suggested to the old Mad dog that he set up a Zen guidance hotline. He helped me to realise that no wonder that simply sending off poems gets to be such hard work, if I have been carrying around all that crap too. Time I lost all that stuff, and acted like this was year zero.
This thought cheered me up a great deal, and I returned home much more cheerful. But even this mood put under some strain by finding a fresh, albeit pleasant, rejection of my pamphlet project which contained the advice "It may be worth trying some of the smaller publishers, or indeed a small press – some works need to snowball before they’re noticed by larger publishers. I’d also recommend getting yourself known as well, if you can. In the meantime, if you have any other works in the future, please let me know." The familiar Catch 22: get yourself better known as a writer, then we might publish your writings.
Otherwise nothing but work today. Went to the chiropractor who loosened me up nicely, but hasn't fixed the back pain that it is keeping me awake at night.
The kitten however is wonderful, and is making what seems to be a full recovery. Moaned by telephone to Lorraine tonight, who was fresh from singing in the choir. Thich made me feel better. Probably not her of course, but then today was jaded old hack theme day, and I was best left to my own devices.
Below Calliope helping out today at my desk.
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