Talking Craft With MrMary: The Reality of Rejection Letter


One of the most important experiences of being a writer is rejection. I have gotten rejected recently from  some pretty good journals but  it wasn’t a flat out rejection. Take a look:

Rejection # 1

This is a popular and really good poetry magazine and it would be a dream for me to be published here.

Dear David,

Thank you for your submission!

We enjoyed the voice in your poems; in particular we enjoyed: Charleshowever, they are not what we are seeking for inclusion in [name hidden] We very much look forward to reading more from you in the future and encourage you to try us again.

Please feel free to submit again, we only ask that you wait at least three months before re-submitting.

Regards,

Editor in Chief

Rejection 2

This is a great publication, it is not as “high-ranking” as the one above but still a great  publication

We wanted to thank you for the opportunity to read your work. At this time we’re going to release the work for publication elsewhere. Best of luck to you and keep submitting!

You need to check the poem below for the line with two city names I think “start” needs to be plural. I liked the poem but not quite right – do try us again in the future.

Editor

Some Thoughts:

I think it takes a bit of time to get used to rejection letters.  After all when one is a writer one has to spend a lot of time honing one’s skills and  this happens usually in the ambiance of an action packed workday filled with a ton of responsibilities. I think rejection letter are important because they, for me at least, teach the writer/poet/story-teller:

  1. 1. How to become better at selecting the appropriate genre and niche for one’s writing. For me I have spent the last year working on making my verse technically sound and I can see the difference
  2. 2. How to write in such a way as to make your work accessible to others,
  3. 3 How to proofread and edit your own work, etc

My plan still is the same, it is to  publish in as many magazines ad publications as I can. (I have a targeted amount of publications in mind I would like to achieve. Then I will go on to create a chapbook or two and then finally hopefully then publish ad actual collection traditionally.

Every great writer or poet has had to deal with rejection. I felt that the sooner I was able to not take it so personally the sooner I was able to benefit from them and work to improve my craft

I just thought I would share

MrMary

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Talking Craft With MrMary: The History of my involvement with Poetry Raw and Unfiltered


Invitation to a Voyage

Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
Charles Baudelaire

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

sailboat-at-sunset-villoks

I was talk to the lovely TJ from TJLubrano about 2 weekends ago. She had some great posts where she talked about her painting process and painting in general. It was nice to hear about about her craft and how she approaches it, from an ideological point of view as well as from a technical point of view. She is the inspiration for this series where I am going to share with you my own history, thoughts and evolution as a dude writing poetry. Also it would give me an opportunity to ruminate out-loud on the craft of writing poetry.

As this will be the opening post to this series I wanted to get some things out of the way. It has been my dream to be a writer – that is to contribute something  more than my excrement to this earth that may last long after everyone has forgotten how devilishly handsome I looked in my prime. I want to get to the point where I can live off my writing. As crazy as this sound, other people have done it and I feel that I can do it too. With that being said, I just want to say, that my views about poetry here apply to me only and aren’t a judgement on what you do or don’t do.

The Start

albatros2

Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l’archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l’empêchent de marcher.

Charles Baudelaire

The poet resembles this prince of cloud and sky
Who frequents the tempest and laughs at the bowman;
When exiled on the earth, the butt of hoots and jeers,
His giant wings prevent him from walking.

“I hate poetry! Well what passes for poetry nowadays.”

The novel has supplanted poetry as the most popular literary media. No one I’ve met is going off to write the next great American Poetry collection, the next great novel though everyone wants to do that. Everyone now is a poet:

  1. This girl I met at the bar who contracted genital herpes from the love of her life, she is a poet
  2. This  guy who folds turtlenecks at the GAP he is a poet
  3. Every third hipster I meet, after enough pabst Blue Ribbon is a poet.
  4. This white guy with dreads wearing traditional Indian Clothes with tattoos of snakes and flowers asking me for money to save the whales, he is a poet.

I understand that everyone write poetry for their own reasons: some do it because it is cathartic, some because it’s a fun past-time, some people just use the title poet to add a some mysterious air to their lives. One guy shared with me a poem he wrote about how this girl sucked him off in the back of a record shop. After hearing how her lack of gag reflexes as displayed in the back of the record shop  confirmed to him the non-existence of God I was done with the genre and never wanted to read it, or hear about it. This guy, I should add, was also obsessed with Jim Morrison, who wrote the following lines:

Cling to cunts & cocks 
of despair
We got our final vision
by clap
Columbus’ groin got
filled w/ green death
(I touched her thigh 
& death smiled)

By poetry I mean what I read in literary magazines.  If you get published by the Atlantic or Harpers I have certain expectations,

Almost finished Starting

After about a good 10 -12 years of reading intensely reading poetry, as well as everything else I did, an deciding to compose in English and what my individual voice and approach was. I sought out a mentor. A published poet who I really liked who could really iron out my rough spots and direct me a little bit. See before at about years 1-6 I felt that I didn’t have much life experience, or rather my own life experience was too strange to be shared. years 6 -10 I felt that as I was getting relatable life experience. I had great ideas but execution was off. My mentor guided me and still does.

This is taken from an email  sent me:

Your felicity with language is really marvelous… almost Proustian! I am fascinated by these three poems, and think of them really as three parts of a longer series… moving through language, in and out of landscapes, real and mental… [ insert personal stuff ] I love these poems, and would like to see more, previous and later to these… 

The poems he is referring to are a part of a collection I have been growing with working on for a good 3-4 years now. I’m hoping I can publish at least a chapbook by the end of year.

Beginning to understand Craft

There are two rules I have been acquainted with time and time again. I have recapitulated them in my own words:

The first rule of writing anything I was taught was that to be a great writer one has to be a great reader; to write great poetry one has to really read and study the great poets.

Borges with cat“I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.”
- Jorge Luis Borges, “Poema de los Dones”

I have sat with each of the following poets  in an attempt to understand the technical aspects of poetry: Baudelaire, Mallarme, Valery, Verlaine, Rimbaud, Villion, de Musset, de Vigny, Hugo, Lamartine, Robert Frost, Langston Hughes, Neruda, Vicente, Jimenez, Garcia Lorca, WS Merwin, Cummings Borges, Rumi, Hafiz, Araqi Shabistari, Tagore, Synder, Transtromer, Robert Bly, Maya Angelou  and others. I read them in French, English and Spanish, I look at diction imagery, assonance, meter, word play aka Jeux de mot, narrative voice, the portray of time, evocation of movement, analogy, literary allusions, musicality, story telling.

Poetry isn’t just ejaculating emotions onto paper.

ts-eliotPoetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
T. S. Eliot, “Tradition and the Individual Talent“, II (The Sacred Wood, 1922)

No one cares about your feelings. What they care about is how you explore your feelings in the context of the everyday realities and harshness of living. If you do it in a way so as to bring them back to a shared experience that unites us and grounds us all then your poems will be loved. I find that what make a song Great makes a poem great: it appeals to your deep understanding of self, It allows you to to look back on the past and appreciate the subtlety etc

Check this out in Coleridge’s Biographia Literaria  he says that Wordworth’s goal or aim in writing poetry was: to give charm  of novelty to things of every day, and excite a feeling analogous to the supernatural, by awakening the mind’s attentions from the lethargy of custom, directing it to the loveliness and wonders of the world before us.”. This doesnt encapsulate  the entirety of my ethos but this is very important to my growth and evolution as a poet.

Moving Forward

Before I get to all my own stuff, like my process, elements of style, my ethos my aim etc.  I want to talk a few things, like how to read a poem, Poems I have liked, popular forms of poetry etc. . If you have any suggestions please lemme know :-)  Ill be happy to incorporate this in to this series.

Extemporaneous Speaking: MrMary Why Do You Do off the Wall Stuff like take picture of Yourself on the toilet


Ok everyone I have worked a long day and it’s 3:47 in the morning I have to be up soon and I am beyond, so stay with me :-D

One consequence of spending a lot of time alone is that you become familiar with these moments of intersection I like to call them, where that inner voice in your head, that voice that speaks for your heart, and the voice that speaks for your loins, all sound the same. You cannot tell whether you want or need something, you cannot tell whether you are asleep being ever so slowly lulled by the gentle rhythms of emergent images all fantastic just beyond their plain superficial ordinary-ness, you cannot tell whether or not you are moving or stationary because everything whether it is the children playing just beyond the glass of the window or your books, figurine or whatever, passing relic you surround yourself with, right in front of your seems unfairly unreachable.

You dont have the patience to wait, but you dont have a choice, being alone with the experience of alone-ness dictates that you will be forced at some point to that moment afterwards of complete cessation. All the voices go louder and louder till there is nothing to said or a space to say it in, and from that unimaginably lofty position, you know things. You know that that 100lbs or more body that you carry around through the avenues of your life is just that, something you carry around. You also are born into the fact that the face you wear, the personality you have is just an accoutrement, it’s just a decoration, a mark of distinction for whatever it is you are. The right before you are completely taken by the singleness of the moment, you find yourself back here.

And where are you ?

Your in a place where the word on the page are more meaningful than the empty spaces. Where we have titles, were every single action is a transaction bringing us closer to a kind or arrogant solipsism. It’s quite easy to get lost in being called Prof, its even simpler to get lost at someone giving you that kind of smile you always wanted but even received when it happens on the A train heading deeper and deeper into the heart of the city.

It’s not too long before you forgotten that quiet, the singular quietude  you were forced into  however long ago it was.  You’re back to thinking the mask you were and body you drag around are all that there is to you. The Mask and Manteau

I like to remind myself, that this is all a game. I like to remind myself that in enough time, I will be old and peeing in a bag and no one except chicks with gerontic fetishes will want to fuck me. A little while longer after that there will be no trace of my having been here. One of the keenest expressions of mortality is it’s own dismissal.

Maybe there is some meaning in bringing it to the forefront in a conscious way by taking a picture blogging on a toilet in an uncomfortable state of undress.

The last words always belong to someone else, in this case Shakespeare,

Thou hast nor youth nor age,
But, as it were, an after-dinner’s sleep,
Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What’s yet in this
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

 

hero-3-joseph-campbell

Has Anyone done this? If So I need to ask you a few Questions


hero-3-joseph-campbell

“When I taught in a boy’s prep school, I used to talk to the boys who were trying to make up their minds as to what their careers were going to be. A boy would come to me and ask, ‘Do you think I can do this? Do you think I can do that? Do you think I can be a writer?’ ‘Oh,’ I would say, ‘I don’t know. Can you endure ten years of disappointment with nobody responding to you, or are you thinking that you are going to write a best seller the first crack? If you have the guts to stay with the thing you really want, no matter what happens, well, go ahead.’”

from Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth, with Bill Moyers