jeudi 25 avril 2013

A.D. Winans: the poetry game


When I was publishing
Second Coming
I would get telephone calls

From poets late into the night

Some of the callers
Had high pitched voices
Some so shrill
I could barely make out

A word they said

Some wanted me to publish them
Some were angry because
I hadn’t published them

Some were willing to barter
Promising me a reading alongside
A prominent poet

At a local or international
Poetry reading

Some female poets were willing
To share my bed
For a nigh or two
All for publishing a single poem

These poets all had
One thing in common
They didn’t place much value
On themselves

They complained
The grants were rigged
They blamed the establishment
They blamed other poets

They blamed the fates
Not one of them blamed themselves

Most of them never worked
A blue-collar job
Seeing poetry as a Holy thing
Too Holy to get dirt under
Their fingernails

If these poets
Had spent half as much time
Writing as they spent complaining
They might have published
A solid poem or two

I never published these poets
And with the passing of time
I’d see their names in print
In this magazine or that magazine
And not long afterwards
I’d see the name of the editors
Appear in a magazine or anthology
Edited by one of these very same poet

Many long years have passed since
My publishing days
But I notice the game has not changed
Only he names of the players

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