The Denver writer's conference (AWP) was an incredible collection of scholars, writers, publishers, editors and nearly everything in between that deals with the business of writing. Three full days of meetings and three nights of readings meant a very full headspace when I returned back to my quieter world in San Diego, CA.

Yesterday, I was exhausted from post travel activities, which included: unpacking, laundry, catching up on endless emails, and preparing for the week ahead. Whew! The past week has been a whirlwind and an eye opener. I did manage to sneak in a DVD to rest a bit and really enjoyed the 2009 film, Adam. A romantic comedy about a young man with Asperger's Syndrome and a beautiful teacher/writer and their evolving romance.

What struck me most about the film was the way in which communication is delivered or mishandled in relationships and the many challenges that come from trying to get inside another's mind. Even without any neuro-deficiencies, it's tough. The film beautifully illustrates the complexity, difficulty or inability to read another's intentions, body language or sarcasm. I don't think anyone needs to have a "syndrome" to be challenged by any of these, social cues or not.

Today, I feel like one of those challenged folks as I scratch my head in utter bewilderment. I heard, what should be joyful news in any other context, that a local poet just won the Pulitzer Prize for one of (their) books. Let me first clarify that I am not up for such an award and am not jealous of anyone winning an award, in fact, to the contrary. I am delighted when someone (worthy) is recognized by such an esteemed bunch. I mean what writer wouldn't be thrilled to win the Pulitzer, right? (And also thrilled for their contemporaries, especially when not competing with them.) So, why does this news irritate me so much?

What causes me confusion is the climate of what is esteemed at this particular point in time in literature. One of the goals of language, I thought, is to make meaning. To communicate your thoughts, feelings, preferences, etc...to another human being. Language was created because we can't read each other's minds, at least not yet ;). However, in the world of poetry, in particular, the opposite seems true. What is celebrated today is often obtuse, disconnected, sparce and utterly void of any meaning making. Often impersonal, overly clever, creepy and highly cerebral, contemporary poetry is often void of any realness, humanness, softness, or heart and soul. I know, I know, some of you intellectuals are already rolling your eyes right now at my use of the words "heart" and "soul," well pardon me. I do not live merely in my head and can't stomach those who do.

What happened to the poets who emoted? When did real feelings and personal experiences go out of style? Are we moving toward an even more impersonal, flarful world? I thought it was the poets who helped us see beyond the material landscape? We are supposed to be the brave ones, the ones others turn to when they can't find the words or make meaning for themselves. Poets are the ones that are not afraid to say what we feel and allow others to really peer inside, right? If poets don't serve this purpose, who will?

One of the interesting, and by interesting, I mean disappointing things I noticed about most of the live readings I went to in Denver, was that for a group of "sensitive" types, their work was sorely lacking any sensitivity. Most performed overly clever, glib, let me impress you with some random nonsense style, that I managed to be superficially moved to only occasional laughter. A small fraction, maybe 2 or 3, moved me in a deeper way, Jill Alexander Essbaum was one of them. This I did not expect. It makes me wonder if we have given up on the idea of making meaning, or is anything meaningful to us anymore? Is the job just too daunting, or are we just too lazy or fearful to go there?

If you have any thoughts on this topic, I'd love to hear from you. Please clue me in on what I'm missing. Shed some light on this for me, please. I'm obviously out here in the dark.

A Book Review…………………………………………………Jeannine Clark

Chelsey Minnis is BAD BAD

just ask her -

or as I like to say,

here’s a little book to find some punishment in –

both personally, academically and professionally.

Pow - Pow, are you ready?

PREFACE 1

Chelsey says in preface 54: the force of poetry is freely said truth…

She also claims in preface 2: Poetry careers are a bad business…(ut oh).

PREFACE 2

This is supposed to be a good poem placed very gently upon the desk…according to preface 37.

PREFACE 6

I had to agree with preface 36: “Poetry writing” is a hardship…

An image of a hungry homeless person standing on the corner with cardboard sign in hand reading – Will Write for Water, or Poetry for Pennies, or Hungry Poet Begs for Anything you can spare, comes to mind when I read this one.

PREFACE 9

In preface 20: I am a poet so I can say things…

AND

Preface 3 asserts: If you are a poet then it should be foremost on your mind to say something and not conceal it……………………………pretty much sums up this book.

PREFACE 13

Now, preface 1 is filled with goodies like: If you try to write a good poem again and again for years and years and receive no awards, no money, no nothing…then you’re happy…

And, all these blurbs are for s---. Like if I were to carry around a turd and pretend it is my baby…

(Where does she come up with these things?)

PREFACE 17

Poetry is crap since there’s no money or fast cars in it…………………….another glorious………………….revelation………………..from preface 1.

PREFACE 20

At one point I picked up her book and thought it was upside down, but then I realized it was right side up but felt upside down, and sideways, even though the writing was perfectly horizontal, if that makes any sense.

PREFACE 24

You may be wondering by now why I am including so many prefaces to this book review, if Chelsey can include 68 in her book BAD BAD, then I figure a few in here won’t hurt.

PREFACE 29

Critics rave about her elliptical style……..there’s much left out………..some oddness…….irreverent references……………..mocking………….cunning……………poking holes………………….bang, bang……………………………..shot, until you’re bleeding pink and white stripes……………………..who says you need to be paid to be taken seriously?

PREFACE 33

Incongruent emotions.

PREFACE 37

Loathing………………..you can guess at what, right?

PREFACE 46

Punchy, provocative, smart and fresh, in places……………….sometimes too dramatic for my taste………………other times, simply sublime.

PREFACE 51

You get to read between the lines.

PREFACE 53

She’s a bit obsessed with death and her death wishes.

PREFACE 55

Ooops, there’s a break in the text I’m not sure what’s missing . See what I mean?

PREFACE 56

Symbols used throughout the book: stars, hearts, crosses, two-headed dear, swords, skulls, birds, diamonds, coffins, crescent moon, money, magic 8 ball, coffin, rainbow, rose, cloud, gemstone, whip, the number 13, and of course, the dot……………………….hmmmm.

PREFACE 58

SAD, sadness too, questionable mental health, good times for her, so it seems.

PREFACE 61

FENCE BOOKS is her publisher. On the back cover the words Decadent! Childish! Are in bubbles - to be ironic I’m thinkin’…….along with a dollar sign. Mocking perhaps?

PREFACE 67

Underpants……..Mildred……..F Lute………Man-Thing……….Don’t do it some more………………………..Double Black Tulip….Truck….P-IRATE………..(I love that last one, the word, not the section as much)…..Foxina…….Men Cry Because of the Heat…Clown……FiFi, NO….NO………P.Chelsey…..Friendship…….C-Passion…….and the two……………….best of the bunch: Anti Vitae………………….-5 Negative…..to name most of her works inside the covers, after the 68 prefaces.

PREFACE 68

Before you read the actual book review, I’d like you to try an exercise or two based on one of her amusing sections. You are invited to write down all the things you think you’ve had points deducted for - that you feel were unfair or just plain wrong. It is called the -5 (Negative 5). For example, if you were scolded as a kid for chewing gum too loud, or for dropping something, or if you accidentally ran over your neighbor’s cat, you would write down:

-5 for chewing gum too loud

-5 for dumping eggs all over my mother’s lap even though I cooked them for Mother’s Day.

-5 for accidentally running over the neighbors cat…

-5 for excessive yawning…etc….etc….get the idea?

Keep going until you create a list of things you’ve had 5 points deducted for. It’s fun, I promise.

The other fantastic, original, insightful exercise you’ll want to try is titled: Anti Vitae, which is the chronology of what she didn’t do well in each year or span of time. For example:

1977-1984 Nothing of Interest

1984 Performed poorly in math. Taken aside by math teacher.

Receded into mediocrity of math.

D+ in conduct.

1985-1988 College application rejected by Cornell, Tufts, Northwester, Dartmouth etc…

45% in math.

You get the idea. Go on, it’s fun to remember all your disasters, failures and overall disappointments. Think of it as the anti-resume.

*If you’re looking for the actual review, well it’s left out silly….that’s what ellipses do. (Duh!)

A stomach ache has been annoying me for days now and is still hassling me as I write this. A case of nerves is the diagnosis - with no cure in sight. This irritating way in which I deal with stress is a real drag, to say the least.

I keep reminding myself of John Keats' theory of Negative Capability and how successful people are able to reside in the unknown or unresolved without tossing their cookies. Then, of course, I berate myself for not being one those successful sorts who can allow conflict and uncertainty to wash off their backs like yesterday's morning shower suds. Be in the mystery, I remind myself, throw away the need to find rational explanations for everything. My mantra is: move into receptive intuition, open up to all possibilities...yeah, easier said then done.

I could give you a list of what is gripping me at the moment, but I won't do that to you; it's a long list. I'd rather just say, if you are squeezed by the grip of doubt, uncertainty, fear, or if someone you care about has upset you, take heart, you're not alone. Many, many souls that have come before us have lived in the great mystery and some even wrote about it. Sometimes just knowing others struggle with the same things makes the struggle a little easier to bear.

untitled found poem - wordy exercise might surprise

melodies marauding messages

applauding man- hiding

behind mirrored awnings

manly voices, violent vices

masculine music, masks like a lion

canoes are colliding

roars in your elbow

bows at the choir

reeks and perspires -

masked deceptions, played like a pirate

packed in a suitcase, led to an island

maniacal hobbit trapped like a pigeon

caged in a door jam

pounced from a dungeon

Hearsay -

I say

he said that I’ll pay

heretic

predicates

as he insinuates

pretense is self-hate

perpetuates, manipulates

twists his fatal

choices can’t quite liberate that

itchy nose irritates

take back that angry day

no longer in a trance

he sank his only chance

fat chance he’ll understand

how I can take a stand

put him in that exiled place

I will not, cannot oscillate

who needs to populate?

allow others to manipulate!?

fuck that!

not willing to smile and wait!!

clings to his tribal ship –

plank – splat, he fell from it

scratched from decaying waste

landfill of mashy taskmasters

slip past the wolf’s fierce claws

untangle mired laws

stick to that band of mine

tear off the scab to

heal, dry the crying eyes

drink some wine

take some time

Proverbs 13:20 - He who walks with wise men will be wise, but the companion of fools will suffer harm.

I've been thinking a lot about the quote, "show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are." I wonder if it's always true? I believe it's usually true, but I know there are many friendships that are geared around companionship or shared activities that only reflect a small part of your personality. For example, at my gym, everyday around lunch time a diverse group of men meet to play basketball. They definitely have the love of basketball in common, but not necessarily anything else. Some may be married, some single. Some educated, some tradesmen. Some are younger, some older. There are many differences that can be observed on the surface that negate that notion of birds of a feather, flock together. Can a statement like that be definitive?

If you want to raise your tennis game, play with better players. The same holds true in other areas of life. Intellectuals discuss different things than laborers. But, what perplexes me most is the question: how do you know when all the common denominators that once held your friendship together are completely gone? What about the friends you once knew and enjoyed and have been loyal too, aren't they worth holding onto, even when you have grown in separate directions? Do you just drift into 'once in a while' friends? Stay connected for continuity sake? What is the ultimate cost of that?

I ended a friendship recently for many reasons, but the most important reason was because I knew this friend was deliberately trying to hurt me. The mean streak reared its ugly head and I nipped it before it showed up again. There are a lot of things in life we can't control, but allowing someone to beat you up is not one of them. No amount of meanness, verbal abuse or otherwise will be tolerated or allowed to continue, ever. I've put up with a lot of annoyances in order to keep some friendships alive, but I absolutely will not put up with intentional harm, even if it's merely a by-product of someone else's insecurity. I'll get secure friends.

Talking with a friend the other day I mentioned, if we only looked for perfect friends we'd never have any. However, as I grow older and become more discerning, the line between bearable and optimal is growing that much wider. Optimal friendships allow for honest communication, enjoyment and a feeling that you've been lifted up after you're with them. There is a sense of calm and ease and usually laughter when your with the right people, or "your people." Bearable friendships are forced, inauthentic and filled with far too much compromise and tongue biting. They are draining, more work than their worth, and end up costing you way too much on every level.

So the next logical question is this: What do you do when you are in between that wide gap of having some or none, but what you do have is definitely not what you want? Embrace the loneliness until a new one comes along? Tolerate an old one? The one thing I've learned for sure is, you can't change someone, no matter how much you want to, try to, or how much they acknowledge that they want and need to change. Change truly comes from within - though pressure from without can encourage it along.

I'm still in a dreamy state from my ultra relaxing yoga class today. I swear the entire class fell asleep during Savasana, including me. I could tell from the dazed and confused looks on all their faces, as if woken from a delicious dream.

I'm listening to a medley of New Orleans Jazz in anticipation of a friend's visit at the end of the month when we'll be dining at Ralph Brennan's Jazz Kitchen. There is something dreamy, romantic and festive about those horns that seem to seep into your soul and elevate your mood even when it's already in a peaceful state. Part party, part entertainment mixed with adventure and danger, just like the friend I'm seeing. My imagination conjures up hot southern nights, weeping willows glowing under misty lantern light, bourbon, silver shakers full of potent punch and men smoking cigars in black blazers.

My friend asked me what inspires me and the words irony, tragedy, and genuine heroics came to mind. Strange for a romantic poet I'm thinking. Then again, perhaps not. Many great things have been written with those three at the center. The harder thing to figure out is: the more we clamor after the answers, trying to grasp a piece of one, even when we know our attempts are going to be futile, the further away they slip. It's the mysteries that boggle the brain. The more we want to connect the dots the more the whole thing looks like an unending ink blot bleeding into endless forms. If only we could make sense of the light surrounding the dark spots.

I am procrastinating, again. There are tons of projects I need to tackle and finish and here I sit noodling around on my blog. I want to excuse myself by saying that every creative person hims and haws before getting down to business, that it's natural to avoid things that require a little more energy than we wish to expend; and the classic excuse...I always end up finishing what needs to be done so I shouldn't worry. Those statements are all true, but when it comes to writing, it requires time for rewriting and rewriting, which means I don't have time to waste.

Okay, note to self:

1. carve out time to write about my new cowgirl boots and the implication of owning them

2. finish the two poems I started this weekend

3. rewrite the Rhino piece for Erin before she fires me

4. respond to Sandra's comments and do all the writing she's expecting by Wednesday

5. prepare your weekly calendar for the hectic tasks ahead

5.5. stop worrying about the filming on Tuesday

6. stop thinking about men and kisses

7. stop eating all those damned carbs, just stop

8. remember to dust your room once in a while

9. start on the paper that's due in a couple weeks

10. write down everything you've been forgetting to do

Okay, now I think I can/should get back to work so I can blog again, someday.