It is National Poetry month. That title is only 12 years old, but it seems like its been going on fucking eternal. Every article written about National Poetry Month starts like this - "T.S. Elliot once wrote 'April is the cruelest month'.''
I do not care about National poetry Month. It is a month long affectation. It is similar to the feeling I get during St. Patrick's Day where the populous unifies for a certain amount of time to pretend and ape another species with complete disregard. In April, pretend to care about poetry. Here is a good example. Notice how the article begins. Notice how these poets don't give a fuck and are bored. Nothing has changed for them. They will be reading Mark Doty and thinking about budding credenzas no matter what month it is. Ask me what I'm doing in November of next year, and then I'll know you care. They should have asked Peter Shippy what he was doing, or Chad Reynolds about National Poetry Month. The answers would have been more interesting.
Let's not think about it. Let's look elsewhere.
Saltgrass might be a good journal, but I don't know. I bought an issue and never received it. I just remembered this. I've wasted $5.00 on worse things. They have a new one coming out soon.
Blake Butler is on day three of his 10-15 day novel. This is a great idea. Blake says he has generated over 10,000 words already. Damn. This is an idea I'd like to try, but I'd probably only get as far as 3,000 words. Some good novels were written swiftly - most recently Jesse Ball's Samedi the Deafness, which I enjoyed a lot. Jesse Ball supposedly works very fast. His web page alludes to many mysterious works. He is a mysterious man. Here is a picture of Jesse not being very mysterious. He is having a good time. He is with Sloane Crosley, who is a publicist at Vintage and an author who I hosted last night. She was funny and kind. She wrote this book, which has a great essay on the Oregon Trail. Did you play the Oregon Trail? I did. I loved it. Matt Bell writes about his love for this essay too. Jesse Ball looks like he is not used to being around funny women like Sloane. This doesn't matter. I will buy his next book regardless.
This weekend I host the poets Caroline Knox, Dara Wier, and Dorthea Laskey. This reading is at 7pm at Brookline Booksmith. I am anxious for this, as I like the work of all three people. We will celebrate National Poetry Month. In blood.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Posted by Brian Foley at 11:27 AM