After a long hiatus, Etched Press, the micro-press I operate is returning. Etched Press is still seeking chapbook length poetry collections, because I love the form, but there will be a big focus on the new literary journal, Etched Literary Journal. The projected release of the first issue is Spring 2009, but depending on the amount of submissions it could be Summer 2009, there are still a lot I have to go through and many responses I have to send out. I apologize for the delay to all who submitted, I had to sort out a few things in my personal life before I could move forward. Thank you for your patience and I invite all to www.etchedpress.com/etched for the literary journal and www.etchedpress.com for the press.
Ana Ribeiro and I wrote an impromptu poem at Bottega Bar & Gallery a few months ago titled “The Midnight Sun” and Christopher Pendergraft liked it so much that he made a video interpretation of it.
Not related to my poetry much, but this song answers the question, “Kevin, why do you laugh at everything?” It was supposedly Michael Jackson’s favorite song. I can definitely see why. Great song.
Smile Lyrics – by Charlie Chaplin
Smile
tho’
your heart is aching,
Smile
Even though it’s breaking,
When there are clouds in the sky- You’ll get by,
If you
Smile through your fear and sorrow,
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun come shining through- For you.
Light up your face with gladness,
Hide ev’ry trace of sadness,
Altho’ a tear may be ever so near,
That’s the time you must keep on trying,
Smile- What’s the use of crying,
You’ll find that life is still worthwhile,
If you just smile.
I’ve been typing up poems today, reading, and trying to write new ones. So, I thought I’d share a poem I wrote that I don’t plan on submitting anywhere.
A Seduction On seeing Bonnie England’s “Female Nude: 49″
Female nude, 49, lies on her side waiting,
anticipating my touch. She’s one of the few
who actually knew of my exploits—
I didn’t choose her.
She has chosen me, leads me
to believe I can’t get her,
so I do, and she uses me.
Today, she is faceless.
I remember her body:
lush breasts, full hips, small waist.
I remember the way her muscles tensed
when she moaned, but most,
I remember how after
she posed—
like a model for a painting:
attentive, still, patient.
I wrote this while I was at the Bottega waiting for a wine tasting. I had a few drinks and was looking at some of the artwork in the back. I wanted to write about a painting, and I chose a painting by the previous owner of the bar, Bonnie England. If you live in or around Wilmington, NC then you should check out the Bottega Art & Wine Gallery downtown. Most nights it has live music, they host monthly poetry readings, weekly wine tastings, monthly writing workshops, and always has fun and interesting people. Here’s a link to their website: http://www.bottegagallery.com/
Yusef Komunyakka was the keynote speaker at Writer’s Week one year while I was at UNCW. I was lucky enough to see him read, meet him, and get him to sign my copy of Neon Vernacular. When I shook his hand it was a very important moment for me because I really enjoy his work and he’s such an iconic poet. Here’s the poem.
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Writing poetry is like learning to play the piano if no one else around you knew how to play “properly.” That may sound a little confusing, so allow me to explain. Imagine that everyone who knows how to play the piano is whisked away to some euphoric haven and you are left behind with a desire to learn the instrument. You’re probably thinking that you will just read a book or watch a DVD. Well, let’s also assume that whatever takes them away also destroys all of those materials in front of you. All you have is a piano, a desire to learn, and the recordings of all your piano predecessors.
This situation would probably lead you to pressing keys to discover what “sounds good together.” You realize that you can mimic parts that you hear in recordings. You mimic, and then create variations of what you hear. Then you probably try to play something contrasting to what you hear. Soon you begin to play your own music that is simple at first, but as you play more and compare it to other music, you learn the nuances of the art and develop your own style. You play in multiple genres and all on your own. You have resurrected a dead art; applaud yourself.
Think of that when you write poetry. A poet is only as good as what he teaches himself to learn from others. Approach poetry with the mindset that there is no one alive who knows how to write poetry the “proper” way. Poets must take the time to learn how to write poetry. You learn from taking all that can from others and from intuition. Reading, writing, and reading about writing poetry is one of the best way to learn how to write poetry. Many of those before me say to learn the rules, and then break them. I say there are no rules, no nets, only those that you set for yourself. Write freely, write what you feel, write for others to feel, and write well.
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