Rachel Corrie, a young woman who died for her ideas and compassion. The video contains some language.
Writers do it all the time. They submit more work to the same publication that has published them. The writer likes the literary journal and the editor likes the writer’s work. Why not keep the partnership going? If only it was that easy. The offended voice in my head shouts, “You would dare!” A lot of writers have insecurities, and mine is a sinking boat full of them. Every time my work is accepted by a publication, I’m very happy because of that connection I made with yet another person. Poetry, for me, is in large part about connecting with others through words. Later, after the warm, fuzzy feeling subsides I think, “Well, I just got lucky. It just happened to land in the editor’s pile at the right moment and time. The next time around, I won’t be so lucky.” The thing is I’m not afraid of rejection; I have the rejection game down pat after all these years and so many rejections. Or at least I think I do. Writers can be confusing individuals at times, their thoughts like crows circling above their heads obsessively. Maybe what I really fear is rejection after acceptance. I don’t know. Maybe I should write a poem about it instead of a blog post… The good news is that I’m back at writing (working on a poetry collaboration with another poet) after not writing anything for months. I’m sure it’s evident by now that I’m not a disciplined writer, just look at how often I neglect my blog : )
I came across this interesting passage in my reading that relates to how I feel about poetry and just writing in general.
What will you say, Nonny?
What will you say?
I’m just a nobody making my way
Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Writer and reader thus make a pair of nobodies. In a sense, Rowlandson became a nobody during her captivity (or absorption), neither English nor Native; and the poem, like the “Wilderness” in which she traveled, is a space that encourages a divestment of the interfering ego. A nobody: somebody with an open identity. In Bernstein’s poem, “The Lives of the Poll Takers,” the poet explains that the poems he writes are not about him “though they/become me“… The poet is like a spiritual medium, channeling what comes from outside. Readers should follow suit, and realize that the things we read are not about us though they become us.
from the Greenwood Encyclopedia of American Poets and Poetry
I highly recommend reading the entire poem, In Memory of W. B. Yeats. It’s one of the best poems ever written!