Tess Gallagher likened the time between poems to when one is called in from play by Mom–to help wash the potatoes. Well, so here I am with a sink full of potatoes. Actually, I’m at the laundromat watching duds and suds tumble and spin, which I suppose is comparable.
Severance is ordered and nearly complete–down to final tweaks. I’ll be sending that out to a few presses in the coming weeks. Severance, for me, is formally innovative: a non-rational, non-traditional, dream-driven thing. It is a new branch. Or maybe a new trunk.
I’ve decided to call my second manuscript, tentatively, Breaking House. This book is filled with my more typical, realistic, lyric narrative poems on a very wide array (maddeningly so–for putting a book together) of subjects, including humorous poems, anti-war poems, elegies. As soon as I give it a first draft ordering, some close poet friends will be helping me determine how shitty it is. Thank goodness for friends.
All this in-betweenness. It’s slightly terrifying and nauseating and exhilarating, like walking between cars on a moving train. You know.