I know, I know–you’ve been waiting months, literally, for a new post from me. Your personal hygiene has gone out the window. Your relationships are suffering. You’ve become bitter and practically non-communicative. But thank you–for waiting so long. For all your teeth-gnashing and hair-pulling.
I’ve been rolling around, for months, on the editing floor. Surrounded by poems. Cutting poems. Adding them back in. Very occasionally writing a new draft or adding a poem to the mix, as I almost literally wrestle with a manuscript I hope will become one day, a third book. The title has changed about four times. Most recently it was BREAKING HOUSE, which was nixed upon the advice of a friend. As of now, I’ve settled with OUR SUDDEN MUSEUMS, a title I’m about 99% sure will be the final title. I have had good help along the way–from several good poet/friends, and my incredibly patient wife. These poets and readers have slogged through the manuscript in various iterations, and have helped me realize what I suspected was the core of the manuscript–a body of elegies. I’ve excised many of the poems that, though I like them for their humor–just don’t fit the weight of this book.
I’m getting there, but there is still much work to do. Line-edits are almost there; I feel comfortable with the individual poems–it is the larger shifting and shaping that I’m finding utterly maddening–as I work this clay ball in my hands.
My other manuscript, SEVERANCE–is bloody done, I think. And by the fall I hope to let both these birds out of their cages. And then–my creative life will go back to the smaller scale, of roaming the ground for seeds. No more of this walking through the rows of tall corn with a scythe.
Now, back to work.