update on the house, or just when you think something positive...

...about humanity, the walls of reality come crashing down.

first, we stopped by the house today and i took a picture of my house with my cellphone (see photo to the right). realize it's a cellphone, so it's not the best quality, but it's pretty nice for a low-quality cellphone pic.
the house was painted (first time we saw it painted) and we're happy with the color. the door isn't painted yet, but it will be red, so just try to picture that. we're to have red shutters as well.

okay, onto the continued saga of this poet's house. if you remember from last episode we had been contacted by our builder that our tile (which was a killer 13"x13" specimen) was dicontinued by the manufacturer. we received a free upgrade to a better (i.e. larger) tile due to the inconvenience. the tile we chose was 15"x15", which is allegedly a better-looking tile, aesthetically speaking. the color was a deep burgundy with greenish-brown highlights. very nice. not as nice as our original choice, mind you, but still something we could live with.

well, this was Monday. five days later (5!), today, we show up at the house and find that they've tiled our entire house with the wrong fucking tile. a 12"x12" sand-colored tile that looks NOTHING like the tile we chose. this shit is getting ridiculous. how is it that in five days they can completely fuck something up like this? how is it? what is wrong with people? i have little faith in people, but it appears i put too much faith in these dolts. my wife, the brilliant soul that she is, even said on Monday, after we chose the tile, "i bet these assholes fuck this up." i told her there was no way, we JUST chose the tile. all they have to do is truck it to the house and ta-da, it's done. well, the prescience of my wife will never cease to amaze me. she called it. those assholes fucked it up.

so, our house is five months late. they've screwed up the actual building of it (i never mentioned this, but they fucked up in constructing the house such that our living area is 4" too short and we've an extra 4" in the garage; but to further ruin it, they've had to fashion a "jog" in the back washroom area so they could fit a washer AND dryer in there. plus, the 4" is taken off the kitchen which means the island we'll have in there will be squashed up against the counter with only 8 inches of space between it and the opposite counter), they took so long that our original tile choice is no longer available, and now they tiled the house with the wrong goddamn tile.

i know Holmes Homes (our builder) works only in Utah, but if you ever find yourself in need of a builder, and you're also unfortunate enough to find yourself in Utah, i cannot recommend Holmes Homes as a builder. though, i've heard that every fucking builder in America is as bad or worse, i know from first hand the kind of shit that Holmes Homes pulls. seems they got you by the shorthairs and don't mind pulling. our only recourse is the ability to get our of our contract without losing our earnest money. BUT, we lose the home we've been worrying about and wanted, housing prices in Utah are insane so now we can't even afford another house, and we would have to start all over again with this bullshit even if we could. there's really nothing we can do but bend over and take it; and hope they use plenty of lubricant.

anyway, that's the new development on the house. assuming they'll change the tile, this pushes our move-in date even further back. we signed the contracts on this house over a year ago. it was ridiculous in March. now, it's three months beyond ridiculous.

the house

i haven't posted about it in awhile, and since this is my blog and it's (ostensibly) about my life, i'll go ahead and make a post about my house.

we got a call this past Monday that the tile we originally chose (back in July of last year) was no longer being produced and that we would need to choose a new style. of course it's not in fucking production, we chose the damn thing so long ago. it's probably out of date and would look ridiculous. we wouldn't know, though, because it had been so long that we had literally forgotten what we chose, and how it looked.
we showed up at the showroom to choose our new tile and the guy meeting us brought a sample of the tile we originally chose and one that he thought might work out. it turns out the one we chose was fucking AWESOME, for lack of a better descriptor. of course it was. anyway, we haggled to get a free upgrade to a better, bigger tile and chose one that is nice but not as nice.

it was nice, too, to check out all the other options and colors (countertops, cabinets, house color) of things we chose and forgot about. apparently, we are about 30 days out. it seems we've been perpetually 30 days out.

anyway, we're going back out tomorrow to check the construction. we hope to see all the tile done, the house painted (did i mention it'll be a mustard yellow?) and hopefully some other things. we'll see.

when all is said and done, i'll eventually post pictures here. i don't have a digital camera (i know, i know...) so i'll do my best to borrow one or scan my photos.

a little irony

well, what do you know?
Bukowski always wanted to be in a library. he's written about in many of his poems and short stories. it finally happened.
good for him.

in the mail today & musings on poet laureate

in the mail today was the new issue of small press review (Vol. 38 Nos. 5-6). a review of Naked Knuckle #6 was featured and it included quotes of poems by both Hosho McCreesh and our very own Christopher Cunningham. congrats, guys. you know my thoughts on your work, so it's just good to know others are noticing, too.

on the drive home from work today, i was ruminating about the announcement that Donald Hall will be new (and 14th) Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress. there wasn't much a fucking announcement, really. just some tiny blurbs in the papers (or at least in their online facades). instead, we hear more about Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan. ridiculous.

anyway, it seems to me that the announcement of a new Poet Laureate would be a big fucking deal. i think it is. or at least i think it should be. oh well.

at least there's still those of us like McCreesh and Cunningham rewriting the myths for the next generation.

the ovaltine poems

for those who might have missed it, a fun series of comments have been logged in the is the cliché a cliché post. among those comments have been a bunch of poems relating to Ovaltine, the drink of choice for this poet's life contributor, editor of remark., and poette, Kat.

in the interest of ease and enjoyment, here are the poems so far (plus a new one by yours truly), with bylines below each poem:

slang

"Mary, you
are so fucking
ovaltine
it makes me like
sick
or something."

she flipped open
her cellphone
and sent a
quick text
to her list,
making sure
to tell everybody
that
Mary

is
again
off her
Myspace page.

this time for good.

Mary went home
to try and
figure out
how to be

less
ovaltine

in the future.
--Christopher Cunningham



Ovaltine

if Ovaltine were
money, i'd
be rich

but if Ovaltine
were love,
i'd still
be lonely

without you.
--justin.barrett



madness and strong drink

looking in the mirror
after no sleep for a second
night,
peeling back the corners
of red tired eyes,
sunlight oozing thru
dirty plastic slats,
mouth filled with
ugliness
and the taste of
strong drink.

mind is slipping,

mutter,

"ovaltine"

to the face
I no longer know.
--Christopher Cunningham



Untitled

I heard a fly buzz
And then it died;
Fell into my Ovaltine,
And it made me cry.

It was my favorite fly;
I named it Vincent Price;
Help me, Help me, it cried,
Oh, brother, look at
What Just just made me write.
--Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal



Gone

she used the
ovaltine jar to
stick the post-it
to

‘you boring fucker,
have a nice life.’

I’d miss her sense
of humour,
but that was
about all.
--Brian McGettrick



Untitled Ovaltine Poem

In grade school, mary
was quite
the oval teen.

By the time she
reached high school,
she developed
a bad case
of bulimia.

In between classes
she would vomit
as a means to slenderize.
All the cool kids
would make fun
of her for being
so cliche, till one day
she snapped
and ate them

all.
--C. Allen Rearick



Because it’s very delicious

"Ovaltine?"
I ask,
"Why Ovaltine?"

"Because it's very
delicious," she
says, "plus, it's
good for you."

"Whatever.
Ovaltine is so last
week, AND
it tastes like
crap. I much prefer
Nestle Quick."

"Nestle Quick?"

"Yes, Nestle
Quick.
It’s like Ovaltine
on steroids."

"On steroids?
You're such
a cliché,"
she says.

"You're a cliché,"
I retort. Then,
"Whatever.
And give me back
my steroids."
--justin.barrett



all good stuff. this only goes to show that poetry can come from anything; even something as ovaltine as Ovaltine!

AND, as if all of this weren't enough, the very same Kat who inspired these poems is working on a villanelle to top this collection off.

if any other poets out there are interested in getting in on the ovaltine fun, post your poem in the comments. don't be so ovaltine and get to it!

why wasn't i chosen?

the Library of Congress announced, today, that Donald Hall will be the 14th Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress.

i guess my next order of business is reading up on this Hall fella.

Whitman's invincible city

it appears the city of Camden has decided to offer a tour of Walt Whitman's home. The tour will be away from the Waterfront of Camden (scary thought) and includes a Whitman impersonator. for $30, it's not a bad deal.

Camden isn't the nicest place around, but this little attraction certainly makes it a bit more enticing; at least to this struggling poet.

a kick (err...itch) in the pants

well, isn't this just a fine how-do-you-do?!

good thing global warming isn't really happening, huh?



i'm sorry to tell you that it is, though.

...we interrupt our regularly scheduled blog

for this announcement:

my good buddy, fellow writer in the trenches, periodic commenter to this blog, friend to the world, and all-around good guy Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal has asked that i mention that Jeff Vande Zande's new novel Into the Desperate Country has been released by March Street Press.

i've not read the novel, but Vande Zande is a poet that's been around (including in an issue of remark (#25) while i was still running the joint). his stuff is good, and i am recommending it at Luis's request.

we now rejoin our blog, already in progress...

is the word cliché a cliché?

friend of this poet's life, Kat, was kind enough to forward this article by Jenna Glatzer about clichés and avoiding them in your writing. It's a short article, but informative and enjoyable nonetheless.

is nonetheless a cliché?
what about writing a blog, is that cliché? i'm pretty damn sure that is.

oh well.

feeble rantings

the latest installment of my seminal column, Background Noise, on Upright Against The Savage Heavens, is now posted for all to bask in. this time around i attempt to answer a question for the ages: What is poetry? i fail miserably, of course, but there's a good time to be had in laughing at my failure.

enjoy the feeble rantings and psychotic ramblings of a man on the verge of sanity.

a little linguistics for your ass

just surfing through some sites and found a plethora of linguistic blogs and such.

this is one of my favorites. lots of good stuff from etymology to grammar.
this one is about linguistics, science fiction and other shit. pretty good, too.

was also reading up on linguistic fun:
mondegreens--and here i thought that it was Bingo Jed has a light on.
tmesis--abso-fucking-lutely!
portmanteau--i thought Calexico was just the name of an amazing band?
spoonerism--they call me bustin.jarrett.

who knew they had names for all these things, huh?

it's pretty cool, too, that the word "mondegreen" actually is a mondegreen from a mishearing of a 17th Century ballad. sweet!

i think it would be clever if the other words actually were what they described (much like an onomatepeia and mondegreen):

tmesis would be tme-fucking-sis.
portmanteau is French, and is a portmanteau of sorts. i don't know French, so i suppose this one is immune; or at least it is as for as i'm concerned.
spoonerism should be noonerspism. i like that.

good stuff.

anyway, just having some fun with language this Friday evening, procrastinating on writing that column for Upright Against The Savage Heavens. i'm the king procrastinator. the kingrastinator. the ping krocrastinator. no one can procrasti-fucking-nate like i!

nice. my wife always wanted me to be a cunning linguist.

world cup of poetry

the fabulous poet, and soccer fan, Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal has posted an amazing opus to both soccer and poetry at Upright Against The Savage Heavens, on this the first day of World Cup 2006. check it out, and learn some new things about both soccer and poetry from around the world.

in a few days (Sunday) i will be posting the second installment to Background Noise on the same blog. Look for it.

vive la evolucion!

to go off-topic from our typical poetry fare, here's a great article on the Top 10 myths about evolution. #2 is my favorite. so few know what the hell a theory actually is; how important it is, and how amorphous; and how it IS NOT an opinion.
anyway, a good primer in evolution science.

chapbook of the quarter

i received the 2nd volume of the 2nd year of the Chapbook of the Quarter Club from Bottle of Smoke Press, a great set of poems by Adrian Manning, titled A Tourist, A Pilgrim, A Truth. another fine letterpressed mini-chap by Bill Roberts.

good damn advice

so, it appears i'm not the only one who's a stickler for proper grammar and spelling.

remember folks, spelling and grammar matters.
even in email.

methinks

i received Glenn W. Cooper and Michael Estabrook's new split-chap, methink i see my father, published by Liquid Paper Press, the imprint of Nerve Cowboy's editors.
this chapbook is gorgeously designed and features fabulous poetry about each poet's father, both of whom died while the poets were young.

the book goes for $6 and is well worth every single penny.

background noise

the first installment of my weekly rant called Background Noise is now up on Christopher Cunningham's great blog Upright Against The Savage Heavens. check it out and join the discussion.
it's about why we should write poetry.

we are (were) the champions...

i can't believe i forgot to post it, but back in April my Florida Gators basketball team won the NCAA Tournament. it was a very exciting time in the Barrett household, let me tell you.

anyway, a few more months of summer drudgery before football season begins. i only hope we have half the success our basketball team had. that's a lie, i hope we have more than half, but you know what i mean.

savage heavens

Christopher Cunningham has been gracious enough to ask me to contribute more regularly to his own great blog, Upright Against The Savage Heavens. in that vein, i've decided to write a weekly column, Background Noise, that will be posted every Sunday.

I've posted the first installment, a introduction, and will put up the very first real column this Sunday.

Funk Soul Brother Check It Out, Now!

surfing the web

so, i was out there surfing from link to link on various literary websites and i came across one i had never seen before.

Plagiarist Poetry

there are numerous articles and poetic analysis, and it sports a magazine. but, it's the articles that intrigued me most. there are plenty to choose from, from a host of categories including: individual poets, the art of writing, reading poetry, among others.

there is a fabulous set of letters from a young fan and writer to Ranier Maria Rilke that is worth its weight in gold. beautiful stuff.

anyway, thought it was a great site worthy of a mention. now, i gotta get back to reading about the art of writing.

apartment life is hell

you are suddenly awoken by the deep, guttural throttle of a humongous, diesel truck. GAGUHGAGUHGAGUH. headlights pierce your bedroom window; lighting everything as if it were the middle of the day; throwing shadows into the dark recesses of the room. GAGUHGAGUHGAGUH. it's 12:07am. you roll over, trying to ignore it. trying to sleep through it.
the inconsiderate prick taps the gas, revving the engine. the frequency of the gurgling increases, then slowly drops. he does it again. you look at your clock. it's 12:14am and your alarm is set to go off in less than 6 hours. GAGUHGAGUHGAGUH. it continues. endlessly.

apartment life is getting old. very old. i actually don't mind living in apartments made from old houses, or even townhome apartments, but these gigantic apartment complexes with 12 families per stairwell and 3 stairwells per building, and 30-40 buildings in the complex is just insane. For those who don't want to do the math in their head, that's somewhere in the neighborhood of 1000 to 1500 families per complex. the average family in Utah is 5 people (some areas that's as high as 7, AVERAGE. no kidding!) which means upwards of 5000 people in this one fucking complex. jesus christ. and with the considerate:inconsiderate ratio being at about 25:75, that makes a whole helluva lot of fucking people who just don't give a shit about anyone else.

to make matters worse, the family above us (the ones who got up early on Sunday mornings (see earlier rants)) moved out, to our great elation; however, another family, less considerate than the first, moved in and, apparently, are unaware (or just don't care) that people live below them. their terror of a child runs and bangs and throws shit all day and night long. the parents are constantly slamming doors and, for some reason, have a fixation on the goddamn sliding glass door (which we can hear loud and clear as it is being opened and closed). i can only imagine them being some form of subhuman, country bumpkin living in the city for the first time and enamored by the special, rolling door leading to their porch.

anyway, sorry about my rants. i'm just tired of waiting on this infernal house.
i looked back and noticed that my last post about the house was in January, and we had just had our foundation poured, but no framing yet. well, fast-forward 4 months and we have framing, walls, plumbing/electrical/insulation, drywall, and wall texturing. next time we hear from them (or go to visit it) we should have paint and they should be beginning tiling and carpet.

at least we're on our way. even if it is 4 months later than we were told.

rejections/acceptances

in the past 4 months, these are the rejections/acceptances i've received:

--i was rejected by a Hurricane Katrina anthology put out by Southeast Missouri State called: Hurricane Blues. oh well. i should know better than to expect to crack an academic mag.

--i received an acceptance for 2 poems to appear in an issue of remark. edited by a contributor to this blog, Chris Kornacki.

--i received a rejection from The Knoxville Writer's Guild for an anthology they are publishing. the rejection said they are seeking subs from East Tennessee writers only. again, wrong place at the wrong time.

i haven't submitted much over the past 6 months, so there isn't really much to report. i recently sent a submission out to Nerve Cowboy and i'll update about the verdict when it comes in.

i forgot

to mention what kind of things, poetically speaking, i've received lately.

my buddy Glenn W. Cooper has book of poetry, a joint-chap with Michael Estabrook, out with Nerve Cowboy's Liquid Paper Press, titled methinks i see my father. i've not seen the book yet (though it's in the mail), but i have been priviledged to see the poetry and artwork and, trust me folks, this is going to be one helluva fucking book. do yourself a favor and pick this up. for $6 it's a deal.

my buddy (mentioned in the previous post) Christopher Cunningham has a new chapbook of poems and letters (And Still The Night Left To Go: Poems and Letters) coming out soon by Bottle of Smoke Press. I received a small broadside of one of the poems the other day. Simply brilliant. This book will be amazing. If you've not had the pleasure of sitting back on a cold evening, drinking a beer, maybe some Miles Davis or Rachael Yamagata on the stereo, reading one of Mr. Cunningham's letters, then you've truly missed out. i'll update when the book is ready. i can't wait to get my hands on one.

my buddy C. Allen Rearick has a new joint-chap venture with Greg-O, from GreenPandaPress, which is available now. Limited to 69 copies, so pick one up soon. i hope Mr. Rearick will post a reply to this with the info on how to get one.

lastly, i received word from Eric Dejaeger that he would like to do a dual-language English/French chapbook of my poetry later this year. i'm very excited about this, of course, and will pass on more information as it becomes available.

there's some good stuff out there. more good stuff on the horizon (including some new chapbooks and broadsides from my own Hemispherical Press (once we move into the new house) by Christopher Cunningham, Owen Roberts, C. Allen Rearick, Michael David McNamara and others). keep a eye here for updates.

well hot damn

the weather has changed. it's cold and gritty outside, now, but the sky is so blue it's as if you're stuck in the lattice of a sapphire looking out. small clouds cling to the mountains like an infant primate to its mother. the sun is bright and clear, but the air is still crisp.
it's been a long, long time since my last update. i don't even know if anyone is still around; if anyone still remembers me; if anyone still cares. there were numerous reasons for my absence, but let's just say the rumors of my demise (now matter how self-created) were greatly exaggerated. or, if not GREATLY exaggerated, at least hyperbolized a bit. i'm not dead. i've not quit. i'm still here. i'm still writing, or that is to say, i'm writing again. and i'll be here for a long while. at least as long as the cosmos feel i should be.

what have i been up to? not a whole helluva lot. but, i needed the rest. i needed the break. our house is still NOT yet completed (more about this later). it's getting humorous now, almost. there's probably a month left on it, but they'll stretch it out to two, no doubt.
fuck it.

like i said earlier, i've been writing again. things were difficult for me for awhile, there. i lost my way. i got wrapped up in my own bullshit and stuck in some kind of negative biofeedback loop. there are a few good friends to thank for helping me out of my "funk". you know who you are. THANK YOU. the last time i was writing this regularly was over 15 months ago. now THAT'S a fucking writer's block. jesus.

the country still has a moron at the helm. and he's downright determined to fuck over everyone. well, fuck him. and his goverment. and his fucking tax cut. fuck it all.

i've been posting a bit over at Christopher Cunningham's fabulous blog Upright Against the Savage Heavens. you've heard me talk about Mr. Cunningham before. This man is the real fucking deal when it comes to poetry. he's also quite political and has a few interesting things to say about the current state of our union.

that's about it. waiting on the house, writing some wry, little poems, working, and trying to stay alive just one more day.

quick note

going out to dinner soon, real soon, but just wanted to put up a quick post that the new issue of Spent Meat is now live. my poem the second coming is featured. other poets include J.J. Campbell, Karl Koweski, Chris Major and Jonathan Hayes.
check 'er out.

giveaway

i have an extra issue each of Bathtun Gin #17 and trespass magazine #2, both of which i appear in. if you're interested in obtaining either of these journals, be the first to email me and i'll ship both or either to you.

move along, folks. nothing else to see here.

update, quick-like

i received an acceptance the other day from Kristi over at trespass magazine. my poem in the burning house of angels will be featured in the next issue. trespass is a great new magazine with much potential, so i'm very excited about this. i'll update when it is released.

also, i received the new issue of remark. (issue #40). Kat's done another great job with the design of this issue, and with selecting the poetry. featured poets include Nathan Graziano, ron lucas, Jonathan Hayes and Nescher Pyscher.

slow friday night alone

the wife is out with some girlfriends from work, watching a movie and talking about hairdoes or some shit. actually, in my mind, they are tickle fighting in negligees. just don't tell me it isn't so.
anyway, i got my iPod hooked into the speakers we bought for it, i got The White Stripes blasting through the apartment, i got a beer in my hand and abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do.
back in the day, this would be the time i would scratch out a few poems i'd been mulling about, or tighten up a few i'd written the week or month before. not so much anymore. i squeezed one out today at work, during lunch, but it reads like it was squeezed out...of a fat man's ass. oh well.

we finally heard some good news regarding our house that is being built. to catch you up to speed. back in June we purchased a house, which we told was going to be started near the end of September. Long story short, ground wasn't even broken until just before xmas. we got the runaround so bad that i went against my passive, take-shit-all-day-and-keep-on-smilin' persona and wrote a rather lengthy and terse letter. (i don't do phone calls very well as my voice tends to rise to dolphin click decibels and i forget what i want to say, etc. etc.)
well, i got a call from the builder about the letter saying they understand the situation we are going through, they will rectify some of our problems, etc. etc. AND that we finally have a hole. doesn't seem like much, but it's a fucking milestone in this thing. plus, we actually have a foundation now and the framing should begin any day now. luckily, we've been having a freakishly mild winter (so far) which has only helped things.
the other issues we wrote them about are being worked on and hopefully will be corrected lest i have to take out my mighty pen and dash off another curt letter. my mommy used to tell me that words can hurt, and the pen is mightier than the sword. we'll see.

parlez-vous français?

i don't. not a lick. i had to look up how to spell the above correctly.
the reason i ask is because i received my copy of Nouveux Delits today, where four of my poems translated by Eric Dejaeger appear. they appear in English, with the French translation alongside. and, they are gorgeous. it's amazing how something as simple as a translation into French can make your poetry look good.

the poems in this issue are:
penis boy
A Wonder
a clear sign i have become my father
another clear sign i have become my father

i can't understand anything else about the issue. it's all Greek to me. actually, make that French. i know, i know. that was a really bad pun. sorry.

2 acceptances, a new book, a french mistake and a small press review

lots of new stuff to kick off the new year. seems 2006 is starting off just right.

first, i received news from Bill Roberts of Bottle of Smoke Press that he will be starting a new project soon: specifically a set of coasters with poems letterpressed on them. the poems are about drinking. he accepted a new poem i wrote specifically for the project. the project is invitiation only, and i'm flattered to be included. of course, i'll inform when the project is completed.

second, i received word from Linda Wandt, the new editor of Spent Meat, that my poem the second coming will be used for the new issue. Spent Meat is coming back online after an extended hiatus. RC Edrington was the editor, but those duties are now Linda's. i was asked by RC to submit, and again i was flattered. RC and i also made amends. it's a long story, but suffice it to say things are now cool. i'll let you know when the new issue is up. looks like February some time.

next, i received the latest, and recently sold out, Bottle of Smoke Press publication, sometimes city undercovers, a book dedicated to d.a. levy and the recent levyfest in Cleveland. good stuff. it even includes a 5-poem mini-chapbook of levy's poetry.

yesterday, i received the latest issue of The Small Press Review. this magazine publishes only reviews, and is a great source for magazines, journals and books. unfortunately, this issue included a bad review of my buddy Karl Koweski's chapbook Can't Kill a Man Born to Hang, published by the ubiquitous Bottle of Smoke Press. i feel Karl is one of the best small press poets, and that the review is off base. his poetry is subtle, and deep and his humor is razor sharp. good stuff.

lastly, i received word today from Eric Dejaeger in Belgium that the poems he translated into French have already appeared in one magazine, Liqueur 44, and will appear in two others shortly, his own Microbe and Nouveaux Delits. i can't wait to see them.
i also found out that Eric has agreed to translate a bunch of Glenn W. Cooper's poems into French. this is great news. i'm a firm believer that the more people to read Glenn's poetry the better off the world will be.
incidentally, this is not the "french mistake" referenced in the title above. that designation is reserved for the publication of my own poems. anyway, congrats, Glenn.

maybe 2006 will be better than 2005.

Happy New Year

later tonight i will be so blitzed on beer, tequila, wine and champagne that i will probably be unable to function, let alone post on this blog, for a few days. therefore, i am posting now (before everything begins) and wishing everyone a happy new year!

as i said before, May 2006 be everything 2005 wasn't.

be safe, guys. there are always a lot of psychos and drunks and lunatics out on this night. if you happen to be one of these people, please leave everyone else alone and wallow in your lunacy alone!

indirect rejection?

i received a copy of a journal out of Utah State University called isotope. it bills itself as "A Journal of Literary Nature and Science Writing". i figured why not, since i fancy myself a writer and am a scientist, and often merge the two.

a few days after my submission, i received an email that said:

Thank you for your submission to Isotope! I'm writing in case you don’t know about the contest we are holding during our current reading period (Aug 1-Nov 15). You can find contest guidelines on our website (http://isotope.usu.edu/). You do not need to enter the contest in order for us to consider your work for publication, but there is prize money as well as publication for the winners and all contest entries will be considered for publication. After reading the contest guidelines, if you'd like to enter your submitted work in the contest, you can send along the entry fee (which also gets you a discounted subscription to Isotope) and a cover sheet, otherwise we will process your work as a regular submission.

Thank you for your interest in Isotope!

after reading this, i thought they really liked what i submitted and were being kind enough to let me know of the contest. dumbass me, i sent them the $15. i hadn't heard a thing until today. i received a copy of isotope. i'm not sure if it's the contest issue or not. probably not since there's no mention of it in the pages, but i still haven't heard a thing about my submission. am i to assume this issue is a rejection? or is it just part of my discounted subscription? i never heard about what the discout on the subscription was, nor did i send any extra monies.
i am assuming that this issue is a subtle rejection: sorry, mr. barrett, but your poetry isn't good enough to grace our pages. nor is it good enough to even warrant a real rejection. instead, here is a copy of our journal. peruse it. study it. learn.

the journal features mostly fiction and essays, but there are quite a few poems. most are horrible. truly horrible. a few were good, and one was just amazing. but, my stuff definitely isn't in the genre and style that they like. my poetry is a little too unlyrical and is far too narrative in nature.

anyway, i'm hoping this wasn't meant as a rejection. if so, that's horrible.

new issue of Nerve Cowboy...& Merry Xmas

today, as a nice, early Xmas present, arrived my contributor and subscriber copies of the new Nerve Cowboy (#20, Fall 2005). two of my poems, the ultimate irony of the recently sobered & the geometry of a relationship on the rocks, are featured in this issue. Nerve Cowboy, once again, released an amazing issue. it is the best small press journal of literature out there. since i have two copies, if you're interested in seeing what Nerve Cowboy offers, let me know and i'll send you my extra copy. i'm pretty certain you'll love it and will wind up becoming a subscriber. it's THAT good.
other poets featured in this issue include: Gerald Locklin, Karl Koweski, Kathleen Paul-Flanagan, christopher cunninngham, A.D. Winans and Michael Kriesel.

well, tomorrow is Xmas. unfortunately, and oddly, we've been hit with some kind of freakish warm spell. it's like 50 degrees (Fahrenheit) outside today. no snow, except on the mountains, and plenty of sunshine. it's actually quite nice.

anyway, Merry Xmas folks. i hope you have a beautiful end of the year, and i hope 2006 is everything 2005 wasn't.
for all of us.

RIP

seems i'm not writing on here much anymore. or, at least not as often. seems i'm not writing much of anything anymore. hopefully, that will change. it's just work is a bitch right now. balls to the wall busy. 10 hour days. plus, it's the dead of winter (Happy Winter Solstice!!) and i'm driving to work in the dark and driving home in the dark. never a good thing.

yesterday i received the final issue of Chiron Review (#81). it is an all gay and lesbian literature issue. CR will be greatly missed in the small press world. a rarity, too, being printed on newsprint in a full-size format. i'm proud as hell to have been in a few previous issues of CR, and wish Hathaway (the editor) the best.

i doubt i'll post before xmas, so Merry Xmas to all of you who celebrate it. Happy Chanuka to those who celebrate that. to everyone else...Season's Greetings, i guess.

the poem that started it all for me

when i was in high school, i was not a writer. i was shy, very tall, very skinny and very unpopular. things were compounded when we moved in the midst of my senior year. things turned out well, obviously (especially considering this is where i met my future wife) but it was not an easy go of it to be sure.
anyway, the teacher i was assigned to for English class--one Mrs. Anusavice--was a great teacher. she had this voice that was at once motherly and strong. her diction was clear and her enunciation was immaculate. she was also a lover of poetry, both classic and contemporary. we read a great deal of poetry--from Shakespeare to Byron to Yeats to Strand. and most of it was good.
the best, though, was the day she read the following poem by William J. Harris:

HEY FELLA WOULD YOU MIND HOLDING THIS PIANO A MOMENT

As you are walking
down the street
this guy asks you
to hold his violin.
It’s a Stradivarius.
Soon as it falls
into your hands you start playing like crazy.
The violin
almost plays itself.
Your powerful hands
nearly break the instrument
but the music is gentle and sweet.
You sweep your long artistic hair
out of your face.
Everybody
in the room,
in the bull ring, in the
audience, in the coliseum
starts clapping and shouting “Encore & Wow.”
Everybody whoever thought
that you were
dumb & untalented
goes apeshit
over your hidden genius.
“Gee, I never knew you
played,” says your astonished high school
principal.

William J. Harris

From Hey Fella Would You Mind Holding This Piano A Moment © 1974, William J. Harris

i love this poem. i loved it then, and love it even more now. the absurdity of it all. the flow. everything.
back then, i got a kick out of Mrs. Anusavice saying the word "apeshit" (and, i admit, still giggle a little when i hear now). but now, i love the fact that it is so simple and so irrationally absurd.

well, that poem did it for me. it opened my eyes to what poetry could really be. it showed me that poetry wasn't all meter and rhyme; that it was considerably more than iambic pentameter or villanelles or sonnets; that it could be funny and absurd and plain-spoken. this hit me hard and definitely inspired me to try my hand at laying down the line.

needless to say, i'm glad Mrs. Anusavice read this poem to our class back in '90. i'm glad Mr. Harris wrote back in '74. for without either, i doubt i ever would've found poetry.

i'm sure, though, that there are plenty out there who are silently cursing both Mrs. Anusavice and Mr. Harris for their parts in aiding that discovery.

the rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated (though close)

wrote my first poem in a month? two months? hell, i can't remember how long it's been. and quickly on the heels of that first one, a second one spilled out. it felt good.
i don't think "it" is totally back -- this is going to be a series of fits and starts before i'm back to cruising the poetry highway -- but it's good to know it didn't completely leave me. i've always been afraid that one day it will up and leave me. still might. glad to know that it hasn't happened yet.
i might not be back, but ya'll best watch out. i'll be back in the game before you know it; swinging for the fences; running back punts; pushing the fast break.

workshops revealed

Brian McGettrick (aka bmcg on this blog) sent me a link to an article by Sam Sacks. this article, ostensibly a review of an anthology (Best New American Voices 2006) is really a look at workshops and what they are doing to American literature.
i've never liked the idea of workshops. like Mr. Sacks says, they only dilute the talent pool. they bring down those who are talented (and therefore don't need a workshop) and bring those who are untalented up just enough to not discourage them from writing. he even touches on the publishing trade, and how little it means to be published.
granted, the article is about fiction (short stories, mainly), but i think the sentiment can be applied just as well to poetry. there ARE poetry workshops, and the same drivel Mr. Sacks mentions is being released from these places.
the key sentence in the whole article is: "As for grammar and mechanics, the only aspects of writing actually governed by rules, they are considered beneath the contempt of creative minds and are omitted from study." i find grammar and mechanics woefully lacking in most contemporary literature, and it's even worse in poetry. for some reason people just can't seem to be bothered with learning the proper way to say things. and don't even get me started on spelling.
i also think the fact that poems are shorter, and words in a poem are at even more of a premium, any grammatical or mechanical error is magnified.
these things matter, folks. punctuation matters. spelling matters. grammar matters. it's all part of communicating effectively. it's hard enough getting people to read poems, there's no sense in putting them off even more with hard-to-read, grammatically incorrect, mechanically cumbersome pieces.
that's my $0.02.

good news

chris kornacki (aka chris k. on this blog) informed me (see the comments on the previous post) that trespass magazine updated their website with information about the new issue (#2) and used my poem Midnight Trains as a teaser. that's great news. thanks for passing it along, chris!
and this afternoon, i received my two contributor's copies. another poem, the emptiness of a moonless night, kicks off this issue. trespass is a beautiful magazine that will only get better with time. i'm convinced of it.
other poets in this issue include Glenn W. Cooper, Owen Roberts, john sweet, J.J. Campbell and Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal.
if you're interested in trying to get into the next issue of trespass, they are open for submissions until January 15. i know i will shoot some their way. maybe the ones that were rejected from Poultry Broadside. then again, maybe not. after all, they were only "almost there, but not quite."

insult to injury

in the last post i talked about how my writing has trickled to a near stop. and those few poems that i am able to squeeze out aren't worth much (in my opinion). well, today i received some confirmation of that. i sent three of my recent poems to Poultry Broadside, also mentioned in the last post, and received a reply today that all were rejected. the editor said that they were "almost there, but not quite".
that's the story of my life: almost there, but not quite.
whether i'm trying to write poetry, successfully do my job, pleasure my wife or appear suave, the end result is always the same. almost there, but not quite.
oh well. he did say i could try him again in a few months. but, i'm not sure what makes him think i'll be fully there in a few months.

update on our house

as you may (or may not) be aware, we are currently living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment as a new house we purchased is being built. however, that new house was to have begun back in September but has been indefinitely delayed since. if it was begun on time, it would've been finished sometime around the end of February or the beginning of March. now, who knows.
we just heard word that our house is supposed to begin sometime within the next 45 days. if we go by this, and assume the worst (45 days), that would put the ground breaking at the end of January. six months for construction (at the minimum. more if we have a bad winter), and that puts the finish of our house at the end of July. that's five extra months living in this hellhole. christ!

i suppose it always can be worse.
ignore my complaints. at least the wife and i have our health, and a roof over our heads (which is no small thing when it's ten degree Fahrenheit outside with a skiff of icy snow on the ground).

the only thing about this whole situation, though, as it relates to my poetry, is that i don't feel at all like writing. ever since moving into this miniscule, infernal place, i've felt like all my energy is spent in trying not to get in my wife's way (or in finding a way to get her out of mine) that writing has become secondary or tertiary to that. i've written a few new poems, but nothing worth a damn. my output has dramatically decreased, my apathy about it has increased and the quality of my writing has plummeted. this happens, though. when i get more comfortable, with all my books and typewriters and other accoutrements out of storage; when i can set up my little writing space; when we finally move out of this little place, then it'll all come back.
i hope.

winter is here

it snowed today. big, fat flakes. i work on the benches of the Wasatch Mountains, and it is a good 10 degrees cooler up there than down in the valley (where we live). it was raining down in the valley (until later tonight when it turned to snow), but it was cold enough to snow up where i work. gorgeous. i love snow. i hate driving in it (especially here in Utah where morons in their huge trucks and SUVs think just because they have 4-wheel drive they can drive like maniacs), but i sure do love watching it fall.

today i received a copy of Poultry Broadside #4 from J.J. Campbell. he has two poems in this issue. John Dorsey and Corey Mesler are also featured in this issue. Poultry Broadside is a quarter-sized folded pamphlet published by Gunch Press. check it out.

today

was one of those crisp late autumn days we get out west here; where the temperature hovers right around freezing, the sky is blanketed by high-altitude clouds from a recent cold front, snow dots the ground here and there and the air is so clear you can see forever. it's beautiful. very little wind, the nip in the air just enough for a coat and scarf. maybe a beanie to cover your ears.
it almost makes driving to and from work bearable.

it's been awhile since i've posted anything of value. this is because i was on vacation. the first in a long time. well over a year. it was two weeks long, but still much too short. however, we got to see our two nephews (2 1/2 years old and almost 1 years old) for the entire time. i wished we lived closer to them so i could watch them grow. alas.

i hate traveling. to be more specific, i hate flying. i don't do well in an airplane. this trip, however, was not so bad. our connections were on time, we have minimal layovers. the landing in Atlanta on the way to Florida (our only layover for that particular trip) was scary, though. the pilot came in way too fast and we bounced once, then shimmied. i'm sure it didn't look like much from the ground, but i was certain a wing was going to clip the ground and we would burn to our deaths in a mighty fireball. i'm happy to say that this particular hell did not occur. obviously. the flights back were uneventful and even a little fun (once the plane gets to cruising altitude, i'm fine; it's the takeoffs and landings that kill me).

so, what's new in the world of poetry, as it relates to me? well, while i was away i received my copies of Bathtub Gin #17, where my poem the business trip appears. Bathtub Gin is a great literary journal that is not easy to crack, so i'm proud of this one.
also in my mailbox was a copy of remark. #39. Kat did another great job on this one. it's an autumn-themed issue. job well done, Kat.

that's about it. nothing else new. it's been slow, i suppose. unfortunately, there were no new acceptances of any of my poems, but, on the other hand, there were no rejections, either. no news is good news, i guess.

back

i am back from my two week vacation. we have yet to decompress from the whirlwind it was. i will post more later. suffice it to say, like all vacations it was too short.

a fortnight's rest

we fly out tomorrow morning for our two week vacation to Florida. we'll visit family, participate in the typical Thanksgiving festivities (turkey, stuffing, football, arguments, etc.).
however, as i said earlier, i probably won't be able to access my email, nor post on this blog while there. i might, but i doubt it. so, if this place is as barren as the space between George W. Bush's ears, then you'll know why. and, if i don't return any of your emails (assuming any of you will email me) this will be the reason.

for all of you (in America) who celebrate Thanksgiving, i hope you have a fun, turkey-filled, football-filled holiday. for all of you who do not, then i hope the next two weeks are, at worst, average.

sick as a dog

i came down with something last night. a head cold (dripping, sore throat, etc.). i don't do well as a sick person. i revert to a three year old. my wife hates it, but being the wonderful trooper she is, she takes care of me. i hope i can fight this off before our vacation (which i'm sure i can) and i hope i don't give it to her, because she'll almost definitely have it during then. flying with a head cold is never fun, either.
anyway, i think i'm gonna go lie back down on the couch and whine a little more. maybe mumble some melancholy sounds. and dose up on some over-the-counter cold remedies. medicine head, here i come!

the holidays, and some poetry stuff

we'll be leaving on Tuesday the 15th to fly to Florida to visit family for two weeks for the Thanksgiving holiday. in the six years we've lived in Salt Lake (coincidentally, today is our 6 year anniversary of arriving in SLC), we've not had a holiday with family. so, this will be a nice vacation. plus, we'll get to see my sister's two young children. therefore, i'll probably not get to update this blog during those two weeks, though i will try. we'll see. my parents don't have a computer at their place, so email and such will be lagging.

today i received Issue #38 of remark. Kat did a great job with it. i thought that i would miss being the editor of remark. after i quit and handed the reins over to Kat, but not so much. it's nice to have the extra free time to myself. and with some of the shit Kat has had to deal with concerning primadonna, arrogant, ungrateful poets; i definitely don't miss dealing with that. thanks, Kat, for taking over the editorship of the magazine.

lastly, i received from christopher cunningham a signed copy of his new book, Thru the Heart of This Animal Life A Measure of Impossible Humor, published by Nerve Cowboy. i've said this before on this blog, but i'll say it again right now: christopher cunningham is the greatest living poet in America. it's a bold statement, but one i firmly believe. the dude sweats poetry.

already?

is it really November already? the second week of it, no less? jesus.
it's no revelation that time flies, but here's my theory on that. one day for a one-day old is 100% of that person's life. so, it seems like a lifetime for a one-day old to wait another day. a day for a two-day old, therefore, feels half as long. using this logic, someone at the age of 30 feels one day as roughly 1/11,000th of their life, or 0.009% of their life. nothing. a mere blink of the eye. and someone 60 years old feels a day as even half as long. so, using this rock-solid logic, this is why every year seems to accelerate by at ever increasing speed. obviously the year doesn't actually go by any faster, it's our perception of that year that is changing.
not that this has anything to do with anything. i'm just lamenting the fact that it's already November, the radio stations are already playing xmas music, and i'll be dead before i know it.

the knuckle

i got my subscriber's copy of Naked Knuckle today. if you don't know, NK is a rather new (only on issue #5) poetry journal out of Modesto, CA that says it contains "poetry that'll bust your mind's eye wide open". it's a beautiful, small-format magazine filled with some of the best poetry around. this issue included the ubiquitous Karl Koweski, Christopher Cunningham, Charles Rammelkamp and Raymond Mason, among others. i've had a few poems in previous issues, too. anyway, it's nice to know that there are still journals out there like Naked Knuckle. plus, this issue has a creepy drawing on the cover that looks like Iggy Pop with a broken nose and a droopy right eye. it's weird. if you're interested in checking it out, or submitting, drop me an email and i'll give you the info.

denied

well, it appears my mailbox situation has been rectified. AND, just in time for me to receive a rejection from Cellar Roots out of Eastern Michigan University. i had appeared in three previous issues of Cellar Roots, all themed issues, but wasn't able to make this one. ah well.
it's good though that our bills and letter and even a check we were owed from the electric company were returned to sender, but a rejection gets through. fabulous!

chapbook o' the quarter

the last installment of Bottle of Smoke's Chapbook of the Quarter Club arrived in my mailbox this afternoon. this issue's author is none other than the venerable David Barker. David is a master of the short, witty poem. No one ever said so much using so few words.
the Chapbook of the Quarter Club is a great little thing that Bill at BOSPress started earlier this year. it is a a subscription service only, meaning he will not sell these books outside of the club. to join is just $20 and you'll receive four handsome, letterpressed chapbooks. i'm proud to say my chapbook Liquid Jesus was the club's inaugural chapbook back in the beginning of this year.
i look forward to these little chapbooks and i know you will, too. join the Club. c'mon. all the cool kids are doing it!

trespass

i got an email the other day letting me know that two of my poems, Midnight Trains and the emptiness of a moonless night, have been accepted to appear in the autumn issue (issue #2) of trespass magazine. trespass is a new literary journal with much promise, so i'm excited about this. check out their website and submit some of your own stuff.

i heard this morning that Rosa Parks died last night, at the age of 92. it's weird to think that such a little, old lady could've sparked such a momentous and historic time. i was thinking, too, that most of the people who took up the civil rights movement are now dead. i hope this is a piece of history we aren't doomed to repeat. though, i wouldn't be too damn sure with people like this in the world. eugenics is wrong on so many levels, but if i were to be in charge of implementing it, the parents of these girls certainly would be on the top of the list. as would similar people.
and, just to show i'm not some kind of fascist, #1 to be sterilized would be yours truly.
but, seriously, 50 years later and there's not much different. only we're more jaded and less compassionate and more insular.

the fly that stings

i recently purchased and, today, received a copy of the latest issue (issue 2/volume two) of the stinging fly out of Dublin, Ireland. the reason i bought a copy of this journal is because my buddy, and a contributor to this blog, Brian McGettrick is the Featured Poet for this issue. this is a big time thing as the stinging fly is a major journal of literature. it's a gorgeous thing to behold, too. glossy cover, perfect bound.
congratulations, Brian. the five poems that are featured in this issue, too, are marvelous. you should be proud.
i am mentioning this because i think everyone should pick a copy up. not only to support a poet (which is something we all should do), but because the poetry in this issue is top notch.
again, congratulations, Brian. i'm sure this is the beginning of great things for you.

snail mail

well, we found out what the fucking problem with our mail delivery was. i turns out our moronic mailman decided that we had moved because our box was "overstuffed". apparently, he noted in our record (or in some damn thing) that our box was overstuffed for a few days and therefore we moved and all mail must be returned.
there are two issues at work here. 1) our mail was never "overstuffed". on our trip to Vegas, we were obviously unable to check our mail for a day. ONE day. so, because of this single day of neglecting to get our mail, it was stopped. what the fuck?! 2) if it was shut off and we were not living here, why the hell did we still get mail. granted, we didn't get everything (and it turns out all the important shit was returned (i.e. bills, correspondence, etc.)) but we did get some stuff. so, these dolts at the post office can't do their job AT ALL. first, they jump the gun on "overstuffed" mailboxes; choosing to return mail unnecessarily. and, second, they can't even shut the mail off correctly. if in fact we HAD moved, why the fuck did some of the mail get through. AND, didn't the shitforbrains notice that the mail he had delivered the day before suddenly disappeared the next day? this should've been proof enough that we had in fact NOT moved. jesus christ, the mental defectives are taking over the world.
anyway, our mail problem is now fixed, allegedly. my wife wants me to call the post office tomorrow morning to talk to our carrier. but, what the fuck am i going to say to this mental midget that he'll be able to understand? nothing.
so, if you've sent me something and it came back returned, please be advised that i AM alive, i DO live where you sent it and i WILL now get it if you resend it. i think.

six-pack

based on the title of this post, you'd assume it was alcohol-related (or at least -induced). neither is the case. what this title refers to is the new Bottle of Smoke Press Six-Pack release (#5). if you don't know what Six-Pack is, it is a small package of six tiny broadsides featuring six different poets. it's a fabulous idea. this installment includes poems by Christopher Cunningham, Henry Denander, Nathan Graziano, and this blog's very own C. Allen Rearick. helluva poem, Casey. helluva poem! in fact, all the poems are great.
included in the package was the new broadside by TL Kryss. a beautifully designed broadside with a nice little prose poem inside. the printing is immaculate, and set in a gorgeous typeface. well worth whatever Bill is charging.
check out Bottle of Smoke and dive into any of his offerings. you will, no doubt, find something worth the price he's asking.
again, great job Casey. always good to see your stuff!

quick poetry update

i sent Eric Dejaeger, the bloke in Belgium who translated 18 of my poems into French, a copy of my 12 Gauge Press chapbook, The Magnificent Seven, and some broadsides as thanks for being so kind as to translate the poems and submit them to French-language journals. well, i just received word that Eric found three more poems that he wanted to translate (the last three in The Magnificent Seven chapbook). he sent me the new translations, and it's still a hoot to see my words in French.

anyway, nothing more going on other than that.

oh, wait. we're having issues with our mail delivery, suddenly. apparently, our mailman is rejecting mail that is properly address and sending it back as undeliverable. we called the post office and they said everything is copacetic, but they'll talk to our mailman to make sure nothing is amiss. whatever. he'll probably throw everything away, now. or contract some deadly disease so that he could cough on it, or bleed on it, or something just to spread the contagion to us. if i come down with some exotic, rare disease like Tay-Sachs or SIDS or Tourette's, we'll know who's to blame.

i saw the best minds of my generation...

yesterday marked the 50 year anniversary of the unveiling of Allen Ginsberg's seminal poem (which lucidly and viscereally described a generation) Howl. On October 7, 1955, Ginsberg read his poem to an audience in San Francisco. Howl (and that reading in specific) is given credit for kicking off the Beat movement in modern poetry.

anyway, Howl is still an amazing piece, meant to be heard, not read. i have a recording of Ginsberg reading this poem, and it is simply awesome (in all meaning of the word). i am not a Ginsberg nut, and frankly feel most of his poetry is overrated, but Howl remains one of the greatest poems ever written. and, anybody who can do that deserves to go down in history, and will earn my undying respect. Howl might have been a fluke for Ginsberg (depending upon your feelings of Ginsberg), but what a fluke it was.

read up on Ginsberg and his fight against censorship during the mid-50's McCarthyism. then, read the poem and revel in Ginsberg's images. enjoy the metrical timing and spacing. and celebrate a piece of poetic (and American) history.

the penultimate issue

i received my subscriber's copy of the penultimate issue of Chiron Review today (issue #80). if you are unaware Chiron Review has been at it for some 23 years. they've published just about everyone, and consistently put out powerful issues. the next issue will be their last, and it's a sad day indeed. hundreds upon thousands of small press magazines have spawned and died in the 23 year run that Chiron Review has enjoyed. hundreds upon thousands more will strive to fill its place (though, no doubt, ultimately failing).
Chiron will be missed.

oh, in this issue is a great interview with Edward Field (and another, surreally done by Michael Basinski, with Nathan Graziano), and poetry by A.D. Winans, john sweet, Charles Rammelkamp and a bunch of others.

some poetry news

i received my contributor's copy of the new anthology, Chemical Lust, by Monophonic Press (and the editors of Cherry Bleeds). this is a sex & drugs anthology featuring the work of Karl Koweski, Will Carpenter, Jeffrey S. Taylor and Tony DuShane.
i have two poems featured, anheuser heaven and right here.

i also just received word from Éric Dejaeger, the generous guy who translated 18 of my poems into French, that five of these poems will appear in the January issue of Noveaux Délits. he mentioned that with some appearing in Liqueur 44 and his own mag, Microbe, all 18 should appear in Belgium and/or France by the first half of 2006. this is amazing news. i'm so excited. i get about 18 poems in magazines in a whole year here in America. having 18 in French-language magazines in only half a year is spectacular. for me.

apartment hell, part II

in the last installment, i talked about some ass-hat who parked in my reserved parking spot. bad enough as that is, i've more things to discuss.
take this morning for example. today is Sunday. a day of rest. for me at least. well, this morning (and every fucking Sunday morning since we've lived here) the dipshits upstairs get up at 7 in the morning and make a shitload of noise as they get ready for church (it has to be church. why? because where the fuck else are they going this early EVERY fucking Sunday?) anyway, right on time, they wake up (which means the wife and i wake up) right at 7. FUCK THIS! church can fucking wait. CHRIST! whatever happened to sleeping in Sunday morning. if a god doesn't understand this and to hell with it.

oh, and the very first night we slept at the apartment (a Saturday night as it were) someone had a party.
but first, let me describe the layout complex. our area of this humongous place consists of 3 building arranged like a horseshoe around a central parking area. each building has 24 units, so there are 72 units to this area. there are bound to be a few (even more in an apartment setting) assholes out of 72 families.
anyway, this first night someone had a party. that's fine. i spent a good 50% of my university time at parties in a apartment complex. however, at 2 in the morning we were rudely awoken by some cocksucker yelling across the parking lot about wanting to kick some guys ass. it was loud, but since it was across the parking lot, the voice was muted and echoed.
"you pushed my girlfriend!" he was yelling, his voiced strained from emotion and alcohol. i imagined his face was red and he was sweating. his chest puffed out, his fists in balls.
"you pushed my girlfriend, asshole!" at the top of his lungs.
it died down a few minutes, then RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW (we live on the bottom floor) we heard him. it literally sounded as if he was IN OUR ROOM!
"YOU PUSHED MY GIRLFRIEND!"
then the voice of a young girl, equally drenched in emotion and alcohol, pleading with her boyfriend to leave.
"PLEASE, JORDAN, I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!"
"DON'T FIGHT HIM, JORDAN, LET'S JUST GO!
"PPPLLLLLLLEEEEEEEAAAAASSE!"
yes, Jordan, i thought. listen to your girlfriend and GO THE FUCK HOME!
"YOU PUSHED MY GIRLFRIEND. I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!"
just then, a deep, booming voice from across the complex yells, "shut the fuck up!" you could tell this dude was big. pissed. and ready to roll. i was only two of the three, but lacking the most important part (namely, being "big") i try not to get myself into compromising circumstances, lest i get my ass handed to me.
anyway, the emotion finally drained, the alcohol was absorbed and Jordan apparently listened to his girlfriend.
then, of course, the scrotum-lickers upstairs woke up at 7 so they could kneel before the power and glory of their lord. FUCKING FABULOUS!

lastly, our apartment complex allows pets (which is an rarity here in Utah) so there are TONS of pets around. this is also the reason we chose this place. anyway, there is a leash requirement because of there being so many dogs and so much uncertainty when dogs get together. well, apparently this leash requirement doesn't apply to everyone. and from my quick and dirty calculation, it only applies to about half of us. we're supposed to rat on those who don't use leashes, and if we do we get a cut in our rent. it's tempting. especially when you see some punk cocksucker walking around with his dog without a leash (the dog is, of course, always either a boxer, pitbull, rottweiler or a doberman pinscher) and the dude is wearing a tank top and has a barbed wire tatto armband, or a Yosemite Sam on his bicep or something equally lame. it's hard not ratting on them. it's hard not walking up to them and just slugging them in the side of the head.

anyway, this place sucks, but i know it's no worse than the millions of similar apartment complexes across America (and probably across the world). these places suck. they harbor the lowest of human filth and do nothing more than make me appreciate the fact that i've accomplished enough with my life that this stint is only temporary.

gators

well, my vaunted Fightin' Gators of the University of Florida got annihilated by the Crimson Tide of the University of Alabama. 31-3. it wasn't even that close. i'm sad.

this apartment life

we've been in this apartment about a month now and i've come to realize how good we had it at our house. i've forgotten just how shitty it is to be renting an apartment; living with all these other assholes, renting their apartments.
at this particular apartment complex each unit is given one covered parking space. it's nothing more than a flimsy corrugated sheet of tin propped up by poles. but, it does help keep the rain, sun and (in the winter) snow off the cars. my wife has to park in an uncovered spot (and it's not some chauvinistic thing, it's just that my care is newer and hers isn't, in case you were wondering).
anyway, upon arriving home from work today some cocksucker was parked in my parking spot. i saw a bunch of assholes and dick-knuckles loitering around my stairwell. i pulled right up behind the car and honked my horn four times. they looked over and didn't move, or act like anything they should be concerned about was going down. so, i found an uncovered parking spot, wrote a nasty little note on a slip of scrap paper that i always keep with me (just in case the muse strikes, you know?) and slipped it under the windshield wiper on my way in.
i watched out my window, about 15 minutes later, when two of the cocksuckers (one asshole and one dick-knucle, as it turned out) walked up to the offending car, got in and pulled out. what fucking gall. what moxy. jesus. well, the didn't see the note until they were almost out of the driveway, but i saw them grab it and read it. they laughed, then both stuck their hands out of their respective windows and flipped (i suppose me) off. real fucking funny, asswhipes. i hope it happens again. i'm pretty sure i can take them one at a time. first the asshole, then the dick-knuckle.

on the door of our apartment, too, was a notice from UPS saying they delivered a package for us to the office (a decent feature, I suppose). well, upon arriving at the fucking office, to pick up my package, the shitheads closed a few hours early. GREAT! this package contained my 401(k) rollover information from my previous company. i need to sign the document they are trying to send me and fax it to them by Monday. well, i could've had it all done today if it weren't for these piss-ants.

goddamn, i love living in this hellhole. i CANNOT wait for our house to be done. then we can leave this beloved apartment complex for all the assholes, dick-knuckles, pig-fuckers and cocksuckers to inhabit.

i guess i'm writing this to vent a little, but also because they say the pen is mightier than the sword. i don't agree, though. i sure would've liked to have taken a razor-sharp sword to the two punks and their piece of shit car. what the hell can my pen do? give them an ink stain? maybe write offensive words on their skin and clothing? fuck it. give me the sword.

this animal life

waiting in my mailbox when i arrived home from work today was none other than Christopher Cunningham's newest collection, the winner of the 2005 Nerve Cowboy Chapbook Contest, Thru the Heart of This Animal Life, A Measure of Impossible Humor. if you don't know, yet, Cunningham is one of the best living poets in America today. that's a bold statement, i know, but i will back it up.
how? well, my Hemispherical Press will be releasing Cunningham's next book, Upright Against the Savage Heavens, in the first half of 2006. so, if you buy Cunningham's current book from Nerve Cowboy, and you don't like it, i'll give you a copy of Upright. i am THAT convinced that you'll dig his stuff. so, go to Nerve Cowboy's website, get the address and send them the $6 for the book.
you can thank me later, with a beer, if we ever meet (or if we've already met, when we meet again).

speaking of poetry books, i bought two collections of Billy Collins's work -- Nine Horses and Sailing Alone Around the Room -- the other night. they are pretty good; rife with great images and those ironic twists that i'm fond of. it's amazing this guy was our Poet Laureate considering his style of writing. gives me hope that one of our brethren (or sistren?) will make it big. but, i wonder what Collins has that some of us don't? an academic pedigree? maybe. good friends in high places? perhaps. it certainly isn't talent. there are a bunch of poets struggling in the small (and unknown) press with just as much talent as Mr. Collins. either way, they're good collections.

in the end, though, i'll take This Animal Life and Upright any day of the everloving week.

are you serious?

so, our great and prescient president sees that his constituents are grumbling about the long-rising gas prices (which have only gotten worse due to the two recent hurricanes that have ravaged the south in the past month), so he suggests that we drive our cars less.
wow, what a brilliant idea. only, it won't work. a lot of us NEED to drive our cars. with the public transit system being as horrendously inadequate as it is in much of America, driving is the only choice.
so, the genius in DC tells us to drive less. not that he wants improvements to the gas efficiency of current combustion engine technology; not that he's willing to spend money on fuel cells and other alternative fuels; not that he's looking into improving the public transit infrastructure in every major and minor city in the US. nope. we are to stop driving our damn cars. what the hell?
moron.

now, how exactly did this dolt get elected into office for a second term?

been awhile

it's been awhile since my last post. it's a pretty slow period in life right now. i'm still struggling to figure things out at the new job, waiting in the tiny apartment for our new house to be built, writing absolutely NOTHING in the interim.

one poetry-related thing: i did receive my copy of remark. #37. it's a fine issue with poetry by the likes of ron lucas, Brian McGettrick, William Taylor, Jr., Chris Kornacki, J.J. Campbell and Glenn W. Cooper, among others. check it out!

i hope to have more things to update about in the near future.

back

well, we're back from housesitting for our friend. it's nice to be back. the best is going to be sleeping in our own bed, but a close second is being able to have consistent access to the internet.

the wife is working late tonight. sucks, but it happens. hell, i'll be working late nights in the coming weeks for sure. i've only been at work three weeks an i'm already swamped with so much work. it's ridiculous how busy and understaffed they are. ah hell.

i got a postcard from my buddy Henry Denander today announcing that he and another friend, Adrian Manning, will have a book out together for Art Bureau's Highball Reading Series. the book is titled Bring Down the Sun. i'm happy for them and look forward to seeing the new book. don't forget folks, if you like the poetry of any small press writers, you MUST support the small press by purchasing subscriptions to journals and purchasing chapbooks. without support it will die.

anyway, it's good to be back.

got a few seconds

well, i was able to steal away for a few seconds. thought i'd post a little news.
i received my contributor's copy of Main Channel Voices, where my poem the relationship archaeologist is featured. Main Channel Voices bills itself as a "Dam Fine" journal of poetry, and it IS awfully "dam" good.

we're still at our friend's house, but we'll be back at our place Thursday night.

Lastly, i should mention that i'm reeling with joy from my Florida Gators' win against their vaunted rival the Tennessee Volunteers. What a great game and what a great feeling. i hope there are more wins to come.

away

we interrupt this program for a announcement from our sponsor:

we have been house (and pet) sitting since last Thursday, and will be for a week (until next Thursday) and unfortunately i have limited access to the internet, so if i owe you an email i promise to reply Thursday or shortly after.

we now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

hookt on phonicks workt for me

it's about that time, again kids:
a third installment of

justin.barrett's simple rules of English

calendar --
the word is not spelled any of the following ways:
calander
calandar
calender
callander
it's not that hard. c-a-l-e-n-d-a-r. also, a collander is a strainer used to drain water from spaghetti or potatoes or other boiled foods.

cemetery --
the word is not spelled c-e-m-e-t-a-r-y. there are no a's in a cemetery.

alter/altar --
alter means to change something. an altar is a bench that is used to pray over.

personal/personnel --
personnel are people of a company. personal is how a person away from their job lives.

exorcise/exercise --
if you mean a workout, then use the word exercise. if you mean to remove a demon from someone's soul, then exorcise is right.
one question i have is why neither of these words follows the typical American English convention of ending -ise and -yse words in -ize and -yze (realize, analyze, capitalize, organize, etc.). weird.

eminent/imminent/immanent --
if you mean something is pressing and just about to happen, it is imminent. if you are talking about someone being famous or prominent, then you are describing someone who is eminent. immanent is very rare and means inherent or present throughout the universe. if you don't know the difference between these three words, then you are most likely not meaning immanent.
by the way, it's "eminent domain" not "imminent domain".

elicit/illicit --
illicit means illegal (illicit drugs). elicit is always a verb and means to draw forth a confession or comment.

skittish --
the correct spelling of this word is s-k-i-t-t-i-s-h. it is not:
skiddish
skidish
skitish
the difficulty some people have with spelling this one baffles me.

embarrass --
this one is ironic. people continually embarrass themselves by spelling this word wrong. it is not spelled in any of the following ways:
embaras
embarass
embarras
embarress
there are two r's and two s's. don't embarrass yourself and remember how spell this one.

complement/compliment --
this one can be difficult, though you should be able to get it with a little thought. if you mean a nicety said to another, you are talking about a compliment. if you mean something that pairs well with something else, you are talking about a complement.

alright. that's the end of this installment. hope you enjoyed it. let me know if you have any other spelling or grammar errors that you consistently see, which annoy you. there are hundreds out there, no doubt.

alive and well

we made it back from Las Vegas in one piece. it’s a six-hour drive from Salt Lake City, which isn’t too bad unless you’ve slept a sum total of five hours in the two days you were down there (like we did) and drank much more during the waking hours than you should have (ditto) and drove home by instinct alone (again, ditto). anyway, we made it back alive and well.
i’d like to say it’s good to be back, but it’s not. at all.

our friend’s wedding was beautiful. he rented out a cute, little chapel in the Bellagio and the bride looked stunning. and, our friend cleaned up nicely. he’s a lucky guy. the wedding was short and sweet and not one of those long, drawn-out affairs where everyone wants to fall asleep and ends up wishing the newly-married couple a lifetime of hell and horror.
the reception was held at the MGM Grand, in a suite on the 21st floor with a balcony overlooking the Strip. it was stunning. an acoustic guitarist strummed soft songs on the balcony, the alcohol flowed freely and the food was top-notch.
and, we were sufficiently inebriated: our emotions well lubed, our stress and worries melted and pooled at the bottom of our psyche, good friends nearby to bullshit with. it was a perfect evening. my wife even mentioned to me that she wished that night would never end (and she didn’t even say that on our wedding night). granted, this probably had more to do with the fact that we were in Vegas, not working, and enjoying a fabulous celebration. back when we got married we had less stress in our lives, weren’t in Vegas and the celebration was less fabulous.

we gambled a little bit while we were there, of course. (we gamboled a little, too, but we were drunk and that’s another story for a later time.) a few slots here and there, some video poker, but we did the best playing live poker at the Aladdin. we played 1-3 limit Hold ‘Em the first night we got there. the wife and i bought in for $40 each and walked away with $130 total ($50 profit; she won $19 and i $31) after playing for over four hours (until five in the morning). nothing world-killing, but still pretty good considering two of the friends who accompanied us on the trip played as well and lost their buy-ins; and people all over the room were busting out. it was a good time, all around. we didn’t get a chance to play again on this trip, though we desperately wanted to. oh well.
so far, we’ve never had a losing session at a poker table in a casino. hopefully, we can keep that streak going for when we return to Vegas (which we are planning to do sometime early next year).

now, it’s all about trying to get our circadian rhythms back to some semblance of normalcy. so far, no dice. i need sleep.

Las Vegas

well, we leave for Las Vegas tomorrow after work. it's only a six-hour drive from SLC to LV, so it won't be too bad. one of our friends, who no longer lives in Utah, is getting married down there, so it should be fun.
i won't be posting while down there, obviously, but i do have plans to post, however, a third installment "hooked on phonics worked for me" when i get back. it's been a while since the last part, and i have some things that need to be talked about.
until then.

necessary like a revolution

i received a letter today from one of the best living poets. his name is Chris Cunningham and odds are pretty good, sadly, that you don't know of him. this will change soon as he has two books coming out in the next six or seven months. he is amazing. his poems are brilliant like ignited magnesium, painful like a lost dog, necessary like a revolution.
Chris's letters, too, burn. his words are such that i don't know whether to cry or rise up in anger and take on the world. crying is easier.
anyway, i just wanted to mention him because Hemispherical Press will be releasing one of his books early next year. it will be a MUST read. also, he was the winner of the most recent Nerve Cowboy Chapbook Contest, and the winning manuscript will be released in the very near future. look for it. it, too, is a monster and will be the best thing Liquid Paper Press (Nerve Cowboy's imprint) has ever done. PERIOD!

back to the grind. the three day weekend, as usual, was too short. i don't think i'll ever see retirement, but jesus i hope i do.

poetic injustice?

well, what do you know? in today's Salt Lake Tribune, on the front page of The Arts section, an article titled Poetic Injustice? is featured.
the article discusses whether or not "accessible" poetry (or "approachable" poetry) cheapens poetry. it's a ridiculous notion, in my mind, but the article is well-written and includes the thoughts of Billy Collins (ex-Poet Laureate) and a number of local Utah academic poets.
as you'd expect, the academics/teachers argued that "accessible" poetry (i.e. poetry that can be understood) is "lesser" poetry; not as "poetic" as the more academic, unapproachable style that pervades the academic journals.
Billy Collins had a great line about why teachers feel this way: "Teachers tend to present poetry in the classroom that is difficult to understand, and they do it to protect their jobs, because only difficult poems need a teacher to help explain them." now, that's beautiful. Mr. Collins also said he gets a lot of flak, and is a sitting-duck, because he sells more books than most of the inaccessible/academic poets, and also because he doesn't have a tortured, misery-ridden persona, which seems to be a prerequisite for much of poetry.
he did say (and this is something i agree with even more), "I think more people should be reading it but maybe fewer people should be writing it."
amen.
read the article. it's pretty good and is pretty damn typical when it comes to what the academics think about poetry of non-academics. the fact that Billy Collins was ever Poet Laureate is rather amazing, if you think about the style and voice and "accessibility" of his poems.

i received the 18 poems that Eric Dejaeger of Belgium translated into French. it's pretty wild to see your own words in another language. he said some will be published in his journal Microbe and others will likely appear in other French-language journals in France and Belgium. what's even cooler is that i will receive a copy of each journal and magazine in which one of these translations appears. man, this is so exciting.

i love this time of year

college football is here, and happier i could not be. i love it. plus, my beloved Florida Gators won today against a game Wyoming Cowboys team. the wife and i both get so hyped up during this time of year. each Saturday is devoted to nothing but football. and, this year will be no different. my Gators have a brand new coach and everything points to a us having a great season. i certainly hope so.

i've been getting a few calls recently from some people at my old job with problems and issues they need help with. i told them to call me if anything were to come up, and i meant it. i cared a lot for the people i was in charge of and with whom i worked directly, but all of these calls only let me know that i made the right decision to leave.

Monday is Labor Day and i don't have to go to work. hopefully, the rest of you (in America) have the day off as well. enjoy yourselves!

the move, the job, the new apartment

i neglected to mention how the move to the new apartment went. well, it went about as well as could be expected. the chest freezer i was so worried about turned out to be easier than i thought. with a little ingenuity, some muscle and some luck, it zipped up the tiny staircase and right out into the Budget rental truck.
the thing that nearly killed us was this huge and tall (nearly 7-foot) armoire we had in our bedroom. it had to weigh well over 750 pounds. we had two other people helping us, and with all four of us we still struggled. the armoire got some wall paint marks on it, some scratches on the side and bottom, but all is good and we survived with no fatalities.

the apartment we moved into is tiny. a small one-bedroom with a little kitchen, a small (barely existent) dining room, decent-sized living room and bathrooms and wee little laundry/utility room. it'll do for the next 6-8 months as our house is being built, but it's certainly not something i'd want to live in for too long.

the new job.
ah, the new job. well, the new job is a new job. it's slow now, as i learn my way around the building and laboratories; as i learn my way around the regulations and protocols; as i learn my way around the personalities, office culture and unspoken mores.
i can't wait until the Training Department considers me fully trained so i can jump in and get to work, but until then i can do nothing but sit around, read procedures and slowly get trained.

i'm baaack

it's been a week since my last post. and, oh, how things have changed.
we've moved to a new place; a small one-bedroom apartment. the computer i am typing on is on the dining room table, most of our stuff is packed away into a storage shed, and the dog and cat are constantly fighting because they've no room to escape from each other (i'm sure the wife and i will end up in a similar fate before long).
i also have a new job. things are going well, so far. i've only been there 3 days, and it's been nothing but reading of SOPs and testing methods, but this is typical for a new job in this industry. it's only a matter of time before i get fully trained and can begin doing real work again.

i have some good pieces of poetry news to report, and one bad.
first the bad: i received a rejection from The Great American Poetry Show. this is an anthology in its second volume. i might try with more pieces. it would be a great anthology to get into.
now, the good:
1) i received my contributor's copy of The Flatlands #2. it's a nice-looking (albeit thin) journal out of Ohio. i have two poems in this issue. other contributors include Owen Roberts, John Sweet, William Taylor, Jr. and Christopher Robin.
2) i received an acceptance from Main Channel Voices for a poem to appear in their Fall 2005 issue.
and lastly (something i'm most excited about)
3) i've received a solicitation from Eric Dejaeger out of Belgium to translate some of my poems into French to be published in Belgian and French poetry journals. this is so freaking cool. it'll be neat to see my poems in French.

last thing. when i moved i had to convert my internet account to another account and for some reason my email abilities were turned off. therefore, any emails any of you might have been trying to send me since Friday have been lost. i'm sorry. please resend any emails you might have tried to send me. everything is copacetic now.