It's Confession Tuesday, the post-inaugural edition. Share a little of yourself with us and we promise to do the same.
Wasn't yesterday's inauguration special? From my perspective (at home in front of the TV), it was a magical day. So happy this president gets a second chance to finish what he started. The moment Barack Obama turns around on the podium to look back on the crowd before he leaves--you get a real sense that he's savoring the moment. It was a great day for our country.
Now the work begins.
My kids want me to get bangs like Michelle Obama's. I'm considering it.
I loved Richard Blanco's poem. For only having a few weeks to pull it together, nice job. Here's an interview with him on Morning Joe.
I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be "made." Not in a mafia kind of way, but the idea of being chosen in the poetry community as the poet of the moment.
It feels somewhat random how people are chosen. Yes, talent counts. Yes, it helps to know someone who knows someone. But there are many talented poets who know people--who still cannot publish a first book. There are plenty of us out there who will never win an NEA, never read at the Library of Congress or Dodge Festival, never publish a single poem in The New Yorker or Poetry. We all know it's a numbers game. Still, we fight against the tide. Maybe that's all we know how to do, and it makes us stronger.
So when Richard Blanco gets an opportunity to read one poem to the largest viewing audience ever, that is being made, which really is a lifetime of choices coming together at the right moment. I can celebrate that. Happily.
Yet, I'm hearing a lot of talk of James Franco. I've read his poems, I've seen his poetry movies (both of them). I just don't get the book deal. I just don't get James Franco.
Let's see ... I've sent three poetry submissions and written two poems so far in January. Not bad. Still more work to be done.