[ Realife. To be taken twice a day after meals. ]
I found out today that a poem of mine was accepted by UBlue (the Rice Lit Mag). For some reason it's hard for me to wrap my mind around that idea. Despite all my wackiness and word-play, I'm not really, actually, truly a poet. I'm not at all used to the idea of other people reading what I write. When I write I'm just playing around, usually -- with ideas, with what I'm feeling.
The me who writes here, the witch-doctor-monkey-king-dream-deranged kiddo, is not really like the me of realife. The realifeme has more faults than a plate-tectonics textbook. The realife me couldn't read that poem aloud to save his life. Somehow... poetry = female-ness for realifeme, and I'm too damn skinny-tall-beardless-quiet-big-nose-odd-shaped-head to pull it off like a young Neruda or Tagore or Rumi would. I smile too much and don't smoke enough for that.
I guess, it's ultimately all about confidence. The me who writes here knows who he is. The me who shakes hands and goes to class and out to eat and tries to explain figure 2b at journal club doesn't know shit about himself. Or worse maybe, he knows - I know! - but is afraid that people will reject him. It's not exactly like that, but enough psychology!
The main dilemma is that I have to write a "blurb". Something like...
Ian S is a senior physics major at Jones College. As a 20-something heterosexual male in an advanced capitalist society, he has some issues with poetry writing being taken as a sign of weakness. To try to counteract any ideas along that line, the author would like to note that he also likes NASCAR, red meat, cheerleaders, guitar (electric), beer (american), action movies, and nachos.
Well... something like that. Less lying would probably be good. Ideas internet? |
