Poetry Rules

Sometimes I look at the amount of rejections I receive and wonder. Whenever I submit "weaker" poems, I expect rejections to start flowing in my inbox. But, if one of  my poems I consider among my best takes 25 rejections before it is accepted, I question many things. Perhaps I should stop questioning too much and move forward, which is what I plan to do. Reaction to rejections from now are likely going to be: 1. Wear a new stripe of determination (as my beloved Queen Kate Laity suggests) 2. Submit the rejected poems to another journal within the following 24 hours 3. Stop asking myself why!

As this year draws to its end, I look back at this year's achievements and I cannot but be grateful. The year started with the publication of my second American chapbook, Diagnosis , by Kristy Bowen and her magical dancing girl press . This spring my translations of Alejandro Murguia's poems,   Offerte di Carta (Paper Offerings) was published by Gilgamesh Edizioni. Another book in translation I am very proud of  Nuova Antologia di Poesia Americana (New Anthology of American Poetry), was published by Edizioni Ensemble. My poems "Crave What Matters" and "Lullaby (for Philip Levine)" have been published in the Anthology Ovethrowing Capitalism Vol. 2 edited by Jack Hirschman and John Curl. I wish to thank all the Editors who have accepted my poems for publication in their journals: Thank you to Kelly Boyker Guillemette for having accepted for publication four of my poems in the Spring issue of the amazing  Menacing Hedge .  Two of the poems, "Unfa...

I have been writing a few confessional poems lately. It has not been easy. I guess the reasons are at least a couple. The first one is that I find it difficult to talk about myself. But, I also feel that I have reached an age where I can more easily deal with sides of my past that have left a scar. The second reason is that most of the times I end up writing confessional poems as prose poems . I think I am still mastering the art and do not feel always very comfortable with it. This must also be the reason why I choose it. The topics are uncomfortable, and so must be my writing. If most of the times I write a poem on the spur of the moment, with little if no editing at all, writing a prose poem becomes a real task. I write many drafts. I cut out so much of what I wrote initially and yet these poems end up being much, much longer than my non-prose poems.  I have just finshed writing a poem called Unter den Linden , as the name of the Avenue leading to the Brandenburg Gate...

Long-distance relationships require a lot of patience and love. This is what I tell myself every time John flies back to the States. It is hard and I feel pretty much like Demeter who has to let Persephone head back to Hades. Well California is not exactly Hades, but I hope to have conveyed the message. I am ready to keep myself as busy as I can till next summer. It won't be hard this year. I am currently managing Pandemonium (aka as my translation agency) all by myself since the month of September. It is hard and engaging, but a beautiful endeavor as always. I am also resuming my work on the WIPs. And, getting ready for more reading too. I have a pile of TBR books and two brand new additions I bought in the past few days that I simply cannot wait to read: Toni Morrison' s latest novel, God Help the Child , and Patti Smith 's M-Train . And so, John has just left Rome. Jack is in Italy, but not heading to Rome this year. Alas, fall does not tread lightly. Let the winter...

Summer comes as a blessing, It is definitely the season in which I manage to come to terms with my creative side. I write, I read, I watch movies and I try to soak in as much art as possible. Since last June I have read more books than I'd thought I might be able to. Here is a list of ten I have been reading or am currently reading. They are all novels or short stories collections. Indeed I love my poetry, but I tend to read more poetry during the rest of the year! 1) John Claude Smith , Riding the Centipede ( Omnium Gatherum , 2015) Riding the Centipede is John's debut novel. I was curious to read it, as I have always enjoyed his writing. John loves his winding tours into the weird and this is indeed a ride, but I strongly encourage you to give it a spin. Here are some of the ingredients: a private investigator, a Hollywood socialite, a ghost choosing to Ride the Centipede to the ultimate experience, William S. Burroughs, Marylin Monroe, Frida Kahlo's lost paint...

It seems I am writing poems again after being on a hiatus. I am not one of those writers/poets who sits at the desk and starts writing. I cannot force myself to write, if I do, I will end up writing a poem without "voice." I always "struggle" with my Muse. I realize many consider the Muse unnecessary to write. Many believe that writing comes from hard work only. True, but then I guess I must belong to a different breed of writers. I love the act of creation when it happens, but I also know that I can't open my notebook, stare at the blank page and fill it for the sake of filling it. Writing comes to me. It is a gift. Something triggers my imagination and words pour on the page.  And, I hardly ever edit my poems. When they come to me, they are "perfect." Or, so they seem to me. Humbert and Lolita made their appearance in the first poem I wrote a few days ago. I was thinking at how, as much as I love Nabokov , I detest his novel  Lolita . I must confes...

Just Like When Hadrian Wrote Poems hidden in the Maritime Theater - his room of his own - quill in hand on the artificial island surrounded by waters rich in carps, reflecting the marble colonnade, fighting his sporadic moods and talking in Greek and Latin to his two Muses, skipping the occasional stone on the pond of his writing, reflecting on life’s end with the lucidity of his ink. Animula, vagula blandula Hospes comesque corporis Quae nunc abibis in loca Pallidula rigida nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis iocos… It’s that flow of his writing I feel today waking in me amidst the yelling cicadas and the twisted olive trees in his Villa in former Tibur, walking along the statues mirroring themselves in the Canopus. There is Mars on the warpath, shield in hand and there winged Mercury  almost ready to soar with the local iridescent dragonfly. Headless Venus winks her eye  to Antinous’ head drifting ...