When I blog, the results are easy. I type something up, click publish, and that's pretty much it. Writing poetry isn't quite like that. With both modes, drafting and revisions occur with great frequency and frustration, although with blogging this process is quite public. Poetry, however, despite its brevity, is a slow process.
That being said, The Harpoon Review published my poem "Thompson's Water Seal" this week. I wrote the first draft of it about two years ago. I sent it out to a lot of journals, I waited, and then the rejection notices, with apologies, poured in. I would then revise the poem some more, send it out again, wait, and then read those opening lines so many writers know so well: "While we appreciate you sending us your work, unfortunately. . . ." This experience is not unique to me--anyone who calls him or herself a writer goes through it--but it does make me extremely grateful to Gary E. Lovely for seeing something in a poem that even I had come to doubt. I'm appreciative of his reading it and featuring it alongside a lot of other talented poets (seriously, read Stacey Balkun's "This County, Dimming" or Jonathan May's "Well-oiled Machine"). Moreover, keep writing, revising, submitting, doubting, revising and believing.
White Stag's #BeyondTheTaboo issue. The magazine has a pretty simple design--a deer's white silhouette on pitch black--, but is loaded with content. I bought a copy out of family loyalty, but so far, I've enjoyed everything else in it too. A lot of these poems are charmingly quirky in their cocktail blending of everyday activity and transcendent mysticism.
Furthermore, I can't help but take pride in seeing my cousin's work included alongside a swell of other talented writers. I've always admired the courage of his voice and the tightly packed smartness of his lines. He wastes no movement and is all forceful grace, like a palm through particle board. I am envious and inspired.
Lastly, I purchased a subscription to 32 Poems last year and enjoyed both issues. The covers are crisp, clean minimalist sketches, and the poems--32 of them and all 32 lines or less--are like bottled water for the mind. Or something like that.
Bryan Harvey can be followed on Twitter @LawnChairBoys.