34. A Case of Relativity
... being a little pondering on submitting poetry for publication, self publishing, and why we write at all.
At 78 words, spread over just thirteen lines, A Case of Relativity is a very short poem. I didn’t even write all of it. Ian Parks presented the Read to Write group with the first and last lines, suggesting that it would be a good exercise to create a poem by adding a few more in between them.
It is a significant poem though. It is the only poem that I have ever had published in an established literary journal. It is on page 107 of Dreamcatcher magazine Number 37, which came out in 2018.
At the time I thought that it would be the start of great things. I thought that readers of dreamcatcher would spot it and be filled with admiration for my great talent and definitely want to seek out more. I was convinced that when I submitted to other literary journals, the mere mention of the fact that I was already published in Dreamcatcher would provide the alchemy that would turn the base metal of rejection letters into golden acceptances.
But it wasn’t to be. After a month or so I had almost forgotten all about it and the literary establishment, or that portion of it who read Dreamcatcher, had absolutely forgotten it.
I tell myself that the major reason for my lack of publication in the poetry press (consideration of the quality of my poetry aside) is that when it comes to submitting my work, I am incredibly lazy. It is a bit of an effort to submit stuff, to keep a track of who you have submitted to, and be careful not to submit the same poetry to other publications or publish it online until you have received some sort of response from the first one. I know that some places allow simultaneous submissions, but organising that is even harder - it needs some meticulous record keeping, and I’m just not up to that level of co-ordination.
I have searched my soul to see if it isn’t just fear of rejection that dampens my enthusiasm. Maybe I just don’t submit often enough because I will come up against the hard fact that I am not as good as I think I am. But no. I honestly don’t believe its that that. I am comfortable with the idea that I might not be as good as I think I am, at least in the eyes of others. As long as I think I’m good, and can occasionally get some sort of approval from others, thats OK by me.
Having said that I am not so certain that my reason for not submitting much to the literary press really does stem from laziness either. To be honest, I can bang out a fantastic spreadsheet with all manner of tabs and information on it when I am doing something which really motivates me, like playing Football Manager - or cataloguing episodes of Star Trek. I’m not lazy at all when I’m doing some useless project like those. I can also spend hours on end writing poetry and writing about poetry, and preparing it for Substack and in self published volumes on Amazon, that’s not lazy behaviour either. Keeping track of poetry submissions should be well within my ability. I reckon that I’m just not motivated by sending stuff off to publishers.
I like the idea of it. I loved getting something accepted that one time1, I loved the idea that someone unknown to me read my work, had faith in it, and responded by publishing it in something that would be internationally available to discerning lovers of poetry. Thats a good feeling. But it wasn’t that good when the novelty wore off. I never heard a word about it from anyone who read it beyond my circle of friends. It didn’t lead to anything else. It is just there - printed in a paperback book along with poems by around eighty other people, none of whom I know anything about, most of whom I feel no connection with.
And it is the connection that I crave. I like to perform my work in front of an audience, so that I can see the words have an effect. I like to be able to talk about the context of them, to share the experiences from which they are born, a bit like I do on Susbstack, which is great because people can actually respond - add their anecdotes and thoughts, direct me to their own stuff, all contextualised in the setting. The connection is the reward - and the connections made by publication in my experience, are meagre.
I believe that there are a lot of similarities between poetry and stand up comedy. It doesn’t even have to be funny poetry. For me a good comedian is sharing their perspective on things as they see them. We relate to a good comedian because their perspective resonates with us. We may not have looked at things quite that way before, or we may have always looked at things that way but not been able to express it in quite the same way. Listening to a good comedian, or reading a good poem should be challenging or affirming. You connect to the personality of the artist, and you feel good because of the experience. For me, it has to work both ways. I feel good through knowing that I have made a connection, that others have engaged and either feel the same way as I do, or understand how I feel.
That is why I write. and why Substack, self-publication, and performances are ultimately more satisfying than success in literary journals.
Of course, there are another couple of considerations which can muddy the waters and turn my head in the other direction. Fame and fortune. The desire for these can spoil everything. I’m not going to attempt the argument that neither fame nor fortune could make anyone truly happy. Of course, like anyone else, I would relish the opportunity to discover for myself if that were the case. A large cash injection would certainly make me more comfortable, and reduce my share of the financial worries that we all suffer from, but I would have to be very lucky indeed to achieve financial security from poetry. Which leaves fame. I have to admit that I used to be extremely attracted to that idea - but perhaps not sufficiently attracted to work hard for it. I would much rather fantasise about it dropping onto my lap than putting in the effort necessary to really put myself out there and hustle for opportunities in any systematic manner.
And what is it that I found so attractive about the idea of fame anyway? Apart from the fortune that would come with it, I believe that it all boils down once again to connection with others. Famous people make millions of connections, and I imagine that this is the most pleasant aspect of it. At one time I would have been mostly excited by the the prospect of the possible sexual opportunities which these connections afforded, but now, with the benefit of the chains of that particular madman considerably loosened, I just like the idea of connection for connections sake, the meeting of minds, the joy of being human and connecting with other humans.
And being, at 60 odd years old, on the foothills of old age, the possibility of connecting with people after my death, giving my descendants the opportunity to get to know me through my writing is becoming increasingly attractive. No one is really going to get to know me through the odd piece that I might manage to persuade a Literary Journal to publish. It is only through writing such as this that my personality and inner workings might be laid bare. So here is is…
I am honestly contented with the tiny localised reputation that my poetry has brought me. I can tell myself that it is comparable to some sort of fame. I have to live with the lack fortune, and work for a living. TS Eliot worked in a bank, Philip Larkin in a library, Walt Whitman (Government clerk), Charles Bukowski (Post Office) , Edward Thomas (Hack Journalist), the list goes on. Fame and fortune are relative concepts in the final analysis anyway. Whatever way you look at it, its all a case of relativity.
A Case of Relativity
The sun was sinking in the sea Or so it seemed to you and me Although, in actuality The sinking was illusory A case of relativity (The earth was spinning backwardly) Thus spoke the bloke, the very same Who then went on to make the claim That our mistake should cause no shame No matter! We could always blame The limits of our reference frame. He smiled and left the way he came He never gave his name
I have recently had a second piece accepted by someone with whom I have no connection. I am soon to have “Ten Snapshots From the Album of a Sea Policeman”, published online by the Stone Circle Review. However, the editor has not committed to a date, just promised to email me before it goes out. All very satisfying, but I am honour bound not to share it here or anywhere else until afterwards. Bah!
I have now slightly modified attitude to submissions though. I had almost rejected the Sea Policeman poem (written for one of Paul Brookes’ challenges) and was not considering it as part of my work. Normally, I like to read poetry out loud in front of some sort of audience (workshop , open mic etc) before I decide whether or not it is good enough to use. The Stone circle experience has given me another way too look at ‘unproven’ stuff. I can submit it somewhere and if it gets accepted, I can look at it again in the knowledge that somebody out there likes it. As a result I have since submitted a number of poems that I am not sure about to different publications, online and off. That way I don’t feel that I am tying up anything that I already value. If it is accepted, it is a bonus if not, it is only confirming my own suspicions anyway.
I would be shocked if I were the only person to empathise with Mike and his article, excepting my utter lack of organising in any way shape or form. Firstly (uhoh) I should commend the verse. Economic, descriptive, a journey (or story as we used to say) and amusing, albeit a reading snigger, the joke is as profound at the science it springs from.
Second, what a pleasure it is to press 'enter' and get a new paragraph instead of my unfinished yap zipping off into the ether. Recent (and wonerdully ironic) discussion on line about publishing on line seems to be gathering around certain consensi? consensusses? relating to futility and nuisance, perhaps. Let me be clear on this. If I get a few likes or even a comment on line, it's a little buzz. We are addicted to that, no matter how we rationalise our output. Should we get something published by an editor in the big bad world, it's a gold star with a firework attached.
But when I read E.G. poetic journals who introduce people who've had this and that in what the ? is that magazine, has two recommendations from Duck Appreciation Society and other celebrity qualification, I glaze over like a cheap tart. Unlike for example, when I read something by someone I know, whom I've heard, who actually gets to me because they get life. They are not, for example, trying to get me to, know about some horror which I probably did and gave to the appeal at the time, or know that there's nothing I can do about and 'we can't ignore' - or simply drags me through some personal shit you wouldn't even unload to a stranger on a bus. No. They are amusing me with earnest stories not set on some pedestal of righteousness, but experiencial perhaps.
And before you know it, my response has become an narticle. Perhaps a 'well done, witty, clever and entertaining - I wish I'd said that' would do. But like a friend who says "Why tell someone with an email when fifty will do?" I cannot but chime in with agreement. Such an easy style to read too. A refreshing change from all the 'how to' advice, the pay for my assessment types, and the too too many ruddy poets for the mind to cope all thinking their miniscule recognition will open the planet to their supremacy.... How to loose firends and unimpress people:)
Look forwards to the next one
I'm always impressed by the ability of yourself and your fellow poets to produce really quality poetry from a myriad of different perspectives and experiences. I don't think I've even thought about the practicalities of getting poems published etc and can see it can be exciting and equally disheartening.
I look forward to getting the substack poetry ,mainly from yourself and Alex Oliver and others you promote. They can cause different emotions and provoke me to consider subjects I hadn't thought about for years or at all and allows me to interaction within a safe environment and frees my dormant imaginings which is rather liberating to be honest and is much appreciated