So here I am up in the mountains. Things are good thus far. I finally got enough sleep last night, so I feel much more human today. Anyway, here's the story I mentioned about picking up my brother at the airport.

My brother and his girlfriend and my 9-month-old niece I'd never met were flying into Denver on Wednesday night. They were flying Southwest on a tight budget, so the flight came in at 12:30 AM. My mom is taking some medication (for a back issue) that knocks her out at night, so she asked if I could pick them up. Well, given that I had to work the next day and it's a minimum of 1:15 to Denver International Airport from our house, it was kind of inconvenient. Still, okay, fine. But wait. They were bringing so much stuff that I couldn't take my car (which is fun and easy to drive), but had to use my mom's Suburban (which is a boat and which I'd never driven) instead. Grr, but I'll do what I have to, and I left Colorado Springs at about 11:15. But wait. I discovered as soon as I hit the Interstate that the button on the steering wheel that I thought was the cruise control was, in fact, not. It changed the gas gauge to show things like trip mileage and tire pressure. Whee! And the other controls on the steering wheel were for the stereo. (I later found out from my brother that the cruise control stuff is on the turn signal column, naturally.) However, I can still drive without cruise, even if it's a car I'm not comfortable in and I'm fluctuating between 65 and 90 the whole way. But wait. Two separate stretches of I-25 were undergoing night construction, which I was not aware of, so it was down to one lane and a crawl for a mile or two in each place. I got through that and reached the southern end of Denver, thinking I had more or less a straight shot to the airport. But wait. The E470 toll road directly to DIA, the only route I've ever taken to the airport, was inaccessible because the interchange was closed because they were doing something to the big sign. And the "road closed, use detour" sign didn't appear until right before I was going to change lanes to get onto that ramp. Anyway, I drove north into Denver, not really knowing where I was going but hoping the signs would guide me. Fortunately, the extremely late arrival time was a blessing in disguise, because the roads were empty--otherwise, I would have tacked at least another half hour onto my drive time by going all the way to I-225, then I-70, then Pena Boulevard. I drove Pena Boulevard to the airport, amused at how I was the only person on the inbound road while all the other cars drove out, like I was the only rat getting back on the ship. And when I picked everyone up, I quickly noticed that their combined baggage easily would have fit in my car. The End.

Also, the first time I said hello to my niece, I made her cry.

Yay, I finished another draft before I head up into the mountains to see my dad and stepmom. Also, I have a fun account of the drive to the airport last night, which I'll try to post tomorrow before I leave, but no promises.

How many poets does it take to change a lightbulb?

None, they'll be too busy arguing about whether the lightbulb is dead.

Please feel free to put your own answers into the comments.

These 13 poems are key markers in where I am as a poet right now. Some of them I read when I was very young, some I only discovered very recently. The only thing I think is lacking on this list (the Szporluk poem aside) is what poems helped prompt my use of humor in my own...

1. "Ozymandias" by Percy Shelley (still my answer when people ask my "favorite poem")
2. "Questions for Ecclesiastes" by Mark Jarman (got me started back into poetry in college)
3. "Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen
4. "The Most of It" by Robert Frost (I think I may have actually read this first on a mock AP English test)
5. "On a Seven Day Diary" by Alan Dugan (well, I just gave away one of the poems in my Dugan anthology)
6. "Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock" by Wallace Stevens
7. "Cuckoo" by Larissa Szporluk
8. "This Be the Verse" by Philip Larkin
9. "They Feed They Lion" by Philip Levine
10. "Olduvai Gorge Thorn Tree" by Sarah Lindsay
11. "Black Stone Lying on a White Stone" by Cesar Vallejo
12. "Facing It" by Yusef Komunyakaa
13. "Elegy for James Knox" by Jake Adam York

• I was up at 5:15 this morning, back at the house at about 8, and then took a lovely nap for a few hours. I also realized I have to get up early tomorrow because my mom's diabetic cat needs to be fed and medicated at specific times.
  
• Since my mom is in Grand Junction until tomorrow, this is the first time I've had a house to myself for a whole day since I moved to St. Louis. I like being around friends and family, but there's also something to be said for a little living alone.
• The next poet I'm going to do my little "Anthology of 13" project for is Alan Dugan. I have a fairly limited selection of Collected Poems books here in Colorado, and when I saw his, I immediately thought of three poems I wanted in his anthology.
• I thought of a great premise for a fantasy novel. That's, uh, the next thing I'll get on. Yeah.
  

The big one: due to some sort of computer shenanigans yesterday, Firefox ate all of my bookmarks. Most of them are on my other computer in St. Louis, but I obviously can't get them right now, and anyway this is a good opportunity for me to do a better job organizing them, because they were a mess and there were a lot of them. So here's my question for you as part of that effort: what sites (poetry and non) do you consider essential?

Any statement that begins "Let's face it" is a poorly supported argument.

• I have to drive a lot this week. First I drive my brother up to DIA tomorrow morning. Then I pick up him, his girlfriend, and my niece from DIA on Wednesday night. Then I drive up to my dad and stepmom's place in the mountains on Friday after work.
  
• Also high on my to-do list: backing up my important computer files.
• My current time-wasting addiction is Crazy Eights on Hoyle's Card Games 2008. Also Cribbage, same program.
  
• This week I got acceptances from The Pedestal and New Zoo Poetry Review. I already know from seeing blog posts that I'm going to be in good company in New Zoo.
• My new standby at-home drink is apparently Bacardi Coco and Coke Zero (I realize this sounds a little girly). Out, I like to jump between Jack and Diet, Bacardi Limon and Diet, Captain Morgan Tattoo and Diet, Stoli Vanilla and Diet, and Seven and Diet Seven.
• I've been rediscovering some old movie favorites of mine. Last night it was Unforgiven. Tonight I think it may be Bull Durham.
  

Here's a breakdown of how we got the submissions I've accepted so far for Anti-, from the first issue through all the featured poets so far and the second issue, which will be out in a little over a week (but not counting AJPL's chapbook, which I didn't have anything to do with putting together).

Directly solicited poets: 12
Unsolicited poets I knew pretty well personally going in: 9
Unsolicited poets with no direct connection: 17

The number of solicited poets is a little skewed by the fact that we're so young and not yet widely known, but I'm also happy that we got a lot from the slush pile, unlike some new journals you see that obviously got 90% or more of their work via solicitation.

This is actually a rework of an older poem that easily fit the new project. The title is stolen from the computer game Hero's Quest (or Quest for Glory as it was renamed after copyright issues). I'm switching back to my first manuscript poems now...

Here are the restaurants I've eaten at just since I got back into town at the end of April:

Senor Manuel's (x2) - Best nachos and margaritas in town.
Conway's Red Top - Giant cheeseburger, cheese fries, best milkshake in town.
Boriello Brothers - Fabulous New-York-style pizza.
Old Chicago - Great garlic cheese bread and pizza, but service was atrocious this time (we went to the wrong location).
Albertacos - Fast food Mexican burrito and quesadilla.
Il Vicino - Sort-of-fancy pizza chain. I probably don't eat downtown enough.
Elephant Bar - Chain-style Asian/Pacific/assorted. I had a massive teriyaki chicken plate.
Josh & John's - Okay, not a restaurant, but I'd been looking forward to going there since St. Louis doesn't have them (that I'm aware of).
Poor Richard's - Mainly sell pizza, but I had a cookie and a couple beers.

As you can imagine, I'm feeling a little sluggish. And I will be going somewhere tomorrow with another old friend. And I still have to get to Mollica's (Italian deli) and Silver Pond (Chinese). And my mom wants to go to Olive Garden because I got her a gift card there for Christmas. As the title says, guh.

Anti- Featured Poet #7 Kathleen Rooney is now live. Enjoy!

Anti- wouldn't be where it is without its readers, viewers, contributors, and artists. Issue #2 is fast approaching, and I'd like to make the second half of the first year at least as good as the great things I've had the privilege of publishing so far. Please consider sending poetry or visual art, and please spread the word to your friends/students/writers and artists of your acquaintance. Thank you for everything!

I stole the title from "Synth Composite Basketball: No More Fundamentals" by Adrian Matejka. Another title I considered for this, also stolen from Adrian, was "Trying to Work the Dribble with Something Missing."

(in no particular order)

1. "Go home and get your fucking shinebox!"--GoodFellas. This and the next entry are the two best volume users of "fuck" in moviedom.

2. "Shut your fucking face, uncle fucka..."--South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut. Even better because it's done musical-style.

3. "You cannot say FUCK in front of people!"--Eddie Murphy Raw. Only works because he's doing a Bill Cosby impression.

4. "You know, Frederic fucking Chopin."--Tombstone. Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday is one of the classic scenery-chewing performances ever.

5. "Fuck tha police comin' straight from the underground. / A young nigga got it bad 'cause I'm brown."--"Fuck tha Police," NWA.

6. "Fuck you I won't do what you tell me" (repeat a million times)--"Killing in the Name," Rage Against the Machine. Probably the ultimate song for disaffected 10th graders, which is what I was when I first heard it.

7. "Somebody'd written 'Fuck you' on the wall. It drove me damn near crazy."--The Catcher in the Rye, J. D. Salinger. Probably the first place a lot of kids encounter "fuck" in serious literature. Probably not the first place any of them actually encounter it overall.

8. "Non sunt in coeli, quia fuccant vvivys of heli."--Flen flyys. The first written instance of it in English, circa 1475.

9. "Fuck L. Ron Hubbard and fuck all his clones. Fuck all these gun-toting hip gangster wannabes."--"Aenema," Tool. They have a lot of songs that deploy it well.

10. "How did I die? In the motherfucking APOCALYPSE!"--Patton Oswalt. My favorite standup comedian working today. And I used a close variant of the answer for a poem.

11. "I want you to be the first person ever at a British memorial service to say 'fuck'!"--John Cleese of Monty Python at Graham Chapman's funeral, live on the BBC.

12. Chris Rock. No specific instance, I just like his cadence on "mothafucka" more than anyone else's.

13. "Chew your bootstrap steak, the carne asada still
carne asada, but changed so subtly it would escape
your notice if you didn’t eat it so fucking much."---"Open Late," by Meeeee. Okay, I realize I'm not pop OR culture.

(Another) Assistant Editor. Main duties involve reading/giving opinions on poetry submissions, spreading the word, soliciting good poets, and helping to balance the cynicism/crankiness of the Editor. Qualifications: must know poetry and the Editor. Apply by e-mail.

I sent an e-mail to Natural Bridge yesterday about my poems that had been out over six months, and I found out that they've accepted "Hayman Wildfire Set by Forest Service Worker." Well, cool, glad I asked. This is the first time I can ever recall a query going better than "We still have your poems."

The last couple days have been happily wasted--no blogging and little poetry writing, plenty of catching up with Colorado Springs friends. Just so you know.

I came late to the party, but there was a ruckus because the Virginia Quarterly Review blog posted some sample negative notes by screeners on submissions (with all potentially identifying details of both reader and submission removed), then redacted them and apologized when some commenters decided it was inappropriate. I think it's unfortunate that VQR chose to remove the original reader notes--they weren't especially funny, but as a window into what a (relatively) big litmag's slushpile is like and how editors react, I think they were invaluable. Anti- doesn't get 1% of the submissions a place like VQR does, and it's almost impossible to find out how to submit without being one click away from the poetry on the site, so the submitters are probably on average more informed about the journal. Still, I understand the black humor at some of the bad submissions and submitters that come through.

One discussion I did find interesting (much of it on the Ploughshares blog) was about form rejections and why, if the readers had time to make those comments, they couldn't pass on some form of that critique to the writers. Editors keep saying that lack of time is the primary reason for form rejections without notes, and I see that point, but there are actually several reasons more important than time savings in my use of form rejections:

• I'm quite aware that there's a lot of subjectivity in this, and I know many of the poems I reject will go on to happy homes soon enough. Just because I'm not in line with a writer's aesthetic doesn't mean I should tell him/her to change it.
• There are unfortunately a lot of assholes and borderline personalities sending writing out and just waiting for an excuse to engage with editors who don't want it. Since some of them will take a simple e-mail rejection as a reason to write long letters or simple fuck-yous, I find not giving them any more reason to harass me is good for my sanity. Sadly, these people don't announce themselves 90% of the time (the other 10% are real doozies), so that means a lot of form rejections for decent non-nuts.
• As a follow-up to that last point, the people who clamor loudest for "constructive criticism" are very often the people who react worst to it. Hell, I learned that before I was an editor.
• It's not my job to rain on people's parades, so I'm not going to tell some perfectly nice middle-aged dabbler "Look, these pieces don't show any significant poetic potential or even knowledge of poetry," even when it's true. Everyone will be happier without honesty in that case, even if they don't realize it.
• You know what? It's not my job to improve your writing. It's your job to improve your writing. If you want to pay me, then it'll be my job too. And this isn't a workshop. Not that I recommend workshops for a whole lot anyway.
  

When I send personalized rejections, you can be damn sure I saw something in the work and carefully considered publishing it. If you like my journal, you should always try again if you get a personalized rejection.

If I send you a form rejection, don't be too discouraged--I've had people send more work after form rejections and end up blowing me away and getting published. Also, most of the best places I've been published sent me form rejections for a while first as I worked my way up in ability and stature. But you should also know that the batch you sent was significantly off in terms of what I'm looking for, and for all the reasons above (plus time), it's not going to be worth it for either of us to pursue exactly why.

It's a semi-slow Friday, and I was up early anyway because I had to take my car in to get a new passenger side mirror assembly installed, so here I am early too.

• The eating resolution went peachily, except last night when I surprised my old Thursday night poetry workshop by showing up. One of the ladies offered me a piece of homemade fudge, and I couldn't really turn it down without being rude and fudgeless. I am extending the "no bad snacks/no desserts" thing to next Friday, but it doesn't apply if we go out to eat. I think that should do it nicely, but we'll see.
• I'm eating at Albertaco's tonight. Mmmmm, local taco stand food.
• I'm quite the bundle of minor ailments right now. I woke up sometime last night with a ringing in my left ear, which has yet to subside (the ringing, not the ear) (not that the ear has subsided, but that it's not something I would expect or want to subside). I can still hear okay, but it's annoying (the situation, not the ear) (also possibly this gimmick).
• I hope my car gets back in time for me to go to the gym before the big after-work rush. I want to shoot some hoops in addition to my usual elliptical and crunch stuff. I think my shoulder may actually be getting a little better finally. Maybe.
• I've already accomplished most of my big Colorado chore list. All I have left is to pick up my car, pick up my new glasses next week, and maybe get a tattoo or two. And there's still the list of restaurants I want to hit, but that's shrinking quickly.
  
• Kind of funny how a down economy doesn't kill the resume business but does turn more of the clients into jerks.
• Titles of the two poems in my stolen-title project that I'm working on right now: "Can I Not Get a Run?" and "House of Brown, Now Sit Down." If anyone who is not Shawn can name the source for the second title, you will get a nerd award. No cheating!
  

Some time ago (over a month, yeesh), I posted my silly little project plan to make short anthologies of my favorite poems by individual poets, starting with Weldon Kees. So today I actually completed the Kees anthology. Here are the titles, and links where available:

For My Daughter
Robinson
Aspects of Robinson
Robinson at Home
Relating to Robinson
The Speakers
Farrago
The Base
1926
The Upstairs Room
The Smiles of the Bathers
The Beach in August
The Beach

A lot of the anthology pieces, but certainly not all of them ("Round" is a poem whose idea is much better than its execution, and I really don't get the appeal of "The Bell from Europe"), and some much less collected poems like "Farrago" and "The Base," a truly bitter 12-liner that I can't find anywhere online.

First Kees poem I ever read: "The Beach"
Strangeness: "The Beach," all over the place online, isn't in the Collected Poems edited by Justice.
Favorite poems: "For My Daughter," "1926," and both "Beach" poems.
Poems I could most easily remove for others: a couple Robinson poems (though I think they're better as a whole group, so maybe not), "Farrago," and "The Smiles of the Bathers."
Phrase I'm likely to steal for my new project: "The present stumbles home to bed" from "The Speakers"

Who's up next for my little project? I was thinking Philip Levine or James Wright, but those are somewhat rote choices. Any other suggestions?

Another (quasi-)rhymer, oddly, but not metrical. I stole the title from “Angelico's Crucifixion, Cell 42, Convent of San Marco” by Clare Rossini. At one point I was using the title "Burn Thee to the Bare Bane" from the Lyke-Wake Dirge, but this one worked better for me.

So I've complained a couple times recently on here about how badly I've been eating. Of course, when I say "I need to eat better," what does that really mean, and I'm plowing through chocolate again the next day. Fortunately, I know how I roll--if I say something specific in a public way, I do it. So this week it's "No chips/crackers/fatty snacks and no desserts until Friday." And presto, I'll do it. I'll report on it on Friday too. I know you don't care, but it works for me. I also will do difficult things if you bet me a dollar I can't. Wheeeeee!

I've had two poems accepted by The American Poetry Journal.

This fortnight's featured poet at Anti- is C. Dale Young. You should go read his poems now, then tell everyone you know.

So what I hadn't mentioned on the blog for the last week is that I'm actually back in Colorado for a couple months. I didn't mention it because I wanted to surprise my friends Aaron and Jake at their Colorado College reading last night, and I know they stop by here from time to time. The surprise was a big success, as several of my best friends in town were there, and there were many happy reunions. Now there's only one person left to surprise here, and I don't think she reads the blog. If she does, well, K, let's hang out soon...

Whee, a review for 90 Percent of Everything! It seems pretty accurate to me (it is a miscellany rather than something tied closely by theme or subject matter, it isn't my more personal or emotional work), but this is a contradiction:

"there did not seem to be a lot of schroeder in schroeder's poetry, but there was a ton of twitchy, insomniatic (?) intelligence."

That is the Schroeder in the poetry, my babies!

Thanks for the review, Brooklyn.