I tried to explain to my children yesterday why our dining room table was covered with over forty poetry books with various sheets of paper sticking out of the binding.
These books are not to be touched. These books are not to be drawn on. These books are to be returned to the powers that be for the Minnesota Book Award without a scratch on them and with mommy’s careful notes on the so called artistic merit of each publication.
Yes, I am in poetry hell. And I had no other way to explain it to my children except to say, it was like in the beginning stages of America’s Next Top Model, where you have all those twenty five hopefuls gathered in a tiny room but only one will win.
I did indeed make myself into the Tyra Banks of Poetry. Mothers have no shame.
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7 comments:
So I guess this means one of the books will have a breakdown and walk off the table, and one of the books will pass out from exhaustion and be rushed to the emergency room, and one will be hated by all the other books for constantly talking behind their backs?
Oh, the drama and heartbreak of it all... I can hardly wait for next week's episode.
Lyle, you just made me laugh out loud.
America's Next Top Model is one of my guilty viewing pleasures that is actually a guiltless viewing pleasure. I have no shame. I can't help it. I love that show.
Sounds to me, TE, like you're in poetry hell AND poetry heaven.
You already know, of course, that one of those books is clearly the top model.
(smile)
Good luck with that judging, judge.
Lyle so true, so true indeed.
Laurel, it kinda works like cream but I still have to read them all:(
When I was an undergrad (gosh, I miss school), I was asked to help select poems for the university's annual poetry publication.
It was all student work. Some of it was very good.
A lot of it was....not.
As I recall, that task ended up being rather daunting.
I forgot how easy it is to read the good stuff. And how difficult to read the...not so good stuff.
One must suffer the thorns in order to enjoy the rose, yes?
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