The next Boxcar Poetry Journal print anthology will include my poem Hive, which is nice news, and to jazz up the bio I’m supposed to write a sentence about the strangest place I’ve ever been. This is a toughie. Strange like it looked strange? Like the people were strange? Like the atmosphere was weird? If anyone could offer an example of a strange place they’ve been I’d appreciate it. I’m thinking the train to Chengdu from Beijing was a pretty strange place, with all the families eating chicken heads in the bunks and aisles. There were some weird joints I visited in Guatemala, too, but I wonder if the strange may be no farther than my own front door.
My poem Hive is actually already in an anthology called Crazed by the Sun, a collection of ecstatic poetry. I have yet to see my contributor’s copy so I can’t give you a steer here but it sure sounds interesting.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
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3 comments:
Chicken heads and such; after seeing enough of them become mundane. And are exactly the direction that is easy to go in. You have such a knack for making the reader think; as you have with the title of the post referencing Lennon. Strike out with the ordinarily strange.
We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
you're right. everywhere you look there are chicken heads.
i decided on the tube of an MRI scanner.
That's profound; I applaud (again.)
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