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The Dearest Jewel

The most important thing about small press poetry is probably direct personal contact with our readers. When I sell on the street or at fairs, I live for the occasional smile of incredulous pleasure from people who like poetry but have never seen a poet.

Publishing, Hopefully Not Perishing

The Small Press Movement

I can’t remember the first time I heard someone say that the conglomerates (giant U.S. corporations like Xerox) were buying out the big New York publishing houses, the ones that 20 or so years ago were a fairly reliable place to publish a first novel, a well-written book, something that might someday be known as a great book, as “literature.”

1977

New Year’s Day. No television, or newspaper, to remind me of the world outside. No news-of-the year in review. I can tell myself better lies than that. Nineteen seventy-seven. Seven years to 1984.

Another Appetite

The days of my life are inscribed in autumn’s diary; the leaves are pages burnished by experiences: some fiery red, some golden yellow, some mellow green, some dull brown.

Right Livelihood

Food Co-ops

Food co-ops became popular during the past decade as an alternative to supermarkets and retail natural food stores. What draws people to them are lower prices, democratic participation, friendly atmosphere, higher quality, and other factors.

The Life And Times

My recent experience as guest poet to two sixth-grade classes at the Frank Porter Graham School proved to be a successful and enjoyable learning experience for the students as well as a fresh poetic breath for me.

Channel One

I believe that this universe cares about us. Everything that happens to us serves a purpose in our growth, our realization of who we are. We are not autumn leaves blowing in a cold and careless wind, but are travellers on the mysterious and wonder-filled paths of our lives.

Reflections On Re-Reading Dostoevsky’s The Idiot

Book Review

Reading The Idiot again after five years I am struck by what does not fit into the usual critical categories, a certain kind of truth in the writing, the erratic unnameable of vision. I begin to see there is no proper category for the vivid, an impulse to reveal, an edging toward light.

Journal

I have noticed that there are those who give spontaneously, unself-consciously. There are also those who have the same ability, but become distracted and brought down by the shadow of their own personalities, and a wavering results. In that instant of wavering, the gift melts. A state of listening grace evolves from instinctive setting aside of self.

On Selling Advertising

Advertising, hmmm. Never thought I’d be an advertising salesman, but it comes with the territory. When COSMEP South — the newsletter of the Committee of Small Magazine Editors and Publishers — asked for my thoughts on advertising, I pulled this out of my bottom drawer.