A certain local poetry listserve has open (in the past, closed-but-to-members) archives, and this letter to me can now be safely shared with the public.
Some context should be established first:
1. The listserve, which had a period of poets-arguing-with-each-other from May of 2003 to August of 2006, generally contained members who didn't like arguing about or discussing the LA/OC scenes (or participating in the usual What Is Poetry? game or irritation over certain poets/writers who were then Big Sellers). They were more concerned with finding out what was going on with the proprietor's reading and news of other readings around the area.
2. Regarding the letter, the writer (his name will be omitted here) once was a prominent SoCal poet, plus a columnist for an alternapaper; I sent him a copy of my first chapbook. During a disagreement with Name Omitted (where I was called a "jerk" who discouraged serious discussion of poetry community problems), I reminded him of this and mentioned his nonresponse to my sending him the chapbook. And this is the response I received:
First off, I'm sorry I called you a jerk. I was out of line, and for that, I genuinely apologize. On the other hand, I'm not going to apologize for not paying more attention to you, and it's glaringly obvious that's what this little tantrum has been about. [prominent poet, now MIA from the scene] didn't pay attention to you. I didn't pay attention to you. Wah, wah, wah.Grow up, Terry. If you've got problems with the poetry scene, do something about it. Start your own readings, start a festival. Publish a journal or Web zine. Whatever, but stop acting like a baby because you don't get the attention you deserve and others do. You're right, it's not a level playing field, and you don't get points for just being there. You've actually got to do something well. Writing well would be a start. I DO remember your chapbook. I still have it, in the piles of several hundred that I dutifully carried with me cross-country when I moved. Terry, it was dull. Very dull. Not bad, but there was little of interest going on there. I don't recall if I had read it yet when I saw you in Redondo, but even if I had, I doubt I would have said much. What was I supposed to say? "Sorry, it bored me to tears." But as I recall, it took me awhile to get around to it, because, even now, I get a ton of chapbooks very month. I've not thrown one away, and I try to read them all, but no, I can't review them, and I really had nothing consequential to say about it, for good or bad. As to my "wisdom would be something of value," Whatever. I don't recall volunteering to be your mentor, and while I've taught poetry in high schools and colleges, I don't recall you being in any of my classes. The sad fact is, Terry, I thought you were a nice guy,and always tried to be friendly to you, but no, I didn't care much for your writing. Would you have preferred that I said that? I can't see what good that would have done. It's not like I walked out of the room when you were on the microphone. Maybe you've gotten better, I don't know.You can have whatever opinions you want, Terry, and you can have whatever opinions you want about me, but the fact is, you're not the one out there doing the work, and if you've made any serious effort to BE the one out there doing the work, I'm sorry, but I don't recall it. [name omitted].
For better or worse, Name Omitted's letter has been an impetus for me to carry on as a poet over the last half-decade. I've learned a few things since then (and have to learn a few more), but I hope I never sink to the depths of writing to someone else who sends me a book or poem with the condescending, dimissive tone of what Name Omitted dictated above.
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