the cycle of omitted names
"who is deserving of awards and recognition"
Welcome to our weekly column offering perspectives on lit mag publishing, with contributions from readers, writers and editors around the world.
after months, possibly years, through your blood, sweat, and tears, it took you to write and perfect your manuscript—the sleepless nights because a poem was swirling inside your head and you had to write it and edit it until the poem was satisfying enough to leave alone so you could finally sleep; after the countless times you’ve submitted your manuscript to publishers, you have finally succeeded in getting your book published. this book is your life, your support, your health and your voice. the cover is eye-catching and your blurbs are by some of your favorite poets.
your book is finding readers and selling, which makes you feel good—then the awards season results are released; the end of the year lists begin being published, which names the best books published in that year. you’ve anticipated, you’ve hoped, and you’ve waited… only for your book to fall on deaf ears.
magazines’ ‘best books of the year’ lists vary because every editor creates their own. these lists highlight talent and rile up readers to buy those books, though you discover your book is not on any of them. the semifinalists to the national book awards, american book awards, pulitzer prize, national book critics circle award, and lambda literary award that you’ve entered are released and the names are the same names on every semifinalist list for every major award: diane suess, jericho brown, ocean vuong, kay ryan, carl phillips, frank bidart, billy collins—sometimes even a dead poet makes the list. this doesn’t even include the national endowment for the arts (nea) creative writing fellowship that you were never awarded. you feel like burning your book, not because the readers hate it but because there is a difference between writing and publishing.
we write because we must. we could write poems in dirt and it would satisfy us. we write in order to wake up tomorrow; to breathe. we write to the darkness of an empty room.
we publish to be recognized; to get achievements; to be listed, nominated, and reassured that we didn’t go through hell in order for our book to be in the world for nothing. when your hard work is ignored it feels like you’re worthless; you aren’t good enough; there is no room for you on the stage.
we publish to be recognized
i fight with my demons and i do not always win. sometimes i’m shoved so far into depression that i believe publishing is a waste of time. it is heartbreaking to be told i am something spectacular; i am going to go far; i will, one day, be a poet laureate—then to be ignored as these recognitions come out. i want an equal place at the table. the poets who get everything can sit at the sideline for a while. they’ll survive.
the business of publishing too often feels like a game, one where barely anyone wins. we have to dissolve this attitude that academia makes poets or poetry books better. a book that is published with penguin random house is not automatically a masterpiece. indie/small presses publish equally as superb books as graywolf press, wave books, copper canyon or four-way books. we could argue about my statement that these presses are not small presses, but the fact is, they aren’t. they are middle-ground publishers. these and other publishers sit firmly above other presses, below the big five.
my fourteenth book of poetry my husband holds my hand because i may drift away & be lost forever in the vortex of a crowded store came out in dec 2024. i have a great editor, tommy sheffield, who has edited most of my manuscripts. my current publisher, flowersong press, run by edward vidaurre and his team, are brilliant and enthusiastic. i have blurbs by six poets whom i admire: angelique zobitz, mark danowsky, daniel lee, subhaga crystal bacon, kai coggin and luke johnson. i've already received some interviews and reviews. my essay isn’t about that. it’s not about the work others have done for me because they believe in me.
i have dedicated my life to poetry for the past 23 years, sometimes i put in 60-hour weeks with no pay. i am or have been a poetry editor, publisher, host of a poetry talk show and readings, an agent, a reviewer, a reader, and a network. i would love my book to transfer over as a paycheck so i could pay bills—so i could earn my keep. being in the spotlight means more royalties, more opportunities, and more chances to tour.
none of this essay is about my readers or about the people who buy my books, but about the editors, organizations, and judges who sit perched in their seats determining who is who and who should be deemed as read. i write this essay as a doorway for poets to walk through; to help you realize it is okay to want to be an equal opponent: be loud, rise up and demand equality. there is power in multitudes.
i write this essay as a doorway for poets to walk through
i know the power that poetry can accomplish. i hope writing this essay will open the poetry community’s mind about who is deserving of awards and recognition. my goal in the poetry world is to uplift people and change minds; to give a stage to every talent from every stage of their writing career. i know if this essay can change one mind, then one mind can change five, and five minds can change twenty-five.
poets work really hard in their craft: writing, editing, in finding publication, in finding venues and readings, with little to no support—often while being shunned and ignored, by our community and by the outside world. we write about politics, emotions, language, feelings, situations, events, life, death, mental health, and one-hundred other topics in a way that is unique and will fit in the palm of your hand. even if you believe the poem to be too abstract and the metaphors are out of your grasp to comprehend, the poem can be accessed if you just open your mind. i always tell readers: “do not read the poem with the thought of how the poet wrote it, but let the poem tell you what it wants to tell you.”
the beauty of poetry is that anyone can read it. the beauty of poetry is that ten people can read the same poem and get ten interpretations and they are all correct. for me, as a poet, interpretations expand my poems and help them grow. my poems become three-dimensional and they grow pathways. they are not a room anymore but a building.
if the poetry community were a real community and supported one another, people outside the poetry community would want to come in and see more. they’d be jealous of what we have! there is a saying that poets are the only people who read poetry, which is true because who wants to visit a place where people try to smolder each other’s energy and talent. if poetry was a place of love and acceptance, as we say we are, the world would rush into our world and you’d know that poetry is not some unreachable scary place, but a place of power and freedom, a place where voices echo off the walls and expand the landscape.
my goal is to be the rebel, to bring poets and others together and to celebrate what we can achieve. poetry is a friend, a lover, a partner, a mother, a father, a brother, a sister. poetry is love, acceptance, shock and awe. we shall not stand around and let even our own try to tell us we are not good enough. i am a gay poet in the south of kentucky who lives amongst the enemy and had to learn to fight for what i love. i love poetry, and i am fighting for it.
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This should be required reading for every poet who has ever put themselves out there by pressing “submit.” I’m reminded of what one of my writing professors told our group of wide-eyed hopefuls in the 1980s: “If you can think of anything else to do besides being a writer, you should do that. Only be a writer because you HAVE to be.”
Many times over the decades I’ve questioned whether my poems had any merit. But I kept writing. And reading. And listening. And observing. My work has found a home in some excellent independent literary journals. My poems are happy there, living amongst friends. That’s enough.
Great essay. It’s the writers and artists, the creative types, who keep the world livable. We must maintain our communities.