Still here, albeit in poetic form.

I'm just writing poems, that's all. Or 'poems,' in some cases. That's why there have been no blog posts, in case you have been standing around wondering.

Anyway, I've posted almost all of the poems here.  As per usual, it's a mixed bag:

(last night in the dark:) 

Me: I can't wait for this week to be over. 

The historian: I know. 

[long pause:] 

Me: At least I only have six more poems to write. 

Sigh.

But also as per usual, it's rewarding--if you write more, more ideas for writing come to you, and that's a fact, as in it walks, talks, and smells like a fact, even if I have no empirical data besides my own production to prove it.

But what I'm really here to say is that soon, very soon--on May 1, in fact--I will be writing blog posts again. I KNOW. I'm sure everyone has been waiting with bated breath for that to happen. Well, bated breath or whatevs, that is what's happening. On May 1. I am prognosticating, prophesying, and public service announcing it.

Poems, just in case you want a concise set of links:

(one)

(two)

(three)

(four)

(five)

(six)

(seven)

(eight)

(nine)

(ten)

(eleven)

(twelve)

(thirteen)

(fourteen)

(fifteen)(terrible self-pitying poem. there's always at least one.)

(sixteen)

(seventeen)

(eighteen)

(nineteen)

(twenty)(this will one day be my Prince poem. Not finished yet.)

(twenty-one)(too terrible to post--but one day it will be better. Based on some love-letters Charlotte Bronte sent to someone who did not requite her love. Tragic.)

(twenty-two)

(twenty-three)

(twenty-four)

I know I shouldn't say it.

You know how everyone says you shouldn't complain about being busy, because by doing so, you just

1. imply that everyone else could not possibly be as busy as you are, and
2. also might start a war about who is, in point of fact, busier.

(me. obviously.)

But still: I am feeling frantic. I will not elaborate. I will just say, however, that in the next week, the following shall occur, with or without me, in my personal body, doing the events that the occurrences imply:

• write a poem a day, because (a) National Poetry Month, and (b) priorities.
• bind 400 chapbooks! with students!  (are you coming to this event? you totally should!)
• meet with an unknown amount of students, because who knows if they will sign up? even if I beg them?
• put in my travel forms GOSH
• work out loads of times, because (a) working out makes me feel better, thus (b) sanity, or what passes for it
• teach a Publication Center workshop because way back when we planned the schedule it seemed like a good idea to do this the week before the chapbook launch hell YES
• take just a few more things to Print Services, and beg them to print them immediately
• catch up on all the things that I left to their own devices while I gallivanted away to Houston and then to Cedar City on academic and literary jaunts, huzzah!
• teach the Publication Studies class, whatevs
• defend America, aka all the department curriculum proposals before the General Education Committee, good LORD
• go and pick up my Costco membership that has been waiting literally for months so I can
• buy refreshments for the event
• and other administrative issues too banal, frustrating, and so forth to elaborate BUT I COULD ELABORATE, HOLY HELL I COULD

Etcetera.

Not complaining though, not one bit.

I'm just going to say, though, that I have mostly been keeping up with Poem A Day for National Poetry Month (the cruelest month). And I'm gonna brag about it here.

(one)

(two)

(three)

(four)

(five)

(six)

(seven)

(eight)

(nine)

(ten)

(eleven)

(twelve)

poem + Monday

Poem 4.

Today's stats:

10 open slots for student appointments
0 students signed up for these appointments (where ARE they?)

3 out of 4 chapbook manuscripts are ready to go to Print Services

2 excellent lectures by Omid Safi today

2 copies of flicker signed at The King's English (TKE: I couldn't find a link for people to purchase my book!) (!!!)

2 workouts

2 episodes of Bosch

1 pair of blue sandals purchased (and also 1 blue sweater. So: 2 blue things purchased.)

Time for bed? time for bed.

It's National Poetry Month, and you know what that means.

That's right, it means poems.

Here's my first installment.

And here's my poetry compatriot Lynn's.

Frankly, I'm optimistic.