Best On Writing And Wordsbooks Poems
I tried balancing a bowl of hot oatmeal on my lap and reading his poems in my tired and
worn, green chair.
On the back cover of a collection, a reviewer wrote “Simic may end a poem with a kiss
or a bludgeon. “
The reader will never know.
Blackjack Fresno Johnny sent me a big box of books of Simic’s poems. The books were sent
in a cardboard box inside of another cardboard box, thoughtfully packed. The address label
read:
To Tom Pitre, Poet.
It is my first affirmation as a poet.
I am always surprised when I read his work. Sometimes I think I have my finger on his
secrets, and then it slips away when I read another one. They are simple. He can write
about an earthworm in the mud, and you will be enchanted.
I was reading in a Southern Living magazine yesterday that one thing that all great
southern writers have in their books is a dead mule. The article cited several
examples and said that their research indicated that if you wanted to be counted in
amongst the great Southern writers and join them in their private Hereafter, you
had to ride in on a dead mule. I could not help myself and got paper and pen and
wrote the following.
Did you know there’s a Hereafter
Where Southern Writers dwell
And if you’re a Southern Writer
You’ll want in as well - - - but
To be a Southern Writer
There’s just one simple rule
Somewhere in your writings
You must include a mule
And not just any mule story
If you want your writing read
This mule must be dying
And ultimately dead
It doesn’t matter if you love them
Or hate them to their core
You’ve got to kill a mule
If your writing is to score
They’ve been killed by all your heroes
In Southern stories, books and plays
Killed off by great writers
In a multitude of ways
Faulkner drowned a good pair
In his book “As I Lay Dying”
They’ve been shot and stabbed and frozen
When the writers really trying
They’ve been chewed up by a rabid dog
Or left to die of thirst
They’ve been tethered to a railroad track
Or asphyxiated first
Now as a Southern Writer
I’m wondering just who’ll
Deny me my Hereafter
When they’ve read about my mule
So here is my story of an old Southern mule
Who rode Southern gents to an old Southern duel
When they turned and fired, there formed a blood pool
On the ground at the feet of this old Southern mule
And bubbling up through the blood and the drool
Came the very last gasp of this old Southern mule
Who gave up his life for an old writer’s tool
So that I could check off this Southern Writers rule