In Which I Become More Prolific Than I Ever Imagined
So, as I do every few days, I was reading Ron Silliman's blog , and his latest post was about an intriguing online book of nearly 4,000 pages of poetry by nearly 4,000 poets. Wow, I thought, what a huge undertaking -- what a massive organizational nightmare! It must have been put together by somebody with a lot of connections! And then in the list of names, I noticed various people I knew. But I hadn't heard anything about this project. Why do my friends hide things from me? I thought. Are they ashamed that they have started writing and publishing poetry? And then I got to the bottom of Ron Silliman's post: No, the quirkiest thing about Issue 1 is going to be that, if it includes your name – and, hey, it probably does – you have no memory of having written that text, nor of submitting it to Issue 1. Or, as Ed Baker put it so elegantly in the comments stream to For Godot, I DIDN’T FUCKING WRITE THIS GARBAGE! And then I took another look. And lo, there was my name. ...
