And so, it's Poetry Month. A time for us to dress up buses and subways, put out little cards in cafes, write a poem a day, and celebrate a bunch of dead people. My poetry month thus far has been spent living a bad art film, roaming Iowa in a late-model Chevrolet, giving Lyft rides (one of which a customer wrongly reported me as being intoxicated and almost caused me to lose my only current source of income), and searching the landscape for anything resembling inspiration.
One source of enlightenment was a meeting I had in Ames with some wonderful poets enrolled at Iowa State. I contacted Crystal Stone via Instagram (which may seem weird but is also how I booked half of our winter tour), and she arranged for two other poets in her program to meet for dinner in Ames and discuss writing and our hopes for the future of verse. Matty Layne and Kate Wright joined us at one of those fancy American food beer places and had a very exciting discussion on what poetry meant to each of us. The best part was that each of them have disctinctly different writing styles and vastly disproportionate views on where their efforts will take them. Matty is of the activist variety, Kate writes narratively and is pursuing the academic route, and Crystal writes with extreme vaguery while going the promotional/advocate route like myself. It was incredibly refreshing to meet and discuss our collective art while I found myself in a strange land. I'm extremely grateful the three of them were willing to meet and hope to find news of their successes as they continue their pursuits.
I spent a few days driving around Des Moines after that, and thanks to the hospitality and demeanor of those citizens, decided it was time to head back to Wisconsin before venturing out to New York for the NYMPH release. I'm lucky enough to have a warm and comfy place to stay in Madison for a few days before I continue the deranged mission I've made for myself. I may be crazy and no one may care about this press, but I still don't see what else I should be doing with my life whether it's April or this perpetual December my travels have unveiled.