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I have a small plaque on my dresser that reads, “Careful, or you'll end up in my novel,” given to me by Shelley, who has been my friend since college, over twenty years. The inscription refers to the novel about my group of friends that I always threaten to write, but as of yet, have neglected to start. I have, of course, written many things in my life, including several plays, a few screenplays, a regrettably burned fantasy novel I wrote in high school, whose only reader, alas, was my father. I never thought I would actually write a collection of poetry.
Poetry has always seemed a slippery enterprise, one for which I am simply not built. Anyone who has engaged in conversation with me knows that I get impatient quickly, my body language urging others to get to the point in the most direct way possible. The coyness required of the poet is not my natural mode.
I do not believe there are puzzles to unlock in the following pages. If you would like to try to find them, by all means, feel free. I intended this collection as a personal challenge, but have unintentionally surprised myself, not only in that I finished the
pre-determined goal of forty poems before my fortieth birthday, but also in that I actually set down some of the things I have learned to be true, for me, in these last four decades.
Most of these poems were written this last year of my thirties, but there are a few earlier poems I wanted one more crack at before I called them done.
If you are reading this, you have probably spent some of your time with me, and I hope those relationships will continue. You are either here in these poems indirectly by inspiring me over the years, or you are here quite directly because you failed to ignore the warning on the sign.
Whatever your reason, I hope you enjoy this collection.
Poetry has always seemed a slippery enterprise, one for which I am simply not built. Anyone who has engaged in conversation with me knows that I get impatient quickly, my body language urging others to get to the point in the most direct way possible. The coyness required of the poet is not my natural mode.
I do not believe there are puzzles to unlock in the following pages. If you would like to try to find them, by all means, feel free. I intended this collection as a personal challenge, but have unintentionally surprised myself, not only in that I finished the
pre-determined goal of forty poems before my fortieth birthday, but also in that I actually set down some of the things I have learned to be true, for me, in these last four decades.
Most of these poems were written this last year of my thirties, but there are a few earlier poems I wanted one more crack at before I called them done.
If you are reading this, you have probably spent some of your time with me, and I hope those relationships will continue. You are either here in these poems indirectly by inspiring me over the years, or you are here quite directly because you failed to ignore the warning on the sign.
Whatever your reason, I hope you enjoy this collection.
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