I was simply contemplating the future - the decades following the world's discovery of the artist formerly known as Angel. Hailed as the Michelangelo of the written word (after succumbing to my final illness, naturally), I find myself spinning in my grave. As I vent my outrage, my polemic is audible only to wolves and witches, whose sensitive ears overhear my rebuke of the "editors" - shameless profiteers - those hussies who rummaged through my cabin until they found my shoeboxes in the walls - stuffed full of envelopes full of scribbles full of ramblings hitherto unseen by unworthy eyes.
As if releasing them to hungry but undeserving devotees worldwide was not bad enough, these rank amateurs had the audacity to unfasten and detach MY words and remove MY flying commas and to otherwise "improve" the unimprovable.
"Oy vey" I yelled in my box as my tongue turned to dust.
Actually, between you and me, I read a fascinating article about Emily Dickinson's "editors". Give it a read and it will explain my poem. I shall DM it presently.
My last scheduled post before next spring is coming out this Sunday and as usual the synchronicity between us, has to do with living in the moment as I can see this fascinated Emily as well (I know little of her personal life beyond her wonderful poems). My take is not nearly as serious… quite goofy in fact- hope you will give it a read. 😊
For sure! Let me know when to look if you think about it. You never show up in Notes so I have to go onto your site to see if you published anything recently.
I love this,David! Looking forward to reading your link. I had an ‘editing’ experience in high school that has remained with me to the point I have played with the idea of making a story of it. Just can’t figure out how to tell it 🤣
I added a "PoetNote" it based on your question. Thanks!!
Now I’m dying to know the back story on this one!?!? 🧐🤔
Hi Tracy! Somehow I knew you would ask!
I was simply contemplating the future - the decades following the world's discovery of the artist formerly known as Angel. Hailed as the Michelangelo of the written word (after succumbing to my final illness, naturally), I find myself spinning in my grave. As I vent my outrage, my polemic is audible only to wolves and witches, whose sensitive ears overhear my rebuke of the "editors" - shameless profiteers - those hussies who rummaged through my cabin until they found my shoeboxes in the walls - stuffed full of envelopes full of scribbles full of ramblings hitherto unseen by unworthy eyes.
As if releasing them to hungry but undeserving devotees worldwide was not bad enough, these rank amateurs had the audacity to unfasten and detach MY words and remove MY flying commas and to otherwise "improve" the unimprovable.
"Oy vey" I yelled in my box as my tongue turned to dust.
Actually, between you and me, I read a fascinating article about Emily Dickinson's "editors". Give it a read and it will explain my poem. I shall DM it presently.
My last scheduled post before next spring is coming out this Sunday and as usual the synchronicity between us, has to do with living in the moment as I can see this fascinated Emily as well (I know little of her personal life beyond her wonderful poems). My take is not nearly as serious… quite goofy in fact- hope you will give it a read. 😊
For sure! Let me know when to look if you think about it. You never show up in Notes so I have to go onto your site to see if you published anything recently.
I shall try to tag you in it! :)
All I can say is Grrrrr. Better to have published them intact with an explanation they were not her final product than to fuck with her words.
Agree!
I love this,David! Looking forward to reading your link. I had an ‘editing’ experience in high school that has remained with me to the point I have played with the idea of making a story of it. Just can’t figure out how to tell it 🤣