Tuesday, June 06, 2023

A Decade of Patron Emeritus

Last Sunday marked the first day my first ever full-length collection was made available from FootHills Publishing online. It is a book that would never have been created if not for a series of wonderful events that took almost a decade to bring me to the moment I never thought I would see as a poet. 

The first event was the Boston Poetry Month Festival at the Boston Public Library in April of 2006. I was one of many readers and was excited enough to invite my parents into the city to watch me read. It was the first and only time my Mom and Dad met Carol Weston and Walter Howard (a culture shock for them, I'm sure).  Thankfully, I don't torture my surviving family like this anymore. 

It's also the first time Ron Goba, then the Venerable Doorman for the Cantab Poetry open mic, was able to hear me read. After my set, he was very complimentary. It was in all likelihood the only time he  heard a sizeable portion of my work. It set off an idea in his mind, though I wouldn't know about it for a while.

Fast forward two years later, since the poetry world moves so slow except when it doesn't. I finally invite Ron to read at Stone Soup Poetry, in September of 2008. He was joined by other coharts of his workshop I always heard good things about. I was amazed at all the work they were creating and helping to put out.

In October of 2009, I was invited to read for Ron Goba's monthly poetry salon held at his Wollaston home. the invite came through Tom Daley and Prabakar T. Rajan, who provided a wonderful introduction I jsut had to post for posterity). 

Following my feature, I was invited by Ron and Keith Nystrom to participate in their weekly Tuesday night workshop. Prabakar, though he left Boston later that year, would return to rejoin the group, as would other regular Nate Connors and other occasional drop-ins. 

It was a writing regiment the likes of which I haven't seen since my school days. For years, every Tuesday evening, I would stay at work to type my poem (sometimes writing it during lunch), print it out, leave work on the Green Line, transfer over to the Red Line at Park Street, take the red line to Quincy Center and Walk to Ron's house and start the workshop. 

Ron would go first with his new poem, which was sent ahead so we could print it out and have time to formulate thoughts. Sometimes I would paste wikipedia entries dedicated to a single of Ron's lines on the page. Even with proper preparation, reviewing a single poem of Ron's could take up to an hour. Then it would be my turn. Keith was the most generous with his time, only offering a poem of his maybe once in all the years I attended. He was there primarily to help workshop Ron's work and mine. 

Both Keith and Ron's comments were incredibly helpful and instrumental in my style evolving into a paired down version that would emulate Ron's paired down "lyrical" style where even punctuation could get in the way, relying more on sound and impressions than concrete information to convey a point. 

Early efforts still created longer works, but after the first two years, very few of my poems since have ever reached a second page. 

Whatever narratives I was attempting fell apart if I continued for two long. That's a problem I knew I had but never knew how to fix. In the workshop, I kept the poems short and took it as a challenge to craft the so-called perfect poem under my friends' parameters. 

I wasn't short of inspiration, even if it kept my poems dreary. I was only in the third year of dealing with the repercussions of both my father's death and a breakup that refused to truly be a breakup. As a respite, I threw myself into my job and its many opportunities to travel and see aspects of the country not accessible to mainstream tourism. This included a fated trip to American Samoa in 2010. 

It was all this time away that allowed me time to relax and write. Given everything that was going on at home, being in a cramped coach seat with nothing to do but read and write was beautiful freedom. 

My time writing in American Samoa also gave me the first inclinations that I might have more than just a smattering of words if I could get my act together. 

The book's title poem didn't come directly from a piece written last decade but a rough draft I abandoned back in 1998 because I had no idea what to do with it, so I cut it in half, brought it to the work shop, and let them cut it even further until it worked. You'd be surprised how many pieces came from when failed poems in my twenties.

I was even able to include in Patron Emeritus some poems based my experience hosting Stone Soup Poetry over the years. "Manifesto" was written during a time of guarded optimism, and "Case in Pint" was penned after one of the most awkward features I ever hosted. Some tribute was deserved given that if it wasn't for my hosting and organizing Stone Soup, I would never have met Susan Deer Cloud, who told me to contact Michael Czarnecki at FootHills Publishing when I was ready.

Prolonged breakup aside, in writing these poesm I was saying goodbye to a lot of other people and a substantial chapter of my life. By 2011, I had completed most of the poems that made it into the book. During that time, I started a wonderful new relationship that's still going strong today. I was also less than two years away from saying goodbye to the job position that allowed me to travel. Amazing while it lasted. 

For all the effort I put in and all the efforts of of Ron's group when the manuscript was first gathered, the book would likely have not been published in its final form without the generosity of Michael Czarnecki at FootHills.

A friend who read the manuscript was brutally honest and expected me to cut the manuscript in half. I didn't want to do that. The book was not only a token of how far I had come and how hard I worked, it was also a tribute to the generosity of Ron, Keith, Prabakar, Nate and countless others who shepherded this book along. 

Thankfully, Michael never asked for any changes, and Patron Emeritus was accepted as is. "As is," incidentally only came after the manuscript as a whole was looked over a final time by Ron, which really helped it get into its final fighting form. 

Michael stood behind his resolution to publish my book (along with many others) even after a fire claimed his family house in 2012. Even with that, Patron Emeritus was only delayed by barely a year. I

 wanted a copy of the book in my hand before I turned forty. Copies were sent out ahead of time before the announcement, but my local post office screwed up royally, and my package was gone, never to be found. 

I still had the proof copy--a book--in my had before I hit forty. This told me I had to really be specific with my wishes in the future. 

One of my biggest regrets is that my friend, collaborator and Patron Emeritus cover artist James Conant is not around to celebrate our good work today. He deserves more words than I've given him since his passing, and I intend to write something soon. 

I also mourn Sue Goba, Ron's wife, who passed away in April 2013. Sue warmly and quietly held together the home where Ron would play with words alnongside trusted friends. With her gone, countless writers lost an amazing outlet. 

I also regret losing touch with too many vital people from that time. I resolve to correct this very soon. I still love all you guys even if I seem incapable of showing it. 

To those of your who purchased the book at the time of its release, I am very grateful. To those who still don't have a copy, would it help if I said it's sold independently of Amazon?

Thank you all for your support. Let's see what comes out of me before I turn sixty.


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