...it doesn't have to be.
My apologies for not keeping up with the poem a day for April. I have a hard time with "special" blocks of time like that: holidays, birthdays, 7th Inning Stretches, happy hours, and months dedicated to various things. Don't get me wrong, I think National Poetry Month is wonderful for promoting poetry to those who aren't as aware of it as some of us (I assume most of the readers of this blog are writers or artsy in some capacity). I also love the poster I get in the mail, and how it covers the burnt yellow paint of my radiator.
But I didn't write more in April than any other month. To do so would interrupt a process that seems to work just fine for me. I didn't read more either. In fact, it seems I read less poetry simply because I spent more time looking at poetry in emails, on blogs, and attending special events to celebrate the month.
It seems to me some regard the month as a special time to really hit the poems hard. Like the faithful who only remembers kindness to others one day a week or one week of the year. Like the celebration of the day one was born--what is the significance of every 365th day that makes it more important than the previous 364 or next? Can't one enjoy their life daily on more significant terms?
If we read poetry for a process of exploration into our selves, let's explore often.
If we turn to poetry to discover something in the world that shows us Love, let's do this every day.
Ordered this morning:
Lytton Smith's The All-Purpose Magical Tent (Nightboat). I've seen the first few pages, and it's awesome.
Patricia Smith's Blood Dazzler (Coffee House). Teahouse of the Almighty kicked so much ass, and I would have picked it up at AWP had I been there.