A Helpful Reminder About Rejection

From the submissions page at Hippocampus Magazine:

Just because we pass on a particular submission does not mean it does not have merit; we publish 8-12 pieces per issue, and this often means turning away strong work. Sometimes it’s as simple as an essay with similar theme or style was recently published. Do not take editorial decisions personally. Just sitting down and getting your thoughts on paper is a task for which you should feel great pride—not everyone can do it. Every piece of writing has value. We feel it is important to spread the message of being persistent and diligent in your search for publication. Never let rejection discourage you from sharing your story. Just because it is not right for us or right for us at this time does not mean it will not find a more fitting or timely home. Write on.

Here.

Zbigniew Herbert on the Work of Poets

“In Poland,” Herbert once stated, “we think of the poet as prophet;
he is not merely a maker of verbal forms or an imitator of reality. The poet expresses the deepest feelings and the widest awareness of people….

“The language of poetry differs from the language of politics. And, after all, poetry lives longer than any conceivable political crisis.

“The poet looks over a broad terrain and over vast stretches of time. He makes observations on the problems of his own time, to be sure, but he is a partisan only in the sense that he is a partisan of the truth. He arouses doubts and uncertainties and brings everything into question

Quoted on the From the Editors page at the UCity Review.

Poetry: Now by Marc Darnell

A good reminder…

JMWW

Photo by Jessica Lynn Dotson

Hug your son and tell him you love him,
or do something with him, anything—
stop tinkering with your crap in the garage.

That overgrown toolshed isn’t an homage
to the greasy god of car part hoarding.
Hug your son and tell him you love him.

In a few more years he won’t be driven
to sleep in the house of a widower drinking.
Stop tinkering with your crap. In the garage

the yellowed calendar girls know your age—
you can’t sit on the beach with them mingling,
so hug your son. Tell him you love him

before your headlights are cracked and dim,
while he’s in a far place, his heart sinking,
and you’re still tinkering in the garage

as you gasp with acid reflux and wage
war with esophageal cancer, and start thinking
it’s too late to find him and tell him you…

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