So August 1 came and went. Mid-day yesterday I found the expected e-mail in my inbox: "Thank you for your application to the 2011 Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship competition. We are grateful to you for letting us see your work." The letter went on to explain that I was one of the nearly 860 applicants receiving the same letter - thank you and good luck next time.
Congratulations to the 40 finalists and best of luck not biting your hands off between now and September 1. I'm sure I'll be competing against 35 of them next year (along with the other 860 or so). My work will stack up better next year. One nice thing about being a young poet is that I have plenty of time, even when competing for awards limited to young poets.
The work I've been turning out this summer has been harder to come by, but I've felt more confident about it. I feel that my struggle with stodgy formalities and out-dated expressions has finally resolved. Without, I might brag, falling into pretentiously "everyday" speech. Most of it is still out for consideration in other contests. There's still time for the Milwaukee Irish Fest, WRWA Jade Ring, Slash Pine Press Chapbook and the WFOP Triad contests.
Showing posts with label fellowship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fellowship. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Lilly Fellowship (cont.,)
Working on my application for the Lilly Fellowship requires that I create a manuscript of ten pages of poems. Each page can contain multiple poems or single poems or possibly even half or quarter poems. The total page count, however, must arrive at and reside at ten. To assist me in choosing the best assortment of my work, I am reviewing each published piece in situ. This practice lead me to Puffin Circus to revisit the January 2011 issue (2.1).
The poem that appeared there has made my shortlist of set-starters for my application. Even with the heavy-handed Dedalus steal, it still feels spontaneous. It also presents me with a possible theme for my introduction - terroir and time.
Of course, the order of poems within the manuscript is another matter to labor over. Fortunately, I have another excuse to repost another poem.
"Snares"
Ineluctable. The word itself a net
Bringing in footprints on a snot green sea
Strand, before thought or recognition set in.
The same, stepping out in the brisk and
Dreary winds of fall, losing for a moment
All sense of place or time, only to find
Neither the gravel driveway nor chipped asphalt
Of dry, ill-lit six Manchester street,
But instead the pine street parking ramp’s paved
Sidewalk slapping dust beneath my feet.
When the right combination of
Smoke, dirt, cologne and sweat converge
And fill my ears with the phantom sound
Of distant traffic and slurred Italian,
Excuse me if, for a moment, I seem removed.
The poem that appeared there has made my shortlist of set-starters for my application. Even with the heavy-handed Dedalus steal, it still feels spontaneous. It also presents me with a possible theme for my introduction - terroir and time.
Of course, the order of poems within the manuscript is another matter to labor over. Fortunately, I have another excuse to repost another poem.
"Snares"
Ineluctable. The word itself a net
Bringing in footprints on a snot green sea
Strand, before thought or recognition set in.
The same, stepping out in the brisk and
Dreary winds of fall, losing for a moment
All sense of place or time, only to find
Neither the gravel driveway nor chipped asphalt
Of dry, ill-lit six Manchester street,
But instead the pine street parking ramp’s paved
Sidewalk slapping dust beneath my feet.
When the right combination of
Smoke, dirt, cologne and sweat converge
And fill my ears with the phantom sound
Of distant traffic and slurred Italian,
Excuse me if, for a moment, I seem removed.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Ruth Lilly Fellowship
It's been six months since I received my first acceptance letter. I remember standing in the kitchen after work and opening my e-mail. Upon seeing an unread e-mail from Jeff Fleming with the subject line "Re: Sean Butner: Poetry Submissi...", I readied myself to accept the rejection and send my poems again. Instead, the letter informed me that the good folk at nibble magazine would like to publish a sonnet that I had written after the first brisk night in August.
Six months later I have more than a dozen poems appearing in print and online and am finally starting to think of myself as a poet. Two days from now, the Poetry Foundation will stop accepting applications for the Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship. The award goes to five American poets between 21 and 31 years old based on a self-introduced collection of ten poems.
Although I'm not holding my breath to receive an e-mail this August informing me that I've made it to the shortlist, I'm not going to prevent it. To help stoke myself for writing my own introduction, I'm reposting "Laying of Hands" - the poem that six months ago Jeff Fleming decided should be available in print.
"Laying of Hands"
I dread the fall's first frost
Laying fearful bony hands
On the small specks of rain and
Veiny webs of dew sprawling across the
Windshield. All the wet and warm of summer
Will give way to those fretful fingers
And crisp crystalline limbs.
But those are not our days yet, nor not
Now do we worry of cold snaps or quick
Freezes. Our mornings make mist
Of moist fields and furrows from the still high sun,
And our evening air teems with flying things
And all manner of minor wildlife.
The horizon sparks with soundless light.
Six months later I have more than a dozen poems appearing in print and online and am finally starting to think of myself as a poet. Two days from now, the Poetry Foundation will stop accepting applications for the Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship. The award goes to five American poets between 21 and 31 years old based on a self-introduced collection of ten poems.
Although I'm not holding my breath to receive an e-mail this August informing me that I've made it to the shortlist, I'm not going to prevent it. To help stoke myself for writing my own introduction, I'm reposting "Laying of Hands" - the poem that six months ago Jeff Fleming decided should be available in print.
"Laying of Hands"
I dread the fall's first frost
Laying fearful bony hands
On the small specks of rain and
Veiny webs of dew sprawling across the
Windshield. All the wet and warm of summer
Will give way to those fretful fingers
And crisp crystalline limbs.
But those are not our days yet, nor not
Now do we worry of cold snaps or quick
Freezes. Our mornings make mist
Of moist fields and furrows from the still high sun,
And our evening air teems with flying things
And all manner of minor wildlife.
The horizon sparks with soundless light.
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