How do I get my collection of confessional poems published? It’s at least as self-aggrandizing in its content. I only lack the capitalist promoter-type personality that has the saavy to assert itself into print (but obviously I’m working on that).

Here’s a stab at contempt: When I was a person in my twenties, I hung out with those folks who liked to name-drop Bukowski. I don’t think any of them actually read his work, but they emulated his alcoholism. Why waste time on poets who aren’t rock stars? And why bother actually reading them, when you can buy the t-shirt? Hooray for Wall Street!

At least Wallace Stevens’ soul was developed enough to look past itself. It’s easier to grow old than to grow up, apparently.

Tempering all that smugness, Lawrence has more energy and fearlessness than most of us saps living our lives of quiet desperation. I really do want to learn from that. Thanks for calling him to our attention.

Even though I’m the author, I’d like to note that I liked the review. It got me interested in myself. I think I’ll reread my book.

Tks,
David Lawrence