Classical Music, Philosophy,
Art, Science, History,
Literature and Biography
are all grist to my intellectual mill.
The problem is, the wheels of my mill
are dulled at the edge, and grind exceeding slow,
producing poems and prose
that no-one wants to know.
Week after week, anxious, tense;
week after week, steeped in suspense.
The vain hope my luck will change; this time I won’t fail.
Then the curt dismissal: the rejection email.
After so much failure, I cannot respond.
I just sink deeper in my slough of despond.
Readers of this blog over the last few years will be well aware of my struggles and frustrations with getting my poems published in magazines and journals. Apparently it’s generally accepted that most poets submitting to literary journals will have around a 90% rejection rate. The only reasonable way of looking at it, I suppose, is to adopt a stoical, philosophical attitude to the rejections, and to rejoice when you get the occasional acceptance. The problem for me is I find it very difficult to adopt such an attitude, and I still tend to treat each rejection I get as a personal affront. I was provoked into writing the above poem by the latest rejection, after having built up my hopes, yet again. I suppose I shall recover, eventually.