The Rejection Collection
by Jim Richards

One of the worst things about being poet is receiving rejection slips from places where you submit your work. You labor for days, weeks, and sometimes years to find the right words, rhythms, and sounds that will express a certain inexpressible feeling inside you. You send it off, as timidly as Moses' mother must have sent him off in an ark of bulrushes down the river-hoping and praying that it will be accepted somewhere, that it will be loved and appreciated for what it is. You wait for weeks, months, and sometimes even years, and then finally you get your response: a brief form letter-no, not even a letter, but a slip, a half-sheet of paper, sometimes even a quarter sheet, or worst of all an email saying "thanks, but no thanks." You wonder if they even read what you wrote.

There is perhaps one thing almost as bad as receiving rejections: sending them out. As much as I love reading poetry for Meridian, I dread it each time I have to say "no." There is perhaps no quicker way to establish oneself as a full-fledged jerk than rejecting a carefully wrought poem about someone's spiritual experience. Some have responded respectfully to my rejection notes, and even sought constructive criticism, which I am happy to provide; others have responded not so respectfully, which, I'm sure, just comes with the territory.

In the course of my own poetic pursuits, I've acquired enough rejection slips to plaster my bedroom wall. The best writers, I suspect, have received enough rejection slips to fill their bedroom from floor to ceiling. Not wanting to be a consistent contributor to the rejection collection any of you might be accumulating, I thought it might be helpful to share a few thoughts on publishing poetry.

First of all, and unfortunately, the odds are against you. Most magazines publish a small percentage of what they receive. Because of this, very good poems are frequently rejected simply because of practical restrictions; hence, a rejection is not necessarily an indication of the quality of your poem. Award-winning works often have a trail of rejections behind them. What one editor likes, another dislikes. What one audience likes, another dislikes. The trick is finding an editor and an audience that are looking for the kind of thing you want to write.

So, as Meridian's poetry editor, what am I looking for? First of all, I am looking for poetry, not simply rhymed verse. What's the difference? Well, as suggested by the never-ending volumes written on the subject, it's hard to say. Emily Dickinson said that she knows poetry when she finds it because it takes her head off. I think this means that for her a poem creates a sensation inside her that is unmistakable, a sensation that can't be defined or categorized. As I read submissions, I look for poems that take my head off. And if I don't find any that take my head off, then I choose those that lift it a little. And if none lift it, then I choose those that at least raise my eyebrows.

Another key to getting poetry published is to follow Ezra Pound's advice-make it new. Most editors are wading through a sea of material where one wave is just like every other. They are waiting for something to drop out of the sky and splash them in the face, or for something to rise up out of the great deep and swallow them; they are waiting for a storm. As for myself in the Meridian Sea of Submissions, I am drowning in rhymed couplets preaching a gospel theme. Many of these are great works, but they are not quite what I am looking for. I want poems with evidence that their author is familiar with the contemporary (not just the sacrament meeting) tradition.

Hear ye, hear ye: it is time for aspiring LDS poets to step into the twenty-first century!

Thy poem need not speak in thee's and thou's

nor rhyme in couplets as two mooing cows.

'Tis true that once poétry could be caught

accenting vowels that needed accent not.

Today, one need not bow for meter's sake

nor use inverted syntax rhymes to make.

As Sabbath's made for man, not vice versa,

So rule's rule can make your versa worsa.

We have the means, ability, and subject matter to create the best poetry this world has ever seen. We have the Spirit of God-the most powerful muse-to inspire our minds and hearts, and enhance our talents. But just as the early saints studied with masters in their art to improve their skills for the building and adornment of the Salt Lake Temple, we might do well to look to the best living poets of our time to learn the techniques that make their poetry great.

We could all read more contemporary poetry. Take a look, if you haven't, at poems such as Seamus Heaney's "St Kevin and the Blackbird," or Mary Oliver's "Lilies," or Philip Levine's "The Simple Truth"; or look at what today's LDS poets are writing such as Lance Larsen's book Erasable Walls, or Susan Elizabeth Howe's Stone Spirits. There are so many subjects and forms available for poetry. Why confine our efforts to the same old same old? Let's make it new, and let's make it good.

I offer a challenge to the poets among Meridian readers, a challenge to branch out in your subject matter and your forms. There is no limit to what is available for us to write about. I have read wonderful contemporary poems about plums and onions, about digging potatoes, about working in a car-parts factory, about a mother disciplining her daughter, about amateur boxing, about tropical fish, about the nature of apology, about grocery shopping with Alzheimer's-about the personal, individual, unique things that each of us experience daily in our very different bodies, minds, and lives.

Of course, we at Meridian can only publish the kind of poetry we receive, and every kind of poetry is certainly welcome to be submitted. I read each submission carefully and thoughtfully, and really you never know (I never know) just what kind of poem will take my head off. Send in your poetry, and then write more poetry and send that in too. Try something new. Surprise me. Let's see what you've got.

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Jim Richards, Meridian Magazine's Poetry Editor, grew up in Salt Lake City as the fourth child in a family of ten. He spent each summer in Montana, where he developed a deep love for mountains, lakes, and forests and activities such as hiking, waterskiing, and riding motorcycles. He has enjoyed various experiences abroad, including a semester in Jerusalem, a mission to Costa Rica, an excursion through southern Europe, and a term studying theater in London. He completed his B.A. and M.A. in English at BYU, and is currently a doctoral Cambor Fellow in the creative writing program at the University of Houston. His poetry has appeared in Literature and Belief, BYU Studies, and elsewhere. He lives with his wife and two sons in Houston, where he serves as second counselor in the bishopric of the Spring Branch Ward.

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