Sunday, December 31, 2006


If I include two books coming out in 2007, I will have released 16 poetry collections in 11 years -- published by publishers based in the U.S., Philippines, Finland, Australia, and Switzerland. Add in the mix a poetry CD, a short story collection, a book of art essays, five (co-)edited books as well as several visual poetry/art exhibitions. A successful "career," one can argue. I can even bore us all with a litany of awards. So, presumably, if I do nothing else as a poet, I would have been blessed sufficiently by the poetry Muse.

But what has all this taught me? That I have mastered absolutely nothing.

Nothing. Like, I actually once believed, The day I cease burning, I cease poetry.

Oh, Bite me, Tongue.

I have barely begun and yet must start all over again.

My New Year's -- make that, New Life's -- Resolution? Rebirth.

A practical effect? Catch me here whilst you can in blogland for 2007. As of Jan. 1, 2008, the Chatelaine retires the illusion of her keys...and departs to a blog-monastery....

.....where the shadows against stone shall peel themselves away from the walls so that her eyes, too, shall become stone. Stone seeing stone. Stone be-ing stone. One is World. Which is to say, the poet becomes Pure....

.....absent such purity for failure is inherent, she, too, shall become Poetry's dust -- those motes clinging vainly to air and stone and the weakest of sunrays...

....which may not be such a bad result since Poetry, at a minimum, has been one big MASSIVE PAIN IN THE BUTT.

I would bark loud laughter if I walked away from you Poetry -- ye Mistress of the Mist. Ye betray as much as ye give and I loathe as much as I love your Fate.

This is the year I shall rip away your Veil.

Rip it. Tear it into pieces I shall swallow and expel as luminous shit.

Poetry -- I shall give you exactly what you have given me. I shall

Damn You.