Designated poets, esteemed writers
at a national poetry magazine
scrutinised my submitted poems
among a vast heap of others.
From his faraway megacity office
the editor telephoned me to mentor me.
Excited that an eminent literary figure
should call me I jotted down his words.
My mood flattened as he spoke of
writing sounds and words in patterns
and juxtapositions, auditory and visual,
of deftness with obscure metaphors.
What about the people ? The story ?
I wondered. What about everyday lives
of everyday people in an everyday world ?
Awed by his stature I said nothing.
He told of his writing’s rejection here
seventy years ago, his joy as his style
then his poems were accepted, published
overseas then in our own country.
Now he was highly regarded by the
highly regarded literati of the west.
today his style is esteemed, but not mine.
Yet the internet releases me from
the need to find publication in
local and overseas print runs.
The world wide web
brings worldwide forums
in a worldwide range.
Previously posted February 2017