In looking over the P&W info today I saw a rather nonliterary cover photo and this write-up on the summer 2005 Fence, a journal that we often discussed in my former poetry group. Apparently, editor Wolff decided on the cover photo

after noticing that the Fall/Winter 2003 issue of the quarterly—which featured a subtler piece of art on the cover—had a sell-through rate that was 25 percent below that of a typical issue. Wolff calls the current cover an example of “experimental (though certainly not innovative) marketing.” Of course, this kind of thing is the standard for many commercial magazines: The cover of the October issue of Vanity Fair shows Paris Hilton in a similarly provocative pose. But so much skin has rarely—if ever—been seen on the cover of a literary magazine. Is it a sly comment on contemporary culture, a surrender to bottom-line sales figures, or just good-natured fun for an industry that could use a little?

Sly I doubt, and fun could be skin used with something relevant like bound books or printed pages. A pierced naked girl covering her melon tits is neither sly nor fun (nor creative nor interesting ...). That photo is a deep-waisted bow to the almighty though diminishing American greenback. Whose wallet is Wolff trying to open -- the high-minded high schooler who "reads" Playboy too? Anyone who knows me knows I'm liberal and not a prude, but seriously. Does anyone buy a lit mag because the cover represents that kind of "fun"? I guess we'll see. Hey, if it brings new readers to poetry, fine by me. But take it for what it is -- a way to gather attention and money for the publication.

Time just put out a "100 Best English-Language Novels 1923 - Present" so I checked it out, formulated various opinions, and counted how many I had read: 21. I thought that was pathetic, but a well-read friend said that 21 seemed good. Mmm-hmm. She was being nice to me, because I know that sucks.

I will say that, of the others, I have serious intentions to read 8. Watchmen (very interesting to see on the list) is in the house but not something I planned to read; I may have to reconsider. I must also admit that I have never heard of 29 others. Yikes. I feel so "out of it."

Under the "What??" category, we have Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. This book and other Blume novels did impress me at a formative time, but the top 100? Neuromancer was also an interesting pick, along with Naked Lunch. Both I've read but didn't expect to see on the list. I'm happy about the former and scared by the latter. Three months ago I tried to pass on The Day of the Locusts to various used bookstores, but they didn't even want it, so what does that say?? Ugh, that book! [No, I didn't throw it out. It's still sitting here.] And Deliverance was used in a lit class as an example of a not-so-good piece of literature, and that it is.

Here's a different parameter and better list to check out. I've read 28 of those, so I feel more able to admit I majored in English. AND it has Calvino. Woo-hoo!

So I'm watching Scorsese's "Bob Dylan: No Direction Home," and Alan Ginsberg comes on the screen, which took me back a bit, not expecting to see him speaking ever again, and he talks about the first time he heard Bob Dylan. Ginsberg is talking in that sensitive, emphatic voice of his, saying that when he heard "Hard Rain," he wept. He wept. He wept because he knew right then that the torch had been passed from the Beats to a new generation. And I started to cry, overcome with the thought that wrapped up in Ginsberg was a movement that changed poetry as the world knew it, and here he could recount for us the very moment when he realized that the new voice had come. I was overwhelmed with the power of that transition, and I was saddened by the feeling that we are missing this today, a generation that reflects society through brilliant young wordsmiths. In an age that screams for poster bearers and criers I don't know where to turn.

Very unrelated, I found this today, which might be a good resource: http://articles.poetryx.com/

My zen moment of the day was working to wash dishes and JUST wash dishes, letting the thoughts of 'what if I had received different news' and 'i have not been working on my novel' flow through and out like the water from the faucet. Tough practice as things go right now.

Blue has been good to me over the last 5 months, so I've made a change around here. This summer was a most frightful and awakening time, and now I live new with true purpose. I'll be doing another poetry reading soon and keeping my hand in freelance work, but I will be off on a writer's retreat to focus on getting this first book done. Fear, the great motivator. Fear of not having committed to serious effort, not fear of an unpublished manuscript. When I feel myself sleeping I unearth the 'what if.' When I become frustrated I weigh the importance. When I am not doing what I need to do I ask why not now. When inspired I stop and listen. When I fail I start again. I think I'll use all my paid time this year, try not to carry over. So much to do that now seems so immediate.