Semi-Urban Cartography

The Deronda Sports Car

In the mail yesterday I received a letter from the Deronda Review: they have decided to publish one of the poems I submitted back in March. The piece “A Self-Inflicted Famine” will appear in their next print issue. It’s an older poem, one I’ve cobbled together from some of my many fits and starts, formed and reformed over the years. In the end, it’s a twisted, repetitive poem the narrative of which details with a discreet set of images which are bent and folder over and over again.

I’m still working out the expression of “satisfied” with work’s acceptance.

What is truly interesting about this acceptance as opposed to others was the note from Editor, Esther Cameron. Usually there is some small praise, maybe comments from the decision makers. The editor of The Deronda Review noted that while the poem was clever, the form letter that accompanied it was off-putting and insincere. I should be aghast. But Esther is entirely correct. The letters which accompany my poetry submissions are (largely) form letters, only the headers changing and I frequently use a term which expresses my “admiration for their publication from afar.” This might be translated to mean that I have never seen or read the magazine in question, and my desire is simply for publication.

Whether Esther made these exact connections or something extant of them, I’m not terribly concerned anymore. She asserted that it was enough to turn her off to my work and that is enough for me. How many other times has this (or other) form letters gotten my work tossed back onto the slush pile? If it’s once then it’s too much and I need to reconsider.

I ascribe to the theory that any one response from a reader/editor has four others back of it that went unsaid. Esther Cameron, who I might never meet, is going to be the canary in my coal mine. No more form letters, Esther. No more false assertion of distant admiration. Thank you.