Thursday morning, waiting for the cable man

Yesterday, a woman I barely know approached me in the corridor of Prince Lucien Campbell Hall (home of the UO English Department) and mentioned that she had seen my poem "Second Day of Autumn" in Gulf Coast. I was a bit surprised that this near stranger (I see her in the hall occasionally, but we've never really spoken) would a) know who I was and b) talk to me about poetry--my poetry. Then I was irritated because it occurred to me that I haven't even seen my poem in Gulf Coast. I'm assuming that they'll send contributor's copies. Anyone else seen it?

And then this morning, I see that C. Dale made Jordan's list, so I head on over to have a look, and lo! at number 1412, there it is: "Anthony Robinson, 'Second Day of Autumn.'" (See me also at 232, 801, and 802.) This means Jordan Davis has liked four of my poems this year, three of which appear in my unpublished (but wickely good) new manuscript. Book? Book?

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I really did write that poem on the second day of Autumn (and I can hear a workshop leader in my head chiding me for uncreative titling). And then, about six weeks later, I became involved with a woman whom I actually thought I might marry someday. I was in and out of love pretty quickly, pretty harshly. That happened on my brother's birthday, which is also Veteran's Day and Kurt Vonnegut's birthday, and the day that I slept with a friend who became a lover who became an ex-lover and ex-friend in the space of a few months and who now is getting married. And now I have a new lover whom I love very much and who is also my friend, and with whom I'll be going to San Francisco in three weeks. And Gulf Coast published my poem that is slightly related to this thing, this LIFE that I supposedly had, and they won't even give me a copy.

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Five of my ex-lovers are married or engaged to be married. Maybe others, too. What does this say about the Tony?

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And Bob Mould is singing to me and he tells me that everything will be all right, which Lou Reed is always telling me too. I should listen.

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There is freedom within; there is freedom without trying to catch the deluge in a paper cup. What? I mean, it sounds great, it's a nice song, but what's that line mean? Is Neil Finn giving props to John Lennon here? Or is he just a crazy Kiwi?