Years
ago when I started writing poems, I was
anxious
to submit my work to certain prestigious
publications—The
New Yorker, Atlantic Monthly
Poetry
and such. And patiently, I awaited their
replies
in hopes of being accepted. Instead,
I
was notified by letter of one rejection after
another.
Dear, Mr. Hanch, We are sorry to
inform
you that at this time we are not able
to
publish your work...Blah! Blah! Blah! So
that’s
the way it was to be. See if you ever
again
receive a submission from me. I was
sorely
disappointed to put it mildly. I often
wondered,
was my poetry not deemed good
enough
by some academic editor? Were my
pieces
considered not proper or fitting for their
publication?
Could it be poor grammar or trite
and
sophomoric imagery, I wondered? Perhaps
my
last name didn’t ring out exotic or poetic
enough
for them? Or could it be that I had simply
neglected
to dot my “i” s and cross all my “t” s?
My
second wife was once told by an acquaintance
that
Hanch was not a very pretty name. With that,
my
first wife may have certainly agreed.
Chris
Hanch 8-26-19
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