This week, I’m happy to introduce (or re-introduce) you to poet Joe Weil. If you're a long-time blog follower, you may recall Joe's previous blog contributions (click on the titles below to read):
I’ve known Joe since 1981 and have long admired his amazing poetry, his quick wit, and his uncommon intelligence.
I’ve known Joe since 1981 and have long admired his amazing poetry, his quick wit, and his uncommon intelligence.
Joe was born and raised in Elizabeth, New Jersey and has been described by The New York Times as
personifying that town: "working-class, irreverent, modest, but open to
the world and filled with a wealth of possibilities." After atttending
St. Mary of The Assumption grade school and high school, he worked the graveyard shift at various factories for more than 20 years, mainly
at National Tool and Manufacturing in Kenilworth, New Jersey. During
this time, he became involved in hosting poetry readings in both New
Jersey and New York, and founded the literary magazine Black Swan Review. He is currently a lecturer in the creative writing department at Binghamton University. He and his wife, the poet Emily Vogel, have two children—Clare and Gabriel (Gabriel is my godson).
Often, when I conduct workshops, I’m asked how poets go about
getting readings. Readings are important to those of us who write. They offer opportunities to share our work "up close and personal" and to connect in real "poetry time" with our audiences. As a reading series director since 1998, I think I've probably "seen it all" when it comes to poets looking for reading venues. There are definitely "dos" and "don'ts."
When I saw that Joe had written something about exactly that,
I knew I wanted to share it on this blog. So … here it is, with my thanks to Joe for
his permission to post it.
Enjoy, learn and, hopefully, get some readings
going.
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Etiquette for Soliciting Readings by Joe Weil
1. Before sending a brochure online or hard copy of what you
have to offer as a featured reader, it's always good to get an email address
and send a query letter to the host asking if he or she or they wouldn't mind
getting a brochure or packet via online or hard copy. These are materials. A
simple packet may include:
a web site address where they can
behold your glory, or, if sans web, a packet of sample poems, brief bio, a nice
JPEG, list of previous readings and name of the book you may be trying to sell.
You can also include press clippings, an actual video of you reading, anything
you think will impress the host. But first inquire. Don't bombard anyone. As a
host of readings for over 20 years I hated the hard sell. The poets who were
good never pressured me. Remember some series are booked a year in advance (this
seems to be the fact of funding and organization), so, if the host does not
book you right away, be patient, and, if the reading is near you, why not go
and support it? Do the legwork. If there's an open, read a poem in it—one
really good one. Half my readings came from initially reading in the opens.
2. Make sure, if you're doing several readings in an area that,
you don't book in such a way that you diminish one series for another—in short,
try not to read within 20 miles of the same series at least three weeks before
the gig. If you're reading in Philly and New York City, or some other place
crowded with readings, then that's a different ball game. Show up early. Don’t
pull the “show up late and therefore be the headline feature.” I hate when
poets show up late for their own gigs. It's all too often a power game. They
want to control the event. If you are late, call and let the host know you're
lost or brain dead or whatever. Don't just flutter in with your three names and
your Ezra Pound cape.
3. If possible stay for the whole event. Be gracious if
there's an open, stay and listen. What you receive for your graciousness and
presence exceeds any snobbishness or loathing you might experience. I HATE snobs
whose elitism exceeds their talent. If you're truly a genius, I might tolerate
it. Otherwise, I'll never have you feature for me again because you took off
and left the people who came to see you high and dry. If you have to leave
early, please be slavishly apologetic about it. I love slavishly apologetic.
Even when it’s insincere, I prefer it to "Sorry. Have to go! See you
later!"
4. Never, ever, over-read! Under-read by about a minute. If
someone gives you an hour, they've made a pact with boring. Can you honestly
hold a crowd for an hour without the little coughs and groans mounting? Never,
never, say: “Four more poems!” or “Two more poems!” or anything other than "This
is my last poem." I hate when I'm sitting there and my attention span is
already stretched into transparency and I hear: “four more poems.” NOOOOOO!
Don't do that to me (or to any other sentient creature).
5. Practice your readings, get an idea of how much time each
of your poems takes, including intro, chit chat, etc. Good chitchat is part of
the performance. Bad chitchat (such as a five minute speech before a haiku) is
awful. If you're going to riffle through pages looking for a poem (and we all
do that sometimes) be coy and flirtatious and as attractive as possible while
doing so. Adjust your glasses, take a sip of water. Use that space to center
the audience. Don't just fumble.
6. If possible, include one poem by another poet—a favorite,
preferably one you know by heart. Dylan Thomas filled half his famous readings
with the works of other poets.
7. Keep a log of how your set went. Keep track of how many
books you sold. Observe the crowd. Old, young, academic, townspeople?
8. Right now, people underplay
reading, but it’s the best way to reward your publisher for putting out a book—get
out there and sell it.
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Joe's books are available via Amazon.com—
no poet's library should be without at least one!
no poet's library should be without at least one!
Click on the titles to order.
Gabriel, Emily, Clare, and Joe
MORNING AT THE ELIZABETH ARCH
By Joe Weil
The winos rise as beautiful as deer.
Look how they stagger from their sleep
as if the morning were a river
against which they contend.
as if the morning were a river
against which they contend.
This is not a sentiment
filled with the disdain
of human pity.
They turn in the mind,
they turn
beyond the human order.
filled with the disdain
of human pity.
They turn in the mind,
they turn
beyond the human order.
One scratches his head and yawns.
Another rakes a hand
through slick mats of thinning hair.
They blink and the street litter moves
its slow, liturgical way.
A third falls back
bracing himself on an arm.
Another rakes a hand
through slick mats of thinning hair.
They blink and the street litter moves
its slow, liturgical way.
A third falls back
bracing himself on an arm.
At river’s edge, the deer stand poised.
One breaks the spell of his reflection with a hoof
and, struggling, begins to cross.
One breaks the spell of his reflection with a hoof
and, struggling, begins to cross.
(Reprinted by permission of the author.)
