Rejection can be immensely useful. Apart from teaching us anger management and giving us an excuse to redecorate that spot where the coffee mug somehow smashed, it's a filter and a warning, dropping a hint that our work might not be ready, indicating which poems might not be on the money, encouraging us to graft once more. Those mights, of course, are due to the vagaries of taste, as mentioned elsewhere on this blog!
In fact, I feel that renowned poets run the risk of never having this chance. Certain editors are keen to have a famous name adorning their mag, so they are liable to take work even if it's not 100% convincing.
In this context, I was interested the other day to read an interview with American poet, Matthew Siegel, in which he discussed his prize-winning collection, Blood Work, which had previously been a runner-up elsewhere in a different form. Here's his view on that process:
“I thank my lucky stars that they didn’t take that book,” he said. “I mean, it’s a great prize — I would have been thrilled to win it — but the book wasn’t ready. And it’s so much better now."
Siegel is also very interesting on his countless magazine rejections. You can read the full piece here.
A month or two at most, I told myself; a place to catch my breath. The long, dry haul of my body’s bulk along the shingle, up the beach, the dragged sl...