I must admit I was not happy to be rejected as a reader at our big book festival, Wordstock. This happened some weeks ago. I wanted to read from my new book of poems and, Christ, if nothing else I thought they'd honor my contribution to Portland letters over the decades. I also was irritated that the rejection notice said "not this year," as if I'd read in the past or was sure to be alive next year. I've never read there.
At the same time, I'm in a pretty mellow time of my life. So my immediate reaction was to laugh. Then I thought, What a bunch of dumb shits. And my estimation of the local literary power structure declined considerably. I secretly hoped the book would get some public acclaim to make my stiff middle finger look a bit less egocentric.
This makes Bob Hicks' generous remarks today especially well timed. He's one of a handful of really good arts writers in this town. His praise is worth more than Wordstock's rejection.
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