Invisible Fame

Descant came today. Good stuff. There's poetry by someone named Sina Queyras, whom I'd missed till now. She blew me away!

I think I've crossed some kind of invisible line. I'm now one of the writers whose name is the front of magazines, tagged with "featuring new work by" or somesuch. If I were a film actor instead of a poet, I'd be in what friend Cameron terms the "hey, it's that guy!" ranking. Of course, as a poet, I aspire to that apex of poetry fame, when you would see my name and, assuming you were an English major, vaguely feel you should have heard of me. Dizzying.

This is fine with me. I can think of nothing better than an anonymous life and a minor reputation for good poems, good cooking, and good company. James, on the other hand -- city-saving planner-boy idealist that he is -- is a bit distressed by the dawning realization that no one is gonna name a building after him.