We will not accept any “work” you’ve published yourself, print or online. Try to keep up with our reasoning. First, it must be bad, that sad thing you catapulted past the gatekeepers. Otherwise you would have asked us to say “Not this one” or “Came close” or “Try us again” (if your poem was not bad bad but also not good). Second, and this is the key point, we can’t take the risk your self-published work may have found earlier readers in numbers greater than our own modest audience, meaning those rare souls who open our journal’s pages and don’t simply use the cover as a drink coaster. Further, imagine the letdown our readers would feel were they to find out your poem had a history. Wouldn’t that be like blowing up a pizzeria, only to find sluts among one’s celestial virgins? Which is not to say we don’t take simultaneous submissions—we do, with pleasure (and we’re not faking), not merely pleasure of the kind attendant upon simultaneous submission in other contexts but pleasure also in knowing you will have to wait for gatekeepers spread far and wide over the landscape of literary consequence to review your work and debate whether to admit you to the canon. Even more than this, we relish how long you will wait in your demeaning posture of total submission, for by submitting you endorse our authority. We cannot pay you for your work —did we mention that?— and we will require six dollars for each submission (send us up to four examples of your alleged work). But feel free to spend twelve dollars for a speedier rejection. That said, you are urged to read the guidelines with strict attention to the things we tell you we want, such as poetry spelunking the liminal space between the surreal and the lip of eternity. We strongly suggest you purchase our latest issue— seventeen dollars plus shipping by Media Mail. Not to dwell too much on money (our apologies), but you may have heard someone say “gift economy.” We’re saying it now. Understand your work as a gift written at no cost to yourself, or to your readers. And understand us as God’s gift to your so-called work.
NOTES
Over the weekend, hosted this discussion about whether editors of literary journals should consider a submission “previously published” if the work has appeared only on the author’s personal Facebook page or other social media accounts. Naturally, that discusion recalls this one initiated by .
If it matters to you, may it please you to know that this poem’s 123 lines comprise a chain of 41 “exploded” lunes (tercets with a syllabic pattern of 5/3/5). More about the lune here and here.
If you like my so-called work and are looking for the sweet spot between following and becoming a paying subscriber, you can buy me a coffee, with my humble thanks and servile appreciation.
X.P. In your signature style (razor wit delivered inside highly crafted lines), you skewered the gatekeepers😹 😹😹
X. P., may your days be well-caffeinated. This piece is a double espresso for the writer’s brutalized soul. Caustic, bracing, always brilliant. Come on, folks. You need your daily X. P.