Two of my poems, “On the Corner of Fourth and York at the Louisville Free Public Library,” and “Walking Aids,” have been published in Number 70 of Kaleidoscope: Exploring the Experience of Disability Through Literature and the Fine Arts.
I’m asking you to read the poems. Please. But come back and finish reading this post after you read the poems because I have some very important questions to ask you about reading.
Thank you for reading my poems, and returning.
These poems, from draft to publication, took four years. They are labors of love and I’m proud of them.
Paper to PDF
As a decade long subscriber of the twice yearly magazine, I submitted to Kaleidoscope on three occasions. It had been a goal since I first read the magazine to have my creative writing appear in it’s paper pages. They rejected “Three Legs of a Bedroom Life” in 2008, and “Mothers and Mallards” in 2010, but their letter stated that they saw “value” in the piece, and that was encouraging. In July 2012, I submitted “On the Corner,” “Walking Aids,” and “Beauty Scars.”
Gail Willmott, the editor, wrote me an email about a future (Issue 68) issue relating “to the fact that often societal and attitudinal barriers are more of a hindrance to people with disabilities that the actual conditions they must deal with… I believe your poems might fit well into that context.”
My poems never appeared in Issue 68, but the email said they planned on publishing them in Issue 70.
While I waited, the magazine sent me a postcard and an email telling subscribers they were going digital, and would no longer be mailing me a paper copy. Oh yeah, the subscription was now free! The digital version would be available in Portable Document Format (PDF) to view online or download to your computer, tablet, or smart phone. This hurt me as much as the rejections. I could afford the subscription and I wanted to see my creative writing on their printed pages. I’m afraid it’s not going to happen ever again, so I occasionally fondle Volume 9, Issue 4 of the Birmingham Arts Journal where my essay, “The Last Peg Leg” resides. (It’s available online as a PDF too.)
Publication
Last fall, I signed the contract, stipulating the pay of ten dollars per poem, and that the rights return to me upon publication. My first creative writing paycheck.
The magazine was posted online in January. I downloaded the PDF a few days later and started reading it on my laptop. I read the editor’s letter on page 5, “Going with the Flow,” and my poems on pages 50 and 51.
Since Kaleidoscope is only published twice a year, I told myself, ‘When I cash the check, I’ll print it out and read it cover to cover,’ which I did this week.
I enjoyed the digital mandala, like the one above, Brazil, by artist Becki Melchione (32). “A Different Direction,” a personal essay by Jenny Patton (6), “Mother’s New Leg,” a short story by Jeffrey Boyer (38), and “Talking the Talk,” a poem by Hal Sirowitz (29) were, for me, especially well-written and thought-provoking.
Having read all the other poems, I was finally ready to read my own again.
Did You See the typo?
Unfortunately, the next to last word in “Walking Aids” was spelled wrong. It should read “diamond-plated” not diamond-planted. When I looked at my original email submission it was correct.
I lamented over it for hours. It had taken me four years to find just the right words for this piece and somewhere along the line, a reader, editor, or AutoCorrect changed diamond-plated to diamond-planted. Maybe a copy editor was unfamiliar with the type of textured steel or aluminum. Most carbon fiber sockets have this distinct pattern because of the way the carbon fiber is weaved into the acrylic.
I read it as diamond-plated when I read it online. I was a lazy reader. I didn’t just read it, I read right through it.
Comments Please
Did your eyes and mind work in split second unity to correct the error for you? Did you read diamond-plated even though the words were “diamond-planted,” an instant AutoCorrect inside your head? Are you a better screen reader or page reader? Did you notice the typo and ignore it? Perhaps you saw the error and quickly deduced the correct word. Did the typo affect the reading of the poem? Did you stop reading, though you only had one more word to read? Did the wrong word affect the meaning for you? Did you ignore my advice, and only after reading about the typo did you read the poems? Please leave a comment about your reading experience.
Typos Are All the Rage
In his book, Steal Like an Artist, Austin Kleon says to go with the rage for a while, but don’t print it, just feel it, and then channel it into your writing. Oh, I’m feeling it!
Is there anything in this world diamond-planted? Is there such a thing? A Google search turns up nothing useful. “Google can bring you back 100,000 answers. A librarian can bring you back the right one,” according to Neil Gaiman There’s a diamond planet, a planet made from carbon, discovered in 2012, according to Wikipedia. I wanted to find some obscure reference to diamond-planting as some Genetically Modified Organism (GMO) that turns a potato into a precious stone, but alas, that was not to be. Diamond-planted had no meaning.
“Time to Change.” Peter Brady
After several circuits through the kitchen into the living room, down the hall, then back into the kitchen, my anger, sadness, and disappointment subsided. I looked at the cover again, and I knew why, despite the error, Kaleidoscope was the best home for these poems. The title to Issue 70 is “Journeying to Acceptance.” I’ve embraced the typo. I was born with a disability, and in the kaleidoscope of paper and digital readers, the poem was disabled, leaving an imperfect reflection of my meaning.
My next leg is going to be made of wood from an actual tree, which, as it turns out is also the best source material, in my opinion, for reading poetry.
Stump The Librarian 
Alan, Congratulations on getting two poems published in /Kaleidoscope/ . Congratulations too,on their publication being in a quality journal, since so manypublications have low standards, poor-to-inadequate editing. I respect your belief in the poems’ worth and in finding the best place for them–and I don’t overlook the sheer perseverance required to get them ‘out there’. I did not see the typo. I also didn’t go back to look for it. I read your poems the way I read all poems–as combination of my own visuals, my own metaphors, my own uses, via the poet’s words and/or intentions. I made your poems mine for the time I was reading them. I don’t remember reading diamond-/plated/ or diamond-/planted/. My focus was on ‘seeing’ that prosthetic leg against a Grandma’s rocker, and the mix of emotions that brought with it. I wondered, for example, whether the wooden crutches you described were like the ones in my garage which I’ve saved because modern crutches are aluminum. But my crutches are dusty and unused, some optional nod to the passage of time. Your crutches wait by the bedside. I don’t feel that my missing that typo diminished what I got from that poem, but I appreciate your frustration, your anger/hurt, at having your words mishandled. Of having your vision and expression turned into something else but retaining your name. I want paper, the smell of ink, the ability to scrutinize graphics from close up. I want something I can take to the back porch, hand to a friend, or pick up immediately without needing to search a plastic, digital device. I want, in short, a book. But because /Kaleidoscope /is digital, not hard copy, it found its way to me–and it wouldn’t have otherwise. No matter what the format, typos are, like disabilities, ‘out there’–claiming some of us, some of the time. I love the aesthetics of wood but I’d likely opt for titanium, when it came to getting around. I’m sorry they messed up your writing. Really. But please don’t forget that baby and the bathwater thing. Don’t think that a typo ruined, or even blemished, your poem. Not for me, at lest. Your two poems showed me things I hadn’t seen before. Thank you for writing them, for getting them publicized, for sharing their publication, for exposing me to /Kaleidoscope/ , and for writing about your frustrations with the typo. For all of it. Beyond prosthetics and typos, we are all still part of the same, old-fashioned, less-than-manufactured tribe. Rivers
Alan,
Congratulations on getting two poems published in Kaleidoscope . Congratulations too, on their publication being in a quality journal, since so many publications have low standards, poor-to-inadequate editing.
I respect your belief in the poems’ worth and in finding the best place for them–and I don’t overlook the sheer perseverance required to get them ‘out there’.
I did not see the typo. I also didn’t go back to look for it. I read your poems the way I read all poems–as combination of my own visuals, my own metaphors, my own uses, via the poet’s words and/or intentions. I made your poems mine for the time I was reading them. I don’t remember reading diamond-plated or diamond-planted. My focus was on ‘seeing’ that prosthetic leg against a Grandma’s rocker, and the mix of emotions that brought with it. I wondered, for example, whether the wooden crutches you described were like the ones in my garage which I’ve saved because modern crutches are aluminum. But my crutches are dusty and unused, some optional nod to the passage of time. Your crutches wait by the bedside. I don’t feel that my missing that typo diminished what I got from that poem, but I appreciate your frustration, your anger/hurt, at having your words mishandled. Of having your vision and expression turned into something else but retaining your name.
I want paper, the smell of ink, the ability to scrutinize graphics from close up. I want something I can take to the back porch, hand to a friend, or pick up immediately without needing to search a plastic, digital device. I want, in short, a book. But because Kaleidoscope is digital, not hard copy, it found its way to me–and it wouldn’t have otherwise. No matter what the format, typos are, like disabilities, ‘out there’–claiming some of us, some of the time. I love the aesthetics of wood but I’d likely opt for titanium, when it came to getting around.
I’m sorry they messed up your writing. Really. But please don’t forget that baby and the bathwater thing. Don’t think that a typo ruined, or even blemished, your poem. Not for me, at lest. Your two poems showed me things I hadn’t seen before. Thank you for writing them, for getting them publicized, for sharing their publication, for exposing me to Kaleidoscope, and for writing about your frustrations with the typo. For all of it. Beyond prosthetics and typos, we are all still part of the same, old-fashioned, less-than-manufactured tribe.
Rivers
Rivers, Thanks so much for your thoughts, and insights into this experience. I absolutely loved your comment about how you read a poem.
These two poems are fabulous, and I especially thought the autumn imagery in the library scene was vivid and sharp. The typographical error on the last line of the other poem didn’t really throw me off, because I was concentrating on the words that were from an unfamiliar setting, so I guess I thought it was part of the hardware terminology I didn’t know.
But I understand exactly how you feel. The newspaper has re-written things in my columns they think is “best”. I had to explain to the 23 year old editor that my writing isn’t news, it’s creative writing and a form of art where I choose each word carefully. Once, they omitted the entire last sentence of the piece which gave perfect closure. (BEAT HEAD AGAINST WALL!!!!!).
I’ve always thought your writing is fabulous, and now it’s confirmed. Print out a copy, have it bound, and then you’ll always have it on the shelf. There’s definite value in holding it in your hands vs. seeing it on a screen (said the newspaper writer).
LA, Thanks for your kind words and suggestions. It was definitely frustrating, considering that creative writing is all they publish. Newspapers, oh, been there, done that too, so I can definitely relate to that. Keep it up though, I look forward to your column, and your southern sense of humor. See you Tuesday.
I read it as “diamond planted.” I admit that I read the last part three times. A bluetooth enabled vacuum? I was trying to figure that one out. When I read “diamond planted,” I pictured in my mind a diamond pattern embedded into the socket, like a texture. I didn’t think it was wrong. Hope that helps. 🙂
Lorraine, I didn’t consider how people would visualize it differently in their mind. Thanks. BTW the leg I had came with a motor that pulled the air out of the socket. The amount of vacuum was controlled through Bluetooth.
I read both poems over several times, and each time I read “diamond-plated”! I didn’t even notice that there was a typo until I read the rest of the post, and even then I still had trouble seeing it as “diamond-planted.” They’re great poems, though! The time and effort and love you put into them really shows through, I think.
A sincere thanks to you for your comments Pai. I’m glad you enjoyed the poem, impressed that you read it properly despite the error, and even followed directions. Wow. Color me impressed, and humbled by kind comments.
First of all, congratulations on having your poems published. I read “diamond-planted” as “diamond-planted” assuming that the ‘plant’ harkened back to other organic words earlier in the poem such as ‘real pine’ and ‘stump’. Since this phrase is in the last line of your poem, I felt that “diamond-planted” was your way of paying tribute to change – i.e. embracing new walking aid technology while honoring old technology. However after reviewing your call-to-action, I went back to Walking Aids and read the poem out loud. When read out loud, the only correct phrase is “diamond-plated”. “Diamond-planted” aloud is inharmonious and sounds like a thud compared to “diamond-plated”. Last of all, congratulations on having your poems published.
Rosalie, Thanks to you for giving my work such a careful reading. There is definitely something to this out loud reading, and that’s usually my final read through on my creative writing. It seems to help with typos too. I’m glad you enjoyed the poems and always love comparisons to other art, but especially music.
I am outing myself here. I didn’t see the typo until you pointed it out. Partly because I was caught in the emotion of your Grandmother’s rocking chair, and partly because your poems (and writing) tend to affect me deeply. My eyes may have been blurry, I donât know. I do know this, though, I feel like you do, wanting the paper. I want the bragging rights of seeing the magazine, book, or what have you, on my coffee table. Being able to see it, hold it. That said, you know now that I admit to an ego boost when I see my words in print.But thereâs something else I want you to know. First, you are not disabled. I know of no one who has inspired me like you have. You are gifted. It takes skill to have a typo appear in our work that the reader doesnât even see because the image is so powerful. Sometimes I think when we suffer, we have more insight than when everything is perfect. You are gifted with words that many of us could only wish for. You are gifted with touching others in a way that most of us have no concept of.Before I fell in my kitchen, I thought I knew what disabled meant. I struggled for 2 years to get back a semblance of my former self. Sometimes when I was in rehab I would think of you and that bike of yours and it would push me to want to be that strong. That brave.You are not less because of your leg, you are more because you show the rest of us how to be in spite of our losses. So, diamond-planted, or diamond-plated. They both say the word diamond. You are rich in images, and in message. Able to see a little more clear. It leaves the reader, well, richer.
I can not find the poems to read Dad
Sent from my Samsung Galaxy Tab®4
First, let me congratulate you on the publication! Don’t you love it when your plan comes together, even if it’s not exactly when you wanted it, and not in the form you expected. That’s frustrating that you can’t get a hard copy…I prefer real paper, myself, so I understand the disappointment. But, be proud! You made it.
I did not notice the typo! I never would have known about it if you hadn’t told me, and since I don’t know much about prosthetics, I didn’t realize it was the wrong word.
I enjoyed getting to know you a little better at the meeting Tuesday. That’s a great little group we have, and I love the fact that we’re all so different, yet when we talk, we find out that we have more in common than we knew.
Thanks for the St. Patrick’s Day bit of green that you shared with us! That was very thoughtful and appreciated.
Judy