Short Essay by John Yamrus
this week marks the release of my 35th or 36th book…i’m not quite sure right now and i’m too whipped to take the time to look because I’m just getting over a bout with Covid…but, even with Covid and all the crap that comes with it (my doctor called it “the crud”), the book still came out and things still need to get done. that’s just the way things are.
oh…and the name of the book? i’m glad you asked…it’s called TWENTY FOUR POEMS, and it’s on Amazon and i hope to hell you buy it…not for me, because i’m never gonna get rich off the kind of money i make from my writing…but buy it for my publisher…in this case, that publisher is Meat For Tea Press…buy it for them, because they’re good people and they’re trying to survive running a small business, and, like all small businesses, things are pretty much hand to mouth and day to day. on top of that, in their business, they have to deal with small press authors who for some unfathomable reason think things like marketing and getting the word out and getting books sold is beneath them and not in the least worth their time or effort.
lemme give you an example of this…it’s the kind of “literary attitude” that always pisses me off…it was years ago and i was out promoting whatever new book i had out at the time, and i was on this tv show…just local educational tv…local stuff…no big deal…and i’m standing there in the studio with the host, and it’s a few minutes before we walk out to sit down at his desk to start the show, and i looked over and said to him: “when you think the time’s right, give me a sign so i can tell people how they can buy the book”.
and the guy freezes.
he literally stops moving…turns ghost white and freezes. then he takes this deep breadth and lets it out and says to me: “Sales? SALES??? We’re not about sales…we’re about ART!!!!”
(which he pronounces “ahhhhhhhht.!”…with the same amount of exclamation points and maybe even a hint of British accent.!)
and we walk out and sit down and the station manager counts down and we go live…
if i had any guts back then, i would have stood up, pulled down my pants and taken a whiz all over his desk and his papers and his books and walked off.
i didn’t…but, what i DID do was wait until i thought the time was right and since it was live tv and nobody was able to stop me, i looked right at the camera and told them how to get the book. i really rubbed it in, and if i had thought of it i could have said if they order within the next ten minutes, i’ll throw in a free set of knives, too.
there was only a couple of minutes left to the show and the host just sat there and wouldn’t look at me and didn’t say another word, so i kept on talking and did so until a guy off camera started waving a sign saying it was time to wrap it up…at that point, Winston Churchill woke up and closed the show.
when the cameras were off, i got up and walked out of the place.
i like to think that on my way out i was approached by one of the camera people or the station manager or someone who said something nice to me about standing up to the guy…but i don’t think that happened.
and it doesn’t matter.
what DOES matter is that even that early in my “career”, i understood that at the end of the day writing is about communicating…and if no one’s reading your stuff (buying your books) then you’re not communicating and you’re ultimately not doing your job. you’re failing.
so, here i am…i’ll be 72 in a couple of weeks and i’m still trying to get the word out…not for me…but for the words…for the writing…and for the people who put up the money to put those words into print…it’s about communication, remember?
so…you ask me…what’s it feel like to have a new book out? i think the best way to describe it is that it feels like i was in a race and just crossed the finish line, only to see that it’s only one race and one finish line and there’s still so many races and so many finish lines waiting up ahead.
ever since i was a kid i wanted to write poetry…being an actual “poet” never crossed my mind. really. i mean, guys like Whitman and Mayakovsky and Poe…THEY were poets…real poets…and anything i did or thought or felt was only aspirational. the only thing i ever wanted was to be able to write poetry…it’s amazing, these days, when you look around…it seems that everybody and his brother is a self-proclaimed poet. they all want the title without any of the work. they’re everywhere. go out in your back yard and lift up any big rock and i can almost guarantee you’ll find four self-proclaimed poets fighting for space with 3 or 4 more “artistes”.
i don’t get it.
and i guess i never will.
all i know right now is that i got a new book out…i got a publisher who’s spent their hard earned money on putting it (and me) into print…and if i don’t tell you about it and ask you to buy one, then i’m doing me and you and them a great big fat dirty…and i’m not about to do anything even close to that.
it’s called TWENTY FOUR POEMS, by John Yamrus (Meat For Tea Press).
