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We heard Charles Rafferty read this poem at the 2003 CT Poetry Festival in New London. As publishers who use form letters of the electronic variety, we were chastened --tongue-in-cheek. We asked Charles for a copy, which he graciously provided. We suspect our readers and authors alike will be amused. --egh Form Letter By Charles Rafferty We regret to say that nothing you have written has held our interest or ever will-- so long as we both speak English. In the future you should not consider us a possible venue for your "poems." Think of us as the North Korean interior, a closet of the Kremlin--a place forbidden to all but those with perfect passports, big enough bribes. You should not take this last part as encouragement. Nor should you try submitting under a famous name with the intention of changing it on the galleys. We want you to know we are never overstocked, that we clamor for the pause that follows articulation of something we needed but didn't know how badly until at last it crossed our desks. Understand that if we were dictators of a totalitarian state, we would pour molasses into your typewriter, we would confiscate your mailbox, we would cripple the tips of your fingers. We do not hope to spare your feelings by the impersonal nature of this reply. Several of our staff would love to point out just how and why you suck. But that would require effort--more, in fact, than you put into your poems . . . Yours was the writing we had in mind as we copied this note ten thousand times. "Form Letter" will be appearing in a new chapbook, titled "A Trayful of Brimming Martinis." It should be out within a few weeks. © Copyright 2003, Charles Rafferty, All Rights Reserved. |
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Document last modified on: 02/10/2004