Post by mfwilkie on Jun 4, 2008 21:22:36 GMT -5
It was just a phone call but I think I said Oh, my God, David!
one hundred and fifty-nine times before we hung up.
With David's permission, I am printing the email he received from
John Mella tonight, and the emails from Tim Murphy to John Mella.
Breaking into the the world of meter and rhyme at this level, with
the help of a poet as accomplished as Tim Murphy is, is the
equivelent of ecstacy. The same can be said of John Mella's
comments to David regarding A Study in Rodin.
Enjoy the feeling, mon ami! And be sure to leave room for more
of the same on the Vampire Sonnets.
Mags
From: Tim Murphy
Date: Wed, Jun 4, 2008 at 5:13 PM
To: David Bradsher <marillion6@gmail.com>, John Mella <lightquarterly@sbcglobal.net>
Oh hells bells, John! This infernal machine was only supposed to send you David's sonnet! Not my tour of editors in the po biz. I knew you'd love the sonnet. For my part, I am firmly of the opinion that TOO many sonnets and TOO much ekphrastic poetry is written, and I won't touch either these days with a ten foot pole--except this one. David, meet John. Send him your sonnet directly. Bird dogging Tim
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: John Mella <lightquarterly@sbcglobal.net>
Date: Jun 4, 2008 3:59 PM
Subject: Re: Fwd: Hi Tim. It's David Bradsher from the Sphere
To: Tim Murphy
Tim, thanks for the referral. I wrote the letter to David; it follows;
please forward to him. Thanks. Letter follows:
June 4, 2008
Dear David Bradsher,
I don't have to think much here: this is just too good for me to
fumble. Doubly so, in that I don't care that much about Rodin, the
great posturer. And least of all, that "Thinker" thingy, which gives
me emetic sensations.
That said, I would be delighted to print your poem "A Study in Rodin." It's rare for me to come across a sonnet this good. The ones I tend to run into are ploddingly regular, as predictable as a chain of franchises. Yours is smooth and sophisticated and dead-pan, and very funny.
With best regards,
John Mella/Light Quarterly
7772 Central Ave #3D
River Forest, IL 60305
Tel. 708-488-1388
email: lightquarterly@sbcglobal.net
Dear John,
I'm forwarding you a sonnet from David Bradsher, who works with Alan and me and Sam Gwynn at the Eratosphere. Though he's forty, he's just getting serious about his poetry, and this poem just has John Mella written all over it. I told David I wanted you to see it before he sent it anywhere else. your bird dog, Timothy
A Study in Rodin
by David Nelson Bradsher
She strolled with grace—a goddess in a fur—
holding a handbag and a champagne flute.
My Ego elbowed Id, said, "Look at her!"
so I proceeded, in my warm-up suit,
to shift my sneakers on the slick parquet
and sidle up to the Rodin display.
The Thinker brooded there, a studied pose
of Man's reflective mood (without his clothes).
She stood, absorbed in art, admiring him,
his bundled muscles bronzed and set in state.
I touched my baseball cap, then tipped the brim,
flashed a grin, and asked, "Could this be fate?"
The sleek Parisian smirked and, with a scoff,
she shook her head, mouthed "Non", and sashayed off.
I watched her, slumped to sit, then cocked my wrist,
and pondered the rejection, chin to fist.
one hundred and fifty-nine times before we hung up.
With David's permission, I am printing the email he received from
John Mella tonight, and the emails from Tim Murphy to John Mella.
Breaking into the the world of meter and rhyme at this level, with
the help of a poet as accomplished as Tim Murphy is, is the
equivelent of ecstacy. The same can be said of John Mella's
comments to David regarding A Study in Rodin.
Enjoy the feeling, mon ami! And be sure to leave room for more
of the same on the Vampire Sonnets.
Mags
From: Tim Murphy
Date: Wed, Jun 4, 2008 at 5:13 PM
To: David Bradsher <marillion6@gmail.com>, John Mella <lightquarterly@sbcglobal.net>
Oh hells bells, John! This infernal machine was only supposed to send you David's sonnet! Not my tour of editors in the po biz. I knew you'd love the sonnet. For my part, I am firmly of the opinion that TOO many sonnets and TOO much ekphrastic poetry is written, and I won't touch either these days with a ten foot pole--except this one. David, meet John. Send him your sonnet directly. Bird dogging Tim
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: John Mella <lightquarterly@sbcglobal.net>
Date: Jun 4, 2008 3:59 PM
Subject: Re: Fwd: Hi Tim. It's David Bradsher from the Sphere
To: Tim Murphy
Tim, thanks for the referral. I wrote the letter to David; it follows;
please forward to him. Thanks. Letter follows:
June 4, 2008
Dear David Bradsher,
I don't have to think much here: this is just too good for me to
fumble. Doubly so, in that I don't care that much about Rodin, the
great posturer. And least of all, that "Thinker" thingy, which gives
me emetic sensations.
That said, I would be delighted to print your poem "A Study in Rodin." It's rare for me to come across a sonnet this good. The ones I tend to run into are ploddingly regular, as predictable as a chain of franchises. Yours is smooth and sophisticated and dead-pan, and very funny.
With best regards,
John Mella/Light Quarterly
7772 Central Ave #3D
River Forest, IL 60305
Tel. 708-488-1388
email: lightquarterly@sbcglobal.net
Dear John,
I'm forwarding you a sonnet from David Bradsher, who works with Alan and me and Sam Gwynn at the Eratosphere. Though he's forty, he's just getting serious about his poetry, and this poem just has John Mella written all over it. I told David I wanted you to see it before he sent it anywhere else. your bird dog, Timothy
A Study in Rodin
by David Nelson Bradsher
She strolled with grace—a goddess in a fur—
holding a handbag and a champagne flute.
My Ego elbowed Id, said, "Look at her!"
so I proceeded, in my warm-up suit,
to shift my sneakers on the slick parquet
and sidle up to the Rodin display.
The Thinker brooded there, a studied pose
of Man's reflective mood (without his clothes).
She stood, absorbed in art, admiring him,
his bundled muscles bronzed and set in state.
I touched my baseball cap, then tipped the brim,
flashed a grin, and asked, "Could this be fate?"
The sleek Parisian smirked and, with a scoff,
she shook her head, mouthed "Non", and sashayed off.
I watched her, slumped to sit, then cocked my wrist,
and pondered the rejection, chin to fist.
