The Poem Goes Hollywood
You might not believe this,
but I gave The Poem its first break.
I can tell you when it began
it wasn't such a big deal:
just a simple lyric in free verse
about lost love, regret—you know?
The usual sort of thing.
It wasn't the superstar extravaganza
it is now, with its fancy slant rhymes,
exotic dactyls, and hip, retro, blank verse.
But I liked it.
Then, The Poem got ambition.
I woke up one morning
and found a hastily scribbled note:
Gone to Hollywood.
Wish me luck.
—P.
By the time it got there,
it wasn't a poem anymore,
it was "The Poem."
It got itself an agent,
took meetings, did lunch.
(You know, the usual sort of thing.)
At the pitch meeting,
it was told it had potential,
but that it was too much of a "downer,"
seeing as the boy didn't get the girl,
that the back story
about a struggling poet
was too cliché to be believed.
They said it needed to be more
"reader friendly," so they called in
a poem doctor to punch it
up, formed focus groups,
held test readings at select venues,
and gave it a happy ending.
You've probably already heard
the rest of the story: the publications,
the prizes. The anthology circuit.
By the time I saw The Poem
on Letterman, I barely recognized it,
a couple of sexy, aspiring sonnets
hanging all over it.
Hey, no kidding—
I made The Poem
what it is today, and now
the kid doesn't even
return my calls.
Atlanta Review, vol. 17, no. 1 (Fall/Winter 2010)
