This is cross-posted from the Ashland Poetry Press website, but I wanted to add it here too.
We’re finally back at the homestead after AWP-Baltimore.
I don’t know about everyone else, but I think this last year has been rough. Some of that is very obvious and public and socio-political (and that stuff is all very real, for sure), but a lot of the struggle has felt like quiet, solitary pressure – personal, claustrophobic, and endless. To spend last week throwing my hands in the air and saying, “Oh wow – great to see you!” or finally meeting people that I’ve only known through email and submissions, or just leaning on a table and asking, “You’re working on what? Tell me more about that…” was more than a pleasure. It was medicinal.
I think it can be fashionable to treat conferences like this as necessary evils – things we do because we’re supposed to, but which are actually kind of a hassle. And maybe sometimes that’s true. But not one part of me feels that way about last week in Baltimore.
*
Make no mistake: I love that the Poetry Press sold a lot of books (and we did!). And I hope all the people I nudged to submit to the Snyder Prize or Black Fork Review bury us in submissions. As well, I love that the students and first-timers we brought had a great experience, and I hope the panels and readings didn’t disappoint (including ours). The business of writing, publishing, and selling books is a meaningful business to be in.
But I’m on fire today because of all the good goddam people I connected with in Baltimore — the friends who not only believe in the work we all do, but who care about each other; who remind us all who we are.
*
To everyone who stopped by to say hi at the Ashland Poetry Press/Black Fork booth, or came to our reading on Wednesday night, or just caught up with us along the week: thanks for being there. I feel overwhelmed with gratitude for seeing every one of you. If I missed you (either because you didn’t make the conference, or because I just couldn’t find you in the crowd), be in touch. I hope to catch you in Chicago or elsewhere.
You’re good people, literary community. Thanks for letting us/me be a part of the room.
— Chuck Carlise, Director/Editor of Ashland Poetry Press