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An Anthology In Honor Of:
Fleshing out the Tenor to Determine
the Venerate vs. the Hoggy Submissions,
Particularly Among Those Expected to
Have Renown of Any Kind (As Can
Potentially or Possibly or Maybe
Be Pretended to Exist Among such
Big Crowded Fishes)

Boy, you can learn a lot by what a
revered or venerable (and these
words I use lightly, as in the part
icular poets could only dream of
such things or one might from the
outside looking in see so much that
can be determined about how each
poet, the subject and the writer of

the accolade, or whatever each 

deciees to inclue.  Should each of

been included.  Does each contributor,

does the showcased poet, the subject,

deserve or not deserve such reverence, 

or does there become the quick and

bland building of a quickly-assumed
pedestal-building stance so as to
most often make a fool out of the
acolyte and often their meat-hogger.

First one must attempt to begin to
set aside all judgment.  Second,
is there any relation whatsoever
between said poet's poem and the
poet the anthology is showcasing.

Surely, dear reader of this detour can 

begin see what I will be and am getting at 

perhaps already.  No matter.  One should 

dig deeply, or at least begin to pick up on 

various high-falutin’ poetasters in such 

sitches, as we, they, oh especially they 

would find themselves numerously seeking

relevance within the pairing.  The combinations.

Who agrees?  Who are always missing,
no matter the closeness or affiliations
with the showcased author?  Who (oh,
check out the poets of the female per
suasion) really makes that effort to
connect, to poignantly reflect on the
connection their poem or their person
has with the subject of the anthology

What does the hunting stories tell, that

these ladies could not (or did the ladies

hunt bisexually? multi-sexually?).  And

what of those who relay the carousing,

infantile or more mature, should that be

a word that works in what might often

be nothing but brags or something to

elicit laughter by a common sex, particularly?

Of course, because oh the men, so often,
and this is just the first fall-back, the
easiest.  Just throw something out that
I just wrote, he must think. And I have
done my duty and given the world what
they want. A taste of me and my work.

Don’t be led down labyrinths with spite
ful or seemingly derogatory or very familiar
and vague –  with regard to how positive or

negative passages – these may be done
in the act of who these two literally did, 

poet and (potentially great friend, or
long-standing points of irritiation,
one to the other), but are more likely
to be REAL.  Dig deeper, ask questions,
figure out the stories that AREN’T told
by those that ARE.

In this way, one can begin to learn
who best to ask when put in charge
or putting oneself in charge of the
next great anthology, the end-all,
be-all send-up to the next subject
of the next anthology showcased
and edited meticulously in hopes
of building the best capsule of who
each of these were to the other
and, most particularly, to the
anthologied author.  Find many
examples and tabulate the flim-flam
from the heartfelt and perhaps obscure
but metaphorically representative of the
actual relationship or better still to splice
good stuff with something seemingly odd
or off-putting which, when studied, becomes
the story of one of the most solid friendships
and collaborations among human writers,
a goldmine, something never known, how
coy the writers seem to toy with one another,
as if lovers, once or always.  A true science
lies among the arts, as sciences do, each
elevating the other, if the editor has done
his job well. This, a job, a taly of infinite

possibilies, meaningful, meangless, and

combinations thereof.