The Martin Tanner Incident

Martin’s Tanner’s letter sort of speaks for itself so loudly and with such unintentional self-parody, that I don’t believe a response is necessary beyond letting the readers view it for themselves. What is interesting about the following ( just to put it in its appropriate context) is that my last exchange with Martin Tanner came almost a year prior to the following rant. He had, at that time resubmitted 3 poems I had previously rejected along with a glowing acceptance letter from The National Library of Poetry as proof that I didn’t know what I was talking about. What is of further note is that when these poems had originally been submitted to me as a group of 4 poems, I did, in fact, accept the fourth poem, “Natural Selection” and it appeared in issue number three of Devil Blossoms. Nowhere does he mention any of this in his letter.

Nov. 23, ‘99

In regard to Issue No. 4, Lyn Lifshin, and our last correspondence, should you recall any of it: I am enormously intrigued. What I’ve just finished reading (by Lifshin) is utter horseshit. I’ve already seen Lifshit’s crap in every goddamned publication in the English speaking world, and by god I still can’t figure out for the life of me how she managed to acquire such an outstanding reputation. BULLSHIT. You, her, and your little clique… it took a long time to say this, but fuck you John, and the horse that you rode in on. The material that I previously sent (except for a piece titled “Stop-motion”) was definitely substandard (as I told you, prior to sending it), but you still had to insult me, nonetheless. . leaving me in shreds for a time. I mean, I wasn’t asking for coddling or a bullshit story–I’m 52 years old for christ sakes. Nonetheless you made me feel like shit, and you’ve treated me like shit professionally:

Even “Stopmotion” outclasses both of Lifshin’s contributions in your issue, yet you disregarded me as a fucking joke. Your response to a piece I called “Horribilis” was that it was “latinate,” “19th century,” that it “fell back on three-dollar words,” and that it “read like a two-bit, bad pulp novel,” etc.; now, speaking of bad pulp… good shit, man.. .Lifshin is certainly a shining example of that. I’m telling you outright: the woman sucks.. badly, and speaking of three dollar words.. .now your inclusion of her work wouldn’t by chance be a marketing ploy, would it? A little opportunity knocking, perhaps? A chance to have a “big name” in your publication? You know, I’ve always pictured Lifshin (because I’ve never actually seen her) as a skinny, vacant-eyed space cadet with some type of tiny, goofy little hat on. I’m pissed! You will actually publish this phoney-baloney, this talentless individual… simply because she has somehow miraculously cultivated an image.. .because, for some odd-assed reason, she is in vogue.

You’re all fucking alike, without exception. It’s all about sales, isn’t it? And aside from that, it’s also very much about masturbating, together in your own incestuous, stinky little circle of so-called associates. You’re merely an organization of petty schmucks, who have never really been hungry or have had your hands filth, in truth. Oh, you’re all so goddamned hip, so now, so cool; ahh, you newy-nowy saps.

Don’t bother to respond.. I’m not going to read it, as I also did not read your last letter. I recognize phoney bullshit when I see it, and in doing so I immediately disengage myself from any further association with such people. As it stands I am no longer pursuing publication anyway–at least until I truly feel that I have created some genuine honest-to-god poetry. Your Lifshin could certainly take a lesson from this, because as sure as I’m alive her work belongs in a goddamned restroom… hanging above a urinal. Perhaps this is what you want, yes? God, if her work really does look like art to you, then I’ve definitely, entirely misjudged your so-called expertise; if her type of shit is actually your perception of talent, then I strongly suggest that you immediately climb down from your self-appointed little throne and look much deeper. I still can’t believe it.. you actually had the nerve to tell me that I should “pull my head out of its 19th century ass”‘… shee-it. How dare you.