The Fate of Literary Journals
by Toi Derricotte | Just try to get rid of them.
The stacks of them on the floor in front of my bookcases were so high I couldn’t reach the books on the bottom shelves—beautiful quarterlies, some with the photograph of a young or great old poet on their covers. A few I published poems in (in days when journals were the only way to go). Many almost new, from 2019, 2020, 2021. As if it were a paper boat, I have tried to keep the literary world afloat.
From most I had read only a few poems, taking a new arrival to the bathroom and flipping through to see how far behind my taste lags, folding down the pages of a few poets I know and a few I’ve never heard of, promising myself to return to them. But so many journals had hardly been touched or were untouched, still in cellophane. And in the living room, no more books could be added to tables and footstools for color, to be part of the décor. Suddenly, two huge grocery sacks from Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s, packed so heavy I could hardly lift them.
~~~
The university library won’t take them, and the local library and its branches don’t have space. The used bookstore only buys used books. Then, shopping at the upscale stores on Walnut Street (Williams Sonoma, Banana Republic), I notice a wrought iron garbage container perfectly painted a dark and prosperous green. What if I prop one bag against it, like a forgotten treasure, and see how it goes? And, if no one takes it, the garbage men will pick it up and I’ll never know.
~~~
Later, when I come out of the Apple store, I notice a woman bent over the bag, balancing it on the side of the garbage can. So she knows it’s not a bag of precious clothes and a Rolex. She knows it’s something for a reader, someone who recognizes the gift and will go through and claim one or two books for herself. She may feel excited, like someone called up to the stage during The Price Is Right. It seems like it’s happening as I planned, perfectly, and so, the next day, I bring the second bag and leave it in the same place.
~~~
Today, I get an email from my speaking agent, who says a lady in Pittsburgh emailed her that she found two bags of literary journals with my name and address on them and wants to know if I want them returned to me.
Toi Derricotte’s sixth collection of poetry, “I”: New and Selected Poems, was shortlisted for the 2019 National Book Award. Since 2020, she has been the recipient of the Lannan Lifetime Achievement Award, the Pegasus Award from the Poetry Foundation, the Wallace Stevens Award from the Academy of American Poets, and the Frost Medal from the Poetry Society of America. With Cornelius Eady, she cofounded Cave Canem, a home for the many voices of African American poetry, in 1996.
This essay is a Short Reads original.
