The MFA School teaches that a poet’s first book should make its name. The poet should submit its book, paying for the privilege, to be judged for prizes, which usually include publication through a university press (or equivalent) and some monetary award, which varies depending on the prize.
There’s a poet we know who won what is arguably the most prestigious first book prize out there. In order to get the prize, the poet states the manuscript was submitted to “every major contest” in the country (“50 or so at that time”) at an average cost of $30 per submission. The poet went through this process for 4 years in a row. If the details the poet describes are accurate, the poet spent 4 years and $1500 submitting the book for publication in the manner which, until recently, was the only established way to get a poet’s first book published in America.
The poet then waited 18 months or so for the publication process to complete. The publication process for this poet, from the time of the first manuscript submission to the time the poet held the finished book, was 5 and one-half years. Many may argue that the recognition achieved by such a prize is worth the time/money/etc. We will examine the soundness of this claim at a later date, in another post.
The poet states that some of the poems which comprised the book had been in process for over 5 years. If this is true, from the time the earliest poems were written, the whole process of actively writing and publishing the book has taken over a decade.
The book this poet published is one of the most fully realized poetry collections published in America after the sixties era, according to The MFA School’s implicit workshop aesthetic. It is a success by all the normal standards and would eventually secure the poet a tenure-track teaching position, Assistant Professor at [your state university here].
However, this hire started the poet’s tenure clock, which ranges on average from 3 to 7 years. The poet essentially must publish another, better, more esteemed full-length collection before the clock winds down in order to retain employment with the college—though, in some cases the tenure committee may grant tenure based on a large number of publications in prestigious magazines and journals, as long as the right book with the right publisher is certain to follow. In either case, the poet’s work is now yoked to the need to obtain tenure. If the poet is unable to publish the proper amount of the right kind of work in the right publications, as deemed by the committee, the poet will be fired, and any hope for a successful teaching career will end.
The committee usually decides well before the clock has run down, however, whether the poet has a legitimate hope of obtaining tenure from the committee. If the poet has no hope, as deemed by the committee, the poet will be given the opportunity to resign—at which time, there may be a chance to escape the clock and begin again at another university in another state. But the poet’s odds of obtaining another tenure track position are now significantly lower than the seemingly impossible odds with which it began.
The goodness of a book of poetry, in The MFA School, is irrelevant outside of the opportunities it creates for the poet as teacher, speaker, etc., outside of the marketable name it makes for the poet.
Aristophanes
ManuFactured Artists 