It’s here. Publication day for Hotel Almighty. Since it’s still the wee hours in the U.S. at this moment I can still talk about it with what the Germans call Vorfreude, or glad anticipation.

As a devotee of solitary pursuits who until our recent quarantine spent most of the time alone on the east coast of Spain, I am very lucky to have this book. I’m grateful.

I started working on the poems that would eventually become Hotel Almighty in late 2016 as part of a project. When it ended I kept going. I loved the excavation and puzzle of erasure poetry but I think it was the visual aspect that held me, the invitation to build a scene.

In mid-2017, still plugging along but without any inkling of doing a book, I moved to Spain. I had a one-bedroom apartment with a back annex that had a wonderful built-in desk that was the clincher of my apartment hunt.

It was freezing in the winter. I got those Dickens gloves without fingertips. It was sweltering in the summer. I took off all my clothes. It was at that desk that I made [Once he forced a small miracle…] and [Fluid the promise…] and many others. I was in the apartment in July 2018 when Sarabande offered to publish the book.

After a year I moved to an apartment closer to the sea. It too had a desk, but a small and charmless one. I adopted the dining table. I lived alone. I could. In March I left in a hurry for Germany without giving the future much thought. All my things are still scattered across that table with no one to touch them.

I’ve been back with my family in Germany through the spring and summer. It’s greener here. I speak the language.

I took the day off as a gift to myself for writing a book. Thanks to Sarabande for their openness and care. It’s rather unbelievable to me to be among their authors.

Happy Tuesday.