The One Wealthy POET

Poet.com, the URL, is owned by POET, a midwestern biorefinery, now with 26 plants, established in 1986. POET makes ethanol out of corn (grain-based ethanol), and is planning to make even cheaper ethanol from corn stalks and cobs (cellulosic ethanol). That's billion-dollar business and POET is the biggest such operation in the nation. On their rather mystifying website I tried hard to find how a biorefinery got the name "POET," searched to see if it's an acronym, and these are the best I got:

4/13/2007 8:45:11 AM, Countdown to Cellulose, by Jeanne Bernick

"Broin Companies has changed its name to Poet, “a short, memorable name that evokes energy and creativity.” Expanding its Emmetsburg, Iowa, plant to include cellulosic processes is its latest innovation. . ."

and another article: ". . .Broin said they wanted a name that would reflect the unique nature of their organization. "We wanted a name that would represent, rather than describe, who we are and what we do," Broin said. "As a poet takes everyday words and turns them into something valuable and beautiful; we use creativity that comes from common sense to leave things better than we found them."

Wonder if they'd ever hire actual poets.

Thanks to Gaye Gambell-Peterson, who saw a commercial with a steel-jawed guy in a hardhat labeled "Poet" (bet he was embarrassed, and I bet somebody on the set called him a fruit) and forced me to investigate.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Usually I refrain from offering the information I am a writer, and recommend this practice to all writers. "English Teacher" is so nicely cut and dried. But walking on the wild side this week I said "Writer" to a shoe salesman who said he's been in the same business since 1954. He asked what I wrote. My mom chimes in, "Oh she just wrote a book on St. Louis writers," pegging me as a local in a place rather far from St. Louis. Shoe salesman begins recalling many trips to St. Louis to Brown Shoe and International Shoe headquarters, 15th and Washington streets. I tell him that area has changed, is mostly loft dwellings now. "I'm a poet and an essayist," I added rather desperately. "She just won a poetry prize," my mother chimed in. "Yeah. This poetry stuff," I joked, "is really paying off," and I escaped with my new sandals, however sheepishly and lamely. Next time: English teacher.

How to Anger a Poet

Now, I know enough to PICK my battles, but for Christ's sake PLEEZE, America, cut me some slack and don't show me any more course descriptions like this one I saw today:

"POETS AT HEART": We’re all poets at heart. In this course we will address several poetry forms and devices. Class reports will be made defining these forms and devices and each week we will write and read poems (our own and other poets’). Our goal is to gain a greater understanding and appreciation of poetry, along with enhancing our abilities to write poetry. Remember, anybody can write poetry. (Text: Poetry For Dummies.)