I just received this email from the Queen of England:
Dear Rauan Klassnik,
I just wanted to congratulate you (and more) on your superb and inspirational chapbook "Ringing." You'll be glad to know that it's proudly on my shelf along with my other favorites: Michaux, Lautremont, Guyotat, Miller, de Sade, Hefner, Flynt, Kundera, etc.
At first, I must admit, I was a little disappointed. I mis-read the title. I thought it was "Rimming." And, so, I was expecting all sorts of graphic descriptions and illustrations along those sumptuous lines (or curves!). But, my disappointment soon vanished: "Ringing" is simple gorgeous! On cold nights (o, who am I kidding? any night! any day! any twilight. or dead light) I curl up with my Corgis and stroke them as I read yr delicious and dark and sultry words. It's simply magic. A bright-red fire. The Corgis' sullen eyes. And your words like dynamite and daggers in my blood.
Lately, though, the experience of your Ringing is leaving me a little "dry" (if you know what I mean.) And so I'd like to invite you (the next time you're in town) to drop by the palace and give me a personal reading. I'm sure that'll do the trick. (Get these stubborn juices flowing again!)
I've also considered awarding you an OBE or an MBE. But, the hell with that, I'm going to Knight you. So many times (in bed, by the fire, in my bubble bath) I've fantasized laying a cold hard sword on your shoulder and commanding you "Rise up, Sir Klassnik. Rise up now!" Mmmmmmmm: come to me, Rauan, come to me! I'll make us scones and strawberry and clotted cream. We'll go to all the estates. Shoot deer in Scotland. Bring down the Monarch of the Glen! Picnic here, there and everywhere. You'll lie with yr head in my leap. And I'll call you "my little rabbit." +
I'm finding myself at a loss for words now. So, "my little rabbit," (my skin ripples with goosebumps every time I whisper those words---"my little rabbit.... my little rabbit... my little rabbit") I'll end by re-phrasing Emerson:
I find it the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom and passion that America has yet contributed. I'm juiced up in reading it, as great power juices me up. It meets the demand of my sterile and stingy nature and my lymphs and my temperament, my western wit, fats and mean.
Yours Sincerely and Vigorously,
p.s. come to me. come to me. O, come to me. My little rabbit!