KEOKUK, Iowa. This town of approximately 11,000 in southeast Iowa, best known as a breeding ground for world-class stock car drivers such as the “Keokuk Gang“–Ernie Derr, Ramo Stott, Don White and Dick Hutcherson–has slowly transformed itself into a literary capital that, while it doesn’t yet rival New York or Paris–is widely recognized as champion within its weight class; greeting card poetry.
Keokuk: It’s not just about stock cars anymore!
“I would say we are currently living in an age that, many years from now, will be viewed as the Golden Age of Greeting Card Poetry, and Keokuk is its center,” says Professor Philip Maistrano, head of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee’s low-residency master of fine arts program in Commercial Verse. “It takes a critical mass for a new movement in poetry to form, and Keokuk has the mass that is missing in traditional poetry hotspots such as Greenwich Village.”
“Use words that are easy to rhyme, such as ‘cat’ instead of ‘pussy.’”
In much the same way that the Iowa Writer’s Workshop at the University of Iowa’s Iowa City campus has come to be known as a feeder school for highbrow literary rags, the Keokuk campus has carved out a niche for itself in the more lucrative genre of greeting card poetry. “I come here every fall to talent-scout for the best versifiers for our three lines of cards,” says Ethel Muller, a buyer for Milestone Cards in Chicago. “I’ve developed relationships with many of the professors, and they tip me off when they spot budding talent who can help us keep our vise-like grip on the lucrative deceased pets market.”
“Shall I compare to a summer’s day? Nah, probably shouldn’t.”
But Muller’s approach may strike some as idiosyncratic; instead of pursuing the best students, she wants those in the lowest quintile of the class. “Your top 80% are going to ‘go literary,’ wearing berets and smoking funny cigarettes,” she says. “Give me the ground chuck, not the filet mignon–your money goes further.”
Today she is meeting with Toni Clements, a young woman who has considered quitting poetry and becoming a hair colorist because, in her words, “school costs money and my grades suck.” Muller has reviewed some of Clements’ work and thinks the young woman has potential. “You’re a diamond in the rough, don’t get discouraged,” she says as she gives her a test question from last year’s GCAT, the greeting card aptitude test used to winnow out those who lack the talent to write rhymed verse for special occasions and who are better suited for careers as nuclear physicists. The assignment: write a quatrain consoling a grief-stricken dog owner. Muller turns over a three-minute egg timer, says “Go!” and leaves the room. When she returns Clements hands her a piece of paper and, with a glum expression on her face, says “I don’t know if it’s any good.”
Muller reads the hand-written words and her face slowly lights up like the eastern horizon at sunrise.
I’m sorry to hear about your loss,
when the truck ran over your puppy.
I hope you’ll get another pet–
maybe you should start with a guppy.
“Young lady,” she says when she is through, “You’re hired!”
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