Thanks to Talia Reed I joined the August 2009 Poetry Postcard Fest and it was a great challenge to experience. I dare you all to try something new, be part of something larger than writing at your desk by yourself. Whether it’s joining the Perennial Postcard call or joining a writing group to meet fellow writers, dare to go outside your comfort zone and be part of something bigger. Good luck to all of you who go for it!
Thanks for dropping in, please stop by next Monday for another featured site…
*Next Tuesday will feature an interview with Hosho McCreesh and Chris Cunningham on their collaborative book of letters so be sure to stop in for it as well…
Friday, September 4, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Wicked Alice Open Submissions
You have until Sept. 30th to submit 3-5 poems, any length, in an e-mail (paste your poems into the e-mail, please) to wickedalicepoetryATyahooDOTcom. Wicked Alice focuses on the female experience but you do not have to be a female writer. Please be sure to include your contact information and check out further guideline details using the link below:
http://www.sundress.net/wickedalice/submissions.html
Good luck to all who submit! Please drop in tomorrow…
http://www.sundress.net/wickedalice/submissions.html
Good luck to all who submit! Please drop in tomorrow…
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Poems Found by Poet Hound
http://arseniclobster.magere.com/200101.html
“A Tiger Lurks in the Night Forest” by Louis Daniel Brodsky
http://www.alicebluereview.org/main.html
“Sonorium” by Brian Strang
Thanks for clicking in, please click in tomorrow for more Open Submissions...
“A Tiger Lurks in the Night Forest” by Louis Daniel Brodsky
http://www.alicebluereview.org/main.html
“Sonorium” by Brian Strang
Thanks for clicking in, please click in tomorrow for more Open Submissions...
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
An Interview with Talia Reed
1. The poems your chapbook, This Admirable Miry Clay published by Dancing Girl Press, can be haunting, much like the pair of eyes on the cover done in watercolor by Kitty Rababah. Can you tell me how you chose the art for the cover to draw the reader in and prepare him or her for the poems that follow?
Kitty Rababah is my fraternal grandmother (Nana), whom I’m very close to, and I always thought that if I was lucky enough to get a book published, I’d have her do my cover. She’s the hip, 70-year-old chick depicted in my poem “Age & Experience.” When I got word that Dancing Girl was going to publish the chapbook, I immediately asked her if she had anything she thought would work. She spent a few days painting things that she thought had a similar mood or tone to my poetry. I sent them along to Kristy Bowen and she chose one from those. I think it’s been good for Nana, as she’s been doing some abstract painting, a style she hadn’t tried much before, and is now teaching a painting class at her apartment complex.
2. Your poem, Shiver, depicts various eerie visuals and a feeling of uncertainty. How did this poem come about and what do you hope readers take away from it?
Shiver
as birds are often crushed
so we swallow the
lemon, tomato, the orphan.
intuit disaster.
hard water pounding stainless steel.
Washington Monument strikes through a cloud.
My Indiana crumbles down.
the lightning flashes so silent;
that frozen moment where
Sudden meets Unknown;
where sprouted my own fear;
what crash, what jarring, what
piles left over.
sensation of emptiness.
I think the most successful part of this poem is, perhaps, the title, as that is what I hope the reader feels or grasps when experiencing this poem—an emotional equivalent to that little breeze that blows down one’s back and sends a chill to shake off.
3. In “Yellow Madness” I get the sense that this poem is about a family member who is dying or has died and how that is affecting the entire family? The end of the poem makes reference to the color yellow--am I right in assuming it is in reference to a diseased liver? I think it is interesting that you include a common turn-of-phrase in the poem with a slight change in its verb: “Death is warming over” Can you explain what you mean in the poem by “Death warming over” and the impetus of this poem?
Yellow Madness
Blanched grass is beaten down flat. I hose it
and hope to resurrect it, like the floor
that bubbled up when my father tried to
break a heavy dish against its
soft and waxy linoleum.
A welt grew in all of us, only temporary,
to be rubbed numb and mostly forgotten.
And there sprouted a pattern, a thing that
killed the good-enough of life itself with
its thick tumors visible.
Forget about seamlessness.
Anger cooks up and my mother sets it
at my father’s place. Steam gathers up
and drips back like stalagmites.
Death is warming over
in the bright eyes and fresh livers, in the
thirsty in the virtuous in the guilty.
The sick yellow thick of it is there, in the
jaundiced madness and the marigold.
In the amber-liquid nightmare.
The yellow glazing
over and waxing
hard silent cymbal goes crashing.
The idea for this poem came from the name of a breed of petunias (White Madness) that I bought one summer for my flower garden. The name intrigued me so much that I thought of a color that I could associate with a number of meaningful images, and the rest kind of happened. In the poem, I do name some experiences, which lead me into colors that could be associated with tragedy. While I write about this I hope that the line “Forget about seamlessness” stands out loud and clear. Life is messy. That’s the truth of it. I don’t expect seamlessness.
4. My favorite poem in your collection is titled “Age & Experience.” I get the sense that this is one lively grandmother that makes you feel dull in comparison. I love the lines “My body, a wilted flower, though well-preserved” as a description of yourself. Then later, the description of your grandmother: “100% silk. Expensively perfumed…Her blond curls/vivid, her clothes, a new and crisp complement.” Can you tell us a little bit about this poem and more about your grandmother—or the woman you’ve taken poetic license to label as your grandmother?
Note: Line 6 taken from Norman Dubie’s “Sky Harbor”
Age & Experience
My grandmother, a legend of her own,
flicks cigarettes into the grass. Practiced
with the parietal bone. Steps on them
with her kitten-heel sandal. Seduced
with their red lipstick rings.
I have been dead for hours.
My body, a wilted flower, though well-preserved,
like a florist’s bouquet, arranged in a
crystal vase of water mixed with powder.
But my grandmother excellest them all.
100% silk. Expensively perfumed.
Her pick of husbands before and after
marriage. Her habits of chain smoking and
false teeth are no deterrent. Her blond curls
vivid, her clothes, a new and crisp complement.
Her words well-practiced with age and experience:
Orchid
Dancer
Darling.
I am not as alive.
Yes, my Nana, the same one who painted the cover, is one of those fun, spunky people who when you meet you never forget. I’ve gotten a lot of writing material out of her. She really radiates throughout the family, leaving her mark on her children and grandchildren in interesting ways. I’ve always been close to her and felt comfortable sharing things with her, and have really come to appreciate her all the more, now that I’m an adult and realize how lucky I am to still have a grandparent, let alone one like her. She’s very much a unique individual. She has the open-mindedness of Oprah Winfrey and the growing-old-gracefully of Madonna. She’s also been a real encourager and cheerleader for me in my creative endeavors. A few weeks ago she had me come over to her apartment to sign copies of my chap that she had sold to some of her friends.
5. Your most moving and visceral poem is “To Grief” to which you say in the poem you met through death. The last line which really begins on the second to last line: “Ready/ for you, having birthed you, raised you, killed you” is an amazing way to describe how so many of us have felt when facing an extraordinary loss in regards to grief. Can you talk about your experience being translated into this poem? May I ask who passed away and what made this person mean so much to you?
To Grief
I.
Grief you are some bizarre
new birth that I parent;
rinsing clean the muddy view,
dissecting the chosen few,
slitting the throats,
wounding, burning, devouring
the bodies of what I thought I knew.
The twinkling comes first:
silver-lined cloud nine;
how the smile gleams—
hacksaw tooth sharp serrated blade
trimming down the unmade
corners of my lips. It is this:
the graveyard full, the body gone. Death is how I met you.
II.
Being with me, a thorn
in the side. Carry you,
carry me. Small strides
from darkness to dim light. Bloody rivulets
for such a cut, a cut no less,
babbles out enough remorse
to rust, to mourn, the torn repeating course.
Some beautiful, scary, spoon-fed
vessel leaks this teary seepage;
sliding and ebbing onto a
well-worn shore and the faces know
deep creases with well-made beds
flat mouths, stern stance, and steady. Ready
for you, having birthed you, raised you, killed you.
This poem was actually my first poem ever accepted for publication—from Main Street Rag—and I’m glad of that because it represents things in my life that sort of brought me to my knees, made me wake up out of my youthful stupor and make some real decisions. An old friend was killed in a hit-and-run accident, and the grief that haunted me afterward was incredibly unexpected, and extremely difficult for those around me to understand. It took me quite a bit of work to overcome, which ultimately resulted in my returning to writing poetry, and even getting a college degree, as well as some other interventions. Because this is one of my earlier poems, I think the heavy Plath influence is very apparent here. But I’m not ashamed of that one bit!
6. I notice in your collection a tendency towards certain words such as “shiver” and “bone.” What are your favorite words to see visually on the page and what are some of your favorite words to say? Feel free to give any explanations for any words that you choose.
Words are the things that draw me into writing, and the ability to be broken and fragmented with them is the reason I’m drawn into poetry. I like to look in certain crevices of the world for words—news articles, and other people’s poems are good resources—and I think discovering words out of context allow my mind to explore situations out of context, allowing for, hopefully, a fresh way to experience the world. I do keep a word document in my computer saved as “Brainstorm,” onto which I paste copied text from, mostly news articles. Here are a few samples I have currently in that document:
awayed
suckered
omnicorporal
slavish
contextless
analyticity
displaced air
7. Which poem in this collection are your proudest of, and if it’s not already included, please include it here and explain the poem’s origins or why you are so proud of it?
I’m pretty proud of “Trust Me,” but I really think I lucked out with the way it came to me. It was published by Avatar Review, and they recorded my reading of it for the website. I think it echoes a rhythm of urgency that I feel necessary in terms of tone in my poetry, or at least in this collection of poetry. I very much feel like what’s inside of me is “pent-up heat” in the chambers of a gun, ready to be “unloaded.” And that unloading is the poem itself.
Trust Me
Trust me. There could have been a real explosion
with all of this flammable notion
in the air, and me unloading
my gun, with its pent-up heat in the chambers.
There could have been more billboards of those
wordless conversations—enough of them
towering into the ether.
Our skulls could have kept rattling around
shaking the insubordinate thoughts like
a maraca .
But trust me. We melted down the energies
of some of our dreams and poured them into
other things. We kept awake by slapping
our cheeks and feeling
the warm wind rush on the long haul home.
8. Do you have other hobbies and interests outside of poetry and do you mind sharing them? Do they influence your writing at all?
I teach 8th grade English in a very rural community and that has really softened me a little. I’m beginning to become more of a “people person” something quite far from the introverted poet cliché that I’ve always been. I’ve written a poem or two about a student, but more than anything being around adolescents who are very much in tune with trying to find their own identities at that strange point in life has sent me on many nostalgic, soul-searching adventures of my own.
9. Are you working on another collection of poems right now and can you tell us a little bit about them? Are there any future publications we can look forward to seeing and where can we find them?
I am not working on any collections. I’m just trying to crank out a new poem every now and then, fine-tune it, and then find a home for it. I have written a few poems dealing with various Indiana locations and have clustered them into a single file, sort of as an experiment to see if it will grow or not, but being a school teacher has really consumed me in the last twelve months. I wrote a little this summer, but mostly took one long deep breath. I’m OK with that. I think I’ve got a lot of growing to do, and am going to see how that turns out.
Mrs. Reed, thanks for taking the time to answer my questions and for being an active member of Poet Hound since its inception. It’s been a pleasure commenting back and forth and I hope our tradition continues. Good luck on your future artistic works and keep us up-dated!
If you enjoyed this interview and the sample of poems featured here, you can purchase a copy of Talia Reed’s chapbook, This Admirable Miry Clay from Dancing Girl Press for $7.00, which includes shipping and handling, at:
http://www.dancinggirlpress.com/admirable.html
Dancing Girl Press is headed by Kristy Bowen who publishes women’s poetry so please check out her main website at:
http://www.dancinggirlpress.com/index.html
To learn more about Talia Reed or find more of her work, you can visit her blog at:
http://thisadmirablemiryclay.blogspot.com/
Thanks always for reading, please drop in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…
Kitty Rababah is my fraternal grandmother (Nana), whom I’m very close to, and I always thought that if I was lucky enough to get a book published, I’d have her do my cover. She’s the hip, 70-year-old chick depicted in my poem “Age & Experience.” When I got word that Dancing Girl was going to publish the chapbook, I immediately asked her if she had anything she thought would work. She spent a few days painting things that she thought had a similar mood or tone to my poetry. I sent them along to Kristy Bowen and she chose one from those. I think it’s been good for Nana, as she’s been doing some abstract painting, a style she hadn’t tried much before, and is now teaching a painting class at her apartment complex.
2. Your poem, Shiver, depicts various eerie visuals and a feeling of uncertainty. How did this poem come about and what do you hope readers take away from it?
Shiver
as birds are often crushed
so we swallow the
lemon, tomato, the orphan.
intuit disaster.
hard water pounding stainless steel.
Washington Monument strikes through a cloud.
My Indiana crumbles down.
the lightning flashes so silent;
that frozen moment where
Sudden meets Unknown;
where sprouted my own fear;
what crash, what jarring, what
piles left over.
sensation of emptiness.
I think the most successful part of this poem is, perhaps, the title, as that is what I hope the reader feels or grasps when experiencing this poem—an emotional equivalent to that little breeze that blows down one’s back and sends a chill to shake off.
3. In “Yellow Madness” I get the sense that this poem is about a family member who is dying or has died and how that is affecting the entire family? The end of the poem makes reference to the color yellow--am I right in assuming it is in reference to a diseased liver? I think it is interesting that you include a common turn-of-phrase in the poem with a slight change in its verb: “Death is warming over” Can you explain what you mean in the poem by “Death warming over” and the impetus of this poem?
Yellow Madness
Blanched grass is beaten down flat. I hose it
and hope to resurrect it, like the floor
that bubbled up when my father tried to
break a heavy dish against its
soft and waxy linoleum.
A welt grew in all of us, only temporary,
to be rubbed numb and mostly forgotten.
And there sprouted a pattern, a thing that
killed the good-enough of life itself with
its thick tumors visible.
Forget about seamlessness.
Anger cooks up and my mother sets it
at my father’s place. Steam gathers up
and drips back like stalagmites.
Death is warming over
in the bright eyes and fresh livers, in the
thirsty in the virtuous in the guilty.
The sick yellow thick of it is there, in the
jaundiced madness and the marigold.
In the amber-liquid nightmare.
The yellow glazing
over and waxing
hard silent cymbal goes crashing.
The idea for this poem came from the name of a breed of petunias (White Madness) that I bought one summer for my flower garden. The name intrigued me so much that I thought of a color that I could associate with a number of meaningful images, and the rest kind of happened. In the poem, I do name some experiences, which lead me into colors that could be associated with tragedy. While I write about this I hope that the line “Forget about seamlessness” stands out loud and clear. Life is messy. That’s the truth of it. I don’t expect seamlessness.
4. My favorite poem in your collection is titled “Age & Experience.” I get the sense that this is one lively grandmother that makes you feel dull in comparison. I love the lines “My body, a wilted flower, though well-preserved” as a description of yourself. Then later, the description of your grandmother: “100% silk. Expensively perfumed…Her blond curls/vivid, her clothes, a new and crisp complement.” Can you tell us a little bit about this poem and more about your grandmother—or the woman you’ve taken poetic license to label as your grandmother?
Note: Line 6 taken from Norman Dubie’s “Sky Harbor”
Age & Experience
My grandmother, a legend of her own,
flicks cigarettes into the grass. Practiced
with the parietal bone. Steps on them
with her kitten-heel sandal. Seduced
with their red lipstick rings.
I have been dead for hours.
My body, a wilted flower, though well-preserved,
like a florist’s bouquet, arranged in a
crystal vase of water mixed with powder.
But my grandmother excellest them all.
100% silk. Expensively perfumed.
Her pick of husbands before and after
marriage. Her habits of chain smoking and
false teeth are no deterrent. Her blond curls
vivid, her clothes, a new and crisp complement.
Her words well-practiced with age and experience:
Orchid
Dancer
Darling.
I am not as alive.
Yes, my Nana, the same one who painted the cover, is one of those fun, spunky people who when you meet you never forget. I’ve gotten a lot of writing material out of her. She really radiates throughout the family, leaving her mark on her children and grandchildren in interesting ways. I’ve always been close to her and felt comfortable sharing things with her, and have really come to appreciate her all the more, now that I’m an adult and realize how lucky I am to still have a grandparent, let alone one like her. She’s very much a unique individual. She has the open-mindedness of Oprah Winfrey and the growing-old-gracefully of Madonna. She’s also been a real encourager and cheerleader for me in my creative endeavors. A few weeks ago she had me come over to her apartment to sign copies of my chap that she had sold to some of her friends.
5. Your most moving and visceral poem is “To Grief” to which you say in the poem you met through death. The last line which really begins on the second to last line: “Ready/ for you, having birthed you, raised you, killed you” is an amazing way to describe how so many of us have felt when facing an extraordinary loss in regards to grief. Can you talk about your experience being translated into this poem? May I ask who passed away and what made this person mean so much to you?
To Grief
I.
Grief you are some bizarre
new birth that I parent;
rinsing clean the muddy view,
dissecting the chosen few,
slitting the throats,
wounding, burning, devouring
the bodies of what I thought I knew.
The twinkling comes first:
silver-lined cloud nine;
how the smile gleams—
hacksaw tooth sharp serrated blade
trimming down the unmade
corners of my lips. It is this:
the graveyard full, the body gone. Death is how I met you.
II.
Being with me, a thorn
in the side. Carry you,
carry me. Small strides
from darkness to dim light. Bloody rivulets
for such a cut, a cut no less,
babbles out enough remorse
to rust, to mourn, the torn repeating course.
Some beautiful, scary, spoon-fed
vessel leaks this teary seepage;
sliding and ebbing onto a
well-worn shore and the faces know
deep creases with well-made beds
flat mouths, stern stance, and steady. Ready
for you, having birthed you, raised you, killed you.
This poem was actually my first poem ever accepted for publication—from Main Street Rag—and I’m glad of that because it represents things in my life that sort of brought me to my knees, made me wake up out of my youthful stupor and make some real decisions. An old friend was killed in a hit-and-run accident, and the grief that haunted me afterward was incredibly unexpected, and extremely difficult for those around me to understand. It took me quite a bit of work to overcome, which ultimately resulted in my returning to writing poetry, and even getting a college degree, as well as some other interventions. Because this is one of my earlier poems, I think the heavy Plath influence is very apparent here. But I’m not ashamed of that one bit!
6. I notice in your collection a tendency towards certain words such as “shiver” and “bone.” What are your favorite words to see visually on the page and what are some of your favorite words to say? Feel free to give any explanations for any words that you choose.
Words are the things that draw me into writing, and the ability to be broken and fragmented with them is the reason I’m drawn into poetry. I like to look in certain crevices of the world for words—news articles, and other people’s poems are good resources—and I think discovering words out of context allow my mind to explore situations out of context, allowing for, hopefully, a fresh way to experience the world. I do keep a word document in my computer saved as “Brainstorm,” onto which I paste copied text from, mostly news articles. Here are a few samples I have currently in that document:
awayed
suckered
omnicorporal
slavish
contextless
analyticity
displaced air
7. Which poem in this collection are your proudest of, and if it’s not already included, please include it here and explain the poem’s origins or why you are so proud of it?
I’m pretty proud of “Trust Me,” but I really think I lucked out with the way it came to me. It was published by Avatar Review, and they recorded my reading of it for the website. I think it echoes a rhythm of urgency that I feel necessary in terms of tone in my poetry, or at least in this collection of poetry. I very much feel like what’s inside of me is “pent-up heat” in the chambers of a gun, ready to be “unloaded.” And that unloading is the poem itself.
Trust Me
Trust me. There could have been a real explosion
with all of this flammable notion
in the air, and me unloading
my gun, with its pent-up heat in the chambers.
There could have been more billboards of those
wordless conversations—enough of them
towering into the ether.
Our skulls could have kept rattling around
shaking the insubordinate thoughts like
a maraca .
But trust me. We melted down the energies
of some of our dreams and poured them into
other things. We kept awake by slapping
our cheeks and feeling
the warm wind rush on the long haul home.
8. Do you have other hobbies and interests outside of poetry and do you mind sharing them? Do they influence your writing at all?
I teach 8th grade English in a very rural community and that has really softened me a little. I’m beginning to become more of a “people person” something quite far from the introverted poet cliché that I’ve always been. I’ve written a poem or two about a student, but more than anything being around adolescents who are very much in tune with trying to find their own identities at that strange point in life has sent me on many nostalgic, soul-searching adventures of my own.
9. Are you working on another collection of poems right now and can you tell us a little bit about them? Are there any future publications we can look forward to seeing and where can we find them?
I am not working on any collections. I’m just trying to crank out a new poem every now and then, fine-tune it, and then find a home for it. I have written a few poems dealing with various Indiana locations and have clustered them into a single file, sort of as an experiment to see if it will grow or not, but being a school teacher has really consumed me in the last twelve months. I wrote a little this summer, but mostly took one long deep breath. I’m OK with that. I think I’ve got a lot of growing to do, and am going to see how that turns out.
Mrs. Reed, thanks for taking the time to answer my questions and for being an active member of Poet Hound since its inception. It’s been a pleasure commenting back and forth and I hope our tradition continues. Good luck on your future artistic works and keep us up-dated!
If you enjoyed this interview and the sample of poems featured here, you can purchase a copy of Talia Reed’s chapbook, This Admirable Miry Clay from Dancing Girl Press for $7.00, which includes shipping and handling, at:
http://www.dancinggirlpress.com/admirable.html
Dancing Girl Press is headed by Kristy Bowen who publishes women’s poetry so please check out her main website at:
http://www.dancinggirlpress.com/index.html
To learn more about Talia Reed or find more of her work, you can visit her blog at:
http://thisadmirablemiryclay.blogspot.com/
Thanks always for reading, please drop in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Cha Open Submissions
The Asian Literary journal, Cha, is open to e-mail submissions of 1-4 poems, no more than 60 lines each, to be submitted by October 1st to: submissionsATasianchaDOTcom
Please be sure to indicate Poetry Submission and paste your poems into the body of the e-mail.
For further details and to see what kind of work they publish please check out Guidelines and more at:
http://www.asiancha.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=14&Itemid=41
Good luck to all who submit and thanks for dropping in!
September will be featuring interviews starting with Talia Reed’s new chapbook from Dancing Girl Press so be sure to check in on Tuesdays to find out more, see you next week…
Please be sure to indicate Poetry Submission and paste your poems into the body of the e-mail.
For further details and to see what kind of work they publish please check out Guidelines and more at:
http://www.asiancha.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=14&Itemid=41
Good luck to all who submit and thanks for dropping in!
September will be featuring interviews starting with Talia Reed’s new chapbook from Dancing Girl Press so be sure to check in on Tuesdays to find out more, see you next week…
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Poems Found By Poet Hound
http://www.asiancha.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=412&Itemid=188
Divya Rajan’s “Factory Girls”
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=179270
Terrance Hayes’ “Clarinet”
Thanks for clicking in, please stop in tomorrow for more Open Submissions…
Divya Rajan’s “Factory Girls”
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=179270
Terrance Hayes’ “Clarinet”
Thanks for clicking in, please stop in tomorrow for more Open Submissions…
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Richard Wink's Dead End Road
Richard Wink’s book of poems, Dead End Road, published by BeWrite Press will be out in print next week on September 3rd and is a lively collection consisting of wayward moments, off kilter reality, and fascinating imagery. Mr. Wink hails from Norwich, England and has had collections of poems published by Kendra Steiner Editions, ebacce press, and more. Below I will share some of my favorites and it is a very small sample in comparison to the 126 poems so I won’t be able to cover its entire scope so I hope you will enjoy what you find and check out the rest for yourself:
The Pet
They both hunted frantically for nearly an hour
cursing and chuntering to themselves
Where the hell is the remote?
It aint down the side of the sofa
says she
Outside mud flies in the air.
Imagine the kind of splatter
that comes from the back of a dirt bike
only this digger is canine.
As they abandon the search
the hole is approximately two feet deep
with only a wagging tail visible
Isn’t this poem just right? I love the humor of it and just about anyone whose owned a pet or has kids can relate to this moment of mischief. The description of the mud splattering is wonderful—“Imagine the kind of splatter/that comes from the back of a dirt bike” because you can almost hear it for yourself. The ending is very amusing, the dog is waving a proverbial flag of warning to the unsuspecting owners.
Kitchen
A silver spoon hits the vinyl floor
the soup bubbles over, tomato lava drama
and then slowly overflows
like a vomiting Giant
The kitchen is a planet
a thawing freezer leaking
struggling to cope with wholesale bleating
An electronic whisk churns ingredients
a battlefield of flower and egg
milk, a pinch of salt
droplets of holy water
“The kitchen is a planet” is a wonderful take on the events of “tomato lava” and “vomiting Giant” in reference to the chaos of cooking. Obviously the cook isn’t having a good time, after all, it’s “a battlefield of flower and egg” yet the cook must be trying to appease the strange landscape by offering “a pinch of salt/droplets of holy water.” Who would have thought holy water would be in a kitchen to be used to tame the wild cookery? I enjoy reading the drama that is unfolding, then discovering the surprising peace offering at the end.
The Cottage
The thatched roof is aflame
it would be wrong to blame the lodger
who was careless
flicking down his morning
hand rolled cigarette
The landlady is in tears
all she worked for
is now an illuminated marigold carnival
red and blue lights arrive down the hill
and over the bridge
The cottage collapse
before the hoses can release
a gush of sodden purity
The best line in this poem “is now an illuminated marigold carnival” puts a strangely positive spin in this tragedy. Mr. Wink chooses descriptions that are not obvious to the mind or circumstance in his poems which I find much more entertaining as a result of what could have been. The firemen use “hoses” which “can release/a gush of sodden purity” instead of water, and as water is often referred to as pure it makes the ending line so much more interesting in the life of the poem.
Lost youth
I venture in newspaper print
dealing in red ink circles.
If only it was easy
acquiring employment in the midst of national recession
the temper of the sun
is lost
in streaks of shadow that crave to cover the lawn.
A goldfinch
is as rare as getting a break
I watch the clock
as the sun disappears behind the valley
my suit sits in the wardrobe
primed and ready
Of course I had to throw this in as it is reflective of what is going on all over the world at the moment. The title leads me to believe that Mr. Wink is thinking of bygone days when life seemed easier. I enjoy the lines “dealing in red ink circles” and “a goldfinch/is as rare as getting a break” because they are lively and intriguing in their language. I could not help using this poem as the one to close the review with.
If you enjoyed sneak peak of this collection you can pre-order this book from Amazon for approximately 5-6 pounds in U.K. currency:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dead-End-Road-Richard-Wink/dp/1906609365/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1249567736&sr=8-1
It is also available in ebook format at www.bewrite.net so please take a look around the site for more details.
Thanks always for reading, please drop in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…
The Pet
They both hunted frantically for nearly an hour
cursing and chuntering to themselves
Where the hell is the remote?
It aint down the side of the sofa
says she
Outside mud flies in the air.
Imagine the kind of splatter
that comes from the back of a dirt bike
only this digger is canine.
As they abandon the search
the hole is approximately two feet deep
with only a wagging tail visible
Isn’t this poem just right? I love the humor of it and just about anyone whose owned a pet or has kids can relate to this moment of mischief. The description of the mud splattering is wonderful—“Imagine the kind of splatter/that comes from the back of a dirt bike” because you can almost hear it for yourself. The ending is very amusing, the dog is waving a proverbial flag of warning to the unsuspecting owners.
Kitchen
A silver spoon hits the vinyl floor
the soup bubbles over, tomato lava drama
and then slowly overflows
like a vomiting Giant
The kitchen is a planet
a thawing freezer leaking
struggling to cope with wholesale bleating
An electronic whisk churns ingredients
a battlefield of flower and egg
milk, a pinch of salt
droplets of holy water
“The kitchen is a planet” is a wonderful take on the events of “tomato lava” and “vomiting Giant” in reference to the chaos of cooking. Obviously the cook isn’t having a good time, after all, it’s “a battlefield of flower and egg” yet the cook must be trying to appease the strange landscape by offering “a pinch of salt/droplets of holy water.” Who would have thought holy water would be in a kitchen to be used to tame the wild cookery? I enjoy reading the drama that is unfolding, then discovering the surprising peace offering at the end.
The Cottage
The thatched roof is aflame
it would be wrong to blame the lodger
who was careless
flicking down his morning
hand rolled cigarette
The landlady is in tears
all she worked for
is now an illuminated marigold carnival
red and blue lights arrive down the hill
and over the bridge
The cottage collapse
before the hoses can release
a gush of sodden purity
The best line in this poem “is now an illuminated marigold carnival” puts a strangely positive spin in this tragedy. Mr. Wink chooses descriptions that are not obvious to the mind or circumstance in his poems which I find much more entertaining as a result of what could have been. The firemen use “hoses” which “can release/a gush of sodden purity” instead of water, and as water is often referred to as pure it makes the ending line so much more interesting in the life of the poem.
Lost youth
I venture in newspaper print
dealing in red ink circles.
If only it was easy
acquiring employment in the midst of national recession
the temper of the sun
is lost
in streaks of shadow that crave to cover the lawn.
A goldfinch
is as rare as getting a break
I watch the clock
as the sun disappears behind the valley
my suit sits in the wardrobe
primed and ready
Of course I had to throw this in as it is reflective of what is going on all over the world at the moment. The title leads me to believe that Mr. Wink is thinking of bygone days when life seemed easier. I enjoy the lines “dealing in red ink circles” and “a goldfinch/is as rare as getting a break” because they are lively and intriguing in their language. I could not help using this poem as the one to close the review with.
If you enjoyed sneak peak of this collection you can pre-order this book from Amazon for approximately 5-6 pounds in U.K. currency:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dead-End-Road-Richard-Wink/dp/1906609365/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1249567736&sr=8-1
It is also available in ebook format at www.bewrite.net so please take a look around the site for more details.
Thanks always for reading, please drop in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Dancing Girl Press Open Chapbook Submissions
You have until August 30th to submit your chapbook of poems to Dancing Girl Press!
Submissions must be between 12 and 32 pages, numbered accordingly per page and you may e-mail your submissions as attachments in Microsoft Word to dancinggirlpressATyahooDOTcom and be sure your subject line is as follows:
“Chapbook Submission/Last Name”
For further details, check it out at:
http://www.dancinggirlpress.com/guidelines.html
Good luck to all of you who submit! Please drop in next Tuesday for another featured poet…
Submissions must be between 12 and 32 pages, numbered accordingly per page and you may e-mail your submissions as attachments in Microsoft Word to dancinggirlpressATyahooDOTcom and be sure your subject line is as follows:
“Chapbook Submission/Last Name”
For further details, check it out at:
http://www.dancinggirlpress.com/guidelines.html
Good luck to all of you who submit! Please drop in next Tuesday for another featured poet…
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Poems Found By Poet Hound
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=236988
“A River” by John Poch
http://english.chass.ncsu.edu/freeverse/Archives/Spring_2009/poems/A_Sagar.html
“Afterwards on the Quay” by Arun Sagar
Announcement:
Richard Wink of Gloom Cupboard has a collection of poems titled Dead End Road due out September 3rd (mark your calendars!) at Bewrite Books:
http://www.bewrite.net/coming_soon.htm
You can also pre-order this book (of which I’ve been blessed with a sneak peak and it is an excellent collection of 126 pages) at:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dead-End-Road-Richard-Wink/dp/1906609365/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1249567736&sr=8-1
If you do purchase this book and enjoy it, you may want to review it on your blog or web-site or for a journal. For permission to reprint poems and provide a review, e-mail Richard Wink at aprilmaymarch777@yahoo.co.uk and title it Permission To Review.
Thanks for clicking in, please drop by tomorrow for more Open Submissions…
“A River” by John Poch
http://english.chass.ncsu.edu/freeverse/Archives/Spring_2009/poems/A_Sagar.html
“Afterwards on the Quay” by Arun Sagar
Announcement:
Richard Wink of Gloom Cupboard has a collection of poems titled Dead End Road due out September 3rd (mark your calendars!) at Bewrite Books:
http://www.bewrite.net/coming_soon.htm
You can also pre-order this book (of which I’ve been blessed with a sneak peak and it is an excellent collection of 126 pages) at:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dead-End-Road-Richard-Wink/dp/1906609365/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1249567736&sr=8-1
If you do purchase this book and enjoy it, you may want to review it on your blog or web-site or for a journal. For permission to reprint poems and provide a review, e-mail Richard Wink at aprilmaymarch777@yahoo.co.uk and title it Permission To Review.
Thanks for clicking in, please drop by tomorrow for more Open Submissions…
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Lilliput Review Issue 170
Issue #170 of Lilliput Review brings to mind the closing of summer. The poems speak of fresh cut grass, the fading away of memories, loved ones, the sense of brevity in things and people whom we consider permanent. I feel the sense of summer coming to a close and thought I would share with you the poems that struck this particular thought of mine:
Last summer’s drought,
a hillside, blackened
by a lightning strike—
battalions of green shoots
through the ash.
Hosho McCreesh, Albuquerque, NM
I love Hosho’s visual imagery in a field once thought to be brought to its end, blackened, and then springing to life anew. Though summer is over, we approach a new season and that’s what I think of for the “battalions of green shoots/through the ash.”
garter snake waiting
on the front porch –
and news, friend?
ayaz daryl nielsen, Boulder, CO
I like this poem simply because most people I know would recoil at a snake on their porch, perhaps consider it a bad omen, but Ayaz considers the little fellow a friend, and beckons me to wonder what news the little fellow might have about the land.
it’s our task
we must take on
so much
discard so much
until finally
carrying just a little home
and on the way
losing that too
John Ajac, Apopka, FL
Mr. Ajac’s poem moves me in its skeletal brevity about carrying and scattering things behind. You can place as much onto the poem as you wish for yourself such as making it a metaphor for traveling through life or take it at face value as a simple thought that might have popped into his head. Simplicity allows for greater imagination for the reader and I enjoy all the ideas that come to mind when I read his poem.
a small poem :: is not a brief life
Grant Hackett, Great Barrington, MA
Grant Hackett is a wonder at one-lined poems and of course anything I say is guaranteed to be much longer than his poem. There are many ways a reader can take this poem and I’d be interested in what Mr. Hackett hopes we take away from it. I take it to mean that any poem that moves you has more to it than the words being read, that you absorb and carry it with you for much longer than the moment you spent reading it.
This collection has many poems that let you expound on them with your own thoughts and feelings which I always enjoy doing. As always, Lilliput Review costs only a crisp (or wrinkly) $1.00 bill and you will find your envelope containing that precious little magazine chock full of interesting Lilliput Review fliers and a mini catalog of what is for sale. I always love opening the envelopes because the paper is always in vibrant colors and the poems in each issue never cease to amuse me. If you would like to discover the fun and enjoyment for yourself, go to:
http://lilliputreview.googlepages.com/home
Or visit Don Wentworth’s blog:
http://lilliputreview.blogspot.com/
Thanks always for reading, please drop in for more Poems Found by Poet Hound and interesting additional links…
Last summer’s drought,
a hillside, blackened
by a lightning strike—
battalions of green shoots
through the ash.
Hosho McCreesh, Albuquerque, NM
I love Hosho’s visual imagery in a field once thought to be brought to its end, blackened, and then springing to life anew. Though summer is over, we approach a new season and that’s what I think of for the “battalions of green shoots/through the ash.”
garter snake waiting
on the front porch –
and news, friend?
ayaz daryl nielsen, Boulder, CO
I like this poem simply because most people I know would recoil at a snake on their porch, perhaps consider it a bad omen, but Ayaz considers the little fellow a friend, and beckons me to wonder what news the little fellow might have about the land.
it’s our task
we must take on
so much
discard so much
until finally
carrying just a little home
and on the way
losing that too
John Ajac, Apopka, FL
Mr. Ajac’s poem moves me in its skeletal brevity about carrying and scattering things behind. You can place as much onto the poem as you wish for yourself such as making it a metaphor for traveling through life or take it at face value as a simple thought that might have popped into his head. Simplicity allows for greater imagination for the reader and I enjoy all the ideas that come to mind when I read his poem.
a small poem :: is not a brief life
Grant Hackett, Great Barrington, MA
Grant Hackett is a wonder at one-lined poems and of course anything I say is guaranteed to be much longer than his poem. There are many ways a reader can take this poem and I’d be interested in what Mr. Hackett hopes we take away from it. I take it to mean that any poem that moves you has more to it than the words being read, that you absorb and carry it with you for much longer than the moment you spent reading it.
This collection has many poems that let you expound on them with your own thoughts and feelings which I always enjoy doing. As always, Lilliput Review costs only a crisp (or wrinkly) $1.00 bill and you will find your envelope containing that precious little magazine chock full of interesting Lilliput Review fliers and a mini catalog of what is for sale. I always love opening the envelopes because the paper is always in vibrant colors and the poems in each issue never cease to amuse me. If you would like to discover the fun and enjoyment for yourself, go to:
http://lilliputreview.googlepages.com/home
Or visit Don Wentworth’s blog:
http://lilliputreview.blogspot.com/
Thanks always for reading, please drop in for more Poems Found by Poet Hound and interesting additional links…
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Oranges and Sardines Open Submissions
I copied-and-pasted the guidelines:
Poetry Guidelines:
Interested parties should submit 5 to 8 poems for consideration via email to OSpoetry@yahoo.com. Please do not send attachments or your submission will be deleted. Please do not send in less than five poems or your submission will not be reviewed. Please place your first and last name in the subject line. Submissions sent without your first and last name in the subject line may go unnoticed. No simultaneous submissions please. No submissions or poems that have been previously published. We consider “published” is published. This includes small, private editions, and even poems previously posted on blogs and personal web sites. Allow four to six weeks for your submission to be reviewed by our poetry editors and responded to. If you do not hear from one of our editors by then, feel free to email us again with an inquiry.
Poets selected for the Cover:
Poets selected to be featured on the cover will be asked for other materials including high-end photography and will be interviewed by Grace Cavalieri. The editors will be selecting two poets a year for the cover. The other writers featured in each issue will not be asked for photography starting with the fall issue of 2009.
For more details check it out at:
http://www.poetsandartists.com/guidelines.htm
http://www.poetsandartists.com/about.htm
Good luck to all of you who submit! Please drop in next week for another featured poet on Tuesday…
Poetry Guidelines:
Interested parties should submit 5 to 8 poems for consideration via email to OSpoetry@yahoo.com. Please do not send attachments or your submission will be deleted. Please do not send in less than five poems or your submission will not be reviewed. Please place your first and last name in the subject line. Submissions sent without your first and last name in the subject line may go unnoticed. No simultaneous submissions please. No submissions or poems that have been previously published. We consider “published” is published. This includes small, private editions, and even poems previously posted on blogs and personal web sites. Allow four to six weeks for your submission to be reviewed by our poetry editors and responded to. If you do not hear from one of our editors by then, feel free to email us again with an inquiry.
Poets selected for the Cover:
Poets selected to be featured on the cover will be asked for other materials including high-end photography and will be interviewed by Grace Cavalieri. The editors will be selecting two poets a year for the cover. The other writers featured in each issue will not be asked for photography starting with the fall issue of 2009.
For more details check it out at:
http://www.poetsandartists.com/guidelines.htm
http://www.poetsandartists.com/about.htm
Good luck to all of you who submit! Please drop in next week for another featured poet on Tuesday…
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Poems Found by Poet Hound
http://www.coconutpoetry.org/bergers1.html
Stephanie Berger’s “Everything is moving, breathing, seething, and I, the robot mop, alone in the kitchen”
http://english.chass.ncsu.edu/freeverse/Archives/Spring_2009/poems/A_Clay.html
Adam Clay’s “Psalm: And The Light”, “Psalm: As If I Could”
Thanks for clicking in, please drop in tomorrow for more Open Submissions…
Stephanie Berger’s “Everything is moving, breathing, seething, and I, the robot mop, alone in the kitchen”
http://english.chass.ncsu.edu/freeverse/Archives/Spring_2009/poems/A_Clay.html
Adam Clay’s “Psalm: And The Light”, “Psalm: As If I Could”
Thanks for clicking in, please drop in tomorrow for more Open Submissions…
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Jospeh Veronneau's Within The Grand Scheme
Within The Grand Scheme by Joseph Veronneau is a collection of poems that is dead-pan, and at times, morbid. Poems that tend towards the morbid in life are my favorite kind to read and I have dog-eared the majority of the pages. Joseph Veronneau’s poems open your eyes to the more trying sides of life, the less fortunate circumstances caught up in brief moments. Here is a sample below:
Ignoring The Goodbyes
Battling insomnia, I got
up once, wandered the kitchen.
When nothing interested me there,
I tried to read. No focus.
Finally, I sought the drawers
nearest my bed, and dug deep.
Once holding the steel near my head,
I thought maybe I could stop time
inside the gun, freeze things
so that I could see the reverse
of my thoughts
behind me.
After rolling the barrel a few times,
I stuck it back in the drawer.
I heard hands clapping inside,
but ignored them.
This poem is dangerously close to an unhappy ending and I love that Mr. Veronneau ends it with applause that erupts inside the barrel of a gun. It’s imaginative, unexpected, and leaves a reader holding their breath uncomfortably for a moment. It’s a poem that can have real effect on you as you read it instead of something you absorb, then turn away from.
Birthmark
Where her imperfection lies,
at the bottom of her pantleg
the one who claimed
that I was the first to
undress her.
She explained it to me
as she wriggled out of her jeans;
almost preferring to keep that last
bit of cloth attached,
shield away that bit of unbeauty
she held.
How the doctors
scraped and scrubbed
to get it off initially,
realizing after failed attempts
that it, too, was attached.
I think now at times
of the man she must reveal it to now:
how in the evening light, he attempts
to belittle the discomfort of showing,
a task to which I pretended
to care nothing of.
At the time
I was content to grip the waistline,
drag them down a bit, ass-revealed,
and undo myself in equally dark light
that confined us between
the doorway of learning
and of what was given.
Mr. Veronneau high-lights romance and acceptance in an otherwise awkward situation for a woman who is afraid of being judged on her appearance once she reveals herself completely. I like the line “that bit of unbeauty” since women are always taught a certain standard and the writer here in this piece makes plain that he enjoyed her whether she had something considered “unbeauty” or not. A lovely poem.
Doors
My grandmother reaches
into the space
above her, grabbing
for the unknown, the imaginary.
What are you trying for
I ask
and it’s unclear
whether she hears me at all.
The days of her memory
grow short, and she is constantly reaching.
One day, she looks over
when I ask her again,
and she replies
opening the door
to break out of this.
A poignant poem about memory and I am guessing dementia, which I take very personally having worked with many who have been diagnosed with dementia and alzheimer’s. I love that she is always reaching for an escape, that the grandmother seems to know enough that something is wrong and she must find the way out. I love that she answers the writer in this poem that she “opening the door/to break out of this” without explaining what “this” is. Without explanation, the author and the readers can understand what she means and that she is trying to escape. It is a very moving poem to me.
There are plenty more dog-eared pages I could share but I will leave you to discover the rest for yourself. This collection of poems costs $5.00 from Alternationg Current’s Propaganda Press:
http://alt-current.com/pp/pp_item.html#within_the_grand_scheme
Poets are able to set their own royalties and get paid for their words so please support the small press and the poets published by Alternating Current, you won’t be disappointed by the poets you find there:
http://alt-current.com/pp/pp_item.html#within_the_grand_scheme
Thanks always for reading, please drop in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…
Ignoring The Goodbyes
Battling insomnia, I got
up once, wandered the kitchen.
When nothing interested me there,
I tried to read. No focus.
Finally, I sought the drawers
nearest my bed, and dug deep.
Once holding the steel near my head,
I thought maybe I could stop time
inside the gun, freeze things
so that I could see the reverse
of my thoughts
behind me.
After rolling the barrel a few times,
I stuck it back in the drawer.
I heard hands clapping inside,
but ignored them.
This poem is dangerously close to an unhappy ending and I love that Mr. Veronneau ends it with applause that erupts inside the barrel of a gun. It’s imaginative, unexpected, and leaves a reader holding their breath uncomfortably for a moment. It’s a poem that can have real effect on you as you read it instead of something you absorb, then turn away from.
Birthmark
Where her imperfection lies,
at the bottom of her pantleg
the one who claimed
that I was the first to
undress her.
She explained it to me
as she wriggled out of her jeans;
almost preferring to keep that last
bit of cloth attached,
shield away that bit of unbeauty
she held.
How the doctors
scraped and scrubbed
to get it off initially,
realizing after failed attempts
that it, too, was attached.
I think now at times
of the man she must reveal it to now:
how in the evening light, he attempts
to belittle the discomfort of showing,
a task to which I pretended
to care nothing of.
At the time
I was content to grip the waistline,
drag them down a bit, ass-revealed,
and undo myself in equally dark light
that confined us between
the doorway of learning
and of what was given.
Mr. Veronneau high-lights romance and acceptance in an otherwise awkward situation for a woman who is afraid of being judged on her appearance once she reveals herself completely. I like the line “that bit of unbeauty” since women are always taught a certain standard and the writer here in this piece makes plain that he enjoyed her whether she had something considered “unbeauty” or not. A lovely poem.
Doors
My grandmother reaches
into the space
above her, grabbing
for the unknown, the imaginary.
What are you trying for
I ask
and it’s unclear
whether she hears me at all.
The days of her memory
grow short, and she is constantly reaching.
One day, she looks over
when I ask her again,
and she replies
opening the door
to break out of this.
A poignant poem about memory and I am guessing dementia, which I take very personally having worked with many who have been diagnosed with dementia and alzheimer’s. I love that she is always reaching for an escape, that the grandmother seems to know enough that something is wrong and she must find the way out. I love that she answers the writer in this poem that she “opening the door/to break out of this” without explaining what “this” is. Without explanation, the author and the readers can understand what she means and that she is trying to escape. It is a very moving poem to me.
There are plenty more dog-eared pages I could share but I will leave you to discover the rest for yourself. This collection of poems costs $5.00 from Alternationg Current’s Propaganda Press:
http://alt-current.com/pp/pp_item.html#within_the_grand_scheme
Poets are able to set their own royalties and get paid for their words so please support the small press and the poets published by Alternating Current, you won’t be disappointed by the poets you find there:
http://alt-current.com/pp/pp_item.html#within_the_grand_scheme
Thanks always for reading, please drop in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Damselfly Open Submissions
You have until Sept. 15th to make it into Issue 8 which comes out in October! Send 1-3 poems to the Poetry Editor: LesleyATdamselflypressDOTnet and make sure your poems arrive as a Microsoft Word or .RTF attachment. Include a bio of less than 50 words and include your contact information. For more details go to:
http://damselflypress.net/2009/07/12/publication-of-eighth-issue-and-call-for-submissions/
Good luck to all who submit and please stop by next Tuesday for another featured poet…
http://damselflypress.net/2009/07/12/publication-of-eighth-issue-and-call-for-submissions/
Good luck to all who submit and please stop by next Tuesday for another featured poet…
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Poems Found by Poet Hound
http://www.boxcarpoetry.com/020/alfier_jeffrey_003.html
“Cubilete Mountain Pilgrimage” by Jeffrey Alfier
http://english.chass.ncsu.edu/freeverse/Archives/Spring_2009/poems/G_Babbitt.html
“We Wend Our Way Across Two Imaginings and Find The World Is Real” by Geoffrey Babbit
Thanks for clicking in, please drop by tomorrow for more Open Submissions…
“Cubilete Mountain Pilgrimage” by Jeffrey Alfier
http://english.chass.ncsu.edu/freeverse/Archives/Spring_2009/poems/G_Babbitt.html
“We Wend Our Way Across Two Imaginings and Find The World Is Real” by Geoffrey Babbit
Thanks for clicking in, please drop by tomorrow for more Open Submissions…
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