Eva Heisler's Reading Emily Dickinson in Icelandic

Reading Emily Dickinson in Icelandic by Eva Heisler is published by Kore Press and contains a collection of prose by a poet exploring the world and translations of Iceland. This is the kind of book in which you will want to find a quiet or natural setting in which to indulge fully in the nuances of the landscape, language, and characters that Ms. Heisler reveals throughout the pages. I found the work to be beautiful, savory, and best consumed slowly so your mind can absorb fully the weight of her words. Below I am happy to share a few samples:

Wind

That first winter in Iceland I didn’t mind the wind. Stillness itself was winged. The wind wrapped me in an elsewhere—else the traffic of scholars and accountants. But this year, my heart flaps like a shutter against the side of a barn. This year, the wind no longer sounds like itself. I wake in the night and mistake the sound of the wind for the roar of the snow plow in Syracuse; the squeal of tires spinning in Columbus; the hoot of a barn owl in Boyds; the whistle of a former lover’s kettle. “Don’t forget what it was like before.” Lying in bed, I tell myself this. The sound of wind engulfs me like the roar of an airplane passenger. “Don’t forget.” Remember the bottoms of your feet slippery with perspiration, and a jingle at every turn.

I feel like the poet is sharing her nostalgia of her experiences at home in America and is comparing them in her mind to her current experiences in Iceland. Her travels have brought her to different places and they all have a place etched in her heart and she is trying to remember each of those places while the winds of Iceland make their own mark. Lovely.



Something to Finish

Steinunn’s mother takes me to the flea market at the harbor. She shuffles among mugs in the shape of soccer balls; earrings made of feathers; Judy Blume in Icelandic; Bath Boutique Barbie; Working Woman Barbie; Barbie with Baby Keiko the Whale; Barbie Sassy Pony; and “Fizz Balls” advertised as “the latest in home aromatherapy.” Encountering these in the States, I would have folded into myself. But in Iceland, the kitsch doesn’t claim me. I finger the gaudy beads; they don’t take the shape of coffins—I am here and someplace else. Steinunn’s mother hands me a bundle of papers tied with boot strings. She purchased the rights to thirty-seven unfinished poems. It is a gift, she says. She pats the sheaf of papers that I press to my chest to keep them from blowing away. She says, It is something to finish.

I love that the flea market in Iceland feels different than in the States although it holds the same kinds of items. I also enjoy the mystery of thirty-seven unfinished poems being purchased with the idea of the purchaser “finishing” the poems. Can you imagine selling something unfinished at a flea market such as your own writings and allowing someone else, a complete stranger, to do so? That in itself is intriguing, just as much as it is interesting that Steinunn’s mother would purchase such a thing as a gift. It is a world of mysteries and I enjoy letting my mind wander the scene to figure out my own ending to the story that is unfinished here.



What I Remember

What I remember is neither the words nor the light in the kitchen but the press of a hand against my forehead. What I remember is not the color of eyes but what it felt like to be seen. What I remember is not the overstuffed luggage but the door, and you leaning against it. What I remember is not computing sums in the margins of my notebook, but three words and a grove of birch that I mistook for a herd of ghost horses. What I remember is not the new wardrobe but a fling of red and white.

Isn’t this the essence of memory? The feelings and colors that made a deep impression on us during our experience in a new place? I love the image of the grove of birch mistaken for ghost horses, as well as the wardrobe being a “fling of red and white.” It invites the reader to open up their own imagination and create their own memorable experience from the poet’s.


I would love to visit Iceland and see the sights and meet the people that Eva Heisler reveals in her collection Reading Emily Dickinson in Icelandic. If you enjoyed this brief sample as much as I do, you may purchase a copy for yourself for $15.95 at:
http://korepress.org/ReadingEmilyDickinsoninIcelandic.htm

Thanks always for reading, please drop by again soon...

Something Random and Tragic to Set The Guts Aflame Third Edition by Hosho McCreesh

The expanded third edition of Hosho McCreesh’s poems are released for our reading pleasure in Something Random & Tragic To Set The Guts Aflame published by Mary Celeste Press. McCreesh’s style is dead-pan and fervent. A gratuitous read, Hosho McCreesh reminds us to live in the moment, to watch the world around us and I have a hard time selecting just a few poems to share:

The Evening Commute In America

An entire nation of
employees,
refugees, really,
of socio-economic
warfare,
ignorant of their true & actual station,
their cog-like existence
rushing,
feel like they’re always missing something,
refusing to even let their fellow man into
gridlocked traffic,
unfulfilled they rush home
in the cars they were told to buy
to homes they won’t own for 30 years
to husbands or wives they don’t know
& children they regret,
they shove pizza boy delivery into their mouths
get fatter,
sicker
& doze off
as the TV flickers a
dead
blue.

This poem pretty much sums up my worst fears about our society. That the majority of people are just working and not living. As a result of not living they rarely help their fellow man—hence the lines about not allowing fellow drivers into traffic—and the “cogs” in the machine stuff down their worries and stress with things that will only make life worse—unhealthy foods and sitting down to do nothing else but watch TV. It’s a poem that challenges the reader to be better than that and we should.



The Plinking of Keys,
The Chasing Off of Demons,
The Scattering of Ghosts,
& The Gods Giving Us All Our Fair Shake…

Saw a story about a guy
once,
could hardly take care of himself—
autistic, &
blind,
among too many other things…
almost
every
single
facet
of
his
existence
was an enormous
challenge,
a chore,
the most basic,
rudimentary skills
proved to be
nearly
insurmountable…

However,
he had over
7,000 songs
committed
flawlessly
to memory,
pounded them out on a whim,
played with them like marbles—
he played all sorts of instruments,
piano to piccolo,
he need hear a song only
once
& he could crank it back out to
perfection.
Prodigy isn’t even the word,
he was hard-wired to channel
music,
& he could play them all,
Gershwin,
Joplin,
Cole Porter,
everyone
like it was easier than nothing.
easier than
breathing,
& it afforded him with an
income,
a means to provide for himself, for his family,
a little something to help out all the folks without whom he
could not
exist.

& things like that
always make me
smile,
to see that
somehow
the gods find a way to
balance
it all out,
to tip the scales back the other way,
to never stack it all against
anyone
completely…
cosmically, somehow
we’ve all got our shot & that
somehow it’ll all work out for
everyone
eventually.

This poem lifts up my spirits and I know a wide variety of people so this is a personal favorite of mine as well. I think the poem is self-explanatory—somehow we all are given our gifts to share with the world no matter what “limitations” may be accompanying us.


Hope –or- Oscillate & Pivot

You owe it to yourself to
acknowledge
when times are good,
life is good,
when everything is
simple,
enjoyable,
beautiful,
because it will
always
always
always
oscillate & pivot
back the
other
way…

This poem reminds me of how difficult it can be to relax and enjoy the good days and the good times. When things are going smoothly we are often holding our breath and waiting for something to go wrong. It’s good advice we should all take more often—if times are good, embrace them and be grateful for them and let tomorrow worry about itself.


If you enjoyed this sample of Hosho McCreesh’s expanded, third edition of Something Random & Tragic To Set The Guts Aflame you may purchase a copy for $12.00 at:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/hosho-mccreesh/something-random-tragic-to-set-the-guts-aflame-selected-poems-3rd-printing/paperback/product-21037853.html;jsessionid=D5B1C2BAD8C5F1A862F36438D482492B

Thanks always for reading, please drop in again soon…

X Marks the Dress A Registry by Kristina Marie Darling and Carol Guess

X Marks the Dress A Registry, a collaborative effort by Kristina Marie Darling and Carol Guess, has been published by Gold Wake Press and puts a twist on the traditional outlook of weddings, relationships, and those hopeful, loving gestures that we take for granted on such a grand occasion. There are a variety of types of written word in this collection: prose with titles of objects you might find on a registry, deconstructed pages leaving just a few tantalizing words, footnotes, figures, appendixes, all circling around notions of relationships, love, traditions, marriage, and the breaking up of all these traditional ideas in a variety of ways and stages. This collection reveals characters that are potentially scandalous, heart-wrenchingly beautiful, naïve, unique, and altogether exciting. It is a tantalizing read and below is a brief sample:

{Pull-Out Closet Organizer & Shoe Rack}

Since when is pretending a job? I’m still paying the mortgage with my fashion sense: pink sunglasses, matching pumps, & your favorite dress. Nights like this I walk the boulevard, asking for a handout. Men will offer me rides & fine chocolate as you watch from the kitchen window. Stilettoes & frostbitten, I keep looking for someone to warm me up. I’ve been such an unruffled bride that the lace on my skirt is starting to unravel. Clothes cost money, darling. A husband like you should foot the bill.

There is a piece before this in which the spouse pretends they still have a job, the piece above is the response to it. It makes me wonder what kind of hand-outs are being asked for, doesn’t it make you wonder? I picture a woman outside the house standing on the street in her finest trying to flirt with rich men and feeling resentful that her husband inside the house cannot meet her needs. The piece gives you a sample of the less-than-perfect marriage and a darker side of how to get by when things go awry.


[Wedding Favor: Chocolate Truffles]

She drops a penny on the stoop, spun copper truffle. I’ve never been inside your house, but now I’ve knocked, and now I’m in. She wrote me such a charming thanks – pink scented paper, chocolate ink. I wrote back, so anti-Google. We’re sitting down to tea, no joke. She talks about lipstick and she talks about church. After mimosas she starts on you. Albert, I say. She calls you Bert. I want to scream your name –Adele- but after A I’m starting at her perfect mouth, still mouthing worlds. Clavicle. Delicious. Eat.

There is a series of pieces about a character who gives me the impression they are leading a double life: one as a man, one as a woman, and I’ve no idea what the original identity is. Either way, the person who knows the secret of the character with two sides evidently is not the spouse who apparently doesn’t know. The two worlds meet: the person who knows Albert/Adele and the spouse who only knows Albert. An old fashioned friendship is beginning out of a very strange connection, hence the speaker’s fascination with meeting the spouse and saying the spouse is “mouthing worlds.” Worlds apart, these three characters that are all connected somehow has caused the speaker in the piece to stop listening and only hear and notice bits and pieces as their mind wanders over the connection. It makes me want to be a fly on the wall in this encounter. I’m also eager to know how Darling and Guess created the story and where the inspiration came from.


From Appendix A: Marginalia & Other Misc. Fragments

1. A rare variety of orchid, which was mounted and displayed on a silver placard.

2. She snipped the red flowers as the music began. Her fingers intertwined with the cold metal shears.

3. “I had wanted to free myself from the endless parade of feminine embellishments. Within every window the same bouquet of pink roses. Now a vase lies shattered at my feet.”

These three lines lead me to imagine a woman who is tired of living up to an ideal and uses cold hard slashing away in the literal sense, clipping flowers, then knocking over a vase of the things that she feels are a burden to her sense of identity, freeing herself literally in order to free herself emotionally.


If you enjoyed this sample, you may purchase a copy for $15.95 of X Marks the Dress A Registry by Kristina Marie Darling and Carol Guess at:
http://goldwakepress.com/books/

Thanks always for reading, please drop in again soon…

Drawing Water by Eva Heisler

Published by Noctuary Press, Eva Heisler’s Drawing Water is a collection that focuses on lines and how they blur and come into focus, their very presence or absence when a line breaks or continues on, it brings forth imagery that is fresh and innovative. Samples below:

The page is the body of a ghost (but I don’t believe in ghosts).

--This line describes the intimidation of a blank page, in my mind. It is such a simple phrase and yet so poignant as we all stare at blank pages when trying to think of something new to say or write or how to respond, whether it is paper or e-mail or walls, the “page” is a ghost, eerie and intangible.


I cover ground with dark and pointed instrument.
I say, first, white is precious.
I do not mean merely glittering or brilliant:
it is easy to scratch white gulls out of black clouds,

--I love that the poem ends with a comma, allowing us to continue on in our own minds. We try to cover white, blank space with our writing instrument and here we find dark surface being scratched to reveal white, a new perspective on a different colored surface.


Anything you find ugly is good to draw.

--Personally, I just love the sentiment of the line itself. Especially for someone like me who cannot draw to save her life. Drawing something ugly almost takes the pressure off of trying to do the subject justice. It’s a thought you don’t normally encounter and so it creates fresh imagery in my mind which I appreciate.


If you enjoyed this brief sample you may purchase a copy of Eva Heisler’s Drawing Water for $14.00 at:
http://noctuarypress.com

Thanks always for reading, please drop in again next week…

Sofisticated White Trash by JJ Campbell

J.J. Campbell’s latest collection, Sofisticated White Trash, is published by Interior Noise Press and is filled with the raucous, the indiscreet, and the kinds of poems that live up to its title. This book is not for the faint-of-heart, Campbell writes the nitty gritty sides of life and tackles a wide range of topics from being the weird guy at the supermarket to sex to the feelings of being down and out. Below are some sample poems:

a day in the life

it was one of those rare occasions
that i actually left my cage

you know
for a few odds and ends
some rays of sunshine
a breath of fresh air
or whatever fucking reason
people go out these days

and it was as soon as i
entered the store that i realized
why i don’t leave my cage
very often anymore.

the purses were held a bit
closer to the chest
children stared and then ran
back to inattentive parents
the quick double glances
followed by hushed voices
“did you see that fucking guy?!”

it felt like my adolescence
all over again
the weirdo, the outcast
the misunderstood non-conformist
the echoes of counselors and parents
“we just don’t see why you don’t
want to fit in”

as this mini-movie was
playing in my head
i put some milk in my cart
a woman strolled past me
that smelled rather nice

instead of playing it cool
and saying “excuse me, what’s that
lovely perfume you’re wearing?”
i sniffed rather loudly
trying to get all of the scent
out of the air

she stopped, looked back at me
gave me that what the fuck
are you doing look

i smiled and she looked away
she walked quickly to
the other end of the store

i began laughing to myself
thought the world was getting
back to normal

i proceeded to the checkout lane
stared off into the distance
watched the people come and go
wondered if one of them
could possibly carrying
a loaded gun

i suppose at the time
the wonder was actually a wish

to my disappointment
i made it out of there alive
minus the money for my items
and the time it took to
weave my path through
the creatures

the wanna be trendy teenagers
the anorexic mothers
the soon to be gay stock boys
and of course, the old women

the old women who make me,
out of the feat that i truly am
a violent motherfucker deep within,
yearn for the comfort of my cage
the very second
i step out of it.

This poem reminds me of any time any of us have felt socially awkward or unkempt in a public space. This poem takes it to a darker extreme, the poet wishing he hadn’t made it out alive after noticing others’ reactions to him. In one sense it is humorous, in another it is dark and tragic.


from my empty bed

someone once told me
if i learned how to dance
i would always have
a woman by my side

and as i write this
from my empty bed

i realize that was one
piece of advice i should
have actually listened to

I like this poem because I love to dance and it’s hard to find men who do. Therefore, listen to the above, all you males in the population out there. Learn how to dance. This is one of those poems I just wanted to share because I like it’s message.


If you enjoyed this sample, you may purchase a copy of J.J. Campbell’s Sofisticated White Trash for $15.00 from Interior Noise Press. *Make sure you get your 25% discount by typing in “MMARCA7Z” so please follow the link below:
http://www.interiornoisepress.com/INP_HP_Campbell.html


Thanks always for reading, please drop in again next week…

A Deep and Gorgeous Thirst by Hosho McCreesh

Hosho McCreesh’s A Deep And Gorgeous Thirst is a collection of poems filled with drunken days and nights that will have you laughing or crying into your own drink, or you’ll want to raise your longneck and clink it so hard against your friend’s that it would shatter to the floor. It has everything a good raucous batch of drunken poems should have: tales of tragedy, comedy, and inspiration. Pour yourself a glass of wine or grab yourself a beer and sit down and enjoy reading. I’m proud to provide a brief sample of this 254 paged collection. I’ll only share two poems since they are long ones, one to make you smile, one to make you hopeful:

Shoshone, Wyoming,
and you and your buddy
are propped up on
two tall barstools.
It's about 1 in the
afternoon at the
Pair-A-Dice bar,
and you still have a
long drive in
front of you.
“Whatcha got on tap?”
you ask, and the owner,
Neil, says they've got
Bud and Bud Light.
“I guess I'll do a Bud,”
you say, reluctant.
“And one for me,”
your buddy says.
And Neil pulls two,
and instantly the glasses
sheet over in an icy film.
“Wow,” you say, “just
how cold do you
keep that stuff?”
And Neil says “Cold as
a well-digger’s ass,”
and you run a
fingernail down the
frosted mug,
peeling the ice
like snake skin,
then take a
few huge gulps,
and it's half gone,
the coldest beer
you have ever had,
and Neil says,
“That’ll be $3,”
and your buddy
slaps down a ten.
“No,” says Neil,
“$3 for both.”
And you say,
“Hot damn,
I guess we
better have
two more,” and
Neil says,
“During Monday Night
Football beers are
half-price.”
And you
realize that there is
a time and a place for
every kind of drunk,
and you tell Neil so.
“So you’re really
a writer?” he says
and you say
“No…but maybe
someday.”
“You should put me
in your book,” and
you promise him
you will, because
this, here, the
Pair-A-Dice Bar
in Shoshone, Wyoming,
is the perfect
ice-cold
Budweiser
drunk.

I love that the poet does credit the barkeep as he says he will. If I’m ever in Shoshone, Wyoming, I’m going to go looking for this Pair-A-Dice Bar, too. On a long road trip, a cold refreshing drink is always in order whether it’s beer or something else. I can imagine this oasis in the middle of a long, long drive and it makes me want to take a road trip myself just to see if I can stumble upon such an establishment.



It’s dinner
with your field boss
and his family
a week or so after
La Vendange,
the youngest passing
much of the evening
drawing pirates, and
making pirate fighting noises,
and when his sweet kids are
off to bed, out comes a special
bottle of handmade marc,
“The last of it,” he says,
explaining that, years ago,
he made a small batch,
and this is his last bottle
and it's part cognac,
part brandy, and
part wine,
and your boss pours you
a measure and you feel
deeply honored, a
glorious nightcap, you think,
following a glorious meal,
and despite the language barrier,
you're both able to
understand each other,
and you respect and admire him,
and you laugh when his wife calls
the vineyard “his mistress,” and
you fall in love with her, and
his kids, and you imagine
living his life, a hard but
honest one, once again
marveling at
how much better
lives are lived here,
how even difficult field work
pays a livable wage,
and how the people are all
so much more than
whatever job they do,
they play instruments, and
know books, and music,
and painting, and sculpture,
and they do most things with
a quiet kind of art and grace,
and of course, they know
how to eat, and drink,
and celebrate, and
how to not worry
too much, and the
mindset is one of
collaboration, of
sharing both
what they have,
and what they are
with the world,
and with each other,
and you can't help but think
that America could
certainly do with
a little bit
more
of that

This poem makes me relish the lives of the family the poet has joined. How I wish for all the world to lead exactly this life and it creates a wistful feeling in the reader of hoping for a better working life, a better home life. I also wonder what country the poet is visiting? I imagine Italy or France with the mention of vineyards but you never know. What a wonderful world this would be if we could all share our lives together more creatively and honestly.


This collection, A Deep and Gorgeous Thirst by Hosho McCreesh will be published and available for purchase this Summer so keep track of the time by visiting:
http://www.hoshomccreesh.com/HMsite/Gorgeous.html

Thanks always for reading, please drop in again next week…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

https://sites.google.com/site/whiteknucklechaps/john-dutterer/in-the-center-of-an-asian-supermarket-there-is-a-black-hole-1
“In the Center of an Asian Market There is a Black Hole” by John Dutterer

https://sites.google.com/site/whiteknucklechaps/john-dutterer/nuclear-appalachia/yukon/in-memory-of-ruben-gonzalez
“In Memory of Ruben Gozales” by John Dutterer

Thanks for clicking in, please stop by again next week…

Palimpsest by Kristina Marie Darling

Kristina Marie Darling’s collection, palimpsest, is published by Patasola Press and the definition of the word perfectly describes its interior: “a parchment or the like from which writing has been partially or completely erased to make room for another text.” Darling is known for her footnotes, appendixes, glossaries and this collection includes the same wonders as previous texts. This collection also includes chapters to a story we long to hear more of. What I love about Kristina Marie Darling’s work is that it ultimately touches a chord in you while allowing you the space to dream up your own world that she’s created, it becomes personal and yet shared with the writer who is also an artist with words. Below I am happy to share a sample of her work:

From Chapter Two:

4. An early twentieth-century stage play, in which the heroine professed to see Zukofsky’s ghost in her intricately embellished teacup.
5. “I had wanted to bottle the cold white light that shone through the kitchen window. Soon every spoon was glittering in the little wooden drawer.”
6. She realized that her desire to entertain, rather than the physical presence of a guest, was the cause of her recurring dream.

Darling mentions Zukofsky, an American poet who pushed the limits of language, in the first line of this page. I imagine his image as being the inspiration to the narrator in Chapter Two and that his ghostly presence watches over her shoulder as she moves about her daily life, such as noticing the spoons glittering in the white light of the kitchen window and the ties to a recurring dream we don’t know about. Darling lets our minds expand to accommodate our own story line and I picture myself in my own kitchen thinking of inspiring writers while pulling open my own kitchen drawers looking for something I cannot find. I always wish to know more of the story that is in her own mind to see how her mind’s inner workings translate to these pages.


From: Notes on the Dagerreotype: Its Appearance and Origins

She remembered that the shutter failed to close. Then music. His cufflink catching on the hem of her blue silk dress.
*
Soon the guests began to arrive. Her sister arranging madeleines on the most intricately embellished plates.
*
The audience grew larger and larger. Yet his presentation of the daguerreotype was marked by unprecedented sincerity. Its lucid glass and painstakingly lettered inscription.
*
Within the room, an uneasy stillness. Her cold white hands. The phonograph spinning beneath a glittering needle.
*
She affixed the daguerreotype to her bedroom wall. Nights she thought of the mercury embedded in its luminous image.
*
That was when the room grew dim. The shadow of her dress spreading out across the wall. His image suspended in an inexplicable light.

The daguerreotype is defined as: “an obsolete photographic process, invented in 1839, in which a picture made on a silver surface sensitized with iodine was developed by exposure to mercury vapor.” I imagine a grand hall with a presenter and all the audience members riveted by this process being explained to them. I love how Darling captures small moments such as “sister arranging madeleines on the most intricately embellished plates” and how this describes the type of people who would come to such a lecture. Darling creates a romantic image with lines such as “the shadow of her dress spreading out across the wall” as the main character affixes “the daguerreotype to her bedroom wall.” It makes me want to live the scene itself and find the wonder and magic in it all.


If you enjoyed this brief sample, you may purchase a copy of Kristina Marie Darling’s palimpsest for $12.00 at:
http://www.amazon.com/Palimpsest-Kristina-Marie-Darling/dp/0615783988

Thanks always for reading, please click in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…

Sister Blood and Bone by Yours Truly Now Available from Blood Pudding Press

I'm very proud to announce my latest poetry collection inspired by my dear sister, Lisa Cary, titled Sister Blood and Bone. Published by Juliet Cook of Blood Pudding Press, I have ten wonderful poems inside and there is a sample poem on the website below if you'd like to take a look. The cover art is beautiful and a copy costs a mere $7.00 at:
http://www.etsy.com/listing/150775648/sister-blood-and-bone-by-paula-cary-new?ref=shop_home_active

I thank all of you for your support of the blog and for your inspiration to keep me writing. Please drop in later this week for another featured poet...

Pledge to Support Alternating Current

Leah Angstman of Alternating Current is seeking support to keep her vital and valuable small press running. I have made my pledge and I urge you to please watch the video on the link below and make a pledge. Stick with the small press, editors like Leah Angstman aren't afraid to take on new writers and that is so vital to all writers' and readers' survival of receiving fresh perspectives, poems, stories, and revelations.

Please click and follow the link below:
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1484753732/poiesis-6-and-footnote-1

F IN by Carol Guess

What started out as a novella transformed itself completely as Carol Guess began removing sentences and individual words creating a new text of poems. F IN is published by Noctuary Press and iIn this collection, what was once a girl narrating a crime story is now a contemporary piece filled with the light spaces between illuminating words. While I may not be able to produce the pages and their text exactly, I will do my best to portray this stunning collection that allows the reader to absorb each word’s importance into their own imagination. No two experiences will be the same and I can only share my own perspective. I am unable to space out the words on the page when I go to post these pieces, just know that the poems are spaced out among the page to reveal the words that have been deleted as well as the words that have been kept. Below, a short sample of the gems inside:

city of alleyways disappearing mountains
winding
roads rockslides ghosts serial killers
guard dogs Minutemen meth labs
city of
clear-cut

identical floor plans

erase

place

As you can see, it is difficult to get the spacing correct but what I love is that an entire novel has been trimmed down to a new essence. In this space, it allows me to picture my own world, and I think of El Paso, TX where I once lived with the winding roads of the mountains and the cookie-cutter houses you could see from the top. The words “erase” and “place” make me wonder if the story’s speaker is trying to erase the location from memory and as a poem I mentally erase the image in my own mind. It’s an interesting take on creating prose or poetry by erasing a much more dense, rich text of a novella.


buried the
creepy guy

‘s key

Of course, it is easy to read this as one sentence all to itself which is at once an extraordinary thing to create after erasing a page of text and also entices the reader to figure out what the rest of the page might have said. The story line also makes me wonder who “the creepy guy” is and I form my own image imagining a young girl getting a hold of a key and burying it, but a key to what? Myself and the reader are left to create their own mystery and I like that this allows me to ignite my own imagination.

As is it difficult to properly portray the text on the page, I implore you to find or buy a copy of F IN by Carol Guess for yourself. If you enjoyed F IN by Carol Guess, you may purchase a copy from Noctuary Press for $14.00 at:
http://noctuarypress.com/catalogue/

Thanks always for reading, please stop by again next week…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

https://sites.google.com/site/62rhpissue/steve-tomasko
“Knock on Wood” by Steve Tomasko

https://sites.google.com/site/62rhpissue/sara-hughes
“Kiyoko” by Sara Hughes

https://sites.google.com/site/62rhpissue/robin-wyatt-dunn
“March” by Robin Wyatt Dunn

Thanks for clicking in, please stop in again next week…

Poking through the Fabric of the Light that Formed Us: Songs and Stories to Read in the Mirror by Lora Bloom

Lora Bloom’s collection, Poking through the Fabric of the Light that Formed Us: Songs and Stories to Read in the Mirror, is published by Blood Pudding Press in 2013. Lora Bloom’s words are fragmented images filled with refracting emotions throughout. It is an enticing and uncanny collection that I am happy to share a sample of with you:

Invisible

As I stood between his legs
This man told me he was from another planet
he asked if I wanted to go with him
I looked around, into the mirror
behind the bar
for a moment I was invisible
hiding behind my exposed skin
he smiled mysteriously
I shivered and laughed
I thought he was joking
but his tied and eyes
were very bright

This poem has the surreal experience of wonder in it and I cannot help but be drawn in to this man at the bar just as the poet is. Without revealing much about his appearance, we as readers are all eagerly daydreaming our own version of this man at the bar, wondering just how bright, and perhaps beautiful, those eyes are and if we’d contemplate going with him, too. I love this poem for bringing a flight-of-fancy that can be a rarely found journey in poems.



Clown Girl

I am the clown girl
with the plastic smile
the clone boys
with the plastic eyes
like to kiss my plastic lips
poke their rubber tongues
inside my mouth

they can’t taste the blood
that fills these plastic lips
makes them red
and plump as cherries

for the boys to kiss

underneath the plastic
I can’t feel their kisses
just a dull ache
like someone squeezed
where my cotton heart once was

And I am the pretty clown girl
with the plastic smile

sometimes,
when no one’s hiding near
and I don’t think I’ll mind the sting
sometimes I rip away the plastic
just to feel my lips, bloated
scratched and scarred
flap into breezes
I want to feel the stars
searing my bloodlips

would they laught, these boys
if they knew
behind my plastic smile
the frozen, blistered grimace

if they knew
the blasts of shadow laughter
blowing soft into their kisses

into their silly plastic eyes
that will never
taste the sky

like I do

I feel like this is the “Siren Song” of every female once they have had their heart broken for the first time and seal themselves up afterwards. I love the “Clown Girl” poem as it describes how so many people try to paint on that smile when looking for love yet also protect themselves, the poet uses plastic as the metaphor for closing off those feelings and nerve endings that allow her to fall in love. It’s a beautiful poem that deserves to be re-read as you’ll find more and more with each reading.



If you enjoyed this brief sample of Poking through the Fabric of the Light that Formed Us: Songs and Stories to Read in the Mirror by Lora Bloom, you may purchase a copy for $7.00 through Blood Pudding Press’ Etsy Site, just go to:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/BloodPuddingPress

Thanks always for reading, please drop in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound

Regardless of Authority Open Submissions

If you have strong convictions and something to say about them, read all the guidelines and check out the website to ensure your voice is heard by visiting:
http://regardlessofauthority.wordpress.com/submission-guidelines/

Good luck to all who submit, please stop by again next week!

Petrarchan by Kristina Marie Darling

Published by BlazeVox in 2013, Kristina Marie Darling’s collection titled Petrarchan takes its inspiration from Francesco Petrarca, a poet born in Italy in 1304. Inspired by a woman named Laura de Noves, he wrote a collection of love poems and Kristina Marie Darling has taken the chapter titles of her collection from his bibliography and her appendixes are based on found text in Pertrach’s sonnets. Her style is evident here with footnotes, dictionary terms, and glimpses of images that leave the reader to imagine a full text being commented on. As always, Darling’s work is beautiful and inspiring while exposing fragility of human nature and its emotions. In much of Darling’s collections there are references to pale skin, faint music, mysterious rooms, doors, locks, and they all wind their way into this collection in a way that is just as fascinating as all of her other works previously reviewed on Poet Hound. If she ever offers a boxed set, I would urge anyone to spring for it immediately. For now, I am always eager for the next collection and proud to share samples with you, readers:

4. Inaccessible.
1. Something unattainable by ordinary means.
2. Meaning that one seems frigid or unapproachable.
3. Referring to a research station on the North Pole (See also: Pole of Inaccessiblity).
5. The painting renders her conscious mind as a window overlooking a barren field. To an untrained eye, the ice gathering on the ledge seems to herald a lengthy solitude.

From the chapter titled “Guide to the Holy Land:” I am unable to do Darling justice as there are symbols included with 2 and 3 above. However, I like this piece because it makes reference to the idea that what an artist is trying to present versus others interpretation can be two different things when the painting is mentioned. As for the term “inaccessible” I wonder if she is referring to Petrarch’s fixation on Laura de Noves? The reference to the North Pole makes me think of “cold shoulder.” Either way, I like that so much is left to interpretation and allows the reader to make their own story with the use of these footnotes.


1. A seemingly endless blue corridor, which leads to an empty room.
2. She fastened the latch as the light began to fade. That was when she wandered the unlit halls. A heavy fog drifting through all the windows.
3. “Only when alone did I understand this house by the sea, its faultless architecture. And now a pigeon nesting in every rafter.”

This is from the chapter titled “On the Solitary Life.” There are references within the collection of “the house by the sea” and I’m not sure if it refers to Petrarch’s poems or to a subconscious mind frame. The images are haunting and beautiful, the “endless blue corridor” and “heavy fog drifting through all the windows.” You can imagine a figure wandering this corridor, shadowed by fog, hearing the pigeons roosting and the figure trying to discover what is at the end, only to find emptiness, the figure’s voice is captured above, it could be Darling’s or a fictionalized figure. I let my own imagination drift to a drafty house with long hallways, abandoned by the original owners and providing no clues to who used to live there.


1. A cabinet that housed her beloved’s black winter coat.
2. When asked, she would describe his attire as “militant.” Yet his hands seemed fragile, even delicate.
3. “I remember only the struggle between his decorum and my unfailing warmth. Within every drawer I found the most dangerous objects.”

This excerpt is from the chapter “Triumphs.” Here I imagine Petrarch’s love, Laura, being featured, though I could be wrong. The juxtaposition between the man’s hard edges, his “militant” attire and the drawer of “most dangerous objects” against his “hands” that “seemed fragile, even delicate,” brings the characters of this excerpt closer to the reader. You can imagine the woman’s smile and the man’s struggle to maintain a strong, hard-edged façade. You can then imagine translating it into your own interactions in a variety of situations and this makes the excerpts above more life-like and colorful to me.


I can hardly do Darling’s work justice. All I can say is that I love the mystery of the footnotes and the beautiful images, phrases, and how they all tie together when you read the book cover to cover. To purchase a copy of Petrarchan by Kristina Marie Darling for $16.00 go to:
http://www.amazon.com/Petrarchan-Kristina-Marie-Darling/dp/1609641167
or purchase from BlazeVox for $16.00 at:
http://www.blazevox.org/index.php/Shop/new-releases/petrarchan-by-kristina-marie-darling-328/


For more details about Francesco Petrarca, the inspiration behind this collection, go to:
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/1180

Thanks always for reading, please stop by again Thursday…