Poetry Tips: An Unusual Perspective

I credit Patricia Smith with this idea. She wrote a poem from the perspective of a skinhead, she’s written many poems from a perspective unusual to her personally. This week, I urge you to embody someone unlike yourself and spin a poem from their perspective. You could be the worst kind of person, such as a murderer, the best kind of person, such as a philanthropist. You could be dirt poor, filthy rich, incredibly narcissistic, or full of self-doubt. Take yourself to an extreme and explore it, read an autobiography of someone very unlike yourself and imagine writing a poem from their perspective. This will not only help you walk in another’s shoes but expand your horizons in writing.

For more enlightenment, read this interview with Patricia Smith at Torch to get an idea of how she goes about it:

http://www.torchpoetry.org/patriciasmith.htm


Good luck to all who try, please stop in next Monday for another featured site…

Upstreet Open Submissions

You may submit three unpublished poems by March 1st using the electronic form available on-line here:

http://www.upstreet-mag.org/guideline_layers.html

Good luck to all who submit, please drop in tomorrow for more Poetry Tips…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=179273
“My Lover Gave Me Green Leaves” by Josephine Dickinson

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=179292
“You, Therefore” by Reginald Shepard

Thanks for clicking in, please drop in tomorrow for more Open Submissions…

David S. Pointer's Triggertopia

David S. Pointer has a wily collection of poems in his chapbook Triggertopia, complete with artistic drawings, and family photos in this chapbook published by Alternating Current’s Propaganda Press. His poems range from insightful to disturbing depending on the subject matter and I am happy to share several with you:

Major CEO:
Basic Job Description

The preferred candidate
in addition to authorized
attire must wear an
overexpression of
innocence when answering
questions, must wear
collegiality and situational
reality like a clip-on candy
dispenser to be passed
out to all Presidential
administrations as well
as communicating to them
the need to do the same,
must be able to secure
supersizasaurus subsidies
before they are designated for the poor,
must be expert
at creating the image of
false job creation while
using the money to move
overseas, must assist and
instruct the President, senators
and lobbyists in dismantling
worker compensation and
safety laws while manipulating
legal and medical research
while simultaneously ignoring
the collective chemotherapeutic
cough of the common workers.
Most of all must occupy space
where truth and lies intersect
on a consistent basis and like it
while going up the backside of
humanity like a giant grapefruit
reamer while still playing rounds
of golf with foreign economic
gophers through the international
gauntlets of diplomatic goodwill.
All compensation and benefits
will catapult past all experience
or anything previously imagined.

I like the quirky and inventive words and phrases Mr. Pointer brings about such as “supersizasaurus subsidies” which highlights how ridiculous subsidies can be with his invented word, and the idea of wearing “situational/reality like a clip-on candy/dispenser” which is unusual and eye-grabbing. As for the message of the poem, I’d say he nails it splendidly, the idea of large corporations saying one thing while doing another.



Banjo Dan

He cut his first 30-bracket
aluminum rim right out of a
hubcap found in a milofield
off Missouri Hwy 13.
Just hybrid homework for
a banjo-playing boy destined
for Uncle Dave Macon Days
in Murfreesboro, Tennessee,
where clawhammer hooks
and modern creativity creep
around each sacred mountain
of melodic frost, as mythical
bootleggers get their
jangling comeuppance or
hard lot fair pay for
exquisite cornliquor.
No musical matter, some
more depression era mug-
shot men may escape a
straight razor romp through
custom shop strings only to
be gunned up good two
fast frets down on this
hazardous homemade
narrow stretch of maple
neck needed in the next
town now like the tenant
farmer wearily walking to
an obsolete oil field near
Sequoyah County,
Oklahoma, in the next song’s
smoldering breeze.

The title captures the essence of what is guaranteed to be a person you could only classify as a “character” and brings us into the imagery of a banjo player’s life in lines such as “hard lot fair pay for/exquisite cornliquor” which brings to mind a backwoods feel to the kind of music that is played. I also like the visual language such as “tenant/farmer wearily walking to/an obsolete oil field” which brings about the idea of a solitary man facing a potentially bleak future, an idea that all things are impermanent. David Pointer has some wonderful alliterations that bring some speed and rhythm to this poem as well such as “razor romp,” and “hazardous homemade.” It’s a well-paced attention-holding poem.


The following short poems have no titles but are also excellent:


hubcap dinner plates
holding bountiful stew
in the hobo camp.

This poem immediately brings about our powers of imagination and I can easily go into tangents about the lives of the people eating stew out of hubcaps in a hobo camp. Much is brought to the mind from relatively few words.


ceiling fan blades
coptering over kids
playing war

This is also an interesting and arresting visual, turning a ceiling fan into a much more ominous subject of an army helicopter hovering over children at play.


David S. Pointer’s poems in Triggertopia are well thought out and hold my attention all while reading. If you enjoyed this sample of poems you may purchase a copy through Alternating Current, which is one of the few small presses able to allow poets to make some money from their collections of poems, for $5.00 (plus $2 US shipping or $3 out –of-US shipping) by using the link below:
http://alt-current.blogspot.com/

You can also e-mail Leah Angstman at alt.current@gmail.com for more information.

Or you may send check or money order to:
Alternating Current
PO Box 398058
Cambridge, MA 02139

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

Poetry Dispatch and Other Notes From the Underground

Alan Caitlin is not only a wonderful poet but he also has a wonderful website of all things poetic, check him out at:

http://poetrydispatch.wordpress.com/

Thanks for clicking in, please drop in tomorrow for another featured poetry anthology…

Poetry Tips: Horoscopes

Some of us feel as though our fates are guided by the stars in the sky. This week, why not write poems based on your horoscope reading? Or, your friends! You could even make up your own horoscopes in rhyme scheme. The point is to have fun and be outlandish.

Good luck to all who try it, please drop in next Monday for another featured poetry site…

Diode Open Submissions

These are copied-and-pasted:

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES
What is electropositive poetry? It’s poetry that excites and energizes. It’s poetry that uses language that crackles and sparks. We’re looking for poetry from all points on the arc, from formal to experimental (no light verse or erotic poetry, please). Simultaneous submissions are welcomed, but please notify us if they're accepted elsewhere. diode does not accept previously published work.
Please submit 3-5 poems with a cover letter via email to: submit@diodepoetry.com
Please attach poems in either Word (.doc) or Rich Text Format (.rtf).
We read year round and will respond in 4-8 weeks.
For more details check them out at:

http://diodepoetry.com/index.html

Good luck to all who submit, please drop by tomorrow for more Poetry Tips…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

http://poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15443
“Voyages II” by Hart Crane

http://www.sundress.net/wickedalice/palagi29.html
“Girl On Dock” by Naomi Buck Palagi

Thanks for clicking in, please drop by tomorrow for more Open Submissions…

It's Not You, It's Me by Jerry Williams

Jerry Williams’ anthology, It’s Not You, It’s Me, is a collection of poems published by Overlook Press that covers it all: breaking up, cheating, loneliness, all things heart-wrenching. Mr. Williams’ introduction includes details of all of his failed relationships and clues to how he gathered up the particular poems used in this book. With Valentine’s Day approaching with all of its grandiose expectations I thought this would be a great time to feature an anti-valentine collection of poems. I had quite a list of poems to share and I’ve been approved for five so I hope I can cover all the bases in the following:


The Night Before Leaving
By: Linda Gregg

We sit at the kitchen table
waiting for some opening.
For the proper handling
of goodbye.
Going deeper and deeper
into the hours,
like slow divers
sinking in their heavy gear.
We look at each other, gesturing
which way to go
through the lamplight,
garbage bags, dishes in the sink
and on the table.
We surface in a kind of dream.
The boat touches the ground.
Grinds onto the rocks.
We get out,
and it floats again.

This poem definitely produces the feeling of awkward silence to me. Two people who know their relationship is over are trying to pick up the pieces without speaking any more than necessary—hence the reference to scuba divers descending into the depths using gestures to communicate. The divers are a unique way to provide a pantomime of a relationship, it really brings about vivid ideas to the couple dealing with the mundane parts of parting ways—dishes in the sink, garbage bags. When all is said and done, you see the reference of a boat grinding onto the rocks, the grating emotions at the end before they part ways once and for all.



Home Together
By: Ravi Shankar

Between us the vacuum of early evening,
A pot of rice and beans simmering on the stove.
Between us, for now, an easy domesticity.
The way we move past each other without words,
A thin breeze hitched up to bay windows,
Our footsteps rattling on the hardwood floors.
Words are there though, invisible yet sharp
As incisors pulled from a hound’s drooling jaw,
Words we can never have meant to speak,
But did, recanted, then spoke again.
Such words should have died in our lungs.
They have staked between us a fence of teeth.

The ending line is fabulous, in my opinion. Teeth which form words that create harm and build up the impenetrable wall of silence between the pair in the poem. This poem brings to mind a couple that has been together so long that separation no longer seems possible yet they are miserable in their relationship and remain silent on the subject as a result of all the harmful things that come out when they do attempt to speak.



Minneapolis
By: Patricia Smith

Ouch. The first hurt is when I see you
standing in the lobby of my hotel, pacing,
hands shoved deep in your pockets. I realize then
that it is already too late, that common sense
is no friend of ours, and I consider saying
“I have fallen in love with you” and
touching the flat of my hand against your
grizzled cheek, just to see whether you would
run, or weep. The wine, of course, is desperate
ritual, a last chance to laugh it off and return,
shaky and solemn, to the clutches of home.
We sip and giggle, our eyes jumping,
and I hungry-stare at your left hand resting
on the table, wondering if it has memorized me.

Ouch. But I am in your arms, pressed against
the door of my room, drinking in all this wrong,
biting and kissing, clutching, but this is not home,
this is not home, this is breath, this is downbeat,
this is, oh my God, forgive me, this is my latest
religion. I fold myself under you, pass through
your skin, introduce my anxious tongues
to the swell of your belly, fill my fists
with soft steel-colored curls. And our kisses
are dirge rhythm then jazz quick, strutting
like bullies on the bass line of us.
My whole body is hurt, then hallelujah,
hurt, then hallelujah again,
regretting then reveling in this deception.
Somewhere it says thou shalt not commit this.
The last thing I want is this stranger inside me.
The next thing I want is this stranger inside me.
The only thing I want is this stranger inside me.
The only thing I want is this stranger.
There are too many of us in this one room. Your wife
stands cool and detached by the window, my husband
sits on the side of the bed with his head in his hands.
We weep and fuck, so sweet slowly, so flustered and
Needing, forgetting to eat or drink, ignoring the screams
from our respective corners. That nagging question,
“What are we doing?” is answered a million and one
times because it is what we keep doing, ouch, it is what
we can’t stop doing, shattering our lives and dancing
barefoot on the shards of glass. When I say I love you
it is the first poem I ever wrote, and when you answer
I love you too, it is the sound that poem makes in the open air.

Ouch. At the sight of us, your wife moans regret.
My husband stops his tears long enough to ask me
how I could do this. I twist my body into goodbye,
squeeze my eyes shut against the sight of you.
Your plane home guns its engines
just outside the window.

If this poem doesn’t make you uncomfortable, you need to read it again. I love that every stanza begins with “Ouch” and instead of titling it what it is: Infidility, it is titled the scene of the crime. Patricia Smith makes me bow my head when reading this, it’s like watching a bad car accident you can’t look away from, it is terrible and hurts and yet you must find out the conclusion. The lovers part knowing they’ve destroyed their relationships at home and the narrator tries her utmost to block out the vision of her infidelity, “squeezing the eyes shut” against him. This poem brings my nerves to a boil, Patricia Smith has done her job well.



The Pure Loneliness
By: Michael Ryan

Late at night, when you’re so lonely,
your shoulders curl toward the center of your body,
you call no one and you don’t call out.

This is dignity. This is the pure loneliness
that made Christ think he was God.
This is why lunatics smile at their thoughts.

Even the best moment, as you slip
half-a-foot deep into someone you like,
sinks through the loneliness in it
to the loneliness that’s not.

If you believe Christ hanging on the cross,
his arms spread as if to embrace
the Father he calls who is somewhere else,

you still might hear your own voice
at your next great embrace, thinking
loneliness in another can’t be touched,

like Christ’s voice at death answering Himself.

This poem has an eerie quality perfect for loneliness. I find it fascinating that he brings Jesus into the poem as a way to illustrate the idea of being and acting alone and feeling lonely in it. The first stanza can make you curl into yourself as you start reading, as if reacting to the poem and the line towards the end “loneliness in another can’t be touched” leaves you nodding to yourself in agreement. Michael Ryan executes the look, the feel, and the thoughts involved in being lonely in a relatively short poem which shows you the power of poetry.



Why I Will Not Get Out Of Bed
By: James Tate

My muscles unravel
like spools of ribbon:
there is not a shadow

of pain. I will pose
like this for the rest
of the afternoon,

for the remainder
of all noons. The rain
is making a valley

of my dim features.
I am in Albania,
I am on the Rhine.

It is autumn,
I smell the rain,
I see children running

through columbine.
I am honey,
I am several winds.

My nerves dissolve,
my limbs wither—
I don’t love you.

I don’t love you.

The idea that muscles unravel like spools is unusual and I like it. It is obvious that the body is being affected by depression and the emotions are dark as “nerves dissolve” and he tells himself “I don’t love you” when it is this love that has brought him to this state. This is the poem I leave you with, a poem that concludes all the negatives that transpire from losing your Love. It is painful and dark, and this poem is perfect for it.


There were several more poems I wanted to post, especially “Fuck You Poem #45” but I can only feature so many. If you enjoyed these sample poems and want to grab a copy for yourself or someone you know, then you may purchase a copy from Overlook Press for $14.95 (not including Shipping & Handling) by using the following link:

http://www.overlookpress.com/it-s-not-you-it-s-me-1.html

Thanks always for reading, may your Valentine’s Day provide a better experience than the poems above, and please click in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…

Poems Out Loud

An intelligent site where you can listen to a variety of poets and their poems with details on the poets’ backgrounds… thoroughly enjoyable, check it out at:

http://www.poemsoutloud.net/

Thanks for clicking in, please drop in tomorrow for another featured poet…

Poetry Tips: Just Do It

Sometimes we fear rejection so much that we don’t want to try, but try we must. Maybe you haven’t sent out that first poem, uncertain whether your poem fits a journal’s or e-zine’s style. Maybe you have a chapbook collection that you’re not sure will win the contest. I encourage you to send your best efforts into the world and “just do it.” As I read in a magazine this past week: do it afraid, the courage will come later. If the rejection does come, at least you know you tried and can try elsewhere. There are countless opportunities to present yourself whether you’re a poet or trying to gain employment, so why not try? Courage is pursuing your passions despite the fear.

Good luck to all of you, thanks for dropping in. Please drop in next Monday for another featured site…

Open Submissions The Chattahoochee Review

Send three to five unpublished poems along with a cover letter (it’s encouraged but you don’t absolutely have to) through snail mail with an SASE or via e-mail to:
Mail or e-mail submissions to:

The Chattahoochee Review
2101 Womack Road
Dunwoody, Georgia 30338-4497

gpccr@gpc.edu

For more information, use the link below:

http://www.gpc.edu/~gpccr/submissions.php

Good luck to all who submit, please drop in tomorrow for more Poetry Tips…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=175758
“Those Winter Sundays” by Robert E. Hayden

http://www.juked.com/2010/01/bonnieprincebilly.asp
“Letter to the Bonnie “Prince Billy” by Taylor McMahon

Thanks for clicking in, please drop in tomorrow for more Open Submissions…

Lilliput Review #171

Don Wentworth at Lilliput Review has put together another riveting issue in #171 which is filled with poems about the ends of fall and the beginning of spring and the wellsprings of creative impulses of ink and paper. The first dozen poems I quickly claimed as favorites and then decided the whole issue is one of my favorite issues I’ve ever had the pleasure to read. Quite frankly I feel like posting the whole gosh-darned issue right here! However, that would not be practical or fair. So I will provide a small sample here…

4 A.M.

Spring cracks the sky and ink runs out.
An immense rom
rises around us
A wave of birdsong
breaks slowly across the continent.

Jim Ellis of Auburn, NY

Isn’t this a beautiful vision of spring and sunrise? It makes me want to step outside and breathe in deep the fresh air…



The sidewalks have disappeared.
I walk out into blank thought. The hinges
of the mailbox frozen over; the news,
small though it may seem, has traveled
whole lifetimes to reach us.

Greg Watson of St. Paul, MN

This is a nice contrast to the first poem, both make me want to breathe in fresh air. I love the idea of the mailbox being frozen over containing news that has “traveled whole lifetimes” and I am always a romantic about mailboxes and letters.



From the bridge I watch rust-colored barges
pushing pyramids of gravel up the river.
There is no Egypt here, no mystery;
only the earth shifting its weight, sun blazing,
the small indifferent birds who do not
sing. Not even for you.

Greg Watson of St. Paul, MN

I know we’ve already featured Greg Watson but his visuals are so crisp! Pyramids of gravel being pushed up river, how can you not picture it clearly in your mind’s eye? And then the emotions are brought forth by the last lines of birds who do not sing, “not even for you.” Who, exactly, is he naming? I’m dying to know! It’s a great way to create intrigue, don’t you think?



Going nowhere.
Always packed and ready.

Charlie Mehrhoff of Oakland, ME

Such a short poem loaded with any and all ideas you can bring to it. Personally, I wonder if he also means “having nothing” and therefore even more ready to just pick up and go where the winds may take him.


If you enjoyed these poems you can purchase Issue #171 for a whopping $1.00 bill or you can subscribe to six issues for $5 or 15 issues for $10.00 by sending a check made out to “Don Wentworth” and mail it to:
Lilliput Review
Don Wentworth
282 Main Street
Pittsburgh PA 15201

Being a subscriber of Lilliput Review, I can tell you that each envelope that arrives in the mail with the latest issues is always jam packed and colorful with book-mark sized flyers for new chapbooks, and I do use them as bookmarks, each issue arrives on colored paper and the illustrations are just as entertaining as the poems within the pages and on the cover. I always think of it as a present to receive the latest issues in the mail.
You can also learn more about Lilliput Review and its submissions guidelines at:

http://lilliputreview.googlepages.com/home

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

Hokku Site

Wonderful and informative site about Hokku and its history, please check it out at:
http://hokku.wordpress.com/


Thanks for dropping in, please stop by tomorrow for another featured poet…

P.S. I am always interested in feedback so always feel free to leave comments. I’ve received some wonderful e-mails but would love to see some dialogue in the comments section as well, so please don’t be shy about sharing your thoughts.