New Poem by Allan Peterson on Plume

17 Jul

Allan Peterson has a new poem featured on Plume.

Here is a small excerpt:

END IN ITSELF
All veins point to a heart in depleted rivers, in branches,
the way I was shown at seven by Ruby’s sister to draw a tree
by running many lines back to an axis. Where they overlapped
a trunk grew from the annular darkness. A single trick usable
nowhere till now, an end in itself as the phrase grave disease
carries a prophecy and works as well with a pencil as a bird feather.
[...]

His his fifth full-length collection of poetry, Precarious, comes out September 1, 2014. You can pre-order it here.

A July Poem by Feng Sun Chen

16 Jul

FOURTH OF JULY

Sometime, said the paper queen, you will cease to be loved.
Maybe you will be lucky
and a kind witch will tell you why. It’s probably your personality,
for example. You will not understand your pain,
which is shaped like a windmill and moves
by the tug of a horrible moon
but you may learn to live with it, or forget it
for longer and longer stretches.
In this case, the story must rest
on my profound endurance.
What a long time I have gone on! Even after the baby dropped
and happiness has proven itself to parts of the world
like glow on a map of electric consumption,
a country of darkness
run with glitter.
I want to kill
you, with my glittering heart.
I can never stop
until I do.
But I am small.
Maybe, said vole, you are too small.
Maybe, said the naked mole, you will have to give up or somehow
eat it from the inside.
There are other things to think about, said the princess
in a dress made of leaves, such as art. Where is your worm gun?
Let freedom sprout. Show me how you love.
Spangled one, how precarious and plump you look
perched on a white fence. Happiness, said the paper
beggar, who is really a god,
comes from within. Oh, how he hobbles! Look on, look on.
Here is richer than you. There are forces
much larger at work here,
humming about like godmothers.
I am small, I am small. Here comes the parade! All that beauty!
I want to die! I want to die!
I want to die!

 

* from Butcher’s Tree, Black Ocean, 2012.

Video

Tracey Knapp reading for Litquake’s Poet-Fest in 2012

8 Jul

“Litquake hosts Poet-Fest as part of its Off the Richter Scale series, which began the second day of their 13th festival, at the Variety Preview Room in San Francisco. — October 7th, 2012″

The Celebration of Tracey Knapp’s Mouth Continues!

28 Jun

We are very excited to announce that Tracey Knapp, of San Francisco, California, has won the 42 Miles Press Poetry Award for her manuscript, Mouth. The award includes a $1,000 prize in addition to the publication of her book by 42 Miles Press in September 2015. Tracey will give a reading at Indiana University South Bend upon publication. Congratulations, Tracey!

Tracey studied art, English and poetry at Syracuse University, Ohio University and Boston University. She grew up in upstate New York, but presently lives in San Francisco, where she works as a graphic designer. Her poems have been anthologized in Best New Poets 2008 and 2010, and have appeared in Five Points, New Ohio Review, The Carolina Quarterly, The Minnesota Review and elsewhere. Tracey has received scholarships from The Tin House Writers’ Workshop and the Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fund. Mouth is her first full-length collection of poems.

A Poem from Mouth:

IN THE SHAPE OF A MAN

Nothing short of delicious
was the case. A sense of
midgetry informed the piece,
a smallish whip of mousse
atop the cute forehead.
I ate the feet first,
his green shoes a smart
mint taste. My tongue
shivered fresh. I liked
the buttons best, a metallic
look and hard to bite.
I didn’t lose a tooth.
After the arms and waist,
crumbs scattered
over my new suede.
Still, I relished the final parts,
the look on his face.

* first published in 236 Magazine, Issue 1:

Two Poems by Allan Peterson on A Public Space

26 Jun

Allan Peterson has two poems featured in Issue 20 of A Public Space here.

UNLESS

The ocean is a great thinker
Imagine its headaches
I don’t have headaches anymore
unless today gets mixed up
with years ago and the cruiser
out beyond the mergansers
and beyond them Mexico
and the waves of hummingbirds
like parts of the ocean flung loose
or the columbine’s
a bare [...]

Announcing the Winner and Finalists of the 2014 42 Miles Press Poetry Award

24 Jun

We are very excited to announce that Tracey Knapp, of San Francisco, California, has won the 42 Miles Press Poetry Award for her manuscript, Mouth. The award includes a $1,000 prize in addition to the publication of her book by 42 Miles Press in September 2015. Tracey will give a reading at Indiana University South Bend upon publication. Congratulations, Tracey!

Tracey studied art, English and poetry at Syracuse University, Ohio University and Boston University. She grew up in upstate New York, but presently lives in San Francisco, where she works as a graphic designer. Her poems have been anthologized in Best New Poets 2008 and 2010, and have appeared in Five Points, New Ohio Review, The Carolina Quarterly, The Minnesota Review and elsewhere. Tracey has received scholarships from The Tin House Writers’ Workshop and the Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fund. Mouth is her first full-length collection of poems.

A Poem from Mouth:

DIFFICULTIES

I fell asleep in the grocery line while
waiting to buy you a ham. I was waiting
for the right moment to tell you.
I told you about my first time in
Cincinnati, the man on the bus
who smelled of formaldehyde.
I can still feel his wool jacket
scratching against my bare arm.
I can barely feel my fingers.
It’s so cold that the whiskers
on my dog look like icicles. We
are walking towards the sun’s last
attempt. The snow is stacked so high
but my dog begins digging like there’s
an enormous flank of steak beneath,
and what does he pull up but his old
squeaky whale! We hadn’t seen it since
summer. It’s been a difficult winter.
It’s been difficult to smoke pot
with my accountant. He tells me
it’s not the sixties, and it’s not the first
time I’ve heard that. The first time I heard
about your sick cat, I tried to call but
I heard you were turning yourself
into a grain of sand. I have turned
you into a grain of sand.
This is the first time I can honestly
say that. The first glass of wine
was followed by the next and now
it’s the first Monday at this new
desk, the first Monday I haven’t spent
the evening loathing my thighs
over a glass of wine. Where there’s
self-loathing, there’s yourself,
and then the one bright thing
underneath that makes life
worth digging for.

* first published in Best New Poets, 2008

 

2014 Finalists and Semi-Finalists list:

Admussen, Nick – “Fly or Flight”
Aliperti, Pia – “Solitude Must Share My Solitude”
*Berlin, Monica – “Nostalgia for a World Where We Can Live”
*Bursk, Christopher – “Enough for Any Mortal”
Chambers, Ashley – “The People I Make”
*Coutley, Lisa Fay – “tether”
Deming, Lynn – “In the Honeycomb Of Bone”
Finnell, Dennis – “Bright Containers”
Garcia, Kim – “The Brighter House”
Gottesman, Les – “The Humiliations”
Gutstein, Dan – “Cent / R.I.P. / et al.”
Kanke, Jennifer Schomburg – “Crash Course in the Philosophy of Passion”
*Kaplan, Dan – “instant killer wig”
Keniston, Ann – “Lament / Praise”
*Kuperman, Jaimee – “A Day at the Gene Pool”
Lavers, Michael – “The Theory of Everything”
*Lawless, Gregory – “I’ve Seen Thee Far Away”
Malboeuf, Jennie – “Heavy Animals”
Matthews, Clay – “Four-Way Lug Wrench”
McDowell, Gary L. – “Mysteries in a World that Thinks There Are None”
*Moran, Patrick – “There Are Things We Live Among”
*Myers, Gabrielle – “The Hive”
*Nelson, Dustin Luke – “Activity, Group”
*Pugh, Megan – “Whipsaw”
Rathkamp, Josh – “In Response”
Rees, Elizabeth – “What to Pack, What to Carry”
Ruzkowski, Andrew – “Don’t Be Scared the Light is Perfect”
Schlaifer, Stephanie Ellis – “Clarkston Street Polaroids”
Sereno, Prartho – “my work with elephants”
*Staley, Tim – “Lost on My Own Street”

* denotes finalist

Poems of the Week – Zachary Schomburg

12 Jun

THREE POEMS BY ZACHARY SCHOMBURG

 

THIS IS NOT FOG THIS IS COBWEBS

This is not fog
this is cobwebs.

All I have is cobwebs.

I will make a dress
for you

after plucking
with my fingers
from

the fragile silk
a spider

a spider
a spider

O Evelyn,
look

our ribs
are zippers.

 

I’M RIGHT HERE I’M A KIND OF LAMP

I’m right here.

I’m a kind of
lamp

for you to see
the baby

how you
make

the baby how
you make

the baby
move.

 

THE BLACK HOLE

I found a black hole
behind the abandoned hotel.

when I pushed you into it
you just kept falling
right there
at its infinite lip.

You looked like the second hand
of a clock
without a clock.

You looked like an arm
uncrossing.

OOOOOOOOOO
OOO

That’s the sound
you made.

 

* all poems from Scary, No Scary, Black Ocean, 2009.

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