Tag Archives: spilled ink

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 […]

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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.

Announcing Finalists for the 2014 42 Miles Press Poetry Award

10 Jun

We are pleased to announce this year’s finalists for the 42 Miles Press Poetry Award.

We will be announcing the winner and updating the list to distinguish between finalists and semi-finalists by July 1st.

2014 finalists in alphabetical order:

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”
Knapp, Tracey – “Mouth”
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”

Poems of the Week – Raymond Carver

5 Jun

THREE POEMS BY RAYMOND CARVER

 

Woman Bathing

Naches River. Just below the falls.
Twenty miles from any town. A day
of dense sunlight
heavy with odors of love.
How long have we?
Already your body, sharpness of Picasso,
is drying in this highland air.
I towel down your back, your hips,
with my undershirt.
Time is a mountain lion.
We laugh at nothing,
and as I touch your breasts
even the ground-
                                squirrels
are dazzled.

 

Sunday Night

Make use of the things around you.
This light rain
Outside the window, for one.
This cigarette between my fingers,
These feet on the couch.
The faint sound of rock-and-roll,
The red Ferrari in my head.
The woman bumping
Drunkenly around in the kitchen . . .
Put it all in,
Make use.

 

The Attic

Her brain is an attic where things
were stored over the years.

From time to time her face appears
in the little windows near the top of the house.

The sad face of someone who has been locked up
and forgotten about.

 

* all poems from New Path to the Waterfall, Atlantic Monthly Press, 1989.

Poems of the Week – Graham Foust

29 May

FOUR POEMS BY GRAHAM FOUST

 

1984

Look at the sky, go
back inside. Cocaine
makes its way to Wisconsin.

The TV’s thick with burial, hilarious
with seed, and while the moon,
my mind, and the real world stay home,

I will walk walk
walk unkilled around
a new year’s clumsy gallows.

Anything’s impossible. I’m not
you. Here’s to music
to be in the movies to.

 

Iowa City

Compelled to pretend, I get
all elderly. As in beer was a quarter

and everyone would dance.

That boy is cutting buttons from
his jacket, sad miracle–that girl,

that one there, is collapsing a bird.

Graveyard. Graveyard.
Graveyard. Groceries.

I’m the only one on this bus.

 

To My Student Loans

A stanza, a stanza.
A room, a room, a room.

Suddenly unemployed
I wonder:

how much per sway
is the wind worth today
in these trees?

I know and will know
that there is only
ever money.

Birds are money.
Trees are money.

There are only ever breaks
in its remaining.

 

Google

All the fish look shitty
on their ice today,
the fruit like a dull
pile of metal.

A dead bag commutes
between the street
and the trees.

The sky goes
every way.

I never find you.

 

* all poems from Necessary Stranger, Flood Editions, 2007.

Poems of the Week – Greg Rappleye

22 May

THREE POEMS BY GREG RAPPLEYE

 

At the Museum of Whiskey History

I find my dead, sneaking shots of Old Crow
on the line at Kelsey-Hayes–
bootleggers, priests, procession swellers.
Here’s Uncle Ted saying, Cheers to you all,
after beating a black man senseless
behind a blind pig. And there’s Aunt Rose,
fresh from the San, taking it neat,
after hacking a fistful of blood. My dead
drive from the freight yards and Dodge Main,
drunk for the Teamsters and drunk
for Walter Reuther, shattering windows
and tipping over cars.
They marry among the hill folk, who come
rattle-trapping north to work at Ford Rouge.
See their anemic wives–
my aunts with their melon-headed kids.
There’s my mother, retching among the violets
and my father’s foot tap-tapping the rail
after Sunday mass, needing
two shots of Jim Beam before a game of skittles,
the stone sent gliding along the boards,
sawdust parting in its wake.
And in this diorama,
where the warehouse burns
and the whiskey flows in rivers of fire
torching the sumac and yarrow, my dead
toast the flames. My dead fall down.
My dead rise from the ground and sing.

 

Were We Speaking, Had You Asked

I’d bring you cauliflower
and the leaf tips of artichokes.
Or tiny radishes and
wild fennel, the violet ribs
of chard, shorn of all flesh;
sliced gingerroot, the woody hearts
of parsnips–acidic, astringent.
You might try the leeks:
one end spring green, the other–
forged in mud–
resplendent, bone white.
You might cut through the pulp
of these purple beets,
splay them across wilted
spinach, swirl them
with turnips, pungent mustard
greens, weedy amaranth
or rapini, slightly past its prime,
sauté them all with olive oil
and chopped garlic.
Are they bitter?
That is something best known
at the root of the tongue, where
muscle and blood run thick,
where the nerve ends fire,
fire, fire
at whatever starts to gag,
snapping shut the voice box
and binding the heart to silence.

 

Gentians

Naked, I hold my finger to my lips,
eyes wide, the field green and rising
behind me. No horizon, though the air
is honey-lit, wine-lit. Somewhere,
a hive, busy with the tremulous work of bees.
Amid the matted hair of my chest
and the root of my sex,
purple flowers with sea-green leaves
begin to bud, massing where the hair is massed.
And from these, gentians spread across the field,
as the bees work in a peaceful drone
while I keep my finger to my lips,
having dreamed this through those long years
I had nothing to say.

 

* all poems from Figured Dark, University of Arkansas Press, 2007.