Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 35
October 12, 2023
Farmworker Poetry Feature: Rodney Gomez
RODNEY GOMEZ
If I sang I was sinful, I was animal. Stole sips from circumscribed fountains. I said murcielago, my knuckles drew a ruler. I said San Judas, my arm was viced. Survived by christening the bruise a train track. Headed south and underground. To no nation.
If I sang I was sinful, I was animal. Stole sips from circumscribed fountains. I said murcielago, my knuckles drew a ruler. I said San Judas, my arm was viced. Survived by christening the bruise a train track. Headed south and underground. To no nation.
October 9, 2023
Lay It Bare: Joy Baglio Interviews Anders Carlson-Wee
ANDERS CARLSON-WEE in conversation with JOY BAGLIO
I live the way I live in order to have time to create art. The culture doesn’t want me to do that; it wants me convinced that I need things, and in order to have these things I need to trade away my time. A long time ago I said no to all that.
I live the way I live in order to have time to create art. The culture doesn’t want me to do that; it wants me convinced that I need things, and in order to have these things I need to trade away my time. A long time ago I said no to all that.
October 5, 2023
Issue 26 Launch Party in Amherst
November 9, 2023, 6pm, Amherst College. Join us to celebrate the launch of Issue 26, with three contributors to our portfolio of writing from the farmworker community! Free and open to the public, wine and snacks provided.
Translation: Five Poems by Serbian Poet Milena Marković
MILENA MARKOVIĆ
bells clang and a cur trots across a field / the dried mud smells like a cemetery flower shop / the girl isn’t wearing warm socks / some men catcall her at the bus station / she pretends not to hear them / the barking dog chases the escaping sun / there used to be a landfill
bells clang and a cur trots across a field / the dried mud smells like a cemetery flower shop / the girl isn’t wearing warm socks / some men catcall her at the bus station / she pretends not to hear them / the barking dog chases the escaping sun / there used to be a landfill
October 4, 2023
Bless These Backs
MICHELLE CASTLEBERRY
I stood behind the orthopedic specialist and watched the giant monitor where my MRI reports glowed. He traced the contours of my spine, his index finger waving back and forth down the screen.
I stood behind the orthopedic specialist and watched the giant monitor where my MRI reports glowed. He traced the contours of my spine, his index finger waving back and forth down the screen.
September 29, 2023
Podcast: Jake Lancaster on “Grace’s Folly”
JAKE LANCASTER
Jake Lancaster speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about his poem “Grace's Folly,” which appears in The Common’s spring 2023 issue.
Jake Lancaster speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about his poem “Grace's Folly,” which appears in The Common’s spring 2023 issue.
September 28, 2023
September 2023 Poetry Feature: Uljana Wolf
ULJANA WOLF
legnica your direction is uttered: night halfnight / legnica your sirens rise in the gate-keeper's lodge / and keep the flag on all clear: / yellow yellow the direction’s right / a crooked wave the gate the cross / legnica in singsong of tracks land trickles away / legnica your sky
legnica your direction is uttered: night halfnight / legnica your sirens rise in the gate-keeper's lodge / and keep the flag on all clear: / yellow yellow the direction’s right / a crooked wave the gate the cross / legnica in singsong of tracks land trickles away / legnica your sky
September 25, 2023
Beyond Their Labor: Manuel Muñoz and Helena María Viramontes on Writing the Lives of Farmworkers
HELENA MARÍA VIRAMONTES in conversation with MANUEL MUÑOZ
Even with us coming from East LA, we still had to do the summers picking near Fresno. You were able to at least make a little money, even though the labor itself was always exploitative and unfair. We basically got pennies for backbreaking work.
Even with us coming from East LA, we still had to do the summers picking near Fresno. You were able to at least make a little money, even though the labor itself was always exploitative and unfair. We basically got pennies for backbreaking work.
September 21, 2023
Poetry Feature: Poems from the Immigrant Farmworker Community
MIGUEL M. MORALES
Days into the promise of a new year, resolutions plentiful, blossoming, / seven farmworkers were shot and killed harvesting mushrooms in Half Moon Bay. / Those of us who sprouted from families, whose hands and backs worked the land, / waited for news of our farmworker siblings.
Days into the promise of a new year, resolutions plentiful, blossoming, / seven farmworkers were shot and killed harvesting mushrooms in Half Moon Bay. / Those of us who sprouted from families, whose hands and backs worked the land, / waited for news of our farmworker siblings.
September 20, 2023
The Bee-Eaters
GEORGINA PARFITT
The teeth of the excavator are wet. The cage opens, hovers, and grips a mouthful—some floor, some outer wall, some window frame, the glass disappearing with a tiny, tinkling sound.
The teeth of the excavator are wet. The cage opens, hovers, and grips a mouthful—some floor, some outer wall, some window frame, the glass disappearing with a tiny, tinkling sound.
