Rob Mclennan's Blog, page 65

Ongoing notes, mid-January 2024: Karen Schindler + Kit Roffey,

Don’t forget that the VERSeFest fundraiser is still going on, yes? We’re working toget some spring festival happening! There are new perks being added prettyregularly. Oh yes, and you saw there’s an event next week through The Factory Reading Series?

London ON/Kentville NS: It was interesting tohear Baseline Press publisher Karen Schindler read the other night in London fromwhat was described as her chapbook debut, THE SAD TRUTH (Kentville NS:Gaspereau Press, 2023). The notion of the “debut” surprised me, as I’d somehow simplypresumed she’d had a chapbook or two by now, but apparently not. I’m intriguedby the framing of Schindler’s poems, fourteen first-person lyric narrativesprompted by titles that each begin “The Sad Truth About,” offering a kind ofecho of, for example, Anne Carson’s classic Short Talks (Brick Books,1992); some of Schindler’s titles include such as “THE SAD TRUTH ABOUT ENGINEERS,”“THE SAD TRUTH ABOUT FOUR SMALL THINGS” and “THE SAD TRUTH ABOUT FAIRY TALEENDINGS,” a poem that begins: “Once there was a swan maiden who rose / from thelake to find a young woodsman // standing on the moonlit shore. Is that a heart/ in his hands? Or this one: your name // is Charlie and you’re waiting in abar.” Moving from poems set as prose-blocks to poems set as couplets, there aresome interesting variations on how she utilizes space between lines, and thereis something that the spaces between her lines allows that doesn’t seem to holdas well in the prose blocks: a halt, a pause, that sets her phrases and momentsto sparkle just a bit more; these pieces allow for a finer sense of pacing, ofease, somehow. As the first poem in the quartet “THE SAD TRUTH ABOUT FOUR SMALLTHINGS,” “TREE FROG,” writes:

I discover it, as I haveto, in mountain-top cloud forests.
Ranked with those fromother parts of the world,

this one is smallest. Threetoes, two fingers.
A head not big enough forears. They say it hears

through its mouth; itscall is a heart-breaking wraak
Looking at it, I struggleto keep my balance. Six pence,

button, mustard seed. Itsgrief will not be determined.
A creature so humble,hopelessness is its reason why.

The“THE SAD TRUTH ABOUT” prompt she has designed herself suggests a largerproject, and it would be interesting to see if this chapbook translateseventually into a full-length collection.

London ON: Another debut presented the other night in London was Kit Roffey’s Civilian of Dirt (London ON: 845 Press, 2023), aselection of thirteen poems of clipped lyric, some of which are dense prosepoems, and others stretched-out sequences. “I’m objecting to oblivion.” the poem“Paring Knife, Elastic Bands, Soon” opens, “Wobbly hands resurrecting a crum- /pled aluminum foil ball. Faith-folded inwards. De-compress / until the surfacearea becomes bigger than my palm.” There’s a propulsive quality to these lines Iquite like, a staggered, staccato, swagger impulse that pushes across and downeach page, one that manages to continue, almost point-form (or pointillist)across the seven-poem sequence “Ruby-Chewed, EveryDay,” the sixth section ofwhich reads: “None of this trust me there will be no more of self this.”I’m startled by this small collection; you should read this small collection. Youshould be watching for the poems of Kit Roffey.

Roaming Skin, 2014DropOut

I know where I melt likeplastic
over a Bunsen burner. I knowwhere
I deplete like fog. Nothingthat comes
and goes is untrue. Temporallylace
like. The grade schoolcult devoted
to earthworms. The heightof my
kicks measured our teeth.Puddling on
the carpet. I know wheremy skin will
settle when final formsare overrated
and the best I can giveis a wound.

 

Kelly Weber, You Bury the Birds in My Pelvis

 

INSTEAD OF ANOTHER X-RAY

let your hands pull myribs back today.
Not light dividing bonefrom the softer shadows
but your voice slittingme
from pelvis to chin,hiding among the hollows
feather after feather
like the yellow flower mymother painted
floating above the bluehills
while I slept undermorphine, winter cloud.
Once I cared for anashbed full of animal skeletons,
my throat swallowingfistful after fistful of glass.
All the fossils softenough
to still be marrowinstead of rock.
When I cradle the skullof the mare
again, you kneel besideme, both of us holding
the twelve-million-year-oldbody
giving birth to astillborn foal cupped in her hips.
One hoof pressed againstthe absence
her heart makes. Morning pinks
the plains ice. You burythe birds in my pelvis
and say my name.
Our bones remember water.Each day
I negotiate another wayto live.

Iwas immediately struck by American poet Kelly Weber’s incredibly powerful full-lengthpoetry debut, You Bury the Birds in My Pelvis (Berkeley CA: Omnidawn,2023), following on the heels of their chapbook, We Are Changed to Deer atthe Broken Place (Tupelo Press, 2022). The poems here are dark, dense-thickand electric, articulating ongoing illness and first-person explorations ofgender, asexuality and queerness, pushing and turning language back in onitself. “after I keep thinking / about the nurse who offered to sterilize mebecause I knew best / if I wanted another soft fontanelle breaking / into theworld through me,” Weber writes, as part of the poem “AFTER THE RN WARNS MEABOUT THE BLOOD,” “after I fold my diagnosis / of menhorragia, > threemonths and walk almost all the way home [.]” Weber’s lines utilize denselanguage across first-person nrarratives and there is a direct quality thatappears straightforward at first, but bend as much as her lines unfold, and extendseemingly endlessly and breathlessly across an accumulation. As the poem “ANOTHERX-RAY” opens: “Any change you might be pregnant? When was the last time / youwanted to home against another girl’s throat and clavicle, / your mouth tautand mutinous with pearls? What is the name / for a girl who says she doesn’t feelattraction, who staves / her belly with powerlines punctured with birds calling/ one minor key note over and over?” Weber writes on roadkill and desire, ashand vulnerability, grief and elegies, odes and an ongoing health crisis inpowerful lines that build and build, increasing in strength until they finallyburst. “Sometimes the body just needs: intransitive verb.” she writes, as partof the poem “JOKES ONLY ASEXUALS WILL UNDERSTAND {CLICK ON LINK TO OPEN NEWPAGE}.”

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Lisa Olstein

Lisa Olstein is the author of fivepoetry collections, most recently Dream Apartment (Copper Canyon Press,2023), and two books of nonfiction. Her honors include a Guggenheim Fellowship,Pushcart Prize, Lannan Residency Fellowship, Hayden Carruth Award, and WritersLeague of Texas Award. She is a member of the poetry faculty at the Universityof Texas at Austin.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recentwork compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

Publishing a firstbook helped me continue to have a life in poetry, a new mooring of starting out.It allowed for the possibility of being in conversation with readers, thoseunknown beloveds, and it brought me into relationship with Copper Canyon Pressand my editor there, Michael Wiegers, who I’m lucky to be still working with 18years later. All of which I’m very grateful for. Comparing my first book (2006)to my most recent (2023) is like trying to compare myself then to myself now—muchcontinuity, much difference, much more experience.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction ornon-fiction?

During my earlyadolescence, I remember my mother reading poetry aloud to me sometimes when Iwas very upset. So I assume it’s her fault.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Doesyour writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first draftsappear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out ofcopious notes?

It varies quite abit. I’d say my writing comes quickly, over long, slow periods of time. When avoice, its music, arrives things tend to move along but this quickness is partof a much slower process. Drafts and notes vary, too. I rely on both but at thesame time, anything that sticks—whether a few lines or a whole draft—tends tohave a lot of its energy from the start, though this doesn’t mean revisionisn’t also crucial.

4 - Where does a poem or work of prose usually begin for you? Are you anauthor of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are youworking on a "book" from the very beginning?

It begins in theear. I have to hear a the music of a voice or phrase, the rhythm of thethought, to borrow Oppen’s line. Without it, I’m thinking not writing.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Areyou the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

Readings areseparate from my creative process, they’re a different thing. Having theopportunity to share work and be in community can be quite lovely, and Idefinitely hear the work differently when reading it in front of people. But mycreative process is quite separate, quite solitary, private.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kindsof questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even thinkthe current questions are?

I hope everythingI write asks and answers this question in its own way. Of course there arecertain obsessions, fascinations, ethics and aesthetics that stay with me,evolve with me. But writing is where I go not to deposit answers or proveconclusions, but to pursue questions and urgencies, to discover—incollaboration with language, that extraordinary medium—what I didn’t know Iknew or didn’t realize I needed to ask.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in largerculture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer shouldbe?

I kind of shrinkfrom monolithic singularities like “the writer” or “larger culture.” Writers.Cultures. Roles. We need writers and writing in so many differentways. It’s kind of like asking what is the current role of the scientist. We’dnever ask or answer that singularly, or at least I wouldn’t. We need scientiststo do science, in myriad ways toward myriad ends. We need writers to write, inmyriad ways toward myriad ends.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficultor essential (or both)?

For me, a fewtrusted readers are essential and I get their feedback first. Then an editor’srole can be many different things, from pretty hands off to pretty hands on.I’ve been fortunate to work with insightful, keenly intelligent people, so Itry to listen to what they say, however overarching or specific, whilepreserving my inside sense of the work, what holds it together, what is andisn’t malleable.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily givento you directly)?

Don’t try to makea happy baby happier.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry tonon-fiction to collaborative epistolary prose)? What do you see as the appeal?

In many ways, Ifound shifting from poetry—my home base—into lyric essay terrain surprisinglysmooth, at least in the two books of prose I wrote/cowrote. In those cases, thesentence felt like the right unit, and I was happy to realize that I was asobsessed with its music as I tend to be with the unit of the line when writingpoems. That said, the rigor/abandon of poetry is where I like to live.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you evenhave one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

Both my health andmy days—what they demand and allow—vary quite a bit, so I try to be a flexibleforager. On a good day, I’ll slip into my study with a mug of coffee beforedoing anything else or talking to anyone and not emerge for at least three orfour hours.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (forlack of a better word) inspiration?

Certain authors and books, of course—some predictably, others of the momentsprung—but just as often other interests: film, music, performance, visual art;cooking; landscapes; natural science; textiles.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Peonies and thesoil they grow in. The air at about twenty degrees after four inches of snow. Agerman shepherd’s ruff. Cape Cod bay. I could go on…

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but arethere any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, scienceor visual art?

All of the above,indispensably. Other disciplines and mediums—their content and form, theirparallels and differences—are as essential to my creative/thinking life asreading and literature.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, orsimply your life outside of your work?

Too many to name! ButI always return to Li Po, Bishop, Dickinson, Plath. In the contemporary space,Anne Carson, Alice Oswald, Jenny Erpenbeck, Renee Gladman, Leni Zumas.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Crisscross Icelandon horseback.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be?Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you notbeen a writer?

I’d have loved alife that put me on or in the water a good deal of the time.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

It didn’t feellike a conscious choice, exactly; it felt like a pull or a pressure in thechest, which is how Grace Paley described it.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I love JaneMiller’s new poetry collection, Paper Banners: exquisite, full ofrestraint and abandon in equal measure, brilliant. And I thought the film, American Fiction, an adaptation of Percival Everett’s novel, was pretty great.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I’mworking on my contribution to a project called Delisted2023,which invites artists, scientists, and writers to engage with animal and plantspecies that have been recently removed from the US Endangered Species List dueto extinction.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Kay Gabriel, KISSING OTHER PEOPLE OR THE HOUSE OF FAME

 

I dream of a snow-coveredfield full of schoolchildren and friends all of us off from work and schoolingthere are prizes if you make it around the track balancing on your skis as ifon a snowboard and as I try this out I have to shout to my students andfriends, Stephen is among them, to go left, left, a little bit more left so I don’tfall, I almost make it but wipe out at the last second and Patrice has broughtspecialty candles we can use to light small patterns of Greek fire on the lake

 

then Patrice and Mattyare wiping down everyone’s hands with turmeric before they enter the house (“KissingOther People or The House of Fame”)

Thelatest from New York City-based poet, essayist and editor Kay Gabriel is KISSINGOTHER PEOPLE OR THE HOUSE OF FAME (New York NY: Nightboat Books, 2023),following A Queen in Bucks County (Nightboat Books, 2022) as well as We Want It All: An Anthology of Radical Trans Poetics (edited with AndreaAbi-Karam; Nightboat Books, 2020) [see my review of such here]. KISSINGOTHER PEOPLE OR THE HOUSE OF FAME is a collection constructed out of sevenextended, epistolary lyrics, perpetually unfurling into an incredibly wide-rangingsequence of lyrics and prose blocks. Offering echoes of Bernadette Mayer fortheir shared diaristic/journal lyric impulse, Gabriel’s is one that attends toa particular nuance of dream-scape and lived daily life, existing almost ascounterpoint to the clipped flaneur of a Frank O’Hara; through Gabriel, the ordinary,the intimate and the internal is entirely the point, and by itself, is magical.As she writes to close the prose poem “Five Dollar Drive”: “I beginrevisions with a grievance. Did I mean grief? My breasts spill out in a waitingroom where I am at pains to produce edits on a draft. I reproduce my nausea atmarket – I call it inventive.”

Builtout of seven poems that increase in size and scale as the collection progresses—“YearZeroes,” “’STOFFWECHSEL’,” “Five Dollar Drive,” “A Less Exciting Personism forthe Less Fabulously Employed,” “Blind Item,” “Goodnight, Rimbaud,” which sitfrom one to eight pages in length, to the sixty-five page “Kissing Other Peopleor the House of Fame”—the shorter poems are relatively contained, compared tothe expansive quality of the final poem, assembled as a sequence of dream-blocks.As the sequence “Blind Item” includes, near the end of the second section: “CREAMOF THE CROP, Private Bureaucrat: What’s the big idea? Which among you frequentsthe state capital? Show me some plastic! Thisform belongs to another decade! Whatis the glyph beneath your port of entry stamp? Who sews the pants? Who lays thetracks? Who sets this thing in motion?” Gabriel writes a sequence ofdeclarations about and for pop stars, from well-known writers, actors andmusicians, composing a dream-sequence of self-contained but sequential bursts,running against an accumulation of narratives, seeking and seeking out. “BeforehandI dream that the scientist mom from A Wrinkle in Time is a lesbian,” shewrites, as part of the title sequence, “and that one of the transdimensional middle-agedwitches moves into her house and becomes her lover for thirty years, after shedies or disappears I must go through her boxes to sort and discard her possessionsand books during which time I learn the whole story of the affair from the mildheroic daughter [.]”

 

Walter Ancarrow, ETYMOLOGIES

 

pumpernickel from German pumpern,“to pass gas,” and Nickel, “goblin,” for its unpalatable properties—fart goblin,ass kraken, Puck of petarade, ghost of dinners past, bumyip, Poot the MagicDragon, Zephyrus unzipped, Eurus of your anus, Boreas of the ass-burp, Notus ofthe not-me, riddle of the stinks, will-o’-the-whiff, Sirens but deadly, nereidof the nether burble, Pan’s toot, the Vegetable Lamp of Fartery, flight of theNachtkrapp, munchkin of the butt-scrunch, bansheesh, shiffrit, CHAOS WHO ENGULFEDTHE WORLD AND BROKE THE WINDS. Father, expel my inner demons.

I’mintrigued by New York City (and Alexandria, Egypt) poet Walter Ancarrow’sfull-length debut, ETYMOLOGIES (Berkeley CA: Omnidawn, 2023), a lyricexamination and play of etymologies, threading multiple languages and denselyric, holding to small spaces and expansive perspectives. Ancarrow’sbook-length suite threads through a sequence of self-contained and formallydaring and fresh lyric sections that accumulate their way through the polyglot,akin to a field notes on language itself. “what we know of the body:,” hewrites, mid-way through, “that it comes from Old English bodig; that it/begins with lips parting and an exhalation of breath; that it ends in why; that/ it is ‘otherwise of obscure origin’.” Referencing Greek origins, Dharawakaborigines, Mandarin, Old English and Saints, Ancarrow articulates theinterconnectedness between a variety of world cultures and how words, and eventhoughts, are connected and formed. Ancarrow’s playful and quick wit speaks tointerrelated and polyphonic meaning, pulling apart origins and conventions, andhow deeply we are all interconnected. This is a startling and thoughtful debut.

 

 

A fabulist told ofnull-country, a realm in the shadow of Tagalog bundok, mountain, whichcity-goers called the bookdocks. These mountains drew zigzags along thesky as if signed by an illiterate. In their folds sheep slid from onevalley-side to another, beads of abaci adding nothing of value. The flowerswere meaningless because unsensed.

In another version it wasnot the mountains that were a wasteland but the city. Its depths harboredbarbarian ships and argots, while the subway map to get there was clear only tothose fluent in color-speak. Neon signs flashed on and off unsure of their decrees.Each alleyway ended in longing because you did not go down it.

In both the moral was thesame: people between city and mountain are most unhappy. For them, meaning isalways everywhere else.

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Dan Crawley

Dan Crawley’swriting appears or is forthcoming in Lost Balloon, JMWW, BestSmall Fictions, Flash Frog, Atticus Review, and elsewhere. Hislatest collection is Blur (Cowboy Jamboree Press). Find him at https://twitter.com/danbillyc.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your mostrecent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My first book was a novella-in-flash. I loved working on this form,linking the flashes together as “chapters” in the book, uniting all the piecesinto a solid thread that kept the story moving forward. It was challenging, buta blast to write. When it was published by Ad Hoc Fiction, I was grateful tofinally have a “book on the shelf” after decades of writing. And more readers,writers and editors were able to experience my work, which opened more creativeopportunities for me.

My latest collection, Blur,is a collection I’m very proud of. The gratitude I have is just as palpable asmy first book. In fact, when I publish any story I consider myself lucky,truly. It feels like winning the lottery.

2 - How did you come to flash fiction first, as opposed to, say,poetry or non-fiction?

In the 90s, I remember flashes were called “short-shorts” or“sudden fiction.” I’ve been a fan of this genre ever since. And even thoughI’ve written long stories, these very tiny stories are a joy to attempt. Imarvel at how you can achieve character revelations, strong conflicts, and playout a whole story in under a thousand words.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project?Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do firstdrafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out ofcopious notes?

Molasses slow. And I’m finding that the more I write, the processhas become slower and slower. It could take months, even over a year to developan idea of a story, then all the drafting in my mind, and finally gettingsomething on paper. Next there is revising, revising, revising. And what is inmy mind rarely is the finished product; the seed is still there, though.

4 - Where does a work of prose usually begin for you? Are you anauthor of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are youworking on a "book" from the very beginning?

This recent collection came from the many flash fictions Ipublished the last few years. I wasn’t planning on putting out another bookafter my short story collection was published in 2021. The flashes in Blur just kept showing up. It is a nicesurprise all around that a book flourished from these stories.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creativeprocess? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I can read another writer’s work (I do this a lot in my teaching),but reading my own stories can be scary for me. I guess my own stories are tooclose, causing me to feel more vulnerable. Something like that. I’m gettingbetter, I think. Slowing down, concentrating on the words rather than my ownterror. These days, Zoom readings don’t scare me as much as reading to a livecrowd.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? Whatkinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you eventhink the current questions are?

Infidelity. Financial straits. Anything to do with familydysfunction. These concerns seem to show up most in my stories. Also, I’mconstantly wondering: why do we do whatwe do to each other? Ha. Sounds like a Carver story.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in largerculture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer shouldbe?

We need to keep holding up that fucking mirror. Keep revealing, toour last breaths.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editordifficult or essential (or both)?

Hugely essential! I really appreciate the suggestions I’ve receivedfrom a wide range of editors. This writing biz is a lonely, isolating deal. Ithink it is important to get outside of my own thinking about a story and getanother’s interpretation. Being a workshop teacher has made me even moreadamant about seeking out an editor’s perspective.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarilygiven to you directly)?

Listen more than I talk. Still working on this one.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (flashfiction to the novella)? What do you see as the appeal?

Since I wrote a novella entirely of flash fictions, there hasn’tbeen such a chasm between the genres you mention. I’d like to write a few morenovellas-in-flash, if I can. I find this format as one of the best ways to tella longer story.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do youeven have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I tried writing to a schedule many times throughout my adult life.Sometimes I’ve been successful and other times I’ve floundered. These days, I’mtaking care of my dad, and now he is bedridden and needs hospice care. My daysand into the nights are taken up with attending to my dad, and some days aremore challenging than others. A writing schedule isn’t in the cards, so I tryto work on a line here and there, whenever I have the chance.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or returnfor (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I read fiction daily. From the numerous books stacked around mybedroom to all the amazing works being published every week in journals acrossour writing community. A variety of stories have kick-started me out of mystall. And I’m grateful for all the work being published by a brilliantgeneration of writers.

13 - What was your last Hallowe'en costume?

I worked in an office once and my supervisor dressed in a verydisheveled manner. So I showed up to work one Hallowe’en all disheveled. Wildthing is: everyone acted like they didn’t notice how messy I looked! Theyprobably thought I was having a bad day. Finally, an Admin. Asst. said, “Oh,you’re dressed like _____! Nice costume!”

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, butare there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music,science or visual art?

I dig all music. Punk to funk to rockabilly to bluegrass/folk andeverything in between. Usually, I listen to music while writing out firstdrafts, and I need silence when finishing up the final draft, before submittinga story. But initially writing any story and/or revising, I need that beautifulnoise. Today I cranked up Cœur de pirate. Nice.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, orsimply your life outside of your work?

Since I’m so obsessed with flash fiction, and microfiction, I’mexclusively reading these kinds of stories. For years now, I’ve been influencedby too many writers to list here. And I’m finding new writers, seemingly, allthe time on the socials.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

It would be nice not to worry. I worry a lot. Too much. To be in arelaxed state of peace would be great for a change. And sleep throughout thenight.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what wouldit be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had younot been a writer?

I don’t know, rob! Isn’t that wild? I have no idea what else I could do for a living. Writing is all I’vewanted to do since an early age. Sure, I’ve worked at a variety of jobs in andout of higher education. And teaching seems to be something I can do. But Ican’t imagine teaching without my writing. They’re so intertwined, you see.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

Another stellar question. I have no idea where this drive to getstories out comes from. I know that when I don’t write, I’m the most unpleasantperson. Worse than that bear on cocaine. But even thinking about a scene, orwriting a line or two in a day helps quell my irksome ways.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last greatfilm?

Book: Eleven Kinds ofLoneliness by Richard Yates (holy moley, “Doctor Jack-O’-Lantern” and “TheBest of Everything” and “No Pain Whatsoever”).

Film: The Florida Project.Seriously, the last few scenes knock me to the floor in the fetal position,bawling my eyes out.

20 - What are you currently working on?

A round of new flash fictions and micros. Trying, always trying.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

the genealogy book

 , on Ed Norton, Pocahontas and John Rolfe,

American actor Ed Norton, who hears on a 2023 episodeof Finding Your Roots that he is a descendant of Pocahontas (c.1596-1617), the Native American woman born with the name Amonute, also known asMatoaka. She belonged to the Powhaten, the indigenous people who first associatedwith the colonial settlement at Jamestown, Virginia, a site founded by theEnglish settlers who first landed in 1607. Pocahontas married the tobaccoplanter, John Rolfe, in 1614, and gave birth to their son, Thomas, less thannine months later. Norton seems shocked that this research could even bepossible, let alone what it reveals. There’s a paper trail, he’s told. It’s allthere. Near the end of Norton’s episode, he speaks to how every single person “here”(presumably suggesting a white settler sentiment around either the UnitedStates of America specifically or the New World generally) is from somewhereelse, away. Suggesting that everyone “here” is an immigrant, a sentiment thatdoes Pocahontas, and so many, many others, a serious disservice. Where didNorton think Pocahontas was from, exactly? The host agreed, good naturedly so,yes. Is this why the Indigenous are so poorly treated across North America? Goback to where you came from, white settler descendants yell at FirstNations protestors, all of whom stand on traditional lands. That absoluteinability to realize that there are entire populations exactly and preciselyfrom where you, sir, are standing?

for further excerpts of this work-in-progress, sign up for my increasingly clever substack, here.

from Fair bodies of unseen prose,

 

A comfortable place in the unconscious

Canone dream while lying awake? This proximity of cloud. Consensus, the end of parenthetical.Draws curtains, threat. This pragmatism: my mother gave birth to it. Melancholy,melancholy. Ask anything you want. What measure, propositions. Withdraw. Jolting,epiphanic effect. This sentence, shadows; these missives on death. Slammed door,sliver lining. Declarative: I would have liked to move the earth. Imagine, thedesire for mute prose. Liquid. This body or death. This end of text.

 

rob reads next week in London ON at Antler River Poetry with Karen Schindler!

 

Touch the Donkey : new interviews with Berlatsky, Schelenz, Weaver, Bayrock, Berrigan + Solin,

Anticipating the release next week of the fortieth issue of Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal], why not check out the interviews that have appeared over the past few weeks with contributors to the thirty-ninth issue: Noah Berlatsky, Robyn Schelenz, Andy Weaver, Dessa Bayrock, Anselm Berrigan and Alana Solin.

Interviews with contributors to the first thirty-eight issues (nearly two hundred and fifty interviews to date) remain online, including: Michael Betancourt, Monty Reid, Heather Cadsby, R Kolewe, Samuel Amadon, Meghan Kemp-Gee, Miranda Mellis, kevin mcpherson eckhoff and Kimberley Dyck, Junie Désil, Micah Ballard, Devon Rae, Barbara Tomash, Ben Meyerson, Pam Brown, Shane Kowalski, Kathy Lou Schultz, Hilary Clark, Ted Byrne, Garrett Caples, Brenda Coultas, Sheila Murphy, Chris Turnbull and Elee Kraljii Gardiner, Stuart Ross, Leah Sandals, Tamara Best, Nathan Austin, Jade Wallace, Monica Mody, Barry McKinnon, Katie Naughton, Cecilia Stuart, Benjamin Niespodziany, Jérôme Melançon, Margo LaPierre, Sarah Pinder, Genevieve Kaplan, Maw Shein Win, Carrie Hunter, Lillian Nećakov, Nate Logan, Hugh Thomas, Emily Brandt, David Buuck, Jessi MacEachern, Sue Bracken, Melissa Eleftherion, Valerie Witte, Brandon Brown, Yoyo Comay, Stephen Brockwell, Jack Jung, Amanda Auerbach, IAN MARTIN, Paige Carabello, Emma Tilley, Dana Teen Lomax, Cat Tyc, Michael Turner, Sarah Alcaide-Escue, Colby Clair Stolson, Tom Prime, Bill Carty, Christina Vega-Westhoff, Robert Hogg, Simina Banu, MLA Chernoff, Geoffrey Olsen, Douglas Barbour, Hamish Ballantyne, JoAnna Novak, Allyson Paty, Lisa Fishman, Kate Feld, Isabel Sobral Campos, Jay MillAr, Lisa Samuels, Prathna Lor, George Bowering, natalie hanna, Jill Magi, Amelia Does, Orchid Tierney, katie o’brien, Lily Brown, Tessa Bolsover, émilie kneifel, Hasan Namir, Khashayar Mohammadi, Naomi Cohn, Tom Snarsky, Guy Birchard, Mark Cunningham, Lydia Unsworth, Zane Koss, Nicole Raziya Fong, Ben Robinson, Asher Ghaffar, Clara Daneri, Ava Hofmann, Robert R. Thurman, Alyse Knorr, Denise Newman, Shelly Harder, Franco Cortese, Dale Tracy, Biswamit Dwibedy, Emily Izsak, Aja Couchois Duncan, José Felipe Alvergue, Conyer Clayton, Roxanna Bennett, Julia Drescher, Michael Cavuto, Michael Sikkema, Bronwen Tate, Emilia Nielsen, Hailey Higdon, Trish Salah, Adam Strauss, Katy Lederer, Taryn Hubbard, Michael Boughn, David Dowker, Marie Larson, Lauren Haldeman, Kate Siklosi, robert majzels, Michael Robins, Rae Armantrout, Stephanie Strickland, Ken Hunt, Rob Manery, Ryan Eckes, Stephen Cain, Dani Spinosa, Samuel Ace, Howie Good, Rusty Morrison, Allison Cardon, Jon Boisvert, Laura Theobald, Suzanne Wise, Sean Braune, Dale Smith, Valerie Coulton, Phil Hall, Sarah MacDonell, Janet Kaplan, Kyle Flemmer, Julia Polyck-O’Neill, A.M. O’Malley, Catriona Strang, Anthony Etherin, Claire Lacey, Sacha Archer, Michael e. Casteels, Harold Abramowitz, Cindy Savett, Tessy Ward, Christine Stewart, David James Miller, Jonathan Ball, Cody-Rose Clevidence, mwpm, Andrew McEwan, Brynne Rebele-Henry, Joseph Mosconi, Douglas Barbour and Sheila Murphy, Oliver Cusimano, Sue Landers, Marthe Reed, Colin Smith, Nathaniel G. Moore, David Buuck, Kate Greenstreet, Kate Hargreaves, Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Erín Moure, Sarah Swan, Buck Downs, Kemeny Babineau, Ryan Murphy, Norma Cole, Lea Graham, kevin mcpherson eckhoff, Oana Avasilichioaei, Meredith Quartermain, Amanda Earl, Luke Kennard, Shane Rhodes, Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Sarah Cook, François Turcot, Gregory Betts, Eric Schmaltz, Paul Zits, Laura Sims, Stephen Collis, Mary Kasimor, Billy Mavreas, damian lopes, Pete Smith, Sonnet L’Abbé, Katie L. Price, a rawlings, Suzanne Zelazo, Helen Hajnoczky, Kathryn MacLeod, Shannon Maguire, Sarah Mangold, Amish Trivedi, Lola Lemire Tostevin, Aaron Tucker, Kayla Czaga, Jason Christie, Jennifer Kronovet, Jordan Abel, Deborah Poe, Edward Smallfield, ryan fitzpatrick, Elizabeth Robinson, nathan dueck, Paige Taggart, Christine McNair, Stan Rogal, Jessica Smith, Nikki Sheppy, Kirsten Kaschock, Lise Downe, Lisa Jarnot, Chris Turnbull, Gary Barwin, Susan Briante, derek beaulieu, Megan Kaminski, Roland Prevost, Emily Ursuliak, j/j hastain, Catherine Wagner, Susanne Dyckman, Susan Holbrook, Julie Carr, David Peter Clark, Pearl Pirie, Eric Baus, Pattie McCarthy, Camille Martin and Gil McElroy.

The forthcoming fortieth issue features new writing by: Ryan Eckes, Dennis Cooley, Michael Harman, Terri Witek and Laynie Browne.

And of course, copies of the first thirty-eight issues are still very much available. Why not subscribe? Included, as well, as part of the above/ground press annual subscription! Which you should get right now for 2024!

We even have our own Facebook group. It’s remarkably easy.