I’ve recently had this uncomfortable relationship with happiness.
Not with being happy, but with its metrics. Everywhere, everything, everyone seems to be measuring happiness. Valuating happiness. Making metrics of happy. As if it were something to be measured and planned for and designed. “Are you happy?” people ask when we meet. What are they asking, I wonder. Could their definition be the same as mine, and really, wouldn’t it be more interesting to talk about compliments, or pancakes, or the detail in a particular line, or the view, or that we got a really good cross breeze going in the right way? Small moments. Happiness in motion. And then the conversation could begin.
I just watched the film "Wristcutters" and fell into love with the dreary backdrop, the desperate characters, Tom Waits (once again), and the soundtrack, particularly Gogol Bordello's, "Through the Roof and Underground." I can't stop listening to it, really. It's one of those songs where the lyrics are so intense they read like a novella. While the song is paired well with the movie, for cultural and deep psychological reference, it also stands beautifully on it's own and I can't stop thinking about it or the lyrics.
Somehow the lyrics fit how I feel about my surroundings and how I am always looking for escape in both poetry and mind:
When there's a trap set up for you In every corner of this town And so you learn the only way to go is underground When there's a trap set up for you In every corner of your room And so you learn the only way to go is through the roof
Ooohoohoooh through the roof, underground Ooohoohoooh through the roof, underground
And as we're crossing border after border We realize that difference is none It's underdogs who, and if you want it You always have to make your own fun
And as the upperdog leisurely sighing The local cultures are dying and dying The programmed robots are buying and buying And all secluded freaks they are still trying trying
Ooohoohoooh through the roof, underground Ooohoohoooh through the roof, and underground
And as the boy scouts learn to read between the lines The silver rabbits hop between their fathers' lies And boy scouts ask "Where? Where do they go?" They go to the country that they only know
Just like their meanings they lay between the lines Between the borders their real countries hide The strategigo's saw their advertise Their strategy of being is one of in-your-face disguise
Ooohoohoooh through the roof, underground Ooohoohoooh through the roof, underground!
And when their own walls they will a-crumble, And all the systems will be discumbumbled, Around the stump of bigotry, our own Serebryanye zayazhy vodyat horovod! [Russian]
Ooohoohoooh through the roof, underground Ooohoohoooh through the roof, and underground Ooohoohoooh through the roof, underground Ooohoohoooh through the roof! Underground!
Serebryanye zayazy vodyat horovod! [Russian]
Through the roof! And underground! Through the roof! Underground!
people always say how you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing. Like a toaster or something. well if that’s how it is than fuck that. my toaster changes colors.--http://velvetcigarette.com/
Yesterday I was reading the latest JMWW when I fell upon Nicelle Davis's poem, "The Wings Inside Our Stomachs." Let me just say, I have not fallen deep in love with a poem this way in a long time. For me this poem was one of those, "damn I wish I wrote that" pieces. But then thinking about it for just a minute or two it became the "damn I'm glad that poem was written" piece. It starts, "I'm not a monster, you say. The little girl in me agrees— / sits next to your boy-self on the curbside / of our childhoods." I love that I truly believe the poet can travel back to the edge of a childhood sidewalk and goes on to explore the memory of place in childhood. I also love the liberties the poet takes with the line break in this piece, kind of prosey, but smart and risky and the prose style is coupled with one to two word stanzas. Breathy.
Of course after this poem, I googled her work to see if her other poems blew me away with the same force. My other two favorites are published in http://www.escapeintolife.com, "As Songs Travel Past Their Singers (the reprise)" and "Dolly." In these two poems there's play with form and an element of surprise. I like that, when I read a poem and think, "there's nothing like that in which I've read before." When the imagery and syntax and element of the story just take the reader away into that magical place where one forgets they are reading and they are allowed to float in the world the writer created.
I eagerly await Nicelle Davis's first book and feel lucky for electronic publications because otherwise I might not have found her on my own.
We did it! We released our fifth installment, the fall 2010 issue, with stunning cover art by Juliette Crane: http://www.juliettecrane.com/index.shtml. Her work makes me want to be a child again, discovering new colors and whimsy. More of her work can be seen here.
The fall 2010 issue includes prose by: Cate Stevens-Davis, Pin-Yi Ko, Nathan Leslie, Craig Medvecky, and Carolyne Whelan. And poetry by: Joanna Eleftheriou, Jessica Lakritz, Patrick McGinty, Marc Pietrzykowski, Ravi Shankar Rajan, and Janine Surmick.
It's a real stunner, this one. As always, I'm really excited to be a part of this project. Each issue makes me more and more proud, mostly because of the work of our submitters, but also because of the support and enthusiasm from my fellow editors, Sarah Grubb, Amy Holwerda, and Athena Pappas.
Lately I want to wear my poetry. To dress myself in my words, to be a walking statement of something other than black and white, my cut off shorts, or the mustard velvet dress I just purchased. I want to be looked at for my verse, recognized for art. Not to say dressing isn't an art, it is in many cases, but that does not stop me from wanting to drape myself in my creations.
I feel more connected to my work than the fabric that lays heavy on my skin. The heat has not allowed me to switch over to my fall wardrobe and I'm foolishly tired of wearing flip flops and shorts (I know, woe is me). I also want to be recognized for more than the expression that comes through in my clothing. I'm sure a good part of this has to do with feeling lonely in this new town. I miss the comfort of being surrounded by other writers and being able to discuss literature face to face, coffee cup to coffee cup. I haven't been as proactive as I should be in finding a writing community in Tyler.
With a lot of free time on my hands, and the tendency to reorganize my closet a lot, I have started to think about my clothes as my memories-- in the way the poetry I write serves as a memory retrieval. In this light, I was curious to consider the ways literature and fashion go together. This idea is not a new one, I found as I internet perused.
How Dressing and Verse Come Together
http://amyuhrich.com/2010/10/08/what-do-women-want/ Amy is a friend of mine from graduate school. Her interest in fashion and literature are much more developed than my own. I am always amazed to see what she is wearing and writing. She is also part of what inspired this blog entry.
http://www.trendhunter.com/photos/12514#1 I love the idea of "book bags" as the style reminds me of my high school days when tin purses were popular. (My best friend, Kristin had a Reese Peanut Butter Cup tin purse.)
I've included a poem I wrote (still in its rough stages) in reflection of clothing as identity and working in a beauty salon. As I commonly find myself working in customer service, I also find myself comparing my work identity with my writer's identity.
What Happened to the Orange
These heels complete this outfit, tight purple dress with black leggings— and this eye shadow, this eye shadow is perfect: purple on the lids, gold on the brow. Catch a glimpse in the mirror, and I find myself in: I play the role, I am a receptionist, I check people in, I make appointments, I call the upper class to tell them about their upcoming color and cut. When nothing is going on, I stare out the door, into the square, where a police sheriff leads a prisoner in stripes, and they both get into his truck, my boss tells me they drive them to the jail that way, and I watch as they make a left onto the brick road, say, “I thought jail uniforms weren’t made like that anymore I thought they were only orange."
I have a new poem published in Vol. 7 of Coal Hill Review. This one is about internal conversation in a work place, titled, "If my co-worker asked, I'd answer." I'm pleased as a pickle to be published by Mike Simms, Editor in Chief of Autumn House Press in Pittsburgh. Autumn House has published some of my favorite books of poetry including "Lucky Wreck" by Ada Limon and "A Theory of Everything" by Mary Crockett Hill. This press does a really beautiful job. I'm a fan of their online journal too (that picked up my piece). Yes. Yes. I am so very happy to be published along side of some of my favorite people I met while in Pittsburgh. Volume 7 volume includes poems by: Athena Pappas, Siobhan Casey, Sarah Ansani, Kelly Beahm, Laura E. Davis, Dalenna Moser, and John Venturella, among others.
Gerry LaFemina's first collection of short stories, "Wish List," grabbed my fast beating heart. I picked up LaFemina's book in the local bookshop sometime in February when I was visiting my hometown, Frostburg, MD. I like to visit Main Street Books even if I'm just in for the day. And when I'm visiting I like to buy local writers' work, if I can. So I did just that.
After I bought the book and returned to Pittsburgh, school got in the way, thesis writing ate my time, and "Wish List" sat on my bookshelf, but I never forgot about it. Mostly the cover would draw my eye, the front of this book is like a poster for the way my husband's bachelor pad looked when we first started dating: amp, guitar, and a mess of music on the floor.
I feel connected to this book on many levels. Gerry was my undergrad mentor. I worked for him as an intern at Frostburg State University's Center for Creative Writing where he directs. I not only love Gerry's poetry, but love what he has done for my hometown and my alma mater as well. It was very exciting for me when his fiction collection came out. I've been terribly homesick since I've moved to East Texas in June, and so I started to read the book in late July, and I've been thinking about it since then. I am not bias when I say these stories kick ass.
The characters love what they love: punk music, vinyl, small clubs, and one another, but in a heartbreaking and ever so human way. Gerry creates a raw world in his stories, a world that can be as fast as a D beat, but slow as trying to find the place we're meant to be in life.
I want to say my favorite of this collection is the title story,"Wish List," a story where love saves the fucked-up-ness of an ex-junkie and his girlfriend. But I was equally moved by "Proofeading America" in which a man obsesses over the grammatically incorrect signage of fast food joints, street signs, and weekly local papers in small town Michigan. (When I read "Proofreading America" I related, and I thought of the obnoxiousness of misspelled teetotaler signs. If you believe in something, get it right.) But this story digs deeper than linguistics. It spills hard truths (you'll have to read it if you wand to know what they are).
Reginald McKnight's blurb on the back of "Wish List" claims, "This is Punk in short story form..." and I couldn't agree more. These stories are everything I wish I could have read when I was fourteen and wearing ripped jeans and listening to local Western MD punker groups like Undercover Nuns. But I'm glad I read the book now because I get a lot of what I wouldn't have gotten then: love fades, we have to reshape it. Life is as long as a good Buzzcocks song (could be infinite if played over and over as Steve does with his favorite records in "Wish List"), but really, there is grit out there, and it's unavoidable and LaFemina gives it to us.
Damn, this is a good book. Thank you, Gerry, for writing it. Thank you Marick Press for publishing it.
If you're done reading this, go out there and read "Wish List."
(Wicked Alice Fall 2010 Issue) Artwork by: Cassia Beck
I'm really excited to be included in the latest issue of Wicked Alice. I'm always intrigued by the work, editor, Kristy Bowen publishes: dreamy, sometimes horrifying, sometimes sweet, and always textual and imagery ridden poems. My favorites in this issue are Leigh Phillip's "The Ethical Slut on Your Nightstand" and Laura Dixon's "Poem for the Friend Who Packed My Husband's Closet." I'm also a fan of the experimentation of Khadijah Queen's "from Cuniculus." What it means to be a woman, for better or worse, that's what all of the poems in this issue have in common.
In other publication news, I recently received my copy of Weave Magazine's issue 4 in which my poem, "Tracing" is published. The fiction in this issue is phenomenal. Kirsty Logan's "Anchor of the Suburbs" won my fast beating heart as did Salvatore Pane's "America's Lover." The premise in "America's Lover" is so damn cool and contemporary in which the protagonist, a regular Joe (who happens to be a liar and cheat) made famous by a reality television show, goes to visit his dying father. If you buy a copy of this beauty, you won't be sad, but warning: you might fall in love with some of the work in here, in love, love (and if you don't, which would be weird, at least you'll have a pretty, pretty cover to look at).
We've just released our summer 2010 issue at shady side review -- with cover art by Pittsburgher, Ben Kehoe. I love Ben's work. It's dark and surreal and playful. A nice combination. He paints creatures that beg to be touched, but look dangerous to touch, that look as if they would talk to you, but speak in another language.
I'm very excited about the literary work we've published for this issue. The fiction and non-fiction editors featured one author each. Our featured fiction writer is Amber Larson, whose work has a sharp voice and a way of drawing breath in a multitude of ways. Our featured non-fiction writer is Joshua Foster. Foster writes of rural landscape. His work makes you want to meet both him and the people in his life.
For poetry, my co-editor, Athena, and I chose a variety of writers, including: Peter Kline, Kristin Ravel, Besty Snider, Kiki Vera Johnson, JS Walter, and Joseph Reich. I'd like to think we chose work that both shocks and delights. The poems here are about boners, shoes, egotism, and strange love.
That being said, my advice is chose your drink/ cigar / lawn chair / shady place of choice and read: www.shadysidereview.com
What I like about the online venue is the freedom to go from one poet's/ writer's spot to the next. Each online literary journal is like a writer's clubhouse/ fort (this can go for print journals too, but one has to pay their "entry fee" as in subscription to get into print land-- something I am willing to do when I have a steady income or if I fall hard in love with a publication).
I've been looking at reading as play lately. Mostly because when I'm on the internet, I think of it as play, and this past month I've been reading a lot of online literary journals.
And even though, as a reader, it's really easy to get into the online literary clubhouse, it's still fun to be inside. I'd like to start spot-lighting some of the writers I've fallen upon through online journals.
First Spotlight
Whilst internetting this past week, one of my favorite emerging writers I've fallen upon is Melissa Broder. Her book, When You Say One Thing, but Mean Your Mother was released by Ampersand Books in Feb. 2010. The work I've read of hers on On Earth As it Is must be shared: I fell in love with lines like: "I believe god knows these things about me/ so I needn't say them with heart." (From Pennsylvania Prayer). And "She’s been/a bad babysitter. Deliver us/from Burger King with In Touch magazine" (From Prayer of Teenager Waifs).
I am also a fan of her piece on The Del Sol Review in which she again riffs on teenage magazines. I like Broder's work for this reason: it embraces pop culture, and (unlike a lot of the pieces I've been reading lately) she uses narrative while playing with inventive language. She's not trying to be avant garde in the wrong way and she knows how to depict angst as a bittersweet thing.
I'm very excited about Sara Ries' new book, "Come In, We're Open," and here are the reasons why:
1.) Sara's poetry = very human. Her poems are like those security mirrors in pharmacies, constantly scanning people passing by or checking themselves out to see if everything is alright. And I like that. 2.) I haven't read the book in its entirety, but I read the manuscript as she worked on it at Chatham University. I like to know a little bit of what's behind the cover in also knowing I will be surprised by revisions and what I haven't read. 3.) I'm a huge fan of Sara's work. I can proudly say I was a part in publishing her in shady side review's issue 2, which can be read here: http://shadysidereview.com/i-want-my-city-to-find-me/
I really really can't wait to order my own copy, and when I do I will go here to do it: www.sararies.com And you should too.
In my recent move to Tyler, Texas I have found myself thinking about my past a lot. My poems have all been reflective pieces that look back.
The air conditioning in my car isn't working, which limits me to my feet, and my feet are mostly swollen. There also aren't many places to walk in the vicinity. My present is at stand still. And I've been experiencing what feels like ennui.
So, I've been applying to jobs. Any job. Recently I applied to The Bank of America for a bank teller position and I failed the personality section of the application. I drank a Rum & Coke to quell my rejected state. I wanted to smile politely and tell people to "have a nice life." (Some of my favorite Ben Folds lyrics.) I want a sense of placement.
In response to my complaint to the world, via facebook, my MFA mentor, Sheryl St. Germain, reminded me of Sylvia Plath's poem, "The Applicant." Listening to Plath's repetition of "will you marry it?" reminds me what it's like to be in customer service. In this search for a job and for placement I've forgotten how important it is to look at the present moment for poems. Rejection can be a good reminder of many things. (Thanks Sheryl. Thanks Sylvia.)
