reading

there were so many books.  she had to separate them to avoid being overwhelmed by the excessive implications of their words.  she kept hundreds in a series of boxes inside a wire cage in a warehouse.  and hundreds more on the shelves of her various rooms.  when she changed houses she would pack some of the books into the boxes and exchange them for others that had been hibernating.  these resurrected books were precious to her for a while.  they had assumed the patinas of dusty chthonic wisdoms.  and thus she would let them sit on the shelves admiring them from a distance.  gathering time and air.  she did not want to be intimate with their insides.  the atmospherics suggested by the titles were enough.  sometimes she would increase the psychic proximities between herself and the books and place a pile of them on the floor next to her bed.  and quite possibly she absorbed their intentions while she slept.

                                                                                                                            ~ from “reading” by Joanne Burns

 

Vincent van Gogh, 1887

Call for Submissions – Tin House

Tin House is currently reading for its non-themed Winter 2013 issue and themed Spring 2014 issue, inspired by Vladimir Nabokov’s memoir Speak, Memory.  For this issue, the journal is seeking fiction, poetry, interviews, essays, and memoirs that entail the theme of memory.  The online submission deadline for both issues is May 31.

Prose submissions should not exceed 10,000 words, and poetry submissions should not exceed five poems.  Multiple submissions are not accepted.  Simultaneous submissions are permitted; however, only previously unpublished work will be considered for publication.  Since its creation in 1999, Tin House has been committed to showcasing the work of an undiscovered author or poet in every issue.

For more information and to submit online, visit the website at http://www.tinhouse.com/magazine/submission-guidelines.html.

 

May

The backyard apple tree gets sad so soon,

takes on a used-up, feather-duster look

within a week.

 

The ivy’s spring reconnaissance campaign

sends red feelers out and up and down

to find the sun.

 

Ivy from last summer clogs the pool,

brewing a loamy, wormy, tea-leaf mulch

soft to the touch

 

and rank with interface of rut and rot.

The month after the month they say is cruel

is and is not.

 

                                ~ Jonathan Galassi

 

“Apple Tree in Blossom” by Carl Fredrik Hill, 1877

In Praise of My Bed

At last I can be with you!

The grinding hours

since I left your side!

The labor of being fully human,

working my opposable thumb,

talking, and walking upright.

Now I have unclasped

unzipped, stepped out of.

Husked, soft, a be-er only,

I do nothing, but point

my bare feet into your

clean smoothness

feel your quiet strength

the whole length of my body.

I close my eyes, hear myself

moan, so grateful to be held this way.

 

~ Meredith Holmes

 

Posted in honor of finals week at Chapman University, throughout which the promise of sleep eventually has been ever-present, urging me to finish and finish strong so I can stumble with half-closed eyes to my well-earned reward…

 

Rodolfo Amoedo, 1892

Call for Manuscripts – Pacific Coast Poetry Series

Pacific Coast Poetry Series, an imprint of Beyond Baroque Books, is seeking first-rate unpublished manuscripts from poets who live, work, or study in Washington, Oregon, or California for its October 2013 release.

The editors of this press are open to various styles and sensibilities but will be looking specifically for strong, accomplished, and affecting writing.  Eligible submissions should be between 48 and 60 pages and must be postmarked by June 7 to be considered.

Beyond Baroque Books was launched in 1998 by Fred Dewey.  It has published fourteen books and several magazines featuring works by Jean-Luc Godard, Jack Hirschman, Diane di Prima, David Meltzer, and many others.

For more information about the series or to review the submission guidelines, visit the website at http://www.beyondbaroque.org.

 

For a Student Sleeping in a Poetry Workshop

I’ve watched his eyelids sag, spring open

   Vaguely and gradually go sliding

      Shut again, fly up

With a kind of drunken surprise, then wobble

   Peacefully together to send him

      Home from one school early.  Soon his lashes

Flutter in REM sleep.  I suppose he’s dreaming

   What all of us kings and poets and peasants

      Have dreamed: of not making the grade,

Of draining the inexhaustible horn cup

   Of the cerebral cortex where ganglions

      Are ganging up on us with more connections

Than atoms in heaven, but coming up once more

   Empty.  I see a clear stillness

      Settle over his face, a calming of the surface

Of water when the wind dies.  Somewhere

   Down there, he’s taking another course

      Whose resonance (let’s hope) resembles

The muttered thunder, the gutter bowling, the lightning

   Of minor minions of Thor, the groans and gurgling

      Of feral lovers and preliterate Mowglis, the songs

Of shamans whistled through bird bones.  A worried neighbor

   Gives him the elbow, and he shudders

      Awake, recollects himself, brings back

His hands from aboriginal outposts,

   Takes in new light, reorganizes his shoes,

      Stands up in them at the buzzer, barely recalls

His books and notebooks, meets my eyes

   And wonders what to say and whether to say it,

      Then keeps it to himself as today’s lesson.

 

                         ~ David Wagoner, posted in honor of our dedicated professors on this National Teacher Day

 

“In the Classroom” by Paul Louis Martin des Amoignes, 1886

Winds of May

Winds of May, that dance on the sea,

Dancing a ring-around in glee

From furrow to furrow, while overhead

The foam flies up to be garlanded,

In silvery arches spanning the air,

Saw you my true love anywhere?

Welladay!  Welladay!

For the winds of May!

Love is unhappy when love is away!

 

~ James Joyce

 

Miranda from “The Tempest” by John William Waterhouse, 1916