Denise Low Postings
Supporting writers and their events
Saturday, November 2, 2024
PRE-ELECTION JITTERS: CALM DOWN WITH A HORATIAN ODE
Friday, October 11, 2024
Univ. of Az. Press Publishes Denise Low: House of Grace, House of Blood
I'm happy to announce this week's publication of House of Grace, House of Blood from the University of Arizona Press, which explores intersections of archival artifacts and the personal, with focus on an incident of Indigenous genocide. The book responds to a rich archive: oral and written accounts, maps, dances, and archaeology about the Gnadenhutten, Ohio, massacre of Indigenous people by renegade Revolutionary soldiers. Benjamin Franklin commented on this tragedy as well as the Shawnee leader Tecumseh. The book's arc follows a sequence of consequences, including deforestation, diaspora of Delawares, restoration, stereotyping, and continuance of traditions and spirituality. Please contact the press for desk and review copies. Please note these appearance opportunities:
Oct. 19, Sat., Washington DC,
Politics & Prose, reading with Christian Teresi and Jason Schneiderman,
6 pm, 1324 4th Street NE, Washington, D.C. 20002, (202) 544-4452 http://ww.politics-prose.com/poetry-panel
Nov. 12, Wed. ,
San Francisco, Bird & Beckett bookstore, Denise Low and Kim Shuck 7
pm., free https://birdbeckett.com/
Nov. 14, Thurs.
Santa Rosa Arts Center, Speakeasy Reading Series, Denise Low, open mic
following, 7 pm, 312 South A St., Santa Rosa, music-Jeff Nathanson free, https://santarosaartscenter.org/index.php/speakeasy-2-2/
Nov. 15, Fri., Healdsburg, The 222-Paul
Mahder Gallery, Denise Low and Lucille Lang Day, Indigenous Thanksgiving Traditions – The 222,
7 pm, 222 Healdsburg Ave., Healdsburg CA, $20
Nov. 17, Sun., Sebastopol,
Wom-ba meeting 1 pm
Dec. 1, Sun.
Berkeley, Poetry Flash, Denise Low and Lucille Lang Day, 3 pm Art House
Gallery & Cultural Center (to be confirmed), 2905 Shattuck Avenue,
refreshments, free (poetryflash.org).
March 29, Sat., Los Angeles AWP conference, Denise
Low Bookfair Reading with Scarlet Tanager Press, 1:45 p.m.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Justice is out of the purview of poetry,
unfortunately. Otherwise, the ancestors of the ninety-six Lenapes killed by
rogue Pennsylvania militia men in 1782 might read this collection and find some
much deserved peace.”—FOREWORD Reviews
“House of Grace, House of Blood is
a masterpiece of both documentary poetry and Indigenous storytelling. Denise
Low’s exploration of history, memory, genealogy, and identity acknowledges the
complexity of her bloodlines and the possibility of healing. Throughout, her
poems become ‘portals for hearing pleas / and scriptures.’”—Craig Santos Perez,
author of From Unincorporated Territory [åmot] and National Book
Award winner
“Denise Low’s House of Grace, House of Blood chronicles
the epigenetic expression of generational trauma left by the massacre of
ninety-six Lenape Christian relatives inside a church in 1782. However, these
poems also suggest epigenetic expressions of ancestral healing and
reconciliation with living within contradictions, a powerful Indigenous
inheritance that will leave you dancing in joyous resistance.”—Edgar Gabriel
Silex, author of Acts of Love
Biography: Former Kansas Poet Laureate Denise Low
is author of House of Grace, House of Blood,
from the University of Arizona Press’s Sun Tracks poetry series (Oct.
2024). Her other books include the memoir The
Turtle's Beating Heart: One Family's Story of Lenape Survival
(University of Nebraska Press), Jigsaw
Puzzling: Essays (Meadowlark Press, Coffin Award), and Casino
Bestiary: Poems (Spartan Press). Low is a founding board member of the
national Indigenous Nations Poets (In-Na-Po) and past board member and
president of Associated Writers and Writing Programs. She has been visiting
professor at the University of Kansas and University of Richmond. She taught at
Haskell Indian Nations University 27 years, where she founded the creative
writing program. She and her husband Thomas Weso founded Mammoth Publications,
an independent press that specializes in Indigenous American and literary
works. www.deniselow.net
More praise:
“House of Grace, House of Blood moves far beyond
the personal narrative to create an experience that clearly identifies the
blade edge that is so-called American history, and invites the reader to
consider how exclusion and connection hone it.”—Mihku Paul, author of 20th
Century PowWow Playland
“This account of the violence of ignorance and the
heartbreak of broken trust is all too frequent—and all too frequently silenced,
ignored, miswritten, or forgotten in our collective societal reckoning with the
truth of our nation’s founding. And yet what Low seeks in House of
Grace, House of Blood, what we who are compelled to bear witness in our
verse seek in the telling, in the remembering, is a way forward through
healing. The facts speak for themselves. The poet speaks for the dead—and those
yet living.”—Abigail Chabitnoy, author of In the Current Where Drowning
Is Beautiful
“With documentary and lyric intensity, Low claims poetry
itself as memorial in her extraordinary new book.”—Hadara Bar-Nadav, author
of The Animal Is Chemical
“The versatile and talented Denise Low ventures into
documentary poetry in House of Grace, House of Blood with
astonishing results. Through personal reflection, memories, imagined stories,
chants, and collages of primary texts, she pieces together the story of one of
the most heinous crimes against Indigenous people in North America. For Low,
there are more questions than answers. These poems cinch the connections
between religious and nationalist fervor, racial capitalism, and Indigenous
survivance.”—Joseph Harrington, author of Disapparitions
Monday, January 29, 2024
National Book Critics Circle Announces Poetry Finalists
Saskia Hamilton, All Souls (Graywolf Press)
Kim Hyesoon, Phantom Pain Wings, translated by Don Mee Choi (New Directions)
Romeo Oriogun, The Gathering of Bastards (University of Nebraska Press)
Robyn Schiff, Information Desk (Penguin Books)
Charif Shanahan, Trace Evidence (Tin House)
Tuesday, October 10, 2023
Examining Life: Denise Low Interviews Robert Stewart
Higher: Poems, Poetry Press of Press Americana, 2023 Prize Americana, $15.00
I have known Bob Stewart as a friend and extraordinary editor for years. I admire his precision and store of knowledge about poetics, apparent in his editorial expertise during his tenure with New Letters and in his new book, Higher: Poems, winner of Prize Americana, which has precision in its execution and heart in its content. Stewart balances between narrative and song as he creates ballads about moments of heroism in everyday life. These are nourishing, sustaining poems, like this:
Stopping in the Road for a Turtle by Robert Stewart
Don’t hiss at me. Andre Dubus
rescued that brother and sister
on a highway in Haverville, so let me
here on 55th Street in Crestwood,
6:20 a.m., stop and help you over
to the shrubs.
Box
turtles I had
as a kid seemed mostly interior,
but you—neck out, jaw wrenching
like an opera singer’s—have less
turtleness
than
serpent;
how heroic of us both, then,
with the pace of such progress,
to trust the car-full universe, when all
Andre Dubus meant to do was act
according to his nature, tough guy.
It
crippled him
on that road, father of many
characters, and each always seemed
stranded outside a bar, or even home,
listening to some grieving soprano
on the radio. Sing, then turtle, hiss
your
given voice. (89)
Robert
Stewart: The poems in Higher tend toward a public voice, I believe. I
have been concerned lately with the presence in my writing of generativity, as
Erik Erikson termed concern for future generations. That is my hope for the
book, in any case. Some of what seem to be older poems in Higher might
have just been percolating in my brain for years upon years and could be fairly
recent. Others are older but did not fit previous books. Before my previous
book Working Class (2018), I had not had a full-length book of poems for
30 years, even though I published essays and poems in journals. I can still
hear my friend and mentor David Ray say, “These things [poems and stories]
don’t go out of date.” I subscribe to
that principle.
My process is simply to keep writing and trust the process.
“The good stuff and the bad stuff,” Marvin Bell has said, “are all part of the
stuff.” I looked at what I thought was
the good stuff and began to think I had a book on my hands; so, as one does
with poems, I tried to conceive of an order for them. That process is
mysterious, even spooky to me; but once I got the first two or three lined up,
I was on my way.
Denise
Low: Titles of your other books of poetry are also simple, such as Working
Class (Stephen Austin, 2017) and Plumbers (BkMk, 1988, 2nd
edition 2017). What significance do you intend with the title? And I find a
pun, “hire,” for Higher, which ties in with the previous two titles.
Robert
Stewart: I confessed recently (joked) to an audience that I didn’t realize I’d
have to spell the book title Higher every time I spoke in public. I have
tried to keep titles fairly clean in general, and a little slant. Many poetry
book titles seem to me kind of pretentious. I won’t quote them here, but poetry
book titles sometimes make me think of an essay by Robert Hass, where he was being
self-critical of an image he’d created; he imagined what the master Basho would
say of him: “Hass, you have a weakness for trying to say something
unusual.”
When the book came out, the poet Albert Goldbarth
wrote to welcome me into the club of one-word book titles—with his Selfish and
others—but, as you note, I already had another book with a one-word title, Plumbers.
The manuscript of that book originally was called What It Takes to Be a
Plumber. The editor and poet Dan Jaffe talked me out of it, saying it was
too wordy. I told a group of friends at a party hosted by Gloria Vando and Bill
Hickok that I could not come up with a less wordy title for that book; then
David Ray spoke up and said, “Why don’t you just call it Plumbers?” Perfect. I learned that simplicity can be
illusive.
I chose Higher as a title because I was struck by
the concept of aspiration, and, indeed, the book includes a fair number of
calls to elevation—which does not mean to avert our eyes from reality; it means
the opposite. My practice to seek some ascendant chord is really a structural
necessity, I think. A good poem won’t strike just one note. It offers the
reader contrast, tension, and fuller experience. I’m not saying that my poems
do all that, but that’s the hope.
Denise
Low: You reference Christian spiritual practice directly and indirectly in
these poems—brave in a time when religious affiliation is not usually addressed
in contemporary poetry, which is mostly secular. I’m thinking of “Dog in
Church,” “Piranha, Christmas Day,” “Late for Mass,” and the opening poem of the
book, “In the Back Pews on Easter at St. Ann’s in Prairie Village, &
Simultaneously St. Elizabeth’s in Waldo, St. Frances & Doubtless Our Lady
of Sorrows, Midtown.” This last, which begins, “Babies being carried out to
howl / in the lobby…,” reminds me of my childhood stints in pews of the
Congregational Church of Emporia, Kansas. Babies were always squalling in the
vestibule as a background accompaniment to the choir and sermon, and I wondered
what that signified. Anyway, what choices are you making when you include this
aspect of your life?
Robert
Stewart: I once felt sheepish about using religious references in my poems, partly
because I don’t see myself as devout or clear-headed. However, I try to live in
wonder. The Catholic tradition has been integral to my life, and I am,
therefore, both respectful of that tradition and angry toward it when the
Church fails. In one poem, for example, I expect the priest “to apologize to us
all.” In the poem you mention about babies
in church, I try to turn what had been an annoyance—babies screaming during
Mass—into what I think is something playful and sacred. These things exist, and
I am sustained by some truly great writers who write about religious practice,
such as Brian Doyle, Mary Gordon, Sharon Olds, Marilynne Robinson, Marie Ponsot.
I am just now reading essays by Czeslaw Milosz, as he examines his own life as
a Catholic. I am not alone. The key word there is to “examine.” I tend to eschew ideologies, but many of my “higher”
values have been shaped by a religious education.
Denise
Low: I appreciate the authenticity of your writing and its integrity, seen in a
poem like “My Father’s Haunt,” where you go into your father’s old bar in St.
Louis. The familiar repartee with “men in overalls” shows your comfort with
working class background. My own father wore overalls to work on the railroad,
so this struck a note. Thank you for your honesty. How has this background
affected your writing?
Robert
Stewart: My grandfather was a plumber. My father was a plumber and later an
executive in the plumbers and pipefitters union. One of my brothers and a
nephew still work with the tools. I worked, as well, as a ditch digger and in
the sewers of St. Louis, so I do feel at home with those working people. Moreover,
what they do is profoundly honorable, in my view. When my first book, Plumber,
came out, I left a stack of about ten with my father, who lived across state
from me in St. Louis. The next time I visited, he said to bring more copies. “What
are you doing with them?” I asked. He was taking them to the union hall and selling
them. I have to say, I felt incredibly moved by that. One never gets over
certain early experiences. Just this September 2023, I published an essay
called “The Hole” in Italian
Americana (I am the grandson of Sicilian Immigrants), which is about my
work in manholes, excavations, ditches, and other forms of going down into the
earth, its dangers and culture. You
asked earlier about titles, and I will add the two-word title of my 2018 book
of poems, Working Class. That kind of generality normally would put me
off; but I had played around with other titles, all fancy poetic images, cute,
clever, and I decided, no; I want to just say something direct in the title and
let the poems complicate the matter. That’s also what I hope for Higher.
Denise
Low: Anything else you would like to add?
Robert Stewart: A young woman student once asked Maxine Kumin how Kumin could tell if a student had potential to succeed as a poet. What do you look for? the student asked. Kumin answered, without hesitation, “Does she or he like to to play with words," Kumin answered, without hesitation. I happened to be present for the exchange, and I never forgot it. I included a coda to Higher, which is a quote from William Blake, “Energy is eternal delight.” One of my criteria to measure how a poem would hold up includes how the language kind of dances, despite the seriousness of the content.
Denise
Low: Bob, thank you for affirming here and in your new book how Socrates’
statement is true eternally: The unexamined life is not worth living.
Robert Stewart is the former editor
of New Letters magazine
at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, where he was also editor of New
Letters on the Air, a nationally syndicated literary radio program, and BkMk
Press. At UMKC he taught poetry writing, magazine writing, and magazine
editing. His books of essays include Outside Language (finalist for a PEN
America award) and The
Narrow Gate: Writing, Art & Values. He has won a
National Magazine Award for Editorial Achievement in the Essay category, from
the American Society of Magazine Editors. His books include Plumbers (poems,
BkMk Press), and others. Poems have appeared in Denver Quarterly, The
Iowa Review, Poetry Northwest, Prairie Schooner, Mangrove, Stand, Notre Dame
Review, The Literary Review and other magazines. Anthology editorships
include Spud Songs: An Anthology of Potato Poems (with Gloria
Vando, benefit for hunger relief), and Decade: Modern American Poets (with
Trish Reeves) and Voices From the Interior. He also is co-editor of
the collection New American Essays (with Conger Beasley Jr.,
New Letters/BkMk Press)
Interview
and reading from New Letters On the Air, audio.
Three
poems from Higher published in The Montreal Review
BOOK DESCRIPTION OF HIGHER: POEMS: “The poems in Higher
are at once direct and resonant, celebratory of the natural world and of
spiritual aspirations. Rising from a working-class, blue-collar sensibility,
these pieces range from a short work about using a sledgehammer on a street
crew to a multi-part longer work about animals in changing nature. These lyric
poems include subtle metrics and enough narrative to drive events, often with
elegiac references to a military vet friend, a brother, a Sicilian grandmother,
and literary heroes. Their focus ultimately returns to hope and care for
children, often with no small amount of humor. This collection – from the
winner of a National Magazine Award and Prize Americana – attests to our
ability to pay attention, to detail what we see and what we hear, and, as such,
aspire to joy.”
Monday, July 3, 2023
Michael Harty Publishes TWENTY STORIES: POEMS about a Tall Texas Building and More!
Michael Harty is a successful Kansas City area poet with roots in Lubbock, Texas. His new Twenty Stories: Poems centers on the tallest building in Lubbock, twenty-stories high. The pun on stories as heights and as narratives works well in the collection. I also grew up in a town with one tall building, a singular vertical in a flat grasslands town. In Emporia, Kansas, it was the Broadview Tower. In William Stafford’s Kansas, it was the building where the “elevator man” Gideon worked. Because of the large scale, there is a cinematic quality that reminds me of Muriel Rukeyser’s work. The visual point of view shifts around as well as the narration, the social contexts, and the natural environment. The poems are well written, accessible yet complicated by undercurrents, irony, and recurring themes.
Denise Low: First, congratulations on this
original, provocative book! What is your background as a poet? I
know you win sonnet contests and publish
regularly. What has been your way into this practice?
Mike Harty: I always had writerly ambitions, but I gave up my undergraduate English major when I started thinking seriously about how I was going to earn a living. Psychology was a good choice for me, but I did continue to dabble in more creative writing alongside my clinical practice and some writing for professional journals. A turning point came when I wrote a memorial poem for my mother-in-law, a dear person; people were touched by that poem and encouraged me to do more. That encouragement helped me to get past my reluctance to “come out” as a poet, and I started to write more consistently, attend workshops and classes, and submit to journals. (As you know, classes I took with you were an important part of the process.) It’s true that the sonnet form has an appeal for me, and that sonnet competitions are a place where I’ve had some success. I like the challenge of combining expressiveness with concision, which all poetry requires but which in a sonnet needs to be contained within a (more or less) fixed structure. The poems in Twenty Stories, though, are very different from that, with what seems to me a more rambling, narrative quality.
Denise Low: When I read Twenty Stories, I think of
William Stafford’s “Serving with Gideon,” the poem where the “elevator
man" must drink from a paper cup and where “old boys who ran the town”
were generous to their own kind. He miniaturizes the small-town culture with a
few images, and you miniaturize the scale of Lubbock, Texas by taking readers
to a twenty-story-high view of the town. Was Stafford ever an influence on you?
Who are some other influences?
Mike Harty: Stafford is one of the poets I most admire, for what seems to me his marvelously inventive language that still remains grounded in real life. I will insert here a sonnet I wrote about him.
On Reading William Stafford’s Collection by Michael Harty
The cover opens like a neighbor’s door;
you welcome me, and speak to me in tones
both generous and kind. A voice like home,
yet wise, prophetic almost; you abhor
pretension, yet you touch the very core
of human secrets, poem after poem.
You write of small-town parks, of nights alone,
walks by the river; boots your father wore,
farm animals and trees – a vision wide
as prairie, yet returning in the end
to ordinary life, the shifting tides
that hold and toss us all. The words you’ve penned
are like a voice from someone at my side:
“See, this is how things are. Join me, my friend.”
#
It’s hard to identify specific influences beyond just mentioning poets I’ve admired at different times: Frost, W.S. Merwin, Donald Hall and Jane Kenyon, Dylan Thomas, Maurice Manning, plenty of others. I think also growing up in the presence of the King James Bible has had a lasting influence, via the majesty of its language and its connection with the most important questions. And rock-and-roll is in there too, the sense of liberation through sound and rhythm.
Denise Low: Wonderful
poem—you capture his tone and settings so well, and your simple and effective, “…yet
returning in the end / to ordinary life, the shifting tides / that hold and
toss us all.” Exactly. In your poems, I love the narratives you create in your
poems, yet they are still lyrical. In your opinion, why are these poems and not
short stories or flash fiction?
Mike Harty: I’m glad you find the poems lyrical, as I
usually feel I work to make them that way; my revising process often seems to
move from something more prosy and expository to (hopefully) something more
evocative and layered. I’m not at all sure of the dividing line between, say,
prose poem and flash fiction: I think of the poem more in terms of the
illumination of a brief moment and the fiction as having more of a timeline and
a story arc, but I also think that doesn’t really hold, even in my own poems.
Maybe the reliance on images versus description is another point of difference,
but again far from absolute. Probably the truth is that the substance of many poems
would be suitable as well for a short (even long) fiction; I think in this book
that’s true of the poems about the shoeshine man and the bootlegger, for
example.
Denise Low: Boundaries of genres are shifting, indeed,
and I think you clarify the difference between prose poems and flash fiction
well. Story is implicit in any poem, more submerged in the 21st
century maybe than any other time in history. You work as a psychoanalyst,
where you must hear many stories. Who are your influences in that field? Jung?
And how has that work fed your creative writings?
Mike Harty: I recently looked through my accumulated
poems with the question in mind of which ones visibly drew on my psychoanalytic
work. I found surprisingly few. Occasionally there was a character, or a
situation drawn from that experience, but I came away thinking the main influence
was something less obvious but more pervasive, more in the nature of a habit of
mind or an outlook on life. It has to do with recognizing complexity
(especially in people’s motives), resisting quick answers, being willing to
face unpleasant truths without giving in to pessimism, finding beauty without
denying ugliness. Those are the aspirations, anyhow. As a psychoanalyst I’ve
never been much of a Jungian, as I tend to shy away from approaches that seem
overly mystical. I have, however, moved away from the more strictly Freudian
orientation of my early career into what would be called a more
“object-relational” approach. Probably the theorist I’ve found most influential
is Donald Winnicott, a British analyst who started out as a pediatrician and
had a lot of fruitful ideas about mothers and babies.
Denise Low: What are you working on next? What are some
upcoming publications? Where can readers find your videos or audio readings
online?
Mike Harty: I do have another chapbook coming out any
time now (from Finishing Line
Press); its title is “Real Country”, and the poems deal with
the world of a farm kid, which I both was and wasn’t. (My family lived on a
small farm, and I went to a country school, but my father’s work as well as our
church affiliation were in town.) Aside from that, there are a couple of
projects that are in some stage of development. One is a modified crown of
sonnets (nine
poems rather than the standard seven) portraying a baseball
team (a poem for each position). I don’t know where I’ll go with that one. The
other “project” is less organized, and I come back to it intermittently; it
consists of poems that imagine the later life of characters in old
rock-and-roll songs (“Maybelline”, “Long Tall Sally”, “Slow Walkin’ Jones”).
Generally, though, I’ve found it tougher to write lately, I think mainly
because political/societal issues, as well as the pandemic, have claimed so
much attention. Many thanks for this opportunity. I’m not at all good at having
an on-line presence, but I’m glad to hear from any readers who don’t want to
deal with Amazon. They can email me at mharty2[at]kc.rr.com.
Twenty Stories: Poems by Michael Harty. $17.00.
Twenty Stories –
Kelsay Books 978-1639803095
Michael Harty is a Kansas City poet now, but his
Texas boyhood is a continuing influence in his work. A second influence is his
long career as a practicing psychoanalyst, which fosters an appreciation for
the conflicts, struggles, and complexities of human life. His poems often have
appeared in the Texas Poetry Calendar, as well as in other
periodicals including New Letters, The Lyric, Measure, I-70 Review,
Coal City Review, and others. Among his honors and recognitions are
several Pushcart nominations as well as awards in a number of sonnet
competitions – the Maria W. Faust Sonnet Contest, the Nebraska Shakespeare
sonnet competition, the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award contest – and in the New
Letters Poetry Contest and the Rattle Magazine Ekphrastic Challenge. His first
chapbook, The Statue Game, appeared in 2015; both Twenty
Stories and Real Country are appearing in 2023. More
about Michael Harty: Interview, Johnson County Library Meet
the Author: Michael Harty | Johnson County Library (jocolibrary.org) . Mike Harty poem, 2016 in Denise Low Postings Denise
Low Postings: Michael Harty, poet, reads April 17 from THE STATUE GAME
Saturday, May 20, 2023
Zoom Replay: San Francisco's Bird & Beckett! Denise Low, Art Beck, Art Goodtimes--June 8, 2023
Here is the link for the replay on the Bird & Beckett YouTube channel.
Friday, March 24, 2023
Cynthia Cruz wins the 2023 National Book Critics Circle Award for Poetry
NBCC Poetry Prize winner Cynthia Cruz writes poetry and essays. Her poem “The Undersong” (2016) states an aspect of her poetics as it begins,
“But whose voice will enter/ and what will I do/ with that brutal but beautiful music.” It continues,
In the city, from my hotel window
I can see the elements and trace.
Structures constructed to protect the mind
and the gorgeous culture of the body.
In the park nearby, at dusk.
With plastic transistor radio
and magnetic apparatus,
so small they fit into the palm
of my hand.
The
first-person narrator grieves—for what is not clear, beyond a generalized ennui
within urban disconnections. The “hotel window” viewpoint is one of a homeless
person, even if the perch in a hotel is temporary. The music, like poetry
itself, strives to “protect the mind” as it appeals to the corporeal senses.
All of the moment is a self-contained vignette, fitting “into the palm/ of my
hand.” Yet it also opens out into a shared condition, an “Undersong” that most
may not hear as its sadness plays below conscious awareness. This concise lyric
has its own music as it creates unexpected pangs in the listener/reader--myself.
Cruz
grew up in Northern California, a major influence, she explains in an interview with Paul Rowe: “I grew up in a small town in rural Northern
California—there were hawks, rabbits, snakes. We had animals and acres and I
spent most of my girlhood outdoors chasing these creatures. In the long
driveway were cars and the carcasses of cars, engines and pieces. So, there’s
that—that landscape shaped me, made me who I am.” In her interview with she
continues to explain her early experiences as invisible to those middle class readers without a
similar background (of poverty, working class culture) but omnipresent, as “an interior or a flight to an
externalized interior: someplace away from the slick and sleek exteriors of the
Neoliberal city and suburbs and all that these places require” (interview with Paul Rowe, Minor
Literature[s]).
Denise Low, 2023
Cynthia
Cruz won the 2023 National Book Critics Circle Award for Poetry with Hotel
Oblivion (Four Way Books, 2022). She is the author of four other collections
of poetry, including three with Four Way Books: How the End Begins (2016),
Wunderkammer (2014), The
Glimmering Room; and Ruin (Alice
James, 2006). She has published poems in numerous literary journals and
magazines, including the New Yorker, Kenyon
Review, the Paris Review, BOMB, and the Boston
Review. She is the editor of an anthology of Latina poetry, Other
Musics: New Latina Poetry (University of Oklahoma Press, 2019). She
also publishes essays: Disquieting: Essays on Silence, critical essays
exploring silence as a form of resistance (Book*hug, 2019) and The
Melancholia of Class (Repeater Books, 2021). Cruz has received fellowships
from Yaddo and the MacDowell Colony as well as a Hodder Fellowship from
Princeton University. Cruz grew up in Northern California, where she earned her
BA at Mills College. She has an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College in writing
and an MFA in Art Criticism & Writing from the School of Visual Arts. Cruz
is currently pursuing a PhD in German Studies at Rutgers University. She
teaches at Sarah Lawrence College.
Four Way Books: Four Way Books » Cynthia Cruz Author Page
Poem Hunter: Cynthia Cruz Poems - Poems by Cynthia Cruz (poemhunter.com)
Poetry Foundation bio, poems, prose: Cynthia Cruz |
Poetry Foundation
Video
reading of “Silence”: Cynthia
Cruz reads “Silencer” - Ours Poetica | Poetry Foundation
Academy
of American Poets: About Cynthia
Cruz | Academy of American Poets
Friday, February 24, 2023
William J. Harris, an Ad Astra poet, is featured in Poetry (Feb. 2023)
Billy Joe Harris, University of Kansas professor emeritus, spent a sabbatical year studying poets and painters, including artist Giorgio Morandi. He admires Morandi for “muted colors and radically reduced subject matter.” He employs this approach to his own verse. His work suggests narratives, but in such concise form that cultural referents may be minimal. In the poem “Sympathetic Magpies,” the Chinese origin of the legend is secondary to the universal concept of bridges. Further, the stanzas’ own parallel lines suggest intervals of bridge girders. Love creates a bridge between mortal and immortal beings, and the interplay between heaven and earth are universal. The memorable magic here is the bridge made of magpies. The poem has parable-like directness, with love that can defy the decrees of heaven. Like bridges, romance between a young weaver and herder can be set in most times and places. The Milky Way itself is another kind of bridge. Then Harris shifts to present time, inviting readers to also become part of legends through the poem. With a few simple images—lovers, Heaven, and bridges—the poet creates a story, briefly outlined yet complete like a Morandi painting. Harris said of the painter: “His quiet visual drama tells you that you need no more than these few objects to tell the human story.” This also applies to “Sympathetic Magpies.”
SYMPATHETIC MAGPIES by William J. Harris
There is an old Chinese legend
About a weaving girl and a cowherd
Falling in love and being punished
By Heaven because she was celestial
And he was a mere mortal
Heaven only allowed them to meet
Once a year
On the seventh day
Of the seventh month
The magpies were so sympathetic
Each year
On that day
They made themselves
Into a bridge
Stretching across the Milky Way
So the lovers could kiss
Poems are sympathetic magpies
Bridges between lovers
Bridges between selves
Bridges between worlds
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Education: Harris received a BA in English (Central State University 1968), MA
in Creative Writing (Stanford 1971), and PhD in English and American Literature
(Stanford 1974).
Career: William J. Harris is an emeritus professor of American literature,
African American literature, creative writing, and jazz studies. He taught at
the University of Kansas, Pennsylvania State University, and Cornell
University, among other universities. He lives in Brooklyn, New York. This poet
and critic’s books include: Hey Fella Would You Mind Holding This Piano a
Moment (Ithaca House 1974), In My Own Dark Way (Ithaca House 1977)
and Personal Questions (Leconte Publishers, Rome, 2010). He has
published in over fifty anthologies. He is the author of the critical work The
Poetry and Poetics of Amiri Baraka (University of Missouri Press 1985) and
editor of The Leroi Jones/Amiri Baraka Reader (Thunder's Mouth Press,
1991, second edition, 2000).
Friday, December 30, 2022
Tom Weso Paintings and Denise Low Poems: A Dialogue
Cold
A family burns chairs, clothes, and axes
but nothing stops the silent killer.
Neighbors find them frozen in bed.
Another year trees explode.
Crows fall from trees.
Lakota winter counts show a black-ink crow.
Ben Kindle writes, “K’agi’ o’ta c’uwi’tat’api.”
Crows, they freeze to death.
This enemy seeps through sills and door jambs.
Chimney flues fill with its wrath.
North is its direction.
Nothing stops it from reaching
through flesh to the center of bone.