A new episode of Rabbit Light Movies.
A new chapbook from Sam Starkweather. Poetry is there, but why do we constantly feel the need to prove it exists? To point to it? Like a mountain appearing in the distance. ‘Be an uncarved block of wood’ is what the Sarah Lawrence kids, who hadn’t slept in 40-some hours, still high off ecstasy and acid, sitting Indian-style on the rock, otherwise-silent, would shout at me during tennis matches.
A new issue of Forklift, Ohio. Amy’s poems are in it. The little film on their site shows the editors shooting the cover of the journal. With bullets. And the poems inside are bullets, too. So it works out.
A new review of Document on Jacket, written by Matt Thorburn. Wrought by Matt Thorburn. What we experience in these poems are vital impressions; not the whole story, but the feeling of the story. Alex Dickow called this the “effet-monde” (literally “world-effect”) of fiction: the impression of a fictional universe which extends far beyond the written page. It rocks when thoughtful, generous reviewers get one’s intentions right. It might be that they are great poets. Just a guess.
Hey, I hope you are well. I feel like a cheat, never writing back fast enough, never reading enough, never sleeping enough. So many journals and chapbooks to look at. So many poets to uphold and discover. Maybe some of you out there feel on top of it? Joyful? Let me know how you do it. How do you live in the world.