3.05.2007
2.27.2007
A review of Kathleen Ossip's Cinephrastics by Jessica Millnitz at Laurus:
laurusmagazine.com/view_feature.php?feature=12&PHPSESS
laurusmagazine.com/view_feature.php?feature=12&PHPSESS
2.20.2007
2.16.2007
The Transparent Dinner by Christine Hamm (Review)
Notes on
The Transparent Dinner
By Christine Hamm
Mayapple Press 2006
www.mayapplepress.com
The title poem is so uncanny that it gets canny again, which I believe is a strategy of many of these poems, to come out the other side of “stranged.” Tactics and themes of Gothic and Surreal writing are pressed until their stitches begin to show, and it is at that point that the poems acknowledge their real agenda, looking the reader in the eye and forcing the reader to look back.
The title poem is also the first poem in the book, and it provides an accurate introduction to the themes and domestic landscapes that follow. Mothers are suspect, suspicious, dangerous, important, monstrous, manic. Food is tied directly to its before and after, what it came from and what it will be. Violence is suggested when you expect it to be overt, overt when you expect it to be suggested. Much is grotesque. Sex is a dark cloud and a hot poke in the eye. And every thing and every body just keeps rolling along, complicit.
Poems like “Once Upon a Time” borrow their notion of the uncanny from fairytales, while poems like “Christmas in Hell” end with dry punch lines, make us move beyond the humor to find the real joke. “My Mother’s Basement” forces us beyond metaphorical thinking, into something more literal and bleak:
Since that man broke your neck
you had trouble dipping your
chin or seeing anyone under four feet tall;
On the other side of uncanny, everyone’s always saying, “no really,” and it’s a question that I keep asking and answering for myself throughout these poems, not because it matters where they come from, but because biography and autobiography become such a necessary aspect of the poems. In poems like “Signs You’re Ovulating,” a collage of languages and images tells us to beware, there’s no one true voice here, while other poems, like “Diary of a Thief,” seem to rely on creating a character, a person or persona that can provide contrast for itself, its actions. “Sex Ed” focuses on the self-conscious act of narration, autobiographical definition, while “American Dream” makes the act of making, of narrating, seem haphazard, a slip of the tongue. The reference to “me, Christine” in “The Weight of the World, the very last poem, creates a new tension in which the rest of the poems must necessarily exist and be revisited. No, really?
The final section, “A Walk in the Park,” is my favorite, because Christine and I, we are finally looking at each other, seeing things whole-heartedly if not wholly, assuming wholly never happens, not even—especially not—in poems. The first poem in this section, “The Clinic,” ends:
the electric wheelchairs are corralled
in the lobby
occasionally one tries
to escape, bust through the ropes
they hum to themselves and click
here people talk and there is silence
each office is the same size
each of us is the same, talking
And in another of the final section’s poems, “Joy School,” Hamm’s Cornell-inspired suggestion that joy is “tiny and dark with delicate moving parts…made of straw/ and teeth,/ with a few white feathers” sends me back to the beginning of this volume, looking closer at the evidence of its love.
-Jen
The Transparent Dinner
By Christine Hamm
Mayapple Press 2006
www.mayapplepress.com
The title poem is so uncanny that it gets canny again, which I believe is a strategy of many of these poems, to come out the other side of “stranged.” Tactics and themes of Gothic and Surreal writing are pressed until their stitches begin to show, and it is at that point that the poems acknowledge their real agenda, looking the reader in the eye and forcing the reader to look back.
The title poem is also the first poem in the book, and it provides an accurate introduction to the themes and domestic landscapes that follow. Mothers are suspect, suspicious, dangerous, important, monstrous, manic. Food is tied directly to its before and after, what it came from and what it will be. Violence is suggested when you expect it to be overt, overt when you expect it to be suggested. Much is grotesque. Sex is a dark cloud and a hot poke in the eye. And every thing and every body just keeps rolling along, complicit.
Poems like “Once Upon a Time” borrow their notion of the uncanny from fairytales, while poems like “Christmas in Hell” end with dry punch lines, make us move beyond the humor to find the real joke. “My Mother’s Basement” forces us beyond metaphorical thinking, into something more literal and bleak:
Since that man broke your neck
you had trouble dipping your
chin or seeing anyone under four feet tall;
On the other side of uncanny, everyone’s always saying, “no really,” and it’s a question that I keep asking and answering for myself throughout these poems, not because it matters where they come from, but because biography and autobiography become such a necessary aspect of the poems. In poems like “Signs You’re Ovulating,” a collage of languages and images tells us to beware, there’s no one true voice here, while other poems, like “Diary of a Thief,” seem to rely on creating a character, a person or persona that can provide contrast for itself, its actions. “Sex Ed” focuses on the self-conscious act of narration, autobiographical definition, while “American Dream” makes the act of making, of narrating, seem haphazard, a slip of the tongue. The reference to “me, Christine” in “The Weight of the World, the very last poem, creates a new tension in which the rest of the poems must necessarily exist and be revisited. No, really?
The final section, “A Walk in the Park,” is my favorite, because Christine and I, we are finally looking at each other, seeing things whole-heartedly if not wholly, assuming wholly never happens, not even—especially not—in poems. The first poem in this section, “The Clinic,” ends:
the electric wheelchairs are corralled
in the lobby
occasionally one tries
to escape, bust through the ropes
they hum to themselves and click
here people talk and there is silence
each office is the same size
each of us is the same, talking
And in another of the final section’s poems, “Joy School,” Hamm’s Cornell-inspired suggestion that joy is “tiny and dark with delicate moving parts…made of straw/ and teeth,/ with a few white feathers” sends me back to the beginning of this volume, looking closer at the evidence of its love.
-Jen
Navigate: Amelia Earhart's Letters Home by Rebecca Loudon (Review)
Notes on
Navigate: Amelia Earhart's Letters Home
Rebecca Loudon (No Tell Books 2006)
notellbooks.org
Written "as" Amelia Earhart, these poems display and explore the art and artifice of persona and the "I." The obvious – that these poems are fiction, arranged – becomes electric, a white-hot elephant in the room. Why? Maybe because this is a topic that interests me right now, and I'm reading it into everything. I think, though, this charged tension between author and speaker is part of what gives Navigate its teeth, and it is apparent first in the poems' focus on audience.
The book is divided into "letters" and excerpts "from my missing diary." The letters deal, in part, with address. "To my Muriel, my doppelganger, my darling, my negative eye," "Dear Anita Neta my curly headed Mary," "Darling Snook," "Mother," "Father" and "Dear George." The letters greet self-consciously, aware that time changes things, that distances warp and swell relationships. Important here, though, that “distance” isn’t metaphorical, “isolation” isn’t subjective. Narrative demands attention: her parents are going about their routine, her “Darling Snook” is getting married, and Amelia’s really, bodily stranded somewhere. She is both waiting rescue/company and realizing the impossibility of the distance that her letters are meant to cross. A letter to “Seamstress Pidge” contrasts the acts of domesticity with acts of survival:
I have mended my trousers 117 times
using the needle in my emergency kit
and black thread until black thread
emptied into spool now I build
worsted by chewing the leaves
of a pepper tree my lips bleed
A letter to “Miss Visser my one and only piano teacher” ends:
Shit shoe
I wished you dead then
I still do.
Sincerely,
Amelia Mary Earhart
The only suggestion that Amelia receives communication is an unwelcome and surreal wedding invitation; meanwhile the tone of her letters shifts, grows subtext, gets volatile – it’s distance, and a new way of measuring distance, that’s doing that. The epigraphic poem, though addressed specifically to Frank Hawks, is a collection of O’s, a romantic address to a wide audience. As the letters become more specific, more keenly focused, the listing, remembering, detailing that begins in that first incantation of O’s becomes complicated, gathers weight and branches. I love the things of these poems, because they are made of stuff and they make stuff – because the things show the reader how detail becomes mile marker, horizon line, navigation point too. I am especially drawn to the “missing diary” sections of the book in which the plane and its goods are inventoried and checked, insofar as these poems illustrate a day, a way of understanding context and landscape, “place,” that is key to this voice. From Amelia’s first look at an airplane, I am wondering who came before and after, who this voice is that is keenly informed and shadowed but not possessed or contained by historic, biographical Earhart. “There are waves here that don’t move” leads to “are you affected” – physical geographies and social conventions become equally real and powerful forces. Amelia is “beyond” and gone “other” and examining the texture of that – a tin of starfish is both practical and fantastic, part of society and so clearly separated from it.
When, in a letter to Fred, Amelia writes
we have come to this
we have come to understand
we have come to understand
we have nothing
we are a piston instrument
we are spark
we are fuselage
does it mean we are only a small part of a larger machine? Or does it mean we are every part, that there is nothing sparking besides us? Descriptions of Amelia’s body aging, starving, and becoming adapted to or shaped by its surroundings carries a similar tension; she mourns “my breasts gone my hair a shrub” even as she uses these details to track her progress, her understanding of the geography. “My body is a delta, a three-in-one.” She is telling us where and how and why to find her. It is both inevitable and just too much when we don’t come.
A passage in the final poem lets all the voices and intentions of this narration collide:
I want to tell you how it felt
falling and knowing
what a bad idea it was
to have decided against the parachutes
ha ha
She truly wants to show this, and it is through the spirit of discovery just as much as loneliness, anger, loss. The joke is both a joke and not, the missing parachutes only a bad idea on one side of the punch line, which is itself a memory. I realize now that I haven’t mentioned the author’s name once, but Loudon has been buzzing and ghosting these poems the whole time, considering the “fly girls” to whom the book is dedicated, making this personal, and I imagine these final lines are no different. I know how it feels.
-Jen
Navigate: Amelia Earhart's Letters Home
Rebecca Loudon (No Tell Books 2006)
notellbooks.org
Written "as" Amelia Earhart, these poems display and explore the art and artifice of persona and the "I." The obvious – that these poems are fiction, arranged – becomes electric, a white-hot elephant in the room. Why? Maybe because this is a topic that interests me right now, and I'm reading it into everything. I think, though, this charged tension between author and speaker is part of what gives Navigate its teeth, and it is apparent first in the poems' focus on audience.
The book is divided into "letters" and excerpts "from my missing diary." The letters deal, in part, with address. "To my Muriel, my doppelganger, my darling, my negative eye," "Dear Anita Neta my curly headed Mary," "Darling Snook," "Mother," "Father" and "Dear George." The letters greet self-consciously, aware that time changes things, that distances warp and swell relationships. Important here, though, that “distance” isn’t metaphorical, “isolation” isn’t subjective. Narrative demands attention: her parents are going about their routine, her “Darling Snook” is getting married, and Amelia’s really, bodily stranded somewhere. She is both waiting rescue/company and realizing the impossibility of the distance that her letters are meant to cross. A letter to “Seamstress Pidge” contrasts the acts of domesticity with acts of survival:
I have mended my trousers 117 times
using the needle in my emergency kit
and black thread until black thread
emptied into spool now I build
worsted by chewing the leaves
of a pepper tree my lips bleed
A letter to “Miss Visser my one and only piano teacher” ends:
Shit shoe
I wished you dead then
I still do.
Sincerely,
Amelia Mary Earhart
The only suggestion that Amelia receives communication is an unwelcome and surreal wedding invitation; meanwhile the tone of her letters shifts, grows subtext, gets volatile – it’s distance, and a new way of measuring distance, that’s doing that. The epigraphic poem, though addressed specifically to Frank Hawks, is a collection of O’s, a romantic address to a wide audience. As the letters become more specific, more keenly focused, the listing, remembering, detailing that begins in that first incantation of O’s becomes complicated, gathers weight and branches. I love the things of these poems, because they are made of stuff and they make stuff – because the things show the reader how detail becomes mile marker, horizon line, navigation point too. I am especially drawn to the “missing diary” sections of the book in which the plane and its goods are inventoried and checked, insofar as these poems illustrate a day, a way of understanding context and landscape, “place,” that is key to this voice. From Amelia’s first look at an airplane, I am wondering who came before and after, who this voice is that is keenly informed and shadowed but not possessed or contained by historic, biographical Earhart. “There are waves here that don’t move” leads to “are you affected” – physical geographies and social conventions become equally real and powerful forces. Amelia is “beyond” and gone “other” and examining the texture of that – a tin of starfish is both practical and fantastic, part of society and so clearly separated from it.
When, in a letter to Fred, Amelia writes
we have come to this
we have come to understand
we have come to understand
we have nothing
we are a piston instrument
we are spark
we are fuselage
does it mean we are only a small part of a larger machine? Or does it mean we are every part, that there is nothing sparking besides us? Descriptions of Amelia’s body aging, starving, and becoming adapted to or shaped by its surroundings carries a similar tension; she mourns “my breasts gone my hair a shrub” even as she uses these details to track her progress, her understanding of the geography. “My body is a delta, a three-in-one.” She is telling us where and how and why to find her. It is both inevitable and just too much when we don’t come.
A passage in the final poem lets all the voices and intentions of this narration collide:
I want to tell you how it felt
falling and knowing
what a bad idea it was
to have decided against the parachutes
ha ha
She truly wants to show this, and it is through the spirit of discovery just as much as loneliness, anger, loss. The joke is both a joke and not, the missing parachutes only a bad idea on one side of the punch line, which is itself a memory. I realize now that I haven’t mentioned the author’s name once, but Loudon has been buzzing and ghosting these poems the whole time, considering the “fly girls” to whom the book is dedicated, making this personal, and I imagine these final lines are no different. I know how it feels.
-Jen
1.28.2007
1.26.2007
If you haven't yet gotten your hands on a copy of our newest chapbook, Zachary Schomburg's Abraham Lincoln's Death Scene, we've only got a half-handful left; do it now.
And while you're at it, please note that an earlier version of Abraham Lincoln's Death Scene first appeared in LIT. We love LIT, and acknowledgements, and we're sorry that this one was accidentally left out of the final chapbook copy.
And while you're at it, please note that an earlier version of Abraham Lincoln's Death Scene first appeared in LIT. We love LIT, and acknowledgements, and we're sorry that this one was accidentally left out of the final chapbook copy.
1.21.2007
42-Loudon by Frischkorn
Radish King, by Rebecca Loudon
‘Poems that burn.’ These poems ignite and sear with white heat. Like a fever to read them is to feel flushed, disoriented and ritually cleansed. ‘…bats flap in my cherry tree, little broken umbrellas…..My hands reek of gasoline, …smell leaking into albumen…’
-Suzanne Frischkorn
Info on Radish King here
Suzanne Frischkorn blogs here
‘Poems that burn.’ These poems ignite and sear with white heat. Like a fever to read them is to feel flushed, disoriented and ritually cleansed. ‘…bats flap in my cherry tree, little broken umbrellas…..My hands reek of gasoline, …smell leaking into albumen…’
-Suzanne Frischkorn
Info on Radish King here
Suzanne Frischkorn blogs here
1.16.2007
Abraham Lincoln's Death Scene
by Zachary Schomburg
Zachary Schomburg’s first full-length book of poems, The Man Suit, will be published in early 2007 by Black Ocean Press and he has poems from a new manuscript in, or forthcoming in, Pilot, Absent, Same Storm, the Hat, Forklift Ohio, and Denver Quarterly. He lives in Lincoln, NE, with A, M, S and G where he is a co-editor of Octopus Magazine and Octopus Books, a co-curator of the Clean Part Reading Series, and a PhD student. Abraham Lincoln’s Death Scene will be included as a section within The Man Suit.
Details here:
http://www.horselesspress.com/abrahamlincoln.html
Buy it here:
http://www.horselesspress.com/chapbooks.html
by Zachary Schomburg
Zachary Schomburg’s first full-length book of poems, The Man Suit, will be published in early 2007 by Black Ocean Press and he has poems from a new manuscript in, or forthcoming in, Pilot, Absent, Same Storm, the Hat, Forklift Ohio, and Denver Quarterly. He lives in Lincoln, NE, with A, M, S and G where he is a co-editor of Octopus Magazine and Octopus Books, a co-curator of the Clean Part Reading Series, and a PhD student. Abraham Lincoln’s Death Scene will be included as a section within The Man Suit.
Details here:
http://www.horselesspress.com/abrahamlincoln.html
Buy it here:
http://www.horselesspress.com/chapbooks.html
1.12.2007
Return of the 42 Review, and other responses
We've said it before, but we really mean it this time, baby. In the coming weeks we hope to revive the 42 review. We'll be migrating it to the blog, but archived 42-word reviews can still be found here: http://www.horselesspress.com/fortytwo.html
We're interested in reviews of any and all kinds of books, but we especially love reviews of poetry. If you want to get involved, email us your 42-word review: jen AT horselesspress DOT com. Included below are a few reviews that have been banging around my inbox for way too long:
***
Winter Prophecies by Ralph Gustafson
Written in spare verse, this work offers surprisingly evocative and fresh meditations on death, hiding the human's place in the world's splendor underneath a surface melancholy – a must read from a deceased Canadian poet who lacks the exposure he rightly deserves.
-Rick Morrow
Wild Ducks Flying Backward by Tom Robbins
"[C]areless fart in a bottle by the stove" punches Satan a new gut – a miscellany of nonsense for bored pragmatists. Wonderful. Exuberant. Forgettable apocrypha, for the phosphate Moonlight Whoopee Cushion Sonata. Skip to Responses, love your delicate mind, and meditate half-crazy smooches.
-Michael Donnelly
Solaris by Stanislaw Lem
An ocean planet, a once-dead romance, textbooks, and nihilism. Quietly intelligent, neurotically detailed, mercilessly mysterious. Science takes a century to tell us how something probably works--no certainty, no reason. Humanity, desperate to understand, to love, to see itself in the unknown.
-Callie Fournier
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Father and son stagger through charred America, pushing a shopping cart in black snow drifts, drinking ashy river water, scavenging the crumbs of crumbs, cough blood mist on the fruitless ground, fence with the truth of starvation, of cannibals, of futile charity.
-Callie Fournier
***
Also look to this space for longer reviews, responses, discussions soon.
We're interested in reviews of any and all kinds of books, but we especially love reviews of poetry. If you want to get involved, email us your 42-word review: jen AT horselesspress DOT com. Included below are a few reviews that have been banging around my inbox for way too long:
***
Winter Prophecies by Ralph Gustafson
Written in spare verse, this work offers surprisingly evocative and fresh meditations on death, hiding the human's place in the world's splendor underneath a surface melancholy – a must read from a deceased Canadian poet who lacks the exposure he rightly deserves.
-Rick Morrow
Wild Ducks Flying Backward by Tom Robbins
"[C]areless fart in a bottle by the stove" punches Satan a new gut – a miscellany of nonsense for bored pragmatists. Wonderful. Exuberant. Forgettable apocrypha, for the phosphate Moonlight Whoopee Cushion Sonata. Skip to Responses, love your delicate mind, and meditate half-crazy smooches.
-Michael Donnelly
Solaris by Stanislaw Lem
An ocean planet, a once-dead romance, textbooks, and nihilism. Quietly intelligent, neurotically detailed, mercilessly mysterious. Science takes a century to tell us how something probably works--no certainty, no reason. Humanity, desperate to understand, to love, to see itself in the unknown.
-Callie Fournier
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Father and son stagger through charred America, pushing a shopping cart in black snow drifts, drinking ashy river water, scavenging the crumbs of crumbs, cough blood mist on the fruitless ground, fence with the truth of starvation, of cannibals, of futile charity.
-Callie Fournier
***
Also look to this space for longer reviews, responses, discussions soon.
1.02.2007
AVAILABLE NOW FROM HORSE LESS PRESS:
Wind is Wind and Rain is Rain
by Brynne
Brynne is six. She enjoys playing with her petit fauve brother. She loves toads and trains them to do really cool stuff. She wants to be a gymnast and a veterinarian when she grows up. P.J. Harvey is her favorite singer.
Details here.
Buy it here.
COMING SOON:
Abraham Lincoln's Death Scene
by Zachary Schomburg
Zachary Schomburg’s first full-length book of poems, The Man Suit, will be published in early 2007 by Black Ocean Press and he has poems from a new manuscript in, or forthcoming in, Pilot, Absent, Same Storm, the Hat, Forklift Ohio, and Denver Quarterly. He lives in Lincoln, NE, with A, M, S and G where he is a co-editor of Octopus Magazine and Octopus Books, a co-curator of the Clean Part Reading Series, and a PhD student. Abraham Lincoln’s Death Scene will be included as a section within The Man Suit.
Details here.
Pre-order it here.
Wind is Wind and Rain is Rain
by Brynne
Brynne is six. She enjoys playing with her petit fauve brother. She loves toads and trains them to do really cool stuff. She wants to be a gymnast and a veterinarian when she grows up. P.J. Harvey is her favorite singer.
Details here.
Buy it here.
COMING SOON:
Abraham Lincoln's Death Scene
by Zachary Schomburg
Zachary Schomburg’s first full-length book of poems, The Man Suit, will be published in early 2007 by Black Ocean Press and he has poems from a new manuscript in, or forthcoming in, Pilot, Absent, Same Storm, the Hat, Forklift Ohio, and Denver Quarterly. He lives in Lincoln, NE, with A, M, S and G where he is a co-editor of Octopus Magazine and Octopus Books, a co-curator of the Clean Part Reading Series, and a PhD student. Abraham Lincoln’s Death Scene will be included as a section within The Man Suit.
Details here.
Pre-order it here.
11.06.2006
9.27.2006
I'll be reading a little poetry in New Haven Tuesday night. You should come!
October 3rd: Short-Story Writer Paul Beckman and Poet Jen Tynes Read at The Anchor Bar
On Tuesday October 3rd at 7:00 PM, please join the Ordinary Evening Reading Series to welcome fiction writer Paul Beckman and poet Jen Tynes to the Anchor Bar's Mermaid Room.
Paul Beckman is a writer who lives in Madison, CT. His short stories, four of which have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, have appeared in both print and on-line journals (among them, Playboy, Currents, Connecticut Review, Mad Hatter's Review, and Exquisite Corpse). His first collection, Come! Meet My Family and Other Stories was published in 1995 by Weighted Anchor Press, and a second volume is expected in 2006. Paul's work has been published in New Zealand, translated into German for an anthology entitled Humor by Jewish Writers ("The P Word"), and several of his short stories have been adapted into plays.
Jen Tynes lives in Providence, Rhode Island and edits horse less press. Her poems have appeared in jubilat, Diagram, CutBank, H_NGM_N, Typo, Octopus, Verse, No Tell Motel, The Cultural Society, and other journals. Her first book, The End Of Rude Handles, is available from Red Morning Press.
October 3rd: Short-Story Writer Paul Beckman and Poet Jen Tynes Read at The Anchor Bar
On Tuesday October 3rd at 7:00 PM, please join the Ordinary Evening Reading Series to welcome fiction writer Paul Beckman and poet Jen Tynes to the Anchor Bar's Mermaid Room.
Paul Beckman is a writer who lives in Madison, CT. His short stories, four of which have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, have appeared in both print and on-line journals (among them, Playboy, Currents, Connecticut Review, Mad Hatter's Review, and Exquisite Corpse). His first collection, Come! Meet My Family and Other Stories was published in 1995 by Weighted Anchor Press, and a second volume is expected in 2006. Paul's work has been published in New Zealand, translated into German for an anthology entitled Humor by Jewish Writers ("The P Word"), and several of his short stories have been adapted into plays.
Jen Tynes lives in Providence, Rhode Island and edits horse less press. Her poems have appeared in jubilat, Diagram, CutBank, H_NGM_N, Typo, Octopus, Verse, No Tell Motel, The Cultural Society, and other journals. Her first book, The End Of Rude Handles, is available from Red Morning Press.
9.02.2006
Myopic Books & horse less press present
An Entirely Horseless Reading!
Please join us at Myopic Books (5 S. Angell St., Wayland Square, 401-521-5533)
Saturday, September 16, 7 pm
for poetry from Matthew Henriksen, Kate Greenstreet, and Adam Clay.
Matthew Henriksen co-edits Typo and Cannibal and curates The Burning Chair Readings in Brooklyn and New York City. His poems have appeared recently in Fascicle, Coconut and Indiana Review; others will soon appear in Lit, Wildlife Poetry Magazine, Action, Yes!, and The Agricultural Review. horse less press has published his first chapbook, Is Holy.
Kate Greenstreet was born in Chicago and has lived mostly on the east and west coasts of the U.S., currently back on the Atlantic side, in New Jersey. She received a Fellowship from the NJ State Council on the Arts in 2003. Her poems have appeared in Bird Dog, Conduit, can we have our ball back?, GutCult, Diagram, Octopus, POOL, The Massachusetts Review, No Tell Motel, Fascicle, Barrow Street, Word For/Word, the tiny, Free Verse, MiPOesias, LIT, CutBank, Kulture Vulture, TYPO, 26, KELR, XANTIPPE, and other journals. Her chapbook, Learning the Language, was published by Etherdome Press last fall and her first full-length book, case sensitive, will be out from Ahsahta Press in September 2006.
Adam Clay lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan and co-edits Typo. His first book, The Wash, is forthcoming from Parlor Press, and Canoe, a chapbook, is available from horse less press. Recent poems appear in Denver Quarterly, CutBank, Barrow Street, and elsewhere.
An Entirely Horseless Reading!
Please join us at Myopic Books (5 S. Angell St., Wayland Square, 401-521-5533)
Saturday, September 16, 7 pm
for poetry from Matthew Henriksen, Kate Greenstreet, and Adam Clay.
Matthew Henriksen co-edits Typo and Cannibal and curates The Burning Chair Readings in Brooklyn and New York City. His poems have appeared recently in Fascicle, Coconut and Indiana Review; others will soon appear in Lit, Wildlife Poetry Magazine, Action, Yes!, and The Agricultural Review. horse less press has published his first chapbook, Is Holy.
Kate Greenstreet was born in Chicago and has lived mostly on the east and west coasts of the U.S., currently back on the Atlantic side, in New Jersey. She received a Fellowship from the NJ State Council on the Arts in 2003. Her poems have appeared in Bird Dog, Conduit, can we have our ball back?, GutCult, Diagram, Octopus, POOL, The Massachusetts Review, No Tell Motel, Fascicle, Barrow Street, Word For/Word, the tiny, Free Verse, MiPOesias, LIT, CutBank, Kulture Vulture, TYPO, 26, KELR, XANTIPPE, and other journals. Her chapbook, Learning the Language, was published by Etherdome Press last fall and her first full-length book, case sensitive, will be out from Ahsahta Press in September 2006.
Adam Clay lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan and co-edits Typo. His first book, The Wash, is forthcoming from Parlor Press, and Canoe, a chapbook, is available from horse less press. Recent poems appear in Denver Quarterly, CutBank, Barrow Street, and elsewhere.
8.26.2006
From the Desk of Horse Less Press:
IS HOLY
a chapbook by Matthew Henriksen
is available for peruse and purchase here:
http://www.horselesspress.com/chapbooks.html
http://www.horselesspress.com/holy.html
IS HOLY
a chapbook by Matthew Henriksen
is available for peruse and purchase here:
http://www.horselesspress.com/chapbooks.html
http://www.horselesspress.com/holy.html
8.23.2006
Please welcome HORSE LESS REVIEW ISSUE FOUR!
Featuring work by-
Andrew Wollard, Adam Clay, Michael Donnelly, Jason Fraley, Allison Carter, Justin Lacour, kari edwards, Andrew Seguin, John Hyland, Jim Goar, Andrew Demcak, Clint Frakes, Bruce Covey, Nick Montfort, Jack Boettcher, Amanda Lichtenstein, Ryan Daley, Christine Hamm, Katherine LaPlant, Sarah Lang, John Mulligan, Michael Stewart, Mark DeCarteret, Danielle Hill, Conan Kelly.
http://www.horselesspress.com/summer2006/review4.html
Please read, enjoy, and send work for #5.
http://www.horselesspress.com/horselessreview.html
http://www.horselesspress.com/howto.html
COMING LATER THIS WEEK: A chapbook! IS HOLY by Matt Henriksen.
Thanks for stopping by, & tell your friends.
Erika & Jen
Featuring work by-
Andrew Wollard, Adam Clay, Michael Donnelly, Jason Fraley, Allison Carter, Justin Lacour, kari edwards, Andrew Seguin, John Hyland, Jim Goar, Andrew Demcak, Clint Frakes, Bruce Covey, Nick Montfort, Jack Boettcher, Amanda Lichtenstein, Ryan Daley, Christine Hamm, Katherine LaPlant, Sarah Lang, John Mulligan, Michael Stewart, Mark DeCarteret, Danielle Hill, Conan Kelly.
http://www.horselesspress.com/summer2006/review4.html
Please read, enjoy, and send work for #5.
http://www.horselesspress.com/horselessreview.html
http://www.horselesspress.com/howto.html
COMING LATER THIS WEEK: A chapbook! IS HOLY by Matt Henriksen.
Thanks for stopping by, & tell your friends.
Erika & Jen
8.11.2006
We took a little pitstop, but part 10 of “Don’t you have a map?” is now up at Grand Text Auto:
http://grandtextauto.gatech.edu/2006/08/10/dont-you-have-a-map-part-10/
Coming within the month:
Horse Less Review #4
IS HOLY, a chapbook by Matt Henriksen
Thanks for reading!
yr editors
http://grandtextauto.gatech.edu/2006/08/10/dont-you-have-a-map-part-10/
Coming within the month:
Horse Less Review #4
IS HOLY, a chapbook by Matt Henriksen
Thanks for reading!
yr editors
7.04.2006
Friends,
Part 9 of Don’t you have a map?
is here:
http://breadnjamforfrances.blogspot.com/2006/07/bread-and-jam-for-frances-is-delighted.html
Please read & enjoy.
Correspond with us, even!
And if you have an electronic spot that would like to host
a part of this project, please drop us a note.
We’ll make it special for you.
Coming soon:
Chapook!
IF FIRE, ARRIVAL by Julia Cohen
will be available in mere days.
Review!
HORSE LESS REVIEW #4
is coming together nicely
& will be live as soon as possible.
Spread the words.
Yr editors-
Part 9 of Don’t you have a map?
is here:
http://breadnjamforfrances.blogspot.com/2006/07/bread-and-jam-for-frances-is-delighted.html
Please read & enjoy.
Correspond with us, even!
And if you have an electronic spot that would like to host
a part of this project, please drop us a note.
We’ll make it special for you.
Coming soon:
Chapook!
IF FIRE, ARRIVAL by Julia Cohen
will be available in mere days.
Review!
HORSE LESS REVIEW #4
is coming together nicely
& will be live as soon as possible.
Spread the words.
Yr editors-
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