Travis Sharp : 3 poems from Sing Data

 

 

 

 

(7)

silverblack 5.5 miles across lake
artificially holding rare mineral runoff
phonesludge or TVvomit or tech side effects
and even “green technology” is what’s created this lake
such human imprint a sign of God or nature
is amazing scaffold for the future
imagine it the water traded on futures
exchanges technology pooling
in this shining lake somewhere
someone tweeting a little thing
rising flood waters cute dog swimming
or deathbloated pig floating or someone
pointing out the iPhone shining beacon in the wreckage

Baogang Tailings Dam

we drove along a dirt road which wasn't guarded
climbed a huge black mound about three to four stories
high and got to the shore of the lake I read
got curious opened the phone and found everywhere
the smallest screws hundreds of these
black pipes through which sludge was coming from
pool of liquid metallic wastewater evaporating forming
the firmament of Genesis foretelling the growth
of Apple and their sexy phones leaking pools of liquid metallic
wastewater evaporating forming the firmament of money                       
silverblack its sludge phone caress
able and slick technoerotics
stroked in a boustrophedon till
the screen till the vast sludge lake can
even be seen on Google Maps

 
 

(21) 

you wake up determined
access the music of the city
cling to salvage rhythms
you cling to the clangs you
breathe step to them
their human clamor beautiful
awash in sounds untraceable
light you see it but can’t
describe define detract from
but you know the animals
killed by Florence will be buried, composted
or "rendered" for usable parts or
now Smith, who counts himself lucky
that his flock survived, is looking to quickly
move his chickens to processing plants
before the weekend before you

 

 

 

Travis Sharp is author of the poetry collection Yes, I am a corpse flower (Knife Fork Book 2021), the artist’s book one plus one is two ones (Recreational Resources 2018), and the chapbook Sinister Queer Agenda (above/ground press 2018). He also co-curated Radio: 11.8.16 (Essay Press 2017) with Aimee Harrison and Maria Anderson. He has an MFA in Creative Writing and Poetics from the University of Washington, Bothell, a PhD from the SUNY Buffalo Poetics Program, and is currently a postdoctoral fellow in the SUNY Buffalo Department of English. Since 2019, he is Executive Editor at Essay Press.

Andrew Brenza: She Speaks Tongues, by Karla Van Vliet

She Speaks Tongues, Karla Van Vliet
Anhinga Press, 2021

 

 

 

Karla Van Vliet’s She Speaks Tongues is a book of asemic images alternating with gendai-like prose poems. It is divided into five sections, each containing four asemic plates and three poems as well as a “cover” image that depicts the face of a female figure among asemic motifs and the title of the section. 

Within this framework, the most striking feature of Van Vliet’s book, and the one that is, for me, its greatest accomplishment, is the manner in which it creates the conditions of an open reading experience characterized by delicate echoes and resonances between image and text, section and section, and part and whole. Most of the prose poems involve natural imagery (birds, rivers, wind) that suggest a kind of modern take on the Romantic lyric poem, whereby the natural world is a reflection of the movement of the author’s inner life. For instance, the book’s first prose poem reads as follows:

When we talk about the river, we should talk about the heron

whose long wings lay shadow across the sandy bank, how

the bird’s heft rides air above the water. How

                                         like grief, wings spread.

Lovely and delicate in itself, and subtly enacting the moment natural description opens into the depiction of profound emotion, what is perhaps even more extraordinary is the way that the poem interacts with the asemic plate beside it:

Here the asemic plate becomes infused with the text, suggestive of the flow of the river, the silhouette of the heron, the heron’s shadow, the heron’s wings. These suggestions of the natural world bleed beautifully into fading evocations of the ephemerality of life, the pain of grief, of the ultimate dissolution of mortality. In short, the interaction of text and image create a richness of interpretation that opens the heart of the reader.

These are the types of echoes and resonances that occur throughout She Speaks Tongues. However, they are also echoes that extend beyond the image/text pairings to stir the reader’s interpretations of other pairings and other sections in the book and the book as a whole. In this way, Van Vliet’s achievement goes well beyond the spark of quality juxtaposition. Rather, in reading She Speaks Tongues, I am drawn to the idea that what Van Vliet has done is provide the reader with the moment ( or a series of moments) just before two bodies, or concepts, or entities, interact, like the moment before wind activates Coleridge’s Aeolian harp. It is left to the reader to give the wind that final push in order to start the music.

 

 

 

 

 

Andrew Brenza’s recent chapbooks include Geometric Mantra (above/ground press), Poems in C (Viktlösheten Press), and Waterlight (Simulacrum Press). He is also the author of five collections of visual poetry, Automatic Souls (Timglaset), Gossamer Lid (Trembling Pillow Press), Alphabeticon & Other Poems (RedFoxPress), Album, in Concrete (Alien Buddha Press), and Spool (Unsolicited Press). His newest book, Smear, was released by BlazeVOX Books in March 2021.

Cole Nowicki: From Live Events to Living in Print with fine. press

 

 

Not so long ago, when it was safe to do so, I used to produce and host a monthly interdisciplinary event called fine. On the last Monday of the month, we’d all cram into the cozy confines of The Lido in Vancouver, BC, and listen to a wide array of emerging and established writers, comedians, and musicians do their thing. It was a pretty fun time, but full disclosure: I’m biased.

fine. started in January 2017 and over our run of doing live shows (and a few online ones in early 2020) we were fortunate to feature hundreds of artists before going on our current pandemic hiatus. Before that, however, at some point in 2019, I started toying with the idea of pointing fine.’s energies into the print realm. Being stuck in my apartment for most of 2020 made getting serious and creating fine. press a natural transition. 

Admittedly, writing this piece for periodicities at this stage is a bit of a daunting task. Scrolling through this site you’ll find a treasure trove of wonderful posts from great, long-established small presses. fine. press has only put out one book so far, a fine. collection (an anthology featuring work from a selection of folks who’ve previously been on the show). So suffice to say, we’re still new to the game, and I feel a bit like a babbling baby here. But that’s okay. Gotta waddle on unsteady, doughy legs before you can run.  

Speaking of early days, that first book was a crash course in publishing. I had to get familiar quickly with everything from creating contracts, sourcing printers, to distribution, retail, setting up an online store, and more. It was challenging, at times exhausting, but ultimately a blast and an incredible learning experience. To have the opportunity to share other’s work with the world in book form, to introduce others to it, is a privilege. It reminds me of putting together the live show, except this, you know, fits in your hand.

Extreme saccharine asides aside, we’re now on our way. We’ve been lucky to assemble a stellar editorial board (including Dina Del Bucchia, Hiller Goodspeed, Ivanna Baranova, Leanne Dunic, and Shazia Hafiz Ramji) whose experience in the publishing world has been invaluable as we’ve game-planned our next moves. Which includes opening our inaugural submission period and eventually publishing our first full series of books in late 2022/early 2023. Another daunting task. One the team and I are looking forward to.

There’s still lots left to consider, though. Can we make fine. press a sustainable entity? Is it possible to keep this project going without the eventual help of a Canadian Arts Council grant system that can be fickle at the best of times? How can we carve out our own niche in the literary/arts landscape while doing best by the communities we’ll be serving? We can plan for some of that, much won’t be clear until much later, and parts of it likely learned on the fly. It’s all equally exciting and terrifying. 

But hell, what isn’t lately.

 

 

 

Cole Nowicki is a writer and generally well-mannered person based in Vancouver, BC. His work has appeared in The Walrus, Maisonneuve, McSweeney’s, Peach Mag, and more. He also produces the interdisciplinary event fine. and publishes its print extension fine. press.

Painting is by Michael Dumontier and Neil Farber

Anna van Valkenburg : Capturing Joy Kogawa House : An interview with Jude Neale

 

 

 

Inside the Pearl is Jude Neale’s account of her stay at the Joy Kogawa House through haiku-inspired poems and accompanying photographs, taken by Paul Hooson. This unique and intimate collection gives us a glimpse into the childhood home of Canadian author Joy Kogawa, now a literary landmark and venue for the Writer-in-Residence program; and a sweeping portrait of the difficult Japanese Canadian history that still resonates today. In this interview, we discuss poetry’s role in shaping history, life at the Joy Kogawa House, a typical writing day, and new projects.

Anna van Valkenburg: Inside the Pearl is a beautiful tribute to the Joy Kogawa House, and to Canadian history. How did you get the idea for this project? 

Jude Neale: A good question. I had done a couple of launches there and loved the intimate atmosphere. It was a place where time had stopped. At my last reading there, Kevin Spenst was writer in residence and I got very curious about staying in this living, breathing house. During the Pandemic I too was given the chance to live there. Months before I went I knew what I wanted to do—document the house and its contents with poems and take pictures of everything. I had even named it Inside the Pearl. The house had a presence, a light I wanted to capture. And I so wanted to do it for Joy Kogawa.

AV: The poems in this book are of course descriptive, but there’s much more there. Each poem has a deeper historical and/or emotional connection. Why did you choose a haiku-inspired form for this book?

JN: Looking back I know it was plain ignorance. I thought haiku was a Japanese form that would suit the project. I found out after my first draft that the nearly sixty poems were not haiku. 5/7/5 wasn’t going to get me anywhere, so within six months of research nationally and internationally, I think I finally had an inkling about what a haiku might be. That is why I call them haiku inspired—a gesture, a glimpse.

AV: What is the role of poetry in shaping history (does it have one)?

Poetry has shaped history from Homer to Ferlinghetti. I believe as poets, history makes up our poems both quiet and loud. In my book, the Canadian Japanese internment during and after the Second World War is subtly woven throughout. 

AV: In the preface you mention that Joy Kogawa creates a “bridge to truth for all peoples” through her writing. Can you elaborate? How does this connect to your mission for writing this book? 

JN: Joy Kogawa took on the establishment and quietly determined to seek justice for all Japanese Canadians interned in the Second World War. In her 1981 book, Obasan, she writes of her experience of being in the Slocan, through a child’s eyes. This single book was a revelation to many like myself. It was so lovingly written, it impacted me greatly. Gentleness, love and light shone in that book. Joy  was not embittered but empowered to demand justice despite the huge Canadian complacency. This is what I hope to bring to the world too. Light and beauty and truth.

AV: Since this is truly a book about the Joy Kogawa House: 1) what was your favourite part about (or of) the house? 2) Which poem from the book is your favourite? 3) Which photograph?

JN: I slept in little Joy’s bedroom on a small bed just so I could see the sun move across the room like when she was little. To look up at the ceiling and realize she had gazed there too or listen to the even breathing of my husband in the other room just as she had listened to her parents. It was magical!

My favourite poem is:

swoops of laughter

pour over quiet voices

bell song fills corners

And my favourite photograph is of a pitcher and a washbasin. Paul Hooson gave it an Old Master’s look, with the hue of wood and the white gleam of the pitcher.

AV: What did a typical writing day at Joy Kogawa House look like?

JN: That’s funny to think of now. It was the week after the first pandemic lock down was over. We were jubilant! So I got out of bed and drank four cups of tea before I started to scrutinize a room for objects to write about. Every two hours I’d have another pot of tea. Then write, look at photos until about 8 pm. Then we would go to all the empty restaurants for dinner. A very fine life indeed!

AV: What are you currently working on?

JN: I completed my eleventh book, The Flaw, this spring and am almost finished my twelfth, an art and poetry collaboration as yet untitled.

 

 

 

 

Jude Neale is a Canadian poet of national and international acclaim. She has penned ten books, and several libretti that have also been published and performed. One of her poems was chosen to ride the Channel Island buses by the Poet Laureate of Britain. Jude has extensive expertise in multi-disciplinary collaboration.

Anna van Valkenburg is the author of Queen and Carcass (Anvil Press, A Feed Dog Book... 2020) and the associate publisher at Guernica Editions. Her poetry and reviews have been featured in The Puritan, Prism International, december magazine, The Rusty Toque, and elsewhere. She was born in Konin, Poland, and currently lives in Mississauga.

Ethan Vilu : Poisonous If Eaten Raw, by Alyda Faber

Poisonous If Eaten Raw, Alyda Faber
Goose Lane Editions, 2021

 

 

 

Alyda Faber’s second full-length collection is a series of experimental portrait poems, dedicated to and ultimately concerned with the poet’s late mother. Through the use of a wide variety of imaginatively developed analogies, Faber meditates upon generational trauma, the profound difficulties of her mother’s life and the complexities of the mother-daughter relationship. As a thematically unified book, Poisonous If Eaten Raw is distinguished from many similarly conceived projects by its unflinching focus and inexhaustible commitment to its subject matter.  Though some of the included pieces deal explicitly with reflections on works of visual art (one stand-out poem situates the mother within Vincent van Gogh’s The Garden of Saint-Paul Hospital), the entire text can in a larger sense be seen as a work of continuous ekphrasis – an explication of a subject, vivid and yet radically ineffable, from which the poet cannot turn away.

The gravity of Poisonous If Eaten Raw’s task is immediately conveyed in the book’s opening pages, and from there the work does not let up at any point. “Portrait of My Mother as a Funnel Spider,” the first poem in the text, introduces the book’s central concerns with a masterfully sustained sense of pacing: “Abandoned to cluster flies and spiders / since mother died, flaps of floral wallpaper sag / in my old bedroom; the mattress, still the same / after forty years, swallows me into a trench.”. Thematic layers are gradually introduced as the book progresses: the mother’s history as an immigrant, her decades spent in an abusive, terrorizing marriage; her often adversarial relationship with the external world and her profound interior life as made legible through prayer and religiosity. The overall portrait which Faber creates is both unadorned and yet firmly grounded in an ardent, admirable empathy.

At a poetic level, Faber’s work is exquisite. The pieces in Poisonous If Eaten Raw are crafted with extraordinary ability. One of the book’s most remarkable elements is a profusion of succinct and yet fully realized images – “Her eyes / mortgaged to a love that drives / the rain through open windows.” (from “Portrait of My Mother as the Duke of Kent”) is a potent example. One of my favorite parts of the book (indeed, one of the best things I’ve read in some time) is this section from “Camperdown Elm”:

Contorted branches sport
casual spring jewellery,
clusters of pale green oval coins.
No glitter, they shrivel or fall
without much fuss. Summer
leaves, dishpan hands. Late autumn
foliage: muted lamps in grey rain.

The amount of terrain covered in this brief set of lines, and the utter vividness of the images, strikes me as being exceptional. Throughout the book, one finds natural beauty, domestic moments (sometimes peaceful, often harrowing), fantastic scenes from the works of Joseph Beuys and Salvador Dali, and all manner of other phenomena, poetically rendered with palpable attention and rigour.

Beyond this level of construction, Faber also displays expertise in terms of her poems’ sonic qualities. Understated and yet affecting use of alliteration, assonance, and deftly placed rhymes infuse Poisonous If Eaten Raw with a sense of wholehearted care, and reflect the poet’s commitment to the book’s conceptual premise. Lines like “Garden an aquarium in dull rain, / hydrangea heads bow, bee balm / and pink phlox sink towards the lawn.” (from “Portrait of My Mother on the Kitchen Window”) make the difficult look easy, linking lush, compelling sounds over the course of each poem in the text. That Faber is able to sustain this quality through the variety of emotional resonances which make up the collection is impressive.

As a book which is wholly concerned with some of the most central, vulnerable elements of the human experience – the life and death of a loved one, and the drive to truly understand another human being – Poisonous If Eaten Raw is a product of real courage, and an unequivocal success. Faber’s formal brilliance, clarity, and compassion have resulted in a text which has the potential to provide solace and insight to anyone who reads it. It is a formidable achievement, and a book to which I will definitely return. 

 

 

 

Ethan Vilu is a poet and editor from Calgary, Alberta. Their longsheet A Decision Re: Zurich was published by The Blasted Tree in 2020. Ethan currently serves as both poetry editor and circulation manager for filling Station. Beyond writing and editing, they have recently been learning how to control distance with a pitching wedge.