This July, I participated in the Two Sylvias Press Online Retreat for four weeks, and it rocked my poem world.
Read More4 Poetry Collections That Will Give You All the Feelings Ever
Reading is kind of my jam. It was the thing I did ever since I could remember, especially when I was feeling sad and lonely and needed to feel like the world was an OK place to be. These four collections have done just that for me, and for that, I'm ever grateful to the poets who wrote them and birthed them into the world.
Read MoreOn Trying to Understand My Mother's Recent Bipolar Disorder Diagnosis
And suddenly I realized, this is how it is for her. In her eyes, she is always under attack, she always has to fight, and if there isn’t anything to attack she must create it. Maybe she can’t feel strong on her own, there must always be an oppressor, she is the underdog, the caboose.
Read MorePoetry by Paul Hlava
Paul Hlava's poems have been published in Narrative, Gulf Coast, BOMB, the PEN Poetry Series, among other journals and newspapers and have been nominated for the Pushcart. He holds an MFA from New York University, and a BA from UC Riverside.
Read MoreGive Me All Your Love, Prose Poem by Margaret Yapp
Margaret Yapp is a recent college grad working and living in Minneapolis. Her essays and poems have appeared in The Tishman Review, Midwestern Gothic, Driftward Press, and elsewhere.
Read MoreReview of Margaret Bashaar's Some Other Stupid Fruit
BY JOANNA C. VALENTE
Margaret Bashaar is the real deal. She's a dedicated and brilliant poet, feminist, and social justice activist. Her latest collection "Some Other Stupid Fruit" was just published by Agape Editions (2016), and it is a ripe, conversational chapbook that explores gender presentation and performance, particularly for female-bodied humans. It's kind of a mean girls chapbook in the best of ways.
The collection starts of with the idea of the narrator being a thief, as the first poem "I Am a Thief" chronicles the speaker taking a spoon and a baby away from someone else. This display of both maternal ownership over the baby, spoon, man, and dog at once reverses the typical power dynamic that women and men face, but it also constructs a world where intimacy isn't gradually grown, but taken, where there divide between the real self and performed self is put on display.
Then, the next poem, "The Seduction of Snakes," pulls us further into this bizarre, ultra-callous landscape where the speaker claims every woman has "a snake inside her" that is "twisting beneath the skin at her temple,/ouroborosing through the ventricles of her heart." I love this image, so violent in nature, because it paints a gruesome picture of a reversed motherhood, thus illustrating the real portrait of what being able to create life truly entails. Bashaar's chapbook paints a portrait of the female body as not just something "soft and frail and sweet" but acknowledging that there is a "violence in all of us," a side is nuanced and full of venom.
What I love most about this collection is how conversational and relatable it is—Bashaar uses ordinary events and everyday musings to bring us into this world using the creation story and the iconic figure of Eve as a trope—as opposed to creating a dream world that we can't truly understand or grasp. The struggle between power and submission, insecurity and a cutting ego, is intriguing. For instance, in "Thinking for Yourself Is a Lost Art and Good Riddance," she writes:
"I will tell you what color nail polish to wear,
which moisturizer is best beneath your eyes
and you will learn to paint your own French tips.
Remember the important things: pitch your center
of gravity forward in heels, do not skip leg day.
Clench your jaw until color bursts behind your eyes,
until you feel heat below your ear like a bleed."
The fearless speaker is godlike in this instance, using the performance of putting on makeup and adorning the body to control one's sexuality, dominance, and perceived place in their world, because this is often what women and female-bodied people are taught to do by the media as a whole. To use your body to control those around you, and yourself.
Instead of writing this chapbook in the third person to explore this perspective, and to offer a subjective criticism of our current culture, I love that Bashaar does the opposite. She uses the flawed first person approach to illustrate how easy it is to fall into this type of insecure-fueled thinking, and illustrates how "mean girls" are made. Really, whose fault is that? And how do we change this?
All in all, the collection aptly ends with the poem "There Really Is No Such Thing as Winning," which is a perfect end for such a collection. The last two words are "your cunt," which manifests the idea of female power and sexuality—and being at once owned by one's desires and gender, while also yearning to reject those constraints.
Margaret Bashaar’s first book of poetry, Stationed Near the Gateway, was released by Sundress Publications in early 2015. She has chapbooks from Grey Book Press, Blood Pudding Press, and Tilt Press and her poetry has appeared in many literary journals and anthologies, including New South, Caketrain, The Southeast Review, Copper Nickel, and Menacing Hedge, among others. She lives in Pittsburgh, PA, where she edits Hyacinth Girl Press and encourages art anarchy.
Joanna C. Valente is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York. She is the author of Sirs & Madams (Aldrich Press, 2014), The Gods Are Dead (Deadly Chaps Press, 2015), Marys of the Sea (forthcoming 2016, ELJ Publications) & Xenos (forthcoming 2017, Agape Editions). She received her MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College. She is also the founder of Yes, Poetry, as well as the managing editor for Luna Luna Magazine. Some of her writing has appeared in Prelude, The Atlas Review, The Feminist Wire, BUST, Pouch, and elsewhere. She also leads workshops at Brooklyn Poets.
Poetry by Suzannah Spaar
Suzannah Spaar is a poet living in Pittsburgh where she is an MFA candidate in poetry. Born and raised in Charlottesville, Virginia, she values a good ghost tour. Currently, she serves as a contributing editor for Aster(ix) Journal and teaches at the University of Pittsburgh.
Read MorePoetry by Shannon Elizabeth Hardwick
Shannon Elizabeth Hardwick received her MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. Her first full-length book, Before Isadore, is forthcoming from Sundress Publications. She is an associate poetry editor for The Boiler Journal. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in the following: Salt Hill, Stirring, Versal, The Texas Observer, Devil's Lake, Four Way Review, among others. Hardwick also has chapbooks out with Thrush Press and Mouthfeel Press. She writes in the deserts of West Texas.
Read MorePerpetuity, Non-Fiction by Sarah Carson
"We were in love," I tell the state patrolman who is sent to take my name and phone number. "No, wait, I was in love," I correct. I clarify. "But that was months ago now."
"Are you sure you aren’t just angry?" he says, taking my hand in his hand, watching my eyes like we’re in the final scene of the kind of movies my grandma watches when she drinks lots of wine.
"I am angry," I will learn not to say.
The lady cop will walk circles into the floor of my kitchen. She will memorize the ceiling tiles.
"Take off your shoes," I won’t say to her. "You are tracking mud across the floor of my home."
"This is not your home," she won’t say back. "I’ve stood here a million times before you arrived. I’ll stand here for a million more girls after you’re gone."
I will go see a therapist who will try to hypnotize the memories out of me.
Read MorePoetry By E. Sparks
The Nuance of Guilt When You're Part of a Jury
In this room full of strangers we are dominos: like first pairs with like. The least dissimilar pieces connect over the obvious and arbitrary. If our identities possess any intricate craftwork, it has been blurred and obscured and forgotten. Now we are distracted by the markings on each other’s faces, by the brushstrokes that have painted over all of our messy and complicated humanness.
Read MorePepper Crab, Fiction by Sara Rauch
He steps onto the pier, fists clenched at his sides, careful of the wide gaps between planks, where he sees the restless gray-green water. Clutched in his palm is a chunk of purple agate, bought just now, when they’d gotten off the bus. Tess bought one too, smaller, more smoothed than his—it must be in her pocket, because she’s ahead of him, leaping from plank to plank like a ballerina, arms wide, palms open. Her hair, long and tangled, ripples behind her. He’s a better swimmer than Tess, but Tess isn’t afraid of drowning.
Read MoreWitchy World Roundup - September 2016
Check out the monthly roundup here.
Read MoreWatch This Animated Poem About Being Human by Meghann Plunkett
Narrative shapes our capacity to imagine. There are common images we are taught that limit or expand our worldview. I grew up Christian and my poems were obsessed with all things angels, heaven, and god. It was freshman year, the first week of orientation at Sarah Lawrence College. I walked anxiously toward the open mic to share a poem.
Read MorePoetry by Jayme Russell
black fur brown gloves doom
and divorce but wait
riding pants at the ski resort
not ready for French Traditional
…she’s hiding something…