Freaky Friday Starring Beyoncé and Lady Gaga
I’d miss my booty
in your butt
to reach back
and find history
borrowed not branded
would miss my glitz in your glam
my rhythm in your rock
you’d take me as a cold black cape
while I relax into your fishnets
Are you serious? This is a ridiculously amazing poem by Morgan Parker.
Every day is a bit more theoretical than the next.
Today everything smells like fire and I’m selfish to tell you that fire is about my suffering.
If you’ve ever had the luck of meeting Sean H. Doyle, you’ll realize quickly there are still complete human beings in this world, and that Sean is one of them. His essays offer up a darker matrix o…
I’m serious when I say you should read this interview with Sean H. Doyle. He is the most golden of eggs.
Writing a poem a day only proves that I am sad every day and don’t usually write a poem every day to capture that I am sad every day.
Here is my fourth day of poems. It turns out that all of my anxieties, when articulated on a daily basis, get really dark and personal really fast. This is fun!
This one is a very sad one. I guess they have all been sad. I felt sad writing it. Went down the morgellons disease K-hole.
Here’s poem #2 I wrote this morning, now in the public eye. Shame what shame.
To celebrate National Poetry Month, I and an assortment of other talented Bloof Books writers, will be contributing to the Bloof Books blog with a poem a day. I have never truly committed to the poem-a-day. I have issues when art—especially an art as unpopular in the grand scheme as contemporary poetry—is packaged as a homogeneous national pursuit. But be that as it may, I love Bloof poets, and I need to get my shit together, writing-wise.
Follow this blog, and I promise there will be none (mostly) of that twee traditional shit.
Wendy Lotterman’s two poems, “These Paris Airfares Won’t Last” and “Street View” are featured in Issue 3 of The Atlas Review,Â which you can order here. Wendy’s poems have the kind of dense investig…
I spoke with the dazzling poet Wendy Lotterman for The Atlas Review. We published her work in the third issue, and it is just spectacular spectacular spectacular. Here is the final bomb she drops when I ask her about her relationship with the poetry community vis-a-vis her own writing, and I’m like, damn:
But one more thing, while we’re on the lyric—some of my favorite poets offer these sprawling, panoramic views of cultural forces in intricate collision. Their poetry draws back to reveal the big picture of our time and place, like some fabulous, glitchy erector-set, too big to comprehend from within. I mostly don’t do that. I go in. It’s like that Eames movie “Powers of Ten”, that zooms away from a couple lazing on patch of grass in Chicago by powers of ten until our view is super-galactic, and then zooms back into the man until our view is sub-cellular. When you zoom into an individual—or, in the case of the lyric, the self—the subject becomes the panoramic, its own index of bigger forces, a complicated repository of an overdetermined “I” whose concerns are the sound of these forces clamoring. So I don’t think expansive poems are disengaged with subjectivity, and I don’t think lyrical poems are unexpansive.