So, this Thursday 7:30 pm at the Heorot, Peter Davis, Michael Meyerhofer, J.Y. Sexton, and our very own Writers Community advisor Todd McKinney will be reading. It’s even on Facebook. It’s gonna be rad. It’s 21+, which is ah bummer, but….
Todd writes long poems. BUT THEY ARE GOOD LONG POEMS.
Well, I hope to see you there.
Today, I picked up the first Writers Community Chapbook from The Cardinal Copy Center. Really stoked about these things, featuring work from Ryan Rader, Tyler Fields, Mead Jackson, Ben Rogers, Spencer McNelly, Cody Sean Davis, Layne Ransom, Jeremy Bauer, Elysia Smith, and myself. Also, the cool cover photo was taken by Rochelle Martin.
The first edition was a run of 75, hand-numbered. They will be $3 and will be released at next week’s Gala. It’s been a great semester for the Community and this book is a testament to that.
SHEWWWWEEEE, mid-terms are over, you are caught up on homework, it’s getting cold. READ.
New issue of The Collagist
Our cool officer Elysia’s Elimae pieces here and here
Whatever Roxane Gay says over at Pank
The Jackalope Wars by Jeremy Bauer (BEST FOUR BUCKS SPENT THIS WEEK)
This long thing by Matt Hart (WHO WILL BE HERE SOON) at the Equalizer
I’m not telling you what to do, just thinking this could help. I know you’re sad sometimes. ME TOO.
Also, if you want to get out of your dorm/apartment/house, a cool show at VGR on Saturday, featuring Husband&Wife and their new album, seems like a good destination.
TAKE CARE FOR REAL
This chapbook is the first release for Stoked Press. Jeremy Bauer has captured the words that were fighting their wars in space. Now, here they are in poem form, contained but still fighting, alive and kicking. CHECK IT OUT ON GOODREADS.
Some cool poet dudes wrote blurbs:
The poems in The Jackalope Wars are sort of violent, sort of sweet, and completely kick ass. I like Jermey Bauer’s words a lot. He presents a little corner of Hope in a big room of Hell. I want to quote a line from the book, but I keep getting distracted by other lines. Like how he writes: “Oh Baby, we are The Murder!” And I feel like, “Yeah, I hear you.”
-Peter Davis, author of Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! and Hitler’s Mustache
In Jeremy Bauer’s The Jackalope Wars, creation is an event that is still happening all over us. And as the Gods continue shifting our atoms, the only response is war. William Carlos Williams said that “a poem is a small (or large) machine made of words.” Well, these poems are robots that have turned on the master in the sky. There is fire and blood and now my eyes contain lasers like swirling multitudes. These poems are large and they will eat you.
-Daniel Bailey, author of The Drunk Sonnets
Jeremy is a good friend of mine, and I’m real stoked to see his poems see the world on paper this way. I’ve been wanting to put out a chapbook for awhile, and to have Jeremy’s be my first, DAG YES.
The official release is next Tuesday, and they will be selling for four bucks. If anyone is interested in purchasing one, let me know.
Here is a poem to convince you:
Divine Dog Heads
My hurricane is naked
dripping with birds
soggy with birds
Teaming with white-as-angel’s-blood
Crying ‘cause they’re hungry
Hungry for french-fried dreams
and salted maritime varietals
Their hobbled calls for the true gleam
that envelops with radiant, slobbering
energy but hovers beyond
any manner of vision or scope
or material real
They fly with the dog heads
Heads of wisdom and divine luminescence
But they’re all bleeding and old
Wrinkled, tired muzzles
Tinged with gray and white and lost love
Their beaks hardly open, they creak
like decrepit doors ready to
fall from the hinges
All the haircuts are making me blush
and your bare feet making waves
in Kool-Aid lakes are making me all warm.
Those darlin’ girls keep perching up over the bridge,
And giggling at our reflections and I laugh too
because I look all funny, the way I am to you.
we don’t know each other’s middle names,
or birthdays, or
but I’ll tell you to kiss me
and you’d think yes before you thought twice,
and then I’m in.
You are hooked and I will sell it to you.
I will stone you and you will be happy,
high and alive in happily ever after,
or what we make of it with sticks, beer cans,
and dumpster futons, fixed up by bong passing
I’ll raise your Polaroid to the sun and
shake it red and grey until it evens out
to your annular bright eyes and taught smile.
I am ringing my tambourine and your kickin’ earth up a bayou.
Cody Davis blogs here.