Tag Archives: poetry

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Love Me, Anyway by Minadora Macheret

 

 

 

 

 

This selection comes from Minadora Macheret’s book Love Me, Anyway, available from Porkbelly Press.  Purchase your copy here! Our curator for February is Natalie Giarratano.

Minadora Macheret is a Ph.D. student in Poetry and Teaching Fellow at the University of North Texas. She received the James Merrill Poetry Fellowship from the Vermont Studio Center. Her work has appeared in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Rogue Agent, Connotation Press, and elsewhere. She is the author of the chapbook Love Me, Anyway (Porkbelly Press, 2018). She likes to travel across the country with her beagle, Aki.

Natalie Giarratano is the author of Big Thicket Blues (Sundress Publications, 2017) and Leaving Clean, winner of the 2013 Liam Rector First Book Prize in Poetry (Briery Creek Press, 2013). Her poems have appeared in Beltway PoetryTupelo Quarterly, Tinderbox, and American Literary Review, among others. She edits and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, with her partner and daughter and is the city’s poet laureate.

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The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Love Me, Anyway by Minadora Macheret

 

 

 

This selection comes from Minadora Macheret’s book Love Me, Anyway, available from Porkbelly Press.  Purchase your copy here! Our curator for February is Natalie Giarratano.

Minadora Macheret is a Ph.D. student in Poetry and Teaching Fellow at the University of North Texas. She received the James Merrill Poetry Fellowship from the Vermont Studio Center. Her work has appeared in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Rogue Agent, Connotation Press, and elsewhere. She is the author of the chapbook Love Me, Anyway (Porkbelly Press, 2018). She likes to travel across the country with her beagle, Aki.

Natalie Giarratano is the author of Big Thicket Blues (Sundress Publications, 2017) and Leaving Clean, winner of the 2013 Liam Rector First Book Prize in Poetry (Briery Creek Press, 2013). Her poems have appeared in Beltway PoetryTupelo Quarterly, Tinderbox, and American Literary Review, among others. She edits and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, with her partner and daughter and is the city’s poet laureate.

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Lyric Essentials: Leslie Miller Reads Paisley Rekdal

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Here Leslie Miller and I talk about poetic range, how influential place is, especially that place where a poet started out, and Elizabeth Bishop (it always comes back to Bishop!) and James Wright. Thank you for joining us.

Leslie Miller reads “At the Fishhouses” by Paisley Rekdal

It’s so apt that you chose “At the Fishhouses,” because it’s exactly in the spirit of this series. The poem even begins with “And!” How has Paisley Rekdal’s poetry influenced yours?

Very simply, Paisley Rekdal’s poems give me faith in the future of the art—and that’s something we all need to go on producing it. Her poems, as you can see here, have tremendous range; they are keenly aware of the poems and stories of the past on which she builds, and they break new ground while honoring the work of poets gone before. And this: they not only make poetry feel vital and new, but they carry out the important work of feminist critical positions with the tremendous range of emotion necessary to the complexity of the issues.

I taught Imaginary Vessels (2016) in a women’s literature course, and when I chose it, as with many books I love, I worried my students would not love it as much as I do. Maybe I secretly suspected that as budding feminists in their late teens and early 20’s, they would find Rekdal’s allusions hard to reach. Many of them did not know who Mae West was, for example, but we had a pretty good time looking at YouTube mashups of Mae West one liners, and then watching Paisley’s film of her poem “Self Portrait as Mae West.” I also worried that Rekdal’s work might strike them more as a poet’s poetry—by which I mean the way poets love other poets for their astonishing dexterity with aspects of craft— images, sound, form. General literature students can sometimes seem less wowed by these craft details that creative writers love. Rekdal’s over the top sound devices are so much fun—because even as they go overboard and get some laughs for their absurdity (as in “Dear lacuna, Dear Lard”), they manage to haunt, to maintain an edge, a tone of serious inquiry. In the end, I think the book went over well with my class because I loved it so much (or maybe my students were too kind to admit that my love for the book was itself an entertainment).

These poems are so different from one another! “At the Fishhouses” deals with how slippery memory is, and it uses long lines and a sort of associative logic, whereas “Vessels’” focus is intent on its very specific subject, and its thinking seems to be more controlled. You said in our emails that you had a hard time choosing which poems to read – what made you choose these two?

I had a hard time picking poems of Rekdal’s to share because I like them so much in the context of the book as a whole. If I could have chosen a poem of hers that I think most representative of what I admire, it would have been the long “Nightingale: A Gloss” that appeared in APR recently. That’s the poem I have been handing over to smart young feminist poets lately, and I’m still marveling at its range and power. But I chose two from Imaginary Vessels, one lyric and one more meditative/narrative because one of the things I admire most in Rekdal is the ease with which she moves among the various modes. “At the Fishhouses” has another signature Rekdal feature—the layering of other poetry, other traditions, stories, pop icons, and yet doing this without fanfare, without having to pound down a conclusion about what that allusion means or lends to the poem. I suspect she knows, and hopes we know too, but that she’d also wish our knowing differs from hers.

It’s something we love Bishop for, especially in her poem of the same name, or in her famous poem, “The Fish,” the way the elements of story are so clearly delineated and yet not driving at a single “meaning.” A dozen critics can all come up with a different read on it, and none of them is really any more “right” than the next. The ability to make a poem that observes the world and includes elements of story so precisely that the reader buys into it at the same time that the reader cannot be sure of a “point.” You’re constantly asking yourself as you move through the poem whether you’re tracking the story or the images, and sure, you are tracking both, but one dissolves easily into the other and back again, so that when you reach the final image of the taste of the friend’s mouth in Rekdal’s poem, it isn’t exactly a kiss so much as it is an amalgam of kissing Bishop, the grandmother, the berries picked with the grandmother—it’s all those things, and none of them alone, so you understand that you have to rest on that perilous place between close observation and story and just be there, be present to the way those things mix in the mind.

At the Fishhouses” is at once a complex and entirely clear trajectory from an initial moment that is both the here and now of the poem and a memory of Bishop—from the start, it’s not cleanly one or the other. The story of the friend follows on the establishment of place/time, so the friend is set in the memory/literary allusion fusion as well. The friend quickly segues into a memory of the speaker’s grandmother in a way that fuses, yet again, a past memory and a present character, and Rekdal brilliantly gets us out of the impasse with the image of the raspberries:

were raspberries. Very red, very sweet, furred
like my friend’s upper lip I remember
between my teeth as we stood
on the docks. The smell
of iron and winter mist, her mouth
like nothing I have tasted since.

There is no line at all between what is happening in the now and what is happening in the mind. Rekdal has prepared us incrementally for this moment of sheer erotic joy in a taste and texture that is neither here nor there but a fusion so precise that we’re there tasting it too.

It’s almost as astonishing as Bishop’s close:

It is like what we imagine knowledge to be:
dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free,
drawn from the cold hard mouth
of the world, derived from the rocky breasts
forever, flowing and drawn, and since
our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.   

But Rekdal has made it her own, rearranged the elements, feminized the memory from a grandfather to a grandmother and held on to what is most fetching in the original: a moment of fusion between the self, the past, the erotics of the present environment—and, of course, it’s a moment of transcendence that is gone as soon as you’ve noticed it because it was made of all these contingencies, the ugliness and the beauty, the real and the remembered, and nothing else will ever again quite match it.

Do I love the Rekdal because I love the Bishop so much? Maybe. But I also love that she doesn’t damage the beauty of the Bishop in channeling it for her own. It’s a beautiful homage, and I love Rekdal for loving Bishop exactly as I think Bishop ought to be loved. If I were truly picking a poet whose influence over my own work has been long and deep and ongoing, Bishop wins every time—but I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in that, so I wanted to pick someone writing now that everyone could go out and read!

Leslie Miller reads “Vessels” by Paisley Rekdal

I love that the first sentence in “Vessels” is, “Shouldn’t it ache…,” and then the very next sentence begins, “It hurts/to imagine it…” Rekdal asks a question, and then almost answers it, until we read across the line-break. Can you point to a couple moments you particularly admire in this poem?

Vessels” is a very different poem, and yet a few of the tactics of slide and fusion happen here too, but I chose “Vessels” for its lyric qualities. Rekdal has dozens of poems that play sound devices forward, and truth be told, I’d love to read them all out loud (we did in my class, and maybe that was part of their success with my students), but Rekdal herself must have thought of this poem as special, key to the collection with which it shares part of its name. Like “At the Fishhouses” “Vessels” turns on a single image, only in this case with a bit less narrative, and reprises that image in ways that allow it to be simultaneously lovely, vulnerable, ugly, wounded . . . The poem’s subject is an oyster, though it isn’t named right away, and, in fact, the short lines here allow her to feature “slit” at the end of the first line in such a way that we who own these body parts know instantly in our flesh that it is our own genitalia we are seeing/feeling, even as we are watching the oyster be parted from its “vessel” and understanding our own bodies as vessels as well—as entities that both contain and are contained. The sound here, though, is amazing, because the word “slit” is harsh, and that harsh sound gets picked up again fast in all those following “t” sounds, “sweet,” “salt,” “water,” “meat,” “hurt,” “abductor,” “harvest,” “cyst”—the violence just keeps hitting as it morphs into different iterations of the same sound, even as what we’re seeing is undeniably beautiful.

I also admire the precision of diction in Rekdal’s poems. In “Vessels,” words like “adductor” and “caisson,” are not only precise terms for the mussel’s parts, but even if a reader doesn’t know their meaning the first time through (I had to look them up myself), their sounds give us just as much to go on—“adductor” sounding so much like “abductor” and suggesting female abduction, “caisson” sounding so much like “case-on.”

Do you have a poem that is in as close a conversation with another poem as “At the Fishhouses,” that you can excerpt for us? Or, what are you working on now that you’re excited about?

Oh, this question is so hard to answer after having spent the last few questions in the minds of Rekdal and Bishop! I certainly have written a lot of poems that work in conversation with poets of the past, and to some degree, it’s hard for me to imagine any strong poem that isn’t, even in some very sublimated way, having that kind of conversation.

One recent poem of mine that is more direct in its conversation with an existing poem might be one called “Sumac.” I love that moment in autumn when sumac turns bright red, and when I see it, I always think of the poet James Wright. I grew up in Southeastern Ohio, not far from where Wright grew up, and though I didn’t discover Wright until after I’d left Ohio for good, his poems have always held a special place for me because they’re so good at evoking where I came from—and sumac is common in Southeastern Ohio river valleys, so it shows up in his work more than once, particularly in his prose poem, “The Sumac in Ohio,” which uses sumac as a metaphor for the particular beauty and toughness in the landscape and people of the region. The final sentences of the poem are a signature Wrightian declaration: “ The skin [of the sumac] will turn aside hatchets and knife blades. You cannot even carve a girl’s name on the sumac. It is viciously determined to live and die alone, and you can go straight to hell.”

Though I’ve loved that poem and those lines for years and felt deeply attached to the vision of my geographical home offered by Wright, recently, I reread those lines and saw them differently– as a woman who grew up in that environment and ran as fast as I could away from it, even though I retain a very complicated relationship to it, as to Wright. It’s hard to excerpt from my response poem without giving you all the dimensions of that complication, but here’s a snippet:

and when
I came of age in words, I married
his enduring spell of rivers, mills,
our hills scraped white by monster
draglines, and dusted in the mist
of steel spit and soot.

You could say I had a bit of feminist awakening about the need to give the sumac a different reading, also a loving but stern critique of a poet and generation of poets, really, that was ultimately a boys’ club. There was something about that “You cannot even carve a girl’s name on the sumac” that made me wince. For one thing, it absolutely assumes a male reader, and for another it conjures a place and time in which casual violence against women was commonplace. I can’t read these lines anymore without thinking about the women, girls really, who got stuck in it—as an actual place and as a way of thinking about place. I might have escaped the former, but I didn’t escape the latter!

 


 

Leslie Miller’s sixth collection of poems is Y from Graywolf Press. Her previous
collections include The Resurrection Trade and Eat Quite Everything You See (Graywolf
Press), and Yesterday Had a Man In It, Ungodliness and Staying Up For Love (Carnegie
Mellon University Press). She has been the recipient of the Loft McKnight Award of Distinction, two Minnesota State Arts Board Fellowships in Poetry, a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship in Poetry, and the PEN Southwest Discovery Award. She has also held residencies and fellowships with Le Château de Lavigny, Fundación Valparaíso, Literarisches Colloquium, and Hawthornden Castle. Professor of English at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota, she holds degrees in creative writing and English from Stephens College, the University of Missouri, the Iowa Writers Workshop, and the University of Houston.

Paisley Rekdal is author of five poetry collections, A Crash of Rhinos (2000), Six Girls Without Pants (2002), The Invention of the Kaleidoscope (2007), Animal Eye, and Imaginary Vessels (2016), as well as the book of essays The Night My Mother Met Bruce Lee: Observations on Not Fitting In (2000), and a hybrid memoir, Intimate. She has received several awards for her work, including a Guggenheim Fellowship, the Amy Lowell Poetry Traveling Fellowship, a Fulbright Fellowship, and a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship. She teaches at the University of Utah.

Further Reading:

Leslie Miller’s website
Leslie Miller at Crazyhorse
Interview with Leslie Miller on Words Without Borders

Paisley Rekdal’s website
Paisley Rekdal’s forthcoming book Nightingale on Publisher Weekly‘s Top 10 Poetry Book of 2019 list
Pre-order Nightingale here

Jessica Hudgins is a writer currently living in Georgia.

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The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Love Me, Anyway by Minadora Macheret

 

 

 

This selection comes from Minadora Macheret’s book Love Me, Anyway, available from Porkbelly Press.  Purchase your copy here! Our curator for February is Natalie Giarratano.

Minadora Macheret is a Ph.D. student in Poetry and Teaching Fellow at the University of North Texas. She received the James Merrill Poetry Fellowship from the Vermont Studio Center. Her work has appeared in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Rogue Agent, Connotation Press, and elsewhere. She is the author of the chapbook Love Me, Anyway (Porkbelly Press, 2018). She likes to travel across the country with her beagle, Aki.

Natalie Giarratano is the author of Big Thicket Blues (Sundress Publications, 2017) and Leaving Clean, winner of the 2013 Liam Rector First Book Prize in Poetry (Briery Creek Press, 2013). Her poems have appeared in Beltway PoetryTupelo Quarterly, Tinderbox, and American Literary Review, among others. She edits and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, with her partner and daughter and is the city’s poet laureate.

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Sundress Academy for the Arts Announces 2019 Summer Poetry Writing Retreat

Sundress Academy for the Arts Announces
2019 Summer Poetry Writing Retreat

The Sundress Academy for the Arts is thrilled to announce its Summer Poetry Writing Retreat, which runs from Friday, May 24th to Sunday, May 26th, 2019.  The three-day, two-night camping retreat will be held at SAFTA’s own Firefly Farms in Knoxville, Tennessee.  All SAFTA retreats focus on generative poetry writing, and this year’s poetry retreat will also include break-out sessions on: writing about issues of identity and heritage; accessing memories; kicking writer’s block; publishing; and more.

A weekend pass includes one-on-one and group instruction, writing supplies, food, drinks, transportation to and from the airport, and all on-site amenities for $250.  Tents, sleeping bags, and other camping equipment are available to rent for $25.  Payment plans are available if you reserve by March 31, 2019.

The event will be open to writers of all backgrounds and provide an opportunity to work with many talented, published poets from around the country, including workshop leaders Emari Digiorgio and Karen Craigo.

Emari DiGiorgio is the author of Girl Torpedo, winner of the Numinous Orison, Luminous Origin Literary Award, and The Things a Body Might Become. She’s the recipient of the Auburn Witness Poetry Prize, the Ellen La Forge Memorial Poetry Prize, the Elinor Benedict Poetry Prize, RHINO’s Founder’s Prize, and a poetry fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. She teaches at Stockton University, is a Geraldine R. Dodge Foundation Poet and the Senior Reviews Editor for Tupelo Quarterly, and hosts World Above, a monthly reading series in Atlantic City, NJ.

 

Karen Craigo is the author of two Sundress collections: Passing Through Humansville (2018) and No More Milk (2016), as well as three chapbooks, and her poetry, fiction and nonfiction have appeared in numerous publications. She is the editor of The Marshfield Mail newspaper in Marshfield, Missouri.

 

We have one full scholarship available for the retreat as well as limited 20% scholarships for those with financial need. To apply for a scholarship, send a packet of no more than (8) pages of poetry along with a brief statement on why you would like to attend this workshop to Erin Elizabeth Smith at erin@sundresspublications.com no later than March 15, 2019. Winners will be announced in April.

Space at this workshop is limited to 15 writers, so reserve your place today at https://squareup.com/store/sundress-publications/item/poetry-retreat.

***

The Sundress Academy for the Arts (SAFTA) is an artists’ residency that hosts workshops, retreats, and residencies for writers, actors, filmmakers, and visual artists. All are guided by experienced, professional instructors from a variety of creative disciplines who are dedicated to cultivating the arts in East Tennessee.

For more information, find Sundress Academy for the Arts on our websiteFacebook, or Twitter.

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The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Love Me, Anyway by Minadora Macheret

 

 

 

 

 

This selection comes from Minadora Macheret’s book Love Me, Anyway, available from Porkbelly Press.  Purchase your copy here! Our curator for February is Natalie Giarratano.

Minadora Macheret is a Ph.D. student in Poetry and Teaching Fellow at the University of North Texas. She received the James Merrill Poetry Fellowship from the Vermont Studio Center. Her work has appeared in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Rogue Agent, Connotation Press, and elsewhere. She is the author of the chapbook Love Me, Anyway (Porkbelly Press, 2018). She likes to travel across the country with her beagle, Aki.

Natalie Giarratano is the author of Big Thicket Blues (Sundress Publications, 2017) and Leaving Clean, winner of the 2013 Liam Rector First Book Prize in Poetry (Briery Creek Press, 2013). Her poems have appeared in Beltway PoetryTupelo Quarterly, Tinderbox, and American Literary Review, among others. She edits and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, with her partner and daughter and is the city’s poet laureate.

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The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Love Me, Anyway by Minadora Macheret

 

 

 

 

This selection comes from Minadora Macheret’s book Love Me, Anyway, available from Porkbelly Press.  Purchase your copy here! Our curator for February is Natalie Giarratano.

Minadora Macheret is a Ph.D. student in Poetry and Teaching Fellow at the University of North Texas. She received the James Merrill Poetry Fellowship from the Vermont Studio Center. Her work has appeared in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Rogue Agent, Connotation Press, and elsewhere. She is the author of the chapbook Love Me, Anyway (Porkbelly Press, 2018). She likes to travel across the country with her beagle, Aki.

Natalie Giarratano is the author of Big Thicket Blues (Sundress Publications, 2017) and Leaving Clean, winner of the 2013 Liam Rector First Book Prize in Poetry (Briery Creek Press, 2013). Her poems have appeared in Beltway PoetryTupelo Quarterly, Tinderbox, and American Literary Review, among others. She edits and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, with her partner and daughter and is the city’s poet laureate.

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Interview with Letitia Trent, Author of Match Cut

Ahead of the release of Match Cut, her newest collection of poems, Letitia Trent took timematch cut cover to speak with Sundress editorial intern, Lauren Sutherland, to discuss the themes, imagery, organization of the collection, and the darker shadows of writing and psychology that continue to inspire Trent’s work.

Lauren Sutherland: Movies clearly inspired this collection of poems, from the title to each of the poems themselves. How was it incorporating films into your personal ideas for individual poems?

Letitia Trent: I didn’t really choose to write about film, it was the only way I could write poems for a long time, from around 2008 to 2011. I started the movie poems after I got out of my MFA program and moved back to my home state of Vermont. I’m pretty sure I was depressed around this time, and my writing started to suffer, or at least my old vision of myself as somebody who could pretty easily write a poem faltered. I couldn’t figure out how to write the kinds of poems I was writing during my MFA, and I started to feel isolated from community and frustrated with myself. Movies saved me during that time. My husband and I lived walking distance from the local movie theater, so we saw a movie almost every weekend. I also started to revisit films I’d always wanted to watch in the past but had never gotten to.

When I was a kid, I was wild about movies. When I was around ten, my mom bought me this enormous “Rating the Movies” book and I read it straight through, marking all the movies I wanted to watch with a check mark. We would go every week to the video store, and I tried to get all my checked movies in, so at one point, when I was about eleven, I found myself watching Taxi Driver with my horrified parents. Then, I went to college for literature and grad school for writing and kind of lost track of my love of movies for a while. When I got out of grad school, I felt lost, so I came back to movies again. The writing itself came out of the movies–I didn’t really have a pre-conceived notion of what I wanted to write but instead, let the poems come from
the material in the film. Once I got going, almost every movie I watched produced a poem for a period of a couple of years.

Sutherland: Was there a particular strategy for ordering your poems or did it just happen organically?

Trent: I went through so many attempts to organize these poems. I’d say that was the hardest part for me. I had a lot of help from the editors here at Sundress, as organizing a book is probably one of the biggest struggles for me, and I needed as much help as I could get. I usually try to feel it out and organize intuitively, but the more suggestions I got, the more the poems seemed to separate based on theme. There are a lot of poems about gender, particularly about how films define women. Film noir and horror, in particular, have these conflicting ideas about gender, ideas that both appeal to me and feel uncomfortable. I’m interested in these tropes and how we (as a culture and individually) use the raw material of film to build identity. I also wrote a lot about mothers and children and sex. I did not realize that these were my themes until I began the work of reflecting on the poems. Writing and organizing this manuscript was an excavation, sometimes a surprising one.

Sutherland:
Did your poems come first or did you like the idea of working with the genre and mold your poems to fit that?

Trent: I’m an enormous fan of horror and tend to be attracted to the murky, the dark, the noir-ish—and since the poems came from the film, those themes were bound to show up. These are wells I’ve been digging for most of my writing career in a variety of genres. All I know is that
these themes have always attracted me.

Sutherland: How did you come to love the darker side of writing and integrate that into your poetry?

Trent: I think an interest in more shadowy parts of life and consciousness pairs with my interest in psychology. I like to wrestle with things that trouble me. Poems have been a way for me to work through the more confusing, slippery, and troubling parts of myself. I think that’s why I’m attracted to genres at the fringe of “respectability,” like film noir or horror or exploitation films. I think they can often access the parts of us that we push away or keep in the shadows because these are genres that don’t use tasteful or acceptable ways of framing the more volatile parts of human life (sex, death, fear, etc.).

Sutherland: Your exploration with form in this collection is vast, including your creativity with capitalization (in “Blue Velvet”), line-breaks (in “The Brood”), and spacing (in “The Dreamers”). Do you find this kind of variation to be necessary when compiling a book of poems, and do you feel like it’s a challenge to branch out from the more comfortable forms?

Trent: When I was writing these poems, I was really interested in OULIPO writing techniques. A couple of the constraint-based poems are in the manuscript, including “Secretary”, which I think was an attempt at a snowball, a poem that increases word count gradually (though I think I messed the word count up and just kept the mistake in the poem) and an N+7 poem (“Kairo”), where I used a dictionary of sexual terms to replace most of the nouns in the poem. I have a few poems where I would initially write a poem response to the film and then do a collage or
OULIPO exercise on the poem I’d just written. I found constraint-based writing to be incredibly freeing. I started to get excited about writing again. While I don’t think it’s necessary for everyone, it was exciting for me to try new ways of writing.

Sutherland: What did you find to be more of a battle, and what did you find to be more innate when writing the poems that make up Match Cut?

Trent: It took me a really long time to make this manuscript exactly the way I wanted it, despite having a pretty clear organizing principle (film poems) right from the beginning. I have to thank my proofreaders and editors for that, as it was really initially just a mess of poems about movies without a lot of shape. Also, because so many of the poems were made in a rush of excitement after watching a film, they were sometimes a bit raw and unformed. It took me a while to have
enough distance from the manuscript to see the themes and to see my way forward for revision.

 

Order your copy of Match Cut today!

____________________________________________________________________________________________

letitia-trentLetitia Trent’s work includes the novels Echo Lake and Almost Dark and the poetry collection One Perfect Bird.  Her work has appeared in The Denver Quarterly, Black Warrior Review, 32 Poems, and Waxwing, among others. Letitia works in the mental health field in a small town in the Ozarks with her husband, son, and three black cats.

Pre-order your copy of Match Cut, today.

 

 

 

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Lauren Sutherland is a recent graduate of Lee University in Cleveland, TN and proudly has a Bachelor’s degree in English with a writing emphasis and a Deaf Studies minor. Lauren enjoys reading, writing poetry, but her ultimate passion is for editing. She has been interning with Sundress since July and loves getting the opportunity to have a hand in the literary community.

 

 

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The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Barnburner by Erin Hoover

 

 

 

This selection comes from Erin Hoover’s book Barnburner, available from Small Press Distribution.  Purchase your copy here! Our curator for February is Natalie Giarratano.

Erin Hoover’s debut poetry collection, Barnburner, was selected by Kathryn Nuernberger as winner of the Antivenom Poetry Award and published by Elixir Press in 2018.  Her poems have appeared in The Best American PoetryBest New Poets, and in journals such as Prairie Schooner, Narrative, Alaska Quarterly Review, and Pleiades. Hoover has served as past editor of the Southeast Review, volunteer for VIDA: Women in Literary Arts, and co-founder of the literary organization Late Night Library. She earned a Ph.D. from Florida State University and now lives in Tallahassee, where she teaches writing. You can find her @erinhoover on Twitter.

Natalie Giarratano is the author of Big Thicket Blues (Sundress Publications, 2017) and Leaving Clean, winner of the 2013 Liam Rector First Book Prize in Poetry (Briery Creek Press, 2013). Her poems have appeared in Beltway PoetryTupelo Quarterly, Tinderbox, and American Literary Review, among others. She edits and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, with her partner and daughter and is the city’s poet laureate.

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The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Barnburner by Erin Hoover

 

 

 

 

 

 

This selection comes from Erin Hoover’s book Barnburner, available from Small Press Distribution.  Purchase your copy here! Our curator for February is Natalie Giarratano.

Erin Hoover’s debut poetry collection, Barnburner, was selected by Kathryn Nuernberger as winner of the Antivenom Poetry Award and published by Elixir Press in 2018.  Her poems have appeared in The Best American PoetryBest New Poets, and in journals such as Prairie Schooner, Narrative, Alaska Quarterly Review, and Pleiades. Hoover has served as past editor of the Southeast Review, volunteer for VIDA: Women in Literary Arts, and co-founder of the literary organization Late Night Library. She earned a Ph.D. from Florida State University and now lives in Tallahassee, where she teaches writing. You can find her @erinhoover on Twitter.

Natalie Giarratano is the author of Big Thicket Blues (Sundress Publications, 2017) and Leaving Clean, winner of the 2013 Liam Rector First Book Prize in Poetry (Briery Creek Press, 2013). Her poems have appeared in Beltway PoetryTupelo Quarterly, Tinderbox, and American Literary Review, among others. She edits and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, with her partner and daughter and is the city’s poet laureate.

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