Sunday, September 23, 2012

Ironing on Cardboard Press

Thanks to all the 4 readers & the attentive audience for making the first autumn Bad Shadow Affair reading optimally amazing.


I'm sitting on a green couch trying to write an academic paper.

Things feel iffy.

My hair doesn't want to stay in a bun.

A confluence of letters & rabbits.

Dried thistle does not look that different from live thistle.

I'm going to make big salad with avocados for dinner.

It's 1:15pm.

I have an iron but no ironing board. Could I just use a flattened cardboard box?


More introductory bios:

Jesse Morse:
Jesse’s poetry swarms with movement: people and objects “creep,” “break,” “freeze,” “placate,” “make play” “smack” and “jockey.” And these undulations and jostlings are not solitary or contained; they grind and sway against each other in unexpected traffic. Like watching a typewriter and a boomerang slow-dance together by the punch bowl. Poems of strange and impossible frictions, unnerving embraces. In Jesse’s work, observation is both a laconic and languorous collision; there is an infinite layering of elements which deserve investigation, and luckily he gives us multiple entry points, the most enticing one being, “a trapdoor under fire under a poem.”

Emily Pettit:
The final lines of the first poem in Emily Petti’s book, Goat in the Snow, are:
“You are not alone when you make ridiculous gestures /with your arms and legs, and call it dancing. We all are.” I read this two ways: 1) you are not alone when you make ridiculous gestures because we all are making similar gestures. And 2), you are alone making ridiculous gestures because we are all alone within these gestures. Emily’s poetry continually resists singular meaning: we are given declarations and answers that only serve to bewilder, to show us ever-forking tributaries that never lead us to the expected body of water. She presents us with the paradox, “That we would know this noise, / that we would act accordingly” because these poems prove there is no set way to act, that “accordingly” is unfixed, wavering. In a collection that includes 27 “how to” poems, we live out both the anxiety that no one can ever instruct us on how to experience anything, and the faith that this generates mystery and excitement. Emily writes, “And it is easy to say things. It is harder /to mean things. Build a pyramid. Have no /idea why.”
LINK: Read samples & buy the book here.

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