Here are my intros from Saturday's Bad Shadow Affair. Thanks everyone who came!
If there are 7 billion people, then there are seven billion versions of the world. If there are ten quintillion insects, then let’s not forget about their versions, either. The world you experience is your world. This could get lonely. Or confusing. But Nick seems to embrace variance as an outcome of the imagination and this is a certain kind of faith. That the imagination, too, can collapse this distance. Sometimes his poems want to hold your hand on a beach and sometimes they want to push you into a busy street, but either way, he takes away the distance we feel when he gives us the waves surrounding the beach or the city surrounding the street. Maybe this is how we’re forgiven, or simply how we forge. I think his work experiments with different versions of faith: in space, in objects, that the “you” in his poems is a version of the real. Check out his work here:
The architecture of a wing or wound, the architecture of religion, your name, a feral child living in milkweed & mud. Giffin’s poems are intricate constructions that reveal our artifice as well as intuitive desire. His scaffolding seems to cover everything, pulling a stanza about a book of political philosophy into the same poem with holiday shopping and a housing project. They acknowledge the inextricable. What surprises me in these poems is that sometimes the observations feel mediated by the distance of history and paper and at others, like someone is sitting on your toilet, watching you take an unjustifiably long, hot shower. Giffin writes, “My fear is that time will heal the wounds before I’ve had my chance to finger them.” In reading his new book from Ugly Duckling Presse, Christian Name, I’ve learned to accept if not love the scrutiny we’re cast under. Check out his work here: