Sunday, February 26, 2012

Annie Guthrie


that stitching that light split.

no longer by ourselves.

silhouettes began to gather and stick.

they told me and showed me.

I was not afraid.  because it was all out of focus.

The porch became important to the home.

we placed our machine heads on watch.

for recording and capturing.

for flashes do not inhabit. it was all on automatic.

grass heads had hands, waving

like it was right before some riot.

but it was just knowing what to do in the dark,

between flashes.  we stood back.

it was what we always did.

Annie Guthrie is a writer and jeweler living in Tucson. She has work published or forthcoming in The Volta, Tarpaulin Sky, Fairy Tale Review, Ploughshares, H_NGM_N, Everyday Genius, Omniverse, EOAGH, Many Mountains Moving, The Destroyer, and more. She works and teaches at the University of Arizona Poetry Center.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Joshua Hussey



we map them understanding
that they were immense,
covered with fruits and flowers,
a single iris into an autoclave


perhaps of its trees, their green platform,
of a grassy lawn; feel that there—
were immense, covered with shrill cries
perched, one after an other


it was also the time of them,
from them was borne upon the same,
as in a balanced whole, of which
was borne upon the brows of women—
now were immense, covered all trace:
the idea of perfection
which was borne
upon the unwooded parts


that it existed for some
was ever more that we were
                        all manner of birds,
in places where the trees held,
continued, still embedded
among the splash of the rest||
                        the shrill and the shrike


in those disquiets, in that other time,
the sky the shore of them again,
against as we crossed in a scattered sequence
without knowledge, directed it on our way


stumbling to the dovecote,
the sky was grey;

they passed in a scattered
all trace

we map them with a wood,
that it existed for a world

Joshua Hussey
is a doctoral student in English at the University of Georgia and is working on a long project on itineraries, the itinerant and Susan Howe. He has published work in Verse (review) and poetry in the Eugene, Oregon based Denali Literary Magazine. He lives in Athens, Georgia.

Sunday, February 05, 2012

Shira Dentz [Part Two]

Shira Dentz is the author of a book of poems, black seeds on a white dish (Shearsman), nominated for the PEN/Osterweil Award 2011. She is also the author of a chapbook, Leaf Weather (Tilt Press), and another full-length collection, door of thin skins (CavanKerry Press), that is forthcoming. Her poems have appeared in many journals including T American Poetry ReviewThe Iowa Reviewjubilat, and New American Writing, and featured online at The Academy of American Poets, NPR, Poetry Daily, and Verse Daily. She's currently Writer in Residence at The New College of Florida and is Book Review Editor at Drunken Boat.