An eccentric,
mature poet with an enigmatic, youthful voice, a beautiful person with a mind like
diamonds and a soul with spirit enough to rival mountains—no one in the last
fifty years has come close to matching the edge and grace of this writer, and
it gives me immense pleasure to publish him here.
“Eye and nose- and mouth-less grey sky…”
Three poems that
garner the crux of familial ties and female experience with exquisite verse.
“she wants to climb inside her daughter/and stay there…”
This poet wields
powerful verse with amazing control.
“this snake on which i see myself…”
“Phone in a
White Room” - - - this poem fell from the heart of surrealism into an ocean of
longing.
“trellis of shadows…”
This poet knows well how to embrace powerful economy of language with guts and concise form.
Two surreal poems
that capture incredible fluidity and spirituality.
“screamed the leaves at me…”
Howie’s poem is tightly woven, yet by the last line, you can feel it like a crack of lightning up your spine.
“Sacred Wrecked
Vessel,” a stunning, potent poem.
See the word ghee in full figurative force: “Taxonomy of a Desire” contains lines that are truly unforgettable.
This brand new
poet brims with the honesty of a monk and the rawness of an open wound.
His poem gives a deep look at humanity and brings the symbolism of fruit to an entirely new level.
If you want to
read handsome mind-wrenching gut-punching lines, read “Will,” and if you want
to crawl inside the church of your mind and sleep in surreal darkness, read
“Black Out.”
“…My sheets are
filthy but my steak is lean…”
“…You mustn’t (turn) like a clock hand upon us, stab/Us with a dull objection…”
Austin is
unafraid of tackling history, sociology, death, and the subtlety of human
relationships heart and headfirst with beauty and compassion. His voice is unique, his language will draw
you in immediately, and his concepts will keep you captivated.
There’s nothing like experiencing Lisa’s verse “In Montenita” and having a “Decent Voodoo.”
“The Mind is
Burning” - - - a poem for all of us who have ripped open our medullas, crawled
inside, and stayed there.
I leave you with
the unmatched spirituality of Changming’s three poems… “Day and Night: A
Parallel Poem,” “Lens,” and “Mind” are wholly beautiful.
“…but this bird
can never be caged…”