SoFloPoJo Issue 12 February 2019 Voices From The Fierce Intangible World
Let me leave my plate an unfinished slaughter---Fatimah Asghar
Lola Haskins, Guest Editor
If you are poet, prophet, peace loving artist, tolerant, traditional or anarchistic, haiku or epic, and points in between; if your poems sing, shout, whisper, dance, scratch, tickle, trot or crawl; if you value the humane treatment of every creature and the planet on which we dwell, SoFloPoJo seeks your work.
Visit our friends at: SWWIM MIAMI BOOK FAIR FORT LAUDERDALE STORY SLAM PALM BEACH POETRY FESTIVAL BETSY HOTEL
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, POETRY dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient Interview With A Poet heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and Visual Arts hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities Video contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant Reviews cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows Story Tellers of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards Snaps returning through Laredo with a belt of...
Poets in this issue:
P. Scott Cunningham Betsy Sholl Linda Pastan Timothy Liu Angela Narciso Torres Jennifer Martelli Anum Sattar Marjorie Maddox
Susan R. Williamson David Trinidad Dorianne Laux Maura Stanton Siham Karami Stephen Corey Brandon Kershner Michael Mark
Joe Haldeman Clyde Kessler Jo Mcdougall Amy Katzel
P. Scott Cunningham Betsy Sholl Linda Pastan Timothy Liu Angela Narciso Torres Jennifer Martelli Anum Sattar Marjorie Maddox
Susan R. Williamson David Trinidad Dorianne Laux Maura Stanton Siham Karami Stephen Corey Brandon Kershner Michael Mark
Joe Haldeman Clyde Kessler Jo Mcdougall Amy Katzel
Poets Respond to the Prompt
We contacted some SoFloPoJo poets at random and asked them to write a poem using this prompt as a title or line
(Scroll through poetry to The Prompt section).
(Scroll through poetry to The Prompt section).
The Woman With Medicine in Her Voice
Fang Bu Kelly Cherry Sarah Carey Devon Balwit Don Rosenthal Charles Rammelkamp Denise Duhamel & Julie Marie Wade
Carmine G. Di Biase Grace Cavalieri L.B. Sedlacek John Burroughs Robert Cooperman Jen Karetnick Jennifer Litt Richard Ryal
Catherine Esposito Prescott
Carmine G. Di Biase Grace Cavalieri L.B. Sedlacek John Burroughs Robert Cooperman Jen Karetnick Jennifer Litt Richard Ryal
Catherine Esposito Prescott
Cover Art by Harold Ackerman
Bluer and More Vast by Michael Hettich, Hysterical Books, Reviewed by Freesia McKee
Guest Review
Oculus by Sally Wen Mao, Reviewed by Grace Cavalieri
What They Said in Interview With A Poet...
|
I am currently reading Danez Smith’s Don’t Call Us Dead. It is one of the wittiest, most soulful, heartbreaking, masterful, and innovative collections I’ve read in the last couple of years. — Yaddyra Peralta from December's edition. |
|
I would tell him to Completely. Fuck. Off. --Jesse Millner from January's edition. |
|
When I was at BYU, against my will, with no rights and sexually assaulted, I knew that I was living an experience that needed to be told. --Kristin Garth from the February edition. |
Poems & Conversations from the MIAMI BOOK FAIR
Libby Burton Marcelo Hernandez Castillo Jos Charles
Tiana Clark Barbara Hamby Steve Kronen
Rajiv Mohabir Chase Twichell Neil de la Flor
Visual Arts in this issue
Jonaki Ray Kerry Rawlinson Vivian Wagner
Palm Beach Poetry Festival
Aracelis Girmay Sharon Olds Laure-Anne Bosselaar
Matthew Olzmann Stuart Dischell Tyehimba Jess
...marijuana for New York, EDITORS: who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, Don Burns incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping David Colodney toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Deborah DeNicola Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness Gary Kay over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, Sarah Kersey who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Stacie M. Kiner Zoo who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, Sally Naylor who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, Barbra Nightingale, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, Susannah Simpson suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room, Meryl Stratford who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, Paul Saluk who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively Patricia Whiting at their feet in Kansas, Francine Witte who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, Reviewer: who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, Freesia McKee who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, Translations Editor: who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin Mary Jane White passing out incomprehensible leaflets, Co-Publisher/Managing Editor: who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
Michael Mackin O'Mara who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, Founder/Co-Publisher: who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, Lenny DellaRocca who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, (All Rights Reserved SoFloPoJo copyright 2016-2019)Rights Reserved SoFloPoJo copyright 2016-2018
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin Mary Jane White passing out incomprehensible leaflets, Co-Publisher/Managing Editor: who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
Michael Mackin O'Mara who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, Founder/Co-Publisher: who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, Lenny DellaRocca who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, (All Rights Reserved SoFloPoJo copyright 2016-2019)Rights Reserved SoFloPoJo copyright 2016-2018