Contributor Update, Rosanna Oh: Erasures Exhibition

Rosanna OhToday we are happy to announce news about past contributor Rosanna Oh. Rosanna’s poetry will be the subject of an upcoming poetry exhibition, titled Erasures, at the Queens Historical Society in New York City on December 2, 2018.

Erasures takes its title from a poem by Rosanna Oh, and it refers to a key theme throughout the work that is featured in this exhibition. The poem, in which a daughter reflects on her father’s and family’s past, considers erasure in the context of immigrant identity and transnational narratives. What does it mean to leave a place in which one’s self is rooted? Who or what gets left behind — and, conversely, carried over to the new country?

The exhibit also includes the work of writers who have greatly influenced Rosanna. Loide Marwanga is the exhibition designer.

Opening Reception
Date: December 2, 2018
Time: 2:30 pm ET
Venue: The Queens Historical Society
143-35 37th Avenue
Flushing, NY 11354

Refreshments will be served

Congratulations, Rosanna!

Contributor Update, Jess Williard: Unmanly Grief

Unmanly Grief CoverToday we are excited to announce future contributor Jess Williard’s upcoming book. Jess’ collection of poetry, Unmanly Grief, will come out March, 2019 and is now available for preorder through the University of Arkansas Press and Barnes and Noble. Unmanly Grief has also been recently selected by Billy Collins as the finalist for the 2019 Miller Williams Poetry Prize. Congratulations, Jess!

One poem by Jess is upcoming in Superstition Review’s Issue 22.

 

Authors Talk: Stan Sanvel Rubin

Today we are pleased to feature author Stan Sanvel Rubin as our Authors Talk series contributor. In this podcast, Stan discusses two of his poems, “Entre Des Etrangers” (the meaning of which is “Between Strangers”) and “Tickle.”

Stan states that these poems “weren’t written together, although they were written fairly close in time.” While he continues that these poems weren’t “meant to be paired,” he describes how each “holds the page in a similar way— that is, they have a similar visual weight.” Each poem also has 14 lines; which, Stan admits, is unique considering that he is “instinctively drawn to 13-line units.” He emphasizes the fact that “Tickle” is a single-sentence poem, while “Entre Des Etrangers” is broken up into several sentences, and that this structure serves to reflect the overall meaning of each piece. While Stan continues that these two poems “are not sonnets, and they’re not trying to be,” he describes how both poems are “examples of what lyric poetry is especially about— the creation of a sound body…what you might call the music of each poem.”

“Each poem has some connection to narrative,” Stan continues. While “Entre Des Etrangers” , he states, “has a kind of embedded story involving two strangers coming together….’Tickle’ has a narrative instance of a young boy having just caught a trout, and holding that trout in his hand.” While each poem differs in terms of plot, Stan declares that the significance of both pieces goes “beyond the particular actions of the participants of the poem,” and is “owned again by… the way sound and words can be put together and juxtaposed in somewhat complex ways.”

You can read Stan’s two poems, “Entre Des Etrangers” and “Tickle,” in Issue 19 of Superstition Review.

 

#ArtLitPhx: Poetry of Witness with Andrea Scarpino

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Event Description:

Poetry of Witness. Poetry as Trace with Andrea Scarpino

Date: Friday, November 16, 2018, 5:30 to 8:30 p.m.
Location: Piper Writers House, 450 E Tyler Mall, Tempe, AZ 85281
Individual Course Cost: $119 Regular, $107 ASU, $99 Student
Two-Course Bundle: $210 Regular, $189 ASU, $175 Student

Poetry of the Body with Andrea Scarpino takes place the following day, Saturday, November 17, 2018 from 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. Both classes can be bundled for additional savings.

To learn more and register, visit http://piper.asu.edu/classes/andrea-scarpino/two-poetry-workshops

About the Class:
The poet Carolyn Forché describes poems of witness as bearing “the trace of extremity within them . . . the poem might be our only evidence that an act has occurred.” Traditionally, this has meant bearing witness to atrocities like war or genocide, but we will take a more expansive look at the form and how to bear witness to our own lives and to our own stories. This could include bearing witness to homophobia or racism, environmental degradation, or sexual harassment (#metoo), but it could also include bearing witness to difficult relationships, to a health crisis, or to the death of someone we love. In this workshop, we will read and discuss poems of witness, generate our own poems of witness through writing prompts, and workshop our writing together.

About the Instructor:
Andrea Scarpino is the author of the poetry collections Once Upon Wing Lake (Four Chambers Press, 2017), What the Willow Said as it Fell (Red Hen Press, 2016) and Once, Then (Red Hen Press, 2014). She received a Ph.D. in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University and an MFA from The Ohio State University. She has published in numerous journals, is co-editor of Nine Mile Magazine, and served as Poet Laureate of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula 2015-2017. Her upcoming edited anthology is Undocumented: Great Lakes Poets Laureate on Social Justice (MSU Press).

Contributor Update, Kamilah Aisha Moon: Poem-a-Day

Kamilah Aisha MoonToday we are glad to announce that past contributor Kamilah Aisha Moon’s poem, “Taking out the Trash,” was the poem of the day yesterday, October 24, 2018, for Poets.org. You can read and listen to the poem at Poets.org.

Congratulations, Kamilah!

Four poems by Kamilah can be read in Issue 10 of Superstition Review.

Guest Blog Post, Ashley Roach: The Privilege and Anxiety of Catharsis

Note: Since time of writing, Brett Kavanaugh has been confirmed as a Justice of the Supreme Court

This month we endured the grueling twin testimonies of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford and Judge Brett Kavanaugh and are facing a very likely confirmation of (another) proven liar to the Supreme Court. It’s been rough. It seems impossible to think about anything else, or to experience anything other than continuous retraumatization. I’ve been working on a book of poems dealing with my own embodied trauma rising from the steam of a decade of forgetting and then remembering, then remembering, then remembering. And asking myself over and over – who is culpable, who invited what, what was forgotten in the darkness, in the not-negotiating? Interrogating the lines, yes, the blurred lines. I have written a book, considered every angle, plumbed my most vulnerable memories. I thought I was strong, self-congratulatory even. I remember telling a friend: I was raped, but I don’t let it determine my life.

These two weeks, I have triggered my own trauma over and over again, looking at the New York Times first thing every morning, checking Twitter every few minutes, calling and writing senators, building and bleeding rage. I’m so angry all the time. I can’t sleep. I lie awake and try to breathe. I go the gym to try to out-aggro myself. I need to feel strong but I’m exhausted. I’m so goddamn mad.

I’m supposed to be planning poetry readings this Fall to sell a few copies of my chapbook, to feel and act like a poet, but it feels so distant. The first reading is in mid-October, on my wedding anniversary. I had completely forgotten about the anniversary and now it seems almost beside the point. I have no interest in conversations with men, even my husband. I want to explode in elemental heat and gravity and destroy this corrupt world. The privilege of all of this (gym, marriage, news subscription, white woman rage) is astounding. I want to crawl into a hole and die. I steam like a volcano. I see a poll that shows a majority of white women believe Brett Kavanaugh over Dr. Ford. I don’t sleep. My mother tells me that she doesn’t think that men should be judged by what they did in high school. I argue with her, then leave. Senator Susan Collins argues the importance of the #MeToo movement then votes for Kavanaugh’s confirmation. My throat is always closed. I can’t stop talking about the injustice of this nomination. I try to tell myself to be prepared for the obvious outcome. Thirty years ago, Anita Hill came forward against Judge Clarence Thomas and was dragged. Need I say it? Donald Trump is president. Here we are today. I steam.

I am also worried that if I read any of the poems I’ve been writing that I will cry, that I will make someone else cry, or worse, I will show that I was wrong, not wronged. All these years later, I still have the internalized misogyny of a lifetime of being told that I put myself in a place where I was vulnerable, and I invited what happened. My mom asked me why I didn’t report it. I don’t know where to begin. It took a decade for me to realize that it happened. I don’t want to share the details, so I leave. I am a coward in my own life. Am I a coward in my own life? A poet recently tweeted that she would not be reading poems of sexual trauma at an upcoming reading because everyone deserves a break. I wonder if I should do the same. But if I don’t read the poems I’ve been writing, why am I reading? If I read them and people are upset, or I am upset, or create a sense of catharsis, am I being performative and insensitive? If I center myself, in my privilege and whiteness, am I perpetuating injustice? I feel sick. I steam.

When I started writing this, I determined that I would write a helpful post about battling imposter syndrome, overcoming doubts of self-worth, and getting over self-promotion anxiety. Work with your friends! Reach out to trusted members of your community! You are worthy! I deleted all of it. It felt so hollow. On Twitter, women post #WhyIDidntReport. I feel like shit every day. My mom wants to talk to me. If I don’t read these poems, how will I reckon with any of this? Is this ultimately the most selfish act – wanting reckoning, wanting catharsis, wanting wanting? My friend and poet Emma Bolden tweeted a gif of a wolf growling, baring her canines. The growl is practically audible. Caption: “YUPPPPPP actual image of me rn.”

Me too. Me too. Me too.

#ArtLitPhx: UA Prose Series: James Allen Hall

#artlitphx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Date: November 8, 2018

Time: 7:00pm

Location: University of Arizona: Poetry Center,

1508 E Helen St, Tucson, AZ 85719

Event Description:

The UA Prose Series, curated by faculty of the Creative Writing Program at the UA, presents prose writers of distinction.

The UA Poetry Center is proud to present James Allen Hall.

James Allen Hall’s first book of poems, Now You’re the Enemy, published as a winner in the 2008 University of Arkansas Poetry Series, won awards from the Lambda Literary Foundation, the Texas Institute of Letters, and the Fellowship of Southern Writers.  His collection of personal lyric essays, I Liked You Better Before I Knew You So Well, was published in 2017 by Cleveland State University Poetry Center Press after winning their Essay Collection Award, selected by Chris Krauss.

James Hall is the recipient of fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the New York Foundation of the Arts, the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, and the University of Arizona Poetry Center.  Recent poems have appeared in literary magazines and anthologies such as Best American Poetry 2012, Iowa Review, New England Review, A Public Space, Poem-A-Day, and elsewhere.  Recent lyric essays have appeared in Bennington Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Cutbank, and Copper Nickel, as well as the anthology The Poem’s Country(Pleiades Press).  He currently serves as editor in chief for Cherry Tree: A National Literary Journal at Washington College, which has received two Best American Poetry selections.  He teaches creative writing and literature at Washington College on Maryland’s Eastern shore.