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llovelymoonn · 9 months

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favourite poems of july

knar gavin strindberg grey

dahlia ravikovitch the love of an orange (tr. chana bloch)

danez smith summer, somewhere

hannah gamble your invitation to a modest breakfast: “your invitation to a modest breakfast”

claire schwartz lecture on the history of the house

joseph brodsky collected poems in english, 1972-1999: “a part of speech”

ralph angel twice removed: “alpine wedding”

bob hicok insomnia diary: “spirit ditty of no fax-line dial tone”

caleb klaces language is her caravan

philip good & bernadette mayer alternating lunes

hester knibbe light-years (tr. jacquelyn pope)

tracy k. smith life on mars: “the universe as primal scream”

rigoberto gonzález other fugitives and other strangers: “the strangers who find me in the woods”

stephen edgar murray dreaming

james schuyler other flowers: uncollected poems: “light night”

amy beeder because our waiters are hopeless romantics

diane seuss backyard song

tomás q. morín love train

safiya sinclair the art of unselfing

carol muske-dukes skylight: “the invention of cuisine”

peter gizzi the outernationale: “vincent, homesick for the land of pictures”

william matthews selected poems and translations, 1969-1991: “onions”

c.k. williams butcher

mark mccloskey the smell of the woods

jennifer chang the age of unreason

richard blanco city of a hundred fires: “contemplations at the virgin de la caridad cafeteria, inc.”

bob hicock the pregnancy of words

j. allyn rosser impromptu

carl phillips then the war

stephanie young ursula or university: “essay”

gloria e. anzaldúa the new speakers

kofi

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ellisnyeland · 4 months

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Well, well, well... my second published short story, "The Last Great Repair Tech of the American Midwest" is out now* from Reckoning! This is a story about love and community in the midst of an apocalypse of planned obsolescence, framed as an obituary. It's also inspired by a really awful experience I had while trying to get my computer repaired, as well as my panic about how everything these days feels like it's made to be thrown away.

Additionally: dumplings, silly nicknames, pride parades, an awful awareness of the vulnerability of disabled people under capitalism, and my love for my local small-town newspaper.

*sort of**

**If you go to the link, you can buy the eBook and read my story Right Now. Otherwise, all the stories, poems, etc. will slowly be posted for free on the magazine's website. Mine is the last story in the schedule (which is super flattering!) so it won't be posted until July. I believe you can also order a physical copy of the magazine issue at that point.

#short story #original fiction #science fiction #reckoning magazine #environmental fiction #op #story: the last repair tech

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solarnexas · 8 months

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Strindberg Gray

BY KNAR GAVIN

He was trying to teach me to economize with my language. Strindberg gray

he said, instead of

and I thought, sad stuff; plays. Okay: born, rented room,

to Dad & Mom business & bar, how could you not? Or thought,

I cannot be your Lithuania nor her other Armenia,

emptied into river if not skein-tangled senseless. He won’t say her name

and not a word of the thitherings. Only that she was lost. Don’t speak

the heavy hinges, the crushed-bud breaking of taste

from language. That sort of excess has no place in the new economy.

Strindberg gray, say, when one thinks only January, January, January.

Of the Occurrence as recurrent. A single gunshot

in Dempster’s cistern, the echo chambers of sleep. The gray lot

of days in low-light hospitals, Strindberg.

I’ll call him gray, his sitting heavy. And her so Strindberg with veil and rose,

her poised in shadow at the door. Funereal nails sunk

into knees would be dripping were they not so goddamn gray.

Excess was for days when my mother sat turning grape leaves

with three sets of pockets: Turkish, English, & Armenian, plus lemon to dry it all out.

By ten, they’d sewn up two; said one is more than enough.

“English, only, Sanossian.

You will speak what we speak.”

I don’t know what it’s like to lose

a language. Instead,

Strindberg gray, I say, when I want to bring his lost girl back. Strindberg gray,

though I cannot take from him January, July, or the months of coping between.

When my mother leafs through me in her memory banks, bits of face are missing;

sometimes I’m limbless or smear. Gray even scentless, and still all Strindberg.

I tell him, I raise her: be darlings and come scream with me

from all the pockets sewn over. Maybe by late summer we’ll be humming:

Tennessee yellow; Tennessee, Tennessee.

#m #poetry

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knargavin · 3 years

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Head to Annulet and check out my recent essay on environmental justice, climate action, and the work of solidarity.

#climate crisis #climate grief #poetry #countermapping #poetics

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verse-aday-blog · 8 years

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“Poem-Cognitariat”

—quick-listed to the longhand of playbor or in border parts I lost a country quick of the nail and bitten through I confess no green flower am wood flower as in wish I hadn't a slow leak can happen in a bicycle tube inside a girl inside a tube inside a girl I confess: I know now it is possible to be full & empty all at once I confess I no longer want to confess I confess a flattening or that property is a measure of elimination* I limn red I confess I rosary I baby I limn— then well she said well well —I confess no flower I confess I no longer want to I the brutal ex hibit the habit I, I By Knar Gavin from Birdfeast

#knar gavin #birdfeast #poetry #poem

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pigmenting · 9 years

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I know now it is possible to be full & empty all at once

Knar Gavin, from “Poem-Cognitariat” published in Birdfeast

#Knar Gavin #Poem-Cognitariat #Birdfeast #quote #lit

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bibliomancyoracle · 9 years

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a family may sew a rug for the temple a family may store a rifle to protect the gold

*

from “TEXT ISLES” by Knar Gavin

#Knar Gavin #bibliomancy

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