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Journal of the Month
Journal of the Month is a curated subscription service that sends a different literary journal each time, giving subscribers an overview of the contemporary creative writing market. "Decide how often you want to receive magazines—every month, every other month, or once every three months—and during that period of time, you will receive a brand new literary magazine by the 10th of the month. Exactly which literary magazine you'll get is a tantalizing surprise that changes every month. And you'll never receive the same literary magazine twice." Participating journals include Creative Nonfiction, Ecotone, The Iowa Review, Prairie Schooner, December, and many more.
jubilat
Based at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, the literary journal jubilat aims to publish not only the best in contemporary American poetry, but to place it alongside a varied selection of reprints, found pieces, lyric prose, art, and interviews with poets and other artists.
Jubilate Agno
Like a black kite
from another dimension,
God appears
circling above
the dying lamb—
unhurried hunger
weaving through
an ordinary sky—
His poisoned eyes
reflecting the knowledge
that his flesh
will become
His flesh,
his blood
His blood.
Sweeping down
in an ever decreasing
vortex,
black wings
shrouding the sun,
He steps down
from His throne of air.
Carrion eater,
tearer of flesh,
purifier,
His terrible
skull red
from holding
back the sun—
shit-stained
legs and feet
clawing the earth
in time's shadow,
patient, waiting,
His skeletal breath
stinks of centuries
of rotting meat.
After an exploratory
peck or two
He grunts, hisses,
then starts with the eyes,
as He promises
Paradise.
Copyright 2011 by Jack Goodman
Critique by Jendi Reiter
There's something about Christianity and gothic horror that seems to go together, as we see in "Jubilate Agno" by Jack Goodman, a poet from Twin Falls, Idaho. Many of our classic fright-fest plots could be seen as variations on Christian imagery, but with God's goodness and trustworthiness removed from the picture. Compare "Rosemary's Baby" to the Virgin Birth, or zombies to the Resurrection. After seeing the "Twilight" vampire movies, I had a hard time not hearing Edward Cullen's seductive voice in this hymn we often sing during the Eucharist at my church:
The Bread that I will give
is my Flesh for the life of the world,
and they who eat of this bread,
they shall live for ever,
they shall live for ever.
Unless you eat
of the Flesh of the Son of Man
and drink of his Blood,
you shall not have life within you,
you shall not have life within you.
What are we to make of these parallels? One could object that artists in this genre are merely appropriating sacred images for the shock value of seeing them profaned. Such was some conservative Christians' objection to the scene of ants crawling on a crucifix in AIDS activist David Wojnarowicz' short film "A Fire in My Belly", which led to the film's being removed from a Smithsonian exhibit. Yet a brief tour through medieval art shows that blood, death, torture, and the grotesque have been part of the Christian story from the beginning. Part of the tradition's power lies in how it faces these realities of the human condition and promises ultimate redemption from them.
That hope, however, is not always as evident to our senses as the suffering, and so the latter threatens to dominate our imaginations, stifling faith. The horror genre voices our fear that unredeemed suffering is the only reality, or that we will have to save ourselves from it via brute force or magical talismans. In this respect, its spirituality can sometimes be more genuine than the G-rated kitsch that's often sold under the label of Christian art.
Given the long history of "the blood of the Lamb" in devotional art and its darker counterpart, horror, how is a poet to approach this theme in a fresh way? Goodman has made several choices that help him out. First, he sticks to describing the action in concrete terms instead of editorializing. He does not need to talk about loss of faith, or the terror of the victim. We feel these directly as we are caught up in the graphic scene. Second, the form of the poem works against any impulse to be florid and wordy, which seems to be a particular temptation for writers of gothic horror because of that genre's roots in the Victorian era. Short lines and simple words keep the action moving and build suspense.
At key points in the poem, Goodman pairs visually arresting images with a sound pattern that is strong and well-paced. The opening K-sounds in "Like a black kite" resemble the harsh caws of crows, while the words themselves instantly create a menacing atmostphere. The stately yet inexorable approach of the bird of prey is heard in the measured rhythms of "black wings/shrouding the sun,/He steps down/from His throne of air." The last phrase carries a subtle allusion to the devil, one of whose traditional epithets is "the Prince of the Air".
Another fine passage is "His terrible/skull red/from holding/back the sun". Regular readers will know I'm critical of over-using line breaks to manufacture drama. Here, though, the technique works perfectly because nearly every word is a strong one and essential to the phrase: terrible, skull, red, holding, back, sun. I can hear the strain of that holding-back. The almost sublime image is then followed by "shit-stained/legs and feet" just to crush any fleeting thought that this deity might be worthy of worship after all.
I would suggest reworking or cutting the second line, "from another dimension", a cliché that's been used to promote too many sci-fi B-movies. I don't know if the poem really needs "Carrion eater" in the second stanza, either. "Carrion" is close to becoming an archaic word that only shows up in gothic horror tales, and could be seen as overwrought. Also consider ending that stanza at "stinks of centuries", which still conveys the notion of decay without the obvious image of rotting meat.
The poem concludes with sibilant menace in the S-sounds of hisses, starts, eyes, promises, Paradise. It's a nice twist to end with a suggestion of the Lamb's masochistic pleasure, since the eroticism of submission is another sublimated strain in Christian imagery that the horror genre brings forward with a vengeance. Believing in God's power but not His love, some opt for the tragic beauty of knowingly trusting the untrustworthy, hoping thereby to manufacture their own transcendence. Jubilate agno—rejoice in the Lamb. Indeed.
Where could a poem like "Jubilate Agno" be submitted? The following contests may be of interest:
Flatmancrooked Poetry Prize
Entries must be received by March 1
Sacramento-based small press offers $500 prize, plus anthology publication for top 30 entries, for poems up to 500 words; enter online
Poetry 2011 International Poetry Competition (Atlanta Review)
Postmark Deadline: March 1
This well-regarded journal offers $1,000 top prize, plus publication for top 20 entries; enter by mail or online
Balticon SF Poetry Contest
Postmark Deadline: April 1
The Baltimore Science Fiction Society offers $100 top prize for poems with science fiction, fantasy or horror themes; winners invited to read at Balticon, their annual convention, in May; previously published work accepted
This poem and critique appeared in the February 2011 issue of Winning Writers Newsletter (subscribe free).
Judith Goldhaber
Her collection Sonnets from Aesop, a retelling of 100 fables in verse (beautifully illustrated by Gerson Goldhaber), is available from Ribbonweed Press.
Juneteenth Book Fest
From writers, to artists, to industry pros, the goal is to shine a light on the width and breadth of Black American literature, to strengthen the connection to the communities we write for, and to honor the legacy of Black American storytelling. The inaugural 2020 festival took place online because of the COVID-19 epidemic, but the organizers hope to plan in-person events in future years.
just femme & dandy
Launched in 2021, just femme & dandy is a biannual literature and arts journal created for and by queers on the topic of fashion. See their website for each issue's themed submission call. Editors say, "just femme & dandy embraces all the layers of hybridity that push against the tensions that pressure us to conform. Nothing is off limits. To get an idea of what we accept, think of the following, and beyond: poetry, fiction, nonfiction, comics, illustration, drag, dance, video, film, photography, tutorials, interviews, reviews, listicles, thinkpieces, commentaries, historical investigations, and so on."
Just Publishing Advice
Derek Haines, a speculative fiction and thriller writer, maintains this useful blog with advice for self-published authors, with detailed and timely articles about such topics as using social media to sell books.
Kaleidoscope Magazine
They accept poetry, fiction, essays, interviews and book reviews. Submission deadlines are March 1 and August 1 annually. The editors say: "Unique to the field of disability studies, this award-winning publication expresses the experiences of disability from the perspective of individuals, families, healthcare professionals, and society as a whole. The material chosen for Kaleidoscope challenges and overcomes stereotypical, patronizing, and sentimental attitudes about disability. Although content always focuses on a particular aspect of disability, writers with and without disabilities are welcome to submit their work."
Kansas
I'm being dropped. I took a turn pulling the head of our long line of humming wheels and bobbing legs traversing the empty landscape, and now I've rotated to the back, following behind my neighbor and longtime riding partner. Marc is still getting stronger, but age and injury have started to exact their toll on me.
The peloton is a loosely coupled train. Gaps develop and widen as the pace quickens, and I find myself slipping off Marc's tire. I try to sprint back, but there's no starch left. He spins up to another rider in front. Gradually the riders in front grow smaller in the distance and finally disappear. I am churning along with my aching quads under the blue dome of the sky, pulling only myself, being pulled by no one. Suddenly I am no longer in Vermont, but in a place I've been blown back to all my life. I am in Kansas.
I was a child in Leavenworth, in a large brick house beside the Penitentiary. A guard tower stood in our yard, and behind the house the wheat began. I watched squirrels chase each other through the tops of the tall elms. I stood on a wall and directed the black storm clouds in their advance. I built a paper zoo, with paper cages for paper lions. I waited each summer day for my father to come home from the prison in his suit and tie, newspaper folded under his arm. I walked to school across the wide reservation and through the leafy neighborhoods alone.
Father bought me a red Schwinn a few days before my ninth birthday, and taught me to ride it, running along beside as I wobbled. On my birthday, while I was at school, he pulled away, borne beyond the horizon on a swift coronary. His last words were "What a beautiful day!" My mother packed our things in cardboard barrels and we left Kansas. I later marveled at how few memories I carried, as if I hadn't been paying attention.
Still doggedly pedaling on today's empty road, I spare a look around. The flat fields of Addison are pleasant on this beautiful day, but the winds in Kansas rippled the wheat fields like waves of a golden ocean. I made friends with myself while watching them. I learned to enjoy my thoughts. Today I feel the winds of age blowing against me, a privilege my father never had. I try to imagine my young self riding out of my childhood not fatally damaged or condemned by circumstance, but just another odd variation of the human species. It's time to rewrite myself.
Marc is lying on a church lawn. I thank him for waiting, and he says that he wasn't sorry to let the group hurtle on without him. We resume a brisk pace of our own. I'm grateful for his friendship. I'm happy to be riding right now, right here, with a mind and body that could be worse. I'm grateful even for Kansas.
Copyright 2010 by Ken Martin
Critique by Tracy Koretsky
Free writes, automatic writing, journaling, the Amherst Writers & Artists method—what we have here are a lot of expressions that, when applied to the composition of poetry, all amount to same thing: much poetry begins with prose. This makes sense. We think in prose. We are natural with it. Streaming our consciousness through a pen can, indeed, help us discover and explore our material with an ease that may elude us when faced with the more formal concerns of constructing a poem.
But then what? How do we locate and shape a poem from the raw material we have produced? This month, Critique Corner is indebted to Ken Martin of Vermont for allowing us to use his flash memoir "Kansas" as an object lesson. Though far more polished than a typical sample of, say, automatic writing, this 500-word personal essay does provide clues that may help us lift the poems from our prose.
To begin, let's recall a few notions discussed in last month's Critique Corner, which addressed some of the differences between story and poem. Poems, I wrote then, "verse", which is to say, turn away from themselves, sometimes returning, sometimes not. Obviously, "Kansas" does this. The first two paragraphs establish a frame to which Martin returns in his final paragraph.
What makes this set-up and return an essay device, as opposed to a poetic one, is that the first paragraph clearly establishes a theme (aging) and the final paragraph provides an epiphany relating to that theme (the gratitude he feels for his vigor, his friendship, even his awareness that he is grateful). A poem is usually not quite so tidy. We do not neatly sum the turns we take in our poems. Rather we leave the reader to make of them what he or she will, inviting participation. While this is a large part of what makes reading a poem enjoyable, the conclusive nature of essay is what makes it satisfying. Every form of writing has its merits and uses.
Remove that frame, however, and what remains reads very much like a poem. Recall once again last month's essay, in which I stated that one way poems unify is through sound devices, and one way to create a sound device in a narrative poem is to create parallel grammatical structures. Now look at the third paragraph of "Kansas". Beginning with the third sentence, every sentence has the same construction. It begins with "I" then uses a simple past-tense verb. In the first two sentences, the nouns in the second half of the sentence are modified with adjectives. In the next sentence, all the nouns are modified with the same adjective, "paper". Language need not be ornate or grand to be musical; rather, it requires pattern. See for yourself how these two plain but effective repeated structures organize the remaining sentences of the paragraph.
Often, when using prose as a pre-writing technique, we fall into this type of repetition. Noticing it will help pull the poem out from the prose. Reinforcing it or building it in revision can help give the material shape. Be sure to vary the pattern as you work to keep the ear surprised.
Paragraph four has a graceful balance between specificity and abstraction, furthering its resemblance to poetry. In the first sentence we are given a color, a brand name and a number. In the second, the phrase "pulled away" comes, in context, to have a double meaning. It refers to the previous information. But then, without further ado, Martin pivots the phrase to apply to what follows, the abstract "borne beyond the horizon", then quickly returns to more concrete diction with "swift coronary". Though subtle, this shift of tone is enough to underscore the heightened importance of the event. There is no need for explanation or italics.
The sharper turn, however, takes place in the final sentence of that paragraph. Staying true to the timbre of the piece, Martin uses no artifice to move from the memory to his present-day reflection upon it. With this, he progresses from the specifically personal to the universal, that is, from his childhood in Kansas to the way all adults feel at some time about their own childhoods. This would make a fine ending to the poem.
But then, so would "It's time to rewrite myself" which concludes the following paragraph. Is that material also part of the piece? Taste and author's intent would ultimately govern that decision, meaning some close analysis will be useful to inform the decision.
The first sentence of paragraph five is really there to tie back to its frame. By simply removing the word "still", the poem would continue along the new path the previous paragraph laid for it. So, it could "work" but what would it add? Well, it adds what the larger frame gave the essay: a springboard to the memory.
Next, there is a comparison between the present and the past. This might be a worthwhile contrast for the poem, though the simile of wheat fields to ocean waves is not nearly as original as the paper zoo. Anthropomorphizing the fields (making friends with them), on the other hand, is considerably fresher.
The deeper question, however, rests with the final three sentences of paragraph five. The choice ultimately is: does the author want this to be a poem about the nature of childhood memory, or about living past the age at which one's parent dies?
This is a decision that only the poet can make. The more relevant point to our consideration today is what to do with the raw prose material. I submit that paragraph five could be divided in two. The first half might begin the poem, establishing a frame and context. The material starting with "Today" might end the poem.
I point this out not because I think it's the best choice, but only because I want to demonstrate how malleable the prose pre-writing can be. Just because the thoughts occur to us in a specific order, or because we conceive of them originally as being part of the same paragraph, does not mean that they should remain that way as we redraft. One practical technique for re-opening prose for reshaping into poem is to separate every sentence from its predecessor—cut them apart, if need be—and then experiment with new arrangements.
Of course the poem is not finished. It will require a title—which the raw material seems almost magically always to offer—and a form—stanzification, line breaks, etc. Surely these topics merit their own discussions. (You will find a few tips on breaking lines in June's Critique Corner.) My point today is that before all that, the poem requires something more basic: it requires recognition. If you find yourself just breaking your prose pre-writing into lines, then you will have prose broken into lines, not a poem. So look for pattern and repetition, look for turns and shifts of tone or subject or audience, and perhaps before any of that, look for what will be your final line. You're on your way.
Where could an essay like "Kansas" be submitted? The following contest may be of interest:
Writers' Workshop Annual Memoirs Contest
Postmark Deadline: December 30
The Writers' Workshop of Asheville, NC offers $300 for personal essays up to 4,000 words; fee includes critique
In addition, this upcoming contest may be a good fit for narrative poetry based on personal experience
Founders Award
Postmark Deadline: October 15
The Georgia Poetry Society offers $75 and anthology publication for poems up to 80 lines on any subject; no simultaneous submissions
This essay and critique appeared in the September 2010 issue of Winning Writers Newsletter (subscribe free).
Karen J. Weyant
Ms. Weyant's chapbook Wearing Heels in the Rust Belt was a contest winner from Main Street Rag.
Kari (my best friend)
Some monster lay deep in the water that day.
It put its fingers to our mouths when it drifted
towards what was left of Kari's lungs.
Our eyes had never heard death, never tasted
that moment when what makes us whole,
separates.
I remember Kari, afraid of monsters,
willing herself to jump from the highest cliff
in the pits of the old quarry.
It was just that kissing game, truth or dare.
The water was deep and black, cold.
The monster cut through her with pure mean
that thickened the day into ice.
I stirred myself into a cocktail of warm.
After all, we were making snow angels in the air.
We were just teasing her a little.
It was all just fun.
Dangling arms and pretentious fingers
waited for childhood to choke as her weight
slammed the rocks and her flesh sliced
down to the water in long strips
making wet slurping sounds.
She jumped too soon.
That summer the pits had no bottom
but open earth sores watered up
to keep Kari's hands spilling over limestone.
A blood angel fades here kids
aren’t allowed to swim anymore.
Copyright 2007 by Kim Mayhall
Critique by Jendi Reiter
Kim Mayhall's poem "Kari" intersperses the awful physical sensations of a girl's death with metaphorical and fantastical images in order to capture the onlooking children's shock when their game collides with a deadly reality. Perhaps any poem about death is as much about the feelings of those left behind as it is about the person memorialized. Here, despite the title "Kari", the primary focus is the impact on her playmates.
Kari, about whom we know nothing except her fear of monsters and her closeness to the narrator, is not an individual so much as a representative of the children's own mortality, which they confront for the first time through her. She becomes a sacrificial symbol, a "blood angel" reminding them of their guilt. They feel responsible for goading her to take the fatal dive, of course, but the guilt is also something more primal that is bound up with their new consciousness of death. The immunity of youth fails in both directions. How much harm even a child can suffer is also a measure of how much harm a child can inflict on others.
Mayhall engages all of the reader's senses from the beginning, a technique that gives this poem much of its power. Fingers to mouths, eyes that hear, a moment so affecting to body and mind that it can actually be tasted. What to make of the synesthesia "Our eyes had never heard death"? The clue may lie in the contrast between wholeness and separation in the next lines. That earliest childhood state, when the self is undifferentiated from the world, and sensations flow in without being consciously recognized as "sight" versus "hearing", is like the unity among the children before Kari steps into the spotlight. Her death names and individuates her. The others are simply "we". (There is a first-person singular narrator in some lines, but she speaks for their collective experience, not revealing any special interaction with Kari.)
The children at first displace the guilt of the accident onto the "monster" that "put its fingers to our mouths" and "cut through her with pure mean". But Kari, though "afraid of monsters", jumped because she was even more afraid of losing face before her peers ("that kissing game, truth or dare"; "We were just teasing her a little"). Who then are the true monsters? They plead innocence ("we were making snow angels in the air") but the next stanza refers back to this gesture in a more candid, less flattering way: "Dangling arms and pretentious fingers/waited for childhood to choke". The end of childhood means that one can no longer blame imaginary forces outside one's control.
The physical realism of the penultimate stanza is almost unbearable, as perhaps it should be, but the lyrical yet horrifying opening of the final stanza takes an already memorable poem to a new level. Again outside the realm of realism, we are in a ghost story where the earth itself will not let the dead rest, but this time the haunting cannot be dismissed as a child's fear of the dark. Everything we fear is already within ourselves.
The grammar of the last two lines is irregular, a stylistic choice that does not show up elsewhere in the poem, which makes me think Mayhall may have meant "A blood angel fades where kids/aren't allowed to swim anymore". However, I like the cadence of "A blood angel fades here" and I feel that two shorter declarative sentences ("A blood angel fades here; kids/aren't allowed to swim anymore") has a stronger rhythmic impact than the longer single sentence. Also, the overstatement of "kids aren't allowed to swim anymore" (ever? anywhere?) conveys the totality of their expulsion from Eden. More has been lost than access to a specific watering hole. What this line tells me is, kids aren't exempt from human nature, and sometimes they discover that in the most painful ways.
Where could a poem like "Kari" be submitted? The following contests may be of interest:
Oregon State Poetry Association Contests
Postmark Deadline: August 31
Twice-yearly contest offers prizes up to $100 in categories including traditional verse, humor, open theme
Robert Frost Poetry Award
Postmark Deadline: September 15
Competitive award for poems "in the spirit of Robert Frost" includes $1,000 and featured reading at festival in Lawrence, MA
Lucidity Poetry Journal Awards
Postmark Deadline: October 31
Free contest offers prizes up to $100 (doubled this year) for clear, understandable poems in any form dealing with people and interpersonal relationships
This poem and critique appeared in the August 2007 issue of Winning Writers Newsletter (subscribe free).
Karla K. Morton
This Texas-based poet's book/CD combo, 'Wee Cowrin' Timorous Beastie', is a 17th-century Scottish epic story, written in rhyme, and set to an original musical score by the Juno award-winning Canadian composer Howard Baer. Morton's creative multimedia project brings the old world of European epic poetry together with a modern cinematic score.
Kate Greenstreet’s Poetry Interviews Blog
Poet Kate Greenstreet blogs at Every Other Day, where she's compiled an archive of over 100 interviews with contemporary poets about the road to first-book publication and how it changed their life (or not). Highlights include advice from Steve Fellner, author of 'Blind Date with Cavafy', on how the right title can help your manuscript get past the contest screeners.
Kathryn Magendie
"Kick-ass woman who says and does what she wants cause she can."
Katie
A dozen scrawny children run and play
rags for clothes, and silly boots meant for bigger steps
scuffing, jumping, clomping across the rubble strewn square
burnt brick, mortar, shattered glass and scrap metal
to me a dreadful remnant of war costly won
to the children, an undiscovered country
to conquer, to tame, to slay dragons therein
One lad slips and scrapes his knee
I hobble over, and set him on my lap as the others gather round
Tell us mister how you lost your leg?
I wipe clean his scrape
tear off a piece of empty trouser leg to bandage the hurt
A German wanted it more than I
I find myself smiling
an unexpected joy, to bandage a child and not a soldier
in his eyes, wonder, hope, and mischief
his world burned and bombed and taken away,
still he dreams, thanks me kindly
and off to battle dragons again
Children heal so quickly
I have much to answer
all done rightly, all done proudly
I am told
grieves my heart the same, never any peace
I know how the stories end
I know the moment
I know their names
I know what we've done
Katie is lost as well
she doesn't know it's over
she doesn't know her name
I gave her Katie, my wife's name
when she needed it
Katie lay trapped in a cellar with her dying family
no one knows how long
her building bomb-collapsed
hour after wretched hour alone
finally hiding too deep to be found
to be four
to be there
The children wave and smile as I enter the hospital
Katie is such a pretty, tiny thing
her eyes terrible as any nightmare
she lives in that cellar still, oh God
She deserves what peace I gave away
broken, scattered, tearful eyes shut tight
I kiss her cheek
place my hand over her mouth and nose
Copyright 2012 by L. Kerr
Critique by Jendi Reiter
Juxtaposition is creative writing's path to insight. Placing two narrative threads side by side, without immediately explaining their connection, prompts the reader to search out areas of sympathy between them. This leads to a deeper understanding than if we analyzed each topic separately. The same is true of the uncommon pairings of images that characterize a fresh and effective use of metaphor in a poem. Practiced with empathetic attention, this kind of reading can cultivate a habit of mind that breaks down barriers between our own life and the lives of others who seem superficially different from us. This month's critique poem, L. Kerr's "Katie", demonstrates both the technique of surprise juxtapositions and the opening-up of moral vision that it can produce.
In the first half of the poem, the narrator, a war veteran, affectionately watches children at play in a bombed-out neighborhood. Their imaginative transformation of the ruined streetscape presents a hopeful contrast to his memories of battle. Unanswered questions keep the reader engaged. Who is the "Katie" of the title? Is the "rubble strewn square" a casualty of the same conflict in which the narrator was wounded, or another war, or the daily violence of the ghetto?
The juxtaposition of children's games of heroism and the ugly realities of battle, for ironic or tragic effect, has become a cliché of war poetry, and if "Katie" pivoted on that comparison, it would not be a memorable poem. Instead, the poem gains dimension by shifting, without warning, to another story: "Katie is lost as well".
Crucially, we do not learn what the stories have in common until other details have stirred our emotions. Had Kerr introduced the change of topic by saying, in effect, "This reminds me of Katie, whose home was also bombed," it would seem heavy-handed and preachy. Besides, factual similarities miss the deeper point. What is universal in all these stories is loss—collateral damage, the loss suffered by innocents too young to know what death means, even when it's all around them. The gap in information between "Katie is lost" and "her building bomb-collapsed" makes space for the reader to intuit this shared experience.
Katie's story also complicates our picture of the narrator, in a way that enriches the poem. The first scene is all sweetness—too much so, if left to stand alone. The veteran idealizes the children, and their optimism calls forth his better self, so that he accepts his wounds without bitterness toward the enemy: "Tell us mister how you lost your leg...A German wanted it more than I".
Shortly thereafter, he hints that this saintly behavior is an inadequate attempt to make amends for the atrocities that warfare requires. "I have much to answer...I know what we've done". It was justified, it was heroic, according to the official line—but is this as much of an illusion as the children's fantasy that a junkyard is a land of dragons? The reference to Germans suggests World War II, which many Americans think of as the last "good" war. But the narrator reminds us that even a justified war leaves soldiers with stained souls. To save Hitler's victims, we bombed civilians in Dresden, and then in Hiroshima. Again we see how paired narratives naturally ask questions of one another, without the poet spelling them out.
The last line adds another wrenching twist. It appears that the narrator had to smother Katie because she would otherwise have died a terrible slow death, trapped under immovable rubble. In retrospect, the poem has earned the sentimentality of the veteran's kindness to the children, as a relief from the awful ambiguity of a world where killing and saving are nearly indistinguishable.
My main criticism of this poem is the stylistic inconsistency between its two halves. Beginning at "I have much to answer", the narrative is delivered in a taut, plain-spoken style that suits the persona of the "everyman" soldier. Unadorned language gives the sound of sincerity to dramatic and painful revelations.
The first section of the poem is wordy and old-fashioned by contrast. It does not always sound like the same narrator, and seems less immediate to me, like a tableau observed at a distance. Phrases like "a dreadful remnant of war costly won" and "to slay dragons therein" have a musty Victorian flavor. Because the scenario of the battle-weary soldier refreshed by childhood innocence has been so over-played, it is especially important that the style hold no trace of sentimental straining after dramatic effects.
Juxtaposition is not patchwork. For the conversation between narratives to work, they must both be speaking the same language. A consistent voice is the holding environment where the drama of contrasts is played out. Condensing the opening stanzas, possibly by as much as half, would make "Katie" an even stronger poem about the hard-won victory of empathy over violence.
Where could a poem like "Katie" be submitted? The following contests may be of interest:
Fish International Poetry Prize
Entries must be received by March 30
Irish independent publisher offers 1,000 pounds and reading at West Cork literary festival in this contest for unpublished poems; online entries accepted
Press 53 Open Awards
Postmark Deadline: March 31
Small press in NC offers prizes of $250 and anthology publication in 5 genres: poetry, short story, novella, flash fiction, and creative nonfiction; enter by mail or online
This poem and critique appeared in the February 2012 issue of Winning Writers Newsletter (subscribe free).
Kattywompus Press
This small press based in Cleveland Heights, Ohio publishes chapbooks of innovative, contemporary writing in a variety of genres: poetry, a chapbook-length essay collection, a rollicking long prose poem or gaggle of shorter prose poems, a clutch of micro-fictions, one incredible short story, or a chapbook-friendly slice of autobiography, travelogue, art criticism. $15 reading fee. Enter online only. The no-simultaneous-submissions rule is unusual for manuscript submissions, but they promise to respond within four weeks.
Keening
By Kathleen McCoy
It comes back in a rush as you hold the one
who's at that border-bog between
greenness and fever-fire: your dream
where she stands tremulously then falls,
falls into you, heart to beating heart,
passes through your body, rises as a rush
of smoke toward the stained glass
high above your heads.
With nurse's hands now upon her wrist
comes the somber nod. A low horn howls
deep in distance yet grows nearer, red
and black and green, coyote call clawing
over many mountains in dim mist,
watery wail that worms its way
through, in a fit of frisson,
whatever beast you have become.
Keeping It Legal
Lawyer and self-published author Helen Sedwick writes this blog to help writers, particularly self-published ones, navigate the legal issues involved in publishing, promoting, and protecting their work. Topics include fair use, defamation, and copyright.
Keeping Poetry Close: Copper Canyon Poets Read to You
Monica Sok, Ellen Bass, Philip Metres, and other authors of recent titles from prestigious poetry publisher Copper Canyon Press share excerpts from their work in this video series. Editor George Knotek says, "For this time when poetry is abundant but in-person communion with our loved ones is not—a time when we're turning to technology to help us connect with the faces and voices we miss—we offer here the faces and voices of our spring 2020 poets reading from their newest books to bring you both poetry and human connection, from their homes to yours."
Keith Wheeler Books
Children's book author Keith Wheeler creates lively, informative short videos with advice on writing, designing, and marketing your self-published books.
Key Book Publishing Paths
Publishing expert Jane Friedman explains different tracks to book publication in this annually updated chart, which compares the key features of Big Five traditional publishing, small press, indie, hybrid, and self-publishing.
KidLit411
KidLit411 is a site that collects information of interest to children's book writers and illustrators. They post contests, grants, and pitch opportunities. The site also features weekly profiles of writers and illustrators.
Kids’ Book Review
Kids' Book Review is an online journal that showcases authors, illustrators, and publishers in the children's literature field. They publish news, reviews, interviews, articles, guest posts, events, and specialist literacy articles. The site also hosts monthly themed creative writing contests.
Killer Nashville Writers’ Conference
Founded in 2006 by writer/filmmaker Clay Stafford, the Killer Nashville Writers' Conference provides unique educational and networking opportunities for genre and non-genre writers whose work contains elements of mystery, thriller, or suspense. Held in Nashville, TN in August, this four-day event boasts 500+ participants annually. Three crime-writing honors (Claymore, Silver Falchion, and John Seigenthaler Legends) are awarded during the conference.
Kind of a Hurricane Press
This small press publishes several poetry anthologies a year on various themes, in POD print and e-book formats. Recent themes have included "Barbie in a Blender" and "Poised in Flight". The press also sponsors online journals for different types of poetry.
Kingdom Poets
Canadian poet D.S. Martin edits this blog showcasing classic and contemporary Christian poets.
Kirkus Reviews: Complete Self-Publishing Guide for Authors
This free 21-page online guide from Kirkus Reviews, a leading book-review publication, walks new authors through their basic options for design, marketing, and distribution of self-published books.
Kissing in Manhattan
Brilliantly written novel-in-stories seduces the reader with witty sketches of Manhattanites in love and lust, but what began as social comedy ends as a surprisingly moving tale of darkness and redemption. Aspiring short story writers should study Schickler's way with the details that reveal character and milieu.
Know Your Rights: Key Provisions in a Publishing Contract
In this 2021 article on Anne R. Allen's publishing advice blog, literary agent and attorney Joseph Perry explains typical terms in a book publishing contract, such as the grant of rights, advances, royalties, and option clause.
Knowing When
By Mark Fleisher
Once heartthrobs and icons
now shuffling on and off stage
often supported by a sturdy arm
of a trusted companion
Words still remembered
messages still clear
sung by voices less vibrant
Surgeries, injections
cannot mask aging faces
bearing witness to
too many years
too many drugs
too many drinks
too many nights
Why do they go on—
the crescendo of applause
the swaying of contemporaries
mouthing words
they've known for decades
standing ovations now automatic
as if part of the script
Now I approach similar days
wondering if I will know when
or will I stubbornly go on
needing an escort to where
my words will be heard
then helped to a comfortable chair
before taken home
It is said of musicians
athletes, politicians
perhaps even poets
go out while on top
Advice hard to heed when
the roar of the crowd
still rings in their ears
Korean War Stories
Vivid personal anecdotes and poems based on the experiences of US veterans in the 143rd Field Artillery during the Korean War.
Koss Web Design
Poet and illustrator Koss, a winner of our Wergle Flomp Humor Poetry Contest, is also an accomplished graphic designer who creates logos and websites for writers. See examples of her site designs here and here (logo and website). She also redesigned the Ventura County Poetry Project site and managed their social media.
Kris Spisak’s Writing Tips
Affect or effect? Riffle or rifle? Even experienced authors are tripped up by common words and phrases that are often mistaken for each other. Kris Spisak's blog highlights hundreds of these and explains their etymology to help you remember proper usage.
Kseniya Simonova’s Sand Paintings
This unique and moving 8-minute video shows young Ukrainian artist Kseniya Simonova creating a sand painting that narrates the devastating impact of the Nazi invasion.
Kwame Dawes
This site, Live Hope Love, features the profound and lyrical poetry of Kwame Dawes as well as video interviews and background stories of the people who inspired him.
Kyoto Journal
See website for submission guidelines for poetry, prose, and artwork. Recent themed issues have included "Unbound: Gender in Asia" and "Transience: Dwelling in the Moment".
Lake Overturn
This standout first novel paints a tender, comical portrait of an Idaho small town in the 1980s, where a motley collection of trailer-park residents yearn for connection (and sometimes, against all odds, find it) across the barriers of class, sexual orientation, illness, separatist piety, drug abuse, and plain old social ineptness. You'll want to linger on the luscious writing, but keep turning the pages to find out what happens to the characters who've won a place in your heart.
Lambda Literary Foundation
The LLF hosts a book review blog, readings and workshops, and the annual Lammy Awards for the best LGBT books.
Landays: Poetry of Afghan Women
The Poetry Foundation website features this essay on landays, a traditional poetic form among the Pashto-speaking people of Afghanistan, which has become a clandestine outlet for women to express dissent and speak of forbidden subjects like love and sensuality. The essay includes many examples of landay couplets with cultural context and photos.
Lannan Foundation Audio Literary Library
An extensive collection of audio recordings of poets and writers reading their work. In 2004, The Lannan Foundation awarded $925,000 in awards and fellowships in poetry, fiction and nonfiction.
Lantana Camara, Spreading Sunset
I bought you, lantana plant,
because you are drought tolerant—
or is it drought resistant? I forget.
Your pointed label reads SATISFYING
The defiant flames of your gold and orange
clusters force me to stare
Looking ahead, I wager that your five pound
maturity can handle neglect
Lantana camara, HARDY, INDIGENOUS, INVASIVE.
Spreading Sunset, you grow on me.
I knew I would leave, doubtful
the occupants after me would stop to stoke
your star-like blooms
or lean closer to attend each berry,
red, purple, charred rippled black
ripening toward poison,
changing colors with mood
Renters' sandals slap their beat
on painted gray planks and
drown out your quiet
restless offerings
Vacation a mere week—they almost water you,
the drought-tolerant plant right there on the steps
I knew all this but I bought you anyway
placing my momentary pleasure
above your very existence
Sunsets spread, spread, gold and orange
I return to your blooms, paper ashes
Your leaves clench against the heat.
I try to revive stalky ugliness but your hardened
roots reject my water offering.
No longer a sprawling potted plant, you have become
something a car would whiz by
or a mower would run over.
Lantana camara, spreading sunset.
Next morning I kneel and water again
you cautiously begin to unfasten.
Fruit and bloom are silent, but your leaves—
Were they always so cilia-soft to touch?
Veins like roadmaps stretch out, no longer cloistered
they accept drops of sun offering
As if to say, "I don't care what you think."
Copyright 2009 by Delia Corrigan
Critique by Jendi Reiter
I chose this month's poem, Delia Corrigan's "Lantana Camara, Spreading Sunset", because it illustrates poetry's gift for exploring the universal through the particular. A good poem can devote itself to a small object or event, and by looking at it more closely than we do in everyday life, reveal something of broader significance about human nature. Some examples are Theodore Roethke's "The Geranium" and Stephen Dobyns' "Indifference to Consequence". The poem shows the fractal qualities of its subject matter, replicating in miniature our higher-level patterns of interaction.
Occasionally, Corrigan's poem lapses into an overly colloquial or prosy voice, which is a common problem for contemporary writers of narrative free verse. These "off" notes are most noticeable in her opening and closing stanzas. While I think "Lantana Camara" needs a bit more work before it's ready for professional publication, I decided to feature it in the newsletter because the descriptions of the plant and the woman's evolving relationship to it are so vivid and well-observed, containing complex shifts of emotion in the space of a few lines.
Through the narrator's decision to purchase a plant for her temporary lodgings, we are invited to consider the anonymity and transience of our interactions with others in this highly mobile society, and how this situation can make us selfish. The narrator wants to believe the puffery on the plant's label ("HARDY, INDIGENOUS, INVASIVE") because it relieves her of responsibility for taking care of the plant she's picked out for her short-term enjoyment. She doesn't bother learning whether the lantana is "drought tolerant" or "drought resistant", or if there's a meaningful difference. Quotes from advertising can be an effective way to inject dramatic irony into a poem, since ad-speak tries to force words into a single unambiguously positive meaning, while poetry is about teasing out the ambiguities and unlikely associations between words.
Here, it's ironic that the plant's "pointed label reads SATISFYING" since whatever satisfaction she gets from the plant will be short-lived because of her own plans to move away. "Satisfying" is a word we see on a lot of product labels (not to mention Snickers' unintentionally gross-sounding variation "satisfectellent") although economic logic dictates that the product not satisfy for very long, otherwise we wouldn't need to buy more.
This habitual discontent comes through in the narrator's description of how she and the other occupants of the house are constantly on the move. Their lifestyle works against the tranquil and appreciative state of mind that would let them nurture a specific place and its nonhuman inhabitants: "I knew I would leave, doubtful/the occupants after me would stop to stoke/your star-like blooms", she writes, and later: "Renters' sandals slap their beat/on painted gray planks and/drown out your quiet/restless offerings". The combination of sandals, quiet, and "offerings" made me think of the atmosphere of a monastery, an association that's strengthened by the word "cloistered" later in the poem. The lantana, which has to grow where it's planted, simply devotes itself to existing and making the best of its surroundings, while the humans are rushing around to satisfy their temporary cravings.
The plant's quiet perseverance awakens the narrator's ethical sense. She feels remorse that she's treated the plant as an object for her enjoyment and not as a fellow living thing: "I knew all this but I bought you anyway/placing my momentary pleasure/above your very existence". Corrigan made the right choice in writing this poem as an address to the plant, not a narrative about the plant. If the "you" were replaced by an impersonal "it" or a sentimentally anthropomorphized "she", the poem would miss the chance to have the form reinforce the content, namely the passage from self-centeredness to relationship.
I thought the beginning of the poem was too weak, undercutting the authority of the speaker's voice before it had a chance to establish itself: "you are drought tolerant—/or is it drought resistant? I forget." Since we already know from the title that the poem is about a lantana, and we learn later on that it is drought-tolerant, it would be all right to open with a revised version of the second stanza:
The defiant flames of your gold and orange
clusters force me to stare
Your pointed label reads SATISFYING
Looking ahead, I wager that your five pound
maturity can handle neglect
Lantana camara, HARDY, INDIGENOUS, INVASIVE.
Spreading Sunset, you grow on me.
...
The other part that I would revise is the ending. "I don't care what you think" was too trivial a phrase to sum up the beautiful imagery and serious self-exploration that preceded it. It also seemed to contradict the lessons of compassion and interdependence that the rest of the poem teaches. What would the lantana really say, if it could talk? I don't think it would be this hostile. "I will survive"? "Grow where you're planted"? (Not that I would want to see either of these cliché phrases in the poem.) Actually, I don't want the lantana to speak at all, even in the narrator's mind. Its otherness, its nonhuman quality, has been necessary to expand her moral imagination. By not speaking or moving, it made space for her to examine her own thoughts and actions.
The poem could end by reversing the two penultimate lines to end on the stronger one: "they accept drops of sun offering/Veins like roadmaps stretch out, no longer cloistered." Since the word "offering" occurs three times in the poem, this might be a place to take it out, ending the line at "drops of sun". The travel imagery suggests that the plant has also been transformed by the interaction, taking on some of the narrator's energetic and adventurous qualities while she in turn has taken on some of its stillness.
Where could a poem like "Lantana Camara, Spreading Sunset" be submitted? The following contests may be of interest:
Poetry Society of Texas Annual Contests
Entries must be received by August 15
Prizes up to $450 for unpublished poems in 100 different categories (some are members-only); no simultaneous submissions
Naugatuck River Review Narrative Poetry Contest
Entries must be received by September 1
Prizes up to $1,000 for narrative poetry, from a new literary journal based in Western Massachusetts; enter online only
White Mice Poetry Contest
Postmark Deadline: October 15
This $200 prize for poems on an annual theme (2009 is "Renewal") is sponsored by the Lawrence Durrell Society; Durrell was a 20th-century novelist who wrote The Alexandria Quartet
This poem and critique appeared in the July 2009 issue of Winning Writers Newsletter (subscribe free).
Largehearted Boy
Founded in 2002, David Gutkowski's literary blog explores the intersection of books and music. Features include Book Notes, which has authors create a mixtape relating to their latest book; Note Books, where musicians explore their literary side, Soundtracked, where directors and composers discuss their films' soundtracks; and "The Largehearted Boy Cross-Cultural Media Exchange Program," where authors interview musicians (and vice-versa).
Last Look
By Charles Burns. This volume collects Burns' acclaimed graphic novels X'ed Out, The Hive, and Sugar Skull. Imagine that Samuel Beckett and Hieronymus Bosch dropped acid together and wrote a Tintin comic. These horror comics braid the real-world story of Doug, a photographer and failed performance artist obsessed with his lost love Sarah, with the nightmare visions of his alter ego, Johnny 23, a low-level functionary in a breeding factory where woman-like creatures produce monstrous eggs. The features of his grotesque dream world gradually reveal parallels to Doug's real life and the relationship patterns that trap him in isolation. Subtle clues toward the end indicate a Buddhist message about purifying one's mind to escape the wheel of rebirth.
Last Rites
By Roberta Beary
chest pains
breathing in
the sunset
hospice bed
the get-well roses
stunted bloom
thin sunlight
eyelids flutter
in morphine sleep
deathwatch
the arrival of fresh
coffee
day moon
we windowshop
caskets
day of the obit
inside his wallet
me at eleven
This poem is reprinted from her chapbook Deflection (Accents Publishing, forthcoming 2015).
Last Rites
By Pamela Sumners
It rained cottonmouths for 30 days after you died.
They wore proud boots and took over the streets,
slithered and kicked through the steel-plated doors.
They sat coiled or casually dropped in your special recliner.
They ate the last Tyson's chicken in Arkansas—they did!
and then ravaged the okra and bean patches out back.
Then they took the tomatoes and purple-hull peas,
cutting a swath like Sherman's army marching to sea.
Their white mouths turned a deep heliotrope purple.
We plied them with offerings of heavy red wine
and they turned all purple and died. We swept snakeskins
for weeks. Next the bats came, echolocating what we
humans heard only as a series of slight erratic clicks.
We developed a decoder that could read bat-tongue for us
and learned that they repeated through the walls a gossip chorus:
"You know he heard the wind chimes just before he died, a music
that played so hauntingly on the listening ears of time."
We banged every pot and pan in the house like a marching band
starting off a Fourth of July parade with John Philip Sousa's brass
until they gave up their roost, a lonely, leaning excuse for a chimney.
When finally we wept and muttered a flood of desolate words
over your cavernous deep rhombus in the earth, a dark hole really,
an aunt we barely knew said to me, "Give me your last skinny-back
wishbone hug and tell us how thin we've become."
Later Bloomer
Debra Eve has been a software executive, archaeologist, and professional writer. She started the site Later Bloomer to collect inspiring stories of creative people who achieved great things in midlife and old age. Examples include Inge Ginsberg, the Holocaust survivor who fronted a heavy metal band in her 90s, and Leo Fender, the former accountant who designed the iconic electric guitars. She offers an e-newsletter and a sister site called the Imaginarium with book discussion groups and skills-training classes to boost your creativity.
Laura Thomas Communications
Laura Thomas Communications hosts a blog with writing opportunities for authors aged 21 and under. There are free poetry and fiction contests (no cash awards) and a personal essay prize based on Thomas's book Polly Wants to Be a Writer, a YA fantasy novel that is also a creative writing manual. The LTC online store sells workbooks inspired by the novel, with writing prompts and an overview of basic concepts.
Layering Place: In Ourselves, in Our Writing
In this 2018 piece from Ruminate Magazine, a faith-informed literary journal, essayist Catherine Hervey discusses ways to flesh out literary characters through the details they notice about a place and the memories that overlay it.
Le Jaseroque
Frank L. Warrin's translation of "Jabberwocky" into French weds nonsense to high culture. "Il brilgue: les tôves lubricilleux/Se gyrent en vrillant dans le guave." Whatever it means, it sounds very important in the language of Racine and Moliere.
Learning English Language Arts with the New York Times
This feature on the New York Times website collects archived content that can be used to teach writing skills such as dialogue, narrative, and criticism.
