“The Nude That Stays Nude” by William Logan

Don’t do what all the other little buggers are doing.

Don’t try to make the poem look pretty. You’re not decorating 
cupcakes, Cupcake.

Don’t think you’re the only bastard who ever suffered — just write as if  you were.

Don’t eat someone else’s lunch. For eat read steal. For lunch read wife. For wife readstyle.

Don’t be any form’s bitch.

Don’t think if  you cheat on form or slip the meter, no one will notice. They’ll know and think you a fool. Don’t think it impossible to cheat on form. If you do it well, they’ll think you a genius.

Don’t think if  you declare yourself avant-garde, your sins will be 
forgiven.

Don’t blubber if  you never receive prizes. Look at the poets who won the Pulitzer fifty years ago. See who’s there. See who’s not.

Don’t think you’re special. Stand in a library amid all those poets who thought they were every inch the genius you think you are.

Don’t double-space your lines and think the poem better. It just takes up more room.

Don’t think regret is 20/20. Regret is myopic. Hope is astigmatic. Trust is blind.

Don’t think what you have to say is important. The way you say it is what’s important. What you have to say is rubbish.

Don’t think you don’t have to read. You read in order to steal. Read more, steal better.

Don’t think your poems are good because they sound good read aloud. Get your hearing checked.

Never write poems about poetry.

Don’t play to the audience. Your audience is full of dopes, cheeseballs, and Johnny-come-latelies — besides, they’re laughing at you all the way home.

Don’t think you’ve been anointed by early success. Look at the critical darlings of a hundred years ago. Look at the darlings of twenty years ago.

Never wish you were there. Wish you were here.

Don’t think you can ignore grammar. You need grammar more than grammar needs you.

Never eat the pie if  you can own the fork.

Don’t think new is better. Don’t think new is not better. Don’t think, read. Don’t think, ink.

Poetry is the nude that stays nude.

Never write the first line if you already know the last. The best poem is the unwritten poem.

Don’t break the window before you look at the view.

Don’t think that if you have two manuscripts, you have two manuscripts. You have one manuscript.

Don’t eat jargon, because you’ll shit jargon.

Don’t think poetry is a religion. It’s more important than religion.

April’s Monthly Contest Winner – Drunk

Happy National Poetry Month!  As usual, due to a high volume of quality submissions, there was difficulty deciding this month’s winner.  M.K. Sukach’s poem Drunk pulled through just a strum stronger than the others though.

Steven Fortune won 2nd place for his poem, Rubbing One-Off, and 3rd place was won by Peabody Winston for his poem, Thank God I Know Him.

I hope you enjoy the victor’s poems!

If you’re looking for other publishing opportunities, there’s a micro-chapbook contest hosted by Nostrovia! Poetry & Miracle Ezine you can check out.  Here’s the information page and submission guidelines.
Cheers!
-Jeremiah Walton

Interview with Allen Qing Yuan & Changming Yuan, managers of Poetry Pacific

Bios:

Allen Qing Yuan, born in Canada and aged 17, currently attends high school and co-edits Poetry Pacific in Vancouver. Mentored by his poet father, Allen has, since grade 10, had poetry appear in more than 50 literary publications across 12 countries, which include Blue Fifth Review, Contemporary American Voices, Cordite Poetry Review, Istanbul Literary Review, Literary Review of Canada, Mobius, Ottawa Arts Review, Paris/Atlantic, Poetry Scotland, Spillway, Taj Mahal Review and Two Thirds North. Poetry submissions welcome at yuans@shaw.ca.

Changming Yuan, 4-time Pushcart nominee and author of Allen Qing Yuan, grew up in rural China and published several monographs before moving to Canada. With a PhD in English, Changming works as a private tutor in Vancouver, where he edits and publishes Poetry Pacific. Changming’s poetry appears in 669 literary journals/anthologies across 25 countries, including Asia Literary Review, Barrow Street, Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOnline, Exquisite Corpse, Istanbul Literary Review, LiNQ, London Magazine, Paris/Atlantic, Poetry Kanto, Salzburg Review, SAND, Taj Mahal Review, Threepenny Review and Two Thirds North.Poetry submissions welcome at yuans@shaw.ca.

 

Interview:

1) What first inspired you to write poetry?

Allen: I think the art of poetry itself inspired me to start writing poetry. I love expressing myself with diverse language and form; poetry is very accepting and has no limitations. Whenever I walk home from school, I would notice little things here and there; for example, I always seemed to miss the traffic light. Based on this observation, I wrote my first poem “Traffic Light” which surprisingly was well-received. From then on, I would write poems in my spare time about my personal struggles and everyday life. I like being able to connect with other people through my words and ideas.

Changming: On the evening of 6 August 2004, during our first family trip to Banff as tourists, I was climbing the mountain behind our hotel all by myself, since my wife and two sons all had refused to go together with me. Reflecting on my totally marginalized existence, and recalling all kinds of hardships I had been suffering, I became choked with sadness and could not help bursting into tears. To release this emotional tension, I tried to sing at the top of my voice those old songs I used to sing when I was forced to labor on a forest farm during the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the mid-1970s. At the same time, I felt the urge to write something. At 8:35 pm, I finished scribbling my seed poem ‘The Lonely Climber’ in English on a piece of paper found on the mountain. Since that rainy moment, I have written more than 1,000 poems, and luckily had almost 800 of them published worldwide.

 

2) What made you step up to begin working on Poetry Pacific?

Allen: After much discussion with my partner, we decided to start up Poetry Pacific because we believed we had editorial insight and the experience to run a magazine that published good content.

Changming: I meant to establish a literary outlet at a later time when I could not write much poetry any more, but to enrich and deepen Allen’s poetry experience before going to university, we discussed the feasibility and almost impulsively started the publishing enterprise on the Remembrance Day last year.

 

3) What style of poetry do you prefer receiving for Poetry Pacific?

Allen: I’m very open-minded content-wise, but I like to keep things appropriate for all ages; I do have a preference for short but sweet poems though.

Changming: As Allen has just said, we are open to all kinds of poetry in terms of content, form or style, though personally I prefer free verse or, to be more exact, short and truly lyric poetry.

 

4) What can a submitter do to get on your good side (besides submitting awesome poetry)?

Allen: Promotion is always helpful for our e.zine, but I wouldn’t judge someone’s poetry any differently, even if the submitter is disrespectful. Talent and skill should be recognized. I don’t like suck-ups and I’m sure people go through enough hassle perfecting their work.

Changming: We would greatly appreciate it if the submitter tries to help spread the word about Poetry Pacific within his or her social network.

 

5) What are your goals for Poetry Pacific?

Allen: I don’t really have a detailed plan for Poetry Pacific, but I certainly hope it will become an elite magazine that is recognized for both refined taste and excellent quality. I love the idea of one day seeing a well-read person at the coffee shop reading our poetry online or in print. Hopefully PP is still around a century from now as a part of our heritage.

Changming: Some of our goals for Poetry Pacific include turning it into a major poetry platform to promote poetic exchanges between English and Chinese, since these are the world’s two most widely used languages. For instance, we can divide our magazine into two language parts, or set up a separate Chinese counterpart to introduce first-rate English poetry or poets to Chinese readers and vice versa. Also, we hope to build Poetry Pacific into a highly influential poetry forum, dealing with every important topic about the writing, editing, publishing and reading of poetry.

 

6) Will Poetry Pacific ever enter chapbook publishing in the future?

Allen: I’m sure we would love to do anything that we can be successful in. There is no better thrill than being adventurous.

Changming: The same here; we certainly would like to do that and even book publishing, but we have no specific plans for the moment.

 

7) Do you intend to enter print publishing at any times?

Allen: Of course. Although print magazines may seem to be dying, there is no other way to scream ‘quality’ in literature. Like website content, printed material can be designed in so many ways; it will really add flavour to the reading experience.

Changming: Yes, we will embark on print publishing as soon as we are technically ready.

 

8) Do you have any rituals that you do when starting/writing/finishing a poem?

Allen: For writing poems, I don’t really have a specific ritual, but I usually scribble on paper first instead of directly typing it. You feel more connected to the piece in front of you, unlike the way when you are working on the computer. After I type it up, I edit it a few days later just to refresh my editorial judgement. I refine it and change parts until I feel satisfied. Listening to a variety of songs before I edit helps too for some reason. That might just be like a placebo or something.

Changming: Not really ‘rituals’ in my case either, but rather I would call them habits. I draw all my inspirations from my reading, observing and meditating experiences, often conceiving poems while trying to sleep at night – as a result, I have been suffering badly from insomnia. It usually takes me about 3 to 15 minutes to finish scribbling a piece on a pad. For the past 5 years or so, I have been writing about 20 poems on a monthly basis; typically, i would refine or polish them at least 3 times on the computer before adding them up to my ‘workbook’ for future submissions. Every month, I would make a couple of hundred submissions, and get about 20 acceptances. For me, writing is the most enjoyable part, while submitting the most hateful and boring thing to do, an evil necessity, to use a cliche.

 

9) Among thousands of literary outlets, Poetry Pacific is a unique two-man two-generation operation, and certainly shows good teamwork. How do you collaborate, and what are the challenges you are facing at this stage?

Allen: I am not really that good with computers, but Changming is even lousier with them, so one of my main duties is to provide the basic technical support. Also, I screen poetry submissions and select what I find publishable before discussing my choices with Changming. Whenever we have a dispute, we would negotiate and try to find a solution for the real long-term benefit of our ezine. For instance, I proposed to follow the blind policy to ensure the high quality of the work accepted.

Changming: You are right; we are a unique team in at least two ways. For one thing, we are, to my best knowledge, probably the only actively publishing father-son poetry team across the contemporary English speaking world.  More notable perhaps, both of us work with English as our second language: while Allen had to see a language therapist because he had difficulty learning English when he was little, I did not begin to learn the English alphabet until I was almost 20 year of age in China. Because my teachers and classmates often made fun of my village accent, I have never felt comfortable when speaking English, though I prefer to write in this foreign language.

As for our teamwork, Allen is extremely busy with his studies and various extracurricular pursuits, so it is my main responsibility to communicate with submitters, trying to promote our magazine and enlarge our literary network. The two biggest challenges we have now are technical deficiency and lack of submissions. Because my health condition prevents me from working long with computers, nor do I have enough online know-hows, we cannot operate or  develop our site in the way we would like to; naturally, as a fledgling magazine,  we have had relatively very limited submissions to select work from, but once we find a good volunteer web-developer, we can improve the situation fast and substantially.

 

 

10) Last but not least, you two are an interesting father-son team; what can you share with us about this, which you two must feel very proud of?

Allen: I never expected to write or publish poetry, let alone begin to do so at the  age of 15, but ever since 2005, every time my father receives a contributor’s copy, he would show or ask me to read his work, no matter whether I like it or not. In 2010, I became interested in poetry and, under his strong encouragement, tried to write some of my own. During the Christmas time of that year, he gave me a list of literary magazines and suggested me making submissions to them. On January 10, I got my very first acceptance while visiting my grandparents in Jingzhou, China.

Changming: Thanks for the nice term, which Editor Jayne Jaudon Ferrer of Your Daily Poem used once as well. There are two things I want to mention. One is that I believe poetry runs in the blood of the Yuans. When he was young, my father Yuan Hongqi wanted to be a poet and even had a secret pen name for himself, but sadly he was never able to publish any poems in his lifetime. Before going to  Shanghai Jiaotong University, I dreamed about becoming a poet; however, I never even had the honor of getting a rejection slip after making dozens of poetry submissions. Now I feel more than delighted that not only have Allen and I  become both widely published worldwide, but my elder son George Lai Yuan is also beginning to write and publish poetry. This comforting fact reminds me of the famous Yuan Brothers, the three literary giants of the Ming Dynasty from Gong-an, the same small county I happened to grew up in. I am not sure how close or how far we three petty Yuans are related to those three great Yuans in terms of family trees, but needless to say, this is a happy coincidence. Also, I am glad to say that Allen and I often appear in the same issue of the same magazine. Sometimes I even get work accepted because of him; for instance, after Editor Susan Terris of Spillway accepted Allen for issue 18, she asked me to make a submission and eventually chose one piece from it. Quite ironically, Allen never gets anything accepted because of me, but such is exactly what we prefer; the reason is simple: as his father/mentor, it is highly important for me to help develop Allen’s self-confidence by exploring his natural poetic talent.

“Gatsby’s Abandoned Children” & “Where I Found God”

Hi guys,

It’s Jeremiah here, editor of Nostrovia! Poetry.

I have a new blog that I’m running now called “Gatsby’s Abandoned Children”.  This one is a personal blog where I will share my poetry, publications, and thoughts on poetry in general.

I’ll also be sharing tidbits on Nostrovia! Poetry, and tips for gaining publication in the press.

You can follow the blog here.

 

Now, here’s a poem to celebrate;

 

Where I Found God

I found God in horizon by the tracks

He was drunk, bottle of whiskey in his hand singing lullabies, gun in his lap.

Grim as Job, he was crying

I heard the prayers he put on vibrate causing earthquakes in his pocket

He gave me a shot

it was warm.

Psilocybin and Camel Saloons

Reject all the material barriers to participate in
Ultra-Destruction of Self
Self is beautiful, destroy it!
Legions of small insects dream of sheep pestering flesh,
bugnails creep eyes open
You’re forced to watch The Movie of your reality, being able
to react upon each curtain’s fall
1/30th of a second quickest time, hurry!
Self is awake
The temporary insanity of Loves must sleep
Love for material, love for people, love for highs,
love for Love
A void must be built within Self to destroy Self
To be conscious in the womb, a glorious death sweet as
pomegranates stuck between the skin of teeth
Zippers of flesh are opened to bleed freely along the eternal
mindscape of Consciousness
Physical body is not conscious, meat temple for “I”
What are you seeking crying philosopher?
Why are you trying to be sooo God damn Zen?
Magnificent walls, squirming murals around your
breathing bulge
What tales of you to tell?
Share your secrets!
The sobbing philosopher slits his wrists in geometric
patterns, and chases destruction lovingly,
entertained by the ominous lights of progression
rusting the horizon
Babble of idiots chase his giggling robes
Fire bomb thoughts quest for elusive truth, fingers slipping
down wet slides of authentic flesh
Each tip bawling love me! love me! love me!
Betray the destruction and rebirth of Self!
Abandon your quest! Lie and love me!
Weeping on sodden type writers, the archaic thinkers of
beautiful present are consumed by the universal poem
Organic truth is eternity
Discover me!
I’ve merged with the eternal, saliva of
God wets my eye lids
Thick ageless flesh encase the meat encasing my skeleton
encasing potential soul
Languid spine of man is malleable,
Osteopaths of Eternity’s fingers direct bone molds, suit
cases for the truth-seeker
Star glazed eyes bellow “keep away!” darting into recesses
of Manchester
The evils of Brown Ave need to be contemplated, loved,
hated, understood in essence, unexplainable terms of
seekers!
Seeking Holy oasis from the feverish socializers and lovers
and pleasure fondlers and innocence seducers
Soda crackle fizz of midnight along the highway pops, the
singing monologues of droning robots
O’ great philosopher!
Reject the trivialities! Cry over nothing rather sob over
trivialities!
Thoughts corrugated, rough surface to trespass, tripping
High with Self, high with Ultra-Destruction
High, I see God in the eyeblink of eternity,
and screech WHY
Faces in trees gnaw on thought-bones and,
only answer WHY
My pockets hold no answers and,
only answer WHY
The evils hold no answer and only answer
WHY
No thing truly matters, bury the heart, the ranting of
fanatical-desire must be dispelled
We need need need need need!
A truly beautiful destroyed Self does not!
A truly beautiful destroyed Self is a babe opening his eyes
to watch the creations of lead on paper for the first
time, and
wonder wonder wonder!
A nose is born!
Then eyes!
Then lips!
Then ears!
O’ vast world, how is this so?
Programming has yet to circuit in his mindscape! Yet to
be infused with barriers of social living, with desire
filters for acceptance, with love for love, with rejection
of acoustic heartfelt squawking of Self!
His well of thought is deep and pure to gulp
The steady drip of human experience has yet to dry the
faucet of the mind to a trickle
This babe, this beautiful individual, a waterfall of
understanding and Holy thought!
Not yet a dribble of security, of mindless human Self
Not yet a reflection of wired Mirrors
Originally published in LSD Giggles
Published by The Camel Saloon

For you; the second writing prompt and blog promotion

A Rundown:

Love to write?  Want free blog promotion?  Did you participate in the first writing prompt?

The first prompt was an experiment that went wonderfully.  Now it’s time for round 2.  Here’s how this works;

There’s a writing prompt below for you to take and fly off with.  You can take it any direction you want, and with any form of writing, from poetry to fiction, to a novel if you’re up for it.

The Prompt:

Write a scene where the subject experiences the longest minute of their life.  It’s a minute that just will not end.  That single minute that feels like time is ticking slowly against them and pressing them against a wall.  It could be because of boredom, tension,  anticipation, or anything else you can imagine that would make time drive by slowly.

Those Who Have Already Participated:

Ticket To The Trip

Brainstorms: How Epilepsy & Writing Connect

Beautiful Orange

Intriguing Readings

Need some ideas to get you started?

Here’s some;

Is the subject a boy or girl?  Why is the minute passing by so slow?  Is it the last minute of a school day?  Are they burying a loved one?  How old are they?  Is the moment feeling so long because of negative or positive emotions?

These ideas don’t need to be taken into consideration, they’re just there to help spur your mind through writer’s block.   Take the prompt where ever you feel fits best for you, as a writer.  I look forward to reading your responses!  Cheers!

-Jeremiah Walton

Poem of the Month Contest, March’s Winner

Nostrovia! Poetry hosts a Monthly Poem Contest that features some wonderful poetry.  The month of February’s winner was Wendy McCutchen.  The month of March, though, brought new faces, new poetry, and invigorating writers that made making a short list for the contest near impossible.  

The ‘short list’ ended up being a ‘long list’ that I racked my brains against trying to decide who the winner was.  Tim Brennan was the poet who struck me with a folk-tuned poem, and took the victory cake by a slight margin.  

You can read his poem Listening To Bob Dylan (1971) where it’s featured on the Poet of the Month page at Nostrovia! Poetry.  His poem is a wonderful piece of literature that deserves to be read by the poetry-loving audiences of the internet, be shared around, and a topic of casual conversation among you bloggers out there.  

 

His poem will also be featured through The Virus Is Silence’s Poetry To The Streets project, a project that centers upon bringing poetry to cities and towns across the United States.  The poetry will be delivered on the streets through envelopes containing a poem and a letter from Nostrovia! Poetry.  You can submit to have your poem distributed, or get involved, by reading the submission guidelines.

Like The Virus Is Silence on Facebook to help spread awareness and word of this project.

 

Okay, I got off track from the Monthly Contest.  Getting back on the right rails… now;

The winner, as I said, can be read at the contest’s Poet of the Month page.  2nd place was won by Anjumon Sahin for her poem Letters To A School Girl, and 3rd place was won by Carol W. Bachofner for Calling.

National Poetry Month is here, and that means for April’s contest, I want to see your best.  Better than your best.  I want you poets and writers to push your limits, and bring something new to the table that cracks the skull of what poetry is, and has been.  Read the submission guidelines here, and let’s see what you guys can do.


Cheers!

 

-Jeremiah Walton, Nostrovia! Poetry

 

Dead Snakes, “LSD Theory of Interconnectivity”

My poem LSD Theory of Interconnectivity was published by Dead Snakes.  Come check out the press, and send them a submission or two.  I hope you enjoy my poem!

LSD Theory of Interconnectivity

Everything connected,
intertwined!
Everything harmonized
as it is, should and shouldn’t
Slowly fading as light does into the ocean depths
Slowly growing as light does from the ocean depths
We are always becoming something
We are always being something
This is
everything
as it is.
“You’re just not used to pure Being.”
howls the poet rushing madly to his notepad

from the collection LSD Giggles

“The already mentioned alternate realities, the themed sections, the occasional mention of masturbation should please the onlookers. It’s a solid and diverse collection.”

Milk and Honey Siren Review by Rick Lupert, Poetry Super Highway 

 

Generally speaking I like my monkeys to be visible. I want to see their fur, the expectations of bananas in their eyes, the delightful surprise when one discovers a monkey (probably in filmed entertainment) wearing people clothes (likely polka-dot underwear.) It’s the tangible and infrequent appearance of monkeys in every day life which remind us of all sorts of things such as 1) We are not monkeys and 2) My God those monkeys are acting like people and 3) Isn’t it so cute that they’re wearing those people clothes. But often poetry is discovered in what is not visible or in what is less visible. Take Kyle Hemming’s Invisible Monkey series as it appears in Milk and Honey Siren, the new anthology of poetry from Nostrovia! Poetry managed by Jeremiah Walton who is rumored to not live in the United Kingdom.

Hemming’s Invisible Monkey series right away confronts you with the line You meet a girl who claims she was once a victim of too many flying cars. So there you were all expecting monkeys to only be visible and your suddenly forced into a world where flying cars are assaulting people. It’s shocking! I mean weren’t flying cars supposed to be our glorious inheritance? Aren’t we all still waiting for the day of the flying car? And now, before anyone has the chance to fly one off to the market, we already have to worry that one, or perhaps a gang of them, is going to come along and victimize us. This is the stuff of poetry; lifting us out of our doldrum everyday to a whole new world…this is the power of words.

Milk and Honey Siren continually jars you into its world with these kind of nuggets. How about Benjamin Saphiro’s reality check that Even promises MADE IN CHINA, / Break, / After a little while. Holy God that’s nothing if not true! Or Jnana Hodson’s confirmation Bloomberg confirms how I was once a Manhattanite… We need Bloomberg to confirm this? OF COURSE WE DO! We live in the world of this book now, the multitudes of the laws of physics and logic in our houses and streets, in our bathrooms and closets no longer apply. Again the Milk and Honey brings us to its world.

You might not like all of this book. The whole thing might not blow hell fire into [your] pajamas. But then again you probably don’t like everyone who lives on your street, or in your building…but if you’re not planning on moving you’re probably pretty content with the whole situation. It’s the same thing with Milk and Honey Siren. There is a lot to enjoy here. The already mentioned alternate realities, the themed sections, the occasional mention of masturbation should please the onlookers. It’s a solid and diverse collection. Some of it’s as heavy as poetry can be. Some of it light but intriguing conversation…but certainly a lot of something for a lot of everyone. Keep an eye on the Nostrovia! Poetry energy…keep your foot in this book.

Rick Lupert
Los Angeles
March 6, 2013

Rick manages the Poetry Super Highway, a poetic community that hosts contests, links, the “great poetry exchange”, poets of the week, and more.  You can read his poetry at his personal site, which contains a number of free ebooks.  My favorite is Economy Candy.

“Blackberries and You” by Elizabeth Purvis

You and I could not have been simply married lovers. There are so many reasons I can’t count them.” -James Wright, “The Young Good Man
I.
I used to like blackberries, once,
when I was very young. At least
that’s what my mother says. My own
memory doesn’t stretch back quite that far.
All that I remember now is childish,
puckered lips at the sour taste
of bursting pustules, the spitting out
of a half-chewed berry.
But I met a one-armed farmer
the other day who said the bramble patch
behind his tobacco field was filled with the sweetest,
largest blackberries that he’d ever seen.
I don’t know why, but I believed him.
II.
The next night I dreamed of blackberries
under a heavy-hanging August moon, and air
that pressed down on my skin, a humid weight
even at night. You were there.
I swung over a splintery, split-rail fence to reach you.
You were standing in the brambles. The jagged wood
scratched sharply at my skin.
Picking mouthfuls of berries below moonlit clouds,
our hands looked streaked with blood.
When I woke, the warm and blue-red tang of them
still clung onto my tongue. And you were gone.
I can’t make up my mind
whether it tasted bitter or sweet.
III.
You and I were never simple:
we were seven years of complicated. I counted
them to see if I could make some sense
of it. Of us.
I couldn’t.
Perhaps if I’d minded the wiser words
of my younger self, the one that said I’d never
go back to one love more than twice…I suppose
this never would have happened,
the back and forth of us.
You said that you stopped trying
to figure us out. I didn’t.
I coddled you at first and then, years later,
not enough. I came whenever you called. You only came
when it was easy, wandering away when you found another
one of my new, sharp edges. You were bitter
when you found I was no longer quite as sweet.
I wish that we could have been
simple. I wanted to write you
this before we ended.
But the truth is that we’ve been done
for a long while now.
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