A Poem Written by Slyvia Plath at 12 Years Old (Photo of Original Manuscript)

This is a little out of the norm for me but it is just too cool not to share. Recently I had the chance to view some of Jett W. Whitehead’s rare poetry books and ephemera collection. Nearly everything he showed left me reeling and remakably jealous. Many of his pieces have price tags in 20k range. The piece below didn’t even have a price…

Apparently Slyvia Plath’s mother saved a few of her daughter’s early poems and sold them just before she died. Whitehead was kind enough to let me photograph one of these poems and share it with you.

Please excuse the red filter it made it helps to make the poem more readable as the protective covering somewhat obscures the lettering.

Be sure to share you’re thoughts!

 

Guest Micro-Review: Matt Bell’s Cataclysm Baby

CJ Opperthauser at Mud Schematic sent this one over.

Here is a novel(la) (as it’s described) which operates in a variety of interesting, mesmerizing, and all-around beautiful ways. A novel(la) consisting of 26 “short stories” (a term I’ll use here, but I could just as soon use the word “chapters”), all describing the end of days for our sad planet, and all of them doing so by way of fatherly position. 26 “stories” about strange, animalistic children — or sometimes adults — struggling in a new and near-dead world. Among them exists a child composed almost entirely of skin-flaps, a father who carves his old family out of tree stumps, and a number  of children nearly animal.

I can’t say enough about the language. First, almost every “story” pulls itself forward in a sort of list form. Paragraphs start with phrases like “Know how” or “And then,” which creates a fascinating rhythm without tiring itself out. The descriptions are both grotesque and astounding beautiful at the same time, much like Bell’s collection How They Were Found (think peeling oranges, think parts of wolves). As the “stories” progress (and they are organized by way of alphabetically listing names, so 26), the language changes slightly, sounding more and more like they were written in the 19th century, and the fathers, none of them the same, become more and more desperate. This is what pulls the book forward.

• Before I ramble on too long in what’s supposed to be a micro-review, just check out this sample from JMWW. I think it does justice to what I’ve been trying to get at.
• To summarize: I highly recommend this book.

 

No Blues This Raucous Song by Lynn Wagner. Micro Review.

Lyn Wagner’s No Blues This Raucous Song sings in a cacophony meant to be heard by everyone. In tuning our ears to single voices within this collection we find a great depth and diversity that carries her song as long as we’ll let it.

Wagner moves through blues, religious life, home life, ex-lovers, a myriad of other topics, and a fishing trip with Elizabeth Bishop that is not too missed.

This collection draws inspiration from a wide variety of places. In “Two Hundred Cubic Feet and Fragiles” she ventures into “the hollows of the house” and sort of sad escapism found in keeping a perfectly clean home. “Yesterday,” writes Wagner, “she Easy-Offed the oven,/knelt down and sponged the disasters free.” However, her examinations are more complex than most poets’ work on domesticity and deserve careful examination. Despite the bleak outlook in “Two Hundred Cubic..” there are lines to carry us through the day in the same way they might carry the speaker: “Her refrigerator is a hallelujah of light./ Every outlet in the house is empty.” The speakers’ escape, although temporary, seems on the edge of rapture.

While “Two Hundred Cubic” dwells on a sort of cage, “Can I get an Amen” revels in escape. Wagner sends streams of church-filled blues down in a rhythmic hymn of salvation. “In my belly/ or maybe just my black soul. What is spirit/ save the righteous heat and glow where I feel it/ most[…]” If you give Wagner a chance, her heat and insight will elevate you again and again.

Overall: Five Hallelujahs

These are officially micro reviews. So I should be closing this right now. But, this is also the most beautifully made book I’ve ever owned. The copy I have is #156 of 500.

The book was made possible by the Basic Program Support Grant of the Westchester Arts Council with funds from the Westchester County Governement, and with with Public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts.

The pictures don’t do it justice. But I’m a writer, not a photographer.

It was hand stitched by vince tripi, printed in a rather unique typeface called “Pastonchi.” The flyleaf is Pearlized Gold, and the text pages are on a shimmering stock called Starwhite Flash. All of these elements combine with Wagner’s poetry to create a book that is a pleasure to own.

There is something in this that makes me think this type of bookmaking could sustain local booksellers in the face of the digital age.

 

Anchor Glass by Karen Dietrich. Micro Review

Anchor Glass, by Karen Dietrich, is more than a chapbook. Amidst its pages are the rites needed to summon the ghosts of the Pennsylvania coal mines. After Dierich brings them back for a speaker who sometimes “dreams them circling/ swarming the black/ diamond ceiling/ pulling her beneath/ father’s night cries” she sets them to work with haunted imagery.

The world of these poems is bleak and covered in ash. However, much like Charles Simic, the moments where Dietrich lets the sun pierce the coal-choked sky hang in the consciousness of the reader long after the book has been closed. In center of this collection “There you were” is one of these moments.

There you were

Street carnival sounds, kids bright as beaches
They’re all wet scream, pink ribbon and ash
.
The carousel horses show their yellow teeth
Mouths stretch wide as your bedroom window
.
He watched you from the ground, night vision
Miles of rope, a dirty glass of water, his face
.
Remember coughing into the soaked pillows
Sheets stained brown and gold with sweat
.
There you were, rubbing his chest
Making fire with you empty hands

“There you were” isn’t the strongest poem in the collection, but is a kind of sad mercy. This book must be read. Dietrich is a native of Greensburg, Pennsylvania and she sings its songs well. Readers will find a side of life that remains hidden behind the mountains and furnace stacks and, once there, in the dark-dance of Dietrich’s words they will be entranced for days.

We were learning to be good citizens
remembering to fan the Youghioghney
flowing past the coke ovens nailed into grass
river rushing cold over our heads
while we slept in houses
our parents paid for with their bodies
their lungs exhaling ash so fine
it barely darkened our dreams
—    From “Certainty”

Overall: Four point five stars piercing through the coal smoke.

Find out more about Karen Dietrch here (very cool website): http://karendietrich.net/

Buy Anchor Glass here: http://www.amazon.com/Anchor-Glass-Karen-Dietrich/dp/1599247992

Check out Finishing Line Press here: http://www.finishinglinepress.com/

 

The Lily Poems by Liz Rosenberg. Micro Review

The Lily Poems takes an in-depth look at a complex relationship between an American mother and her adopted Chinese daughter. Rosenberg’s verse is straight forward and tightly controlled no matter how moved the speaker might seem with the subject matter. “I could fall on my knees,” writes Rosenberg in “Fall on My Knees”, “and thank that small Asian woman who walked away.” This controlled language on focused subject matter serves Rosenberg and her readers well.

Like a budding branch being grafted onto a fruitless limb, these poems show us a relationship that is being forced to happen as much as it needs to happen: “And even then we will not be parted/ it took a miracle to part the waves/ it will take a greater miracle to drive me from you.”

The Lily poems are peppered with such Judeo-Christian imagery and often she summons them in contrast to a Chinese culture or the poverty Lilly might have grown up in. The true strength of this expression comes from how Rosenberg shows these differences as they are reflected off the blissful ignorance of her daughter. “With her dark head bent, Ise shream all gone,/ matter of factly. Knowing there will be more/ the next day, not knowing/ how close she came to a life without ice cream.”

Overall The Lily Poems gets 3 scoops and some sprinkles.

Buy The Lily Poems here: http://www.amazon.com/Lily-Poems-Hand-Poetry-Chapbook/dp/1892471507/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1328105891&sr=8-2

Find a bit about Liz Rosenberg here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liz_Rosenberg

Check out Bright Hill Press here: http://brighthillpress.org/brighthillpresshome.html