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June 2010: Gaze upon the Glorious Sky

June 1, 2010 - by Mr. Shay Tasaday, Editor in Chief

Dear Readers,
I took the liberty last issue of making some minor edits to Ms. Catty Marlboro’s prose in our blog entry, edits to which Ms. Marlboro took umbrage—to the point of indicting my entire bloodline with a sexual proclivity for door handles. She is an amusing character, is Ms. Marlboro, and I hope she will enjoy the perhaps-permanent vacation from this column I have offered her in lieu of eliminating her editorial position entirely.

This month’s offerings will transport one to a menagerie of poetic genres in miniature. In fact in our very first offering, Mr. Scott Emmons marshals stylistic elements of biography, autobiography, memoir, bare-backing, and elegy in his topically sapient ode to the current controversy about homosexuality in our military. No doubt one will have a gay old time reading it. Very good. Celebrated nonoccidentalist poet Mr. Suet Go brings his unique voice to the fore as both a tender companion and a sweet and sour interlocution among himself, his liquor vendor, and the coming annual season. Brilliance. Provocateur Mr. Hal Sirowitz shows us in brief lines how art—as language, words, sentences, or phrases—can induce such a sense of seeing, recognizing, and noticing, it can restore us to our senses. Brilliant. Mr. Paul Hostovsky‘s poem shows us that art’s meaning is to uncommodify meaning, to replace one’s need to own an object with one’s need to “have” it as well and understand its unique banality. Masterful. Mr. Albert Van Hoogmoed‘s scathingly prescient ode blends politics and poetics, and its form and changes in latitude as well as attitude echo lines from the 20th century bard, James William Buffett. Artistic. Ms. V.S. Frimmit wins our most recent 48-Hour Poetry Challenge (for a Father’s Day poem evoking current events), creating an ode that elucidates the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his existence by conscious endeavor. Though her last stanza fails the integrity of the piece. C’est la vie. Ms. Heather Dubrow’s epistle seeks to discern real “truth” from the “real truths” presented to us by the dominant capitalistic discourse. Stimulating. Mr. Marc Carver‘s work takes every chance it gets to relinquish authority in the service of a greater and more impactful inclusiveness.  Marvelous. Mr. Jekwu Anyaegbuna uses poetry as a venue for dilating linguistic fragments, and, in the case of his poem in this issue, toward more compliant home appliances. Splendid. Ms. Myrriah Hopkins undertakes the god-like task of preternatural perspicacity in her life, and in her poem. Lovely.

In our prose section, the colorful Mr. Raul Chuletas delights us with a caribbeanesque travelogue, in which he reconciles the Foucauldian magic reversal of the unholy trinity of Parmenidean/Platonic/Aristotelean provenance with sofrito.

And finally in our classic asinine section,
Mr. Ogden Nash brings us a work effervescent with cunningly rearranged bits of language, from everyday bromides and cocktail garnishes to echoes of ancient Norse hymnals. Jolly good.

Regarding our 48-hour poetry challenge this issue, we thought one might like to peruse the best of the other entries.

Dad oh Dad
by Phillip Lee

DAD OH DAD
On a boat you came
To start the family
Here for years
Eventually citizen too
Then they stop you
Then they ask you
Where’s your green card
The family looks violent
He gives them money
The family looks violent no more
They continue on their merry way
Dad oh dad
Once again saving the day


Dad Killed My Dream

by Gerald So

DAD KILLED my dream
of being a doctor
like he was,
just by saying,
“You wanna get sued?”

First Day on the Job
by Kat Darling

I DON’T KNOW if I gave you any warning.
I had a feeling and I knew something was coming.
Something ugly, that was going to stain our world.
It would be known as an event that was large and soiled.
We soon had a new view of things covered in slick sludge.
It resembled a batch of Grandma’s favorite Christmas fudge.
I don’t think I should be held responsible, don’t blame me.
It was my inner workings navigating my southern sea.
It came and turned our world black,
The oil slick that will never be capped.
Oh father, please clean up my mess,
And put me in a cute little dress.
I’ll do it again, as you well know.
When nature calls you just have to go.

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