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Yalobusha Review #21: New Old Poems, New Old Book

Working through the language and form of these poems for five years. To me, they feel like one of Niedecker’s rocks in Lake Superior, registering geologically the time of their composition: the box age, the adjunct age, the traveling age, the ice age/buffalo. To you, who knows. **// automated labor–material, affective, reproductive, service, production, immaterial–//** I’ve got a lot of admiration for the power of rapid, proliferative writing and publishing. Can only hope whats become a glacial pace can become a sluggish friend to that kind of work.

Happy skimming off the poetry–reveling in:

Jessica B Weisenfels:

on the county line
to songs he wrote
on a mortgage I paid

Jeff Haynes:

why do fools fall in love
why do fools run the country
why did one summer you live entirely off ice

Katy Gunn:

With the amount of vaguely related information she could bring to mind, she could solve any number of constructed puzzles, weave in the loose ends of nearly any plot. Or she could not.

Michael Marburry:

Me (hive-mind and honey me)
and me like Golden Brosefs:
twin narcissus and emergent
boids, irreducible as densest

Josh Fomon:

 

To have a culpability. The dirty calm
striations. The sun hue struck

 

wisps in clouds. I had learned how to mouth my name.

 

Call this a way out.
Purdey Lord Kreiden

Trees fellated the wind, fire fellated the treetrunks, the wind fellated fire forests. Fire and trees aren’t enemies, but they’re competitive; each of them wants to show his devotion to the wind, and each of them wants to demonstrate his devotion to the wind is the greatest. To fellate To
be devoted
is their labor and only sin; this is how fire is made. Dangling porcelains, white and green
clouds, a bear who falls asleep with his hand in the pot of honey.

 

Dangling porcelains. Fellatios are given. A stem grows in front of me, everyday a little more,
like a violet alphabet of algae embedded in the waves of a lightly cruciform sea.
White and green clouds came

 

Then the nostalgia began

Sara Nicholson

All my love letters are written
in sans serif fonts.

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About the Author

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Joe Hall is a writer, educator, and deprofessionalized academic. Black Ocean Press published his most recent book, Someone's Utopia, in 2018. His second book, The Container Store Vols. I & II (SpringGun Press 2012) was written with Chad Hardy. He has published journal articles working the intersections of poetics, empire, and the commons.

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