Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

microreview/interview: MRB Chelko’s Songs & Yes

Thursday, February 4th, 2016

by José Angel Araguz 

…Some crazy guy told me. His mother was beautiful. And perhaps I should have listened. To him. Perhaps. I was his mother. Just then. In a way.

As I read through MRB Chelko’s chapbook Songs & Yes, I kept thinking in terms of weather: the weather of details, the weather of personal perceptions. The poems here keep the reader in close contact with the materials of the poet’s world. As can be seen in the short excerpt above, the poetic experience is guided by distinct choices in phrasing. By varying the length and duration of sentences, the poet is able to place emotional emphasis on each movement of the poem. In doing so, the poems enact a logic and aesthetic similar to modern dance.

When asked what inspired this chapbook, Chelko writes:

“…in an effort to purge myself of ingrained habits/constructions/aesthetics/themes, I decided to write one new sequence per month for a year, shifting the formal constraints each month to force myself into new aesthetic and thematic territory. I’d never written prose poems before, so that’s where I started: prose poems of approximately 100 words, comprised of sentence fragments, with the refrains rest and silence.

This impetus towards using formal constraints to work into a “new aesthetic and thematic territory” pays off in this project in pieces like the one below, where narrative detail is lyrically conveyed by voice and image:

With the dark jars of her eyes the pharmacist disapproves. Silence. No doctor signed this. But look at me. I am dragging the trash bags of my feet up the stairs. The jars empty. Pharmacist. Look up. I am hanging a shirt. Light blue and wrinkled. Single dangling ballerina of thread. I am pouring. Black. The coffee’s heart out. Time. Prescription. Rest. Which arrived earlier. Like a decent book in the mail. Silence and a pack of smokes. And the pink depths of the book’s cover. And the purples. Rest. I got tired. Rest. Unwrapped a secret. Wrapped it again.

I like how the repetition of silence and rest hold the poem’s mood together while coloring what comes before and after. The pharmacist’s disapproval is made more emphatic; later, several levels of fatigue are implied. Here also, Chelko’s formal vision plays out in aesthetically and emotionally stunning ways. The juxtaposition, for example, of: “ …I am hanging a shirt. Light blue and wrinkled. Single dangling ballerina of thread. I am pouring. Black. The coffee’s heart out.” streams together perception and sentiment, using the sentence form in a way that gathers lyric momentum.

About this particular piece, Chelko shared:

“Around the time I was writing these I had a series of abscessed root canals, which resulted in quite a bit of pain and ultimately the removal of four of my upper molars. So, I was walking around the city with these deep, aching holes in my face that only I knew were there. It felt like I was holding a secret in my mouth. The loss of my teeth—they’re still missing—was a tender experience and deeply personal. I smiled tightly, or not at all, for years.  On one rainy, metal grey December afternoon, I received a package containing Beckian Fritz Goldberg’s New and Selected Poems,Reliquary Fever. An almost glowing pinkish red, the book’s cover depicts fingers reaching, tentative, for a soap bubble. There’s a specter of violence even in the gentleness of the image. The bubble, if touched, would of course disappear. I love that book. It was a kind of medicine.”

This recognition of “a kind of medicine” in the day to day details makes up much of the engine driving this chapbook.

But it from sunnyoutside: $12.

Make sure to check out MRB Chelko’s poem “Snow Be” in issue 12.2!

***

Are you a past contributor interested in a microreview/interview? Write to us [editors@cincinnatireview.com] with the subject heading “microreview/interview inquiry” for more information and guidelines.

Issue Launch Party, Take Two!

Monday, February 1st, 2016

A reminder: the rescheduled Cincinnati Review issue launch party (at Wash Park Art, a gallery at 1215 Elm Street, right across from Washington Park near Music Hall) is this Friday, February 5, from 5:00 to 8:00. Come by for food, drink, lively conversation, and a brief poetry reading from a contributor to the issue.

Irrelevant Questions for Relevant Writers: Don’t Move!

Monday, January 25th, 2016

Yep, it’s time (some would say high time) for associate editor Don Peteroy to lob another Irrelevant Question at an Unsuspecting Writer. Actually, we always clear the question with the writer beforehand. Actually, sometimes the writer doesn’t like the question and asks for another. Actually, sometimes the writer never responds, which is, we guess, another way of indicating he or she didn’t like the question. Which all goes toward saying we never know how a writer is going to respond. That’s the cool part. The recipient of this edition’s Irrelevant Question—Colin Fleming—really delivered. We don’t know about you folks, but here at CR we’ve been longing for a good, rousing disquisition. Something we can stand back and let unfold, and unfold, and then say, simply, “Wow.” A disquisition that tackles a difficult distinction, such as the difference between good writing and writerly writing. (The latter term designating writing that is meant to sound good, often isn’t, but fools people anyway.) Feeling brave? Read on.

Question: It’s about time we have some fresh new literary terms, don’t you agree? Could you please coin some new terms, and define them?

CF: As someone who can’t read a book, no matter what it is, without marking it up and writing in the margins, I’ve come to realize that I’ve done this sort of thing where I’ve blended literary terms into my thinking such that I’ve done away with, you know, terminess. I’ve stopped pausing to label something as some form of device. I want to get beyond that and see something mmetaphorore integrated, so I’m always in the sentence, not in the label. If you see a metaphor as more than metaphor, you’re never leaving the sentence, and the author is doing a bang-up job by keeping you there.

And since I wonder, too, who really knows more than a few literary terms these days, it seems we could use a few that go beyond academic speak. I like the stuff that registers with the people across the hall, and that’s what tends to register most with me.

I read so much material full of what I call moves. Term the first! I hate moves. A move is when a writer is doing one of these “Look at me, Ma, I’m really writing!” deals. A lot of literary magazines love moves. They like stories written in the monotone third person, with sentences that remind me of someone slamming back a typewriter carriage at the end of a line and starting again. The perpetual da-dat-da-dat-da-dat (repeat, repeat, repeat) sentence structure of so much contemporary fiction. Moves are viewed as literary, as not how the “rabble” would ever express anything, thus conferring an imagined superiority on the writer. Pens are not waved through the air. They are wanded. Move. I looked at this one book where a line went something like “The sun gentles the wall of the building across the street.” It gentles it? It fucking gentles it? Move Central. Don’t do moves. You know when you’re doing a move. Moves are for your insecurity, and if someone is doing them past their juvenilia period, there ain’t a lot of talent there. Which can be confusing, because there is a system in place to reward moves.

Move-buffs also tend to be what I think of as sandboxers. As in, playing in the sandbox with the cronies. A sandboxer is someone who writes and hopes rather than writes and knows: labors over some 300 word short-short for an age, and then requires a fellow sandboxer to praise it, and then a dozen others, so that it can be thought of as good. The original sandboxer is subsequently pressed to return this service for his confederates, perpetuating a cycle of codependency and enabling, which allows the sandboxer to replace actual reality with an invented one. Sandboxers spend huge amounts of time on social media, posting dozens of items a day that read like especially bromidic dross from literary fortune cookies. One will encounter things like “If I could be trapped in a bookstore 24/7, I’d happily be an agoraphobic #snuggles.”

Colin-FlemingA more cheery term, the one that matters most to me and that is crucial to writing—certainly writing that lasts—is a simple one: life. You know when you see life in something you read, because you feel it, and you exclaim, in a way, your way, “There it is!” I’d argue that the more life in something, the harder it is to get it into most journals, but that’s another matter. You can’t fake life—that moment that fifty different people encounter and connect with in a personal way, disparate though these people and their experiences are. The life moment is the “push away from the desk moment,” the “I think I’m going to go for a walk around the block or down by the harbor” moment, the great unshakable that comes back to you at different points, and differently each time. I find myself denoting this, of late, with “That is the stuff,” in the margins of what I’m reading. Life is a long way from the box. Which sounds like a double entendre, but isn’t. See? Old school lit term there amidst the new. Like a sponsor!

Colin Fleming is the author of the forthcoming book The Anglerfish Comedy Troupe: Stories From the Abyss. He has written for Rolling Stone, Sports Illustrated, and Vanity Fair, and is a regular contributor to NPR’s Weekend Edition.

Launch Party Rescheduled

Friday, January 22nd, 2016

Friends, sorry to say that the weather—or rather anxiety about the weather—has compelled us to reschedule our issue launch party. Please snuggle up tight tonight and save your yaya’s for February 5, when we’ll be celebrating with stored-up vengeance!

Launch Party!

Tuesday, January 19th, 2016

launchpartyThe Cincinnati Review is celebrating our new issue with a launch party at Wash Park Art (a gallery at 1215 Elm Street, right across from Washington Park near Music Hall) this Friday, January 22, from 5:00 to 8:00. Come join us for food, drink, lively conversation, and a brief poetry reading by Norman Finkelstein, a contributor to the issue. More details here: www.washparkart.com/Events.html

We will, of course, have copies of the magazine on hand. The new issue includes fiction from Nicholas Montemarano and Wendy Rawlings; poems from Charles Rafferty, who was just featured on Poetry Daily (poems.com/poem.php?date=16811), and this year’s Elliston Poet Carl Phillips; art by Alicia LaChance; translations from the Zapotec; a crossword puzzle by Fiction Editor Michael Griffith, and more. You can pick up a copy at an office near you (369 McM) or order one through our website.

What’s Poetry Got to Do with It: Rock Stars

Thursday, January 14th, 2016

by José Angel Araguz

Episode 3: Poetic Interludes with Rockstars

[prologue: Counting Crows with Peteroy]

Brooklyn_Museum_-_Crow_on_a_Branch_-_Kawanabe_KyosaiOn the first of December, Associate Editor Don Peteroy walked into the Cincinnati Review office and made a casual reference to the song he had in his head that morning, “A Long December” by the Counting Crows. It was the kind of perfect, totally unexpected yet apt thing to bring up, not only because it was the beginning of the month but because mentioning the song brought up the opening lines:

A long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last

These lines pretty much summed up the air of the end-of-semester/season change happening around me then. Most of the leaves that were going to fall had fallen; the rest were either hanging there dried and stubborn (like memories of 90’s songs) or hidden within the stark branches waiting for spring.

Don being our resident rock star musician, this interlude got me thinking about rock stars in general, how much of what lives beyond their music is often the musician’s own humanly perfect and totally unexpected yet apt things said either in concert or interview.

[interlude one: Bono]

It’s like landing a 747 onto your front lawn

paul-david-hewson-434933_960_720This statement was said by U2’s Bono during an impromptu concert in December of 2000. The band had set up at the Irving Plaza in New York City, a venue whose capacity is capped at 1,000. For a band that can sell out stadiums on back-to-back dates worldwide, Bono’s simile rides a fine line between hyperbole and truth.

Whatever else (good, bad, South Park) can be said about the man, I have been a big fan of Bono the artist since I was a kid. I’m talking albums, but also books, magazine interviews, bootlegs, etc. I actually heard the quote above via a live radio broadcast of the concert that I recorded (on cassette, no less). When asked in college for tips on how to introduce a fellow poet at a reading, I have been quoted as saying, “You gotta be all Bono about it,” meaning you have to go up and share your enthusiasm and admiration for the work of a fellow artist, really bring forth those personal connections you feel. Here’s Bono himself demonstrating at Bob Marley’s induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

I know claiming Bob Marley as Irish might be a little difficult here tonight, but bear with me.  Jamaica and Ireland have a lot in common.  Naomi Campbell, Chris Blackwell, Guinness, a fondness for little green leaves – the weed…

 But I must come back to the artist himself. There’s a quote I’ve carried with me for about seventeen years now, writing it on the first page of every notebook I’ve had in that time along with other quotes that inspire me at the page. The following words come from an interview during the promotion for All That You Can’t Leave Behind:

…the ability to surrender, to give yourself, either in reverie or revelry. And the journey of the artist is surely the journey away from self-consciousness.

Words like these bring forth the man behind those infamous sunglasses. I keep these words with me for what they say about what I experience working on poems. Whether it’s working toward a first draft or pushing myself into a fifteenth draft, the journey to the next words is exactly “the journey away from self-consciousness.”

[interlude two: Shakira]

Ahora vamos a ponerle un poquito de sabor a guacamole a la noche

[And now we’re going to add a little taste of guacamole to the night]

Shakira_-_Live_Paris_-_2010_(12)Shakira spoke these words during her classic MTV Unplugged set as she introduced the mariachi band Los Mora Arriaga. Together, they then performed her song “Ciega, Sordomuda” restyled as traditional mariachi song. To boot, the song’s breakdown had the singer and band snap into a Ramon Ayala-worthy Tejano beat.

My reaction as a seventeen-year-old brown kid in South Texas: *swoon.*

What is swoon-worthy about this performance is the tip of the hat to both Mexican as well as Mexican-American culture via the mariachi/Tejano mix. Here is Colombian rock star Shakira fusing together two Latinidades vital to North American Latin@s. Furthermore, what is poetic about this performance is summed up in the casual cool of Shakira’s statement above. In the quick analogy hinting at the nature of things to come, Shakira is being “all Bono about it.”

I found myself echoing some of Shakira’s swagger recently as I described my latest book as taking the prose poem and adding a little more guacamole and South Texas to it. If Shakira comes looking for me, tell her Bono made me do it.

[epilogue: a cento for David Bowie]

16260046973_0561915cd5_oI had written the first half of this post in December, before the winter break. Coming back to it this week, I realize I can’t write about rock stars and their apt and unexpected human moments without honoring the memory of David Bowie.

Lunatic’s Lyric – José Angel Araguz

 a cento for David Bowie composed of one line from the last songs on each of his albums

Someone passed some bliss among the crowd
of tombstones, epitaphs, wreaths, flowers, all that jazz,
where sad-eyed mermen tossed in slumbers
sighing, the swirl through the streets.

Like the leaf clings to the tree:
Share bride failing star
through morning’s thoughts and fantasies.

And the clock waits so patiently on your song.
She’ll lay belief on you;
Please heal these tears.

Let it be like yesterday,
with just a hint of mayhem
that burns your change to keep you insane.

That a man is not a man,
and it’s no game:
It’s the place that I know well.

You chew your fingers and stare at the floor.
Buildings they rise to the skies.
Made for a real world,
we scavenge up our clothes
with the sound of the ground.

So I’ll spin while my lunatic lyric goes wrong.
Trapped between the rocks,
black eyed ravens
stab me in the dark, let me disappear,
seeing more and feeling less.

*

Song Sources:
“Memory of a Free Festival” “Please Mr. Gravedigger” “The Supermen” “The Bewlay Brothers” “Wild is the Wind” “Subterraneans” “The Secret Life of Arabia” “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” “Lady Grinning Soul” “Untitled no. 1″ “Where Have All the Good Times Gone” “Big Brother” “Fame” “Red Money” “It’s No Game (part 2)” “Shake It” “Dancing with the Big Boys” “Bang Bang” “Heathen” “Strangers When We Meet” “Law (Earthlings on Fire)” “Lucy Can’t Dance” “Heat” “The Dreamers” “Bring Me the Disco King” “I Can’t Give Everything Away”

Notes for a New Year

Wednesday, January 13th, 2016

Right. 2016. The world is another year older, but hey, still looking good! Well, except for the icecaps. And the ozone layer. And, er, all the trees that were burned to a crisp in the Northwest. And, um, all those flooded towns in the Midwest. But on the bright side, we mailed out a sparkly new issue over the holiday break! Well, some of them were sparkly. We ran out of glitter midway through the mailing. corn-chipsPeteroy wanted to substitute crushed corn chips, but Mason vetoed. She didn’t want subscribers licking their issues, which would be undignified. Yes, we here at The Cincinnati Review care about your dignity—among other things, such as your reading pleasure. On that score, so far so good. We’ve received some lovely notes from some lovely people about the poems, stories, and essays in 12.2. Secretly we’ve been calling it the Issue of Darkness, because, on the prose side, anyway, there are some pretty rough pieces. We shed tears over it. For real. Then we got on with things . . . like drinking heavily and stuffing our gobs. But now it’s a New Year, and we’re right back at it. A little chubbier, and we’re pretty sure Hurt still has a hangover, but she’s reading submissions like a champion . . . submission reader. Okay, seems like we’ve had enough fun here. We plan to get back to regular blogging (and FBing and Tweeting) posthaste. What did you miss during our cyber silence? Well, for one thing, we nominated Steve Almond, Brandon Amico, Tom Howard, Safiya Sinclair, Ashley Wurzbacher, and Changming Yuan for Pushcart Prizes. Assistant Editor Jose Angel Araguz’s new poetry collection—Everything We Think We Hear—was officially released.  Former staffer Lisa Ampleman got some great play on Vinyl (vinylpoetryandprose.com). Charles Rafferty’s “Leisure” (12.1) was featured on Poetry Daily. Managing Editor Nicola Mason had a solo show opening at Sidewinder Coffee. And CR brought on its first creative nonfiction editor, Kristen Iversen (of Full Body Burden fame). It’s been an eventful month.

fishbowlAs we start out the sixteenth year of the third millennium, we want to remind everybody that we no longer accept hard-copy submissions. We are still getting a few, of course, but now we are sending them back unread (with a wee note of explanation). Also—a teaser—we have some big news coming up. Not really, really big. We’d say medium big. Or bigly medium. Or something. Stay tuned! Visual clue to right:

New Books from CR Staff

Friday, December 11th, 2015

Exciting stuff happening here—not just with the mag but with the lovely staff members who are shepherding the work you good people are sending our way.

joseAssistant Ed. Jose Angel Araguz, for example, is on the cusp of releasing a new collection, Everything We Think We Hear. In his words, the volume “brings the prose poem and flash fiction structure of my chapbook Reasons (not) to Dance and takes it in a more personal direction, adds a little more guacamole and South Texas to my usual rhetorical and imagistic leanings.” For a sample of Jose’s work, click here. More information about the book can be found at Jose’s site: https://thefridayinfluence.wordpress.com/

rochelle-hurtAssistant Ed. Rochelle Hurt’s second collection just won the 2015 Barrow Street Book Prize. In Which I Play the Runaway will be released in fall 2016 and according to Rochelle includes “many of the poems you may have seen [in journals] over the last few years: dioramas, odd town names, Dorothy Gale, storms, etc.” To read the volume’s title poem, click here.

Congrats to these two talented (not to mention delightful) people!

Shipping Week!

Tuesday, December 8th, 2015

 

shipday3

Our winter issue has arrived! We’re busy stuffing, taping, stamping, and hauling boxes to the mail room. In addition to fiction by Michael Byers, Wendy Rawlings, and Nicholas Montemarano, not to mention poetry by Carl Phillips, MRB Chelko, and Rebecca Hazelton—as well as two primo pieces of creative nonfiction—we’re running another crossword by fiction editor Michael Griffith. He describes it as his toughest one yet! As we’ve done in the past, we’re offering a bonus issue to the first few folks who email us the correct grid (we’ll add it to your subscriptions). Shoot your puzzle solution to editors[at]cincinnatireview[dot]com by Friday, December 18, to win!

shipday2

 

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Holiday Gift Sub Offer

Thursday, December 3rd, 2015

PapuaSpiritThe holiday spirit is upon us. Really. She’s standing here in the office, and she looks something like this gal on the right:

She wants us to give our loyal readers a holiday deal, and we cannot deny her . . . because we’re a little afraid of her. So for those of you who order a CR subscription between now and Friday, December 11, we will add a GIFT subscription gratis. Two subs for the price of one. Our shopping cart isn’t set up for such extraordinary beneficence, so you’ll have to contact us at editors[at]cincinnatireview[dot]com to take us up on our offer. Aw, heck, we’ll even throw in freebie copies of our graphic play Moth with the first gift issues; that’ll make our friend’s little blue spots dance. We have the cutest gift cards to include, too, so your lit-loving pal will know whom to thank for the arrival of his or her snail-mail handsomes.

Our winter issue drops next week. . . . Perfect timing, no? Imaging the yellow lips above peeling back into a weird yet happy smile. You want to see that happen. Right?