Literary Communities and the Ethics of Publishing: A Conversation with Carol Mirakove, Susan Schultz, and Mark Wallace: Cross-Posted with Mark Wallace's blog, here.
(Part One can be found here). Or here.
I am not to speak for one year. I wonder if I should call. She has taken my vow of silence, cannot hold the phone or say more than hello. To enter another’s sainthood, attend to complexity’s unraveling into perfection. My crystal text is not transparent; she is my parent. Apparent vehicle, I & she. In the dugout the losing team falls apart: my son weeps, another woman’s son hangs head to chest. I sign her checks; I must be part she. I have lost her voice as she has lost my name. My son, in red & white, stands at the plate in the sun and blinks, bat quivering over his right shoulder. At this moment I cannot say I love him. Egrets sail over us in drafts. A baby cries. Coach yells, what are you DOING, holding that ball? One to another writes, I’m missing you, but the second is gone, except to Facebook.
–18 April 2011
Tinfish Retro Chapbook #7
Y O U R S _ T R U L Y _ & _ O T H E R _ P O E M S
By Xi Chuan • Translated by Lucas Klein • October 2011 • $3
Design by Eric Butler
“Drink a bellyful of cold water and you'll drown all the voices in your head,” writes Xi Chuan. Harder to quiet the voices one hears echoing from Xi's new chapbook. The poet over-hears and over-sees; these poems are shards of the zeitgeist overheard through as many walls as you can construct against your noisy neighbor's television set. The title poem reveals Xi Chuan's Whitmanian reach; turn over in your bed and he will be the presence beside you. If you want to sample the work of an important contemporary Chinese poet, this chapbook provides an excellent place to start.