Archive for the ‘Publications’ Category

La Belle Dam sans Shoes

December 1, 2008

weather

The Barefoot Muse went for a villanelle! No greater love.

And not to be constantly bragging on my ownself, please–after reading my poem, “Dolphin Weather”, and listening to me recite it–check out poems by my pals Quincy Lehr, Aaron Poochigian, James Wilk, and Christopher Hanson. Also, there is a wonderful Sapphics piece by Danielle Mebert. And I like “Half-Past Eight” by Caitlin Doyle.

Also, check out editor Anna Evan’s review of Lehr’s new book, Across the Grid of Streets. I have cleared this essay of any ethics violation, by the way, in light of Evans and Lehr recently taking editorial wheels at The Raintown Review. It’s clean.

Recent Publications

November 6, 2008

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I have had a run of luck with my Spring submissions, landing poems in three online publications, two of them with recordings of me reading the poems:

Unsplendid
Soundzine
14 x 14

I also have two poems in Envoi, a magazine published in Wales. Here is one of them:

Song

A gust of wind, a breath that moves, a god
in preparation sing the only song.
The startled cry is nothing. We are wrong
to fasten meanings, count the items, log
our bright epiphanies. The wind, the light,
the silence fill the trees with song, the seas
with bars of alternating motion. These
you have in morning, afternoon, and night.
Lean forward when the music comes
and gather nothing. Mastery of sums
and calculation cannot gauge the stark
enigma of a cloud or weigh the sky.
Be still. Communicate, create, and fly
into that choir ineffable, the dark.

The Consolation of Modern Art

August 28, 2008

My daughters trash this den with magazines
declaiming “Brad Holds Twins to Naked Chest!”
on covers wracked with boobs and candid scenes
of “Jessica Before and After,” breasts
as billowy without the extra weight
as with. In Hollywood, a “Pleasure Dome”
doth “Puffy” Combs decree, and on page 8:
“A Magic Moments Feature: Twins Go Home!”
I reach for Richardson’s biography,
Picasso: The Triumphant Years, beneath
a well-thumbed April Star® Mammography,
and flip through cubist nudes and airbrushed teeth
contorting on a private beach at Cannes
with “Tearful Pleas to Bail-Out Ed McMahon!”

14 by 14

June 15, 2008

By 3 outta 4!

End of the Summer Run

June 2, 2008

The Barefoot Muse accepted “Bodhi Day,” a rondeau I dedicated to the memory of my journalistic doppelganger, Helga Tilton. It was written on the day of her memorial service last Dec. 8th. There was something special about the day, and once I got to the slightly skeptical turn at the end of a poem celebrating the Eastern mystical, I felt I was tuned in to my friend.

The featured poet in this issue of The Barefoot Muse is Ray Pospisil, another journalist friend I (we) lost recently.

Also in the issue, editor Anna Evans reviews my chapbook, Aquinas Flinched, as well as Austin MacRea’s Graceways and Alan Wickes’ Prospero’s Breakfast. All three are published by Modern Metrics.

In the Umber and Up the Shoot

June 2, 2008

The summer edition of Umbrella took my sonnet “Montclair Father, 46,” along with a photograph of me standing against Laffite’s Blacksmith Shop in New Orleans taken by my niece, Sarah. The Bumbershoot, a sister publication of Umbrella for light verse took “Love in the Time of Viagra,” which the editors apparently think is funny…! Apparently they also think the photograph of me standing against Laffite’s Blacksmith Shop in New Orleans taken by my niece, Sarah, is funny!

Up the Creek and on the Freak

May 31, 2008

The Shit Creek Review picked “Virus” for its May issue, which has a “masks” theme. They also got a hold of fine poetry by Sally Cook, R. Nemo Hill, and Tim Murphy.

Big up, as always, to Shit Creek, which tapped my “Shrine to Satan” for a Pushcart Prize nomination last year.

I am also in the May issue of The Chimaera with “Oak Park,” a poem included in my chapbook, Aquinas Flinched.

Stand by for more May pub boastings!

..for Measure

May 1, 2008

My villanelle “Under Glass” is in the current issue of Measure, which is now a biannual journal of formal verse. I’m flattered, because most villanelles suck and these guys know it.

New Chapbook!

March 7, 2008

bottle.jpg

Aquinas Flinched, a book of 15 of my poems, has been published by Modern Metrics, an independent press specializing in “formal” verse. Find out more about the chapbook and the press and how you can get a copy right here.

Here’s a poem from the chapbook:

Manasquan
(for Steven Phillips)

WE crab the ruin rocks at Manasquan,
The Island of the Squaws, we Forfeit Boys,
Embraced by our paternal Grandmas on
A beach of Kodachrome and rubber toys

Where, as we tumble, adamantly tanned,
They come up bleached and ghostly in reel two:
Our fathers talking, standing in the sand,
Their pallid chests, long pants and business shoes.

A moment. Then they crack and fade to light.
We’re back to waving matriarchs against
the bank of blue and yellow clouds that shade
the field of skeletal remains, condensed
8 millimeter tidelines to a night
that pulls us to the lights of the arcade.

_____

I have my copy, and I can vouch for the physical quality of the book! Modern Metrics produces very fine books, indeed. The cover, by the way, was designed by R. Nemo Hill, incorporating a photo I took of the Tick Tock Diner on Route 3 in Nutley on the way home from a Bruce Springsteen concert. As for the quality of the poetry, well…it is published by Modern Metrics. But…you be the judge!

eratocover.jpg

Thanks for checking it out.

Across the Grid of Streets

February 20, 2008

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Quincy Lehr, a son of Oklahoma finding himself in Galway, Ireland, via New York City, has published his first full volume of poetry with Seven Towers, Dublin. It is called Across the Grid of Streets, and it’s available in hard and soft cover. There is also a companion chapbook.

Quincy is well known in the world of formal verse, though he is fluent in free verse as well. I have read much of his poetry and it comes highly recommended.

WHY THERE IS NO SOCIALISM
IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

At 4:15 AM, the city bus
Had pulled up to the curb, its silhouette
Marked dimly by the light that crept through grates,
Fencing in empty stores. I paid my fare
And squeezed beside a sleepy Barnard girl.
She moved a centimetre to her left—
Away from me—and twitched a pinkish nose
Below grey, narrowed eyes, accusing me
Of something, so I leaned against the glass
And stared at greasy, distant streaks of light.
Each one of us was tired, pissed-off, and bored,
Angry at the hour and with those pricks—
That fat-assed bitch, who muttered at a cell phone,
That rat-faced airline worker at the front,
That punk-ass hoodlum, glaring at his feet,
That stuck-up twat, that sad-eyed brown-haired schmuck
Gawking at New York’s predawn, backlit blackness.
And if we were united, our disdain
For every dumb-shit creep—in short, ourselves—
Had fused our isolations into one.

~Quincy R. Lehr ©

The Holiday Season


–Westmoreland Bar, Westmoreland Street, Dublin, September 12th 2006