Currents
I'm planning on submitting (for the first time) something to CNU's literary magazine, Currents. It never attracted me in the past despite having been an editor and constant submitter for and to my high school's literary magazine, Maelstrom (what's the deal with the water theme?), but this year I've decided to succumb to these infallible points of logic:
1. It's my last year at CNU and therefore my last chance to submit.
2. I have a lot of work collected thanks to Engl 351 and Engl 352, both of which I took last semester.
3. Judging by last semester's edition, the top few choices are fairly strong, but beyond that there isn't much competition.
4. There are monetary rewards involved.
5. I can put it on Grad School Apps (that's frightening to think about...).
I don't have a problem with submitting a whole lot of stuff, but the judges tend to be...uh...pedestrian? That's pretty snobby, I know, but it seems to be true - they liked things that are good but don't take a lot of chance. Things that appeal to a lot of people. Granted, "a lot" by any definition could not be used to describe the amount of people who read this much less those who will respond. Basically, this is intended as something for Jon to do so we can both feel like we're interacting because so far the time difference hasn't matched very well. Everyone is encouraged to respond though. So here are some pieces - two sonnets, two free verses, and a villanelle:
What hurries up so many afterwards down
‘cross mornings and driveways and left hands and rights.
What hurries up small but for taxing us down
for building the my and the yours in the night.
For building the doubles of helixes new
‘cross canyons and parkways and left hands and hips.
For building on dew, grass, laughs folie á deux
what hurries up lips and - for - but - if.
It tilts on what builds on green protein song loops
as slow as It please you if please you It does.
It lilts high on stilts while What hurries up do
‘cross moon ray and mantle, and - for - but - if - was.
Sun are you: what, It called: world and
leave my and yours ours is only what can
__________________________________
this is just to say
I’ve got things coming
that’ll sprout big wings
built for packed parkways
this is just to say
flowers stood in for
the body of Christ
still crimp under foot
this is just to say
apples for the sins
of me, you, them, could
reserve holy taste
this is just to say
the ifs and the whens
will be when they’ve been
and then go away
I’ve long run away
but stayed still until
these modest lines, well,
this is just to say
__________________________________
Go down, dusk, to where the light pools.
Where carnivals ring, bang, shout, chime.
Where tundra melts and torches cool.
Go down to city floods of bitter fools.
Go down where sea and earth are perfect rhymes.
Go down, dusk, to where the light pools.
Go down to grippe, go down to body Joules.
Go down to happy counts of happy crimes.
Where tundra melts and torches cool.
Where a question gathers and unspools
and answers calls for flesh and death and wine.
Go down, dusk, to where the light pools.
Children awake, follow meadows to school,
to the organ, the pew, the word, and the line
where tundra melts and torches cool.
Come home, pink dusk, lest you turn cruel,
but sidle (just once!) to the end of sublime:
Go down, dusk, to where the light pools.
Where the tundra melts and the torches cool.
__________________________________
away, around, carry me my feet
with careful quiet. careful, quiet, the
sleeping, swaddled bodies, outspoken beams
(light stretched oblong, with faces peering) of.
but at the end of the row, a face I know -
a thin film of his own guts lays stagnant
on quiet eyes, quiet mouth. and below
the hair, clots of blood and strings of vomit.
a hand to cradle the head like a crown
for a boy. he draws noiseless breath and it
sounds all over my living. i account
for the days i’d forgotten to love him
like my brother. my brother falls silent
and I am alone in the infinite
__________________________________
Up to
no good, I
leaf through the
leaflets my father
left behind. Eyelids, spying
paper weights, conspire to grow heavy.
Upon waking, my cigarette has
burned through the leather
of his palatial desk
chair and all
hope of
anonymity
is lost.
1. It's my last year at CNU and therefore my last chance to submit.
2. I have a lot of work collected thanks to Engl 351 and Engl 352, both of which I took last semester.
3. Judging by last semester's edition, the top few choices are fairly strong, but beyond that there isn't much competition.
4. There are monetary rewards involved.
5. I can put it on Grad School Apps (that's frightening to think about...).
I don't have a problem with submitting a whole lot of stuff, but the judges tend to be...uh...pedestrian? That's pretty snobby, I know, but it seems to be true - they liked things that are good but don't take a lot of chance. Things that appeal to a lot of people. Granted, "a lot" by any definition could not be used to describe the amount of people who read this much less those who will respond. Basically, this is intended as something for Jon to do so we can both feel like we're interacting because so far the time difference hasn't matched very well. Everyone is encouraged to respond though. So here are some pieces - two sonnets, two free verses, and a villanelle:
What hurries up so many afterwards down
‘cross mornings and driveways and left hands and rights.
What hurries up small but for taxing us down
for building the my and the yours in the night.
For building the doubles of helixes new
‘cross canyons and parkways and left hands and hips.
For building on dew, grass, laughs folie á deux
what hurries up lips and - for - but - if.
It tilts on what builds on green protein song loops
as slow as It please you if please you It does.
It lilts high on stilts while What hurries up do
‘cross moon ray and mantle, and - for - but - if - was.
Sun are you: what, It called: world and
leave my and yours ours is only what can
__________________________________
this is just to say
I’ve got things coming
that’ll sprout big wings
built for packed parkways
this is just to say
flowers stood in for
the body of Christ
still crimp under foot
this is just to say
apples for the sins
of me, you, them, could
reserve holy taste
this is just to say
the ifs and the whens
will be when they’ve been
and then go away
I’ve long run away
but stayed still until
these modest lines, well,
this is just to say
__________________________________
Go down, dusk, to where the light pools.
Where carnivals ring, bang, shout, chime.
Where tundra melts and torches cool.
Go down to city floods of bitter fools.
Go down where sea and earth are perfect rhymes.
Go down, dusk, to where the light pools.
Go down to grippe, go down to body Joules.
Go down to happy counts of happy crimes.
Where tundra melts and torches cool.
Where a question gathers and unspools
and answers calls for flesh and death and wine.
Go down, dusk, to where the light pools.
Children awake, follow meadows to school,
to the organ, the pew, the word, and the line
where tundra melts and torches cool.
Come home, pink dusk, lest you turn cruel,
but sidle (just once!) to the end of sublime:
Go down, dusk, to where the light pools.
Where the tundra melts and the torches cool.
__________________________________
away, around, carry me my feet
with careful quiet. careful, quiet, the
sleeping, swaddled bodies, outspoken beams
(light stretched oblong, with faces peering) of.
but at the end of the row, a face I know -
a thin film of his own guts lays stagnant
on quiet eyes, quiet mouth. and below
the hair, clots of blood and strings of vomit.
a hand to cradle the head like a crown
for a boy. he draws noiseless breath and it
sounds all over my living. i account
for the days i’d forgotten to love him
like my brother. my brother falls silent
and I am alone in the infinite
__________________________________
Up to
no good, I
leaf through the
leaflets my father
left behind. Eyelids, spying
paper weights, conspire to grow heavy.
Upon waking, my cigarette has
burned through the leather
of his palatial desk
chair and all
hope of
anonymity
is lost.