Poems are actually birds.
"A poem will eventually fly away," writes Identity Theory poetry editor Danielle Rose.
This week, we have two new poems: “Euryale” by Julia Watson and “The Last Poem About My Mother” by Abigail Weathers. Also: a cartoon.
Dear Identity Theory Readers,
This week’s newsletter kicks off with a guest post by Danielle Rose, our poetry editor.
Here’s Danielle:
I have a few thoughts on poetry for National Poetry Month.
1. Poetry is, in the most abstract of senses, a space between things that can be described in a way that can be touched (but not really). It is connective tissue, and the flex of muscles—that kinetic thing: like bouncing a tennis ball against a concrete wall. A poem is a thing that always returns to you because it is about you, even when it is not.
2. The fact that poetry isn’t a thing that belongs to you means that we have to, as a matter of natural course, steal it away from someone else. This is neither violent nor delinquent. It is grabbing the poem by the scruff of the neck and saying, “You ride with me now, at least for a little while.”
3. Sometimes I want to call every poem a mirror but when I try to I am reminded that poems are actually birds that are also snowdrifts and the sound of running water. By this I mean that we read, we feel, we think, we speak. It is actually so simple when you get down into the grit of it.
4. But poems are stolen things, how could they not be something we take from another so we can use it for ourselves?
5. Look: everything is violence; everything is theft. Get used to it.
6. A poem will eventually fly away and become something else entirely: a dream, a love, a memory, a gravesite, a lollipop, a lumber yard, a bird’s nest, a mask, a lingering feeling of someone watching you through the drapes, an itch on the back of your neck you cannot reach but want to, a simmering pot of water, a slab of grilled meat, a desk, a chair, a window painted shut, a screwdriver, a hammer, a bathtub, a moisturizer, a pond full of happy fish, a doorway through which everything opens—especially you.
The Last Poem About My Mother
Hi, it’s Matt again. We haven’t done much for National Poetry Month on the site in the past, but we decided to go harder this year. We started the month by publishing two new poems.
Our new poem from Abigail Weathers—a Beijing-based poet and member of the Spittoon Literary Collective—is called “The Last Poem About My Mother” and begins:
That Sunday dress drifts
in peaceful, paisley grace
towards the kitchen. Contends
with the view—this bare window
so far from Heaven.
How does it end? This is where you find out.
All Stories Are Her
North Carolina State MFA graduate Julia Watson is an Asheville-based, dog-owning poet who—completely random fact here—has a dog with the same name as my sister’s cat. That’s the kind of content that keeps you opening this newsletter. Anyway, here’s a clip from Julia’s new poem “Euryale,” which is super good:
yes, it’s easy to skin a rabbit already trapped. Is this why men cry monster? History is always, has always been their book. She was dead before she died, how a serpent writhes
I implore you to read the rest.
When You Gotta Go…
This week’s cartoon from Alan Michael Parker:
P.S. Alan Michael Parker’s poem “My Son, Under the Waterfall” was featured in The Writer’s Almanac yesterday.
I Pity the Fool Who Wants More of This Newsletter
This is not an April Fools’ joke (those went extinct in 2016 as far as I’m concerned): I’m thinking of adding a section of this newsletter for extra stuff—such as Dani’s guest post above—and sprinkling it in throughout the week. It would be an assortment of bonus content, sometimes useful, potentially a total waste of time, hopefully fun, sent in different emails. Would that interest you? This would be separate from the normal email that I try to send out every Friday. Reply to this email (or comment if you’re on the web) and let me know. You’d have the option to subscribe to it separately—I’m not going to force anyone to receive that noise.
Best of the Bird App
In case you don’t follow us on Twitter or care about that app in any way (I wouldn’t blame you if that bird went extinct for you in 2016), here’s a roundup of stuff from our feed:
We asked for poets to suggest poetry books to read during National Poetry Month. 116 people have replied so far—that’s a lot of books! Some random highlights include Disappearing, Inc. by Brandon Amico (another Asheville poet), Where the Wolf by Sally Rosen Kindred (the corgi’s top pick), Her Kind by Cindy Veach, The Clearing by Allison Adair, Secure Your Own Mask by Shaindel Beers, and, of course, everything by recent contributors Leigh Chadwick and Jack Bedell.
We told people they could send their poetry books to us and we’d take a photo of our dog with their book. That goes for you, too, assuming you have a book to send! Reply and I’ll send you an address.
We started daily poetry prompts for National Poetry Month. We do not guarantee their quality or utility.
And, of course, this guy made an appearance:
Most Excellent Thoughts
Free submissions have reopened for poetry, fiction, and essays. Get in there!
Submitting to our 2022 writing contest is also free.
But not everything in life is free, so it would be nice of you to support us.
Finally, my mom, who long ago retired and is now a professional genealogist, loves Maud Newton’s new book, Ancestor Trouble. She texts me about it at the crack of dawn:
Have a most excellent week,
Matt Borondy
EIC
Identity Theory
Poems are actually birds.
That last bit (your mom’s text)!