July 2011
8 posts
Radio Interview | Blog Talk Radio →
blogtalkradio.com
Just finished up this interview, and it was a lot of fun. You can listen to the episode at the link above, if you’re interested. A big thanks to host Steve McManus!
Radio Interview Tonight →
blogtalkradio.com
If anyone’s still up at 11:00 p.m. EST tonight, drop by the radio show, Forbidden America (Blog Talk Radio), for my interview with Steve McManus. I’ll be discussing my time in China, as well as my new poetry chapbook. This could very well help put you to sleep, har har. The show will be archived, and available for listening after, if you don’t catch it live.
Press Release for Book Launch →
nhbookcenter.blogspot.com
Link here for a press release from Book Notes New Hampshire, with all the info for my upcoming book launch and poetry reading, this Sunday at 3:00 p.m., White Birch Books, North Conway, NH. Stop by to say hi if you’re in the area!
The Breakdown Atlas →
thechapbookstore.com
My chapbook is done! Printed up, nice & pretty, and now available from The Chapbook Store. You can read the bio, some excerpts, and reviews at the link above. Alternatively, it’s also available at the publisher’s website, here:
http://www.bigtablepublishing.com/chaptitles.html
I haven’t even seen the books yet~that won’t happen until I arrive in the States next week, but I’m sure they’re wonderful, considering all the efforts of Robin Stratton, editor-extraordinaire of Big Table Publishing Company (who is an absolute delight to work with!). So, yay! This made my day…
Meadows in Vermont →
bluelakereview.weebly.com
Link to my poem, “Meadows in Vermont”, just up in the July issue of Blue Lake Review, if you’re interested.
Plum Rain
As the skies darken and spill, two students
fall in love in my English class, their eyes
flashing over verb conjugations. Lightning
jabs the city, endless water sheeting windows,
cascading down, flooding streets; for weeks,
the air a thick veil draping Asia, plump fruit
nodding in the mist. Hands are busy
under the table—his wife, her husband,
their children, other lives, no secret.
They don’t care that I know, as I string
adjectives, comparatives, superlatives
on the board, back turned. After an hour,
I watch them go, desperate for touch, for
their weekly appointment in a muggy motel,
where they’ll peel off damp clothes, join
their hot and delirious bodies to the relentless
drum of rain. And what do I care, as I turn out
lights? I walk home through another wet evening,
under dripping trees, the suspended plums shining
and ripe, close enough to pluck. A snarl of thunder
reminds me, this season will be over soon enough.
