A Sing Economy

I've recently been going through the poetry anthology A Sing Economy (Slingerlands NY: flim forum press, 2008), edited by Matthew Klane and Adam Golaski, with generous sections of new writing by Kate Schapira, Barrett Gordon, Jennifer Karmin, Stephanie Strickland, Mathew Timmons, Kaethe Schwehn, Harold Abramowitz /Amanda Ackerman, Jaye Bartell, Jessica Smith, David Pavelich, Erin M. Bertram, Laura Sims, Deborah Poe, a.rawlings / françois luong, Michael Slosek, Kevin Thurston, Hannah Rodabaugh and Tawrin Baker. A very attractive production, some of the most impressive and lively pieces have to be from Amanda Ackerman and Harold Abramowitz's collaborative "Sin is to Celebration."

Poem

down
went down
A broken jug
Someone was shoving
Too long
Into a box
In its own fire.

Sometimes there are
The faces
Bobbling bumbling
painted color
On a string
for a dime.
on a string
my doll my
Step right
Doll, the night
Twists
All
gives full
If your arm
Money's worth
off and shatter
Come look
Grinding
The seedless
wax shine in
of red
of honey;
and even broken
Forcing a moment's
over
into
out
of
on the line.

The core goes in
went down
The core goes in
Someone was
The core goes in
into a box
awaiting. (Amanda Ackerman / Harold Abramowitz)

Lately, I'm find as though most Canadian writing is sounding just about the same as all other Canadian writing; where did it all go wrong (it's probably the same in other countries too)? There is work I still find exciting, but I haven’t really been seeing anything radically new lately, finding instead refuse in writing from other countries. Is this just me?

Magical Urbanism

I was walking home when a glow caught my eye: the mulch around a municipal tree was burning. Got down to scrape it out and found there was more than I thought. A couple of men walking the other direction saw and stopped to help me, using a corner of loose brick. They were black, and I spared a thought for how I could have reacted while we were squatting down getting the last embers: we dusted our hands off, a line in my head captured the little glows. The evening was alive with first responders, already turning it, and then our respective cities closed over us again. (Kate Schapira)