Showing posts with label Genevieve Kaplan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Genevieve Kaplan. Show all posts

Friday, July 08, 2022

Touch the Donkey supplement: new interviews with Stuart, Niespodziany, Melançon, LaPierre, Pinder, Kaplan + Win,

Anticipating the release later next week of the thirty-fourth of Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal], why not check out the interviews that have appeared over the past few weeks with contributors to the thirty-third issue: Cecilia Stuart, Benjamin Niespodziany, Jérôme Melançon, Margo LaPierre, Sarah Pinder, Genevieve Kaplan and Maw Shein Win.

Interviews with contributors to the first thirty-three issues (more than two hundred interviews to date) remain online, including:
Carrie Hunter, Lillian Nećakov, Nate Logan, Hugh Thomas, Emily Brandt, David Buuck, Jessi MacEachern, Sue Bracken, Melissa Eleftherion, Valerie Witte, Brandon Brown, Yoyo Comay, Stephen Brockwell, Jack Jung, Amanda Auerbach, IAN MARTIN, Paige Carabello, Emma Tilley, Dana Teen Lomax, Cat Tyc, Michael Turner, Sarah Alcaide-Escue, Colby Clair Stolson, Tom Prime, Bill Carty, Christina Vega-Westhoff, Robert Hogg, Simina Banu, MLA Chernoff, Geoffrey Olsen, Douglas Barbour, Hamish Ballantyne, JoAnna Novak, Allyson Paty, Lisa Fishman, Kate Feld, Isabel Sobral Campos, Jay MillAr, Lisa Samuels, Prathna Lor, George Bowering, natalie hanna, Jill Magi, Amelia Does, Orchid Tierney, katie o’brien, Lily Brown, Tessa Bolsover, émilie kneifel, Hasan Namir, Khashayar Mohammadi, Naomi Cohn, Tom Snarsky, Guy Birchard, Mark Cunningham, Lydia Unsworth, Zane Koss, Nicole Raziya Fong, Ben Robinson, Asher Ghaffar, Clara Daneri, Ava Hofmann, Robert R. Thurman, Alyse Knorr, Denise Newman, Shelly Harder, Franco Cortese, Dale Tracy, Biswamit Dwibedy, Emily Izsak, Aja Couchois Duncan, José Felipe Alvergue, Conyer Clayton, Roxanna Bennett, Julia Drescher, Michael Cavuto, Michael Sikkema, Bronwen Tate, Emilia Nielsen, Hailey Higdon, Trish Salah, Adam Strauss, Katy Lederer, Taryn Hubbard, Michael Boughn, David Dowker, Marie Larson, Lauren Haldeman, Kate Siklosi, robert majzels, Michael Robins, Rae Armantrout, Stephanie Strickland, Ken Hunt, Rob Manery, Ryan Eckes, Stephen Cain, Dani Spinosa, Samuel Ace, Howie Good, Rusty Morrison, Allison Cardon, Jon Boisvert, Laura Theobald, Suzanne Wise, Sean Braune, Dale Smith, Valerie Coulton, Phil Hall, Sarah MacDonell, Janet Kaplan, Kyle Flemmer, Julia Polyck-O’Neill, A.M. O’Malley, Catriona Strang, Anthony Etherin, Claire Lacey ,Sacha Archer, Michael e. Casteels, Harold Abramowitz, Cindy Savett, Tessy Ward, Christine Stewart, David James Miller, Jonathan Ball, Cody-Rose Clevidence, mwpm, Andrew McEwan, Brynne Rebele-Henry, Joseph Mosconi, Douglas Barbour and Sheila Murphy, Oliver Cusimano, Sue Landers, Marthe Reed, Colin Smith, Nathaniel G. Moore, David Buuck, Kate Greenstreet, Kate Hargreaves, Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Erín Moure, Sarah Swan, Buck Downs, Kemeny Babineau, Ryan Murphy, Norma Cole, Lea Graham, kevin mcpherson eckhoff, Oana Avasilichioaei, Meredith Quartermain, Amanda Earl, Luke Kennard, Shane Rhodes, Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Sarah Cook, François Turcot, Gregory Betts, Eric Schmaltz, Paul Zits, Laura Sims, Stephen Collis, Mary Kasimor, Billy Mavreas, damian lopes, Pete Smith, Sonnet L’Abbé, Katie L. Price, a rawlings, Suzanne Zelazo, Helen Hajnoczky, Kathryn MacLeod, Shannon Maguire, Sarah Mangold, Amish Trivedi, Lola Lemire Tostevin, Aaron Tucker, Kayla Czaga, Jason Christie, Jennifer Kronovet, Jordan Abel, Deborah Poe, Edward Smallfield, ryan fitzpatrick, Elizabeth Robinson, nathan dueck, Paige Taggart, Christine McNair, Stan Rogal, Jessica Smith, Nikki Sheppy, Kirsten Kaschock, Lise Downe, Lisa Jarnot, Chris Turnbull, Gary Barwin, Susan Briante, derek beaulieu, Megan Kaminski, Roland Prevost, Emily Ursuliak, j/j hastain, Catherine Wagner, Susanne Dyckman, Susan Holbrook, Julie Carr, David Peter Clark, Pearl Pirie, Eric Baus, Pattie McCarthy, Camille Martin and Gil McElroy.

The forthcoming thirty-fourth issue features new writing by: Jade Wallace, Katie Naughton, Nathan Austin, Barry McKinnon, Monica Mody, T. Best and Leah Sandals.

And of course, copies of the first thirty-three issues are still very much available. Why not subscribe? Included, as well, as part of the above/ground press 2022 subscriptions! We even have our own Facebook group. It’s remarkably easy.

Wednesday, February 03, 2021

Spotlight series #58 : Genevieve Kaplan

The fifty-eighth in my monthly "spotlight" series, each featuring a different poet with a short statement and a new poem or two, is now online, featuring American poet, scholar and book-maker Genevieve Kaplan.

The first eleven in the series were attached to the Drunken Boat blog, and the series has so far featured poets including Seattle, Washington poet Sarah Mangold, Colborne, Ontario poet Gil McElroy, Vancouver poet Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Ottawa poet Jason Christie, Montreal poet and performer Kaie Kellough, Ottawa poet Amanda Earl, American poet Elizabeth Robinson, American poet Jennifer Kronovet, Ottawa poet Michael Dennis, Vancouver poet Sonnet L’Abbé, Montreal writer Sarah Burgoyne, Fredericton poet Joe Blades, American poet Genève Chao, Northampton MA poet Brittany Billmeyer-Finn, Oji-Cree, Two-Spirit/Indigiqueer from Peguis First Nation (Treaty 1 territory) poet, critic and editor Joshua Whitehead, American expat/Barcelona poet, editor and publisher Edward Smallfield, Kentucky poet Amelia Martens, Ottawa poet Pearl Pirie, Burlington, Ontario poet Sacha Archer, Washington DC poet Buck Downs, Toronto poet Shannon Bramer, Vancouver poet and editor Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Vancouver poet Geoffrey Nilson, Oakland, California poets and editors Rusty Morrison and Jamie Townsend, Ottawa poet and editor Manahil Bandukwala, Toronto poet and editor Dani Spinosa, Kingston writer and editor Trish Salah, Calgary poet, editor and publisher Kyle Flemmer, Vancouver poet Adrienne Gruber, California poet and editor Susanne Dyckman, Brooklyn poet-filmmaker Stephanie Gray, Vernon, BC poet Kerry Gilbert, South Carolina poet and translator Lindsay Turner, Vancouver poet and editor Adèle Barclay, Thorold, Ontario poet Franco Cortese, Ottawa poet Conyer Clayton, Lawrence, Kansas poet Megan Kaminski, Ottawa poet and fiction writer Frances Boyle, Ithica, NY poet, editor and publisher Marty Cain, New York City poet Amanda Deutch, Iranian-born and Toronto-based writer/translator Khashayar Mohammadi, Mendocino County writer, librarian, and a visual artist Melissa Eleftherion, Ottawa poet and editor Sarah MacDonell, Montreal poet Simina Banu, Canadian-born UK-based artist, writer, and practice-led researcher J. R. Carpenter, Toronto poet MLA Chernoff, Boise, Idaho poet and critic Martin Corless-Smith, Canadian poet and fiction writer Erin Emily Ann Vance, Toronto poet, editor and publisher Kate Siklosi, Fredericton poet Matthew Gwathmey, Canadian poet Peter Jaeger, Birmingham, Alabama poet and editor Alina Stefanescu, Waterloo, Ontario poet Chris Banks, Chicago poet and editor Carrie Olivia Adams, Vancouver poet and editor Danielle Lafrance and Toronto-based poet and literary critic Dale Martin Smith.

The whole series can be found online here.

Monday, August 03, 2020

Ongoing (isolation) notes: early August, 2020: second factory + Ayaz Pirani,


What is happening? Don’t forget to look at periodicities: a journal of poetry and poetics for a slew of new content this month, as well as various new interviews at Touch the Donkey following the recent release of issue twenty-six. And the ottawa small press fair might not be happening at all this year, but make sure you check out the home edition interviews with a variety of past (and future) exhibitors. Oh, and the Black Lives Matter : above/ground press chapbook give-away is still happening. What else? Did you know that above/ground press has produced more than thirty chapbooks so far this year, as well as issues of The Peter F. Yacht Club, G U E S T [a journal of guest editors] and Touch the Donkey? And look at Michael Sikkema’scall for submission for his issue of G U E S T, by the by. I’ll be announcing 2021 subscriptions for above/ground press in the fall, but be aware that I’ve backdated at least two 2020 subscriptions over the past week or so.

And wash your hands! And be safe where you are!

Brooklyn NY: I’m enjoying going through the first issue of second factory (spring 2020), edited and produced through Ugly Duckling Presse, a chapbook-sized journal of graceful, uncomplicated design that includes new work by Rosaire Appel, Tony Iantosca, Jacqui Alpine, Benjamin Krusling, Kelly Hoffer, Joel Dailey, the late Steve Dalachinsky, S.L., Sevinç Çalhanoğlu, Parker Menzimer, Yuko Otomo, Emma Wippermann, Genevieve Kaplan and Wes Civilz. As the “Editor’s Note” to open the small collection reads:

The second factory is never definitive. It is spotted like a bird in the wild. A friend sticks their head in the door screaming. I’ve put a grape in the risograph! Everyone nods in approval.

Everything is heightened, and nothing stays the same. One night we celebrate, the next we squabble among the rinds and the cigarette butts, arguing over how to pay rent.

Contradictory reports have started to come in warning of yet another factory, a third factory, looming in the distance. Some describe an office park; others a shed. Huge troughs of water, nets in the trees. We are in no hurry to do. We will remain the second factory while we are able.

I wonder if they know of Steve Evan’s website, Third Factory: Notes to Poetry? Either way, it is good to see new work from Tony Iantosca (“I have a name / that identifies me / to others and keeps / track of my movements / in a conversation / I can’t hear, / that anchors me / in documents / stamped and moved / into a drawer.” “Other Brain”), as well as two new poems by Genevieve Kaplan; her poems in the issue are dense lyric meditations, the second of which, “Or [to only have meant: look],” opens with:

And there was war.
And some of it was personal.
Despite attempts, most of it could not be undone.
As there was hurt.
And some of these may have thought, may not have been able to see
    the way out, or the way that a done action could be undone, redone,
    or successfully reframed.
As though it was a need to seek out texts.

The lack of author biographies in any publication usually annoys the hell out of me, but there’s something so uncomplicated and graceful about this small publication that I think I might consider the lack of such to be entirely appropriate. I like the poem “The Visitation” by Kelly Hoffer, that includes the lovely opening “my mother    sitting at a table opening / bread    her fingers moving with a bitter / hiccup,” or the two poems by Yuko Otomo. There is a lot worth reading in this small publication, far more than worth the price of admission.

Toronto ON: I’m finally going through my copy of Ayaz Pirani’s chapbook Bachelor of Art (Toronto ON: Anstruther Press, 2020). Currently based in California after time spent studying in Toronto and Montreal, Pirani is the author of multiple poetry titles, including Happy You Are Here (The Word Works, 2016) and Kabir’s Jacket Has a Thousand Pockets (Mawenzi House, 2019), yet this is the first I’ve encountered of his works. Through the eleven poems included in Bachelor of Art, Pirani displays both openness and restraint, articulating that space between two competing arguments of history. There is a fierce, underlying tension to his lines, one that unfolds as a counterpoint to the ease of his thoughtful, engaged lyric. “My language is abridged,” he writes, to open the sequence “Ali’s Tiger,” “thin / as a Bible’s paper.”

Death to America

My voice doesn’t curdle blood.
My first doesn’t rattle the air.

I don’t even know the words
to Death to America.

Why does it bother you
if I whip my own back?

You think the mood might strike
to deliver the worst gift?

The crater I’ll leave behind
is an unwrapped rose,

uninterrupted
like Ngorongoro.


Monday, April 06, 2020

Genevieve Kaplan, (aviary)



The pattern of their beating wings

the instinct is to hurry as the light fades
which is the pattern of their bearing
the pattern (the arc) left behind by its beating
its proud head. it watches and it’s shunned (it leaps
but can’t fly) (footsteps and they all flew). one poses
on each branch, one keeps
its feet

Southern California poet Genevieve Kaplan’s latest is the full-length poetry collection (aviary) (El Paso TX: Veliz Books, 2020), following her full-length debut, In the ice house (Red Hen Press, 2011), as well as the chapbooks In an aviary (Grey Book Press, 2016), travelogue (Dancing Girl, 2016), and settings for these scenes (Convulsive Editions, 2013). Composed amid parenthesis, Kaplan’s (aviary) writes in and around the margins of containment, from imprisonment to safekeeping, wrapped around a consideration of both birds and women as requiring protection, unable to do more than preen, pose and sing. All of this, of course, takes on new and further meanings, given the current state of affairs via the global Covid-19 pandemic. “it is the undeveloped (dead) / the lost there,” she writes, as part of “I’m the moment it begins,” continuing: “the desire / against the fence, beneath / the tree. we were all struggling / we were looking for something / together. an evening, a holding /a tree top, a vantage point / (to better understand the workings / of the system).” Kaplan writes on birds and the garden, writing out both in great detail, constructed from a process of rebuilding upon the work of American poet Mina Loy (1882-1966), as she writes in the endnote to her collection, “PROCESS NOTE”:

Early on in my process of conceptualizing these poems, Mina Loy’s short prose poem “Ladies in an Aviary” leapt onto my desk to suggest itself as an organizing principle, a happy coincidence, a difficult imagination, a devastating image. Loy’s description of women whose “breasts are pouting” (line 1), posing as prize birds inside a cage, watched by onlookers, and waiting for men to select and adorn them, as “love…’tis a woman’s whole existence” (line 12), resonated with the themes of enclosure and identification with the natural world already echoing through my work. As gardens and natural enclosures—the location of the poems in my series—are often considered feminine or feminized spaces, I appreciated that Loy’s poem, with its “sugar of fictitious values” (line 5) and its “nasty sweep of feathers” (line 16), added both recognition and scathing assessment of such a space.

I found Loy’s prose poem compelling, engaging, and strange. In Loy’s words I also discovered possibilities for extending my own language. I use two main methods to incorporate language from her “Ladies in an Aviary.” The first is akin to collage: erasing, alphabetizing, re-arranging, and otherwise permutating Loy’s language to create new poems. My poem “(ladies in an aviary)” is composed by alphabetizing all the words in Loy’s “Ladies…,” making four columns of the alphabetized language, and creating a new poem by reading across those columns. A latter poem, “(vary),” uses a similar permutation, working through Loy’s language alphabetically—and selectively—beginning with “aviary” and ending with “sugar.” These processes highlight elements of Loy’s composition, like the repeated use of the word “sugar,” or the distinctiveness of certain letters and sounds. When Loy’s “man who / brings sugar to the cage” (lines 3-4) becomes my “man, man, massive” (line 17), the man takes on figurative weight, becomes imposing, and in juxtaposition with the previous line “love, lovely, lump” (16), sexual. In other Loy-languaged poems in this series I continue using methods of repetition and variation, curated omission, and visual erasure procedures.

(aviary) is a suite of poems constructed in bursts and fragment, recombination and allusion, and the shape of her book-length suite is reminiscent of how American poet Deborah Poe has also shaped some of her own poetry collections: from the allusive, the fragment and the lyric burst, stretching across a sequence of lines that reach out, turn, continue. As she writes to end the poem “Of the tree in the path”: “the last gasp of the trail / the path, the number of women here, that you / couldn’t help but know. act, drag, the casting / of the wind (too delicate, dear) to rustle much / of such a tree [.]”