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Tag Archives: book

found poem: A book

found poem: I am

found poem: I see

found poem: book

found poem: I saw May

found poem: lines

found poem: I have

found poem: imagine

found poem: surrendering

off the press!

Noisy Water: Poetry from Whatcom County, WashingtonEarly in 2015, Luther Allen (Other Mind Press) started talking about publishing a poetry anthology and asked me if I would co-edit. The poets would have previous publication credits or a strong presence in the local poetry community, and would have lived or made poetry in Whatcom County, Washington, for some period within the last five years.

In early June, invitations went out to about 105 poets, inviting them to submit three of their best recent poems, previously published or not. By mid-July we had submissions from 101 poets.

The collection seemed to call for a title with local resonance, and we chose Noisy Water, which is the translation of the Lummi word Xwotʼqom, from which Whatcom is derived. The wonderful photographer Joe Meche, known particularly for his photographs of birds, agreed to let us use one of his photos of Whatcom Falls on the cover.

We recruited the talented poet (and saxophone player) Ellie A. Rogers as designer (a very smart move) and we contracted with the ever-accommodating Threshold Documents to do the printing.

And then we did about a thousand other little things and suddenly Noisy Water: Poetry from Whatcom County, Washington, is off the press and in our hands! Very exciting.

We have scheduled a series of readings throughout the county, starting in December and running into April. In early December, Noisy Water will be available online (and in person) at Village Books in Bellingham. See more on the Noisy Water web page.

Nothing to it.

found poem: read

found poem: CLOUD

The barest…

musing on Moonlight

The Journal of Albion Moonlight by Kenneth Patchen
The Journal of Albion Moonlight is ragged and scratched, the page edges furred. Aged yellow highlighting has darkened lines and paragraphs; purple underlining leads to exclamation points in the margin. How old was I when it transported me so? Seventeen, eighteen, perhaps. It spoke to the very heart of me, spoke in a language I recognized as my own, as the stark translation of everything in my struggling soul.

I’m afraid to read it again. Afraid that I will find it obscure, meaningless, dark, indulgent. Afraid that it will signal the end of hope, the failure of youth, the disappointment of reality. Going back to Justine, which I had savored like afternoon lust, I found it treacherous, a closed room, joyless and dark — until the very end, when I turned eagerly to the beginning and started to read it again.

Albion Moonlight floats between the bookshelf, the bedside, the kitchen counter, the desk, hoping to be noticed as I ready myself for the confrontation with the girl trapped within its pages.

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