LETTER OF MARQUE: ARTICLE THE THIRTY-FIFTH

ZYX #63 | Various Authors

ZYX is an old school, zine-style literary rag, photocopied and corner stapled, compiled by hand, and featuring editorials, reviews, and poetry from the small press. It comes out every couple of months and showcases some of the best (and some of the most underappreciated) poetic talent in the indie press. Many of the poets are older and not from the digital generation, so this is an outlet to find a lot of awesome, rare work that you can’t find plastered all over the Internet. This little zine is a paper-only, snail-mail publication. And that makes me smile.

The issues always start off with an editorial, journalistic-style rant, or story by editor Arnold Skemer, and they’re usually quite profound (although often laced with tension). Then we segue into reviews of other small-press books, and then into the poetic submissions by others. In this issue, we have: Normal, Alan Catlin, Nathan Whiting, David Stone, J. J. Campbell, B. Z. Niditch, Guy R. Beining, Jean Esteve, Richard Kostelanetz, Simon Perchik, The Poet Spiel, and David Chorlton, with several pieces by each. There is some of the absurd here, as this zine is not afraid to take on experimental work. Excellent outlet to see a sampling of all kinds of work, seriously. And the poem, “softly and tenderly home: a trilogy” by The Poet Spiel is so painfully good that it is worth every red cent this journal costs. (Not that the cost will bleed you, just sayin’.)

My favorite snippets from this issue:

[ ... ]
Somewhere the ghost of Johnny Appleseed is being
Sodomized by the ghost of Walt Whitman unnoticed
In the fields of Gettysburg
Somewhere a hummingbird has taught a madman how to
Forget himself
[ ... ]  (from “The Other Side of Each Hour” by Normal)

[ ... ] Wandering leads to quarry’s
edge, derelict chalk mines, earth moved to make
cement, acres of residual dust, empty huts,
communal centers, workers’ itinerant shacks
left empty when work stopped, equipment was
left to rust, the holes filled with a pasty
accumulation of rain, squalid breeding grounds
for insect larvae skimmed by oils, residues,
a legacy left by thieving landlords, robber barons,
for those unable to move on, those cursed to have
contracted a post-industrial disease of seeing;
where a match strikes water, it burns.  (from “D. H. Lawrence and The Man Who Died” by Alan Catlin)

[ ... ]
Do you collect injuries?
Gems are easier to inherit,
not that we care if our heirs wear
our injuries or our gems.  (from “Health” by Nathan Whiting)

[ ... ]

god’s away on
business and all
the good soldiers
are busy with
virgins

[ ... ]  (from “the letters to santa” by J. J. Campbell)

[ ... ]

how the troops return minus one
sometimes two or more somehow they return
each tour of duty he’s made it back home
     respiring through his tongue like a spent dog

he gets smacked with wet cheers and balloons
but he cannot recall those who greet him
and he does not trust hands that grope him
and the blare of the band spooks him
how eyes in the back of his head
     weigh each twitch in the ruckus
but he doesn’t know which way is home

[ ... ]  (from “softly and tenderly home: a trilogy; the homecoming” by The Poet Spiel)

Now, aren’t you convinced? If you want to see what the independent press is all about, this is the real deal. There’s no price listed, but if you send $2, or maybe just $1 and a #10 SASE with a Forever stamp if $2 breaks you, to the address above, I’m sure you can get a copy.



•This book was sent to me from the publisher because I have corresponded with him.•
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LETTER OF MARQUE: ARTICLE THE EIGHTH

Nibble #8 | Various Authors

Poetry by various authors
28 pages
5 ½” x 8 ½” chapbook
Available here

The joy of nibble comes in knowing that editor Jeff Fleming is psycho about his craft and the words he chooses. He lets very few, but only the best, poems squeak by his honed radar, and the ones that pass are usually damn squeaky (... and I'm not just saying that because I have two, count ’em TWO! poems in this issue or because I adore the editor, but also ...) because nibble never fails, which is why I have two poems in this issue and adore the editor.

nibble. just. doesn't. fail.

My only complaint is that I wish it were longer. Every single issue I think this same thing, I always just wish each one were longer. As a concept various-author chap with the idea being all poems are 20 lines or fewer, hence the chap's title, each issue can be a bit of a breeze-through, albeit a very decent and enjoyable breeze-through.

This issue kicks right off with me (!), can't complain about that, with a poem that Jeff liked the first two lines of so much that he apparently made it the first in the book. I'll go ahead and give my sore back a pat for that because that's a big honor coming from him. The poems here are fairly mysterious, often just snippets of a scene or a moment, intense descriptions of a tiny second, not always complete, not always cohesive, but always vividly poetic, leaving you wanting more, poking your imagination through the ear with a cake tester.

There are many greats and many should-be-greats in this issue, as with every one that came before; the Ed Galing poem is the best I've read from him in a long time, which should have some weight coming from a press that published about twenty of his chapbooks; the staples are here: A. D. Winans, Normal, justin.barrett; and Father Luke's poem is probably my favorite from him that he's written so far, perfectly sad, touching, honest.

Some stand out gems:

From “Consumption” by Kip Knott:

[ ... ]
It meant everything then,
and I would carry the evidence
with me the next day like burns.
[ ... ]

From “Facsimile” by Jenifer Wills:

[ ... ]
In her eyes the sun shines stubborn, casts
the shadow of a smile amidst the bronchitis cough
that persists, pulls at the hem of her skirts
as she works. Born from this sorrow,
a compression explosion, broken glass
and breakfast is served.

And my favorite of the issue, in its entirety and from an author who never fails to amaze, “Planting (for Kaya)” by Rebecca Schumejda:

As your father pushes soil over seeds,
you dig them back up.

“No,” leads to a tantrum
on top of where the summer squash will grow.

Since your father knows how much
of who we are gets planted early;

he wraps explanations
around your trembling body.

In the background, I attack weeds
suffocating roses,

the way I suspect my mother would have
under similar circumstances.

There is another gem here, as well: a poem by a high schooler with Down's Syndrome, and your first reaction is Really? But when you read it, the simple way it flows together, you just collapse into Yes, really. The poem fits perfectly, proving that when it comes to great words, nothing has to matter except great words; and kudos to Jeff for stepping beyond a stereotype and not airing differences or age like a CNN plug. Flows and works perfectly and makes the heart feel warm and fuzzy.

All in all, excellent issue, as always ... It just ends too soon.

•This book was sent to me from the editor/publisher because I have corresponded with him and because I have two poems printed in the issue.•
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LETTER OF MARQUE: ARTICLE THE SIXTH

Cokefishing in Alpha Beat Soup: July 2009 | Various Authors

Poetry
2 pages
11” x 17” broadside
Alpha Beat Press
c/o Dave & Ana Christy
806 E Ridge Ave
Sellersville PA 18960
$1 each, $10 year

Cokefishing is a monthly broadside, or in self-description: “a Beat / Post-Beat independent poetry Beatsheet dedicated to the small press and the way it used to be.” It is old school cut ‘n’ paste as submitted, poems, letters, prose, and pictures; and has the feel of the early nineties zines, before the Internet revolutionized (although not everyone will agree on this word) the way the small press worked. The broadside, although sometimes sloppy from the cut ‘n’ paste, feels good to read, makes me feel like the small press is still alive and kicking and not some corporate whore, as its current state sometimes suggests.

Cokefishing is full of names the small press knows: T. Kilgore Splake, R. Emolo, The Poet Spiel, H D Moe, Normal, even my name in this particular issue, if I am to say the small press knows my name. The flaw of cut ‘n’ paste, of course, is that you take the product as it comes, which means typos, misspellings, commas in random places, all preserved on paper from the authors' negligence or poor judgment, but not a flaw of the one laying out the broadside, per se. As an editor, that gets to me every time, and while I understand it's the nature of the beast, I do wish writers would take more care with their work.

The standout poem of this issue is “in these final moments” by The Poet Spiel, a poem reflecting final thoughts of a passenger or multiple passengers aboard a September 11th flight doomed for the fate we know so well by now. Some snippets:

[ ... ] i wish for
thirty violins to lift me up and out
of here [ ... ]

for all of my life i wish
for greater bulk in my shoulders
for our united lunge forward
[ ... ]

right this moment oh how i wish that
i could just get filthy sick
directly into the foul mouths

of these arabic looking bastards [ ... ]

One copy, one buck. Can't beat that.

•This zine was sent from the editor/publisher because I have previously corresponded with him and because I have poetry contained in this issue.•
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