Poem of “Gentle, Absentminded Anarchy” in PoetryBay Online

TopianarchyThe latest issue of PoetryBay has just gone up, carrying my poem “Sometimes I Wonder What I Do“, in which I confess to certain abuses of topiary.

I am pleased to be in the company of smart, edgy Americans like Lynn Lyfshin, Mario Susko, and Kitty Jospé. Plus, there is always something fun and unexpected to discover in this longstanding online zine.


<a href="https://soundcloud.com/peakepoetics/sometimes-i-wonder-what-i-do" target="_blank">Click here to listen to "Sometimes I Wonder What I Do" on SoundCloud</a>

Cadences by Kitty Jospé

Kitty Jospé’s debut collection Cadences is a chapbook with a mission: all proceeds from its sale go to the charity Women Helping Girls. Fittingly, the collection touches on mother-daughter issues (including the “in-law” variety). In particular, I am drawn to the way poems juxtaposed in the second section unfold like a map of the emotional landscape of daughterhood, and one daughter in particular coming to terms with her mother’s mental illness.

In “Pulling at the Dark,” the younger daughter is doing her math homework upstairs when her mother “stomps into the rain-slicked night / slamming the door / so it shivers in its frame, / her head screwed tight with a quart of Jim Beam, / her hands held out as if to tear off headlights —  // Stop bugging my house, she roars / with a rake of rigid fingers as if to dig noise, like dirt, / out of the night.” The daughter goes out after her, and observes rough tenderness as, “The policeman grabs her, / pulls the sleeves of the wool sweater down / so the handcuffs won’t bite into her wrists.”

Next, in “Visiting Day,” the daughter visits the presumably older mother in an institution where she “tells me it’s not safe around there and Rita has absconded / with one of her sneakers and Claire stole the sheet of paper / where she was making words out of NOTICE. / I had a whole list —  / ice, tone, tin, tine, tic, ten, cent, once.” The daughter enters the mother’s world of word-making, picking a different sign and, collaboratively, “we start making words from it, / hinges for a story, / once, text, note, lonely.”

It seems for Jospé, words are just this — hinges for a story, keyholes into rooms. Continue reading…