Jizō Bosatsu,1279.
Artist in Japan,
Wood, lacquer, bronze, gold leaf and crystal.
Jizō Bosatsu,1279.
Artist in Japan,
Wood, lacquer, bronze, gold leaf and crystal.
Doug Holder's Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene has posted an excellent review of Teaching While Black written by Gregory J. Wolos.
I feel a exposed.
“The Third Renunciation”—one of my theological sonnets—was published in the latest issue of Spiritus (20.1).
It takes its title from Mary Margaret Funk's discussion of the 4th century monk John Cassian's three-fold denials in order to follow a path of spirituality:
First, we must renounce our former way of life and move closer to our heart’s desire, toward the interior life. Second, we must do the inner work (of asceticism) by renouncing our mindless thoughts.…Third, and finally, we must renounce our own images of God so that we can enter into contemplation of God as God" (Thoughts Matter, 9).
It is also the ‘title track’ of a book of poems I am shopping for publication (so if you like this one, and know anyone who wants to publish a bunch more like it, hit me up).
Recently I became a teacher forced to move his lessons to an online format. I'll only focus on one of the myriad existential crises this has caused.
I now spend a stupid amount of time on the interwebs where, once again, I forgot to shut off my brain. I made the mistake of paying attention, doing deep dives, and reading the comments. Never read the comments. However, this time reminded me of a poem I wrote when similarly disenchanted (and a bit disgusted) with how some conduct themselves from behind the anonymity of screens. It gave me...something new to think about.
This is a true story. Completely true.
Maybe I should send him a copy.
anatomy of an internet troll
you chose five photos to introduce yourself.
two are semi-automatic rifles. in another, a pregnant blonde
wraps an arm around your waist, holds the back of her left hand
to the camera. light winces from diamond to the “meninist”
embossed on your ripped t-shirt. the next cradles your son, newly minted
and in his mother’s arms (it’s four months later. your ring finger remains empty).
in the last, you’re bare-chested and finger gunning the camera, head cocked
to display the faux-mullet and horseshoe mustache that screams, “i actually enjoy
the taste of PBR.” this should have been enough. but i have to know more.
fourteen public photos cover your wall: guns on the kitchen table.
guns riding shotgun in your blue truck. you holding an antique pistol.
your infant son holding your middle finger. your not-yet-fiancé
uncomfortably holding a bolt action. an ill-attended baby shower.
you arching the sky above your blue truck with a flame-thrower—
a tiny American flag on the dashboard. an empty water park.
a dirt bike. two pre-pregnancy date photos. two pictures of the blue truck
you’ll own once you “scrape together the money to have it repaired.”
a cartoon of a priest with his pants down, his wrinkled pink gristle
on the forehead of a child. i click tabs, scroll, and try to understand.
your education stopped at the eleventh grade. you have no ‘Friends’
of color— at least none who will accept you on social media.
one of your white “bros” posted a meme about Black dicks
and white chicks. you smiley face emoji in reply,
but aren’t a racist because the only TV show you ‘Like’
is The Boondocks. no favorite books are listed. your self-assessments
are poignant and many (the use of apostrophes escapes you.
commas are liberally employed like bacon bits on a wilted hotel salad).
you can’t hold down a job because of “drama” in your past, “struggle”
that has not made you stronger. every day you sit in front of the computer
and play video games, “especially in the winter.” you ride your dirt bike,
every day, because you spent $200 on its parts. you enjoy the beach
and every “event that involves drinking,” but never drugs because
you’ve learned that lesson. you believe an “eye for an eye is fair,”
and will blast your music next to me because you wish for me to listen
(you need for me to listen). you feel you are a better person now. and unique.
and humble. and “more intelligent than most.” you describe yourself as
“a human being from the planet earth.” and i nod. and weep.
~ MEH
Show Us Your Papers speaks to a crisis of identity and belonging, to an increasing sense of vulnerability amid rapid changes in the USA. While corporations wait to assign us a number, here are 81 poets who demand full identities, richer than those allowed by documents of every sort. Here are poems of immigration and concentration camps, of refugees and wills, marriage and divorce, of lost correspondence and found parents, of identity theft and medical charts. In an era where the databases multiply, where politicians and tech companies sort us into endless categories, identifying documents serve as thumbtacks. They freeze the dancing, lurching, rising and falling experience of our lives. The disconnect between our documents and our identities is inherent, reductive, frustrating, and, too often, dangerous. Yet we cannot live without them. In this anthology 81 poets offer a richer sense of our lives and histories—richer than any “official paper” allows. These lyric and narrative forms demand that readers recognize our full identities: personal, familial, national, and historical…
It has been widely circulated on social media that Shakespeare likely composed Macbeth, Antony and Cleopatra, and King Lear in the midst of the Black Death. Usually this factoid is shared as a challenge for writers to continue producing work in the midst of COVID-19 pandemic. No pressure.
Taking its title from the ending of Lear, The WEIGHT is a literary blog for high school students who may similarly find themselves in need of a creative outlet. Students with something heavy to get off their chest, and those bored out of their minds at home.
We welcome all sorts of creative writing: poetry, flash fiction, short fiction, creative non-fiction, hybrid, and whatever else you have.
“The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say."
― William Shakespeare, King Lear
Submission guidelines:
We're looking for writing that has something honest to say. Something that releases the WEIGHT/WAIT. That's it. No topic is off-limits. This is not about being "school appropriate."
We are always accepting new submissions from 9-12 grade students (homeschoolers are welcome).
We are publishing on a rolling basis (as we read, review, and accept new material, goes up).
Please submit works not previously published elsewhere (your personal website/blog/social media do NOT count).
Please include a short bio (100 words max) about yourself, including things like where you are, what you do, any past publications, hope and dreams, glass half full/empty.
Poetry: 1-3 poems, up to 6 pages of poetry
Flash Fiction: 1-2 pieces, up to 500 words each
Short Fiction: 1 piece at a time, max 2000 words
Creative Nonfiction: 1 piece at a time, max 2000 words
Something you can’t even classify: 1 piece 1 at a time, max 2000 words
Email your submissions as a doc., docx., or pdf. attachment (not in the body of an email) to theweightjournal@gmail.com
Henry is an educator… who also feels deeply the frustrations incumbent upon being a Black teacher working in schools with a majority of white educators and students. God bless him for that, and even more so, for the frank, humorous, and compassionate poems in his memorable chapbook, Teaching While Black.