We had a great reading in Seattle on October 22 for Crab Creek Review. You can view the photos from the event here.
It was an incredible night! I want to personally thank Nin Andrews, Barbara Crooker, Tom C. Hunley & Steel Toe Books (Jeannine Hall Gailey & Mary Biddinger's press!), Jenifer Lawrence, Holly Hughes, and novelist Jennie Shortridge, along with all the editors (Annette Spaulding-Convy, Lana Ayers, Jeannine Gailey,& Ronda Broatch) all who donated books to help with our raffle. People were thrilled to get their books and we enjoyed being able to showcase such incredible writers.
Just so you know, our fiction contest is still open for a couple more weeks and we haven't received a lot of submissions. There's still time for you to enter if you're interested. Check out the guidelines here. The deadline is Nov 30, 2008.
--Kelli
Monday, November 10, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Writer's Notebook featuring Marjorie Manwaring
Thank you, Crab Creek Review editors, for asking me to participate in the Writer’s Notebook.
I wrote the first draft of the poem “You Ask About the Letting Go” over six years ago, worked on revisions for about a year, and then, in frustration, let it lie fallow for about 3-1/2 years. I wasn’t sure it was ever going to go anywhere. Then I started working on it again last year while at a residency at the Whiteley Center. I think the long period of time away from the piece was helpful; it provided me with a certain detachment I hadn’t had before and allowed me to go in and make some “surgical” changes that were needed.
I hadn’t looked at old versions of the poem in some time. But because I’m a pack rat—computer-wise and otherwise (though I’m trying to change my ways!) I had copies of every draft on my hard disk, the earlier ones transferred over from a long since departed computer, and with a few mouse clicks I had the history of the poem before me. (I save a poem with a new version number each time I make substantial changes to it. I find that makes it easier for me to take risks in revisions, because I can “always go back to the way it was.”)
It surprised me that the first line of the poem as it stands now was unchanged from the 2002 version. Early first lines are often “throw-aways” for me—just placeholders that allow me get to where I really want to be. I suspect the line in this poem might have been one of those rare ones that floats into my head unexpectedly and becomes a kind of obsession.
I was in graduate school in 2002 and had been immersing myself in the work of H.D. (Hilda Doolittle). I had originally been attracted to her because of her early poems like “Sea Rose” and “Garden.” I soon realized that while her Imagist work was what she was most known for (“Oread” is her most anthologized poem), her life’s work went way beyond the “no excesses” mantra of Imagism and was informed by her fascination with, among other things, alchemy, mythology, psychoanalysis (she was actually a patient of Sigmund Freud!), and the “re-visioning” of myths and religious stories (“Helen” and the long poem Trilogy are two examples). Friends described H.D. as intense and prone to trances, and she details some of these experiences in Notes on Thoughts and Vision. H.D. was able to access liminal states, what I’ve also seen referred to as “borderlines,” “the wild zone, and “the marginal world.” She once wrote in a letter, “I seem a very between-worlds person.” (Friedman, Penelope’s Web)
I think it’s likely that this notion of “in-between states” influenced “You Ask About the Letting Go.” I like to think that maybe some of the “re-visioning” I’d seen in the writings of H.D. and other poets like Adrienne Rich, Hélène Cixous, and Anne Carson may have influenced how I went about tackling the subject matter of the poem—I knew the scene I wanted to set the poem in, but I didn’t want the voice to be the expected voice.
In terms of the poem’s form, my comfort zone was narrative poetry, but I was reading poets who were writing in fragments, whose words carried mystery and gained cumulative associations when used in circular and repetitive ways. My hope is that some of what was intriguing and pleasurable to me in reading those works managed to find its way into this poem.
Sources:
Friedman, Susan Stanford. Penelope’s Web: Gender, Modernity, H.D.’s Fiction. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1990.
**********
Web sites:
www.mmanwaring.com (includes information on how to get a copy of Marjorie’s chapbook Magic Word)
www.dmqreview.com (the DMQ Review, an online poetry and art journal)
*
I wrote the first draft of the poem “You Ask About the Letting Go” over six years ago, worked on revisions for about a year, and then, in frustration, let it lie fallow for about 3-1/2 years. I wasn’t sure it was ever going to go anywhere. Then I started working on it again last year while at a residency at the Whiteley Center. I think the long period of time away from the piece was helpful; it provided me with a certain detachment I hadn’t had before and allowed me to go in and make some “surgical” changes that were needed.
I hadn’t looked at old versions of the poem in some time. But because I’m a pack rat—computer-wise and otherwise (though I’m trying to change my ways!) I had copies of every draft on my hard disk, the earlier ones transferred over from a long since departed computer, and with a few mouse clicks I had the history of the poem before me. (I save a poem with a new version number each time I make substantial changes to it. I find that makes it easier for me to take risks in revisions, because I can “always go back to the way it was.”)
It surprised me that the first line of the poem as it stands now was unchanged from the 2002 version. Early first lines are often “throw-aways” for me—just placeholders that allow me get to where I really want to be. I suspect the line in this poem might have been one of those rare ones that floats into my head unexpectedly and becomes a kind of obsession.
I was in graduate school in 2002 and had been immersing myself in the work of H.D. (Hilda Doolittle). I had originally been attracted to her because of her early poems like “Sea Rose” and “Garden.” I soon realized that while her Imagist work was what she was most known for (“Oread” is her most anthologized poem), her life’s work went way beyond the “no excesses” mantra of Imagism and was informed by her fascination with, among other things, alchemy, mythology, psychoanalysis (she was actually a patient of Sigmund Freud!), and the “re-visioning” of myths and religious stories (“Helen” and the long poem Trilogy are two examples). Friends described H.D. as intense and prone to trances, and she details some of these experiences in Notes on Thoughts and Vision. H.D. was able to access liminal states, what I’ve also seen referred to as “borderlines,” “the wild zone, and “the marginal world.” She once wrote in a letter, “I seem a very between-worlds person.” (Friedman, Penelope’s Web)
I think it’s likely that this notion of “in-between states” influenced “You Ask About the Letting Go.” I like to think that maybe some of the “re-visioning” I’d seen in the writings of H.D. and other poets like Adrienne Rich, Hélène Cixous, and Anne Carson may have influenced how I went about tackling the subject matter of the poem—I knew the scene I wanted to set the poem in, but I didn’t want the voice to be the expected voice.
In terms of the poem’s form, my comfort zone was narrative poetry, but I was reading poets who were writing in fragments, whose words carried mystery and gained cumulative associations when used in circular and repetitive ways. My hope is that some of what was intriguing and pleasurable to me in reading those works managed to find its way into this poem.
Sources:
Friedman, Susan Stanford. Penelope’s Web: Gender, Modernity, H.D.’s Fiction. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1990.
**********
Web sites:
www.mmanwaring.com (includes information on how to get a copy of Marjorie’s chapbook Magic Word)
www.dmqreview.com (the DMQ Review, an online poetry and art journal)
*
Sunday, October 12, 2008
With Thanks to Natasha Moni
Annette & I are thrilled to be editing Crab Creek Review. Since coming on, we have been busy trying to continue the upward swing of the magazine and reach out to new readers and writers, but we want to take a moment to say thank you. We feel so lucky to have joined into such a strong team. And we hope our expanding team of people will help make things easier for all and help make our journal stronger for our readers. Thank you all for your help and support.
We also wanted to take some time to thank the last editor, Natasha Moni, who did so much for Crab Creek Review to keep it going and active in the literary arts world. We are so thankful for all that she did and also for her continuing ongoing support and friendship.
So this week, we'd like to share with you a lovely thank you post our incredible poetry editor, Lana Hechtman Ayers wrote for Natasha to let us all say thank you more formally and share a little more about her and what she did. We wish Natasha well in her travels, her writing, and her life. Good luck to you, Natasha! We will miss you!
--Kelli & Annette
* * *
As Natasha Kochicheril Moni, Crab Creek Review's former editor-in-chief, heads to sunny California for her next big adventure in life we wish her a thrilling journey.
Natasha came aboard as a staff editor for Crab Creek a few years back, just as all the long-time editors were about to part ways. She soon found herself one of two remaining staff, the other, Emily Bedard, pregnant and about to exit for her adventure into new motherhood. Natasha had two options—let the journal die a quiet death or try to recruit a whole new staff to keep it going. Crab Creek Review is an independent, nonprofit and all its staff members have always been volunteers. Finding folks who have the skill, time, and energy to donate to nonprofits is a daunting task. Add to that the fact that the coffers were pretty near dry, so in addition to finding qualified staff, she'd need to raise a lot of funds just to get out an issue or two. Crab Creek had been around for over twenty years and was always one of Natasha's favorite journals. She understood that one less literary journal meant much less beauty and goodness in the world, the potential silencing of necessary voices.
So Natasha rose to the occasion like the true hero she is. She consulted friends, former editors, advertised on Craigslist, did whatever it took to find a staff that would be willing to go the distance with her. Then she undertook the intimidating fundraising campaign. She wrote letters, applied for grants, hit up family and friends. In a short time, her tireless efforts were rewarded with enough funds to publish for nearly two years. Managing a literary journal is a full time job she had to cram in with gainful employment, relationships, and her own writing life. Natasha gave of herself no matter the sacrifice to see to it that Crab Creek not only stayed in business, but also surpassed its reputation as one the finest literary journals in the country.
As poetry editor for the last two issues it has been a privilege to work with Natasha. Her dedication and integrity have been inspiring. She is both grounded and innovative—a rare combination. Our staff meetings were not only productive, but also great fun. It's been the best working environment I've ever experienced. And most of all, I am proud and honored to have gained in Natasha a true friend.
Her final act as editor-in-chief was to find a way to fill her shoes. In doing so, she recruited Kelli Russell Agodon and Annette Spaulding-Convy as co-editors, thus ensuring the journal's brilliant future. Natasha, you will be greatly missed, but your legacy of excellence at Crab Creek will continue on.
--Lana Hechtman Ayers
We also wanted to take some time to thank the last editor, Natasha Moni, who did so much for Crab Creek Review to keep it going and active in the literary arts world. We are so thankful for all that she did and also for her continuing ongoing support and friendship.
So this week, we'd like to share with you a lovely thank you post our incredible poetry editor, Lana Hechtman Ayers wrote for Natasha to let us all say thank you more formally and share a little more about her and what she did. We wish Natasha well in her travels, her writing, and her life. Good luck to you, Natasha! We will miss you!
--Kelli & Annette
* * *
As Natasha Kochicheril Moni, Crab Creek Review's former editor-in-chief, heads to sunny California for her next big adventure in life we wish her a thrilling journey.
Natasha came aboard as a staff editor for Crab Creek a few years back, just as all the long-time editors were about to part ways. She soon found herself one of two remaining staff, the other, Emily Bedard, pregnant and about to exit for her adventure into new motherhood. Natasha had two options—let the journal die a quiet death or try to recruit a whole new staff to keep it going. Crab Creek Review is an independent, nonprofit and all its staff members have always been volunteers. Finding folks who have the skill, time, and energy to donate to nonprofits is a daunting task. Add to that the fact that the coffers were pretty near dry, so in addition to finding qualified staff, she'd need to raise a lot of funds just to get out an issue or two. Crab Creek had been around for over twenty years and was always one of Natasha's favorite journals. She understood that one less literary journal meant much less beauty and goodness in the world, the potential silencing of necessary voices.
So Natasha rose to the occasion like the true hero she is. She consulted friends, former editors, advertised on Craigslist, did whatever it took to find a staff that would be willing to go the distance with her. Then she undertook the intimidating fundraising campaign. She wrote letters, applied for grants, hit up family and friends. In a short time, her tireless efforts were rewarded with enough funds to publish for nearly two years. Managing a literary journal is a full time job she had to cram in with gainful employment, relationships, and her own writing life. Natasha gave of herself no matter the sacrifice to see to it that Crab Creek not only stayed in business, but also surpassed its reputation as one the finest literary journals in the country.
As poetry editor for the last two issues it has been a privilege to work with Natasha. Her dedication and integrity have been inspiring. She is both grounded and innovative—a rare combination. Our staff meetings were not only productive, but also great fun. It's been the best working environment I've ever experienced. And most of all, I am proud and honored to have gained in Natasha a true friend.
Her final act as editor-in-chief was to find a way to fill her shoes. In doing so, she recruited Kelli Russell Agodon and Annette Spaulding-Convy as co-editors, thus ensuring the journal's brilliant future. Natasha, you will be greatly missed, but your legacy of excellence at Crab Creek will continue on.
--Lana Hechtman Ayers
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The Writer's Notebook featuring Barbara Crooker
Dear Readers,
Today for our series, The Writer's Notebook, I'd like to introduce Barbara Crooker, a wonderful poet whose new book Line Dance came out from Word Press this year. We'd also like to thank Barbara for donating her books and a broadside to help support Crab Creek Review at our upcoming reading; we so appreciate the great support from writers we've received recently.
Below you'll find a couple poems from Barbara and something interesting thoughts on the topic "poetry as therapy."
Thanks for inviting me to join this conversation. I've been thinking lately about poetry as therapy, partly because of an email conversation with a new friend who's a former therapist, and partly because my own dear mother passed away recently, and this weekend, we brought her ashes to Cape Cod, to be scattered on the beach where my father's ashes lie. Mom had been ill with emphysema for over ten years, so I both witnessed and chronicled her slow decline.
Here are two poems from our previous trips:
EATING MELTAWAYS IN HARWICHPORT
It's been four years since my father died,
and it seems like I'm becoming him,
driving my mother to this sandy spit
where we vacation with their friends
of thirty years, go to thrift shops
and lobster roll lunches at the white
Congregational church, admire the blue
hydrangeas bobbing along the picket fence.
This year, death's been busy as a surfcaster
on a moon-filled night, blues and stripers
running wild, reeling them in one after another:
Dottie talking on the phone, Merrick dozing
in his recliner, cancer's heavy weather
taking Jean and Clare, and only Mom and I remain.
We're sitting at our favorite restaurant, stirring
sugar in iced tea, hearing the little cubes tinkle
like wind chimes. I want to skip the next chapter,
stay here like this, life rolling on predictable
as morning fog, or thick milky chowder, the sun,
a pat of butter, melting through. Our waitress,
in a white apron and pink uniform, her name scrolled
on her left breast, waits with a pad of paper:
"The meltaways just came out of the oven," she says,
"Can you smell them? I can put them in a box
if you don't have room for now."
previously published in Nimrod
THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER
strip the leaves off the sycamores; they scuttle down
the street like an army of fiddler crabs crazed for the sea.
In the hospital, my mother's breathing grows more
and more labored, difficult without the silver ribbon
of oxygen in her nose- This year, we didn't get to see
the ocean off Cape Cod, hear the gulls call, watch the waves
hurl themselves on the sand, or feel the fog turn the night air
milky as chowder. Though she's still here, already she's starting
to fade, a clipping yellowing in a drawer, a snapshot
in a black album. The tide goes out, erasing our footprints;
the wind knocks the last leaves from the tree.
Previously published in The South Carolina Review
So, did writing these poems (and many others) prepare me for the great waves of grief I experienced at her passing? Of course not. And yet. Because the other side of me thinks that emotions not expressed fester inside us, creating worse scars, and other problems. Since she passed in early August, I've been writing and writing and writing. I need more time to see if any of them turn out to be any good, but my heart, at least, is lighter than I think it would be.
Some years ago, a close friend was diagnosed with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer. I think we thought if we talked about it, the worst wouldn't happen, but of course, it did. I hadn't intended to write anything, but the poems came and kept on coming during those three years, and they ended up as a chapbook, The White Poems. (Barnwood Press)(http://www.bsu.edu/classes/koontz/barnwood/indbks/bc.htm)
Here's one of the last poems in the book:
REQUIEM
for Judy
It is early March, each day a little bit greener,
crocus and snowdrops already in bloom, daffodils
sending up the tips of their spears.
When summer comes, we will take you to the river,
trickle your ashes through our fingers.
You will return to us in rain and snow,
season after season, roses, daisies, asters,
chrysanthemums. Wait for us on the other side.
The maple trees let go their red-gold leaves in fall;
in spring, apple blossoms blow to the ground
in the slightest breeze, a dusting of snow.
Let our prayers lift you, small and fine as they are,
like the breath of a sleeping baby. There is never
enough time. It runs through our fingers like water
in a stream. How many springs are enough,
peepers calling in the swamps? How many firefly-spangled
summers? Your father is waiting on the river bank,
he has two fishing poles and is baiting your hook.
Cross over, fish are rising to the surface,
a great blue heron stalks in the cattails,
the morning mist is rising, and the sun is breaking
through. Go, and let our hearts be broken.
We will not forget you.
previously published in Vol No
It could have been written for my mother. Maybe it could have been written for you?
What's very strange is that the poem was written about three years before her husband and I took her ashes to the river; it's amazing to me how sometimes poems possess knowledge and lives of their own. It didn't stop the pain, but surely it stitched the wound, put a clean patch on it.
So while I don't think poetry is therapy; ie, I'm not writing to heal myself, but rather, to craft an object, the best way that I can, I think that many times it ends up functioning as therapy, in spite of itself. And surely, there's nothing wrong with that.
~Barbara Crooker
*
Our thanks to Barbara Crooker for her words.
To learn more about Barbara Crooker & learn more about her work please visit these links--
www.barbaracrooker.com
books: Line Dance: http://www.word-press.com/crooker_linedance.html
Radiance: http://www.word-press.com/crooker.html
Today for our series, The Writer's Notebook, I'd like to introduce Barbara Crooker, a wonderful poet whose new book Line Dance came out from Word Press this year. We'd also like to thank Barbara for donating her books and a broadside to help support Crab Creek Review at our upcoming reading; we so appreciate the great support from writers we've received recently.
Below you'll find a couple poems from Barbara and something interesting thoughts on the topic "poetry as therapy."
Thanks for inviting me to join this conversation. I've been thinking lately about poetry as therapy, partly because of an email conversation with a new friend who's a former therapist, and partly because my own dear mother passed away recently, and this weekend, we brought her ashes to Cape Cod, to be scattered on the beach where my father's ashes lie. Mom had been ill with emphysema for over ten years, so I both witnessed and chronicled her slow decline.
Here are two poems from our previous trips:
EATING MELTAWAYS IN HARWICHPORT
It's been four years since my father died,
and it seems like I'm becoming him,
driving my mother to this sandy spit
where we vacation with their friends
of thirty years, go to thrift shops
and lobster roll lunches at the white
Congregational church, admire the blue
hydrangeas bobbing along the picket fence.
This year, death's been busy as a surfcaster
on a moon-filled night, blues and stripers
running wild, reeling them in one after another:
Dottie talking on the phone, Merrick dozing
in his recliner, cancer's heavy weather
taking Jean and Clare, and only Mom and I remain.
We're sitting at our favorite restaurant, stirring
sugar in iced tea, hearing the little cubes tinkle
like wind chimes. I want to skip the next chapter,
stay here like this, life rolling on predictable
as morning fog, or thick milky chowder, the sun,
a pat of butter, melting through. Our waitress,
in a white apron and pink uniform, her name scrolled
on her left breast, waits with a pad of paper:
"The meltaways just came out of the oven," she says,
"Can you smell them? I can put them in a box
if you don't have room for now."
previously published in Nimrod
THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER
strip the leaves off the sycamores; they scuttle down
the street like an army of fiddler crabs crazed for the sea.
In the hospital, my mother's breathing grows more
and more labored, difficult without the silver ribbon
of oxygen in her nose- This year, we didn't get to see
the ocean off Cape Cod, hear the gulls call, watch the waves
hurl themselves on the sand, or feel the fog turn the night air
milky as chowder. Though she's still here, already she's starting
to fade, a clipping yellowing in a drawer, a snapshot
in a black album. The tide goes out, erasing our footprints;
the wind knocks the last leaves from the tree.
Previously published in The South Carolina Review
So, did writing these poems (and many others) prepare me for the great waves of grief I experienced at her passing? Of course not. And yet. Because the other side of me thinks that emotions not expressed fester inside us, creating worse scars, and other problems. Since she passed in early August, I've been writing and writing and writing. I need more time to see if any of them turn out to be any good, but my heart, at least, is lighter than I think it would be.
Some years ago, a close friend was diagnosed with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer. I think we thought if we talked about it, the worst wouldn't happen, but of course, it did. I hadn't intended to write anything, but the poems came and kept on coming during those three years, and they ended up as a chapbook, The White Poems. (Barnwood Press)(http://www.bsu.edu/classes/koontz/barnwood/indbks/bc.htm)
Here's one of the last poems in the book:
REQUIEM
for Judy
It is early March, each day a little bit greener,
crocus and snowdrops already in bloom, daffodils
sending up the tips of their spears.
When summer comes, we will take you to the river,
trickle your ashes through our fingers.
You will return to us in rain and snow,
season after season, roses, daisies, asters,
chrysanthemums. Wait for us on the other side.
The maple trees let go their red-gold leaves in fall;
in spring, apple blossoms blow to the ground
in the slightest breeze, a dusting of snow.
Let our prayers lift you, small and fine as they are,
like the breath of a sleeping baby. There is never
enough time. It runs through our fingers like water
in a stream. How many springs are enough,
peepers calling in the swamps? How many firefly-spangled
summers? Your father is waiting on the river bank,
he has two fishing poles and is baiting your hook.
Cross over, fish are rising to the surface,
a great blue heron stalks in the cattails,
the morning mist is rising, and the sun is breaking
through. Go, and let our hearts be broken.
We will not forget you.
previously published in Vol No
It could have been written for my mother. Maybe it could have been written for you?
What's very strange is that the poem was written about three years before her husband and I took her ashes to the river; it's amazing to me how sometimes poems possess knowledge and lives of their own. It didn't stop the pain, but surely it stitched the wound, put a clean patch on it.
So while I don't think poetry is therapy; ie, I'm not writing to heal myself, but rather, to craft an object, the best way that I can, I think that many times it ends up functioning as therapy, in spite of itself. And surely, there's nothing wrong with that.
~Barbara Crooker
*
Our thanks to Barbara Crooker for her words.
To learn more about Barbara Crooker & learn more about her work please visit these links--
www.barbaracrooker.com
books: Line Dance: http://www.word-press.com/crooker_linedance.html
Radiance: http://www.word-press.com/crooker.html
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Richard Hugo House Reading and a Special Thanks to Writers--
We are excited about our upcoming reading at Seattle's Richard Hugo House on Wednesday, October 22, 2008 at 7 pm for a few reasons.
The first is that we have an outstanding group of readers who will be their work:
Kathleen Alcala
Jim Bertolino
Ronda Broatch
Kathleen Flenniken
Marjorie Manwaring
Kay Mullen
Monica Schley
Monica Schley is also a harpist who will be playing a few selections during the evening as well.
The second is the generosity of these writers:
Nin Andrews
Barbara Crooker
Holly Hughes
Tom Hunley & his press Steel Toe Books
Jennifer Lawrence
Jennie Shortridge
who have all donated books and literary items to be part of a drawing at the reading. We want to give them our deepest thanks for supporting our journal.
So not only does the reading have a spectular group of poets, but we are also having drawings throughout the event for some wonderful literary items below--
Signed novels by Jennie Shortridge including Riding with the Queen, Eating Heaven, Love and Biology at the Center of the Universe
Signed books from Tom Hunley of Steel Toe Books
Jenifer Lawrence's signed copy of first edition One Hundred Steps From Shore
Holly Hughes' broadside & signed chapbook, Boxing the Compass, winner of the Floating Bridge Chapbook Award
Signed book of poems from Barbara Crooker
Signed books from Nin Andrews
Editors' Bundle featuring signed copies of In the Convent We Become Clouds by Annette Spaulding-Convy, Small Knots by Kelli Russell Agodon, Becoming the Villainess by Jeannine Hall Gailey, Love is a Weed by Lana Hechtman Ayers, and Shedding Our Skins by Ronda Broatch.
And of course, with Hugo House there is always wine and coffee available, so please mark your calendars for Wednesday, October 22nd so you can join in the literary festivities with us.
So please join us--
Crab Creek Review Reading: Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Contributors from the Spring/Summer '08 Issue
read their work Oct. 22, 2008 at 7 pm
Richard Hugo House
1634 11th Avenue
Seattle, WA
The first is that we have an outstanding group of readers who will be their work:
Kathleen Alcala
Jim Bertolino
Ronda Broatch
Kathleen Flenniken
Marjorie Manwaring
Kay Mullen
Monica Schley
Monica Schley is also a harpist who will be playing a few selections during the evening as well.
The second is the generosity of these writers:
Nin Andrews
Barbara Crooker
Holly Hughes
Tom Hunley & his press Steel Toe Books
Jennifer Lawrence
Jennie Shortridge
who have all donated books and literary items to be part of a drawing at the reading. We want to give them our deepest thanks for supporting our journal.
So not only does the reading have a spectular group of poets, but we are also having drawings throughout the event for some wonderful literary items below--
Signed novels by Jennie Shortridge including Riding with the Queen, Eating Heaven, Love and Biology at the Center of the Universe
Signed books from Tom Hunley of Steel Toe Books
Jenifer Lawrence's signed copy of first edition One Hundred Steps From Shore
Holly Hughes' broadside & signed chapbook, Boxing the Compass, winner of the Floating Bridge Chapbook Award
Signed book of poems from Barbara Crooker
Signed books from Nin Andrews
Editors' Bundle featuring signed copies of In the Convent We Become Clouds by Annette Spaulding-Convy, Small Knots by Kelli Russell Agodon, Becoming the Villainess by Jeannine Hall Gailey, Love is a Weed by Lana Hechtman Ayers, and Shedding Our Skins by Ronda Broatch.
And of course, with Hugo House there is always wine and coffee available, so please mark your calendars for Wednesday, October 22nd so you can join in the literary festivities with us.
So please join us--
Crab Creek Review Reading: Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Contributors from the Spring/Summer '08 Issue
read their work Oct. 22, 2008 at 7 pm
Richard Hugo House
1634 11th Avenue
Seattle, WA
Monday, September 1, 2008
Notes on Writing “Stuck Inside”
Dear Readers,
We are beginning a series here at our Crab Creek Review blog that will feature some of the poets we have published in previous issues talking about their work, the writing life, and other creative and literary topics.
I'm pleased to announce our first poet-blogger in this series will be Julene Tripp Weaver whose poem "Stuck Inside" was featured in our current issue.
Below you will find her poem and her thoughts about writing and how her poem came to be.
We hope you enjoy this new series!
Kelli Russell Agodon
__________________________________
Stuck Inside
A little man bucking and barking fights with a ceiling built over his head but, one inch shorter than he is. His neck bent he paces complaining of the short wall and the people who built it.
He doesn’t have enough money to redo the wall. It should have been built right to start with.
He sits and can only think of his too low ceiling.
He goes outside and stretches, but outside he is not inside and it is cold, so he goes back into
his house where he feels trapped.
He cries, empties his pockets, takes off his shoes, crawls on his knees but nothing will help, nothing.
His girlfriend really doesn’t understand, she’s fine in his space, but she’s five inches shorter than him.
She says, “Oh Honey, lets lie down in bed and stretch out, I’ll bring you some relaxing tea.”
He continues to fume about the wall height.
They hardly have fun any longer because he is preoccupied with the ceiling.
“Perhaps you could move,” she says. She’s said it before.
“I can’t move, I can’t afford to move,” he says, his gritted teeth in his tilted head look like fangs of a wolf.
She shivers and says, “We could go to my place,” wondering if he’d be happier living with her at her apartment. But inside she doesn’t want him there. He’s grumpy and she wonders what he would find to rail against.
“Your place? Fine, if I want to roast my body like a cashew over a fire,” he says, his voice a growl.
“Honey, I think I’ll go now, I need to stop by my mother’s with some cabbage,” she says gathering her coat.
He hardly notices when she leaves.
by Julene Tripp Weaver
from Crab Creek Review, Spring/Summer 2008
* * *
Notes on Writing “Stuck Inside”
When the editors at Crab Creek Review asked me how I came to write “Stuck Inside” I answered, “Sometimes the little people sit in my head and tell me stories—this is one of them.” This poem captures a mindset of someone unable to see outside their own story. In my work with people living with AIDS I watch people spin the same stories repeatedly; I am continually confronted with the confirmation of how tightly each of us are wrapped in our own belief systems. Our thinking moves in set groves to what we tell ourselves, and the more we repeat it without change, or at a faster speed the more set it becomes. AIDS now has a new story, yet many are unable to change their story of what AIDS means.
One way of changing a story is by slowing it down, interrupting the pattern by changing it ever so slightly. Gertrude Stein was a master at this repetition that is always changing. In her view each repetition has a different insistence with subtle changes, like a birdcall.
I’ve been obsessed. As an adolescent one of the books that changed my life was Jane Roberts’ The Nature of Personal Reality. It opened my mind to the understanding that our lives are what we make them by what we believe is possible. There is a mirror-like paradox in how we see ourselves when we are locked inside a reality we do not know can change. The quandary of self-perpetuating beliefs, how we only see what we can see, has hounded me for decades as I’ve lived my life experimenting with how I make change.
Since reading this channeled book, I’ve explored many realities and played with edges—intentionally wondering how deeply I could tip the balance of one worldview into the next. I’ve wondered about getting stuck in the mundane, and the repetitive mass of cultural norms. I slip in and out of the roles of observer, listener, describer, in my work, my writing, and my life. I love William Stafford’s writings on writing—his idea of picking a strand, a thought wave, or a sensory impulse in the moment, and letting it lead.
Emilie Conrad[1] is one of my personal icons. In the many intensive workshops I’ve taken with her since 1988, she has been a guide in my quest to identity and how we create change; an example is her process of founding Continuum Movement. Emilie and Rebecca Mark[2] create a container and lead an experiential process for hand-to-page exploration at yearly workshops combining Continuum Movement and language. This involves a slowed down process using sound, movement, and pauses to create interruption and perturbation of the senses. These intensives have helped me come to a place in my writing where I write fluidly. Rebecca has taught me there is no such thing as writers block, and there is no separation between movement and writing. Now when a voice, or a sensation, rings through me I write easily. This poem came in the particular voice of a young woman with a boyfriend who felt trapped. He is like so many obsessed in whatever life trauma they are living out.
In The Triggering Town Richard Hugo says, “Never want to say anything so strongly that you give up the option of finding something better. If you have to say it you will.” My poem “Stuck Inside” found me after many attempts to write about people stuck in their own stories. I was in a conversation with a friend about a topic we’d discussed many times, and the voice started; my friend suddenly was a man in a house too small. I grabbed my pen and started writing. Like William Stafford, one line led to the next as I attended to the story this new voice gave to me. All my earlier failed poems around this topic are now superseded.
Julene Tripp Weaver
http://www.drizzle.com/~newroots
__________________________________
[1] Emily Conrad is author of Life on Land, in which she talks about founding Continuum.[1] Rebecca Mark is a tenured professor at Tulane University and author of The Dragon’s Blood: Feminist Intertextuality in Eudora Welty’s Fiction.
* * *
Read more work from Julene and learn about her projects at her website: http://www.drizzle.com/~newroots
We are beginning a series here at our Crab Creek Review blog that will feature some of the poets we have published in previous issues talking about their work, the writing life, and other creative and literary topics.
I'm pleased to announce our first poet-blogger in this series will be Julene Tripp Weaver whose poem "Stuck Inside" was featured in our current issue.
Below you will find her poem and her thoughts about writing and how her poem came to be.
We hope you enjoy this new series!
Kelli Russell Agodon
__________________________________
Stuck Inside
A little man bucking and barking fights with a ceiling built over his head but, one inch shorter than he is. His neck bent he paces complaining of the short wall and the people who built it.
He doesn’t have enough money to redo the wall. It should have been built right to start with.
He sits and can only think of his too low ceiling.
He goes outside and stretches, but outside he is not inside and it is cold, so he goes back into
his house where he feels trapped.
He cries, empties his pockets, takes off his shoes, crawls on his knees but nothing will help, nothing.
His girlfriend really doesn’t understand, she’s fine in his space, but she’s five inches shorter than him.
She says, “Oh Honey, lets lie down in bed and stretch out, I’ll bring you some relaxing tea.”
He continues to fume about the wall height.
They hardly have fun any longer because he is preoccupied with the ceiling.
“Perhaps you could move,” she says. She’s said it before.
“I can’t move, I can’t afford to move,” he says, his gritted teeth in his tilted head look like fangs of a wolf.
She shivers and says, “We could go to my place,” wondering if he’d be happier living with her at her apartment. But inside she doesn’t want him there. He’s grumpy and she wonders what he would find to rail against.
“Your place? Fine, if I want to roast my body like a cashew over a fire,” he says, his voice a growl.
“Honey, I think I’ll go now, I need to stop by my mother’s with some cabbage,” she says gathering her coat.
He hardly notices when she leaves.
by Julene Tripp Weaver
from Crab Creek Review, Spring/Summer 2008
* * *
Notes on Writing “Stuck Inside”
When the editors at Crab Creek Review asked me how I came to write “Stuck Inside” I answered, “Sometimes the little people sit in my head and tell me stories—this is one of them.” This poem captures a mindset of someone unable to see outside their own story. In my work with people living with AIDS I watch people spin the same stories repeatedly; I am continually confronted with the confirmation of how tightly each of us are wrapped in our own belief systems. Our thinking moves in set groves to what we tell ourselves, and the more we repeat it without change, or at a faster speed the more set it becomes. AIDS now has a new story, yet many are unable to change their story of what AIDS means.
One way of changing a story is by slowing it down, interrupting the pattern by changing it ever so slightly. Gertrude Stein was a master at this repetition that is always changing. In her view each repetition has a different insistence with subtle changes, like a birdcall.
I’ve been obsessed. As an adolescent one of the books that changed my life was Jane Roberts’ The Nature of Personal Reality. It opened my mind to the understanding that our lives are what we make them by what we believe is possible. There is a mirror-like paradox in how we see ourselves when we are locked inside a reality we do not know can change. The quandary of self-perpetuating beliefs, how we only see what we can see, has hounded me for decades as I’ve lived my life experimenting with how I make change.
Since reading this channeled book, I’ve explored many realities and played with edges—intentionally wondering how deeply I could tip the balance of one worldview into the next. I’ve wondered about getting stuck in the mundane, and the repetitive mass of cultural norms. I slip in and out of the roles of observer, listener, describer, in my work, my writing, and my life. I love William Stafford’s writings on writing—his idea of picking a strand, a thought wave, or a sensory impulse in the moment, and letting it lead.
Emilie Conrad[1] is one of my personal icons. In the many intensive workshops I’ve taken with her since 1988, she has been a guide in my quest to identity and how we create change; an example is her process of founding Continuum Movement. Emilie and Rebecca Mark[2] create a container and lead an experiential process for hand-to-page exploration at yearly workshops combining Continuum Movement and language. This involves a slowed down process using sound, movement, and pauses to create interruption and perturbation of the senses. These intensives have helped me come to a place in my writing where I write fluidly. Rebecca has taught me there is no such thing as writers block, and there is no separation between movement and writing. Now when a voice, or a sensation, rings through me I write easily. This poem came in the particular voice of a young woman with a boyfriend who felt trapped. He is like so many obsessed in whatever life trauma they are living out.
In The Triggering Town Richard Hugo says, “Never want to say anything so strongly that you give up the option of finding something better. If you have to say it you will.” My poem “Stuck Inside” found me after many attempts to write about people stuck in their own stories. I was in a conversation with a friend about a topic we’d discussed many times, and the voice started; my friend suddenly was a man in a house too small. I grabbed my pen and started writing. Like William Stafford, one line led to the next as I attended to the story this new voice gave to me. All my earlier failed poems around this topic are now superseded.
Julene Tripp Weaver
http://www.drizzle.com/~newroots
__________________________________
[1] Emily Conrad is author of Life on Land, in which she talks about founding Continuum.[1] Rebecca Mark is a tenured professor at Tulane University and author of The Dragon’s Blood: Feminist Intertextuality in Eudora Welty’s Fiction.
* * *
Read more work from Julene and learn about her projects at her website: http://www.drizzle.com/~newroots
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Hugo House Reading, Wednesday, October 22nd
Along with a great reading at Hugo House, we'll also have a raffle and some of the items will include--
Signed books from Nin Andrews including Sleeping with Houdini and the Book of Orgasms
6 signed novels by Jennie Shortridge including Riding with the Queen, Eating Heaven, Love and Biology at the Center of the Universe
Books from Tom Hunley of Steel Toe Books
Jenifer Lawrence's first edition One Hundred Steps From Shore
Holly Hughes' broadside & signed chapbook, Boxing the Compass, winner of the Floating Bridge Chapbook Award
Signed book of poems from Barbara Crooker
Editors' Bundle featuring signed copies of In the Convent We Become Clouds by Annette Spaulding-Convy, Small Knots by Kelli Russell Agodon, Becoming the Villainess by Jeannine Hall Gailey, Love is a Weed, by Lana Hechtman Ayers, and Shedding Our Skins by Ronda Broatch.
* * * *
We dearly thank our authors
Nin Andrews
Jennie Shortridge
Tom Hunley
Barbara Crooker
Holly Hughes
Jenifer Lawrence
who generously their donated books!
Signed books from Nin Andrews including Sleeping with Houdini and the Book of Orgasms
6 signed novels by Jennie Shortridge including Riding with the Queen, Eating Heaven, Love and Biology at the Center of the Universe
Books from Tom Hunley of Steel Toe Books
Jenifer Lawrence's first edition One Hundred Steps From Shore
Holly Hughes' broadside & signed chapbook, Boxing the Compass, winner of the Floating Bridge Chapbook Award
Signed book of poems from Barbara Crooker
Editors' Bundle featuring signed copies of In the Convent We Become Clouds by Annette Spaulding-Convy, Small Knots by Kelli Russell Agodon, Becoming the Villainess by Jeannine Hall Gailey, Love is a Weed, by Lana Hechtman Ayers, and Shedding Our Skins by Ronda Broatch.
* * * *
We dearly thank our authors
Nin Andrews
Jennie Shortridge
Tom Hunley
Barbara Crooker
Holly Hughes
Jenifer Lawrence
who generously their donated books!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Press Release: Oct. 22nd Hugo House Reading
Writers from Crab Creek Review’s Spring/Summer ‘08 Issue
Read at Richard Hugo House in Seattle
Seattle, Washington, August 22, 2008—Crab Creek Review celebrates its Spring/Summer ’08 Issue with an evening of poetry and fiction. Writers James Bertolino, Kathleen Flenniken, Kathleen Alcala, Marjorie Manwaring, Kay Mullen, Ronda Broatch, Brendan McBreen and Monica Schley will read from their work on Wednesday, October 22nd, 7pm, at Richard Hugo House in Seattle. The celebration will include musical selections from poet and harpist Monica Schley and drawings for signed, first edition books. The event is free and is open to the public.
Bellingham poet James Bertolino is the author of nine volumes of poetry published by Copper Canyon Press, Carnegie Mellon University Press, the QRL Award Series, among others, and is the recipient of numerous awards, including the 2007 Jeanne Lohmann Poetry Prize. Co-editor of Floating Bridge Press, Kathleen Flenniken is the author of Famous, which won the 2006 Prairie Schooner Book Prize and was a finalist for the Washington State Book Award. Bainbridge Island writer, Kathleen Alcala, author of five books and co-founder of The Raven Chronicles, teaches in the Whidbey Island Writers Association MFA Program. Poet and freelance writer, Marjorie Manwaring is an associate editor for the online journal, DMQ Review, and author of Magic Word (2007). Kay Mullen is the author of two full length poetry collections, Let Morning Begin (2001) and A Long Remembering: Return to Vietnam (2006). Kingston poet Ronda Broatch is the author of Some Other Eden (2005) and Shedding Our Skins (2008). Brendan McBreen is a member of Auburn’s Striped Water Poets and is published in various places, including Leading Edge and Bellowing Arc. Monica Schley is a poet, harpist, and performer whose poetry has appeared in Burnside Review and The Raven Chronicles, among others.
Celebrating its twenty-fifth year in the Pacific Northwest, Crab Creek Review is an independent literary journal with a national readership. Publishing poetry and short fiction, Crab Creek Review has recently welcomed new head editors, Kelli Russell Agodon and Annette Spaulding-Convy, both Seattle area poets. Founded by Linda Clifton, the journal is proud to have been managed by women since 1983.
Annette Spaulding-Convy
Read at Richard Hugo House in Seattle
Seattle, Washington, August 22, 2008—Crab Creek Review celebrates its Spring/Summer ’08 Issue with an evening of poetry and fiction. Writers James Bertolino, Kathleen Flenniken, Kathleen Alcala, Marjorie Manwaring, Kay Mullen, Ronda Broatch, Brendan McBreen and Monica Schley will read from their work on Wednesday, October 22nd, 7pm, at Richard Hugo House in Seattle. The celebration will include musical selections from poet and harpist Monica Schley and drawings for signed, first edition books. The event is free and is open to the public.
Bellingham poet James Bertolino is the author of nine volumes of poetry published by Copper Canyon Press, Carnegie Mellon University Press, the QRL Award Series, among others, and is the recipient of numerous awards, including the 2007 Jeanne Lohmann Poetry Prize. Co-editor of Floating Bridge Press, Kathleen Flenniken is the author of Famous, which won the 2006 Prairie Schooner Book Prize and was a finalist for the Washington State Book Award. Bainbridge Island writer, Kathleen Alcala, author of five books and co-founder of The Raven Chronicles, teaches in the Whidbey Island Writers Association MFA Program. Poet and freelance writer, Marjorie Manwaring is an associate editor for the online journal, DMQ Review, and author of Magic Word (2007). Kay Mullen is the author of two full length poetry collections, Let Morning Begin (2001) and A Long Remembering: Return to Vietnam (2006). Kingston poet Ronda Broatch is the author of Some Other Eden (2005) and Shedding Our Skins (2008). Brendan McBreen is a member of Auburn’s Striped Water Poets and is published in various places, including Leading Edge and Bellowing Arc. Monica Schley is a poet, harpist, and performer whose poetry has appeared in Burnside Review and The Raven Chronicles, among others.
Celebrating its twenty-fifth year in the Pacific Northwest, Crab Creek Review is an independent literary journal with a national readership. Publishing poetry and short fiction, Crab Creek Review has recently welcomed new head editors, Kelli Russell Agodon and Annette Spaulding-Convy, both Seattle area poets. Founded by Linda Clifton, the journal is proud to have been managed by women since 1983.
Annette Spaulding-Convy
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Save the Date! Crab Creek Review Reading
YOU'RE INVITED!
Crab Creek Review Reading
at Seattle's Richard Hugo House,
Join us Wednesday, October 22, 2008 at 7 p.m.
*
Dear friends,
As the new editors of Crab Creek Review, we're having a celebration reading on Wednesday, October 22nd at Seattle's Richard Hugo House at 7 p.m. and we would love for you to join us there.
Not only will there be incredible readers including
Jim Bertolino
Kathleen Flenniken
Kathleen Alcala
Marjorie Manwaring
Kay Mullen
Ronda Broatch
Brendan McBreen
and Monica Schley
But one of our readers, Monica Schley is a harpist and will be performing as well.
We will also be having drawings for some great literary prizes including signed books, t-shirts, and free copies of Crab Creek Review! And of course, with Hugo House there is always wine and coffee available, so please mark your calendars for Wednesday, October 22nd so you can join in the literary festivities with us.
It looks to be a great night of poetry, a bit of fiction, and some wonderful music!
We hope to see you there!
warmly,
Kelli & Annette
Crab Creek Review Reading
at Seattle's Richard Hugo House,
Join us Wednesday, October 22, 2008 at 7 p.m.
*
Dear friends,
As the new editors of Crab Creek Review, we're having a celebration reading on Wednesday, October 22nd at Seattle's Richard Hugo House at 7 p.m. and we would love for you to join us there.
Not only will there be incredible readers including
Jim Bertolino
Kathleen Flenniken
Kathleen Alcala
Marjorie Manwaring
Kay Mullen
Ronda Broatch
Brendan McBreen
and Monica Schley
But one of our readers, Monica Schley is a harpist and will be performing as well.
We will also be having drawings for some great literary prizes including signed books, t-shirts, and free copies of Crab Creek Review! And of course, with Hugo House there is always wine and coffee available, so please mark your calendars for Wednesday, October 22nd so you can join in the literary festivities with us.
It looks to be a great night of poetry, a bit of fiction, and some wonderful music!
We hope to see you there!
warmly,
Kelli & Annette
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Postcard from a Literary Journal
We have set down our luggage and are now starting to unpack. I may have tripped walking up the stairs, but it was with the excitement of arriving. So yes, it's official, Annette Spaulding-Convy & I have keys to the place and will be the new editors of Crab Creek Review.
The Crab Creek Review website has been updated and our submission guidelines are up. Poetry submissions start September 1st, so get your envelopes ready, we look forward to reading your work. There's also a fiction contest going on right now.
We'll be blogging about the writing life here every once in a while and will have some guest bloggers that will hopefully entertain you if not make you smarter.
If you haven't checked out our website, please do. Otherwise, I have a lot of unpacking to do and a little sightseeing too. I have hope this will be a good trip.
Wishing you good work and good writing,
Kelli Russell Agodon
The Crab Creek Review website has been updated and our submission guidelines are up. Poetry submissions start September 1st, so get your envelopes ready, we look forward to reading your work. There's also a fiction contest going on right now.
We'll be blogging about the writing life here every once in a while and will have some guest bloggers that will hopefully entertain you if not make you smarter.
If you haven't checked out our website, please do. Otherwise, I have a lot of unpacking to do and a little sightseeing too. I have hope this will be a good trip.
Wishing you good work and good writing,
Kelli Russell Agodon
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Crab Creek announces
With this our Anniversary year, we are celebrating 25 years of publication supported by a host of dedicated editors. By this August, Crab Creek Review will be guided by the talented poets Annette Spaulding Convy and Kelli Russell Agodon. I could not ask for two more capable co-editors to lead this already dynamic collective.
Thanks to all the contributors, editors, fellow publishers, subscribers, donors, booksellers, venues, and of course--current and past staff who've made these past couple of years at Crab Creek an incredibly valuable experience for me.
Cheers!
Natasha Moni
Thanks to all the contributors, editors, fellow publishers, subscribers, donors, booksellers, venues, and of course--current and past staff who've made these past couple of years at Crab Creek an incredibly valuable experience for me.
Cheers!
Natasha Moni
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Welcome to the New Crab Creek Review Blog!
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the new Crab Creek Review blog!
Crab Creek Review has been publishing the best poetry and fiction for 25 years. It is a literary journal that was born in the Northwest and reaches poets, writers, and readers across America.
This blog will be a place to see featured work from our published writers as well as unique essays and thoughts on the writing life and the writing process. Check back here in the next few months to meet our editors, our writers, and see what's going on at Crab Creek Review as well as in the writing world.
Thanks for visiting.
Welcome to the new Crab Creek Review blog!
Crab Creek Review has been publishing the best poetry and fiction for 25 years. It is a literary journal that was born in the Northwest and reaches poets, writers, and readers across America.
This blog will be a place to see featured work from our published writers as well as unique essays and thoughts on the writing life and the writing process. Check back here in the next few months to meet our editors, our writers, and see what's going on at Crab Creek Review as well as in the writing world.
Thanks for visiting.
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