{ Kill Class – poems – Nomi Stone }

Kill Class
poems, Nomi Stone
Tupelo Press 2019

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My praise for this book is: I don’t know where to put my praise for this book. Nomi Stone’s Kill Class is disorienting and surefooted; is a landscape spiritual that weeps not away, but toward.  Immersion is not a drill, and practice is born perfect. For all Kill Class so clinically prepares, the paused hungers of its verse, and the appetites therein, offer that perhaps we had our error and ate it, too.   War calls it body; this violence that puts meat on the bone.  And Stone asks for more.  For the body to show its face.  For wound to do the salting.  For humanization to finish what it started. For transactional oneness.  And for surgery, before we vanish.

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reflection by Barton Smock

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book is here:

Kill Class

{ As One Fire Consumes Another – poems – John Sibley Williams }

As One Fire Consumes Another
poems, John Sibley Williams
Orison Books, 2019

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John Sibley Williams is a poet who seemingly writes from memory those invisible psalms that cast language as a font and word as the codename of one who’s kept a diary of the search for yours.  As such, the collection As One Fire Consumes Another knows what to say after it says it while liberating from footnote how the old might guide the current into outlining those shapes bent on being dumbstruck by the new .  No findable thing need make a sound and the already lit won’t court what glows. No toy beast misses its childhood master and if a pin drops it is heard only by the late soul who’s left tapping on  a calculator in the shadow of a cross.  Both instructional and sudden, intentional and evoked, these irreplaceably devoured poems gain ground in heaven by way of their broken earth and airbrush with a slow permanence the godspeed our yearning squanders.
 
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reflection by Barton Smock

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book is here:

As One Fire Consumes Another, poems by John Sibley Williams

{ note 6/6/19 }

for whose body is mine a clue. sometimes I ask. yesterday I had a panic attack. not out of, but yanked into, the blue. up all night with all the ways my children might die. in reading others, I feel often that I’ve ruined another’s writing. loneliness and its quest to be an imposition. I hope it gets there.

I wrote this, previously: I am from the future. I miss you.

anyway, while working to change some of what {isacoustic*} does, or offers, I’ve decided to open submissions again. however, {isacoustic*} is not currently, as it was once, a paying market. it will be again. but not, now.

-Barton

{ Emily As Sometimes the Forest Wants the Fire – poems – Darren C. Demaree }

Emily As Sometimes the Forest Wants the Fire
poems, Darren C. Demaree
Harpoon Books 2019

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If god were here, above this pool in backyard Ohio, I think he’d write with wasp. I say this as the imagined part-owner of a disembodied worry as gifted to any who might look up from Darren C. Demaree’s Emily As Sometimes the Forest Wants the Fire and feel a sort of third-wheel holiness in the running of a blood that sobers itself alongside Demaree’s converging of absence with artifact. As partnership may absolve loneliness of secretly playing tag and as shadow makes a lost feast for long animals, Emily, like inclusion, is untouchable. Using simile as bait for metaphor, and metaphor to say in the same breath both pain and paint, this verse fishes compass from the ashes of emergence. These are love, or better yet, loved, poems, but no phrasing here brackets tenderness as a search engine. If it’s true that muse is a trapdoor, Demaree upends discovery and makes of minimalism the handprint that trespass uses to contextualize and de-center worship that it might erase the hand and lure from fantasy the have-not of an only dream.

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reflection by Barton Smock

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book is here:
https://www.harpoonreviewbooks.com/catalog/emily-as-sometimes-the-forest-wants-the-fire-by-darren-demaree