July 5, 2023

Katie Dozier (KHD)

EM DASH

 
Em Dash by Katie Dozier, poem text written over black and white photo of a mine shaft

objkt.com | image/png

Like studying the root origins of a word, I like to trace the stem of NFT poetry backwards through the centuries. What would Emily Dickinson have minted if she lived in our contemporary world? Perhaps instead of locking her poems up in a trunk, we would’ve been treated to Dickinson Discords and more quatrain creations than we could even keep up with! This Little Poem, my first mint of 2023, looks back at one of my favorite poets, in order to celebrate the immense opportunities alive in poetry today. In a sense, we are just em dashes sliding through time.

from Rattle #80, Summer 2023
Tribute to NFT Poets

__________

Katie Dozier (KHD): “I write NFT poetry because every poem that flies out into the world encourages more to leave their nests. Poetry can change the course of humanity, and with the stakes so high we need fewer poems locked in the confines of minds and notebooks. We need poems hanging on walls (both digital and physical) to be lauded for their vulnerability and empathy. Poetry is art, and minting it as such on blockchains has the potential to bring poems into conversations yet unentered.” (web)

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July 4, 2023

Lee Stern

DETERMINING WHO THE MARCHERS WERE

It was my job to determine who the marchers were.
And how long they had practiced the different steps they were used to making.
I wouldn’t say that it was a hard job.
Only that when I grew tired of doing it,
nobody else volunteered to take my place.
As it was, the marchers recognized me even from a great distance
and applauded when they realized
that I was counting the people in each one of their lines.
It had been years since anyone had done this as rigorously as I had.
And their confidence in my counting them
left me at the same time actually content and fairly amazed.
I remember one line of ten men, when I said later that there were eleven of them,
smiled, and thought that it was a joke.
But, of course, it wasn’t a joke.
And the eleventh man, who claimed that he resembled me
even down to the color of my hair, when he put his tunic down,
lapsed into the kind of a coma I recognized
fitfully from months of pouring grease over my head
and years of placing birds in the sky.

from Rattle #31, Summer 2009

__________

Lee Stern: “For years I have had the same nightmare, that I am standing in a line of people who have just been instructed to march off a cliff. So I wrote this poem, thinking the nightmare would go away. But it didn’t. In fact, the laugh track that carried it along got a little bit louder. And in the accompanying music, I found, the part for the bassoon was taken over by a drunken band of clarinets.”

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July 3, 2023

Denise Duhamel

ANOTHER SUMMER OF LOVE

2021

My mother stopped wearing a bra
in the nursing home
because the straps hurt 
her shoulders. I called her a hippie 
and put a flower in her hair.
 

from Rattle #80, Summer 2023

__________

Denise Duhamel: “As a child I memorized Robert Louis Stevenson’s ‘The Land of Counterpane.’ I remember looking up ‘counterpane’ in the dictionary and was delighted to learn that it meant ‘bedspread.’ I suffered from asthma and could relate to Stevenson’s speaker, a bedridden kid. The poem in this issue also has a bedridden character—my mother, who passed away in July 2021.” (web)

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July 2, 2023

Devon Balwit

ART = BEAUTY + SHIT

I.
 
Art that avoids shit is kitsch, said
Kundera. Think proletarian posters, red
and black, the size of building facades,
muscular farmers, hoes and pitchforks lifted,
Stalin kissing babies, no sign of dead
dissidents anywhere, Putin, chest bared
atop a tank, Rockwell’s wholesomeness on steroids,
Saturday cartoons where the good win and the bad
apologize after being appropriately punished,
romance novels where desire finds its reward,
no error made as to the character of one’s beloved,
passion to continue unabated decade after decade.
We scrutinize such glossy surfaces, betrayed:
our holes for shit and jouissance are side by side.
 
 
II.
 
It’s a shocker, the two holes side by side,
new life emerging along with everything else,
the new mother, from day one, prepared
by the rubber sheet. Thank you, good nurses,
for normalizing this. The doctors, of course, just
swoop in for the final catch, the push and stitch,
like old-timey husbands, who get a baby dusted
with powder, no poopy nappy to put a twitch
in their nostrils. At the other end, we have Napoleon,
who wrote in his famous letter—Home in three
days. Don’t bathe—wanting Josephine to ripen.
How bawdy. Was she as sanguine about his body?
From this first shame, some claim, comes culture—
liturgy and law hiding a fundament of ordure.
 
 
III.
 
Liturgy and law obscure a fundament of ordure,
white marble for both cathedral and court.
So much gilt, you’re terrified to fart.
They might boot you out, priest and barrister.
Those who insisted drapes cover the muscular
nudes on the chapel ceiling, who’d have boxed
the ears of children who asked unorthodox
questions: Jesus drew in the dirt. Did he poop there?
And we know well the stink in the halls of power—
if not shit, then bullshit, despite the suits
and ties. Even if the camera never shows
our leaders entering or exiting such doors,
swiping still-wet hands on their thighs, we intuit
they, like us, are animals with fluxes and flows.
 
 
IV.
 
Animals with fluxes and flows, how dare we be
so high-handed with one another? Remember
the advice for overcoming performance anxiety?
Imagine everyone on the pot and your fear
will dissipate. That man sermonizing grunts
away at dawn as does your most dedicated
enemy. The beautiful sylph who disdains you isn’t
exempt (although s/he would rather deny it).
And as we age, the urge becomes more frequent
until, perhaps, we’re as diapered as when we began.
Best to say it plain, to abandon pretense.
We include but aren’t just this being on the can.
I’ve made too much and yet not enough of it:
To capture life, art = beauty + shit.
 

from Poets Respond
July 2, 2023

__________

Devon Balwit: “A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of rereading Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which the news article quotes and from which this poem grows. In it, he writes that kitsch is ‘the absolute denial of shit, in both the literal and the figurative senses of the word; kitsch excludes everything from its purview which is essentially unacceptable in human existence.’ (web)

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July 1, 2023

Damaris Caballeros (age 15)

YOU’RE STANDING IN LINE FOR A DRINK

a fruity one that you’ve been craving for the past day and a half
there’s a woman in a pantsuit in front of you
getting more and more agitated with the person on her phone
there’s a man in workout clothes behind you
breathing heavily, his chest heaving from his last run
and you’re here in between them
knowing your mom is parked in front of the store
waiting for you to order and come back
but the closer you get to the front, the clammier your hands are getting
you can hear your heart beating faster and faster in you
and suddenly you feel like one shoelace is too tight
and the other from the left shoe is too loose
your eyes don’t know what you look at
your mouth is producing too much saliva
and your brain completely forgets the name of your drink
but now it’s your turn and the woman in front of you is on the other side
you step forward, breathe and say,
“one small triple berry smoothie please”
the employee smiles and takes your payment
not noticing your inner turmoil
you move to the other side with the woman
and exhale
congrats, you did it
 

from 2023 Rattle Young Poets Anthology

__________

Why do you like to write poetry?

Damaris Caballeros: “I like poetry because it allows me to express my emotions through a form of writing that has no rules or restrictions. I can reflect on my life experiences and put into paper what I feel like I can’t say to others.”

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June 30, 2023

Maya Clubine

WELCOME TO PARADISE

 
Welcome to Paradise by Maya Clubine, poem written over a photograph of a tropical beach

opensea.io | image/avif

Playa El Zonte, a small town in El Salvador nicknamed “Bitcoin Beach,” became one of the first locales in the country to accept Bitcoin as a payment method, and inspired the country’s adoption of Bitcoin as a legal tender.

from Rattle #80, Summer 2023
Tribute to NFT Poets

__________

Maya Clubine: “My work is preoccupied with notions of place, land, and home. This poem reflects on the interface between developing communities and contemporary technologies such as electronic devices and cryptocurrency.” (web)

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June 29, 2023

A Lonesome Border by Carmella Dolmer, marker drawing of two shadowy figures looking down into a dark hole

Image: “A Lonesome Border” by Carmella Dolmer. “What the Astrologer Failed to See in Our Stars” was written by Dick Westheimer for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, May 2023, and selected as an Editor’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)

__________

Dick Westheimer

WHAT THE ASTROLOGER FAILED TO SEE IN OUR STARS

The astrologer told us not to marry.
She said we would burn
one another in an astrological
furnace. She traced her finger
 
over the spider’s web chart
she’d drawn, showing one of our
rising signs made of dry tinder,
and mine, that of a match. Our choice
 
would be to burn or alternately fall
into a hole so deep that the only way
out would be fire. Of course, not even
this promise of planets in catastrophe
 
could dissuade us heated lovers
from each other’s flesh. We had this
fantasy of one day becoming gray-haired,
shade-tree sitting folk.
 
But what is a zodiac sign
other than a random pattern of stars?
And what is a horoscope other than
a dowser with no water to find?
 
And a star? It is the pressing
of the smallest parts of us
until there is fusion, heat where
once was none—and the stuff
 
of more stars, or maybe, like us,
now a quiet binary, living
out our graying days illuminated,
mostly, in each other’s orbit.
 

from Ekphrastic Challenge
May 2023, Editor’s Choice

__________

Comment from the editor, Timothy Green: “The best ekphrastic poems leap into something new without losing touch with the original image, so that it’s often not immediately clear whether the poem or visual art was created first. Like a binary star, they appear as one. Dick Westheimer manages that with a poignant extended metaphor that doubles over itself several times. On its own, the poem is full of memorable lines, but the addition of the drawing makes for a brilliant singular object.”

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