February 14, 2021

Rattle is proud to announce the winner of the 2020 Rattle Poetry Prize Readers’ Choice Award:

Kitty Carpenter
Salem, Missouri
for
“Farm Sonnet”

 
The 2020 Readers’ Choice Award was selected from among the Rattle Poetry Prize finalists by subscriber vote. Only those with active subscriptions including issue #70 were eligible. “Farm Sonnet” earned 20.2% of the votes and the $5,000 award. Here is what some of those readers had to say about their choice:

Each of the nominated works gifted me poetic warmth. “Farm Sonnet,” though, took the lead for its last two lines which lit on a truth about love.
—Audrey DiPlacido

I like the simple straightforward language with its unforced rhymes and half-rhymes which support the gentle slide from memories of the mother’s strength and mastery sliding inevitably into the final years of her life when dementia led to a reversal in which she calls her daughter “mom.” The final couplet on the impossibility of love mastering the inevitable loss of death provides a fitting conclusion to the poem. It is an outstanding sonnet.
—Mark Grinyer

It is such a small, understated jewel of a piece, wrapped up perfectly by the form which is (as in the best sonnets) both intrinsic and invisible. It probably also for me benefited by being a quiet whisper in the midst of a large number of poems tackling BIG issues. But really, in this year of pandemic and lockdown, the basics of living and loving and losing feel like what we also need to be talking about, and aren’t.
—Melanie Wright

Simple, beautiful images of the glorious past and the sad future. The story of human being life, parent’s strength, devotion to protect their children, pets and farm. Then comes fast, the aging process, weakness and dementia, vacant eyes that breaks our heart. Life passes fast don’t wait to tell the one you love that you love them.
—Houda Bachour

While its conceit may feel less culturally grandiose (with other entries expounding on experiences born out of the pandemic, gender identity, or racism), the subject sings within its form and within its quietness. And even while reading other entries, I couldn’t stop thinking about the final couplet: “The time we have’s still too short to master / love, and then, the hollow that comes after.” Like … WHOA.
—Chelsey Moore

To read “Farm Sonnet” and all of the other finalist poems, pick up a copy of Rattle #70, or wait until the April, when those poems start appearing online at Rattle.com.

Kitty Carpenter was the winner, but this year’s voters were divided, as they always are—each of the remaining poems received between 5% and 16% of the vote, and all of the finalists had their own enthusiastic supporters. Every year, it’s an interesting and informative experience reading the commentary. To provide a taste of that, here is a small sample of what our subscribers said about the other finalists:
 

On Beck Anson’s “I Admit Myself to the Psych Ward in a Pandemic”:

I’m impressed by Anson’s honesty about his mental health struggles, and I like how he places his personal pain within the context of the pandemic. We are, indeed, “all being controlled by something / we can’t touch or see.”
—Chuck Snoad

This poem is unforgettable to me. The way Anson weaves in the descriptive landscape and surroundings and uses this experience to reflect on something larger than himself is spectacular. In this poem, one goes on a journey alongside the poet. I was left contemplating life in a rich, thoughtful way. Amazing!
—Melissa Sussens

 

On Chaun Ballard’s “Survival Is a Matter of Perspective When”:

It is a thriller of a poem, causing me to hold my breath for fear of what might come next—a short story of survival, so cleverly told. I found myself going back to it again and again. Congratulations to all the finalists, but Chaun Ballard captured my heart. It inspires me to take more chances with my own writing.
—Mary Moreno

The way that the poem keeps a steady, slow pace, is self-reflective, self-referencing, and breaks and then returns to form combines to effect a masterful lingering of a moment—the mix of the beauty and pain, threat of violence, misunderstanding and recognition is incredibly strong and powerful. I am typically not a fan of longer poems, but in this one I love how much is gained in the long form, almost seeming to suspend time the meander of thoughts. It reminds me of the mastery of Woolf in capturing stream-of-consciousness, and he achieves this in a poem. I’ve admired Ballard’s work for some time, and feel each time that I read his work how thrilling it is to witness the emergence of a truly great and innovative poet.
—Freya Rohn

 

On Shelly Stewart Cato’s “Mega-”:

After much consideration, I had it narrowed down to this poem and “Army Memorial Service:Tikrit.” It was a struggle to choose because I know the feeling of losing friends in war from Vietnam. I finally decided on “Mega-” because of the specific details that wowed me throughout the poem. Whenever I am writing a poem, I always think, “Details, details, details.” And I have the Ezra Pound quote on my desk: “Make it new.” This poem fit both of my rules perfectly.
—Jimmy Pappas

The visual details drew me in, and the poet-as-tour-guide transports us straight inside the megachurch, but I’m voting for the poem’s sardonic humor. Too few poems provide the laugh at life these times deserve.
—Tom King

 

On Skye Jackson’s “Spoon-Rest Mammies”:

Skye Jackson’s effort was the best of the bunch
I read it thoroughly thrice during one protracted lunch
Spoon-Rest Mammies, a reflection of these times
Social conscience versus prevailing capitalistic grime
Society should know better, but the dollar still prevails
The jingle in the pocket quips the rest can go to hell
One has to make a living, but self sometimes disguised
As inner turmoil boils with principles compromised
But the ending was quite fitting to this cautionary tale
Now, if all offending shops would follow suit as well
—Charles Sartorius

It’s so strong how everyday racism bubbles up like lava through the simple storytelling. The world and the characters and the things people say: The use of what is said and what is left unsaid is so masterful. The poem says to us knowingly, “You know how it goes.” I love that she gets to throw them out in the end.
—Liz Rizzo

 

On Gordon Kippola’s “Army Service: Tikrit”:

This is a brilliant sonnet. The sparseness of the description matches the somberness of the event. The rhyming is so perfectly done, never feeling forced. “Our ghost today is Private First Class Jones” sets the tone immediately. There is real respect shown at the same time as irreverence (“which made his ass go AWOL.”) The last line (The lyrics promise, “God is nigh. They’re wrong.”) is a gut punch.
—Karen Moulton

It stood out as the obvious choice for many reasons: the combination of gallows humor and respectful affection for the dead; the authenticity and maturity of the voice; the authoritative and light-handed use of accessible jargon; the deft execution of the sonnet form, which felt natural and unforced; the irreverent turn at the end. I also chose this poem for what it lacks: self-pity; solipsism; didacticism; melodrama; sentimentality; nationalism; overt, self-conscious patriotism; cliché. None of the deadly sins of light, inspirational, or populist verse are present. It’s masterful.
—Katy Balma

 

On Lance Larsen’s “And Also I Ran”:

My reason is simple: I can’t believe he did it. It’s a story almost impossible to tell—mechanically, emotionally, intellectually. Mr. Larsen’s poem leaves me feeling as if I’ve read a great novel. I am at once enervated and electrified, shattered and recovered and shattered again. And he accomplishes these things in a single type-written page, approximately. Magnificent. Lance Larsen’s “And Also I Ran” is why I am not normal. I refuse to miss this.
—Martin Vest

This poem feels to me, as Rilke said about a good poem, that it was “sprung from necessity.” In every line, I sense the urgency and the authentic rush to get it down. The poem beautifully balances thought, feeling, and imagery. There is also the balance of order and wildness in the language. Surprising turns all the way through. Sorrow and gratitude and a terrible wonder. Anger and relief at fate. This poem is accessible, but the psychological/emotional territory is complex. There is plenty of physical detail to ground the poem as it explores emotional, psychological, and spiritual matters of a tragic incident. There is love.
—Susan Browne

 

On Jessica Lee’s “Greener Pastures”:

Aside from my general personal preference for prose poems which tell a story, it was Ms. Lee’s brave and “no holds barred” effort in showing nature’s commonality and equality between the genders, which have been squeezed and pushed into religious and secular forms deemed “appropriate” by ignorance, which ultimately garnered my vote. Poetry, like life, isn’t always comfortable.
—Joseph Ridgway

I am female and was born in 1938, well before women were anything else but nice partners for well-earning husbands who would be made happy if they received a washing machine for Christmas and opened their legs when required. I am so very much there with Jessica Lee and my whole being understands that poem.
—Rosmarie Epaminondas

 

On Austen Leah Rose’s “Dear Husband”:

From the center of a dark star to the spark between two mirrors, Austen Leah Rose’s poem left me wanting to read it again and again, and each time I discovered something I wanted to know or understand. That’s my favorite kind of poem … one that leaves me with questions, not answers.
—Kate Marsh

As good as the other nine are, this poem is for me unquestionably the best. My response to it was immediate. While the other poems relate experiences, this poem is the experience. It defies paraphrase. It lives in a world created by language. When I turned to the contributors notes, I was pleased but not surprised to see a reference to Rilke. There are many rooms in the mansion that is poetry, and it appears that this poet and I like to hang out in the same room. This is a poem I will enjoy reading again, a poem which will perhaps have me rethinking my own response to Rilke. And it makes wonderful use of white space. White space, like silence, the frame in which a poem exists.
—Meryl Stratford

 

On Alexis Rotella’s “Empty Souls”:

This moving, prose poem, which is interspersed with Japanese or Buddhist inspired lines, beautifully conveys the traumatic overload that we are facing in the world with the pandemic, the climate crisis, racial injustices, and challenges to democracy. The poem conveys how as a society, we have very little room to empathize with others, due to sheer overwhelm. Practicing spirituality, such as Buddhist principles of emptiness, as well as conveying pain through poetic writing, are antidotes to staying connected and healing from trauma.
—Catherine Karnitis

I think it is the best choice because its effective use of the unusual form, the haibun, made it stand out from the other finalists. For a haibun to be successful, the title, prose, and haiku must all work together to create a whole. The haiku must be of exceptional quality, that is, not rely on the prose for meaning, but instead evoke a deep emotional response in the reader. “Empty Souls” meets all my criteria for a quality haibun. I was there, at the airport, on the plane, at the dinner party, and even at the qi gong class. The final haiku is absolutely stunning and leaves the reader with a bittersweet longing for the world to be as it should be, rather than as it is.
—Roberta Beary

 

December 8, 2020

Alan W. King

CHAGRIN

When security escorts a woman
back to the register, you hear
other shoppers whispering
their speculations—the alarm’s

tone before plainclothes officers
flank her at the door, their hands
beckoning to come with them.
And does it matter that

you both are among the few
African Americans in a department
store that once forced Blacks
to shop in the basement, and where

Jim Crow banned your elders from
the dressing rooms? Can all
the civil rights marches and integration
keep you from flinching

at how one of your own
is handled—the officers
jerking their suspect around,
the woman shouting

for them to take their hands
off her. And afterwards,
will anything make this right
again—the gift cards

or the cashier’s apology
after waving the receipt,
explaining she forgot to
disarm the anti-theft device?

from Rattle #31, Summer 2009
Tribute to African American Poets

__________

Alan W. King: “During the 40th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination, I interviewed several people who lived through the 1968 unrest in Baltimore. The unrest hit other cities—including Washington, D.C., and Detroit—but I was working on a news story for Baltimore as a reporter with the Afro-American newspaper. Even before the burning and looting of businesses, there was racial tension in the segregated city. While department stores like Kohl’s and Hecht’s allowed Blacks to shop there, they had to do so in the basement. They couldn’t even try on the clothes before they bought them because the dressing rooms were off-limits. I wrote ‘Chagrin’ after several people I interviewed, most of them over 60 years old, believed that the tension was a major catalyst.” (web)

 

Alan W. King is the guest on episode #70 of the Rattlecast! Click here to watch live …

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September 15, 2020

We’re pleased to announce the following $15,000 Rattle Poetry Prize winner:

Alison Townsend

“Pantoum from the Window of the Room Where I Write”
Alison Townsend
Stoughton, Wisconsin

Alison Townsend is the author of two award-winning books of poetry, The Blue Dress and Persephone in America, and a volume of prose, The Persistence of Rivers: An Essay on Moving Water. Professor Emerita of English at the University of Wisconsin–Whitewater, she lives in the country outside Madison.

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Finalists:

 

“I Admit Myself to the Psych Ward in a Pandemic”
Beck Anson
Burlington, VT

“Survival Is a Matter of Perspective When”
Chaun Ballard
Anchorage, AK

“Farm Sonnet”
Kitty Carpenter
Salem, MO

“Spoon-Rest Mammies”
Skye Jackson
New Orleans, LA

“Army Memorial Service: Tikrit”
Gordon Kippola
Bremerton, WA

“And Also I Ran”
Lance Larson
Provo, UT

“Greener Pastures”
Jessica Lee
Nashville, TN

“Dear Husband”
Austen Leah Rose
Eugene, OR

“Empty Souls”
Alexis Rotella
Arnold, MD

“Mega”
Shelly Stewart
Jasper, AL

These eleven poems will published in issue #70 of Rattle. Each of the Finalists are also eligible for the $5,000 Readers’ Choice Award, selected by subscriber vote in February.

An additional 15 poems were selected for standard publication, and offered a space in the open section of a future issue. These poets have been notified individually about details, but they are: Francesca Bell, Frank Beltrano, Susan Browne, Red Hawk, Clemonce Heard, Danusha Lameris, Lance Larsen, A.D. Lauren-Abunassar, Sam Leon, Alison Luterman, Taylor Mali, Emily May Portillo, and Mike White.

Thank you to everyone who participated in the competition, which would not have been a success without your diverse and inspiring poems. This felt like the strongest year of entries by a wide margin, and we really enjoyed the opportunity to read. We received 4,882 entries, and it was an honor to read every poem.

July 22, 2020

Melissa Andrés

ARRIVAL

The corners of the Terracotta tiles
cut my mother’s feet when she walked 

to the kitchen to eat the most exotic fruit 
she had ever imagined—

tree-ripe peaches packed 
with juices in a can— 

and not the guava 
she always melted for the pastries. 

My mother then placed the empty can 
on the stove, added water and began 

to cook the rice we ate for dinner 
the first night in our new home. 

Those grains of rice did not need 
cleaning, no specks of dirt or sliver 

of rocks to remove, food passed 
down from one ancestor

to another reached us in our hunger
where we arrived, huddled raw

in a mass of the uncooked,
only later to be processed,

stripped and overcooked
to an acceptable blandness. 

from Rattle #68, Summer 2020

__________

Melissa Andrés: “Listening to music is an integral part of my writing. The notes and harmonies beckon words into my head. Like a composer, I turn language into poetry and hope that others will likewise find enjoyment.” (web)

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March 31, 2020

Ekphrastic Challenge, February 2020: Editor’s Choice

 

photograph of billboard with posters peeling to reveal previous layers, including a young child with curly hair

Image: “Indietro” by Marc Alan Di Martino. “When Peeled Back” was written by Mary Ann Honaker for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, February 2020, and selected as the Editor’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

__________

Mary Ann Honaker

WHEN PEELED BACK

Beneath morning Folgers, hazelnut creamer,
beneath wet hand-prints of fog lifting slowly from the window,
beneath thick-inked newspaper and glossy ads rolled into it,

Beneath the smudge of newsprint on your forefinger as your heartbeat
drops another octave, as all the fucks you could give drain from you
more slowly than floodwater drains to lowlands, to ditches,

Beneath the archaic metal dragon unfolding its thin tendons
over the parking lot of smashed Biggie cups and tumbleweed napkins,
all of its teeth filled in, jagged, askew, with bedewed shopping carts,

Beneath neon codes of signs and symbols of every chain restaurant,
store, coffee shop, the same everywhere beckoning you to the same flavors,
beneath the crushed liquor store box the dread-headed homeless woman sits on,

Beneath the coin you do or do not drop into her strangely fresh, white paper cup,
beneath words you speak flatly over and over again at work, because it’s a script
and you cannot, must not deviate, because they are always listening,

Beneath the momentary joy of finding sugar-skull themed coasters,
beneath the low frequency satisfaction of setting them out on your end tables,
and how quickly that glow, like drunkenness, is replaced by a hollow ringing,

Beneath getting everything you want and finding yourself still unhappy,
beneath making a new list to tick off and fall of the cliff of,
beneath how the bones of your city are starting to show, siding in the side-yard,

rafters bare now that the skin of roof has been peeled off or has fallen in
like the cheeks of a young woman’s body as it mummifies on some remote hillside,
beneath the bruises on a child’s arm, the circular stains in the crease of a father’s elbow,

Beneath it all when peeled back you find the cruel face of some fey spirit,
whose plump pink hands rub together all the smooth stones of your riverbed:
a god guileless, feral, who smirks at you from under the skin of the world.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
February 2020, Editor’s Choice

__________

Comment from the editor, Timothy Green: “Reading this poem feels to me like watching a flying trapeze act. It’s a thrill to see these images tumble out, but how long can the poet possibly keep it going, and how will the poem to land? Then we reach the final lines, which might be the best of the whole poem, and she sticks the landing with the colon. Brava!”

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May 23, 2019

Ekphrastic Challenge, April 2019: Artist’s Choice

 

Kandinsky's Slippers by Denise Zygadlo

Image: “Kandinsky’s Slippers” by Denise Zygadlo. “In the Nostalgia Chair” was written by Matthew Murrey for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, April 2019, and selected as the Artist’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

__________

Matthew Murrey

IN THE NOSTALGIA CHAIR

I unfold Florida
days when I had my first
apartment, when I plugged in
a second-hand record player
and listened to my life.
It was small town, good
walking in the waking
morning while the sun
reinvented the horizon,
good night strolls
where stars kept track
above wires leaves and moss
and churches were dark
empty, unlocked, and holy.
We had some times:
that night of wine, that morning
of coffee and rain. One time
we smoked and couldn’t stop
laughing after we’d stared
at each other until you said
“I’m not feeling it.”
And when I was alone
and holy, nights were for falling,
Look Homeward Angel, asleep.
That was a different state,
a thousand novels ago. It’s a lie
to say I never looked back.
I still think about Keith Jarett
and the radio in the kitchen
and a bridge over a brown river
and a red-brick train station
and an afternoon of blue
thunder and broken branches.
Remember how the blinds
divvied up beauty on the wall
near the end of so many days,
and how green the world was
when we opened them? They
have fallen apart, like lovers,
like the loafers I wore when you left,
the ones, I’m sorry to say,
I threw away a long time ago.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
April 2019, Artist’s Choice

__________

Comment from the artist, Denise Zygadlo: “I found this poem very evocative; it created an atmosphere I felt went well with the image and took us beyond it into another world. The poet beckons us into his past and shares those important moments that lodge in his memory, without giving too much away, so that we find ourselves sitting in that deckchair reflecting with the sitter and composing our own pictures. In my collage it was Kandinsky, but it could be anyone transporting us into a world of nostalgia. I love that it summoned up such a rich love story for the poet, whilst retaining the essential elements of the image; the blinds, the loafers and the sense of a Florida landscape amongst palm trees. I also have a past with Keith Jarett records and liked how the allusions at the beginning of the poem were picked up at the end. Very lovely, well done Mr. Murrey, thank you.”

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March 14, 2019

Marilynn Fournet Adams

THE RELIGION OF WEATHER

I am a weather girl. Always have been,
charting cold fronts at breakfast like it was church. Over Cheerios,
squall lines barreled like holyrollers through the kitchen.
Daddy on the radio, the telephone, with Flight Service,
weather beckoning. Used to wish I was a lighting rod, so I’d answer.

Got a Siberian Express for Valentines
one year, brought snow. February’s isobars like power
lines to a teeming city, whiteflake-chatter
on the lines advancing, marching neat
as teeth across topographies, Louisiana in a candy box.

Only girl I know, except my sisters, can talk
about the backside of a high, or what a thunderbuster’s thinking
in its pretty anvil, how to grade the hail by size, what rides
Alberta’s Clippers like a cushmar, or why the east
wind’s quiet, a zephyr always soft.

Altocumulus, altostratus, pray for us. Cirrocumulus, cirrostratus,
cirrus, grant us peace. Cumulonimbus, stratus, girl,
stratus, nimbus, thundercloud. All dark pearls
or white, building their litany to fall in love with the answer.
All ye holy orders of blessed Spirits, be for us.

from Rattle #14, Winter 2000

__________

Marilynn Fournet Adams: “At 52, I am a graduate student at the University of Louisiana-Lafayette, who just learned that you don’t have to take your clothes out of the dryer when the buzzer sounds. I write poetry because it suits my ADHD brain.” (web)

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