Rescue Press has an open submissions for their Black Box Poetry Prize, judged by none other than Maggie Nelson (of Bluets, and more). Would that I had a manuscript ready to enter in this FREE (though donations welcome) contest of full-length poetry manuscripts, with the possibility of having my work seen by Maggie Nelson!
Plus, have you ever heard of a poetry prize with a more honest name?
Enter by June 30th.
Speaking of all things black, Black Ocean has its open reading period through June, also for full-length manuscripts, also without a fee. One of my favorite presses.
Publishing Genius is also open for manuscripts through June 30, with a $5 fee--a bargain compared to many other presses.
Showing posts with label Maggie Nelson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maggie Nelson. Show all posts
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Monday, February 25, 2013
Frag / ments
If you're interested in the fragment as a unit or the juxtaposition of fragments as a technique in writing (think David Markson, or Maggie Nelson's Bluets) you should check out Ben Segal's article "The Fragment as a Unit of Prose Composition" over at Continent. Segal interviews both Nelson and and Evan Lavender-Smith about their use of fragments. Excerpts from Bluets and from Lavender-Smith's From Old Notebooks are provided PLUS fragments from both works that didn't make the final drafts.
Both interviewees recommend other writers who use fragments, and while I recognized most of the works they cited, I picked up a few new names such as Linda Nochlin and Eric Chevillard. Enjoy!
Both interviewees recommend other writers who use fragments, and while I recognized most of the works they cited, I picked up a few new names such as Linda Nochlin and Eric Chevillard. Enjoy!
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Little Bits of Bluets
I am reading Maggie Nelson's Bluets and I am astonished. Here are a few of the excerpts about writing (which is only one of the themes of this gorgeous book).
183. Goethe also worries over the destructive effects of writing. In particuar, he worries over how to "keep the essential quality [of the thing] still living before us, and not to kill it with the word." I must admit, I no longer worry much about such things. For better or worse, I do not think that writing changes things very much, if at all. For the most part, I think it leaves everything as it is. What does your poetry do?--I guess it gives a kind of blue rinse to the language (John Ashbery).
184. Writing is, in fact, an astonishing equalizer. I could have written half of these propositions drunk or high, for instance, and half sober; I could have written half in agnoinzed tears, and half in a state of clinical detachment. But now that they have been shuffled around countless times--now that they have been made to appear, at long last, running forward as one river--how could either of us tell the difference?
185. Perhaps this is why writing all day, even when the work feels arduous, never feels to me like "a hard day's work." Often if feels more like balancing two sides of an equation--occasionally quite satisyfing, but essentially a hard and passing rain. It, too, kills the time.
183. Goethe also worries over the destructive effects of writing. In particuar, he worries over how to "keep the essential quality [of the thing] still living before us, and not to kill it with the word." I must admit, I no longer worry much about such things. For better or worse, I do not think that writing changes things very much, if at all. For the most part, I think it leaves everything as it is. What does your poetry do?--I guess it gives a kind of blue rinse to the language (John Ashbery).
184. Writing is, in fact, an astonishing equalizer. I could have written half of these propositions drunk or high, for instance, and half sober; I could have written half in agnoinzed tears, and half in a state of clinical detachment. But now that they have been shuffled around countless times--now that they have been made to appear, at long last, running forward as one river--how could either of us tell the difference?
185. Perhaps this is why writing all day, even when the work feels arduous, never feels to me like "a hard day's work." Often if feels more like balancing two sides of an equation--occasionally quite satisyfing, but essentially a hard and passing rain. It, too, kills the time.
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