This is the last two days for this opportunity! The 2021 Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship is open now and seeks submissions. To apply gather 10 of your strongest poems, and craft a short statement about our work. This Fellowship is open to Emerging Poets, between the ages of 21-31. The Submission Process appears to be free of charge, and the Sub. Period ends on 4/30/2021.
If you have a collection 10 poems, and meet the age requirements, consider applying for this Fellowship. The call and submission guidelines can be reviewed here.
We are thrilled to present the Capstone Projects of Four Emerging Writers. Join us in recognizing the achievements of our Spring 2021 undergraduate writers!
Madalyn Brown, M. Ottenbreit, Claire Schallhorn and Louie Watkins, have all been studying with Professor Rob Halpern during the Winter 2021 Semester. Their work in Creative Writing, represented in Virtual Celebration by readings and media pieces, can be viewed on our Instagram Channel, with the IGTV platform. You don’t need an IG account to enjoy these pieces.
Thank you for joining Creative Writing @ EMU in congratulating our graduates!
Madalyn Brown is a fourth year student at Eastern Michigan University, double majoring in creative writing and media studies and journalism. For her Capstone Project, she has written a series of personal essays titled “Non-Local Consciousness of Near-Death Experiences,” which is written in prose and list form.
Madalyn Brown in a recent photo. Follow this link to enjoy Brown’s Reading.
“The personal essays follow my journey around mental and physical illnesses I live with every day and how having repeated colon infections and COVID-19 this year have changed how I think and feel about specific aspects about my life and life in general. The piece I’ll be reading is titled “The Form of Un-,” which is a transformative piece starting with self-harm until reaching social transformation and healing. “
M Ottenbreit shares their project “Eggs,” and this anecdote:
“When I was in fourth grade, for career day, I wore my dad’s tweed jacket with a name tag that said “author” in big letters. Almost a decade later, I am close to a degree in 2D Design and Creative Writing. I can confidently say I am an artist and a writer who is mentally ill and queer. My recent writing has been directed towards autobiographical poetry and prose on subjects of life as a queer person in America, not just the pain of it but the joy of it as well. Eggs explores themes of body dysmorphia, trans love, loss, and the modern coming out.”
They can be found on social media on twitter and Instagram with these handles. Twitter: @mirlinbluee; Instagram: @mirlinblue. Below, M’s artwork represents their project, “Eggs.”
Claire Schallhorn‘s project “Vukovich Verisimilitude” explores and questions the nature of heritage and the effects it has on family dynamics. Of her Capstone piece, Claire writes:
“To do this, I use a mixture of both prose and verse poetry. Poetry, for me, has become a space to safely question and explore my confusion on the notion of heritage. Prose on the other hand, has become a place for me to ground my thoughts and reflect. Many of my prose pieces look back on how my process and research this semester impacted my writings as well as myself. I also wanted to include in my presentation images of where I grew up alongside my pieces dealing with family relationships to further explore what heritage means to me.”
Louie Watkins has always found himself to have a peculiar relationship with the objects that surround him, and has decided to explore and examine this relationship through his capstone project, simply titled Objects. Utilizing both prose and poetry, Louie pokes at the knicknacks, memorabilia, tools, and all else that occupies his space, discovering the ways in which they affect him, and how he affects them in turn.
Outside of the Capstone project, Louie will be graduating this spring with a major in Creative Writing and a minor in Entertainment Design & Technology, will continue writing, and will continue to collect.
This still life depicts some of Louie Watkin’s Collections.
Four | Not Square | A Literary Reading and Virtual Graduate Student Showcase
will take place on Zoom on Thursday April 22, 7-9 pm
Email to receive the link for the Showcase by 11:59 pm on 4/21/21 if at all possible. Late responses may not be received in time for the event, however every effort will be made to admit all who wish to attend.
Ciara Garrett is a poet, fiction writer and playwright. An excerpt from her script Places Yet Unturned will be first on the program.
Pamela Mohar is a creative non-fiction writer and poet. A selection from libretto, a guide will be performed at the Showcase.
John Ballard Pecora’s Memoir/Prose piece Book of Mom will be shared next. The image of the sunflowers represents a favorite painting of John’s mother, to whom the piece is dedicated.
Christina-Marie Sears’s Chapter One from subLIMINAL will finish the Showcase program. This is a speculative manuscript which she hopes will grow up into a novel in the near future.
At the end of the readings, we invite comments, questions and general merry-making from attendees. Opportunities to interact with the artists, in true BathHouse Events fashion, will close this Showcase event.
According to New York Times’ Book reviewer, Ken Kalfus, ” Saturation Project is sometimes elusive, but there’s no meaning in it that gets lost for long. When Hume’s thematic connections and redemptive insights arrive, it’s with the force of a hurricane.”
Christine Hume is an acclaimed poet, essayist and sound poet. Her work, and the range of her work is exceedingly diverse, spanning critical pieces, reviews, sound poems, essays and poetic texts- her skill in all of these forms is certainly impressive. Hume’s voice is well-defined and distinctive. Saturation Project is packed with evocative nuance, sensory detail, philosophical interrogations of selfhood, woman’s identity, and cultural and material practices of generation, survival, and innovation. This writer has had the privilege of study with Prof. Hume for two courses while at EMU’s dynamic Creative Writing Program. In the course, Community Outreach for the Creative Writer, which is a degree requirement, we Graduate Students had the opportunity to soak in Hume’s broad and inclusive ideas about how to sustain a writing practice which includes sociability and interconnection with others. In the incredible Auto-Theory Workshop, we studied such fascinating writers as Saidiya Hartman, Kiese Laymon and Maggie Nelson. The conversations, book discussions and cozy informal lectures, along with Prof. Hume’s incisive and interdisciplinary articulations of literary theory, promoted scholarship and disciplinary knowledge for all the writers. The memories we made in Prof Hume’s classes will impact me always.
Therefore, I am pleased and proud that we had the opportunity to discuss Saturation Project through email interview on February 26th. Without further ado, here are some of the key points of our discussion.
I notice that the prose style in your book is very poetic. It flows smoothly and there’s lots of detail (sonic, visual, proprioceptive) that feels poetic to me. Is this an essential component of lyricism, in your view?
I am fascinated with the sonic magic of language wherever I find it. Sound has privileged access to the nerves; it hits the skin, blood, bones, viscera, subconscious more directly than visual information or maybe any other kind of sensory input. Running our senses over and into language, existing within its rhythms and acoustic structures immerses us in a specialized intelligence. G.M. Hopkins thought that words were alive and sought out like-sounding words in order to enrich and perpetuate them. Their desire for permanence or their insistence on excess was palpable to him. Like Hopkins, I believe the sonic links in words are secret pathways that hold mysterious powers, occult resonances, and understandings we can’t access any other way. There are rhythms that hold everything we know and understand together and others that destroy orthodoxies and conventional thought. Memory, too, has an intense relationship to sound, repetition and rhythm that writing can mine. The sounds of language can lead us in unexpected and previously unknown places.
Do you consider yourself a poet who branches out into memoir and essay writing? Or vice-versa?
It’s a great question, and I just talked about this in a couple other recent interviews, for Pulp, the official blog of the Ann Arbor District Library, and for ZYZZYVA. Luckily, at EMU, the Creative Writing program does not require generic fidelity. We embrace experimental and interdisciplinary approaches to writing! We embrace fluidity among generic (read: gendered) labels!
When you are working with such personal material, how do you cope with difficulties along the way? Do you find your mood is impacted by touching such material, especially when there has been significant trauma behind the events?
One thing that surprised me about the review of Saturation Projectin The New York Times is how focused it was on the trauma and more salacious aspects of the book, which to my mind are integrated into a larger story. It also puzzles me when people use words like “brave” and “courageous” to describe writing about trauma as though a normal person would have the good sense not be traumatized or would hide their trauma, stuff it down into dark “private” places and not publish it. It’s that kind of shame culture that greases the wheels of the traumatizers and locks everyone in their path in a private hell.
How many drafts do your books generally go through before publication?
Countless. I have heard of writers who have a kind of base minimum number of drafts—one I’m thinking of particularly came to my class and talked about the 9th draft as being the crucial one—but the process of revising is not so distinct for me; it’s a constant wash of returning and experimenting. I think counting drafts would be depressing or at the very least a pointless form of accounting and accumulating. One of the reasons that this particular book had so many drafts and versions, that it required a lengthy process, is that I wanted the essays to do something together that they did not do on their own. I talk about this at Hypertext.
Do you have any writing blogs or books about writing essay that you recommend?
I think you learn best by studying the essays you love, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph. Three classics that both perform and address ideal conditions for the essay that I love are Emerson’s “The Poet,” Adorno’s “Essay as Form,” and Cixous “The Laugh of the Medusa.” I usually begin my essay class with these along with Montaigne, who coined the term “essay” and brought a rich inner life to an intensely empirical sensibility.
Finally, how long did you work on Saturation Project? Did you have times when it lay dormant?
By far the longest, most radically transforming book I’ve ever worked on. I wrote each chapter as distinct essays, but they longed to be together (see Hopkins above). The process was truly a saturation, where I tried to soak each piece in the language, ideas, images, off-shoots, sounds, and affective states of the others over the course of at least five years. The beginning was much earlier though: Seneca Review published a nascent version of “Ventifacts” in 2011—a full decade before Saturation Project saw the light of day. An interview that accompanied the essay publication shows clearly—though I hadn’t quite realized it at the time—that I was far from done with it. I also had a very extended version of “Atalanta,” which was really two essays—one of which became my chapbook, A Different Shade for Each Person Reading the Story (which I have revised, as part of another manuscript, since the chapbook came out!). I first had to break that piece free from “Atalanta,” a weirdly painful process.
Hello my name is Candace J. Anderson, and I am honored to be featured in the Bathhouse Blog. My family and I live in Ann Arbor, and I have been a teacher at St. Paul Early Childhood Center and Preschool since 2017. I am a graduate student at Eastern Michigan University in my third semester of the Creative Writing Program. I am truly grateful for the opportunity to participate in a wonderful program with professors who have shown me the limitless possibilities in Creative Writing, and have helped me in my continued growth as a writer.
About the Poems
And Still We Wait, and And Still We Wait (Reprise)
These poems were written in response to our current social and political climate within the African-American community that has often transitioned into different forms of enslavement and oppression throughout history. Though these works, I hope to give a reader a glimpse into that systematic oppression.
My goal is to be able to provoke thought, and possibly start new conversations about the work that still needs to be done by all Americans, in our fight for true freedom and equality.
Candace J. Anderson, Poet, February 19, 2021
And Still We Wait
Browbeaten under the festering pustulous sun
wading in the recesses of history expunged a
cerebrally castrated apparition
husk of humanities vermin
hollowed and left to
toiling like a stoic effigy
And still we wait
rebellion cleaving to the western blot
scourged with fire
branded by emaciation
underbudded iniquities putrefied
And still we wait
bifurcating our native tongue
a prosodic dysfunction that leaves
the central binary form scattered to the west impotent
ravaging our idiomatic expressions
casting it into swine
scavenging marrow abrasions
undergirded while birthing your disruptions
And still we wait
binded by covetous
abhorrent reverie slothering
heterogeneity morphing state
dropping into quiet sleep
And still we wait
tongues clucking, clicking
utterances groaned in spirit
the lingual frenulum affixed
singing praises of a
aphasic and depleted
under siege by the harvest
waiting reap a reward is not in or of this life
And still we wait
listening lapping up dry morsels
underseeing the overseer
plucking motes from the eyes of
these man-made God’s while using one hand to
place cotton to balance the scales of justice
with rubbed raw pink fleshy cuticles and wielding a shotgun in the other
We will wait no more
like dogs gnawing on bone
with ulcerated bleeding gums
gritting through sawed down teeth while being
undervalued and desensitized to our own plight an
induced hyperreal simulacrum burdened to break free
And Still We Wait…(Reprise)
And still we wait…
Still, sorrowful, silenced
Souls war down
Heels cracked thorns in feet
Transitioned from one form of captivity to another
Slavery, sharecropping, the new jim crow
Sowing blood soaked seeds
Harvesting on borrowed time
Freedom bathing us in blue
Batons tenderize our meat
Hair conditioned with yolks and scalding coffee
Cleansed with fire hoses and spittle
German Shepherds lapping at our skin
Puffed up lungs exuding chants that
blow out burning crosses
Black leathered gloved hands signaling retreat
Pig squeals through hate sealed eyes
Using mulatove cocktails to illuminate our path as we
cut that mutilated strange fruit from rope dangling on trees
Bodies cured by the sun, charred by blazing gazes
fingers pointed with affixed poses, gleaming smiles
Camera flashes at the pedestrian attractions
Retrieving bloated bodies from rivers
baptized in blood
Rebellion spilling into the streets
Kinky coily crowns that defy gravity stretching towards the sun flow in unison
Fists lacerate the spaces between the wind
Boots March in unison standing face to face with ballistic shields and masked faces
Trudging through chitterlings, malt liquor, and crack
The Creative Writing Faculty is very pleased to invite students, faculty and interested parties to our Winter BathHouse Event which will feature poet, sound artist, and translator Oana Avasilichioaei on February 10 and 11.
Of special note is her premiere of a live (zoomed-in!) sound performance on February 11 at 3:40 pm.
For information about attending this event and her discussion of her most recent book, Eight Track, please consult this image.
Oana Avasilichioaei’s multidisciplinary art practice interweave’s poetry, translation, photographic and moving image, sound, and performance. Her most recent book Eight Track is described as “a transliterary exploration of traces; sound recordings, surveillance cameras, desert geoglyphs, drone operators, refugee interviews, animal imprints, and audio signals [that] manifest moments of inspired wonder and systems of power.” She lives in Montreal, where she has translated the work of several Quebecois poets. For more information about her books, sound works, performances, and translations please follow this link: https://www.oanalab.com/
When one undertakes a close reading of Shira Dentz’ fifth full-length book of poetry, the sun a blazing zero, published in 2019 by Dialogos Books and Lavender Ink, many questions emerge.
I was lucky to have an opportunity to attend Dentz’ reading via Zoom, through the auspices of BathHouse Reading and Event Series and the EMU Department of English.
During the reading, which Dentz shared with poet Kathryn Cowles, Dentz read three poems from her book. During the first poem, she employed sensory devices over zoom. Readings during COVID-19 are an unusual sort of animal, with the strong possibility of poetry’s impact dissolving over the micro-fiber optical transportation of text fading through technology and transmission. However, even with the sociability of writing diluted through contemporary presentation strategies, the poetic language, performed by the originator rang through.
I mentioned Dentz’s choice to add an additional sensory device: in true avant-garde fashion, Dentz grasped a sheet of paper and rumpled it in front of the computer camera as she read the opening poem of “Black Flowers” (p. 32) The sound of paper, deconstructed into percussion instrument, enhanced the opening lines of the poem.
“ My bubby a black pump marked with
creases an array of streets, now and then
overlapping. Her name changed, rounded
to Mary. A stew of scribbles. Her pumps,
stretched wide open, excited; black flowers.”
from the poem Black Flowers
On the page, the first stanza is nearly crowded out by a graphic design elements, lines smooth and sloping intersecting with jagged peaks. The thin black lines might have been created by the hand of a very old woman, or a very young child. When my children were young, I respected their writing, and we (together) gave it a special name: “scribble-scrabble.” The image of lines on the page, and the sound of the paper being shuffled and animated by Dentz’s hands gave a perfect multi-sensory impression of “scribble-scrabble.”
What other readers/listeners made of the noise of “scribble-scrabble” over zoom technology is impossible to access without deeper inquiry. However, my inquiry and immediate appreciation of the sound as an aligning symbol, which pointed to the marks Dentz manufactured to accompany her poem seems to be an important chain of events in how the poetic can transcend the page and enter the body of the recipient.Permit me one more note about mark-making and its relation to lived-time: learning to make marks on the page is as foundational, as elemental, as all of the developmental steps of movement. When an infant, especially an infant about which you personally care, your own small child, or perhaps a child with a kinship relationship, attains steps of discovery and self-actuality, those milestones give the day a special marker of particularity. Rolling over, discovering the axial midline of the body is truly a skill to celebrate. For without discovery of the body’s axial mid-line, there will be no crawling, no sitting, no standing, no walking.
Therefore, scribble-scrabble is not a random choice for juxtaposition with the poem Black Flowers. Rather, it is an embodied choice. Whatever we called it, whatever our mothers or fathers responded when they saw it, whether we, as preschool writers were praised for it, or ridiculed for it, scribble-scrabble is the universal mark-making of aging. The infant ages into a toddler, and the mark-making is a beginning step of literary consciousness.