Five for Eduardo C. Corral

Eduardo C. Corral

Rather than do a long, drawn out interview with a poet, I want to try in this blog to interview a few poets (Pulitzer Prize winner Tracy K. Smith is next) by asking them only five questions based on their latest book.

I first read Eduardo C. Corral’s poems in Poetry and was knocked out by them. I then found out that Carl Phillips had chosen Eduardo’s first book “Slow Lightning” as his inaugural choice as judge for the Yale Series of Younger Poets Prize (the first Latino poet to ever be so honored) and e-mailed Carl for Eduardo’s contact info, so I could write him a fan note. I’m old school. I always write fan notes, or letters, or e-mails, to writers whose work gets to me. I asked Eduardo for a copy of his book so I could review it and got a galley of “Slow Lightning” a couple of months ago (the book was published in April). It’s a great book: inventive, lyrical, hypnotic and magically realistic. Continue reading

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Hearing Voices: Women Versing Life presents: Deborah Clearman

Deborah Clearman

“You can say anything with kindness” is the oft-repeated phrase of most professors in writing workshops. It’s a reminder, of course, to speak the truth in our criticism of each other’s work, but to speak it gently. It’s one way to make the workshop environment feel safe and comfortable. Most of the time it works, which means that sometimes it doesn’t work.

But what if there was only kindness? That’s the philosophy of Deborah Clearman and her colleagues at the New York Writers Coalition: No criticism, just praise. It sounds radical, the idea that a writer would share a poem or story, receive only positive feedback in return, and continue to improve her writing, but Clearman says it works. The “praise only” model creates a whole new atmosphere of trust, which is important for Clearman because her workshops are held in a place where praise and comfort are often in short supply: women’s prison. Continue reading

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May 22nd in New York: Spring 2012 Issue Celebration

Join guest editor Nick Flynn and fifteen contributors to the Spring 2012 issue of Ploughshares as they read from their writing and celebrate the new issue! The event is free and open to the public, plus the first ten guests get a free copy of the issue.

WHEN: Tuesday, May 22nd, from 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m.

WHERE: The Woods

48 South 4th Street (between Kent and Wythe)

Williamsburg, Brooklyn 11211

SUBWAY: L Train to Bedford Ave

Nick Flynn will host the event, and there will be readings by Mary Morris, Maria Venegas, Eric Fair, Kelle Groom, Melissa Sandor, Danielle Blau, Patricia Caspers, Michael Dumanis, Monica Ferrell, Michael Klein, Eileen Myles, Gregory Pardlo, James Tolan, Suzanne Wise, and Ronnie Yates.

Many thanks to Maria Venegas and Melissa Sandor for organizing the event. We hope to see you there!

The Woods, via Plate of the Day

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The Embodied Poem: On Writing “Palace” by Hadara Bar-Nadav

Hadara Bar-Nadav’s poem, “Palace,” appears in our Spring 2012 issue, guest edited by Nick Flynn. “Palace” opens with these lines:

When they run out of meat

men disappear. I chew
my hair, a kind of fullness

that is kind, a thread

soup. A nest gathers
its strands inside me.

Here, Bar-Nadav describes her process: Continue reading

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Birds of a Lesser Paradise

Birds of a Lesser Paradise
Megan Mayhew Bergman
Scribner, March 2012
$24.00
240 pages

In the twelve stories in Megan Mayhew Bergman’s debut collection, the past is always present. Children live in the failing light of dying parents. Lovers make their beds on inherited sheets. The furniture in a rented house smells of a previous tenants “chicken suppers and cigarette smoke.” Continue reading

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Poetry, Hip Hop, and Academia: A Discussion with Camille Rankine, Patrick Rosal, and Tracy K. Smith

From left: Camille Rankine, Patrick Rosal, Tracy K. Smith

Move with the crowds underground to take the A train uptown on a quintessential Manhattan evening in late April, the clouds having opened up the sky to all those glorious industrial gases from across the Hudson that can turn the western horizon an ink wash of pastels. Step onto West 4th Street in the Village, and if, like me, it’s poetry you’re after here in the historic sepia heart of beatniks, bongos, and berets in hip cafés, my friend, you’ll have to bump that copy of Howl or No Direction Home to the top of your Netflix queue, light up a French cigarette, and a dream a little dream of postwar counterculture on your own dime, because tonight the Village belongs to the poetry of a new millennium, brought to you by the good people of Cave Canem Foundation, who in 14 years of awarding a first-book prize to African American poets have introduced the country to a number of poets who have gone on to achieve significant reputations, including two Pulitzer Prize winners in Natasha Trethewey and Tracy K. Smith, one of the poets I’m off to see in The New School’s Wollman Hall. Continue reading

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The Best Way To See

In distance running circles, we talk about the “shelf life” of our legs. The hips, knees, ankles, and feet can sustain only so much wear and tear before they start to give out.

What does impending expiration look like? One day I run a solid 8-miler; the next day I can’t pull my right leg forward. I can move it backward and sideways. I can lift my knee up to my chest and kick my own butt. But the forward-motion pull is excruciating. Ten paces down the driveway and I’m done. Continue reading

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Beth Bachmann

Beth Bachmann’s poems, “(why your room has a door),” “(ode),” and “energy” appear in our Spring 2012 issue, guest edited by Nick Flynn. “(why your room has a door)” opens with these lines:

It’s not the shore; it’s the ocean that opens. Devil, make a mountain

of me for the water to dwell     against. I become aware of my
methods, and the methods

changed me. Soldier, you make my body a map on the floor

Here, Bachmann discusses her inspiration for “(why your room has a door)”:

We pulled up to the Museum of Miniatures, Dolls and Toys in a big, red truck. I love it when proportions go crazy and this was one drink me and then the other, inside, among the dollhouses and the tiny things they hold: miniature boxes of cheer and joy and all and poison, ninety-nine bottles to kneel before, and one empty house we studied the way you do the last time before you move. What I hadn’t expected to find were the soldiers close enough for reentry. Back at the hotel, the tv encouraged freedom and privacy with the words, it’s why your room has a door, and I wondered, is it? Later, we played a game and there was my father’s name, my maiden, written out under half a body and the hangman’s noose.

I am fond of the soldier’s brute strength and vulnerability and of writing in a mode of female war lyrics, though Wilfred Owen remains my favorite poet of PTSD. Owen writes, “Always they must see these things and hear them;” Marina Tsvetaeva (via Ed Hirsch): “the wave always returns, and always returns as a different wave;” Muriel Rukeyser: “Women and poets see the truth arrive.”

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Literary Boroughs #1: Asilah, Morocco

The Literary Boroughs series will explore little-known and well-known literary communities across the country and world and show that while literary culture can exist online without regard to geographic location, it also continues to thrive locally. The series will run on our blog from May 2012 until AWP13 in Boston. Please enjoy the first post on Asilah, Morocco by Lucas M. Peters. -Andrea Martucci, Ploughshares Managing Editor

When thinking of what makes a “literary borough,” we think of Paris in the ’20s, quickly followed by San Francisco in the ’50s and ’60s and recently, Brooklyn. What these places have in common is a sense of history, a thriving art community, a sense of social struggle, and affordability for a struggling writer (Brooklyn maybe being an exception). Asilah, Morocco, is surprisingly not unlike its “big sisters.” It is in the middle of a fascinating history, both historical and literary. Asilah has a 3,600 year history that includes some fascinating stories involving Roman, Arab, Portuguese, Spanish, and French colonization, Hercules reportedly did a tour around the area and, more recently, Mohammed Choukri, Paul Bowles, Tennessee Williams, Edith Wharton, Jean Genet (buried in the nearby town of Larache), Tahar Ben Jelloun, Jimi Hendrix, Henri Matisse, and William Burroughs have all spent time around the area and found it inspiring.

Quick info:

City: Asilah, Morocco

Medina Wall

Throughout Morocco, “Asilah” (also “Assilah” or “Azilah”) is synonymous with “art.” The small town is home to over fifty resident artists. Each summer, the entire medina (or “old city”) is repainted in white and blue. Throughout July, artists from around the world cover the medina walls with murals. Paul Bowles kept a vacation house here and the actual setting for Cabeza de Lobo in Tennessee Williams’ Suddenly, Last Summer, is Asilah. Biannually, a poetry award is given by the city in the name of Congolese poet Tchicaya U Tam’si for achievements in African Poetry. Currently, Asilah is the favorite “getaway spot” for poet Myronn Hardy.

Asila Murals

Where to find reading material:

If you want to check out a real bookstore, you take a 30 minute trip north to Tangier. Librarie des Colonnescarries a large selection of the latest books in Arabic, English, French, and Spanish and you can find authors reading from around the world. Check out

Les Colonnes (Interior)

their calendar for a list of readings: http://www.librairie-des-colonnes.com/. Page et Plume is another good option. There is a limited selection of English books, but they have a nice variety of books in French. Like many things in Morocco, book shopping becomes an all-day affair. It’s not something you take lightly. There is a gravity to shopping for books here that exists only in those places where illiteracy is still incredibly high. According to the latest UNICEF statistics, the adult illiteracy rate in Morocco is estimated at 44%.

Where to write: 

The Fishermen’s Cafe is hidden behind a grove of bamboo along the old Portuguese fortress wall. It’s the kind of place where the old men sit drinking mint tea, casually smoking kif and discussing trends in art and literature over a game of chess. This is a great place to write and channel your inner Burroughs. If you find the smell of kif a bit overwhelming, the more trafficked cafes along the main boulevard provide a nice place to jot a few notes in your journal.

Asilah Gallery

Paradise Beach about a mile and a half south of the city is a rare gem. It’s incredibly secluded (outside of August) and great place to read or write. Of course, where most writers tend to get the business of writing done is at home. Home, in this case, being a rented house in the medina, on a terrace, overlooking the old city and the Atlantic. Check out Trip Advisor for a hassle-free way to rent a house, but be sure to book far in advance for the summer.

Events/Festivals:

The biggest event in Asilah is the annual summer art festival, which starts in July and continues through August. It brings in artists from around the world. During this festival, the city transforms to a quiet oceanside town to a thriving art metropolis. In early March, there is the Festival of Creative Women and throughout the year, the Pasha Raissouni Palace hosts various artists and sponsors a large variety of events and activities.

Next post: May 22 | Portsmouth, New Hampshire…

BIO: Lucas M Peters has lived in Seattle, San Francisco, Key West, London, Paris and Prague. He currently lives in Morocco and teaches English at Al Akhawayn University. He is also pursuing an MFA at Goddard College. Follow him on Twitter @LucasMPeters.

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Hearing Voices: Women Versing Life presents Phillis Wheatley

Phillis Wheatley

Now you’re on an auction block, struggling to stand, naked except for a scrap of blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You watch as money exchanges hands and realize that you are owned now, someone’s belonging. These new people call you Phillis, again and again, as if the name your parents gave you is easily discarded, as if the old you does not exist. And when you learn the word namesake, understand that you are named for the slave ship that carried you farther and farther from your family, named after the staggering prison where you nearly died, wanted to die, do you lay down your head in despair? Or do you become a poet? Continue reading

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