Snezana and I have been doing a piss-poor job of promoting our own books, which means we are not impressing the amazing writers who have signed with us at all. I, then, decided to write this news post and do a little promoting.
Readers! Snezana and I have books coming out on March 4, and they’re available to order right now!
Snezana’s amazing new book is entitled Concrete Is More Beautiful Disfigured and Stained, and in it, she cuts right to the heart of the malleability of the identities assigned to us through academics, family, and class. I had the privilege of working with her on this collection, and it is absolutely breathtaking.
Her poetry is relentless, and it takes you from her “chest cavity—the old country” to the Emil Bach House in Chicago to everywhere else in-between. You straighten your back as she straightens hers while riding Chicago’s “beloved Blue Line,” and you feel her hunger pangs when she brings home an “an egg / stolen from an almost-empty supermarket.”
I’ve known Snezana for over 20 years, and what has continually impressed me about her is her innate ability to actively take part in (and even create!) community. From being a proud union member to co-founding Match Factory Editions and helping talented writers get published, she lives and breathes solidarity. This is evident in much of her poetry; buildings are not merely buildings but “mid-century facades / designed in positivist offices / by architects and city planners / in checkered suits.” Chicago is not just a city; it is “a cell under the cosmic microscope lens // focused on the swamp underneath.” The aforementioned Emil Bach House is not only an architectural wonder; it is also “landscapers, receptionists, / carpenters, janitors, electricians, / painters, security guards.”
In some ways, Concrete Is More Beautiful Disfigured and Stained is a companion to Broken Records, Snezana’s memoir from 2016. And it is just as important. You should read both and tell me if you agree or not!
My new book is entitled Meditations on the Possibility of Romantic Love in the South between Eras of Nuclear Weapons Proliferation. It’s been decades in the making, and I’m quite scared and a little proud to be releasing it. It’s a collection written by a person who reads too much James Joyce and listens to too much mediocre music. From ship skeletons to unmade beds, much of my poetry explores some form of the past in order to make sense of the present. In fact, the theme of the entire collection could probably be summed up by the final scene of 1991’s The Prince of Tides.
It is too odd for me to quote my own poetry, so I will, instead, present to you my opening poem:
The Men-of-War Remained Shriveled in the Sand
I dug my hole. Sat there. Waited
for the tide. Waited for the mud
from my boots to lead me back
to the bars I’d been to, to the days
I’d lost, to the demons
I’d gleefully cross-stitched into sheets.
There were parts of them I hated.
Parts of them I didn’t. My black book
swelling on account of humidity and longing.
Thanks for reading! And so ends this promotional piece.