remember this? the collaboration project alex stolis invited me to do with him late last year? the chapbook of "letters"? remember that we sent it out to rubicon press in january? a month ago we heard that we had made it to the final round. and last night ... well, last night we heard that jenna and yvonne have decided to publish the chapbook in the fall! this is what jenna had to say: After going through your collection several times with Yvonne, we have decided that we would very much like to publish your chapbook this fall. We found the poems you and Alex have written to be incredibly rich in imagery, texture and emotion -- an outstanding collection!
we are sooo, soooooo thrilled! and i am glad alex asked me to write that collection with him in the first place, and that i said yes. :)
so - small confessions and pebbles of regret will be out some time in october if all goes as planned - a kind of twin to my other chapbook. *g*
and thanks to everyone who was there during the process, and helped inspire me, and supported me in some way - the ITWS crowd, mainly. and to teresa for looking the manuscript over!
here are poems 5 (alex) and 6 (me):
8358 Sunset Boulevard
West Hollywood, California 90069
July 25, 19__
Dear J_______,
You told me you have dreams of Italy, bright-winged birds
and Byzantine churches. We made love in a bell tower and tasted
redemption—there were yellow hills, uneven fields, there was a sun
that created a halo above the clouds.
Now you say no to silence—believe only blues and reds will fill the void,
the void left when the last remnants of your first vision disappeared.
You say you don't want to hear the sound of water as it rushes down
the throat of First Avenue—
say you no longer care for words strung together, so carefully,
by boys who misunderstand the meaning of a wink.
You would rather comment on the beauty of stars, wait for them to fall
asleep, then leave by the backdoor without saying a word.
I was in a dream once—walking down Sunset Boulevard, a wine bottle
in my hand—there didn't seem to be an end in sight though I could see
the beginning very clearly. You were there too— Venetian-blonde hair
drying in the wind—the geometry of your face in contrast to an oblong moon.
Yours,
L_______
* * * * *
Gellertgasse 42
1100 Vienna
August 23, 19__
Dear L_______,
Yesterday the sun rose at 6.24. I carried its heat within me all day;
it triggered a longing for the sea that did not subside until I licked
salt off my thumbs, someone else's collarbone. I felt like a cradle,
a wave, a riptide in the night. You were the one I wanted to drown.
After sunset, nothing remained of the moon, the only thing that
could have plugged my well of dreams. This is what I saw—
I was bedded on pillows of kindling—throat zipped up, dry between
my legs. My tongue flicked out to spark a flame, set fire to neatly
stacked rows of corned pork, corned beef in cans with bevelled
edges. I watched it raging across the sacred rooms of childhood,
fuelled by bedtime stories, teddy bear fuzz. The attic went last,
with its nibble of mice, skeleton dolls dangling from sooty rafters.
I woke up kneeling, prayer on my parched lips. Frantic fingers
counted out colours like a wish list, all of them shades of red or
blue, all of them wearing a stranger's tired face. A siren wailed
an answer to my call. Hysterical shadows slithered down half-
closed curtains, pooled at my feet. I bit down hard on cold metal,
on glass; I sharpened blades. The noose tightened around my neck.
J_______
song of the day: happy by jenny lewis with the watson twins.
