Tag Archives: Matt Schumacher

Arc Poetry Magazine: “In the badlands of the vernacular . . .”

The latest issue of Arc Poetry Magazine (67, Winter 2012) includes “In the badlands of the vernacular,” a poem from my upcoming collection, Looms.
          What I want to offer in this post is a short selection of lines from other poets represented in the magazine, lines composed of language that crackles with static electricity and nudges improbable likelihoods awake. I could have included many more but here’s just a sample . . .


Adam Sol, “Note Found in a Copy of Midsummer Night’s Dream
. . . .
Through the windows of the library
          the leaves shiver to the tune
of Max Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy.
          It all tastes of the jammy fingers
that last handled these headphones.


Elizabeth Bachinsky, “I Want to Have a Chuck and Di Party Like My Parents Did in the Yukon in the 80s”
–for Jamella Hagen
But where will I get the helicopter?
Who will make my dress
out of garbage bags? And where
will I find the good-sized rock
for our game of rockball?
How will we climb to the ridge
of the glacier? Who will dig
the trench to the fuel pump? And where
will we get the kleig lights?
. . . .


Andrew Faulkner, “Tumour”
. . . .
Indifferent continent where metaphors go:

zebra mussel, surgeon’s golf ball,
a connect-the-dots dot with the image

filled in. Death on a rusty tricycle.
. . . .


Adrienne Gruber, “Reasons To Choose the Leafy Sea Dragon as Your Lover”
          Narrated by Jim Carrey           you were featured in a slow motion 3D IMAX. Relative of the sea horse; same delicate trumpet nose, same philosophy of child rearing. Found in shallow pools, spindly body hovering over brown kelp beds.
. . . .


rob mclennan, “grief notes: glass,”
. . . .
          we sit

& echo out less
serious remarks; a language

made of snarks & sneers
                    ;what matters?
                    what’s the (even) point?

sky turns black; the dishes
come to forefront,

broke,


Matt Schumacher, “The Sea Spider Suppositions”
. . . .
Suppose the sea spider in its mind
always climbs a sleek ladder
whether in the Antarctic or Mediterranean
and peers out of its eye turret
as if it were a walking underwater castle.
. . . .


Camille Martin