Episode 02: It's Alive!
b'In our second episode, we stuck with a theme: monsters! One of two themes for Print 8, reading the submissions for Monsters has been anything but a nightmare, and the four poems we discussed on this podcast are examples of how broadly the theme was interpreted, just like we hoped...\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\n "Cloisters" by Kristin Bock\\nIn our second episode, we stuck with a theme: monsters! One of two themes for Print 8, reading the submissions for Monsters has been anything but a nightmare, and the four poems we discussed on this podcast are examples of how broadly the theme was interpreted, just like we hoped.\\n\\xa0\\n\\nKristin Bock\\u2019s \\u201cCompound\\u201d and \\u201cMatchmakers\\u201d alone are great examples of diverse submissions. We had a hard time unpacking \\u201cCompound,\\u201d its densely mysterious and complicated, but we really enjoy work that doesn\\u2019t feel like work. And \\u201cMatchmakers\\u201d is simply--a blast. Her first book was winner of the Tupelo Press First Book Award; we\\u2019ll be watching to see what she does next.\\n\\xa0\\n\\nCristina Baptista\'s \\u201cMonster\\u201d has imagery that called us in and called us back. Listen to us read and talk about it, but then\\u2014trust us--listen to Cristina read it\\u2014you\\u2019re going to want to experience this poem at least twice. And then, trust us, you\\u2019ll want to follow her on Twitter @Herds_of_Words\\nBut wait until you hear this: Cristina recently created a collection of poetry about her experience as a 38th Voyager\\u2014one of 85 people in the world selected to travel (in Summer 2014) on the 38th Voyage of the Charles W. Morgan, an 1841 wooden whaleship that is the last remaining one in the world. She also served as a documenter of the Portuguese immigrant experience aboard whaleships, during this Voyage. See, told you you\\u2019d want to follow her!\\n\\xa0\\n\\nJennie Malboeuf\\u2019s \\u201cThe Part of My Father Will be Played by Jack Nicholson\\u201d calls up the always-fun classic, \\u201cThe Shining.\\u201d With brothers, bear suits, and blood, how could we say, No. We\\u2019re betting you won\\u2019t either, and that you\\u2019ll want more. Jennie\\u2019s poems can be found all over the web, but here\\u2019s two pick\\u2019s for you: the very cool anthology that is the Montreal International Poetry Prize (warning: you\\u2019ll stay on their site for awhile), and these two (plus audio!) at The Cortland Review.\\n\\xa0\\nWe\\u2019d love to know what you think - let us know on our Facebook page!\\nSign up for our email list if you\\u2019re in the area and even if you\\u2019re not!\\nFollow us on Twitter @PaintedBrideQ and Instagram @paintedbridequarterly.\\nRead on!\\n-KVM\\n\\xa0\\nPresent at the Editorial Table:\\nKathleen Volk Miller\\nMarion Wrenn\\nJason Schneiderman\\nMiriam Haier\\nMichelle Johnson\\n\\xa0\\nProduction Engineer:\\nJoe Zang\\n\\xa0\\nPBQ Box Score: 4=0\\n\\xa0-------------------------\\n\\xa0\\nKristin Bock\\nCompound\\nCome stand in the garden. Let the soft rain rinse you. Line up with the others. Hold hands. Now, kiss. Imagine your mind is a blue rose, a blue rose rinsed clean. Hide in the bushes. Wait for the little black stars to squeak by. Step on them. Stamp on them. Some will feel like urchins and under your feet. They will whisper terrible things. Step on them harder. They will cry out. They will have your mother\\u2019s voice. Run. Catch the stars and squeeze until they burst. They will be slippery. Their black oil will leak into the earth. Now your hands are dirty. They\\u2019re filthy. Go back to your spot in the garden and stand like a flower. Do not move until your skin becomes blue and clean and cold. Take off your dress. You are dirty inside. Open your legs to the rain. Your mind unfolds like a blue rose. Hold hands. Now you\\u2019ve been bad. Very bad. Today you will not eat. Today you will stamp on the little black stars until your feet are raw. The stars will squirt and whimper. They will sound like your father crying in the shed. Step on him. Make him cry harder. He is dirty. Your mother is dirty. Come to me. Come to us. Open your legs. Let us rinse you. My brain is as big as a car. My brain is as big as mountain range. I will bend my fat red brain over you like a blood-soaked rose. I will sing to you and was'