Episode 55: Prison Whiskey and Big Brother
b'This week on the Slush Pile we welcome our great friend John Wall Barger into the Korman Studio for another fantastic iteration of our podcast! The gang gets rolling by discussing their various summer activities and Kathleen suggests hypnotism to anyone who is attempting to rid themselves of a nasty habit. Marion informs the group that she is currently residing in North Carolina near a prison that has been turned into a whiskey distillery. This of course segues into conversation about the poet whom has taken the spotlight, Susan Grimm and her two pieces \\u201cMade Manifest/Glassy\\u201d as well as \\u201cA Fest of Wishes: Birthday Ghazal"\\n\\nSusan Grimm is the author of Almost Home (Cleveland State University Poetry Center 1997), Lake Erie Blue (BkMk Press 2004), and Roughed Up by the Sun\\u2019s Mothering Tongue (Finishing Line Press 2011). Her work has appeared in Blackbird, The Journal, The Cortland Review, Seneca Review, and Tar River Poetry. She earned an MFA in poetry through the Northeast Ohio MFA consortium (NEOMFA) and teaches creative writing part-time at the Cleveland Institute of Art. She also occasionally teaches classes for Literary Cleveland. She lives in Cleveland, Ohio, and can be found online at The White Space Inside the Poem.\\nThe first poem got the group pondering on the effects "big brother" has had on our society in addition to the younger generation\'s indifference to being watched. After a bit of in depth discussion as well as a vote the topic shifts to the second poem of the day which is applauded for its excellent use of language. What was the fate of these pieces? Does the gang ever get their hands on legitimate prison whiskey? Find out all of that and more inside of this Slush Pile.\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0Made Manifest/Glassy\\nNanny cam. Traffic cam. Bank machine eye. Facialrecognition software. I imagine being watched\\nwhich I don\\u2019t have to imagine. Facebook\\u2019s oldphotos. Look at that hair! Avatars which used to\\nmean gods, maybe sitting on lily pads. By the supremepower of my two-legged presence. Or two thumbs.\\nMaps in the front of books or the glove compartmentwhere there are no gloves. Every time the left hand\\nturn off of Clifton like a disappointed hummingbird.Peacock\\u2019s eye. I have my eye on you. Dream\\nscraps invigilate the movie of my intention. Daisies.Nipples. There\\u2019s you and the you you say you are.\\nPotato eye (gouged out). Eyedropper. I-land.My stories are not about you. The small window high up\\nlike a letterbox to peer through. Somewhere a crumpet of light.\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\nFest of Wishes: A Birthday Ghazal\\nObdurate leaning pine, rough-barked, this witch\\u2019swooden prism, the organs damp, high-colored like sequestered caves\\u2014my best wishes.\\nWet, red fist. The heart grown larger like a pearl, a birdthat strains at the top of the ribs, breaks from my chest like a zest of wishes.\\nEach day like a caught breath, a love blow. There can never beenough\\u2014gasping, swollen, luminous\\u2014arrested by wishes.\\nTrolling for the unobserved\\u2014road smoke, a gravel pitof years, the caution tape (that clean bird not yet bested by wishes).\\nThat it should go on\\u2014the moon riding above me like a promisein the sky, a milky penny fitted to its slot\\u2014the rest of my wishes.\\xa0\\nPresent at the Editorial Table:\\nKathleen Volk Miller\\nTim Fitts\\nMarion Wrenn\\nJohn Wall Barger\\nAli Ziabakhsh-Tabari\\n\\xa0\\nEngineering Producer:\\nJoe Zang'