RSSPrescription Strength Poetry
Apr 26
Poetry, Reading, Writing No Comments
When I was living in Cape Girardeau and going to school at Southeast Missouri State University, I was lucky enough to fall in with a wonderful group of poets. We would meet up every week for a workshop in someone’s living room or at a restaurant that would let us hang out if we bought a plate of fries and some coffee. We put on readings in bars and even an old church and published chapbooks. We called ourselves Prescription Strength Poetry.
Looking back, I know how important that time was for me. I began to find my voice, to take more chances in my writing, and to actually become a writer, thanks to the advice and encouragement those amazing poets offered me. So tonight I’m pulling out the old chapbooks and Balancing on a Bootheel: New Voices in Poetry from Southeast Missouri, a book put out by Southeast Missouri State University Press, and picking out some of my favorite poems. This means that in most cases I can’t link to the full text online, but it doesn’t make the poems any less awesome.
Doc Bertram
My favorite thing about Doc, aside from his curly hair and aviators, was his quick, bitingly sharp wit. Here, an excerpt from “Thus Spake Millard Fillmore”:
She caught me off-guard
and I never forgave her for it.
I was into her for all the wrong reasons,
and we were both okay with it.
I was attracted to her for the same reason
I’m attracted to Joan Baez and David Bowie,
and I’m not sure that’s healthy.
And when speaking of responsibility,
I quoted Millard Fillmore;
and she asked if he was an obscure poet.
Realizing she was serious,
I just replied, “Yeah, he was.”
Mandy Henley
Mandy is my best friend in the whole world, and someone I know I can always trust for an honest opinion of my work. Her poetry is elegant and strong. An excerpt from “The Phoenix”:
I know it’s time when my skin
fatiques so thin that I glow red.
Blood surges against barrier,
friction of life against a too-worn body
sparks flame. Arms parallel to the Earth,
head pointed into her, I stand alone
and erupt into fire-hell,
demand respect from a world
bogged in greens and blues
as I suffer all-consuming fire
until I am only ashes.
Ben Marxer
Things I remember about Ben–his hermit crab named the Kraken and that he taught me you should never chintz on your pizza deliver boy’s tip (they know where you live). His poetry can be brutally honest or sarcastic, and it never lets you off the hook. Here’s an excerpt from “The Square Root of Negative One Equals 1″ (you can actually hear him read it here):
I’m fairly certain
that the band Phish
doesn’t exist
I see people wearing the emblems
concert T-shirts proclaiming loudly
that they were there
that they bore witness
However, I have never heard a Phish song
I’m not even sure what kind of music they play
I heard that they toured with The Dead
which serves only to support my point
I’d never trust a doped up Dead head
to cut through the memory haze
far enough to certify whether actually they saw them
or not
Shawn McLain
Shawn’s poetry has a lucid, accumulative quality that is something I am always striving for in my own work. His poem “Father’s Wood Shop” is a beautiful collection of images, some of the every day, some of the slightly off or broken. An excerpt:
You told me a good carpenter hides his mistakes, like that missing nail
that caused a shaky shelf, the foundation, you contended, was intact
….
I would ask why not measure twice, cut one; you told me this was how
you learned, this was how to work, to frame with human hands
Dustin Michael
I remember the first time I ever heard Dustin read his poetry. A group of grad students came in to do a reading for my Intro to Creative Writing class. I’ll never forget how energetic and funny Dustin was. He showed me that poetry can run the full gamut, from serious to humorous. Here’s excerpt from “I Am Catfish” (read the rest here):
I recently sent my girlfriend’s dad
a postcard
with a fish on it.
The postcard had
Get hooked on fishing in Missouri
printed on the front.
My girlfriend had seen it and said,
Ha! You should send that to my dad!
So I did.
I didn’t know what to write
on the back, so I put,
I am Catfish. Remember me.
Nikki Owens
Every time I read Nikkie’s poetry, I think to myself, “this woman knows exactly how I feel.” Her work doesn’t beat around the bushes, doesn’t bother to make sure the reader is comfortable, it just puts it all out there. It’s a quality I admire, as I am prone to shy away from the uncomfortable in my work. An excerpt from her poem “Chunky”:
apparently, I’m not fat.
at least, not to paige,
jc penney salesgirl of the month.
through paige’s eyes,
i’m not “chubby”
or “round”
or “plump”
or “curvy”
or “heavy.”
i’m not even “thick.”
nope. it seems
i am decidedly
“chunky.”
thank you, paige.
Jon Thrower
No one can perform poetry like Jon Thrower. I’ll never forget his thesis defense where he stomped and yelled and, if memory serves, threw McDonald’s cheeseburgers into the crowd. I can’t read his work without imagining his voice–it’s not fully alive until he reads it. And when he does, it grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you, maybe even slaps your face, and you don’t forget it, not for a long time, if ever. An excerpt from “The Barge Worker’s Common Law Wife, A Letter.” (Read the full poem here. You can also hear him read another poem here).
You biked out from County Road 213
heavy metal t-shirt and small-engine forearms,
catwalked all the way to the creek, you said.
Before any of us left the big wheel,
before the ancient pains crouched
in my thighs and my flower,
before the white cars came and the men
with hubcaps pinned to their hearts.