Böcker utgivna av Ornithopter Press

AN INCH THICK is a future-mythic life story in lullaby, peopled by punkish attempts to bind and measure and hold still (attempts egged on by the memory of their impossibility). These texts were written between ages 19 and 26, after an itinerant Southwestern upbringing. They hold: fleeing from homes, homes that flee, femme sex in all directions, hedonism, cheap snacks, swelling, shrinking, bloating, and endless attempts to grow the good.

In her second full-length poetry collection Site of Disappearance, Erin Malone's spare and resonant lyrics confront the silence that followed her 11-year-old brother's death. Decades later, as her own son approaches this age, she finds herself returning to her childhood landscape, remembering for the first time in years the abductions and murders of two boys that shook her small town that same season. Through archival research and with tenderness and precision, she steps carefully through the wreckage left by tragedy, in which brother/ boy/ son blur and revolve, and "time stands still because it has a body." Site of Disappearance is an intimate reckoning with personal and collective grief guided by an acute awareness of language's power to reveal and transform.

Author's note: Intaglio Daughters is an homage text for the poet Lyn Hejinian. All titles (in italics above each poem) are taken from her book The Unfollowing. In the preface to her book she writes "I wanted each line to be as difficult to accept on the basis of the previous and subsequent lines as death is for we who are alive-a comparison that I make intentionally, since my intention in writing the sequence of poems I'm calling 'The Unfollowing' was to compose a set of elegies." In considering a form for Intaglio Daughters I wondered-what follows loss and rupture? What follows unfollowing? The mourning process often involves a non-sequential experience of time-and many returns, wavelike, in spirals or contractions. In keeping with this idea of rounds, sinuous or labyrinth-time, reaching backward and forward simultaneously, my book is a series of rondels, with the final line in each poem returning to, and resounding Hejinian's language.

In Reclaimed Water, his second full-length collection of poems, Tom Snarsky rinses the familiar and holds it up, glistening, to the light. With off-beat humor and a refusal to ignore our own complicity in creating the current precarious crossroads, he articulates a poetics devoted to awareness that author and readers alike are inextricable from a complex of flows connecting everything on this planet. How might we save our damaged world (and selves) if we go beyond the binary of resource and waste? By Snarsky's reckoning, reclamation is a form of care. What's used and discarded persists, our textual ephemera also, as flotsam taken up and given new purpose inseparable from the old. Reclaimed Water is the work of a poet living in the present, restlessly searching for answers to vexing questions. Snarsky's poems are both serious and playful; they frequently break free of their confines. The many-gendered mothers of poetry (& the poet) are omnipresent, influences undisguised, and the dead welcomed in like lost friends.

The poems in Camilo Roldan's debut collection, â??Dropoutâ??, cover seven years of the author's life in New York City. The author is a working translator, and Dropout is distinctly the work of a bilingual writer preoccupied with translation as authorship and intent on foregrounding intertextual relationships as a kind of interlingual liminality.

The Tender Between negotiates a linguistic terrain at once forming and falling apart. Through fragmented text and deftly recast associations, author Eve Luckring questions the assumptions that define self/world. Her investigation is rooted in the physical and shaped by the influence of traditional Japanese poetic forms. This is a spare, precise poetry attentive to every syllable.