It’s always nice to come across reviews of 2River, these two by writers at Columbia College in Chicago. The first review relies heavily on a 2007 interview at Ephemera, and the second is based more on direct observation of 2River. What I like about the two reviews is that both writers suggest that the poetry selections are informed by a single person rather than by a group or committee, and so the poetry at 2River projects a vision. Whether that vision is good or not, the two writers don’t say.
Month: April 2012
Student Video of “Lamentation”
“Lamentation” by Jason Schneiderman. Video by Silas Marner, a student of mine in Poetry and Plays at STLCC–Mermamec.
Calamity Joe
It’s always great to receive a book with poems from a previous issue of The 2River View. Red Hen Press just sent me a copy of Calamity Joe by Brendan Constantine, with “The Boy Has Come Back” and “I Dreamt I Was Your Finger,” two poems which first appeared the 15.1 (Fall 2010) issue of 2RV. Jump over to Red Hen to purchase the book!
Two Poems from the Spring 2012 Issue of 2RV
Katherine Berta
Rib
You, of whom
I am supposedly made,
tighten your fingers
around a lung.
If you open out
I am splayed,
animal
meant to be
carved up;
in it there is a justice—
take me away from here,
this filet going to him,
that to her,
everything in pieces.
You told me
you’ve changed your mind—
there’s no such thing as sin,
only the division of a person
from parts of himself,
the organs seceding
one after another,
the thoughts too.
What, then, am I,
meted out—
what can I contain
(everything defined
by what it holds)—this bone
there, that spleen, heart?
If you take me,
you take me apart.
To Sew, To Cook
We take the work in hand.
You take it by the hip, to guide it,
you say. You shoot
from the hip, as they
say. The lisping consonants
work themselves, trace
the edges of a lip, laze against
the head of a bed.
The things you say here
gather meaning to meaning,
a ruching, a folding over,
a bending
to reveal something
gross or intimate.
A thing built to contain.
We put things inside—
let us jar
sugar, flour, let us
shelve the jars. This is
comforting, the arabesque
of a kitchen. The folding logic
of appliances
meant to be stored. Once it’s gone
inside, it is gone. Once we eat,
we eat.
Make it about
containment—what may I hold
with my hands
or otherwise? What may I hold
in my mouth?
Muddy Bank 