A MAN THAT LOOKS LIKE HIS WIFE, SAMIRA ABED

in this poem, i am curious about the qualities of the self as strung through the patterns and expectations of a memory driven by “history”. i am curious about how conceptions of the self can be found in the bonding of the “you” and “i” and how this bonding is ultimately an attempt to refashion, to make sense of historical narratives.

for me, “poem logic” makes it easy for both of these arguments to intertwine. i think of “poem logic” as doing the opposite of what narrative writing sets out to do. while both may operate similarly in attempting to string together reality,  “poem logic” relies on a sense-making that might not appear relatable to standard conceptions of time and perspective. past and present might exist at the same “time,” or there might be no past, etc. i am curious in my writing, in particular, to imagine a past that is forever forward - a version of the past that we walk into.

i wrote this poem during a difficult time in my life. i included it, along with 9 other pages of poems, in my application to MFA programs over a year ago now. i remember looking very intently at the cover of Piece of Cake, one of Bernadette Mayer’s best books, that was premised off a series of letters her and Lewis Warsh wrote to each other on alternating days. i found it beautiful how closely they seemed to resemble each other, standing in the snow with shiny brown hair and black jackets. i admired my projection of their intimacy, and felt strongly that i wish i could have that sort of intimacy with myself. 

these days in my MFA program, i feel a strong urge to write in history and to rethink my competition of it. i spend a lot of time looking at old maps and watching youtube videos on the Punic Wars. i’m still trying to string together how it all makes sense, for me and for everyone.

-samira

A MEANING IN TIME, SAM ELLISON

this photo of dock pilings in the Hudson River was among the first i ever took on a "real" camera. i see individual stanchions, once connected through a common purpose (proudly bearing a dock), now connected by mere association. for me, this is potent: i think of the varied circumstances in which relationships in my life began, be they school, work, or otherwise, and how, among my most persistent connections, such relationships evolved far beyond their originating circumstance. among my newer friends, it is easier to pinpoint why i like them; perhaps we share a common interest, perspective, or friend. but for my older, dearest friends, it is much harder to answer that same question, why i like them. i just do.

this photo also speaks to relationships which are no more. pilings not pictured, now missing from their original sites, succumbed, at some point, to nature and time. their loss, however, does not re-make the role they once played. they, too, once supported a dock. so, too, with relationships. a once-was friend was, at one time, a cherished friend and the loss of such a friend is not necessarily the sign of a failed friendship but rather a good relationship run its natural course.

i had no idea i would see meaning in friendships when i took this photo in April 2021. there's a beauty in art which allows us to see many meanings and discover more with each new visit. so, too, with friends.

-sam

WARM, SAFE, PROUD, FORGOTTEN (RELICS), GODBLINK GOBLIN

Mori and i collected all the “unfinished” songs we made under our former moniker Godblink Goblin. they fermented for a long time in various laptops and folders and now they stink to high heaven and taste amazing. the tape is kind of an ode to our old creative selves.

it was really special to dig them all up and release them without laying a finger. the process presented many moving and serendipitous moments.

we were and are completely bonkers.

-sage

CHAIR 01, TAYLOR LOWERY

one of the things i love most about getting older is recognizing how wisdom unfolds—like a tapestry—where every lesson learned weaves into the next, and each new experience enriches what you already know.

nearly two years ago, i stumbled upon a craigslist listing for two Møller Model 71 chairs for $100 (a steal considering they retail for $1500 each). both seats needed reweaving, and one had no seat at all. the seller was moving and said, “it’s one of those projects i’ve been meaning to do.” and just like that, they became one of those projects for me.

more than a year later — after a mispurchase and a missed return window — i finally got the right Danish cord and re-wove the chairs. for a brief moment, my bedroom was free of unfinished chairs.

until this project.

Chair 01 is made up of two elements: a frame i welded and a seat i wove. the frame sat in my bedroom for nine months while i debated seat options. finally, under the thumb of grad school application deadlines, i decided to make do with what i had. armed with two pounds of not-Danish-cord-but-actually-paper-rush, i began weaving. i wanted a pattern that would emphasize the frame’s angularity and cantilever. the process was intricate, and by 3am, i had a chair — and two very swollen hands.

Chair 01 is a culmination of years of collected skills, trial and error, and the realization that design is an ongoing process of learning, experimenting, and refining.

-taylor

A NEW HISTORY OF MAN (BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH), ABIGAIL DRACH

i have to confess that this is one of my favorite poems that i’ve ever written. i loved writing it and I love reading it, which i have done over and over. it began as a few lines i collected at random last winter, saving them in my notes app for something that would make them cohere. “holding his headphones like a rosary” was the first one—it came to me on the subway, watching a guy doing just that. then “impossibly young and starved for touch” as i walked into Central Park one late winter afternoon. “perhaps as long as capitalism exists, man is doomed to be lonely” was something i facetiously texted a friend one night.

i assembled the lines and filled in the gaps between them in the spring, bored on a long commute. i decided to build the poem around this unnamed he to challenge myself to not rely so heavily on the first person perspective or autobiography in my poetry. i also wanted to play with he/man as the universal signifiers of humanity and subvert this patriarchal convention with the tenderness of the poem.

that’s what led me to the image of the mother — as another universal symbol, the other side of the patriarchal coin. i wanted to take the mythological trope of generational struggle (think Zeus/Kronos) and make it mother-son instead of father-son or even the terribly human mother-daughter.

the final line took another whole subway ride to revise. it drove me crazy. Emily Dickinson is often on my mind when i write, and i explicitly invoke her in the title of this poem. i wanted to conclude by returning to her, using my own words to conjure the oomf of her cadence. finding the right metrical feel was hard. “primordial” and “time” created nice lifts and landings and nod to Dickinson’s fascination with eternity.

and “gasps” is one of the loveliest and most evocative words.

-abigail

THE CITGO SIGN!, SIM ARORA

in a city that felt dreary, there were still moments that were full of color.

to me, Boston represented the loss of life. it’s where i, for the first time, really lost my spark. my lens of the city was lonely and grey and i didn’t realize that all it took was one person to change that, even just for a few moments.

the most beautiful thing about time spent with another is having the privilege to see the world through their lens, even if you both are looking at the same thing. to him, Boston was happy and warm. moments spent with him made me see and feel those things too, because he brought me into his world. his world was my world, but it felt so different.

this painting is his world, and when i was his world, i had a break from gray and lonely and found color and company.

-sim

BIRTH SONG, LIANA WARREN

i wrote this song in december for a songwriting class taught by Emily Sprague of the band Florist. we’d been given the prompt, “tell your origin story,” and i had these big visions about how i would set aside a whole night of my week to coin some elaborate, fantastical story for myself. we got out of the lecture, and one thing Emily had said resonated with me: “whatever you create from the prompt is what you are supposed to get from it.” 

it was an incredibly freeing idea, that i didn’t have to make a whole pressurized ordeal out of the prompt, and it didn’t have to be any specific way. there were no wrong answers, only right answers (what a rare case, and what a gift!). i could just write what i wrote. i had about 10 minutes in between lecture and when i needed to meet up with some friends, so i sat down and wrote this song. the words came quickly, and i didn’t think too hard about them — i didn’t prescribe them with much meaning. this was the song that was born from the experience, and in all honesty, it’s one of my favorite songs i have written.

i continue to return to constraints as one of the most valuable tools in my creative practice. limiting yourself to two chords, 10 minutes, just an acoustic guitar with no pedals or knobs to turn, or even just setting a deadline, like “i must have a finished song by the end of the night,” and suddenly your creative self can bloom around it. you have to find ways to work within it, and you don’t feel bogged down by limitless choices and infinite ways to expand an idea. and whatever you get is exactly what you were meant to get.

songwriting, for me, is like this really magical collaboration between the songwriter and the universe. i know that sounds heady, but it truly is a freeing feeling. if tonight, the universe has only given me 10 minutes, well, that’s what we’ve got. and then the mistakes that you make, or the simplicity of an idea, those are all part of the collaboration, and they’re worth leaning into. and you never know what kind of magic will be born!

-liana