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Nin Andrews
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Green Mountains Review and 950 Other Journals To Submit Your Work to Now [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Apr 30, 2023 at The Best American Poetry
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Things I've Missed: Tim Seibles, Charles Simic & Peter Johnson [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Apr 2, 2023 at The Best American Poetry
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Happy Birthday, Boy George [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Jun 14, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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An Interview with Meg Pokrass and Jeff Friedman [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Jun 7, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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A Conversation with Dante Di Stefano, Part 4 [by Nin Andrews and Amanda Rabaduex]
Posted May 15, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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A Conversation with Dante Di Stefano, Part 3 [by Nin Andrews and Amanda Rabaduex]
Posted May 8, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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A Conversation with Dante Di Stefano Part 2 [by Nin Andrews and Amanda Rabaduex]
Posted May 2, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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A Conversation with Dante Di Stefano, Part 1 [by Nin Andrews and Amanda Rabaduex]
Posted Apr 25, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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Elizabeth A.I. Powell on Rituals and Spells so Nothing Heinous Happens [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Apr 17, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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Part II: A Conversation with Poet and the Editor of Etruscan Press, Philip Brady [by Nin Andrews and Amanda Rabaduex]
NA: As an Etruscan poet, I have been asked many times: What are the markings of an Etruscan poet? Do you think I should submit to Etruscan? How should I answer? In other words, people want to know what Philip Brady looks for in a manuscript. I'm grateful for and humbled by the number and quality of the manuscripts I see. While I may not be able to publish them, I still profit from having a birds-eye view of the literary landscape. I've learned a lot from the experience. I've learned for instance, that I don't belong to a school. I respond to neo-formalist and post-structuralist poetry, non-narrative and plot-driven prose. Something indefinable in the diction, syntax, voice, structure, authority or tone of a work gets my attention. The response is visceral. I'm drawn in, and soon I've shifted from the posture of editor, pencil twitching in the corner of my mouth, to reader, delighting in the next surprise. You can feel it in the first lines or sentences. It's a pulse, an electric charge—an awareness of form and dimension, perhaps; an awareness of play. No matter how serious and dark the subject matter, certain works emit light: "gaiety" in the old sense of the word. As Yeats has it, "All things fall and are built again/ And those that build them again are gay." We want to provide a platform for that kind of writing across traditional genres, writing with heart and seasoning. We feature work which emerges out of a sense that genre isn’t bound by a set of conventions but is instead a manifestation of a human impulse. There is an impulse to sing, an impulse to regale, an impulse to explain. Yes, genre solidifies into tradition. But the best work—the most new and most ancient—still thrums with that primal impulse. "Form in dread of power," as Emerson puts it. We look for work that carries the tradition but emerges from the source. So, as the conductor says tapping his baton, "More brilliance, please." AR: What is your favorite part of the editing process? Making the phone call to tell a new author we’ve accepted their manuscript. AR: And the best part of being an editor? I just got off the phone with Laurie Jean, author of Crave: Sojourn of a Hungry Soul, and Laurie told me she had accepted a position as Dean of Studies at Susquehanna University. Her book (along with her experience, charisma, and leadership) was part of what made that possible. I want to receive more phone calls like that. AR: What are the most inspiring, interesting, or remarkable situations you've experienced since starting Etruscan? When Bob Mooney and I conceived Etruscan, we thought we would begin with a small book of poems and grow as we learned. Then 9/11 happened. Bill Heyen, eminent poet and towering anthologist, proposed a book called “September 11, 2001: American Writers Respond.” He wanted to capture America’s first reaction to the tragedy. But Etruscan didn’t, so to... Continue reading
Posted Apr 4, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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A Conversation with Poet and Editor, Philip Brady [by Nin Andrews and Amanda Rabaduex]
Posted Apr 3, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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A Conversation with Australian Prose Poet, Cassandra Atherton (by Nin Andrews)
Posted Mar 28, 2022 at The Best American Poetry
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Love Most of You Too by Dustin Brookshire [by Nin Andrews]
Posted May 14, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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An Interview with Elizabeth A. I. Powell [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Apr 15, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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"The Last Orgasm" [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Apr 15, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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David Lehman, Denise Duhamel & Nin Andrews: Reading at the KGB Tonight 4/12/21
Posted Apr 11, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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The How-To Poem with Rebecca Morgan Frank [by Nin Andrews]
I had all these great ideas for a blog post last night as I was drifting off to sleep, feeling thrilled to have just received my second vaccine, and dreaming of life after Covid—dinners out, coffee shops, friends. But this morning, when I woke, I felt done in. Overnight, my brain seems to have turned into Jello. I’m not sure if there’s a coherent thought in there, thanks to Moderna. Usually when I lack inspiration or brain power of my own, I pick up a poetry book at random, and it helps get the juices flowing. Or at least, I have an enjoyable moment with someone else’s poetry. But today, those poetry books are staying on the shelf. No way can I focus on poetry. Instead, I’m reaching for my guilty pleasure—self-help books. Because there isn’t a subject I don’t need a how-to book for. Or a book for dummies. Whenever I walk into a bookstore, I am amazed to find a whole shelf of books, written just for me. So far, I have read Walking for Dummies--I mean how does anyone put one foot in front of the other? Daily Sex for Dummies. Daily, seriously? Tying Shoes for Dummies—it’s true, I don’t even tie my shoes correctly. And The Dummies’ Guide to Love and Happiness. What can I say? I love instruction manuals, precisely because I can never follow directions. I remember, many years ago, in a college poetry class, one student said, “Nin never does the assignment. She just goes off into her our own world.” “Yep,” the teacher said. “But at least she has another world to go to.” I am not sure if that’s a good thing. But I try to do what I am told. Well, more or less. I also love instruction manual-poems like Ashbery’s “The Instruction Manual,” and Rebecca Morgan Frank’s “How to Make Your Own Automaton,” which she reads in this video below. And then offers advice on how to write your own how-to poem. Frank is brilliant. And she gives great advice. Now, if only I can follow it. Continue reading
Posted Apr 9, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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Writing Prompts for April's Poem-a-Day Challenge (by Nin Andrews)
It’s April, the cruelest month, and here in Virginia the rain has been falling so steadily, I am worried it will never dry out again. I feel soaked to the bone. Brain-foggy, too. Socked in. But, in spite of that, I’ve signed up for one of those write-a-poem-a-day groups. Now, I know a lot of you BAP readers are naturals at writing daily poems. Maybe you follow William Stafford’s advice of lowering your standards, and just keep writing no matter what. Or you’re a regular Emily Dickinson or Frank O'Hara--scribbling brilliant lines every other second. Or you’re like David Lehman who wrote a poem a day for two years (gulp) and then published his lovely book, The Daily Mirror. Me? I don’t write a poem in a day, or even in a week. Ever. But, I have decided to give it a try. After all, it's what poets do in April, right? And I want to say, I'll be relying on all those poets who so graciously offered up video prompts for Lit Youngstown's Lit by the Imagination project, poets like Denise Duhamel, Stephanie Strickland, Peter Johnson, Jeff Friedman, Dante Di Stefano, and others. So many others. Every day there’s a new poet and a new prompt here. I want to post a few examples here, just to give a taste of what's ahead. Like this one by Nicole Santalucia: And this one by Lauren K. Alleyne: And this one by Leona Sevick: Continue reading
Posted Apr 2, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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Overcoming Writer’s Block with Jessica Jacobs and Nickole Brown (by Nin Andrews)
Posted Mar 23, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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English Flavors by Laure-Anne Bosselaar [by Nin Andrews]
I love to lick English the way I licked the hard round licorice sticks the Belgian nuns gave me for six good conduct points on Sundays after mass. Love it when ‘plethora’, ‘indolence’, ‘damask’, or my new word: ‘lasciviousness,’ stain my tongue, thicken my saliva, sweet as those sticks — black and slick with every lick it took to make daggers out of them: sticky spikes I brandished straight up to the ebony crucifix in the dorm, with the pride of a child more often punished than praised. ‘Amuck,’ ‘awkward,’ or ‘knuckles,’ have jaw- breaker flavors; there’s honey in ‘hunter’s moon,’ hot pepper in ‘hunk,’ and ‘mellifluous’ has aromas of almonds and milk. Those tastes of recompense still bitter-sweet today as I roll, bend and shape English in my mouth, repeating its syllables like acts of contrition, then sticking out my new tongue — flavored and sharp — to the ambiguities of meaning. I love this poem, which Laure-Anne Bosselair so graciously agreed to record for Lit Youngstown’s forthcoming series of poetry videos. I love the idea of tasting the words, relishing them, not as Mark Strand does in his famous poem, “Eating Poetry,” when ink runs from the corners of his mouth, but as a savorer of flavors and textures and sounds. I especially love how she closes the poem with an image of herself sticking out her tongue as a Catholic receiving the sacrament in order to take in “the ambiguities of meaning.” Listening to her read in her beautiful Belgian accent, I am reminded of my childhood friend’s Belgian mother who used to call me mon petit chou. When she said chou, her lips pursed as if in a kiss, I felt so loved. I was certain mon petit chou meant something sweet like my little treasure. Or poppet. Years later, when I was a French student, I discovered she had been calling me her little cauliflower. Apparently, it’s a French term of endearment. I assume it’s the sound of the word, chou, that makes it so. Or perhaps there is a reference or meaning that I am missing. But then again, maybe the French appreciate cauliflower a lot more than I do. As Bosselaar puts it, when learning a language, one must stick out one’s tongue “to the ambiguities of meaning.” Continue reading
Posted Mar 5, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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Reading and Rereading "One Tree" by Philip Metres (by Nin Andrews)
Posted Jan 13, 2021 at The Best American Poetry
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How to Make Love, Write Poetry, & Believe in God (by Nin Andrews)
Posted Sep 29, 2020 at The Best American Poetry
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The Virtual Poetry Conference [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Sep 4, 2020 at The Best American Poetry
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Reading Poetry to Ward off the Covid Blues [by Nin Andrews]
Posted Jun 30, 2020 at The Best American Poetry
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Larissa Szporluk Reports from Domodossola, Italy
1 April, Domodossola First to go were the gatherings. With the gatherings, gone was the sound of the gatherings—the voices, the music, the cars, the vespas, mostly the voices. Once in a while, a sudden band of teenagers rounding a corner or tucked between buildings, laughing, breaking the law by gathering. Then spring came in out of the stopped-dead Carnival—birds, flowers, trees in bloom, everything budding, and then even the teenagers vanished. In came the changing of the guard of sounds. Bells got louder. Birds got louder. The electric saw across town of a man cutting wood got louder. Shutters going up in the morning, down in the evening, deafening. Silence got louder, so much louder that it covered the streets and windows and faces behind the masks of the few people allowed to go out and got into the skin and blood and started to take hope away because here, now, silence is synonymous with death. It isn’t beautiful or zen or musical. It is the song of the virus, of the Carnival it took over, of the virtues and vices of the human race it is eating as it slides across towns and regions and borders and oceans, hunting down people of all ages and shapes, growing stronger and longer as it gathers into itself not our bodies or money or talents or dreams, just our breath. Larissa Szporluk's sixth book of poetry, VIRGINALS, will be published by Burnside Review Press in fall 2020. She teaches at Bowling Green State University in Ohio. Continue reading
Posted Apr 2, 2020 at The Best American Poetry
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