April 12, 2013

Andrew Zawacki and Mary Szybist

Sunday, April 28
7:30 p.m.

Denizen Gallery
Milepost 5
850 NE 81 Avenue
Portland, OR

Andrew Zawacki's Videotape is just out from Counterpath; his previous books include Petals of Zero Petals of One (Talisman House), Anabranch (Wesleyan), and By Reason of Breakings (Georgia). His poems have appeared in the New Yorker, New Republic, Nation, and elsewhere, and he has published three books in France: Georgia, Carnet Bartleby, and Par Raison de brisants. A former fellow of the Slovenian Writers' Association, Zawacki's translation of Sébastien Smirou, My Lorenzo, is recently out from Burning Deck, and he edited Afterwards: Slovenian Writing 1945-1995 (White Pine), edited and cotranslated Aleš Debeljak's Without Anesthesia: New and Selected Poems (Persea), and is coeditor of Verse, The Verse Book of Interviews, and Gustaf Sobin's Collected Poems (Talisman House).

Mary Szybist is the author of Incarnadine, just out from Graywolf, and Granted (Alice James). Recent poems can be found in Cortland Review, Ploughshares, Tinhouse, Plume, and the Kenyon Review, and her work has also appeared in journals and anthologies including the Laurel Review, Denver Quarterly, Poetry, Best American Poetry, and the Yale Anthology of Devotional Poetry, and has been incorporated in a public art mural in Pennsylvania and performed in a choral vocal arrangement, among other iterations. A recent Q&A with Mary on Incarnadine appeared in the Oregonian, and more on her work can be found at her website. She lives in Portland where she teaches at Lewis and Clark College.  

(Hsieh Ling-yün)

Cell tower beacon a red
      on the hook w/ Sénanque--
& changeless thru this world all
flourish & perish:
                             a freesia fitted
                                  w/ aerofoils
that turn in the wind
& turn the wind
                     to kilowatt-hours to
                         power the flower

Andrew Zawacki

Girls Overheard While Assembling a Puzzle

 Are you sure this blue is the same as the
 blue over there? This wall's like the
 bottom of a pool, its
 color I mean. I need a
 darker two-piece this summer, the kind with
 elastic at the waist so it actually
 fits. I can't
 find her hands. Where does this gold
 go? It's like the angel's giving
 her a little piece of honeycomb to eat.
 I don't see why God doesn't
 just come down and
 kiss her himself. This is the red of that
 lipstick we saw at the
 mall. This piece of her
 neck could fit into the light part
 of the sky. I think this is a
 piece of water. What kind of
 queen? You mean
 right here? And are we supposed to believe
 she can suddenly
 talk angel? Who thought this stuff
 up? I wish I had a
 velvet bikini. That flower's the color of the
 veins in my grandmother's hands. I
 wish we could
 walk into that garden and pick an
 X-ray to float on.
 Yeah. I do too. I'd say a
 zillion yeses to anyone for that.

Mary Szybist