ŷ������

Photo by Anastasia Walker

The other day I watched . I definitely feel that. Where does the time go?

As time moves on, I like to mark the milestones along the way.

It’s the second November of the pandemic. That’s kind of a milestone. How many more Novembers before the old ways begin to fade? I already feel that to some extent and mostly feel comfortable with a new way of living, working, and being. Next November, certain things about the before times will seem even more distant. But there is also a sadness.

I searched my music collection for songs with November in the title just to see what kind of thoughts and feelings others have conjured up for this penultimate month.

I played Rod McKuen’s ��.�� From his Home To The Sea album, a spoken-word record of McKuen’s poetry set to music by Anita Kerr, it’s a lonesome poem (as are most McKuen poems) backed by a melancholy instrumental. The poem’s imagery is about the rain more than it is about the sea. Of course, there’s perhaps the most famous November song by Guns N Roses: ��.�� A far cry from McKuen, but both pieces suggest that love is never far from sadness.

This is the kind of dance I often find myself in when searching my music collection!

There’s a poem titled “�� from Anastasia Walker’s forthcoming debut collection, , where she speaks of “the shivering sun / of an autumn twilight.�� It’s a chilling image that feels imbued with the inevitability of sadness. There’s no rain here, though I can’t help but think the ground is wet, having soaked up the storm before the poem began, ready to give birth to something new. After all, twilight is a time of transformation.

I can’t escape the thought of rain and its allure as a potent symbol. Like sadness, like love��, part of the natural cycle. Like autumn. Like twilight. Year after year, even as the months between seem to get shorter, let us remember November’s past, knowing it will come around again all too soon.

Anastasia Walker’s book .

In the sweaty New York City July heat, I sat down with my friend and colleague, Dudgrick Bevins. We talked about , exploring a new generation’s relationship with school shootings and the unheard voices breathing desperately into a chorus of narrative poetry. Bevins is not only a prolific interdisciplinary artist and poet but a fellow educator. Here he reflects on what it means to navigate the role of teacher when talking to students about gun violence while still processing the chaotic internal emotions that each individual experiences in the aftermath of traumatic school shootings.

Vigil by Dudgrick Bevins

AG: What inspired you to write Vigil?

DB: Well, in some ways, you were there at the genesis of the project. The Parkland School shooting had just occurred, and we were watching the news about it every morning. Then we were asked to teach a lesson on it. The students were saying the same things to me that I wanted or tried to say to my teachers after the Columbine shooting when I was in seventh grade. But even now, as an adult, as a teacher, I didn’t have the answers. I spoke with you about it after, and you said you had a great conversation, that it was unstructured, authentic, respectful. But it was such a struggle for me, and I didn’t know . My default language is poetry, so that’s where I went.

AG: I remember it well. When you shared an early draft with me, you still hadn’t quite figured it out, though.

DB: Yeah, you said, “Dudgrick, this is unfinished.�� You were right; the first manuscript left me out. But you helped me see that I’m part of the equation, too. So, the voice of the teacher in Vigil only exists because of that. You helped me find my voice!

AG: Do you think Generation X has a similar or different relationship with school shootings than millennials?��

DB: By the time Columbine happened, Gen X was mostly out of school. I think y’all saw it coming; if you look back at films like and , it’s easy to see the angst that was building. Millennials—my generation—we came up with every institution around us collapsing before we could get anything out of it: dot-com, housing market, the shadow of AIDS, Unabomber, Oklahoma City bombing, Waco. With Clinton’s infidelity and Lorena Bobbit’s amputation, even the body �ɲ�����’t stable. Columbine was horrific, but it was also just another sign that nothing could be trusted. I say this as an early millennial with some strong Gen X views. Our students, Gen Z, have more fight in them than my generation. X lost hope. Millennials never had hope, but their tendency to be more politically progressive and philanthropically minded hints that maybe some shred of hope still exists.

Vigil by Dudgrick Bevins

AG: What do you think those particular students who you taught about Parkland would think of the poems in Vigil?

DB: The connection between school shootings and police brutality, that is, the misuse of authority and the bullying of individuals, is not lost on them. When I look at young people and the way they are fighting now, the , the , the , and , I see a new generation making . The queer kids, especially, are barreling forward with the passion of a . I feel like positive change is inevitable. And I hope Vigil can be part of that.

AG: Or at least invoke some personal inspiration that motivates action or “good trouble.�� Another aspect of Vigil that I picked up on was the notion of being seen and not seen. Whether it is the aftermath of a memorial at a football stadium, teenagers�� relationship with social media, or the shooters asserting their presence as killers in hallways, it all plays with the theatrics of having an audience or not.��

DB: Absolutely. Visibility versus invisibility is a central theme, not just in terms of being and feeling seen but also in terms of feeling heard and being able to speak. In the book, the dead have a lot of animosity towards themselves and others for what was said and what �ɲ�����’t. I hope my characters are human in their imperfections and not totally unlikeable, but I also hope there is a cringe factor about who said what, who didn’t, and why. My characters fail to say the right things to the right people. In the aftermath of any major crisis, we try to make the victims visible. In a fictionalized setting, I can make them not only visible but culpable for what they said or didn’t.��

AG: Vigil deals with the aftermath more than the event. How did you navigate imagining the internal feelings of each person named as titles to your poems?

DB: I came up with 26 different characters, one for each letter of the alphabet. It was difficult figuring them all out. I wound up thinking about cliques and archetypes. It works because that’s how high school works. I knew I needed a group of jocks, competing overachievers, drama kids, religious zealots, and politically inclined kids. Then I thought about what each might say and hide, what they might admit and what they might deny even after death. I wanted it to be like . And just like when I read Masters’s work, writing Vigil required a lot of going back to what was already said. Depth is revealed as each character talks about the others. Ultimately, the 26 voices come together in a conclusion that sings like Whitman—that’s the 27th voice.

AG: And that’s you, the teacher?

DB: I wouldn’t say it’s me. I mean, there’s part of me in that character. But there’s part of me in every character I write.

If you or anyone you know struggles to talk to children about school shootings, please see or call one of its .

Dudgrick Bevins is an interdisciplinary artist from the North Georgia mountains. He studied English Education, American Studies, and Gender Studies before taking the underground queer railroad north to New York City. He lives with his partner, a fellow artist and writer, and a small woodland spirit named Hada. He teaches a variety of high school seminar courses and creative writing.

Adam Garnett is a poet, educator, and freethinker from Boston, Massachusetts. He currently teaches interdisciplinary art courses in Harlem, NY.

Text copyright © Adam Garnett and Dudgrick Bevins

Photograph from Springtime in Byzantium by luke kurtisHow to see art and architecture without leaving home

I’m so excited to tell you about my newest project, . This book was initially scheduled for release last year but was delayed by the pandemic, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise because it allowed me to take the project to the next level. It’s what happens when you give an artist more time—we’re bound to come up with another idea! (That’s not always a good thing for editors, but when you are the editor�� well, that’s the way things go).

So this announcement is not only about the new book but also a new and three prints based on photos from .

This project has been many years in development and is near and dear to my heart. It’s a bit different from what I’ve published before. It’s also the first title by me in the . Up until now, I’ve focused on my role as editor and designer of the series. But now, I am joining the ranks to give you something of my own.

Springtime in Byzantium by luke kurtis

As with everything I do, Springtime in Byzantium is interdisciplinary and combines photography, poetry, digital collage, performance art, and video. The conceptual heart of the work is a series of photographs I call marble paintings. I made these photos in Ravenna, Italy, at the Basilica of San Vitale, where I was captivated by the kaleidoscope-like forms that decorate the church. They are enthralling to look at, yet they’re overshadowed by the famous Byzantine mosaics. The church is ancient, but if you stop and think about it, the bookmatched marble isn’t out of place in contemporary design. You could take the panels and put them in a modern building, and no one would bat an eye. I wanted to use my photographs to remove the panels conceptually, put them in your hands in the form of a book (and prints, too, as it turns out), and draw a line through hundreds of years to connect the past with the future.

marble painting (bookmatched) print by luke kurtis

As a body of work, the book gets to the core of my philosophy about interdisciplinary art-making and building bridges between different times and places. It’s the perfect way to learn about an aspect of what I do that you are probably less familiar with. Plus: the prints! They really are beautiful, if I may say so myself.

I ���dzܱ����’t be more excited to bring this project into the world and I hope you will check it out. The book will be a unique addition to your library, and the prints will bring a bit of ancient-yet-contemporary style into your home, or use the postcards to share with a friend. And since most of us are not traveling very far these days, why not make Springtime in Byzantium your European sight-seeing for the season? When it comes to Ravenna, every other book out there will focus on the mosaics. But let me introduce you to the details you’ll likely never notice on your own. Isn’t that what artists are supposed to do?

marble paintings postcard set by luke kurtis

Both of our bellies full of watermelon, I sat down with Michael Harren to talk about , the book that archives The Animal Show, which in turn archives Michael’s multimedia artistic stylings, animal activism, and the culmination of the two: his vibrant, evoking artivism. I was eager to hear about the melding of such diverse methods, but also what lies behind them—the man, the emotion, the existential uncertainty. Michael shared his grief and joys with me in a humorous, self-effacing way.

The Animal Book by Michael Harren

SJK: Can you tell me about what artivism means to you and how it’s been effective for you as an artist?

MH: Artivism is simple. It’s a combination between art and activism: creating something with the intention of sharing an activist message. It’s been most effective in ways I never expected. One example is when I was recording . I recorded it at a studio in my neighborhood, so I knew the guy. I was talking about rescuing chickens, and it didn’t dawn on me till later when I was walking down the street and he came riding by on his bike and was like, “Hey, Michael! Man, those stories really stuck with me.�� So, I �ɲ�����’t doing activism, I was recording my album, and that conveyed a message.

SJK: You were the “artivist in the room.��

MH: Yeah, exactly. Artivism makes the message more accessible. When you decide to go see a show, you’re opening yourself up to hear a message, someone’s story. You’re open to hearing things you might not be if you see it on a Facebook thread or hear it in conversation. People can be defensive, but defenses are down when they’re consuming art. That sounds a little bad, like I’ll get them when they’re defenseless. (laughs). It’s just the way I communicate!

SJK: You work in multimedia, and you even document your own documentation—like the photos of you with the camera in The Animal Book. What is the value of archiving the artistic process itself?

MH: Documenting myself documenting is multiple layers of things. It’s more immersive for me as the artist and for the audience. It opens up the connection between them. I have , and one of the things that’s exciting about it is also a little frustrating. It’s so hard to get people to engage there, but when they do, it’s really interesting to share between the artist and the audience. When I was in high school and I would go to the record store, buy an album, and , that was it. There was no “what are they doing on Twitter,�� “what’s their website like,�� so it was a big distance between artist and audience. Sharing more of the process, the world surrounding the artist, and the creating of the art makes the connection stronger and deeper.

SJK: In The Animal Book you also inventory horrific animal abuses, yet intersperse them with photographs of musicians on stage. I would be reading something really difficult and then I turned the page and it’s a picture of the cellist. Is music one of the only responses that can fully capture the suffering you’ve borne witness to?

MH: I don’t even know that I could capture the animals�� suffering; I think it’s really capturing how I feel about it.

SJK: What would be an example?

MH: In ��,�� I went to a vigil at a slaughterhouse in Los Angeles where truck after truck was packed with pigs—like packed. There was a woman there who does Facebook live documentation of these things, and I remember her asking me what it was like to be there for the first time. I ���dzܱ����’t put it into words. I still can’t put it into words.

Official music video for Their Eyes by Michael Harren (2018)

SJK:�� That must be why you put it into music—it brings out your anguish.

MH: And the video that I made to go with the music. All of that together captures it. I’d been vegan for close to ten years when I went to this vigil, and even then, I still didn’t really think about animals as individuals. I knew bacon came from pigs, but I didn’t know it came from an individual. Seeing those trucks and looking through those holes and seeing the expression on their faces was devastating. And it’s like, who am I to be devastated with it? But it is, it’s extremely sad to see—heartbreaking.

SJK: You really have a way with using music and visuals to get your ideas across.

MH: I think that that’s why music and different non-verbal forms of work exist: it’s a way to communicate things that there just aren’t words for, when maybe it’s just too��emotional; it’s too much. Maybe that’s why I’m stuck trying to describe it now, too. When you communicate with music you don’t have to try to be specific because it’s sound that’s doing it. It’s emotion itself, in a way.

SJK: In both and The Animal Book, grief is prominent. How would you compare the grief experienced through each?

MH: Tentative Armor was the first time in my life that I really allowed myself to be gutted by something. For a long time I was walled off, so that’s what Tentative Armor is about. It’s about trying to stay safe emotionally while looking for ways to beat my demons, sexually. Meanwhile, my mom’s death served as a transition in my own life; it was such a big loss that I ���dzܱ����’t keep the walls up. For years I wanted to write a story-telling piece; I always had this desire to combine music and stories, and that grief part of me said, “Hey, run with it while the walls are down, let this go, let it happen.�� That was my first experience with feeling something so strongly that I ���dzܱ����’t hold it back.

SJK: That reminds me of my favorite song of yours, �� �� from Tentative Armor. How did the flood of emotions help you move forward?

MH: It opened me up to feeling grief and compassion for others. I was already vegan when my mom died, but those feelings are connected because they’re both about loss. The Tentative Armor grief is about my own loss, and The Animal Show is about witnessing someone else’s and trying to understand why. The majority of people get mad at veganism, and that was a challenge for me. But I’ve had black-and-white thinking about animals, too. I was vegetarian and an animal rights activist in my twenties. But then I just turned it off. So, the grief from The Animal Show is also the sadness that a lot of people just don’t really care about animals or feel they can’t.

Official music video for Michael Harren �� Go. (2013)

SJK: I was really struck by the part of The Animal Book centered on your conversation with the Disembodied Voice of Heaven (DVOH). It felt like you were trying to call on the audience to face their responsibility by simply sharing your own story.

MH: It’s interesting, my director for The Animal Show at the time �ɲ�����’t even a vegetarian or at all interested in animal rights, but he was saying, “I see your Facebook posts after you come from a protest or from witnessing some of these things, and I know you’re pissed off. You’re not saying that in the show. You haven’t written that yet.�� It was really interesting having him say, “You need to be angrier,�� so that’s where this section came from.

SJK: Interesting that the anger culminated in a personal confession.

MH: Yes, that whole spoken word piece is about my history. People push back about their role in what’s happening to animals, like: “Oh, here comes a holier-than-thou vegan.�� But I wanted to really share that no, I’m not anything special, in fact here’s how fucked up I am. And in fact, that fucked-upness is what made me decide I needed to be kinder to everyone, including animals. That part of the story is really about my belief that we’re all interconnected as different types of humans and different species.

SJK: At one point you mention our oneness. So, there’s an element of the spiritual in your work alongside some existential uncertainty, like when you say, “Or maybe I’m just dust.�� How does the spiritual fit into your life and your artivism?

MH: (laughs) I think that’s ever-evolving. Spirituality has been a really fluid thing for me. But the thing that stays constant is the idea that in a lot of ways it’s so simple, just: we’re all connected. Do unto others; that simple stuff.

SJK: So, your spiritual side relates to the concept of responsibility?

MH: Maybe! I just , who wrote a book called A Gay Man’s Guide to Life. The thing that I took from the book was something that I forgot, which is taking care of your body so that you can support your community. During quarantine I’ve been full-on hermit, not eating well, watching a lot of tv, gaining weight, not taking care of myself enough, and I’ve been in this guilt cycle that it was all self-centered reasons to take care of myself. It was helpful in my conversation with him to realize that I’m supposed to do that stuff so I can show up outside my apartment and do my job of helping lift up the people and beings around me. That’s a roundabout way to talk about what I believe spiritually, but our responsibility to each other is what I was trying to fold into the show, too.

The Animal Book by Michael Harren

SJK: In The Animal Book you talk about feeling defective. Have your experiences as a gay man have helped you relate to animals on that interconnected level?

MH: Yeah, that’s so funny, that’s a connection that I didn’t even notice was there, so that’s cool. Part of what makes me open to what animals experience is that I felt like I was defective and, as a kid, I sort of liked that idea. But, I wanted to be defective in ways that I �ɲ�����’t already. I was embarrassed by the ways I actually was different, like being sensitive and creative. Later, realizing I was gay made me feel like an outsider. Coming to terms with that led to a quest for fairness that made me more sensitive to animals and gave me greater empathy for those who are treated less than because they are different.

SJK: Can you share an animal story that didn’t make it into the book?

MH: One of the things I loved when I was on tour was feeding time at a sanctuary that was home to thousands of chickens rescued from being “culled�� (gassed) when they were no longer producing eggs. I spent my mornings cleaning the barns. It was intense farm work in the heat. Still, , and maybe a little karmic payback for all the years I consumed eggs. But they also brought me so much joy.

SJK: Joy! Thanks, Michael. We could all use a little bit more joy these days.

Michael Harren is a Brooklyn-based composer, performer, educator, and activist who combines elements of classical composition with experimental electronics and storytelling to create hypnotic, boldly intimate works, reminiscent of Laurie Anderson, Peter Gabriel, and Dead Can Dance.

is an experimental poet and author of (Gothic Funk Press, 2021). She is going on her twelfth vegaversary.

Text copyright © Sarah-Jean Krahn.

Twenty years ago this month, I published my first book, like an angel dead in your arms. It was a flawed collection. And really, what else could it be? I wrote much of it while I was still in high school. The book’s imperfection and immaturity are why I distanced myself from it over the years. But a few years back, when I realized the twentieth anniversary was coming up, I challenged myself to reconsider it. When I re-read it, I found, certain shortcomings aside, it was a pretty solid piece of work with strong conceptual underpinnings. I managed to pull together a pile of words that simultaneously shared my experiences as a young gay person rejected by his family and the ensuing struggles with identity, self-worth, romance, and religion, and combined it all with a poetic sense of imagination.

But the book was not only about the past. I took the trauma I experienced at such a young age and looked ahead in life, considering the rejection of not only family and friends but imagined lovers and companions. And as the very title implies, I even looked to death. An angel is beautiful and perfect. And to hold that beauty dead in your arms? It symbolizes the mourning for my personal losses as a young man and anticipates the struggles yet to come, including the most final of them all.

When I read the collection now——I’m quite impressed at how I looked beyond myself to imagine those “what ifs�� and put myself in someone else’s shoes. Perhaps that was possible because I had to grow up very fast and become an independent person when most people are thinking more about going to parties, school dances, and, you know, being young. I didn’t get to be young in that way. Of course, I’ve often been described as having an old soul, so maybe it goes deeper than that. But I also know the experiences I’ve lived have made me the person I am today. And, no matter what anyone else thinks, I’m proud of who I am as , , , or I take on in the world.

like an angel dead in your arms was the first significant marker along the journey I’ve taken over the past twenty-plus years. The most exciting part of that is thinking about what the next twenty years might bring. In 2040, I hope to look back and think about how I marked a midway point in not only my art but my life. As I approach my 41st birthday in a year that has been and doesn’t show any sign of letting up soon, if this milestone is one of the few positive ways to remember 2020, I’ll take it.

Top: Contact sheet of luke kurtis author photos by Carl Sturmer, shot for the original like an angel dead in your arms release in 2000. Bottom: The newly expanded twentieth-anniversary edition of like an angel dead in your arms,

I reached out to the artists and poets I’ve published to see how everybody is doing during the pandemic. Some of us are creating, some of us are crying, and some of us (most of us?) are somewhere in between, depending on the day. The state of the world is a lot to process. But we are here. We are well. We are wearing masks. We are hunkering down and taking the situation seriously. I thought it would be fun to share photos of us all masked-up, socially distanced, and going about our days. Here we are, the masked artists & poets of bd-studios.com

Dudgrick Bevins () is in the Bronx, NYCWilliam Doreski () is in Peterborough, NHMay Gañán () is in MadridMichael Harren (, ) is in Brooklyn, NYCRodger Kingston () is in Belmont, MAluke kurtis (, , ) is in Greenwich Village, NYCJosé María Mejorada () is in Ledesma, SpainSam Rosenthal () is in NYCJonathan David Smyth () is in Chelsea, NYCMichael Tice (, ) is in Carrboro, NC

All mask photos are self-portraits, except Dudgrick Bevins by Mikey Hope, Michael Tice by Ramon Negron, Rodger Kingston by Carolyn Kingston.

Rodger Kingston and his wife Carolyn are sheltering in place. “We’re doing well here,�� he told me. “We’ve got systems arranged for such things as grocery shopping, going to the pharmacy, post office, bank, etc.�� The Kingstons, both in their late 70s, take social distancing very seriously whether running errands or taking walks around their neighborhood in Belmont, Massachusetts. “We feel as if we had targets on our backs and are being very careful,�� he said.

Rodger has been a photographer for over four decades. Throughout those years, he’s worked on numerous documentary projects. Given the nature of the coronavirus pandemic—and his need to be extremely vigilant due to his age and health status—he is not able to document what’s happening on the front lines of this war the way he once might have. But those now-systematic errand runs and socially-distanced neighborhood walks allow him to focus his lens in a more personal way.

“In many ways this is a strange project,�� he says, “What there is for me to document is the quiet, almost silent restructuring of our world.��

Specialty Selections, Star Market, Cambridge, MA March 2020



Parks Closed, Belmont, MA April 2020Tyler, Henry, & Emily Sheltering in Place, Belmont, MA April 2020

His photographs of online church services, for instance, are something most people never contemplated before. The woman buying flowers at Wilson Farms in Lexington, Massachusetts, might be any spring shopper, except she dons a face mask, something uncommon in the western world before the pandemic.

Without context, other images are easy to misinterpret. Rodger’s photograph of supermarket shelves stripped bare might be mistaken for shoppers preparing for a threatening storm, something that unfolds over a short period, not the ongoing situation we find ourselves in now. Another image of a young woman holding a cigarette in one hand while giving a thumbs-up with the other could be from almost any time. But knowing the photographer ���dzܱ����’t come closer to his subject makes it clear his framing is dictated, at least in part, by otherwise invisible circumstances.

“It’s as if we’ve gone into a long tunnel, and have no idea what the world will be like when we come out the other end,�� says Rodger. “All we can predict is that it will be changed in ways some of which we can’t imagine.��

Rodger titled the series A Journal of the Plague Year (after ) or, more casually, The Pandemic Series. The ongoing project��is vital because of the sense of uncertainty surrounding its creation. As the creator, making the photos gives Rodger a sense of purpose, an effort towards the greater good of documenting what life is like in his corner of the world.

Social Distancing, Belmont, MA April 2020Isolated Like Figures in a Hopper Painting, Belmont, MA April 2020Easter Sunday Service On Zoom, Belmont, MA April 2020

And though what we’re going through now is unprecedented, the world has seen and survived pandemics before. Humanity pulled through those crises without the high tech tools we have today, including the devices most of us carry around in our pockets, which we might go stir-crazy without. Our ancestors didn’t have such luxuries. In this way, Kingston’s images give hope to the rest of us. Even though we’re physically separate, we can use technology—from photography to video conferencing and beyond—to stay connected. That may take the form of an online church service for some. For others, it might be talking to their best friend or other loved ones. And there may even be times where you need a break——and just want to sit alone. That’s ok, too.

“What I see from my front window and in walks and drives around my neighborhood are people isolated from one another ,�� said Rodger, describing the couples, families, dog walkers, and kids he observes from afar.

Other than his wife, Rodger tells me all his closest relationships are now by phone, which he hasn’t figured out how to photograph yet.

Online Church Service, Belmont, MA March 2020Volunteer Service Delivering Groceries, Belmont, MA April 2020Shopper At Wilsons Farms, Lexington, MA April 2020

Rodger Kingston is a photographer who has, over four decades of image-making, worked on numerous documentary projects. , his collaboration with poet William Doreski, was published by bd-studios.com.

When I messaged the other day, I told him I’ve been finding it difficult to move forward creatively during the coronavirus pandemic. I’ve been at home in lockdown mode for over a month and can count on one hand the number of times I’ve gone outside. You’d think that means I’m holed up, head down, writing poetry, and doing all the creative things I usually do. I’ve been doing a bit of that, yes. But, mostly, I’ve been at a standstill.

“I just try not to pause,�� was Dudgrick’s response. Simple, yet telling, almost as if it were a line from one of his poems.

He told me he’s been putting poetry out for free as a way to help bring joy to people during this challenging time. “I’m trying to work as a public artist right now,�� he said.

The work he’s making isn’t necessarily about the pandemic. “I think it’s important to address the pandemic and also not only that. People want a distraction. They are on overload,�� he told me.

This isn’t just Bevins’s personal poetry practice, though. As a creative writing instructor, he teaches his high school students to take poetry into the world by introducing them to the . “They have to write short poems and place them safely in public view anonymously,�� he explained. “Some did the mailbox. Some did stairs. Lots of . Some group chats and digital stuff like Instagram stories.��

But how do his students feel about what is, in essence, another homework assignment? He tells me they really enjoy it, and it even expands their perceptions about what poetry is.

“They were surprised by the results,�� he said. “We did a good bit of looking at the shapes poetry can take, but they were really surprised when they saw perplexed people looking at their work or made their mom cry with kind words.��

What is poetry if not a means to make a difference, no matter how small, either by causing a stranger to stop and think, or letting a loved one know how much you care. That’s something we could all use, whether in a pandemic or not. And that’s exactly the reminder I needed.

Photos by Dudgrick Bevins of his own free poetry installations.

This shadow of infernal
machinery plastered against
brownish yellow brickwork
invokes the human silhouettes
burnt into sidewalks and walls
at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

When I crept behind this building
to exfoliate my bladder
I didn’t expect to encounter
this hulking dark impinging
on an otherwise brilliant day.
This critique of my careless habits

intends to censure or censor
my projected moment of ease.
I guess I’d better withdraw
and find a friendly men’s room
somewhere between Harvard Square
and the surface of the moon.

Harvard Square, Cambridge, MA 2020

Industrial Shadow is a new poem by William Doreski inspired by a photograph by Rodger Kingston. They are the authors of , a book of ekphrastic poetry and photography, available now wherever books are sold.

We’re looking for an artist with a retro sense of style for an upcoming poetry book that looks back at the ��80s. The decade of synth-pop and big hair has a lot to be nostalgic about, but one of our favorite things was the birth of MTV. We’re looking for illustrations with a graphic feeling that evoke the bold lines of the era, the street art of Keith Haring, and the design trends of the Memphis style. But the work should be uniquely yours.

What you depict is up to you, but, as a jumping-off point, we suggest illustrating a selection of 80’s objects, such as:

cassette tapes, boomboxes, Walkmen, TV’s, cans of Aquanet, rotary telephones, Rolodexes, video game controllers, VHS tapes, camcorders, high-top sneakers, wristwatches, calculators, floppy disks, Rubik’s cubes, Miami Vice-inspired fashion, the space shuttle, library card catalogs, fanny packs, dot matrix printers, and anything else that might feel at home in a music video from the early days of MTV

If you really want to get our attention, figure out how to depict the above while evoking an ironic sense of dystopia. The ��80s, after all, had its share of tragedy, such as the AIDS crisis, the Challenger’s explosion, the Chernobyl meltdown, and the Tiananmen Square protests. For as we wax nostalgic, we can’t forget the era had its own share of turmoil whose effects still linger.

Whatever you depict, be creative! But do not reference real-life bands, celebrities, logos, or movies. Rely on your artistic skills to evoke a sense of nostalgia, not the name recognition of famous brands.

You can use either black and white or color as well as your medium of choice (digital, hand-drawn, or other something else). Do note that the book will be 5.5�� x 8.5��. If your images fill the page, your work should either be at that aspect ratio or be on a transparent/white background, so it will look good printed on a page with blank space around it.

Please submit 10 images in JPG format at 1,500 pixels on the longest side. You must be able to provide high-resolution copies if accepted for publication. As an indie press, we are not able to provide monetary compensation. Still, we will give you a complimentary copy of the poetry book in print upon publication, as well as a discount to purchase additional copies if you wish.

If you have any questions, please .

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