Kierstin Bridger!
Bridger is a Colorado writer and author of 20117 Women Writing The West's Willa Award for Demimonde (Lithic Press 2016). Her full collection is All Ember (Urban Farmhouse Press). Winner of the Mark Fischer Poetry Prize, the 2015 ACC Writer’s Studio award, an Anne LaBastille Poetry residency and short-listed for the Manchester Poetry Competition in the UK, Bridger is both editor of Ridgway Alley Poems and Co-Director of Open Bard Poetry Series. She co-hosts Poetry Voice with poet Uche Ogbuji. Find her current work in December, Prairie Schooner and Painted Bride Quarterly. She earned her MFA at Pacific University. Kierstinbridger.com
WINNING POEM:
from the August dark,
try to memorize dirt and water
all that holds me on this blue orb
every boy I met at midnight
every car I pushed down the road
revved like thunder
leaned into bend and turn
to escape the rearview
bridges snapping
rope and board
peripheral flickers of constellation
bigger than the small grip of control
it took to shut out the lights
lock the door,
secure the privacy settings.
but this time I have a child asleep
while I secret this drag.
Listen,
my curated walls are enflamed
my zip code could be nuked
just like that it could be gone.
I have to take off my specs--what you do before a fight--
My opponent will blur
the way they did for Artemisia
and for Joan.
of this time:
Hold my light
I'll whisper into the legacy of stars
to the wind and crescent moon
handover my glowing ash and lick of flame.
Every uprising takes a curve of trajectory
and a practice run.
Every revolution starts with one woman
turning inward, holding court with herself.
copyright Kierstin Bridger, 2017, published with permission of the author
Judges's comments (by Todd Swift)
This was an impressive field of poems... I read through over 350 poems to select 16 that stood out. To generalise, never too wise with poetry, the poems were either heartfelt and evocative of a looking back to childhood, or ahead to death; or they were anti-Trump in nature (and good for them); or, zanily surrealist. I would gladly publish any of these poets, based on this quality of writing. McColl and Finnegan, for instance, both presented powerful and moving variations on the theme of childhood remembered.
The three that finally emerged as top managed to somehow combine wit, feeling, and some sense of politics, in very human and humane ways, that seemed resonant with the Thanksgiving and wintry mood.
Vandall's poem is deliriously bold and feminist, with her celebration of a woman's body, self-reflected upon in a bathtub. In fact it is mostly a celebration of her "beaver" - and one of the funniest poems I have read. I include it in full below.
Gurland's untitled poem seems perhaps slight, at first... it is certainly traditional, and gentle. She studied with Heaney at Harvard, and it shows. The poem's crafted subtleties yield to a sense of a deep sense of what poetry's more modest phrasings can achieve, and I found myself returning to its humane depths. I also include it below.
The winning poem seemed to me brilliant. It explores nostalgia, revolution, feminism, the current political crisis facing America, but also includes funny, and sometimes lovely, moments and images, as well, and ends with a surprisingly well-turned metaphor, as it were - the arcing power of Arc, potential in each person - each woman, at least, as the poem says.
off the landscape into clean sheets of snow.
Under the skylight I glimpse a twinkling
My beaver doesn't give a good gawd damn,
has high-tailed it out of there and has left
in hopes of a better crop? Who'll dine
downtown if there's too much salt and pepper
on the table? Who'll choose shepherd’s pie
when there's cherries left to pluck? I don't want
my fair lady in waiting to fold up
like an accordion box, a windbag
this silver fox that trots the snowy
tundra of my crotch. I'm hunched in the claw
copyright 2017 PC Vandall
'That tree is empty, my son tells me.'
That tree is empty, my son tells me.
It is October. Where do I begin explaining
just how wrong and right he is,
and then how little right I have to tell him
what a full life is? I am shocked every year
at how bright the world appears
and for such a short time.
I am the opposite of a child
in this one way: what I see, I have
a hard time believing ever fully goes away.
Yes, the tree is empty of its leaves,
but it is also fully changed by having
shed them, and fully ready for an answer,
ready to receive the snow, your question,
ready to be seen-- and prepared to hide again
in beauty, come Spring—just wait with me.
copyright 2017 Greer Gurland
The full 16-strong shortlist is here:
1. Audrey Malloy – ‘Getting out of here’
2. Greer Gurland – ‘That tree is empty, my son tells me’
3. Henry Stanton – ‘I Forgot Who Told Me This’
4. James Finnegan – ‘I was in Lanesborough today’
5. Jane Burn – ‘Leith Harbour’
6. Joe Lines –‘Interior’
7. K. Faust –‘ The Eccentric French Song and Dance Man of Grand Rapids’
8. Kierstin Bridger – ‘Of Arc’
9. Laura Seymour – ‘Smile house’
10. Marisa Silva-Dunbar – ‘Discordia’
11. P.C. Vandall – ‘Wintering’
12. Rennie Ament – ‘In America’
13. Serge Neptune – ‘Cathedral’
14. Stephanie Roberts – ‘I imagine’
15. Susan Baller-Shepard – ‘He did what I told him to do’
16. Thomas McColl –‘Guess Which Hand’
Congratulations, she wins publication of her poem on this blog, and £140 to be paid immediately via PayPal.
There are two runners up this time, tied for second place:
P.C. Vandall for 'Wintering'
and
Greer
Gurland for 'That tree is empty, my son tells me'
All the rest listed below were very good poems also.
Bridger is a Colorado writer and author of 20117 Women Writing The West's Willa Award for Demimonde (Lithic Press 2016). Her full collection is All Ember (Urban Farmhouse Press). Winner of the Mark Fischer Poetry Prize, the 2015 ACC Writer’s Studio award, an Anne LaBastille Poetry residency and short-listed for the Manchester Poetry Competition in the UK, Bridger is both editor of Ridgway Alley Poems and Co-Director of Open Bard Poetry Series. She co-hosts Poetry Voice with poet Uche Ogbuji. Find her current work in December, Prairie Schooner and Painted Bride Quarterly. She earned her MFA at Pacific University. Kierstinbridger.com
WINNING POEM:
Of Arc
Stepping
across the threshold
I
take a long, smoky pullfrom the August dark,
try to memorize dirt and water
all that holds me on this blue orb
every boy I met at midnight
every car I pushed down the road
revved like thunder
leaned into bend and turn
to escape the rearview
bridges snapping
rope and board
peripheral flickers of constellation
bigger than the small grip of control
it took to shut out the lights
lock the door,
secure the privacy settings.
In
this brittle haze of nostalgia
I
remember another mad man is in chargebut this time I have a child asleep
while I secret this drag.
Listen,
my curated walls are enflamed
my zip code could be nuked
just like that it could be gone.
I have to take off my specs--what you do before a fight--
My opponent will blur
the way they did for Artemisia
and for Joan.
This
is how to stand like a knight
only
a slim blade against the dragonof this time:
Hold my light
I'll whisper into the legacy of stars
to the wind and crescent moon
handover my glowing ash and lick of flame.
Every uprising takes a curve of trajectory
and a practice run.
Every revolution starts with one woman
turning inward, holding court with herself.
copyright Kierstin Bridger, 2017, published with permission of the author
Judges's comments (by Todd Swift)
This was an impressive field of poems... I read through over 350 poems to select 16 that stood out. To generalise, never too wise with poetry, the poems were either heartfelt and evocative of a looking back to childhood, or ahead to death; or they were anti-Trump in nature (and good for them); or, zanily surrealist. I would gladly publish any of these poets, based on this quality of writing. McColl and Finnegan, for instance, both presented powerful and moving variations on the theme of childhood remembered.
The three that finally emerged as top managed to somehow combine wit, feeling, and some sense of politics, in very human and humane ways, that seemed resonant with the Thanksgiving and wintry mood.
Vandall's poem is deliriously bold and feminist, with her celebration of a woman's body, self-reflected upon in a bathtub. In fact it is mostly a celebration of her "beaver" - and one of the funniest poems I have read. I include it in full below.
Gurland's untitled poem seems perhaps slight, at first... it is certainly traditional, and gentle. She studied with Heaney at Harvard, and it shows. The poem's crafted subtleties yield to a sense of a deep sense of what poetry's more modest phrasings can achieve, and I found myself returning to its humane depths. I also include it below.
The winning poem seemed to me brilliant. It explores nostalgia, revolution, feminism, the current political crisis facing America, but also includes funny, and sometimes lovely, moments and images, as well, and ends with a surprisingly well-turned metaphor, as it were - the arcing power of Arc, potential in each person - each woman, at least, as the poem says.
Wintering
I’m crouched in the bath, a
sinking feeling
much like the slow drain of
pigment drippingoff the landscape into clean sheets of snow.
Under the skylight I glimpse a twinkling
strand beneath folds of
water like tinsel
tangled in the scrub brush.
I'm mortified.My beaver doesn't give a good gawd damn,
has high-tailed it out of there and has left
a badger to burrow in the
dark roots.
Do I pillage the village,
torch the fieldsin hopes of a better crop? Who'll dine
downtown if there's too much salt and pepper
on the table? Who'll choose shepherd’s pie
when there's cherries left to pluck? I don't want
my fair lady in waiting to fold up
like an accordion box, a windbag
croaking refrains of —Roll out the Barrel.
What I need is a fur
trapper to huntthis silver fox that trots the snowy
tundra of my crotch. I'm hunched in the claw
footed tub watching my
camel-toe turn
pigeon-toed. In the
unfurling twilight
an old crone comes from the mouth of the cave,
chipping away at my clitography.
an old crone comes from the mouth of the cave,
chipping away at my clitography.
copyright 2017 PC Vandall
'That tree is empty, my son tells me.'
That tree is empty, my son tells me.
It is October. Where do I begin explaining
just how wrong and right he is,
and then how little right I have to tell him
what a full life is? I am shocked every year
at how bright the world appears
and for such a short time.
I am the opposite of a child
in this one way: what I see, I have
a hard time believing ever fully goes away.
Yes, the tree is empty of its leaves,
but it is also fully changed by having
shed them, and fully ready for an answer,
ready to receive the snow, your question,
ready to be seen-- and prepared to hide again
in beauty, come Spring—just wait with me.
copyright 2017 Greer Gurland
The full 16-strong shortlist is here:
1. Audrey Malloy – ‘Getting out of here’
2. Greer Gurland – ‘That tree is empty, my son tells me’
3. Henry Stanton – ‘I Forgot Who Told Me This’
4. James Finnegan – ‘I was in Lanesborough today’
5. Jane Burn – ‘Leith Harbour’
6. Joe Lines –‘Interior’
7. K. Faust –‘ The Eccentric French Song and Dance Man of Grand Rapids’
8. Kierstin Bridger – ‘Of Arc’
9. Laura Seymour – ‘Smile house’
10. Marisa Silva-Dunbar – ‘Discordia’
11. P.C. Vandall – ‘Wintering’
12. Rennie Ament – ‘In America’
13. Serge Neptune – ‘Cathedral’
14. Stephanie Roberts – ‘I imagine’
15. Susan Baller-Shepard – ‘He did what I told him to do’
16. Thomas McColl –‘Guess Which Hand’
THE TENTH SPECIAL CHRISTMAS FORTNIGHT is coming soon!
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