Episode 07: Howl
Episode description
Both of the poems we discussed in Episode 7 were submitted for our “Monsters” Issue and both poems, Coyote and Coyotes, were written by Paul Nelson. Tantalizing and intriguing, we were “seduced into loving this animal that will eat your face,” as Tim pointed out....
Both of the poems we discussed in Episode 7 were submitted for our “Monsters” Issue and both poems, Coyote and Coyotes, were written by Paul Nelson. Tantalizing and intriguing, we were “seduced into loving this animal that will eat your face,” as Tim pointed out. We now love coyotes and the unanimous “yes” votes prove we love these poems too!
Paul Nelson has authored eight books and was Ohio University’s Director of the Creative Writing program for many years. Nelson has bounced around the Northeast United States but currently resides in O’ahu, Hawaii where he is a member of the editorial board for Kaimina, a Hawaiian literary magazine.
After our unanimous votes for Paul Nelson’s poetry, Tim brought to the table a rising trend among new writers: using crowd funding websites such as Kickstarter, Indiegogo, or even the artist-centered Patreon to raise funds for future projects, books in the making. How does crowd funding affect content? Should it be a viable form of self-publishing? What do editors feel about it? You’ll have to listen to Episode 7 to hear our answers to these questions and more, of course.
We at Painted Bride Quarterly are more than excited to endorse our own Jason Schneiderman’s latest book, Primary Source (Red Hen Press, 2016) which is now available for purchase!
Tell us what you think about Paul Nelson, the use of crowd funding for writers, or anything you’d like to share with us on our Facebook page event, Episode 7.
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Read on!
-KVM
Present at the Editorial Table:
Kathleen Volk Miller
Marion Wrenn
Jason Schneiderman
Miriam Haier
Tim Fitts
Production Engineer:
Ryan McDonald
PBQ Box Score: 2=2
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Paul Nelson
Coyote
Last December, just beyond the windows
where we stand with wine, she clawed
for frozen apples in her new coat
beneath the tree the children climbed.
Just bred we guessed.
I wanted to caress her muzzle and ears,
lower my face to her eyes,
say something as if she were a dog,
something fatuous and loving.
You laughed because I said
I would take anything she offered,
teeth or tongue.
Coyotes
In a shaft of brass light
down through spruce, a big
chocolate male, done for the year,
pads across moss, dissolves in shadow.
The tattered blond bitch stands in bright
spring grass edging the woods.
Hanks drag from her molting flanks,
ears alert for mice and voles.
Two pale kits dive after each other.
Shorter ears and heavier bodied
than western cartoons; “coy-dog” some say.
Her heavy rotting tail drapes,
eyes generous and frank.
This morning on three legs another bitch
crabs across Nebraska’s 1-90 in a whiteout,
men standing down at truck stops,
diesels thrumming and clacking in the lots.
Shaky behind the slapping wipers, I barely see her
hop South through the barbed wire
onto stubbled acres of ice and drifting snow
where men set traps to kill “vermin”
that will freeze, coiled down on steel and chain,
get skinned and nailed to a shed with others,
or thaw come spring to feed the ravens.
She chewed her own leg off.
A sixteen wheeler passes like a war.
I draft in its wake as it shelves the storm
over and by me, watching for its tail lights
to blink …muzzle flash, signals
to follow in the blur.