March 28, 2019

Ekphrastic Challenge, February 2019: Editor’s Choice

 

Work Gloves by Justin Hamm

Image: “Work Gloves” by Justin Hamm. “Sometimes a Man Has to Get His Hands Dirty” was written by Alexandre Mikano for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, February 2019, and selected as the Editor’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Alexandre Mikano

SOMETIMES A MAN HAS TO GET HIS HANDS DIRTY

My father never liked
To call someone for help.
When he painted the house
It smelled like gunpowder
And dried spaghetti.
He covered up the walls
With a yellow paint and worked on his castle.
Sometimes a man has to get his hands dirty,
He liked to say.
My mother watched him bleed
Trying to fix the simplest things.
He never read the instructions.
One day they might teach you
How to shit.
There are things
A man should do alone.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
February 2019, Editor’s Choice

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Comment from the editor, Timothy Green: “Often I end up choosing a poem that takes the month’s image in some new and surprising direction, but this month the opposite is true. Alexandre Mikano went exactly where my mind goes when looking at this photograph, and were hundreds of other poets’ minds went, too—a kind of gritty love poem for a father figure—but he did it with such fine grace and detailed precision that it stood out among all the other poems nonetheless. This strikes me as a perfect embodiment of the image and the feelings it evokes.”

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March 21, 2019

Ekphrastic Challenge, February 2019: Artist’s Choice

 

Work Gloves by Justin Hamm

Image: “Work Gloves” by Justin Hamm. “Tan Hides and Hard Stuff” was written by Lisha Nasipak for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, February 2019, and selected as the Artist’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Lisha Nasipak

TAN HIDES AND HARD STUFF

As in the past, gloves still cut by hand,
One pair at a time, like a tailored suit.
Much like father but he was not as grand.
He was more or less a leathered brute.

Cowhide or tanned hides of quality leather.
The only hides that were tanned were ours.
Hiding under steps all huddled together,
Sitting there for what seemed like hours.

Gloves that guard between bare hand and touch.
Gloved to protect hands against bitter cold.
Father was the cold and he touched too much,
But not a word of that have we ever told.

Although his gloves worn soft and smooth.
Smooth he wasn’t, but harsh and tough.
Like nails to our backside; it was his truth.
And we were trained for the hard stuff.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
February 2019, Artist’s Choice

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Comment from the artist, Justin Hamm: “When I took the picture of the work glove, a number of possible stories passed though my head. This was not one of them. Reading ‘Tan Hides and Hard Stuff’ changed how I looked at the picture, made me see it in a way that wouldn’t have occurred to me. The poem took personal ownership over the glove; it became less my photograph and more an menacing artifact of the speaker’s trauma. The poet here explores the appearance and purpose of the glove and uses those to communicate what the father is and what he is not by comparison. And all this with formal concision. I admire and am moved by this poem very much.”

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February 28, 2019

Ekphrastic Challenge, January 2019: Editor’s Choice

 

Belle of the Ball by Vasu Tolia

Image: “Belle of the Ball” by Vasu Tolia. “My Mother Was a Dancer and She Never Looked Back” was written by Luigi Coppola for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, January 2019, and selected as the Editor’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Luigi Coppola

MY MOTHER WAS A DANCER AND SHE NEVER LOOKED BACK

and why would you when up ahead is vermilion,
gold, when the dress you wear is billowed
by poise, hemmed with every minute
of every hour you practised, each step a step
forward, each twirl gathers momentum
for the next movement, the soles of feet
parallel, straight, laced, hair tied tight, draped down
a shoulder, taut in tense air where hopes spring
up like sped-up film, seed to flower in seconds
and that is how fast life feels—if you turn your head
for a moment you’ve missed it, left wondering
where has my partner gone, where is the audience,
who has been judging me this whole time?

from Ekphrastic Challenge
January 2019, Editor’s Choice

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Comment from the editor, Timothy Green: “This poem is just flawlessly beautiful. A single sentence—14 lines including the title—flowing seamlessly down the page without a single misplaced word toward meaningful revelation. Don’t turn your head or you’ll miss it.”

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February 21, 2019

Ekphrastic Challenge, January 2019: Artist’s Choice

 

Belle of the Ball by Vasu Tolia

Image: “Belle of the Ball” by Vasu Tolia. “Self-Portrait” was written by Rodrigo Dela Pena, Jr. for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, January 2019, and selected as the Artist’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Rodrigo Dela Pena, Jr.

SELF-PORTRAIT

If I am turned away
from you, it is because
I am giving my attention
to the distance, that vanishing
point where all lines converge.
If I am outlined while all
around me is a blur
of pastel pinks and soft
purples, it only means
that stillness takes the shape
of what the heart longs for
in silence. Imagine
my face, a life hidden
between dreaming and waking
up, between childhood and old
age. I am the woman
whose breath is the air no one
can see, whose hem reaches
the ground beneath my feet.
I gather what colors slip
through my fingers. I fill
each minute to empty
it back, each moment beating
again and again and again.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
January 2019, Artist’s Choice

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Comment from the artist, Vasu Tolia: “I felt like ‘Self-Portrait’ recreated the magic I had felt conceiving and creating this painting. The way this poet captures the lines depicting the blur and sharpness and describes the hues of the paints so vividly in simple words touched me the most. The poise, purpose, and dilemma in this woman’s mind are also beautifully blended in this poem. It opened my eyes to the notion that unconsciously, I was portraying a version of myself.”

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January 31, 2019

Ekphrastic Challenge, December 2018: Editor’s Choice

 

Untitled by Kari Gunter-Seymour, one egg in a carton

Image: “Untitled” by Kari Gunter-Seymour. “Shell Thick and Her Own Planet” was written by Angie Mason for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, December 2018, and selected as the Editor’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Angie Mason

SHELL THICK AND HER OWN PLANET

There were days
where she felt like this,

like the weight of an egg
last in its carton.

It wasn’t out of kindness
she kept leaving

the last one for him,
it was a kind of forfeiture.

There was no point
substituting snake

egg, with milk stone,
with last of its kind.

Each morning
she wondered if the day

would pass without
a crack. Each morning

he would wake
asking for another.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
December 2018, Editor’s Choice

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Comment from the editor, Timothy Green: “My favorite ekphrastic poems are often those that spin the image into an entire world, and Angie Mason manages to do that here in just eighteen slender lines. As in the photograph, we never see the couple whose life as a pair revolves around the planet of the egg, but we can feel the weight of what’s coming. And those line breaks! Each turn is a new crack. The free verse is still verse.”

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January 24, 2019

Ekphrastic Challenge, December 2018: Artist’s Choice

 

Untitled by Kari Gunter-Seymour

Image: “Untitled” by Kari Gunter-Seymour. “Substance” was written by Peg Duthie for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, December 2018, and selected as the Artist’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Peg Duthie

SUBSTANCE

I blame the malevolent fairy
tales where the princess
always presents a creamy complexion—
porcelain, silk, satin, dewy
as unblemished petals—bah.
And fie on fathoming witches through
the coarse-and-homely-as-cartons pelts
of women earning their crow’s feet,
scaring thieves away without straw men.
The muscle and mastery needed to stir
sludge into sustenance, and then to scrub
the kettle clean enough for brewing cures—
why is it when boys play with powerful
powders and brines, it’s honored as chemistry
rather than cooed at as cookery
or cursed as conjuring? This is not
the province of unformed chicks.
Let me show you
a shape of a happy ending:
not the visage of a white washed egg
but the graying angles and curves
of a tested cradle,
the invisible hands
that clean up whatever’s after.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
December 2018, Artist’s Choice

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Comment from the artist, Kari Gunter-Seymour: “Full disclosure: I was secretly hoping for a poem that was not so obviously about an egg or the carton, or for that matter a womb or chicken. Maybe a poem that discussed texture or extremes of angle and light, as those topics often come up in conversation about this image at exhibitions. A poem that was not above roaming beyond the edges of the photograph. ‘Substance’ does all that. It dances me in and out of the frame, asks the timeless question, discusses each element so cleverly ‘a creamy complexion—,’ ‘the coarse-and-homely,’ the ‘graying angles and curves’ and lands so solid ‘… a tested cradle/ the invisible hands …’ I could go on and on. Brava!”

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December 27, 2018

Ekphrastic Challenge, November 2018: Editor’s Choice

 

Eat Me by Nicolette Daskalakis

Image: “Eat Me” by Nicolette Daskalakis. “The Happy Game” was written by Sean Kelbley for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, November 2018, and selected as the Editor’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Sean Kelbley

THE HAPPY GAME

was hard. Only kids could have
invented it. The girl sat on the toilet

and the boy sat on the bath mat,
criss-cross-applesauce. The father

filled a Dixie cup and stepped
into the closet. Most days,

he closed the door and walked
straight through and opened/

shut the bedroom door and gave
the pill and came right back.

Other days, he stood between the

doors a while and thought of Narnia,

or being airlocked in a passage
on the Space Station.

The girl would shake the plastic bottle,
which had once held fish oil supplements,

impatiently. It made the dad remember when
the cat went missing, and his mother

wouldn’t call for it, but shook and shook
its dry food in the little silver bowl. And

he would picture how the kids had scraped
the jelly beans across the kitchen island,

counting batches out like pharmacists.
It seemed too big, the thing that made his

wife inert and gray and distant as the mashed
potatoes everyone kept pushing farther back

inside the fridge. But he’d agreed to take
the medicine. They drank the jelly beans

with water from the cup the mother/
wife had used, because that was a rule.

I’m feeling happier, the girl
or boy would say. Me, too,

the other would agree.
Then they’d do happy things,

like scoop mud from the creek
if it was nice outside,

and turn a frisbee upside-down
to make a pottery wheel.

They played The Happy Game
until it just turned into life.

The times the father cried
were fast and quiet.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
November 2018, Editor’s Choice

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Comment from the editor, Timothy Green: “’The Happy Game’ is so imaginative I don’t think even kids could have invented it. The world of these 21 couplets is so rich in detail it feels as though you could walk right in—even the supporting characters seem real, as much as I hope they aren’t. It’s a poem that could have been a screenplay—all in a two-minute read. There were a lot of excellent poems submitted this month, but none more memorable.”

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