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Publishing Addendums

Michael Hudson was a Honorable Mention for the James Hearst Poetry Prize in the Spring of 2011 and was featured in issue 296.2 of the North American Review.

From the author:

Archaeology is sometimes a peculiar endeavor when you think about it - the digging up and display of human...

My writing resume usually starts with the fact that I studied writing at LSU with Walker Percy and Vance Bourjaily, both known to interested folks as two great writers. I list them for just that reason, to have someone think, Wow, two fine writers and this unknown studied with them so let’s pay attention to his work because he must have some...

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We were on our way back from a raging party in the woods of northern New York.  We were drunk and deeply discussing the state of mankind.  We were sixteen.  I remember at some point in...

The seasons steer much of what I write.  As a gardener, hobby orchardist, and retired beekeeper, I find my frame of mind pretty much tuned to the light, the temperature, and the color of the day.  Winter has always been a time of being stuck in the darkness with the ground frozen; I'm standing at the window looking out a static landscape wishing my life away.  Either that or I'm going through lists and piling what we need for some trip to a southern latitude.  Busy work then, or at the...

Winning poem for the 2011 James Hearst Poetry Prize

"What Her Father Cast"

From the author:

This poem arrived courtesy of a friend’s writing prompt. It’s been several years now, but to the best of my memory, one of the...

Devi Sen Laskar was a finalist for the James Hearst Poetry Prize in the Spring of 2011 and was featured in issue 296.2 of The North American Review.

From the author: This poem was written in response to a joke I'd overheard between two women chatting in the check out line ahead of me at the grocery store, their baskets brimming with frozen foods and boxed pasta, cheap candy and canned cheese: "you are what you eat."

...

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Before the poem “Last Visit,” there was a last visit. I was 24, in Illinois, where I grew up, a daughter and granddaughter of farmers, visiting from my...

I remember watching this video of Robert Bly when I was in my early twenties. He was asking the audience, “So, you want to be a poet? Do you have about fifty years?” Yes, of course, I thought to myself. I do have fifty years if that’s what it takes. I’d been writing poems since I was seven, and I knew I still had quite a few more bad poems to write—real stinkers—before I got any good.

Bly...


I was compelled last week to reach out to Sydney Lea––Vermont’s current Poet Laureate––as three short essays of his, “Surviving Romance,” appeared in the spring issue of Traveltainted...

The morning following my first night in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, a young man drowned in the river behind our home. I was out for an early morning jog when I noticed a police car pulled to the side of the road running parallel to the river. I rerouted and peered down the ravine, where I spotted a rescue team gearing up to retrieve a body that wouldn’t be found for days.

In the time between, my dog and I regularly walked the riverbanks, scanning the water for clues. But there were no...

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