Episode 15: The Schneiderman Tingle Episode

On today’s podcast we discussed four poems, all part of a “polyvalent” poetry series by Jayson Iwen. These poems were unique because they could be read two different ways, horizontally and vertically.   Hi and welcome to Episode 15 of the PBQ’s Slush pile.  On today’s podcast we discussed four poems, all part of a “polyvalent” poetry series by Jayson Iwen. These poems were unique because they could be read two different ways, horizontally and vertically. Jayson lived in Beirut, Lebanon for four years where he served as the “Hare-Raiser” for the Beirut Tarboush Hash House Harriers (yeah, we had to look it up, too). He wrote his first two books on a Smith Corona WS250 when he was in high school, and dropped out of pre-med to become a writer. In college he played Petruchio in an S&M, black box version of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew (eat your heart out E.L. James). You can check out Jayson’s website here; you’ll want to, after your hear and read these poems. We started with  “.1.4.1,” which was the first in the series of “polyvalent” poetry. We started by reading the poem vertically and then moved on to horizontally. We were impressed with the way in which the meaning of the poem became clearer when we read the poem horizontally, like magic. Tim was able to connect with the feelings associated with new parenthood, while Jason questioned our ability to trust such an unconventional voice. We decided to move on and read all of the poems before we voted, so it was on to “.1.4.2.” We found again that the horizontal version was more accessible to us, and admired the strong images the author’s language conjured. Next was “.1.4.3,” and we really dug the “creepy” tone that progressed through the first two poems to this one, and when we moved on to “.1.4.4,” we looked forward to seeing where the story that was woven through the first three poems went. You’ll have to listen to see which poems we ultimately accepted from the series! Don’t forget to rate and subscribe on our iTunes, then let us know what you thought on our podcast Facebook page. Read on!     Present at the Editorial Table: Kathleen Volk Miller Marion Wrenn Tim Fitts Jason Schneiderman Caitlin McLaughlin   Production Engineer: Joe Zang   PBQ Box Score: 3:4 ---------------------------      .1.4.1 You have descended from animals                                  Who descended from angels Who alone have descended                                              From the darkness of their own choice Where nothing holds its shape for long                          Hold out your hand And feel for rain                                                                  The pain of sex   My great grandmother taught my grand                        With a knife My grandfather taught my uncle                                      Respect with a pitch fork No one arrives at insanity alone                                       It’s a social conclusion Like finding the baby                                                          Waiving goodbye from the top of the stairs .1.4.2 In the night you lean                                                           Over the baby, to make sure it’s okay The baby wakes terrified                                                    A dark animal shape looms From the fear within you                                                   Modeling itself in the child The only way out of possession                                        To dispossess your thought, you remember   You’ve been so baked you couldn’t stand                       No one ever mentioned the crystal THC With which they’d laced the pot                                      Those nights were long affairs Watching the submarine calm of the ceiling                In the extra bedroom Watching fire light flicker on the tent flap                    Listening to everything speak your name   .1.4.3 You might dream of a poolside party                               Where you bump into an old classmate You thought had died years before                                   With whom you’d never spoken Our military was so strong                                                  It would break its own neck She said                                                                                  I’ll be in the last room on the left         And left                                                                                  You might wake to find the baby Sitting up in the dark                                                          Staring at a shape in the moonlight Why did you never come to me                                         It says You might have found me                                                  The high & holy center of the Earth                                                                                                 .1.4.4 I was my mother’s will                                                         Sent out into the world For bread or cheese or meat                                               A vapor trail unforming Against the morning light                                                  The sound of a struck bell Slipping into the background                                           To live beyond scrutiny   Your glorious brain, my little humon                              Is a globule of fat Dangling from the nerve tree                                          We call universe That’s right, son                                                                   Daddy’s drinking again His life is a dead end                                                           That tastes like mother’s cup