Episode 30: Resonance and Rejection

This week we look at two poems by two authors, “Drink Like Fish” by Alexa Smith and “pine” by Shabnam Piryaei. Alexa Smith is a poet, actor and visual artist born in Washington, DC and based in South Philadelphia.... This week we look at two poems by two authors, “Drink Like Fish” by Alexa Smith and “pine” by Shabnam Piryaei. Alexa Smith is a poet, actor and visual artist born in Washington, DC and based in South Philadelphia. A triple Scorpio with nothing to lose, Alexa was once accurately described as "seven cats in a people suit;" she was awarded the college superlative "Most Likely to Lose Control of Her Hands," and, she can lick her own elbow without difficulty. She works for a local medical publisher and serves as the Managing Editor for APIARY Magazine, a free, volunteer-run literary magazine of Philly poetry, prose and visual art. Her poetry has appeared online in Entropy Magazine at entropymag.org, and her photography of Philly's post-election protests was featured by Billy Penn at billypenn.com. You can find out more about APIARY and check for submissions calls at apiarymagazine.com. As Marion puts it, “Drink Like Fish” is truly a tumble and a roll. With aggressive analogies, “enfished” personifications, and a strong use of language, this poem certainly demands attention from its readers. It opened up discussion about author intent, romanticization of culture, and whether or not literature must have a “takeaway.” Listen for the results of this poem’s vote, which even surprised our editors! After “Drink Like Fish” we move on to “pine.” This is all Shabnam Piryaei wants you to know about her. Once we got over the lack of capitalization, we were able to start trying to digest its dense material and determine what it was about. After a lot of back-and-forth dialogue, it looked like we could have multiple interpretations. However, with whichever interpretation the reader perceives, there is a great loneliness and desperation of the speaker that pulls a strong empathy from us. While we couldn’t settle on an interpretation, we know that this multi-faceted reading only enhanced our discussion. We finished off talking by talking about rejection, and what it means to us. Check out the article written by Roxane Gay that Kathy references. Does a rejection stop you from submitting again? Or do you laugh in the face of rejection? Are you involved in a “rejection game” and don’t you think that would make a great movie title? Let us know what you think about these poems, and about rejection, on Twitter or Facebook with #glugglug Always, always, read on! Present at the Editorial Table: Kathleen Volk Miller Marion Wrenn Jason Schneiderman Tim Fitts Sara Aykit Engineering Producer: Ryan McDonald ----------------------------- Alexa Smith DRINK LIKE FISH BARMAID MERGIRL: hungover & strung along by Fishtown hook- ups, sighs cigarette-swirled breath baiting the boys outside the taqueria, teal ombre dip-dye willowing kewpie cheeks in frizzy rivulets, silver nose ring catching scratch-light from her sunny zippo striking for a quick suck of smoke before she clocks in & goes UNDER: mid-shift, mer- server darts & dips to dodge darts sailing gamely thru the dinner rush, a salty dive's Friday night sweat-swell stuffed to gills w/ oil-slick sardine pack sleazes, schools of bloated blowfish bros, hip loud clowns doused in lager spouting flotsam for first FinDr dates wishing they’d swished left, while on the edge of the din sit lone, grim, grizzled marlins, w/blood- shot eyes & briny drinks & cheeks as rough as rusting swords, fish w/ trashed & tattered past mystique like in-theory-cheery boardwalks turned gray & drizzly in the rain the crowd so many fathoms deep, our intrepid merkid gets weeded, yet she winnows through – serves swift & swerves her sway away from ocular octopi tracing her tail, quiet guys whose eyes snake after supple shapes like groping sucking hentai vines she hides & curls herself into the side of kitchen stairwell, coves herself in cellar shadow - stowed, savors time slowing as her tongue skirts a salted rim, lime stinging dry lips, midori mellowing edge of eyeglass frames like green bottle shards worn smooth by sea Shabman Piryaei pine I spy you on a rock at the edge of a cliff. a tiny figure hunched against heaven. the stupid expanse of a building-less sky. I fear dropping you because I can. above you an angle of birds know precisely how to navigate. distance is like this. leaving me excess space to play with my weapons. I hum uncertain beyond the provocation of your back. strands of me dangle from my shirt unwilling to be discarded. no god laughs while slitting the throats of his children, I think. you will stay at the edge of a cloud-rivered abyss. in another expanse, clouds convene over the raft of a survivor, lip-split and issuing confessions. here crickets have convened. shuddering at the scrape of evening’s tongue I lull for your shadow to stand.