Honored to have a new piece of flash fiction, "Eerie Moan," on Jerry Jazz Musician, a venerable site devoted to our national music. Special thanks to Joe Maita, editor, and Duke Ellington, inspiration.
"Bumping into Bonnie," another piece of the NYC puzzle, on Bookends Review. Many thanks to the BR team, esp editors Jen McConnell and Jordan Blum.
I'm honored to have three new poems included in Surviving Suicide, the excellent anthology just released by Nirala Press, in company with such celebrated writers as Ravi Shankar, Karen Corine Herceg, Yogesh Patel, Yuyutsu Sharma, and many others. I offer one of my poems here (below).
Multiple Attempts on Dark Hollow Road, Friday Nights in Winter
(for Tommy Walters)
The way you drove in snowstorms, the way
the tires lost their grip at the bend the way
we spun and spun and spun right into
oncoming cars the way you laughed that laugh
that laugh that crossed between scream
and manifesto and the way that
drivers in the oncoming cars panicked
the way they honked their horns and flashed
their brights and cut their wheels the way
they raised their arms as if those might stop
you coming on and on and on. And the way
we spun right past them every time
right on past them every time and coasted down
to Main Street at the hill’s bottom and swung
a U and turned back up Liberty Avenue
to do it again. And the way you rejoiced, pounding
the steering wheel, shouting, “Did you see
his fucking face!” which of course I did--
the sheer terror, the split-second awareness
that this time was the time and how there was
never enough time to get it all together,
to get it all in order to prepare for this time,
this exact time that he knew was coming,
knew all along was coming, the way we all know
that it’s coming, we know it all the time.
What he couldn’t know was how perfectly
you were in control. Every time. How could he?
How could you? How could I?
SURVIVING SUICIDE 32
Starting July 5, every two days for two weeks, stories from my collection (in progress) Parentheticals appear in Planodion Literary Journal's "Bonsai Stories" in Greek. About translating the stories, the brilliant writer/translator/educator Dr. Vasilis Manousakis writes, "From Patti Smith to Magritte and from Winona Ryder to the Rolling Stones, Tim's flash stories are captivating, both in terms of language and themes. I wanted to know what would happen next, I wanted to be in this world, I wanted to be a parenthetical hero, a hero of the mundane meeting someone famous. The humor, the irony, the everydayness, and the richness of the experience at the same time, make these stories an essential reading! On behalf of the editors of Planodion, I would like to thank you, Tim, for the above prologue to the stories (appearing only in Planodion for the first time) and for the interview. But mostly, for the stories themselves and the experience of translating them!" I am deeply honored to appear in Planodion, and deeply grateful for Vasilis's generous comments. απολαμβάνω!
My first Joni album was Clouds. I loved “Tin Angel”—it sounded like a western with tumbleweed blowing outside saloon doors. And I loved “The Gallery,” its sense of reversal, its conflation of cruelty and love. So many people were finding Jesus, or chanting nam myo ho renge kyo. I had a hunch they were just a bunch of bastards like the rest of us, which “The Gallery” sort of confirmed. I skipped Ladies of the Canyon—I wasn’t interested in songs about women baking muffins (until later). But Blue, wow—did that drop like a sledgehammer! I listened to it incessantly, went out and got Songs to a Seagull and the Ladies albums trying to grok the trajectory. In 10th grade, Blue became my go-to album as gift to the girls I loved. I loved a lot of them, and that was a lot of Blue. What I was saying, I think, was listen, I know you’ve suffered. I’ve suffered, too. Just like Joni, just like you. Why don’t we look around hell some? For better or worse, the only substantive relationship I developed out of that phase was with Joni Mitchell (and Jose Cuervo). I still love Blue—its travel bug, its ink on a pin, its dark café days. There have been a lot of great covers of its songs. This one, by Tierney Sutton, might be my favorite.
With "Teaching My Mother to Zoom," I honor Mom and Zoom, and I pray for patience and mercy. With thanks to Mom Egg and its most excellent editor, Marjorie Tesser.
Asia-Pacific Writers & Translators collaborated on the June issue of the esteemed Joao-Roque Literary Journal of India, and I'm deeply honored to have one of my stories, "Indigenous Studies," appear on its screens, along with the work so so many writers I admire, including Dean Kerrison, Sahib Nazari, Jose Varghese, and my dear colleague, Frances Kai-Hwa Wang, whose "Sowing Aunties" took top prize.
Way back in 2016 BT (Before Trump), I had the great honor and privilege of being interviewed by Jamaican poet-novelist-visual artist and dear friend, Jacqueline Bishop, about my experience of the Caribbean, and my use of oral histories as springboards into poems concerning the climate change catastrophe Yolanda, which struck the Philippines in 2013. Delighted to find that interview has been digitized. From the Jamaica Observer, April 2016.
Telephone: A Game of Art Whispered Around the World is a hugely ambitious global arts project hatched from the brains of Nathan Langston and Katelyn Watkins. My story, "Blue Magritte," appears, in dialogue with paintings in dialogue with poems in dialogue with photographs and on and on until a web of connectivity links artists and writers on six continents and dozens of nations. I'm honored to be included in an incredible roster that includes dear friends Robin Martin, Julia Prendergast, Sarah Sarai, and Ravi Shankar.
In its April 11 StorySunday section, Litro features "Patti Smith Takes a Piss," which concerns an event that may or may not have happened on a NYC Central Park concert stage back in the waning days of the relevance of the Rolling Stones and the dawning of the era of Babelogue.