Pushcart Prize Nominations!

Hi, MockingHeart friends,

We at MockingHeart Review are proud to announce this year’s nominations for the Pushcart Prize:

“Mayme Hears the Bones of Planets Fall,” by Cheryl Unruh

“My Grandfather’s Old Photos,” by Andrew Maust 

“Eins, Zwei, Drei, by Megan Culp

“About a Friend, Found Hanging,” by Chelsea Logan

“Something in the Air,” by Michelle Reale

“The Automatic Door at the Grocery Store Lets the Bull Moose In,” by Aaron Sandberg

Congratulations to these poets, and many thanks to ALL of our MHR contributors for your excellent work in the world–it’s a privilege to read and publish your creations. Here’s to another great MockingHeart Review year!

P.S. – More information about the Prize and Pushcart Press can be found here.

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

One Week until our Winter Reading Period!

MockingHeart Friends! It’s been a while. I hope you’re well, and that you’ve been able to take some time for self-care in this latter part of our difficult year.

Just to pass you a note–our Winter 2021 issue will be open for submissions from December 1-31, 2020, with a planned February 1, 2021 publication date! Take a bit of time to reflect and create–we’d love to see your work this reading period!

Our Winter 2021 theme is Recovery.

As I write this, COVID-19 has taken some 258,000 lives in the United States alone. The hardships are many. But with recent news of multiple vaccines under development, recovery may finally be on the horizon. As the country strives to get the pandemic under control, consider that recovery means different things too–social, personal, or political healing, for instance. Winter is often conceptualized as a time of recovery. Think on these ideas, and when you’re ready, send your creations to MockingHeart Review!

And please pass the word along! If you know an artist or writer who’s been considering the brave act (for it is a brave act) of putting their work out into the world, we’d be thrilled to hear from them.

Finally: If you haven’t yet taken a peek at our splendid Fall 2020 issue, please do! Several excellent pieces await you therein. You’ll come away feeling inspired!

Thanks again! Keep up your excellent work in the world, and we’ll see you soon.

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

Interview with a Poet: Ted Kooser

Editor’s Note: MockingHeart Review recently sat down with Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry Ted Kooser to discuss his new collection Red Stilts (Copper Canyon, 2020), the process of writing, and the state of our tense, rapidly changing world. An excellent conversation to read on this crisp Halloween!

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

——

MockingHeart Review: Hi, Ted. Good to talk with you! When we last spoke, your new book Red Stilts was just coming into the world. I’ve enjoyed so many of the poems therein, and as in other collections, here you shed light on the potency of “small” moments, showing them to be larger than one might first think. Could you speak a bit about the genesis of this new collection?

Ted Kooser: I try to write every morning, and I have no greater plan.  It’s enough work for me to have one poem to concentrate on, and concentrating on that poem excludes everything but itself.  I write a few promising poems each month, and many not so good, and many, many bad ones, laughably bad.  Given time I can see which stand out as stronger than the others. Those I submit to literary magazines, where some get accepted for publication.  If by the end of a year’s writing I have eight or ten poems that have found publication, that’s a good year for me.  And eight or ten years of that, and I’ll have what may be a book of poems.  I never plan, but since my life and personality are reflected in my writing, the overall direction of my life is an organizing influence.

MHR: This new book emerges into a year stricken by vast social upheaval, the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, and other concerns. How has 2020 been for you so far?

TK: On New Year’s Eve this year, many if not most of us will be happy to put 2020 behind us forever, don’t you think?  That’s probably enough said…. But I will say that I pray that I will live long enough that our country will be reunited under wise leadership.

MHRRed Stilts chronicles memorable moments, only some of which are overtly happy—I think first of the poem “Mother and Child,” where the two characters engage with “one / of those red, blue, and yellow / plastic play sets”—and we see that in many instances, color is of vast importance. In “Raspberry Patch,” a “black-and-yellow spider” and “white and blue butterflies” tend to their busy lives, and “the old garage lifts a yellow cuff.” What role does color play in your writing, and in your life around that work?

TK:  I have enjoyed drawing and painting since I was a little boy.  I love looking at the world, and trying to catch things I see with a sketch, and I sketch both in words and in line and color. My notebooks are full of both kinds of those sketches.  At times when I’m not either drawing or writing I feel awful, as if I’m throwing my life away. 

MHR: Family is a very important thread through the poems in Stilts. “An Overnight Snow” resonates strongly, wherein you hear “a word or two, muffled, back and forth between / my father and our next-door neighbor, Elmo Mallo, / who was out shoveling [snow], too.” When writing about family (and people in general, if you like), what do you find yourself focused on most? And in your estimation, what people-centered moments lend themselves best to a poem?

TK:  Readers seem to prefer poems in which there are people. I don’t think that’s a considered preference, but I feel it there.  I write a lot of poems about inanimate things, and though I delight in writing them they’re never as warmly accepted. As to writing about people, over the past twenty-five years or so the poems I’ve been happiest with are those in which I stand aside, invisible, and observe one or two people who are oblivious to me looking on.  The poem you mention is an example of the type; others are the one about the man at the bulletin board in the grocery store entryway. the one about the man coming out of the bakery, the woman standing in the rain talking to the two men in a truck, and so on.  Take the most ordinary moment, say a man flicking an ash from a cigarette, and describe it carefully, and everything out and around it will drop away and it will seem bathed in a remarkable light. I try to focus on things to the exclusion of everything else. If you look at some part of the world through a cardboard toilet paper tube, what you see gains in interest and even importance.

MHR: Because the book is so full of compelling snapshots I shouldn’t be this definitive, but “The Dead Vole” contains the moment that hits me hardest, even now. Holding this creature, this “dab of thunderhead gray,” the narrator muses: “even such a miniscule being, I thought, / ought to weigh something in death, / a little more than itself.” Leaning into that metaphor, what do you suppose death signifies? And importantly, what does (or should) it signify in our current moment?

TK: I am the narrator, Tyler. I never speak in a voice other than my own. Years ago, I wrote some dramatic-monologue-type poems but I haven’t written one for years. But to your question: I don’t think I have a good answer for you.  In poems like the one about the vole I am myself trying to work out what death means. I’ve been working on that all my life, it seems.  A few years ago the honors group at our university asked me to give a “last lecture,” what I would say if I were abut to die. I told my wife I didn’t know what I was going to say and she said, “Ted, it ought to be easy. You’ve been giving your last lecture all your life!”

MHR: Nature is always close by in your work, and in Stilts, even poems that aren’t about the natural world still keep it in the periphery. I think of “Applause,” the closing poem, wherein a girl finishes a performance: “At the close of her piano recital . . . the clapping keeps leafing down.” As in this poem, we often invoke nature to describe our lives. Why do you think this is so? What are we humans trying to say?

TK:  I don’t know that I’m making a statement. I don’t intend to be.  But I’m happy to be small part of the grand natural order and I suppose that shows.

MHR: Surely a lot of folks would like the world to go back to the pre-COVID world, but we’ve all made adjustments under the assumption that it’ll be a while. To that point, you mentioned in a recent letter that your writing practice has shifted somewhat. Now that things in the world are so different, what are your plans? And what should your readers keep an eye out for next?

TK: Earlier I suggested that I didn’t plan beyond the poem right under my nose. I really don’t know what’s to come, and I have no plan other than to keep writing.  I do have more time at home now, and I like that.  It’s a blessing to me when there are no invitations to go somewhere and do something. I’ve written a handful of poems about the pandemic, but I don’t like them much.  They have a topic, and having a topic is to have an agenda.  Agendas are poisonous. If tomorrow morning I find myself writing about an acorn, that’s what will concern me.  

MHR: Lots of writers have rituals around their work—William Stafford’s pre-sunrise couch writing with toast, the music so many of us put on when we compose a poem or an essay, and so on. Do you have a writing ritual of sorts?

TK:  As I said earlier, my routine is to get up early, four or four-thirty, and to sit with my notebook and coffee, hoping that something good will happen. Often what I write is silly, or goofy, or cheesy, or stupid, but unless I’m sitting there ready I’ll miss the good one when it flies past. Kate DiCamillo, the wonderful writer of books for young people, was asked at a conference I attended why she wrote so early in the morning and she said that she wanted to get her writing done before the critical part of her brain woke up.  I thought that was a fine way to explain it.

MHR: And before we adjourn, I should ask—what advice would you share with writers who are just starting out in their craft?

TK:  Read, read, read!  Reading is how writers learn to write.  When I was still teaching I told my grad students that they ought to read a hundred poems for every one they try to write. I have never seen a poorly written poem that couldn’t have been made better had the author read more poetry.

——

Ted Kooser has served as Presidential Professor at the University of Nebraska, and as Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004 to 2006. He won the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, has received four Pushcart Prizes, and has authored many books, including fifteen poetry collections and numerous chapbooks. He edits the long-running and widely syndicated column American Life in Poetry.

Coming on Halloween: an MHR Interview with Ted Kooser

Happy Friday, MockingHeart friends.

I hope you’re healthy and relaxed this weekend, and that you’ve had a chance to read some of your favorite literary work! We’re a bit biased, but our favorite recent work includes the excellent Fall 2020 issue of MockingHeart Review. If you haven’t yet taken a look through its pages, you can do so here.

We have plenty of exciting material coming soon to Beats, the MHR blog. This Halloween, keep your eyes peeled for a special MHR interview with the inimitable Ted Kooser! In it we discuss the recent world and his most recent book, Red Stilts, out this year from Copper Canyon Press.

Kooser served as Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004 to 2006. He won the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, has received four Pushcart Prizes, and has authored many books, including fifteen poetry collections and numerous chapbooks. He edits the long-running and widely syndicated column American Life in Poetry (from which he will retire in December of this year).

We look forward to sharing this excellent conversation with you! In the meantime, keep on reading and creating. Thanks again, friends, for your excellent work in the world.

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

Our Fall 2020 Issue is HERE!

Hi, MockingHeart Friends!

Our new issue is now published, and you can take a look at it here! We hope that you enjoy these excellent works of art and words–and that, even in so tough a year as this one, you might feel inspired to create as well. 

For those impacted by our world’s current crises, please know that our thoughts are still with you, and will be going forward too. Have a fulfilling weekend, friends. Thank you for all the excellent work you do in the world!

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

Interview with a Poet: John Warner Smith

Editor’s Note: MockingHeart Review recently sat down with poet and educator John Warner Smith, the current Poet Laureate of Louisiana, to discuss poetry, teaching, and the roles of the Arts and education in our tense, rapidly changing world. Valuable insights followed!

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

——

MockingHeart Review: Hi, John. Good to talk with you! We last spoke in person back in January—how has 2020 been for you so far?

John Warner Smith: It’s been a challenging time, to say the least. Thankfully, I’ve managed to stay safe and healthy. I started the year expecting a very busy schedule of readings. I managed to do several of them virtually but my work as poet laureate has been much quieter than I had hoped. I was awarded a fellowship by the Academy of American Poets to conduct poetry workshops in several high schools in the Delta parishes. I was hoping to begin this fall, but that will probably be pushed back with a change in delivery format.

MHR: Due to the Covid-19 pandemic it’s been a while since our country operated under normal conditions. Could you share a bit about whether (or how) your work and writing life have shifted during the current crisis?

JWS: I miss reading in-person. I really love those moments when I have a poem in my hand and the audience is waiting to hear what it says. I can feel a poem when I look into the eyes of an audience. I could read all day! I’ve done a number of virtual readings, but I don’t get that rush. I’ve also shared more of my work on social media.

MHR: You studied with Terrance Hayes and Tracy K. Smith. Could you speak to how their work has influenced your own?

JWS: I participated in workshops that Tracy and Terrance led at the Callaloo Creative Writing Workshops. Terrance later taught me at Cave Canem. I cannot say enough about Callaloo and Cave Canem. The retreats took my writing to another level. Poetry had just discovered me. I was under the spell of it and not fully understanding why. More than anything, Tracy, Terrance, and the many award-winning black poets whom I was blessed to be taught by helped me to figure it out. I often think about those quiet moments when I sat alone trying to compose a poem for one of the Callaloo or Caven Canem workshops. I knew that I could never be as talented as the workshop teachers but I wanted to present a strong poem, knowing that their feedback would make it stronger. They made me want to keep writing. In time, I found my voice.

MHR: You credit Smith with helping to see poetry as “becoming,” which is a beautiful sentiment. How can we understand that idea in our current time, where political and viral forces threaten our world? What are we becoming, and how does poetry fit?

JWS: Robert Frost said, “Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.” Only when it is melted has a poem become a poem. When, through the spontaneity of its own making, a poem surprises me in meaning, I know that it is a poem. Tracy helped me to expect that magic to occur through constant revision, through rethinking what a poem is saying and doing from a reader’s perspective. That happened in a poem titled “Crossing,” that I wrote at the beginning of my journey with my father’s battle with Alzheimer’s. Tracy’s feedback not only helped me to write a better poem; it helped me to see my father’s mind differently and to appreciate the wonder and delicacy of it in spite of the disease that was killing it. That became the first poem that I published in a major literary journal. I might add that Dr. John Gery, the chair of my thesis committee at the University of New Orleans, also helped me to view poetry that way.

The political and viral forces are real threats but poetry can be a bridge to our common humanity. It brings us together to appreciate the full range of emotion and feeling possible in us, in spite of our differences. I write poems about race in America with that in mind.

MHR: Your work contains so many striking images and phrases. “Zydeco on Dog Hill” stuck with me, not just for its somber subject matter (among which a man is murdered), but for the imagery that represents it:

           his wide brim 
fedora suddenly seen 
whirling in a herd of flamingos 
and a pool of whiskey-warm blood.

What types of poetic conventions most fit your style of writing? Moreover, how might poetic conventions help us understand an ungraspable world?

JWS: I’m a prose poet at heart. Much of my poetry tells stories. “Zydeco on Dog Hill” is all fiction, but I borrowed from pieces of real life events. I’ve danced to Zydeco and I’ve been to Dog Hill in Lake Charles, Louisiana, but I don’t have a cousin name Gladys whose husband stabbed her lover in a Zydeco club. It’s all imagined.

My grandfather Andrew was the father of my early childhood. When he was a young man with a wife and three young children, he spent time in prison for killing a man in a card game. I remember the story that my grandmother told me about seeing her father walking through the sugar cane field the next morning to tell her that her husband had been jailed. My grandmother’s brother, J. Warner, whom I was named after, died at a young age from a tragic stabling that took place outside of a nightclub in Lafayette. Somehow, those images helped to build a poem about a character who didn’t exist in real life. The poem tells an imagined story but it also speaks to the dark side of human nature that is never told in a funeral mass. In myth and imagination, we can discover truth about who we are — the shadow side of human nature that we never speak about or admit to ourselves. In truth, I could have been one of the three men in the poem—Gladys’ husband, her father, or Jo Jo, her secret lover whose fedora ended up whirling in “a pool of whiskey-warm blood.”

MHR: In much of your work you discuss the violence that affects black communities, from police and elsewhere. Your poem “Why Being a Black Father in America Today Frightens and Angers Me” distills a part of that experience in plain terms:

I am a father and grandfather of black boys
born and living in America,
doing honest work,
not committing crimes,
not hurting people.

When so much of America must necessarily doubt that these admirable traits are enough to keep them safe, is true equality possible? How can education and the Arts help to that end?

JWS: Equality is indeed possible. It’s the obligation and responsibility of every generation to resist any and all attempts to make race the defining factor in any person’s pursuit of freedom and happiness. The problem is deeply rooted in our county’s history of slavery and the caste system that grew out of it, a system that still exists and manifests itself in incidents of police killings of young black men.

My mother grew up poor in the Jim Crow South. She became pregnant with me when she was fifteen years old. I was not a candidate for long life. Education was my ticket out of poverty, but it has not been my ticket out of the brokenness of the American social, economic, and political systems that create and maintain two societies of haves and have-nots. The root problem is deeply spiritual, and deeply etched into the bones of America. I doubt that we will ever have a period of “Enlightenment” that will reverse the still-prevailing worldview that I am “less” because my skin, hair, and facial features are not “white.” But it’s my responsibility to do whatever I can to call out the hatred and hypocrisy and to love those who practice and speak it.

Arts can build awareness of that challenge, but I doubt that it can cure the problem. My white neighbors can read my poems day and night, but inviting me to a party or learning about my experiences with bigotry and racism can’t make them not see or treat me as “non-white.” My latest collection, Our Shut Eyes, speaks directly to that challenge.

MHR: You’re a caring and pedagogical writer, as anyone who’s heard you read can testify—and you direct Education’s Next Horizon, a Louisiana nonprofit organization. Could you talk a bit about the organization?

JWS: ENH was created thirteen years ago to advocate public education reform. We’ve tried to be a voice for change. I’d like to think that we’ve done some good, although Louisiana still has miles to go in improving education outcomes, particularly for children of color and children with disabilities. Unfortunately, due to our inability to raise funds in recent years, 2020 will be our last year as a non-profit education reform organization.  But I’ll continue to speak of educational inequity through my poetry.

MHR: As a Louisianan and a poet invested in education, what vision do you have for public education in our state? And finally, how might we get there?

JWS: That’s a big question. The short answer is that we have to invest considerably more in high-quality early care and education for poor families and children. If we invest early and wisely, we can build stronger families and children who are prepared to succeed. When I was a child, public Pre-K and kindergarten were not available to black children. I was raised by a grandfather who was illiterate and a grandmother who had an eighth-grade education. A black Baptist preacher and his wife started a kindergarten program for the black children of Morgan City. I attribute whatever academic and professional success I achieved later in life to that act of love and kindness. I entered first grade knowing numbers, the alphabet, and words that I didn’t know existed. It was the most important educational experience of my life.

Years later, I was one of five black students who integrated an all white junior high school in Lake Charles. I was spat on and degraded, but academically I stood toe to toe with every white student there. No matter how meanly they treated me, they couldn’t take the “I” away from me. I grew from being a little black boy in a housing project to becoming the first black man to be poet laureate of Louisiana. I owe much of that to a black preacher and his wife giving me a strong start. That’s what we need in Louisiana, a stronger start for poor children.

MHR: What are you currently working on, and what are you reading?

JWS: I have made a shift since the pandemic. I’ve worked on my forthcoming poetry collection, but I haven’t written a single new poem since late March. One day in April, I opened up the laptop and saw a story that I started writing long before poetry discovered me. So, I wrote a novel and a novella, and I am halfway into a memoir. The writing cost me many hours of sleep and I might not get any of it published, but it enabled me to stay grounded and sane amidst the craziness of the pandemic, racial unrest, and the politics of Trump. Currently, I am reading Caste / The Origins of Our Discontents, the award-winning book by Isabel Wilkerson. The book has deepened and broadened my understanding of race in America.

MHR: What advice might you share with poets and writers who are just starting out?

JWS: Read, read, read, and write with purpose.

——

John Warner Smith is the Poet Laureate of Louisiana. He is the author of several poetry collections including Muhammad’s Mountain (Lavender Ink, 2018) and Spirits of the Gods (ULL Press, 2017), and his poems have appeared in Ploughshares, Callaloo, Antioch Review, North American Review, Quiddity, The Worcester Review, Kestrel, Bloodroot Literary Magazine, American Athenaeum, Transition, and other literary journals. Smith earned his MFA in Creative Writing from the University of New Orleans Low-Residency MFA Program, and he teaches English at Southern University in Baton Rouge. Since November 2007 he has directed Education’s Next Horizon, a statewide non-profit organization dedicated to reforming public education in Louisiana. 

Celebrating Five Years of MHR!

Hi, MockingHeart Friends!

I hope you’re well and healthy today. This is just a note to mark a special occasion–this month, MockingHeart Review is celebrating its fifth year! We’ve loved being a venue for so many talented poets, and more recently for talented artists as well. And we’re glad that you, our readers and contributors, enjoy the work we do in the world.

And we’re still going strong! Coming soon to Beats, the MHR blog:

  • An interview with Louisiana Poet Laureate John Warner Smith! I recently sat down to talk with John about his work as a poet and educator, and his latest literary journey. It’s a conversation you won’t want to miss.
  • An interview with Grand Coteau poet and Arts advocate Patrice Melnick! Denise Rogers, our Associate Editor, will be talking with Patrice about her new poetry collection.

…And of course, our Fall 2020 Issue (MHR 5.3) will go live on October 1st! Its many excellent pieces will dazzle and amaze.

Until then, have a great Labor Day Weekend! Thanks again for your own excellent work in the world.

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

A Note on Hurricane Laura

MockingHeart Friends, I hope you’re well.

As the reading period for our Fall 2020 issue comes to a close (you can submit until 11:59 PM CT tomorrow!), a grim event has occurred in Southwest Louisiana. As you’ve by now heard, Lousiana, Texas, and Arkansas (perhaps especially cities in and around Calcasieu Parish, La.) have been devastated by Hurricane Laura, which made landfall near Cameron, La. in the early morning of August 27th. As news sources near and far report, Lake Charles (home of this editor’s alma mater, McNeese State University) and the surrounding cities will take weeks, and more likely months or even years, to recover from the catastrophic damage.

As you go about your days (so curtailed already by the COVID-19 pandemic) please keep Louisiana and its affected neighboring states in your thoughts. Some of you, our readers and contributors, are Louisiana residents, or else know someone who is–our thoughts are with you, and please give a word of encouragement to the Pelican State folks you know. If you can, consider donating to help in the recovery effort. It’ll be a hard road to recovery, but Louisiana is strong, and will yet persevere.

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

Ten Days Left to Submit!

Hi, MockingHeart friends,

Hoping you’re healthy and happy these days! The weekend is upon us, so I won’t take up too much of your time–I just wanted to pass you a note. There are still ten days to send your poetry and/or artwork our way! Submissions are open until the end of this month. We’ve received some great work already–to those who have submitted in recent days, we’ll get back to you soon–and we can’t wait to experience yours!

Take care, and stay well. We look forward to bringing you another great issue of MHR before long.

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief

Submissions are Open!

MockingHeart friends! Happy August.

It’s that time of year again–though it’s still summer, here at MHR we’re beginning to anticipate the coming of Fall. Submissions are now open for the Fall issue of MockingHeart Review! You can submit from today until the end of August.

As you might have seen, our timely theme for this upcoming issue (MHR 5.3, for the numerically inclined) is Equality. Give this theme some thought, and when you’re ready, send your poetry and/or artwork our way! We look forward to experiencing it.

We hope you staying healthy, happy, and inspired. Keep on creating–and as always, thank you for all the excellent work you do in the world.

Cheers,

Tyler Robert Sheldon, Editor-in-Chief