G.M. Palmer's Blog

Haven't posted in years. Might as well dump a thought or two.

Since there's no money in poetry, I've written a verse novel. There is a demonstrated market for verse novels (Crank and Inside Out and Back Again) and experimental narratives (ttfn) in YA. I've covered that already somewhere in the archives.

I know this is a silly longshot. But meh. I like silly longshots.

What interests me is the finding of an agent. Like back in the day when I was querying agents for my epic poem 1779 (like a verse novella maybe? 150 pages or so) I have gotten a lot of "this is great but I don't know how to sell it" responses.

It's important to say how encouraging that is.

So I'm saying it.

Not sure what I'm going to do with this space right here, but for now I want to say thanks for the encouragement.

Hello everyone!

Please check out my newest project:

Poetry Isn't Safe

Please share and support the film!

I stole this idea from David Hernandez at the Rumpus via Tara Skurtu. Oh the cheezy fun!
THANKS Y'ALL!

We Real Cool Vampires
 
VAMPIRES HAVE EATEN THE POOL PLAYERS.
MURDERED SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We fly in the night 'cause we
Left school. We hunt in a pack and we

Lurk late. We sharpen our teeth--our claws
Strike straight. We raise Hell when we

Sing sin. We drink bloody girls who taste of
Thin gin. We rock Ann and roll Jill and

Jazz June. We're coming for you--you're gonna
Die soon.

Here's my song for Margaret.

So if you're one of the 8 people who didn't read Alissa Nutting's Tampa this summer, let me point you to my Amazon Review. It's a fun book if you can have fun reading a disturbing topic (note: I can!).

Alissa picked up a copy of With Rough Gods recently and had this to say about it:

Everything you love about reading ancient myths, rendered in lucid, incredible poems--a clear winner! As an enormous fan of fairy tales, origin stories, and mythology, I found this book to be essential and enjoyable.

Short, lovely, and to the point! As she was a former editor of the incomparable Fairy Tale Review, I couldn't be happier with it.

Thanks, Alissa!

Let's talk about Beck!

Hi all!

If you already have With Rough Gods, I'd love it if you took a moment to say something nice about it at the following places:

Book Digits

Goodreads

Amazon

If you don't have it, GET IT!

Thanks!

Over at Lutheran Surrealism (see the links list) there's a haiku contest up. Much of the commentary is, fortunately or un-, not haiku. Ah well. I've been taking the opportunity to write some emotionally healing one-offs to deal with the loss of my youngest.

Here they are. I'll update if more get written before Sunday. Enjoy!

A missing daughter
Summer fades into autumn
And silenced laughter


Indefinite In Context


impossible loss

words unravel like a tear

winds abrading me

Not a crook

My wrinkled thumb stumps
air now no weight is there my
arm cradles absence.

Holy Matrimony

We are wound by God
to breed immortal children
even though they die.
Loss/Lost

A sunken island
wishes to unmoor itself
and drift, forgotten.

Elegy for Margaret                                                                                                         
“Is her still dead?”A 3-year old big sister giving voiceTo a very grown-up confusion—Baby Margaret, blameless and perfect in her mother’s embrace,Swaddled in the arms of death.
Surely there’s been some mistake,The Reaper with a wrong addressOr a God distracted by beauty elsewhere in creationTo let this happen.
“Why is she so cold, daddy?”“Because this is just her body, sweetheart. Her spirit lives in our hearts now.”And yet there are still forms to sign,Flowers and dinners and details to arrange—All the things that people do—Well-meaning friends grasping for something to sayWhen no poet or minister Could ever find a single comforting wordThat would but wither in the face of this despair.
A family strewn instantly against the rocks, irreparably broken.
Because we’re not starfish or lizards.When you cut away a part of usThe empty space is there forever,A phantom chord ringing unresolved in our ear—A one/three clamoring for a fiveOr even the sting of a minor seventh—Anything but these missing notes.
When already her songWas the joyful refrain for so many,The unfinished symphony of a life unlived.
Mother and Father must go on shepherding,Encouraged by the Christ storyBecause Resurrection is yet possible:That a baby’s light cannot be entombed,Shining still on a family that refuses to go dark.On her sisters that must bear this loss together.In the carefree affection of Genevieve,In the calculating whimsy of Josephine,In the grace and poise of Cordelia.
In all of usWho resolve to carry on in the midst of sorrow.To sing into the stillness of heartbreak.To answer the impermanence of lifeWith the eternal promise of love.Suffer the little children…For of such is the kingdom of heaven,But suffer one another as well, friends—Because the kingdom of Earth Holds but small refuge Beyond each other.
And the hopefully frequent memories Of this sweet child—Wide-eyed and laughing—
A peace in the hearts of men.

For Margaret Palmerwho died suddenly at two months old
Life is brief and grief is long,Joy is deep and sorrow wide,Love is heavier than song,Life is brief and grief is long.The lullaby is right, is wrong:Hunger, kisses, milk, and sleep.Life is brief and grief is long,Sorrow wide as joy is deep.

     A.E. Stallings