Call for Submissions, Issue 8

Matter is now accepting poetry, prose, and visual art submissions for Issue 8, guest-curated by Cecilia Llompart (author of The Wingless), on the politics of dislocation, inspired by the idea of a displaced person (defined by Wikipedia—or should we say, Whiteopedia?—) as “a person who has been forced to leave his or her native place,” as well as the quixotic notion of nativism as explored in ethno-poetics (a term first coined by anthropologist-poet Jerome Rothenberg in the 1960s), and the politics of indigenous peoples.

For this theme, we especially welcome work by or about first generation immigrants, first nation peoples in the States and Latin America, peoples of unincorporated territories & other types of contemporary colonies (such as Guam, Puerto Rico, and the U.S. Virgin Islands), Tibetans (especially those in exile in India and beyond), Romani people of Central and Eastern Europe, refugees of war or other modern conflict, etc. Work by artists who are minorities, bilingual, LGBT, from a low-income bracket, who believe themselves to be light workers, or activists working to develop sustainable communities is also highly encouraged.

We look forward to reading your work!

Issue Seven, January 2014

Visual Art

Lovelorn
Crossing You in Style” – Heather Morgan

Poetry

Cubicle Sex
The Buddha
Are We There Yet” – Timothy Liu

Enter If You Dare” – Jennifer Karmin/Bernadette Mayer

The Stream
The Marsh” – Christopher DeWeese

Solzhenitsyn on the Beach
Patricide” – Andrew Kozma

from “The Thread” – Paige Taggart

[ from Truck Stop Dementia (4) ]
[ from Truck Stop Dementia (7) ]
[ from Truck Stop Dementia (10) ] – Rauan Klassnik

Closed Universe” – Justine el-Khazen

Sonnet V
Hieroglyphics” – Bruce Covey

Prose

To Give and Be Given a Lifetime of Japanese” – Carrie Olivia Adams

Lovelorn

Lovelorn 2013

Oil on canvas, 46 x 44″, 2013

*

Heather Morgan was born in Staten Island in 1973, another dubious product of the 70’s.  She completed her B.F.A. in painting at Boston University in 1996, making up the “Expressionist Wing” of the school for the arts.  She received her M.F.A. in painting/printmaking at Yale University in 1999.  Upon finishing her studies, Morgan spent five years working in East Berlin, learning German, exhibiting and publishing work with Karoline Mueller at Ladengalerie, one of Berlin’s oldest galleries, and a proponent of representational artists of the former GDR.  Her work has been included in several publications, among them the Berliner Zeitung, Torso (published by the Berlin Women’s Art Association) and BOMB Magazine.  Most recently, Morgan has published an art monograph with Brooklyn Arts Press. Morgan is currently represented by Burkhard Eikelmann Galerie, Duesseldorf.  She lives in Brooklyn, exhibiting in New York City and Germany, creating a theatrical display of painting.

Crossing You In Style

Crossing You in Style 2013

Oil on canvas, 60 x 38″, 2013.

*

Heather Morgan was born in Staten Island in 1973, another dubious product of the 70’s.  She completed her B.F.A. in painting at Boston University in 1996, making up the “Expressionist Wing” of the school for the arts.  She received her M.F.A. in painting/printmaking at Yale University in 1999.  Upon finishing her studies, Morgan spent five years working in East Berlin, learning German, exhibiting and publishing work with Karoline Mueller at Ladengalerie, one of Berlin’s oldest galleries, and a proponent of representational artists of the former GDR.  Her work has been included in several publications, among them the Berliner Zeitung, Torso (published by the Berlin Women’s Art Association) and BOMB Magazine.  Most recently, Morgan has published an art monograph with Brooklyn Arts Press. Morgan is currently represented by Burkhard Eikelmann Galerie, Duesseldorf.  She lives in Brooklyn, exhibiting in New York City and Germany, creating a theatrical display of painting.

Cubicle Sex

Flirting again with boundary overload.
All those temporary surfaces
once designed for narrowly specific

normative tasks now restored
to a sensual rhythmic response
to messy energies so fragile

in their flux when he ran his fingers
through my faux fur. Whispering
raw testosterone prayers

as my tongue plumbed his shallow
depths. With pedal to the anal
and one hand on the wheel, he said,

the other text messaging a wife
in lieu of more embroidered pillow talk.
His snarl a dirty rictus, his cock

barking out lewd commands—
my lipstick the color of a Solo cup
floating in some fraternity pool—

fingerprints left on xerox glass
the only evidence we left
behind—all of it off the clock.

***

TIMOTHY LIU is the author of ten books of poems, including the forthcoming Don’t Go Back To Sleep (Saturnalia Books, 2014) and Let It Ride (Station Hill, 2015). He lives in Manhattan with his husband.

The Buddha

What were all those Diamond Sutras
compared to the blades of grass
our bodies crushed as we caressed
each other with easy fingers
under a big willow whose stillness

grew disturbed? Our boxers

thrown aside with so much careless
fanfare—mutable circumstances
unable to free themselves from obligation
or guilt. Entirely too close
not to kiss, even his arms kept me

at a distance to preserve in us

an audience. We were sad sacks
robbed of agency, growing old a victory
worth giving away while winter
worked its way through boots splitting
at the seams. If only we had bought

a real coat rather than a bag

full of flatulent hand-me-down tricks
that forced everyone to sit down
and sulk! Forget about big windows
in that cold crabby room where we knelt
on an unmade bed. Old and fat,

who plumps the pillows now?

No way any longer not to get all
gussied up where the mind still
likes to maunder—drawn to psychic
trauma parading before us as a veritable
grande dame—the only questions left

so much smaller than our shame.

***

TIMOTHY LIU is the author of ten books of poems, including the forthcoming Don’t Go Back To Sleep (Saturnalia Books, 2014) and Let It Ride (Station Hill, 2015). He lives in Manhattan with his husband.

Are We There Yet

He held his anxiety close
like a goldfish in a plastic baggie
leaking through his coat his cell
phone down to 20% how many folks
did he fuck over in the overhead
bunk of a tractor-trailer you wonder
as a ham-radio-operator shaves
the hair around your anal valve
my aerodynamic angel casting halos
into the air as if I were a Coke bottle
standing tall at the local carnival
those rubber rings out of reach
but for the barker’s voice egging me on
to give it another try my cock
poking out of a fag hag’s knock-off bag
a Louis Vuitton without the tags
if only he could accept my mother
jacking off the neighbor’s dog he too
would lay off on the sauce and commit
all 12 steps to his shrink at once
think nothing of those cotton-candy
colored sheep leaping over from
this world into a dozen traffic lights
burning red down the boulevard why not
go ahead and grab the bull running
rampant through a china shop
made in China, ass-burger murder
on the rise over billions served
my Alabaman stuck in Newtown again
without a protein bar or a bottle
of water from a virgin spring it’s time
to clear the decks sail on through
military bed sheets tucked and cornered
with all-night farts & armored cars
slipping gears—our crank-shaft gasket-
blown treasure trove bottomed out.

***

TIMOTHY LIU is the author of ten books of poems, including the forthcoming Don’t Go Back To Sleep (Saturnalia Books, 2014) and Let It Ride (Station Hill, 2015). He lives in Manhattan with his husband.