"Juliet Cook's chapbook RED DEMOLITION is a painfully beautiful collection of poems that paint a hideously cruel portrait of love lost. What does a heart do when it's wounded and bleeding? Luckily for readers, Juliet's heart wrote a collection of poems that kicks, cries, screams, bites, and does it all with an ear for music & an eye for imagery and poetic beauty that is seldom matched"
part of the very first review of my new poetry chapbook, posted on Goodreads, by Kathy Burkett
read the rest here - https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1039302680?book_show_action=false&page=1
and if so inclined, consider purchasing the chapbook from Shirt Pocket Press for just $6 here - http://shirtpocketpress.wordpress.com/catalog/
or from the Blood Pudding Press shop for just $6 here - https://www.etsy.com/listing/201202952/red-demolition-by-juliet-cook-new-2014?ref=shop_home_active_1
8/20/14
I have a new poetry chapbook!
Below is one poem among the 14 poems within my new poetry chapbook, RED DEMOLITION, published by Shirt Pocket Press.
If you wish to read more, you can purchase the chapbook for a mere 6 bucks here - http://shirtpocketpress.wordpress.com/catalog/
How Many Holes Can
You Handle?
1.
Too
many holes might turn you
into
a black lagoon with poison
swimming
inside you. What if he tells you
he’s
thinking about your tits,
you
in a witch hat, going down
into
a lake that keeps sinking?
2.
At
the bottom, pearl sacs rip open,
blisters
burst under the tongue. A blustering
blastosphere
spell of passion might shoot out
of
the water at a breakneck pace, but oddly twisted.
It
will rip flesh off the bottom of your legs.
3.
You’re
a waitress dress with skull legs affixed.
Red
spiders crawl up and down your thighs.
Half
and half, slightly sweetened coffee
or
black? Is it sugar or poison drip drip
dripping
out your eyes? Is it an iris
or
a multicolored wormhole?
If you wish to read more, you can purchase the chapbook for a mere 6 bucks here - http://shirtpocketpress.wordpress.com/catalog/
8/18/14
Best of the Net Nomination - Creative Non-Fiction: Evacuation by Juliet Cook
I've received a Best of the Net Nomination from Menacing Hedge!
The nomination is for "Evacuation".
I'm quite excited and delighted by this nomination.
"Evacuation" is a piece I initially spewed out more than 10 years ago but then had to set aside in a folder for about ten years, unfinished, because some of the personal memories invoked by its content made me feel like puking and thus I didn't feel as if I was capable of re-reading/reconsidering/revising it successfully until years went by and the personal vomit trail feelings had substantially ebbed - and I could then re-read/reconsider/revise it as a successful creative writer rather than a spewing device of personal puke.
Also, since the vast majority of my creative writing is poetry I wasn't quite sure what this three page piece WAS. It wasn't fiction, even though it looked like a short piece of fiction. It didn't look like a poem, even though it felt like some sort of a poem to me. I thought perhaps it was a prose poem, but I think Creative Non-Fiction is a valid description too.
Congrats to all the other nominees also.
You can read "Evacuation" and/or listen to me read it here -
***
The nomination is for "Evacuation".
I'm quite excited and delighted by this nomination.
"Evacuation" is a piece I initially spewed out more than 10 years ago but then had to set aside in a folder for about ten years, unfinished, because some of the personal memories invoked by its content made me feel like puking and thus I didn't feel as if I was capable of re-reading/reconsidering/revising it successfully until years went by and the personal vomit trail feelings had substantially ebbed - and I could then re-read/reconsider/revise it as a successful creative writer rather than a spewing device of personal puke.
Also, since the vast majority of my creative writing is poetry I wasn't quite sure what this three page piece WAS. It wasn't fiction, even though it looked like a short piece of fiction. It didn't look like a poem, even though it felt like some sort of a poem to me. I thought perhaps it was a prose poem, but I think Creative Non-Fiction is a valid description too.
Also, since the vast majority of my creative writing is poetry I wasn't quite sure what this three page piece WAS. It wasn't fiction, even though it looked like a short piece of fiction. It didn't look like a poem, even though it felt like some sort of a poem to me. I thought perhaps it was a prose poem, but I think Creative Non-Fiction is a valid description too.
Congrats to all the other nominees also.
You can read "Evacuation" and/or listen to me read it here -
***
8/17/14
NEW August Thirteen Myna Birds - "black in a cluster of stars"
Partake of the NEW August issue of Thirteen Myna Birds - offering eight poems by Ariana D. Den Bleyker followed with oodles of poetry by Farkas, Jessie Janeshek, Samantha Duncan, and Paul Tristram!
"simmering in the spaces between your teeth - untouchable to angels - pretty tides flitter in lick - swollen, gauzy things - wet the ghostly fingers - globe over her shoulders - eye hole of coyote skull - like a cracked plate - A scream in these woods! - The first red and yellow tree installed in the bush - is or is not supposed to belong - I want to be black in a cluster of stars."
http://13myna.blogspot.com/
"simmering in the spaces between your teeth - untouchable to angels - pretty tides flitter in lick - swollen, gauzy things - wet the ghostly fingers - globe over her shoulders - eye hole of coyote skull - like a cracked plate - A scream in these woods! - The first red and yellow tree installed in the bush - is or is not supposed to belong - I want to be black in a cluster of stars."
http://13myna.blogspot.com/
8/7/14
Apocalypse of Words: Interview with Alessandra Bava (regarding her Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook, "They Talk About Death")
KL: I love the
recasting of Sexton as the ‘St Barbara of Poetry’. Like Caravaggio, there seems
to be a sensuality in your appropriation of traditional religious iconography.
How do the material arts inspire you?
AB: As a writer I am greatly influenced by art as well.
Both Caravaggio and Artemisia Gentileschi have found their way into my poems.
My personal iconography is wildly captured by sensuality and sensuousness. How
can someone not be enraptured by Michelangelo’s or Bernini’s bodies? Such unparalleled
beauty. Something hard to achieve in writing, but still worth trying!
a few lines from the new interview of Alessandra Bava, about her new poetry chapbook, "They Talk About Death" (Blood Pudding Press, 2014), appearing within Cultural Weekly.
Read more here - http://www.culturalweekly.com/apocalypse-words-
You can also read five poems from the chapbook within this interview.
Then if you desire to read the other poems in the chapbook (while holding it in your hands), you can find out more and/or get your very own copy here - https://www.etsy.com/listing/195494626/new-they-talk-about-death-by-alessandra?ref=shop_home_active_13
8/6/14
Sinking Down Cake Brain
Sinking Down Cake Brain
(a newly finished painting/collage hybrid added to the Blood Pudding Press shop tonight, here - http://www.etsy.com/listing/199034416/sinking-down-cake-brain-one-of-a-kind?ref=shop_home_active_1)
(a newly finished painting/collage hybrid added to the Blood Pudding Press shop tonight, here - http://www.etsy.com/listing/199034416/sinking-down-cake-brain-one-of-a-kind?ref=shop_home_active_1)
“Singular annotation to feel his complication of contraries” ( a line from this morning's dream)
Weird dream this morning including the ex and the past. I don’t remember the details of the dream,
but I do remember its strange impact on my brain after I woke up. I woke up too early, hearing garbage truck
sounds and still in my mind was the visual that was taking place in the dream
at that time, which included mountainous outdoor terrain, the ex, an ex of his, and me
in the background. In the background I
was talking with an ex co-worker of mine whose father was some sort of horoscope
expert or bipolar disorder expert or something like that (in another remembered
visual from the dream, the father looked like a Transcendental Meditation teacher
from my past – which makes sense in a way, because in retrospect, after I suddenly
awoke from the dream, I felt like I had been in the midst of an unexpectedly
intense Transcendental Meditation).
As soon as I awoke, I immediately wrote down the phrase the
woman was saying to me, which had been said to her by her father:
“Singular annotation to feel his
complication of contraries”.
I didn’t know exactly what those words meant, but they were
meant as a definition of the ex – and even though I didn’t know exactly what
they meant, they definitely seemed to make sense – and then as soon as I awoke
and wrote that phrase down, all sorts of stuff started rapidly popping out of
my head. Memories in the form of words
and sounds and images.
***
Sudden ongoing increasing contraries of the ex:
Super sweet/terribly mean/almost
uncaring.
Singing goofball hilarious
songs/yelling at me/yelling at the TV/yelling out the window.
Being an affectionate hugger/telling
me my fingers felt like snakes/punching the cupboard doors.
Suddenly getting up early and
immediately launching into a loud made up song while making bacon/having a
drunk loud angry tirade about how great Hitler was.
***
After writing down those thoughts that spewed out after suddenly
awaking from the dream, I felt suddenly compelled (for the first time in years) to
open a hand written journal of mine, the first hand written journal I compiled
after I had a stroke in January 2010.
Here is what it says on the very first page of that journal:
“March 9, 2010: POST-STROKE (diary)
Juliet Cook. The earliest part of this book is much older.
I tore out some words I no longer liked + saved the other words, which are pieces of other’s poetry + odd little words that I might use in a lighter poem of mine.
However, I’m not writing poetry any more, right now. Because
I recently had a Stroke. My reading and
writing of words is slowly (slowly slowly) improving, but my writing of poetry
is not yet. I’ve been reading poems by myself & others, but it’s tough to
read them slowly or entirely understand them. I can no longer remember them
(can’t read or write or speak or remember things as well as I used to
post-stroke.) The last few years have been wonderful for me as far as
poetry-writing and now…”
***
Maybe I will add more lines from my 2010 diary soon.
It made me feel oddly emotional. I’m not sure if anyone else would be the
least bit interested though, so maybe I should just read them by myself and not
bother typing it or talking about it to anyone else. Not sure yet.
I do know that after awaking from my dream and then suddenly
reading a few pages from my 2010 diary, I had another sudden visual from my
past. Past dogs dying.
I do know that all of the thoughts/images I highlighted in
green were real life events, not dream imagery.
The images of past dogs dying were real too. And my little journal entry
was real.
8/4/14
My First Poetry Publication of August!
Three collaborative poems by j/j hastain and Juliet Cook are now appearing within New Manifestos, along with lots of other odd goodies too!
Here's a few lines from one of those three collab poems, "The Pumpkin Gut Fur of the Fairy Tale":
Here's a few lines from one of those three collab poems, "The Pumpkin Gut Fur of the Fairy Tale":
"shaggy
carpet
on which we
repent
lend more than a hand
for what has been done to
land animals,
snakes that can’t slither anymore
except inside their own heads,
because something tore it out
of them of the pumpkin
and ate it
lend more than a hand
for what has been done to
land animals,
snakes that can’t slither anymore
except inside their own heads,
because something tore it out
of them of the pumpkin
and ate it
yes I’m talking
out of the box pumpkin guts"
Partake of more here:
8/1/14
Another New Review of the new Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook, "They Talk About Death"
Bava is a poet whose work is
informed by the ghosts of poets; as she “carves my own poem, I hear the/ apse
rustle” – the rustle is Death at Bava’s shoulder, over which she looks into a
world of “unhinged doors,/ thresholds leading/everywhere/ and anywhere.” Read
and re-read They Talk about Death.
from a new review by Nicole Rollender of the new Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook, "They Talk About Death" by Alessandra Bava.
Read more of the review here - https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1006882602
Find out more about and consider purchasing the chapbook from the Blood Pudding Press shop here - https://www.etsy.com/listing/195494626/new-they-talk-about-death-by-alessandra?ref=shop_home_active_4
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