Archive for May, 2024

Why We Chose It: “History of the World” by Caitlyn Klum

By Justin Nash, Managing Editor

I certainly don’t speak for all editors when I say this, but it’s rare that a long poem catches my interest. Seeing a submitted poem that’s three, four, five pages long among a sea of others the usual half to three-quarters of a page—I feel often like a writer is throwing the gauntlet. There’s something about that length—not an epic but certainly not a short, pressurized lyric—that so often leaves me thinking, all right, let’s see if they pull this off.

And despite my admitted bias against the medium-long poem, Klum’s “History of the World” got me on board more immediately than any poem I read this period. Its initial lie, that “The balance beam was invented between 1047 and 1465,” tells us the common fixture of modern gymnastics, widely cited as being invented in Germany at the start of the 19th century, was first created somewhere in the mid to late medieval period. We can’t be sure, specifically. But what may, at first glance, be something to flag for fact-checking quickly becomes a hilarious manipulation. The second and third lines: “At the time, there were no children, only being // disappointed, which was invented in 1438”

Not always funny, exactly, but perpetually absurd, “History of the World” goes on with statements that cast doubt on truth and precision. The speaker’s mother was invented in 1203, their father in 1406. Their mother also invented the interstate and the color blue, and (of course) the balance beam. Their father “was invented quickly.” And among all these strange statements is the speaker describing “The sky stretched / skinny and red across the earth like a wound” or “the first instance of a girl sobbing / for no reason, shaking her one self inside.” There’s weirdness and tenderness and beautiful imagery, all layered together to highlight the complexity and intentional craftiness of a poem that a person could otherwise be too quick to write off as confused.

The truth is, this poem doesn’t always make perfect sense, and I’m not sure a poem should have to, and either way this particular poem clearly isn’t especially interesting in that anyway. Klum’s poem is three pages long and every bit of it is compelling. I think, probably, that preparation was invented before 1905, but I also think I believe wholeheartedly that fathers are often invented quickly. Ultimately, what “History of the World” has is something to say, and a uniquely interesting way of trying to say it. Whatever my own preferences for the shape something may take, that’s a ride I’ll always be along for.

Caitlyn Klum’s “History of the World” appears in our new Spring 2024 Issue 115.

Subscribe today to read more!

Justin Nash is a poet and visual artist from Delaware. A former intern of Copper Canyon Press and the Fine Arts Work Center, he currently serves as the Managing Editor for The Greensboro Review and is a senior reader in poetry for Cherry Tree.

Friday Poetry Roundup: Spring Edition

By Caroline White, Poetry Editor

The following featured poems appear in our new Spring 2024 Issue 115. Subscribe today to read more!

“Prime Rib Resting” by Jacob Schepers caught our attention by being a small poem with a big scope and a concise, tangible series of images. The line breaks themselves create meaning in this poem through their dissonance, working against the grammar in a fascinating way and thereby adding an additional layer of complexity to the work. Schepers uses syntax as a vehicle to drive the poem without needing any punctuation; thus, the energy of the poem continues to build without pause, allowing seamless movement from the specificity of a bleeding piece of meat on a plate to the view of an entire planet. We appreciate how the subtle violence of the meat as the first and primary image strategically and literally bleeds through the rest of the poem, and I love the tone of the final movement and its indication of desperation presented in a way that’s self-aware and realistic.

 

Martha Paz-Soldan’s imaginative “Funicular” arrested us through its ability to create a universe through lyricism. This poem is deeply language driven and the tone carries the poem wonderfully – the reliance on language alone showcases Paz-Soldan’s feat of poetic athleticism. The speaker presents us with a montage of images and brief but powerful glimpses of the self. The cleanliness of this poem is astounding: every word, phrase, and punctuation mark feels perfectly placed. However, within that landscape of precision, the poem still manages to be surprising and exciting in each line. The quiet ending, for example, of the fishermen in their knit hats beautifully juxtaposes the shock of the man dropping his glass eye in the water cup. I appreciate that the poem also takes the risk of using the second person, resulting in a slightly larger understanding of the speaker that elevates the poem.

 

We loved the narrative-based strangeness in “Valentine’s Day with My Octopus Lover” by Benjamin S. Grossberg. The creativity of the dramatic situation itself immediately piqued our interest, even just through the title alone. This poem’s ability to juggle humor and outlandishness with tenderness reveals a true agility by never succumbing to oversentimentality nor silliness. Despite centering around an octopus lover, this work focuses on the very human acts of forget and of fantasy. The question “It can’t be so crazy for/ an octopus to want that, too, / can it?” feels like the crux of the poem and creates a vital moment of extending the poem outside of its immediate situation — the rhetorical question works masterfully to raise the stakes of the poem. I find the muted ending of the poem to be moving and immaculately tied into the themes of water and the ocean.

 

The form and imagination in “Alternative Reality” by Ugochukwu Damian Okpara combine to create a poem we found moving and memorable. By imagining a different reality, the speaker has a venue to explore ideas of identity and place. The poem creates a type of realistic surrealism, despite that seeming oxymoronic, through its use of the hypothetical to explore both the known and the unknown. The anaphora of “suppose” is emotionally effective in reminding the reader that the speaker is imagining an alternative reality, while the repetition of the word “name” emphasizes the importance of a name culturally and the weight that it carries. I love how the poem moves all the way from evoking god to the realism of an uber app and its success in handling such a wide scope.

 

Caroline White is a second-year poetry student. She is the winner of the Prime Number Magazine‘s Prize for Poetry, and her work has appeared in Askew Magazine. She currently serves as a Poetry Editor for The Greensboro Review.

Happy Pub Day to GR Contributor Stephen Hundley

Happy Pub Day to Greensboro Review contributor Stephen Hundley! We’re so excited that Hundley’s debut novel, Bomb Island, is out today from Hub City Press.

From the publisher:

“Part coming-of-age summer romance, part thriller, Bomb Island is a funny and fast-paced Southern novel exploring subculture communities, survival, and found family set on an island near an unexploded atomic bomb.”

“Stephen Hundley has summoned forth a world that achieves a sense of strangeness and wonder while creating characters who are unrelentingly human in their flaws and strengths. A remarkable novel by an immensely talented young writer.”—Ron Rash, author of The Caretaker

Order your copy today from Greensboro’s Scuppernong Books or from your local independent bookstore.

And while you wait for your copy to arrive, check out Stephen Hundley’s flash piece, “Tiger Drill in Butterfly Class” (Issue 108, Fall 2020).

Bomb Island by Stephen Hundley

Why We Chose It: “You Can Never Come Back to Now” by Edmund Sandoval

By Sierra Stonebraker, Fiction Editor

 

Sharp and exciting language is the most immediate way I engage with a story, and my favorite aspect of “You Can Never Come Back to Now” (issue 115) is the prose, which functions as a main engine of the narrative. The first few sentences conjure images of a world-ending asteroid veering toward Earth before shifting gears to ground the reader into the perspective of Evan. These first few sentences will grab you by the collar with visions of the end of the world. The rest of the story will put its arm over your shoulders, smooth out the wrinkles in your shirt, and walk alongside you while relaying a compelling story about a couple struggling to find their footing in a capitalist system that may not be as immediately world-ending as an asteroid, but in many ways, feels like it is.

This narrative focuses mainly on the quiet dynamics of a couple living in a world ruled by technology that is becoming increasingly interpersonal and on track to replace human-to-human connection. Evan and Em attempt to relate to each other while Evan is unemployed and struggling to place himself in an industry that no longer has use for his skills, and Em is employed, loves her job, but her connection to Evan dwindles as she remains focused and steadfast in her career of producing apps. As a way to cope with his fears and loneliness, Evan becomes obsessed with a crystal he ordered from a website, praying it can bring good luck to his life. At the same time, instead of attempting to connect with Em, he uses a mindfulness app named OptiBot to catalogue his hopes and fears, an app that, unbeknownst to Evan, Em has access to the backend of and is able to see everything Evan reveals to the app.

This is a story that captured me with its complex prose while keeping me grounded in the narrative of a young couple existing in a world that refuses to make room for them. The prose is able to get away with complicated and long sentences that support its themes of technology and mysticism because, at its core, the story is not really about the end of the world, but about two people who continuously wake up with this sense that the end is near. Even if they are unable to see the asteroid veering down on them, the sense that it’s on its way seeps through in every word.

Edmund Sandoval’s “You Can Never Come Back to Now” appears in our new Spring 2024 Issue 115.

Subscribe today to read more!

 

Sierra Stonebraker is a second-year MFA student in fiction at UNCG. Her work has appeared in The Greensboro Review and Allegory Ridge’s fiction anthology Archipelago. She grew up in the high desert of Southern California and lived in Seattle, WA for four years before moving to Greensboro. She currently serves as a Fiction Editor for The Greensboro Review.