GAS Featured Poet: Henry Stanton

 Henry Stanton is a painter and a writer of poetry and fiction living in Old Ellicott City Maryland, though he is really only a conduit for the many remarkable and beautiful revelations offered to him by his loved ones, by strangers, by the sentient and otherwise.    His paintings, poems and fiction have appeared widely in print and online journals internationally – most recently in Gnashing Teeth, High Shelf Press, Paper and Ink Zine, and Rust Belt Review.  He has two books of poetry published by Holy & Intoxicated Press, The Man Who Turned Stuff Off (2019) and Pain Rubble (2020).  His third book of poems, Moonbird, was also published in 2020 by Cathexis Northwest Press.  His poetry was selected as winner of the A3 Review Poetry Prize  and was shortlisted for the Eyewear 9th Fortnight Prize for Poetry.  His fiction received an Honorable Mention for the Salt & Syntax Fiction Contest and was selected as a finalist for the Pen 2 Paper Annual Writing Contest.  Henry Stanton is a regular illustrator for Black Petal Press and Yellow Mama Press.  He is also a regular reviewer for GAS: Poetry, Art and Music and publisher/editor for UnCollected Press/The Raw Art Review.  A selection of paintings, poetry and fiction can be found at  www.brightportfal.com. 

Irises

Looking into the speckled blue throat of this iris

could a mind do this

can a thought finely turned

open like this

for two glorious weeks

and be shimmering blue beauty hanging in memory

this beautiful throat has opened 

and says nothing so quietly it can be heard

it is a bottomless throat

i have heard it called an artichoke

an onion

i have called it other things myself

and now the iris is singing

and i am as silent as it sings 

and can hear petals shiver the air

Names

I want to hear your heart 

so I push my head up under your shirt and listen

the other night after heaving and sobbing

you said

my heart hurts again

I gather up all the innocents in my arms at these times

and now you laugh with your brother over the phone

it washes away all the upset I feel

I am both joy and sorrow wearing your robe

outside the wind cries

the names

carrying them away.

(For Jennifer)

CITIZEN RELENT by Jeff Weddle, reviewed by Hex'm J'ai

CITIZEN RELENT, published in 2019 by Unlikely Books, provides us a temporal triptych. 

3...

The Future.  In this section we are provided Jeff’s musings of very potential future(s).  Whether the bitter-sweet and wistful future in “Responsibility of Eggnog” which makes clear the fleeting of youth or the dystopian probabilities of “In the End” we are engaged with a very tangible concept of time slipping into entropy and a feeling of the inevitable.  This cold inevitability of times march is presented in his “An Archeology”, which is a musing I, myself, and I’m sure many others have entertained.  That said, this not just doom and gloom as there are multiple potentials.  We are reminded to savor those fragile and fleeting moments as in “Please Pay Attention”.

2…

The Present (2019 EV).  Alright friendly friends, here are the politically leaning meat and potatoes of our Americana pie!  Mind you, as I was reading the pieces contained in this section I quickly flipped back to the publishing/copyright page to see when this was published as these poems are eerily prescient of the calamities that ensued the following year.  So, I conferred with the author and he assured me that he is not a prophet of doom.  Indeed, Weddle, the Great and Powerful is not the man behind the curtain but is someone who actually pays attention!  Through pieces like “Twilight Empire” we are presented the dystopia of NOW that became clear to us during 2020 but were always prevalent, hence why Jeff’s ability to be socially astute could be confused with prescience.  We see the undercurrent of social injustice, cultural war, division and threat of fascism as always being there as echoed in “What We Now Endure” and “Charlottesville”.  Also, Jeff employs biblical references, evangelical language, macho MAGA rhetoric and general obliviousness against the very institutions that perpetuate these problems in pieces such as “Just Saying”, “Quiet Jim”, “Oh Beautiful” and “MAGA”.  Again, Jeff has painted for us the very real and crystal-clear image of an ugly unmasked Americana that is lit to pop.

1…

The Past.  This completes the countdown, grounding Jeff’s futuristic musings and present observations in shining nostalgia.  Shining memories for sure but not all are painted gold, that would not adhere to Jeff’s penchant for veritas.  Again, shining with powerful imagery such as painted in “When we Left that Day” or “Sweet Life”.  We are also given my personal favorite from this section “The Deadliest Man Alive” where one can feel the texture of the thin comic book pages and even smell the print.  It made me miss my X-ray specs and the sheer escapism which embodied even the ads in the comics in that lost era (I never got the submarine either Jeff).   

From Citizen Relent:

The Deadliest Man Alive 

I wanted Telecult Power 

and voodoo 

Count Dante’s secrets 

I wanted to be the world’s

 most dangerous something

though I would of course 

use my powers for good 

I wanted to be the one 

kicking sand in some guy’s face 

if there was going to be any sand kicked 

I wanted flying saucers overhead 

and landing in the empty lot 

down the street 

Charles Atlas and dynamic tension 

seemed an answer 

to questions I didn’t know to ask 

and masked ninja masters called to me 

I definitely did not want 

to make extra cash selling flower seeds 

and I never considered 

learning guitar by mail 

or looking suave with a false beard 

though I really did want to send off 

for a pet monkey 

but my parents said no 

so I ordered sea monkeys 

and I got x-ray specs 

and vampire blood 

and a life size poster 

of a moon monster 

the submarine big enough 

to get inside and fire torpedoes 

never came 

even though I sent a check 

from my very own bank account 

and those days are gone 

and most everyone I loved is dead 

or might as well be 

and they haven’t made 

a good comic book 

in forty years

Jeff Weddle grew up in Prestonsburg, a small town in the hill country of Eastern Kentucky. He has worked as a public library director, disc jockey, newspaper reporter, Tae Kwon Do teacher, and fry cook, among other things. His first book, Bohemian New Orleans: The Story of the Outsider and Loujon Press (University Press of Mississippi, 2007), won the Eudora Welty Prize and helped inspire Wayne Ewing’s documentary, The Outsiders of New Orleans: Loujon Press (Wayne Ewing Films, 2007). He teaches in the School of Library and Information Studies at the University of Alabama. 

GAS Featured Poet: Wayne F. Burke, presented by Belinda Subraman

Wayne F. Burke’s most recent book is Black Summer:  New and Selected Poems .  "Black Summer is more than a book of poetry. It is an experience to be lived and relived. Burke taps into our most shared experiences of humanity. His conversational verse entices the reader to continue following the exploits of this wandering everyman who searches, yearns for definition, only to find definitions lacking. But the road is all-encompassing. This book is for lovers of a good story, a good life, and is a roadmap for all of us who often find ourselves on the shoulder of life's highway."  Wayne's poetry has appeared in a wide variety of publications online and in print. He is author of seven published full-length poetry collections. The most recent book before Black Summer, Escape From Planet Crouton published by Luchador Press, 2019. His poem “Prepositioned” was nominated for “Best of the Net.” His poem “Max” won Poem of the Year Honorable Mention from The Song Is magazine. A collection of his short stories, titled TURMOIL & Other Stories, was published by Adelaide Press, NY, 2020. He is currently at work on a hybrid of memoir/novel. He has lived for the past thirty-five years in the central Vermont region, USA. 

From Black Summer:

Famous

for M.R.

I asked the famous poet to read

my poems

and he did

and then

arranged to meet me

in the cafeteria

where we sat in a booth

across from one another

and he looked down at my manuscript as

he spoke, his black bangs

over-hanging his face, and

never looking up, not

once, until the

end and

then

I wished he would have looked back down

again

because

something in his eyes,

anguish of some kind

I could not bear to look at--

he was known as the Poet of Loneliness and

was married to the Poetess of Bereavement.

Before leaving, I asked what he really thought of

my things, and

he said,

well

they are all on the surface

no depth to them

read other things beside literature, he suggested

like "Kramer's book on aesthetics."

I thanked him and he left.

I was the Poet of Surfaceness.

Wayne F. Burke

Interview

Be: These poems are clever illuminations in common language about un-glorified everyday life. The listening brain takes note and smiles but you didn’t see it coming among the punks, herpes and smashed flies. Has your writing style developed over time or have you always been honest, clever and humorous?

MB: My writing "style," has been developing since I was nineteen (I am now 66) and began practicing the art, and craft, of writing poetry.

I dislike, distrust, cleverness in writing. Dislike cuteness as well.

Ditto sentimentality. These things are the enemies of good writing.

I try and keep a sense of humor about things: I am serious about my

writing, but try not to take myself seriously. I think there is room

in poetry for jokiness, so why not joke around a little? Seriousness

and meaningfulness in writing, are good, I think; but also can, I

think, be limiting (as can "truthfulness"). There is no limit to usage

of the form--limits are placed only by oneself. The poem is without

boundaries (beside page size and language usage), so why not exploit

the freedom the form allows us as writer's of "free verse"? Why not

use such non-poetic forms as bulletins, menus, recipes, etc.? Joke it

up a little, fantasize; the form promotes creativity, so, be creative

with it!

Be: Do you feel you get more appreciation for your poetry than the other types of writing you’ve done and is that what spurs you on?  Is this the perfect medium for you?

MB: Appreciation of my poetry has been extended to me regularly: I have been widely published online and in print (plus ten published poetry collections). This appreciation has not been extended to my prose (I have published one short story collection). If the prose I wrote, and continue to write, received the same appreciation--meaning, to me,

publication--as my poetry, I suppose that prose-writing, instead of

poetry, would be my main focus.

Be: I find it interesting you became an LPN.  How long have you worked as nurse?  How much does working with patients influence your writing?

MB: I began working as an LPN at age 56 after having worked many

entry-level jobs--so-called "shit-jobs"--available to someone, like

myself, holding a BA Degree in Liberal Arts (Goddard College) but no

professional certificate. Working ten years as LPN enabled me to save

enough money to make possible retirement without undo anxiety as to

how or even if I could survive on Social Security.

     When one of my shifts in the nursing home, where I spent my

"career," ended, so did my association, for that day, with the medical

field. I did not, have not, written anything about being a nurse, and,

presently, have no ambition or inclination to revisit, imaginatively,

that particular scene.

Be: Your poetry is new to me (as I am probably new to you) but I’m glad to find it.  Is there any topic you won’t write about?  Why or why not?

MB: I can not think of any subject, which has to do with the human

condition, as being off-limits to me as a writer.

Be: Who are some of the poets you admire who may have influenced your style, at least subconsciously?

MB: Reading Bukowski gave me the idea that my life, though not

particularly exciting or even interesting, to me, could be used as

subject. The writing about a life, no matter the circumstances of the

life, could be, via the writing, interesting and exciting. Bukowski

infused the quotidian with drama, and hence, excitement. Through the

magic of his language he made the ordinary seem something

special...What I had to work with, I realized, was the life I was born

into. Being  a "somebody" or having extravagant experiences was

incidental to the writing. The writing gives value to the life, rather

than vice-versa.

     Fascinating, to me, is the cryptic weirdness of Frank Sanford's

work; I am an admirer of the late great Alan Dugan who could consider complex, even abstruse, ideas or theories, and make them communicable through a poetry of plain stark language. Poets currently writing, whom I find interesting, include Mather Schneider, James Benger, Amirah Al Wassif, Carl Kaucher, John Patrick Robinson, among others.

Be:  Any advice to writers?

MB:  Advice? I quote you my poem, "Advice."

burn all bridges

as soon as you cross

them

because you are going to

want to

go back, and

if the bridge

is still intact, you

will.

Believe me, you

will.

Wayne F. Burke

GAS Featured Artist: Ho Baron, by Sylvia Van Nooten

Ho Baron’s work and life are a testimony to the importance of travelling, both in the mental and physical sense.  His adventures and explorations--pushing him far from the boundaries of other’s expectations-- are reflected in his art.  The sculptures featured in this written interview are marvelous ventures into an unknown future.  Will we need new religions and new gods?  I suspect that yes, we will and Baron’s work shows us one vision of how this might look. (If you want to explore further but can’t visit his sculpture garden, I suggest buying his book, Gods for Future Religions.)

~Sylvia Van Nooten 

Ho in his own words:

I was born in Chicago, El Paso bred, and was raised in the desert on the Mexican border. After studying English in graduate school in Tucson, I taught in the Peace Corps in Nigeria and Ethiopia. It followed years of moving around. From Africa, I lived in New York, Philadelphia, Austin, the Virgin Islands, Belgium and elsewhere, then I returned to El Paso in 1980 to work for ten years in the family pawn shop. I earned a second master's degree in library science along the way, and after a stint in retail, I worked part time several years as an El Paso’s community college librarian.

 I traveled most continents, taught, did public relations, social work, construction, restaurants and labor. I grew in my personal expression from writing into the visual arts including photography, pen and ink drawing, painting to eventually create about 200 narrative bronze and cast stone figures. In addition, I published a satirical newspaper, "The El Paso Lampoon," had photo exhibits, and I produced a weekly "new music" radio program on the local NPR station.

My life-long art endeavors mostly fall in five areas: writings, the drawings, photography, the years of modeling and casting sculptures, then in creating doll assemblages in my ‘old years.’ Interestingly, the message in my artistic imagery translated similarly in my works and style, from my drawings to my super imposed photography, the sculpture and the assemblages.

I found fulfillment in the visual arts, and sculpture was particularly gratifying. I took a few art courses, but I’m self-taught, my expression is primarily intuitive and my modeling technique is rough. Sculpture has been my greatest passion, abstracting the human form with my motifs of surreal imagery and faces within faces.

With little formal training in the visual arts, my expression is free from rules and expectations. I label my imagery as surreal, because my figures are unreal and fantasy like. Maybe influenced by my travels, some say they are Asian in appearance, some say perhaps Mayan. My sculptures are water-like creatures, perhaps deities of an ancient culture pulled from a remote lagoon. Perhaps they’re ‘gods for future religions.’

My unrefined modeling style might pair me with outsider or folk artists. Casting in bronze, however, is not an outsider’s medium. ‘Original’ might be a better label, but that’s not academic sounding. Call me ‘visionary.’ The American Visionary Art Museum, where I have two works, makes a distinction between folk and visionary art. Visionary art, the museum wrote, is created by self-taught artists whose work is personal rather than folk art, which is developed from an existing cultural tradition.

As for art as a communication tool, different medium relates to different people differently or maybe not at all … lots of variables. I’ve made art mostly for myself, art for art’s sake, so my audience must inevitably be select, mostly other artists, a few fans and tourists looking for entertainment in El Paso. I’ve always known my unusual works would draw a limited audience.

It’s tough reaching an audience as an artist. My creative writings died in my files although I’ve found the visual arts easier to show. I’m old with massive work I’ve created. The future of my work is uncertain but so is the future with all. 

In terms of the artist community, many artists by their very nature are kindred spirits. Even though they can be critical of each other, we share a similar passion. I’ve met hundreds of other artists in weekend art fairs and at gallery openings and of course FB has assisted in drawing together those with similar interests. 

My gallery in my basement is closed, the Covid, but I welcome people to my garden. When asked why I make art, I say it’s my motto: “Make art.” Making art is fun, always gratifying and it’s my religion. Making a living in art is tough, however, but it’s worth pursuing a lifetime, I say to visitors. Art can be in many forms: the visual arts, the performing, graphic, decorative, cooking, gardening and so on. 

“First Person” 1980 is on the book cover of my “Gods for Future Religions.” This was my first sculpture modeled for a night course at the Philadelphia College of Art, my only work modeled from a drawing of mine. All following modeled works were improvised.

Surreal Sculpture Garden is my ‘open to the public’ garden behind my home. Read some commentary from visitors. 

 “Dysfunctional Family Tree” 2012 is a giant assemblage completed after the book was published. Visible as in the sculpture garden image, the tree was a beloved, a live nonbearing mulberry tree, wherein I added features when it died. The hands are plaster, the faces cast stone while the legs are actual mannequin legs.

 “The Water God” The date made was not documented, and the vines and decoration on the work is ever changing. There’s a video on it on You Tube and a further explanation of the work in my “Gods…,” monograph pp. 4-5.

“A Novel Romance” 2005 pp 38-41 Notes are on pp.40-41 and a photo on back cover. The sculpture is installed in public in front of the El Paso Public Library.

“One” 1994 Female on one side and male on the reverse side. On is p.12 there is related commentary. on the page.

“Horses and Riders” 1994 is on p. 29, probably the most outrageous depiction of the subject anywhere, both image and explanation.

“Post Nuclear Dog” 2007 pp. 50-51. The work is among my most popular and a copy is in the American Visionary Art Museum collection.  

http://www.hobaron.com/

https://www.facebook.com/HoBaronSculpture/
https://www.instagram.com/hobarone/ 

George Saunders' LINCOLN IN THE BARDO, reviewed by Henry Stanton

There are many ugly and beautiful things in Lincoln In the Bardo.  The beauty is unequivocally breathtaking.  The following clip sings (as do many segments) and is more poetry than prose (come to think of it, what IS the difference):

"Though the things of the world were strong with me still. Such as, for example: a gaggle of children trudging through a side-blown December flurry; a friendly match-share beneath some collision-tilted streetlight; a frozen clock, bird-visited within its high tower; cold water from a tin jug; toweling off one’s clinging shirt post–June rain. Pearls, rags, buttons, rug-tuft, beer-froth. Someone’s kind wishes for you; someone remembering to write; someone noticing that you are not at all at ease.”

The structure of the book, short bursts of captivating prose, though not an original form, is artfully contrived.  Characterization is complex and curious and revelatory.  The book is absurd and hysterically funny.  George Saunders is a virtuoso writer.  I love his work.

But the ugly in the book is difficult to consume, is intentionally perverse of course, but is as tough to sustain in review as a Bosch painting.  After a while, it’s just too gross to look through.  (Though maybe I am deceiving myself – I read through the book in one glorious rush).  Perhaps, it’s just too gross to consider the detail in retrospect.  Such revulsion must be typical of confronting hell, and I guess also of The Bardo, though what can we really know of these obscure and anachronistic locations.    People are stuck and the objects that reveal their paralysis are distended and bloated to the point of the grotesque.   Please, I have no interest in seeing your preternaturally engorged penis that is more a growth or a goiter than the alluring staff of life.   Keep it in your pants!  And, that god-awful judgement scene.  Is this Saunders putting on his red conical cap and lighting the reading sinners among us aflame?   Is George indulging in his own prurient auto-da-fe?   Maybe not, maybe its just part of The Reverend Early Thomas’ own Bardo-Kinesis, but I, for one, am really tired of these relentless, tiresome, merciless judgement scenes – exhausted by them.  I have read The Inferno and Portrait of the Artist about 10 times each.  I don’t need to terrify the little boy in me anymore.

I suppose I am being too literal - The Bardo is more of a metaphorical treatment of our own shortcomings and misgivings here on earth.  Really?  Can’t it be about what happens next?  Don’t we all crave some clarity.  Shouldn’t we be allowed a clear glimpse of heaven.  Or maybe just the in-between and the promise it dangles in front of us.  

I confess.  I really want to go to heaven.  And, I want it to be personal.  I want all the good people and pets that I have lived with (and through) to appear in my sacred space with me.  I want to look on the faces of vast mountain ranges; to walk through the pampas in the body of a beautiful girl brushing the heads of grasses with my palms; I want to run away with gazelles and after with cheetah; I want to read poems; to sing; to play an instrument fluently.  Need I go on.  

Don’t get me wrong.  I loved and still love this book.  I have a fluid, intimate rating system that places and replaces reads in my top 10.  It is kind of a Bardo of its own.   Ulysses has stayed there for about 40 years; The Road is in there; and so now is Lincoln In the Bardo.  LIB is about #3 or so.  But, I do abhor the Saunder’s vision of The Bardo.  The notion of planting myself there makes me shiver and convulse.  In contrast, as a counterpoint, I am overwhelmed by the gorgeousness, the purity, the outright truth of the book’s masterful culmination – which is a possession, of Lincoln, and suggests that perhaps interventions of the cathartic and redeeming kind can occur and can guide us or coerce us closer to heaven.  Heaven here on earth.  Heaven on the far side of Bardo.  Whichever.  If Lincoln In the Bardo perpetuates that motion.  Then I am all in.

Author Bio:  George Saunders is the author of eight books, including the story collections Pastoralia and Tenth of December, which was a finalist for the National Book Award. He has received fellowships from the Lannan Foundation, the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and the Guggenheim Foundation. In 2006 he was awarded a MacArthur Fellowship. In 2013 he was awarded the PEN/Malamud Award for Excellence in Short Fiction and was included in Time’s list of the one hundred most influential people in the world. He teaches in the creative writing program at Syracuse University.