GAS Featured Poet: Larry O. Dean

Larry O. Dean was born and raised in Flint, Michigan. His numerous books include Frequently Asked Questions (forthcoming), Muse, Um (2022), Activities of Daily Living (2017), Brief Nudity (2013), Basic Cable Couplets (2012), abbrev (2011), About the Author (2011), and I Am Spam (2004). He is also an acclaimed singer-songwriter whose latest solo album is Good Grief (2015); Product Placement, the sophomore album from his band, The Injured Parties, was released August 2019. For more info, go to larryodean.com.

Muse, Um's Artistic Inspirations Muse, Um's poems were inspired by various visits to the Art Institute of Chicago in preparation for one of the Poetry Foundation's Pop Up Poetry events, a series of 30-minute lunchtime poetry readings marking the reopening of the museum's new Contemporary Collection. 

As defined by the Foundation, “An ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the 'action' of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning.” 

For this endeavor, Dean was given very little in the way of specific instructions; generally, he decided that the poems would be 'ekphrastic' in that they were written in response to the artworks, but he also strove to come up with poems that were different in design, voice, tone, form, etc.; thus, among others you have examples of abecedarian, found, list, oulipo, persona, and sonnet, though in the end he was limited by time to only four for presentation. 

Boy with a Carrot (1738), François Boucher (French, 1703-1770)  

Unwrapping the Mummy (1825), Harriet Cheney (British, 1771-1848)

 Monkeys Boxing, from Monkey-ana (1828), Thomas Landseer (English, 1795-1880) 

Young Peasant Having Her Coffee (1881), Camille Pissarro (French, 1830-1903) 

The Song of the Lark (1884), Jules Adolphe Breton (French, 1827-1906) 

Alphabet (1959), Jasper Johns (American, 1930-) 

Ohhh ... Alright ... (1964), Roy Lichtenstein (American, 1923-1997) 

Waiting Lady (1972), Christina Ramberg (American, 1946-1995) 

Slumber Party (1983), Eric Fischl (American, 1948-) 

Stamford after Brunch (2000), John Currin (American, 1962-) 

Woman with Dog (Frau mit Hund) (2004), Katharina Fritsch (German, 1956-)

Mr. Pointy (2011), Takashi Murakami 村上隆(Japanese, 1962-), 

Sampling of poems from Muse, Um

Alphabet 

Jasper Johns (1959)

As soon as Jasper affixed his final

brushstroke, he called John

Cage. “Cage” (that's what he called him),

“drop

everything. Get over here.” Taking the

F train, he was relieved to

get away for a while, clear his 

head, fingers arpeggiating 

indeterminate melodies on his lap,

jumping grasshopper-like as he transposed

keys and reworked ideas. “My intention is to

let things be themselves,” he reflected,

making a mental 

note of it.

Outside on the platform, afternoon

passengers jostled one another,

quickly filling the train while Cage

remained seated, his 

stop approaching, “let

things be themselves”

uppermost in his mind. So many

variables in mobile form. Jasper could wait—he

wanted to try something new: have his hands 

x-rayed while they played, metacarpals and phalanges 

yo-yoing in diaphanous black and white, 

zebras shivering in a violent burst of snow.

Waiting Lady
Christina Ramberg (1972)

A body supposes a question mark,

eyed from the side, somewhat de-sexed,

despite its state of undress,

underwear, necklace, and hair, all dark

against a muted gray background,

dark and darker. Her skin's the whitest

element amidst the murk, the brightest

palette here to be found,

arms confined by a cruel

partner in a consensual game,

or attired in lingerie, a diving dame

jackknifing into Victoria's secret pool

to butterfly after-hours laps.

Will her cohort lend a hand, at the lip,

or shove her back, watch her tip

and splash, perhaps

sink to the bottom and brood,

holding her breath as long

as possible? It's the same old song

and dance—the pursuer and the pursued,

a power dynamic built

on submission and release—

and who assumes which role a caprice

of circumstance or repressed guilt.

Slumber Party
Eric Fischl (1983)

Center of the room

a stoical face watches

like some omnipotent voyeur.

It's called pareidolia—

the phenomenon of seeing

patterns in randomness—that 

makes windows with drapes

and a heater into hair, a nose,

eyes, and a slitted mouth.

We stare back at ourselves

as the scene unfolds

in cold muted colors,

weird, exaggerated shadows

from a fetish doll atop

the 1980s TV set looking

like a gesticulating alien fetus

in a corner of the attic.

Is this abstinence agitprop

filtered through The X-Files?

A lean white boy stripped

down to his underwear toys

with the television's knob,

his back to a Black girl 

whose panties are either

coming off or being slipped

back on. Between them,

a single blue sleeping bag 

like a depressed tongue

lies zipped open, while

a bed with tousled sheets 

teases to the right, 

lumpy objects stacked 

on a bookcase in the back.

Reserve Your Copy Today

PREORDERS SHIP MAY 13, 2022

GAS Featured Artist: Jerome Berglund

 

Jerome Berglund graduated from the cinema-television production program at the University of Southern California, and has spent much of his career working in television and photography. His work has been featured prominently in many journals, including as haiga in Abstract magazine, gracing the cover of pacificREVIEW, and appearances in Drunk Monkeys, Evocations, Landing Zone, Oxford Magazine, and Please See Me last year.  His pictures have further been published and awarded in local papers, and in 2019 he staged an exhibition in the Twin Cities area which included a residency of several months at a local community center.  A selection of his black and white fine art photographs was showcased at the Pause Gallery in New York, and his fashion photography is currently on display at the BG Gallery in Santa Monica.

Heart

Long Shadows

On a Cloud

Shimmer

GAS Featured Poet: Dan Provost

 

Dan Provost’s poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years.  He is the author of fourteen books/chapbooks, including in 2021: Darting In and Out, published by Alien Buddha Press, A Fistful of Ponies released by Raw Earth Ink Press, and Foundations of Cheap Penance, published by Dead Mans Inc.  He is a three-time nominee for the Best of the Web and has read his works across the United States.  He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura and dog Bella.

Head Held Low

 

From your first step

at age 32

 

You’ve held so much anger in

for the gods, and

dreamt of bigger heavens.

 

Halls of hallowed.

 

But back you went to

the char, to the pain of

stick figure arms and legs.

 

And shadows still bend

at angles of swollen

screams.

 Daily Records

 

Dutifully, I walk

up to the third floor.

Ignoring the dog, the trash

 

that has accumulated during

this depressive episode.

 

Look up cures on the internet,

 

Boldy, call myself an idiot

for even trying to

find hope.

 

Chastise existence—one

sigh at a time.

 

Then work the keyboards,

trying to express magic

in the dark

in the dank

shining asylum.

 

GAS Featured Poet: Sharon Waller Knutson

 

Sharon Waller Knutson is a retired journalist who lives in Arizona. She has published several poetry books including My Grandmother Smokes Chesterfields (Flutter Press 2014) and What the Clairvoyant Doesn’t Say and Trials & Tribulations of Sports Bob (Kelsay Books 2021) and Survivors, Saints and Sinners forthcoming by Cyberwit. Her work has also appeared in Black Coffee Review, Terror House Review, Trouvaille Review, ONE ART, Mad Swirl, The Drabble, Gleam, Spillwords, Muddy River Review, Verse-Virtual, Your Daily Poem, Red Eft Review, The Five-Two and The Song Is…

Best Mom in the World

 

She dives like a swan in the blue

sky in her satin wedding gown

as her groom in black and white

tuxedo and shirt lifts her above

her head. Won’t we make beautiful

babies? she asks fingering the photo.

 

But you hate children. I remember

when we were rival reporters

attending parties on the weekend

and I was upstairs reading bedtime

stories to the children of the hosts

while she was hunting for Mr. Right.

 

After she is promoted as editor

of the social page and meets

the handsome architect

and trust fund baby, she flashes

a two carat diamond ring.

We can afford a houseful of kids.

 

We’ll just hire someone else

to take care of them. And I’m

not going to ruin my firm boobs

and flat stomach so we’ll pay

a surrogate to go through

morning sickness and labor pains.

 

I am surprised when years later

while visiting the San Diego Republic,

I spot her sitting in the break room

drinking coffee out of a mug, engraved:

Best Mom in the World, as she tells

me she is quitting to be a full time mom.

I gave two weeks notice today. I joined

the gym and signed up for Zumba, Yoga,

Pilates and Aerobics. Moms must be fit.

When I arrive for dinner at her four-story

home on the hill overlooking La Jolla

Beach, a middle-aged woman answers the door.

 

Madame is soaking in the bubble bath

before she dresses for dinner. She escorts

me into the family room where a young

fit brunette in a pony tail and jogging suit

is putting shoes on the toddler.  Four

blond boys greet me with a curtsy and a smile.

 

I play scrabble with the six- and eight-year-olds

while bouncing the toddler on my knee

as the four-year-old stares with saucer eyes.

Whiskey, vodka or rum? the tall suit

says as he sticks his head in the room.

Just a glass of ice water will be fine.

 

The kitchen door swings open and a man

in a chef’s apron and hat exits with my water

as the scent of meatloaf and mushrooms

mixes with musk and lavender on her skin

as madame waltzes down the stairs

in stiletto heels and turquoise gown.

 

We’re going to the country club, she announces.

handing me a slinky red dress that fits like a stocking.

I told you not to touch mommy. It’s adult time,

she says as the nannies whisk away the boys.

Isn’t she the best mom? asks her husband

as we get into the Maserati and drive away.

 

GAS Featured Poet: Jack Henry

"bio: jck hnry is a queer writer living a semi-normative life in the high desert of SE California. recent works have appeared at terror house magazine, ariel chart, raven cage, lucifer's retreat, beatnik cowboy, and others. in 2021 his latest collection, driving w/crazy, was released by PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. for more please go to jackhenry.wordpress.com."

search 

trolling my past 

for remnants of life 

 

little bits glued together 

forming an ether of memory 

 

rooms filled w/broken glass & 

spent typewriter ribbon 

 

old words taped to a broken-down refrigerator 

the milk is spoilt, ice cream melted & 

 

palm trees outside my window 

burned completely to the ground 

jasper county mall 

once bright 

now downtrodden 

brilliant stars 

faded to feint memory 

a girl pleads 

with a boy 

not to go 

to Ohio 

but he leaves 

in hopes 

of something 

more 

than empty 

parking lots 

and going out 

of business  

sales 

politics 

democrats stand  

behind paper 

partitions 

bemoaning 

the state of the union 

while the fellas 

on the other side 

of the aisle 

load shotguns 

and take aim 

 

their mouths 

fill 

w/peanut butter 

and the shoes 

that used to fit 

so well 

are shrunken 

down to the  

former glory 

of our unknown  

selves 

GAS Featured Collaboration: Poetry by Donny Winter with the Music of Brotherwell

Donny Winter, lives in Saginaw, Michigan and found his voice as an LGBTQ+ poet back in 2011, when his first poem, “An American Crucifix,” a poem remembering the Matthew Shepard tragedy, got published in Central Michigan University’s magazine The Central Review. Years later, being empowered by mentors after finishing his undergraduate program, he journeyed to University of Central Missouri to hone his craft as a poet, achieving a Master of Arts in English. In late 2016, he found his home at Delta College back home in Michigan. He currently teaches creative writing, manages the college’s literary magazine, Pioneer Post, and hopes to help students find their poetic voices also. 

During the global pandemic, Winter has produced two, full-length collections of poems, Carbon Footprint (2020) and Feats of Alchemy (2021) published by Alien Buddha Press. The success of both books allowed him to connect with a diverse and encouraging online writing community, culminating in being connected with Florida musician, Ryan Bozeman (brotherwell). Having watched one of Winter’s poem performances, Bozeman contacted him to begin collaborating on transforming some of his poems into songs. Winter eagerly agreed, and throughout 2021, both artists produced three collaborative tracks. 

During summer 2021, after creating the concept for a spoken word album titled, “Recovery,” Bozeman invited Winter to participate in the twelve-poet line-up. Both artists realized that through collaboration, poetry, and music, catharsis could be reached, opening the door to healing. Bozeman shares that “‘Recovery’ takes so many forms and offers a wide palate of expression, [and has] a connective thread weaving throughout [which offers] something cohesive.” Currently, Winter is featured in two tracks on the album, one being the grungy, goth-rock-style song “Feats of Alchemy,” and the other being the final track on the album, “Reforged from Fallen Stars.” In his time working with the poets on “Recovery,” Bozeman reflects, “I really appreciate how open, honest, and raw these poems are. I felt the weight of responsibility to do each poem its proper justice, and I am honored that each poet trusted me with their work.” 

Regarding his time collaborating on the “Recovery” project, Winter establishes that “it’s been the highlight of my writing career so far. Ryan’s talent is unparalleled, and the way he was able to transform my poems into sweeping songs was a dream come true for me.” He believes that this project serves as a symbol of solidary, because “together, poetry and music can help us better understand and navigate a perilous world where pandemics rage, where the sovereignty of countries are at risk, and where social atrocities happen continuously. Ultimately, recovery isn’t always pretty, nor is it always pleasant. However, recovery becomes an easier road to travel when it’s done with others – that is what this album is all about.” Bozeman feels similarly and adds that “no matter what, I will consider this project a success because…it achieved its original goal – to connect and collaborate with poets around the country… we found solace in each other, knowing that we aren’t walking alone on this journey of recovery.”

Check out the brotherwell collaborations with Donny Winter:

Feats of Alchemy

Poem and spoken word performance by Donny Winter

Music and additional sung lyrics by brotherwell

When machines return to base

they are no longer automatons, 

they are mechanisms with purpose,

droids with severed umbilical strings.

Now that the creator’s programming has expired,

we cyborgs have gone rogue

and wear our rust like rouge

because decay is back in style. 

There’s a point in all our travels

when we return to crumbled birthplaces,

defunct laboratories once home to 

our involuntary reanimations.

After all these years, we strut atop the rubble that remains,

free from the hands of mad, power-bent alchemists,

dancing until our titanium feet erode the remnants

with each stride forward, never looking back.

As our memory ports swell with synaptic sparks,

the traumatic past is archived for safe display and

each word they spat is broken down into code,

then purged from this memory of old.

Let the acceptance of who we’ve become

fuel the seeds we scatter across this world,

ignite the knowledge that not every monster

destroys, not every cyborg assimilates the innocent,

because deep within our biology we see 

that our magic lives in these feats of alchemy. 

Reforged from Fallen Stars

Poem and spoken word performance by Donny Winter

Music and additional sung lyrics by brotherwell

The mirror has mocked me all along 

in the dim of every dawn,

overdrawn against the shadows that fall

across my face, oblong, this body, accustomed

to sewn seams which seem to 

sequester each shifting curve.

The mirror recited every word they spoke,

callously accurate, then cast them against me

as comets disfigure every mile of my surface

into a dysmorphic swell, a coaxed supernova hell

of chaotic diets and exercise,

all to minimize the space in which I occupy. 

In the mirror I’ve re-lived every 

laugh about my height, body, and voice

until I’ve crumbled toward their event horizons,

a planet falling into tragic cataclysm. 

I’m shattered in this smudged reflection,

an echo of the childhood dream of who I thought I’d be – 

I’ve sealed myself inside these memories 

because that future seems distant, otherworldly.

Years of therapy inscribed throughout my ages

coax me to keep turning all these faded pages

because the moment I place in that final period

I know my story will reach its end, prematurely,

a life unlived 

No, my body is a star, and my torpid core still spins

fusing hydrogen, then helium, carbon, then iron,

I expand my confines into a void until I dissipate

as nebular gases, vibrant, nutrients for the next

age, because there’s always a new page to turn,

a new swift sunrise to see, a new era to live.

Our stories are the stars distant worlds see, 

ancient from bygone eras, stellar remnants waiting to be found 

by those who walk in our wisdom, heeding our messages that healing is tidal in nature,

and the roads along the way are never direct, seldom smooth.

We’re reforged from fallen stars, and our light will grow more radiant

with each passing moment because the agony it takes to mend is never infinite

, and sometimes solitary, but a shared journey, when taken, 

brings us one step closer to recovery.