(picture is of last year's issue)
A friend, John Evans, sent me a link to a few of his poems in the latest Hayden’s Ferry, which is building a reputation as one of the best journals in the West. I liked the poems so much I thought I’d post a link here as well: from “The Katie Ghazals.” I don’t know as much as I’d like to about poetry, but I’ve liked everything I’ve read or heard of John’s, largely because — unlike many of the poems I read in lit mags — I feel as if it’s trying to convey something to me, as if the work is aware of its reader and allowing me into an experience. There’s something both particular and universal about the pain and wisdom lines like this contain:
We do it alone, Katie; we mark among the living ghosts of those we love.
We never quite make our peace.
And while I’m plugging his writing, his chapbook is out.
Another thing I’ve been meaning to recommend is the Oxford American, a literary magazine my household subscribes to that I consistently enjoy, despite my lack of a connection to the South. It strikes a nice balance between general interest and literary interest, the writing is generally lively, and, maybe best of all, they have a yearly Southern Music Issue, which comes with a mix CD. Last year’s double-album has become a staple of my iTunes rotation, and this year’s jacket looks promising (Lucinda Williams, Abner Jay, a bunch of stuff I’ve never heard of).
Another bonus is that in every single issue since I’ve been a subscriber I’ve discovered a piece by somebody I know, and in each case I didn’t know of its existence beforehand. Last night, after running errands on campus, I went to Skip Horack’s house to watch Oregon beat Oregon State in the Civil War. Then I came home, saw the new OA, opened it and found an essay by him about Carolina Cotton (p. 138), as well as piece about Si Kahn by one of my favorite music writers, Charlie Bertsch (p. 58). That’s the second time I’ve seen Charlie in the OA, and I’ve also stumbled upon two essays by my former classmate Jesmyn Ward, and two others by Bronwen Dickey, whom I met at a writers’ conference a few years ago.
Anybody who’s likely to be reading this should probably subscribe to a literary journal or two. You could do a lot worse than either of the ones mentioned above.