My thanks to the editors, Angelo Mao, and especially to Timothy Ashley Leo (Ashley), who was very nice to me.
Here it is:
Direct from Villaggio Siena, Furnari, ME, Sicily, Italy, EU, Planet Earth.
In exchange, I'll send you a free digital copy of the whole book (not a bottle of whiskey). A free book for a few friendly words, what a deal! If you hate the book, that's really okay too. I get rejections every day, so I have a tough skin. Drop me a line, give me an e-mail address, and I'll send you a link. It's easy, don't put it off. I thank you in advance for the boost.
Martin
(martinpedersen1255@gmail.com)
I'm very grateful to Steve Cawte, the boss, who went to extraordinary lengths to get the issue out. He was kind and generous, and I wish him the best.
The poems are "The Art of Double-Hooking," "Experimentos," and "I Hate Poetry Too." The first is about fishing (not), the second about educational research (not), and the third is about forests (not). I guess you'll have to click the link to decide for yourself. Check out the whole Impspired universe, lots of good trouble there.
I've pubished here and there, but this one is very very special to me. Because the journal (The Mantlepiece) is from Reykjavik, Iceland. My uncle Nik Gudmonds was an Icelander, by way of Berkeley, and he was the great storyteller of the family. My own origin is part Norwegian, another Nordic nation. I've always wanted to visit Iceland, and I certainly will soon. The population of the entire nation is about the size of the city of Florence, Italy (380,000). And yet there is so much art and culture.
A good example is The Mantlepiece, edited by Lillian Heimisdottir. She's extremely friendly, but also very professional. She chose my poem, "A Political Manifesto," for the June issue. I thank her and all the people involved in this wonderful publication.
The poem begins with a quote from Kurt Vonnegut: “Wake up, you idiots! Whatever made you think that money was so valuable?” The title would lead you to believe that the speaker is an activist, completely convinced of what they are doing. The poem tells otherwise. Read it to find out more, to be "down with the struggle." But also read the entire issue. There is fiction, reviews, essays, travel, food & drink, and so on. What a variety of interesting stuff! Read this beautiful journal from Iceland, every issue.
https://img1.wsimg.com/blobby/go/bc8a39ac-7604-453b-b0f8-8b7c2ad27da9/TheMantelpiece_June_2024.pdf
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The Name of God
Oh, to drop the name"God is an ambiguous word in our language because it appears to refer to something that is known. But the transcendent is unknowable and unknown. God is transcendent, finally, of anything like the name 'God'." Joseph Campbell
"Dio è una parola ambigua nella nostra lingua perché sembra riferire a qualcosa di conosciuto. Però il trascendentale è inconoscibile e sconosciuto. Dio è trascendentale, alla fine, di qualsiasi cosa come il nome 'Dio'." Joseph Campbell
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Ensorcellia by Odyssey
What's this new book, Martin?
Well, let me tell you.
It's a poetry collection that includes work published from 2019 and before. Pre-covid, that is. Pre-everything changed even if we didn't know. So, it's a varied collection of assorted stuff.
There is a theme, however. And that is explained in the blurb. It is also divided into sections entitled: Ego, Id, Superego, Melancholia, Phantasy, obviously taken from basic psychology. These lead the reader on a personal journey. Like a long trail of highs and lows. Take a rest, you'll get there by and by. And, after all the fatigue, you'll remember how easy it was.
Here are a few lines from the poem: "We Will All Become Vegetarians"
Unless we die first
Then we'll feed the wiggly carnivores
All those Fruit Loops make sweet meat
Unless cremation becomes obligation
And the dust joins smoke and arsenic
From the mines where we bore
To force milk from a dry teat
(see more in Method & Madness)
Here are a few lines from the poem: "In Court"
the yatzhee dice
roll them now
4 of a kind is not
enough, darling
(see more in Method & Madness)
Here are a few lines from the poem: "Me and the Beast"
Yes, when the beast sat across from me in the waiting room
I hated her
when I realized I was infected too
when we made love and she was inside me
our collusion began
now she scares me precisely
because she shadows me.
(see more in Method & Madness)
Here are a few lines from the poem: "Remission of Cancer"
A fish laying on a slab of concrete
gasping like a warehouse on fire
strapped to a bed, smothered with a pillow
blackness pressing right on the eyeballs
(see more in Method & Madness)
Here are a few lines from the poem: "Miss America"
But then you die
open your fist
don't be surprised
to find
lilies 4.79$ a dozen
and a brochure
on the family plan
at the Happy Valley Cemetery:
kids
fly
free
(see more in Method & Madness)
Here are a few lines from the poem: "Palmyra Remembered"
Alone in the ruins of a city left
walking the streets listening to the ghastly ululation
these stiff columns and walls and pavement here
are why I came so far into the desert
(see more in Method & Madness)
Here are a few lines from the poem: "Going to the Edge of the Land"
I will never forget that bath
dipped in gold lifelikenessless
the laughter of gravity towels
finding ourselves as we knew each other seventeen years ago
grown tingling holding hands
Back on Sicilian sand.
(see more made-up words in Method & Madness)
Here are a few lines from the third poem: "Avoiding Mirrors"
I need to step out of the bath of my past self and stories
face the mirror
wipe off the clouds
not be afraid.
(see more in Method & Madness)
Here are a few final lines from the second poem: "Coming Out of a Coma"
Am I slipping, slipping back in
Another ticket to ride, back
Back to the other side of the worm hole
In and out of the coma with a passport and
Luggage coming out
In, out
(see more in Method & Madness)
Here are a few lines from the first poem: "Etoliate Blues"
That man sitting in my chair near the window
Reading the same page of Naked Lunch over and over
Wondering, if anything, how much longer his socks will last
How many more pairs of socks he will need (continued in Method & Madness)
The first poem is "My Deliberate Decline," about an old man living. The second, "Nomination," is about an old man dying. The third, "Rebirth," is, well, you know. I'm impressed by the simple layout and, of course, by the other writing in this journal. You will be too if you take a look.
https://www.albany.edu/offcourse/issue97/pedersen_martin.html
It seems like many poets are gardeners and write about the pride they take in their growing. They go on and on about their pretty plants while the world outside is on the brink. I, generally, go for more stickery topics, the weeds let's say. But I did write this poem after I moved out of the apartment and into a house with a yard. And I'm learning to garden. Anyway, I liked it and hoped the team at Active Muse would too. And they did and here it is:
http://www.activemuse.org/2024_Collections/vasant/poems/EMartin_Pedersen.html
Adiela Akoo is the editor and cover artist. She also has a whole line of Ode to Love merchandise. Check it out. While you're in a buying mood get the anthology either in electronic or paper version. Many thanks to Adiela and Quilled Ink.
https://quilledinkpress.wixsite.com/publishers/the-quilled-ink-review-literary-journal
My poem, "Butch Cassidy and Me Jumping," refers to a joyful day with a friend in Sicily digging up an old cesspool in a backyard. It hadn't been used in decades so it was empty, but we joked about the stink as we climbed in to pull out the bricks. I bet it had been there at least a hundred years. Back to the times of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, who, in the film, jumped into the river hand in hand.
Over at confetti magazine, Lisa O'Neil Guerci and Nikkilee Kozminsky are the poetry eds. Many thanks to them for choosing this oddball poem about my life in Sicily holding a shovel. Maybe I wound up here by jumping off a cliff.
Check out my modest contribution here: (then cruise around the whole confetti world)
https://confettimag.org/poetry/butch-cassidy-and-me-jumping/
The journal originates from Pakistan, edited by Afshan Shafi, Fatima Ijaz & Talia Mirza. They seem very nice and certainly put together an excellent literary journal. Good luck to them always. And thanks so much for including me.
The poem comes from what I notice is the use of social media to speak to the dead. I mean, we used to say: "I miss her," now we say, "I miss you." As if they could hear or read our notes, maybe they can. And it takes off from there, quickly getting into some real pandemonium. If you want greeting card poetry, I'm not your guy.
The photo is of me and Kiki relaxing, pretending everything is going to be all right. (I'm the dog on the left.)
https://pandemoniumjournal.com/talking-to-the-dead-by-martin-pedersen/
The first poem, "On First Publication," is about something that probably happened thirty years ago, but continues to inspire. The others are self-explanatory, maybe.
Modern Literature is worth reading and re-reading. Thanks again, Rajesh.
Many thanks again to Juliet Cook, who is a brilliant poet in her own right. Look for her at Blood Pudding Press. And bless the bloody donuts.
The journal has the best name ever: Sparks of Calliope. Randal A Burd, Jr. is the boss, thanks Randal. Let's see, I know Calliope is the Muse of poetry. And a musical instrument sort of like a little organ played at circuses. And the sparks, well maybe they come out of the poems in the journal.
https://sparksofcalliope.com/2023/01/28/two-poems-by-e-martin-pedersen/
The poem is called, "Old man stealing battered shrimp," which is pretty self-explanatory. I am not the old man in this case. Stealing is a bad thing, right? Should I have called the authorities on the old man? I did not.
"Old Man, New Year," was published on New Year's Day, how cool is that? (Okay, last year, but I'm a bit behind.) The poem is about an American phenomenon that is striking and frightening to those outside the US: people living in their cars. Maybe it's just an excess of the car culture. When I go out in Messina, I ask myself, "Should I take the car or just walk?" Walking to work or shopping or to friends is almost never possible in the US. Tourists ask me why the streets of the villages here are so narrow -- they were made for donkey-carts. Oh.
So, I was morning walking with my brother in Tracy on New Year's 2 years ago, and we met and chatted with a fellow making breakfast for himself beside his car. He seemed to be enjoying life. We offered him donuts but he declined. Bacon and eggs good enough. That's another lesson.
Check out the poem and all of Cacti Fur. Worth it.
https://cactifur.com/2023/01/01/martin-pedersen-old-man-new-year/
You might not like the poem, which could seem sacriligious or an inappropriate look behind the facade, but give it a read. Then again, you might like it. Especially if you no longer believe in magic. Or an alternate kind of magic.
"The Business of Mindfulness," is not a critique of meditation, maybe an implied critique of business that should be concerned with the well-being of the person and not profit margin. Many small businesses already do that. When we're all more enlightened, hopefully they all will.
The brains behind Streetcake are Nikki Dudley and Trini Decombe. They seem really nice. I'd like to meet them someday.
Otherwise, I recommend Streetcake Magazine if you want to twist your mind into a new shape.
https://www.streetcakemagazine.com/uploads/2/4/7/1/24713274/issue_82_final__amended_.pdf
The gracious editors of W-Poesis are Adrian Flett & Silviu Craciunas. My gratitude to them.
Dig in!
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A Question
Seafoam circles the rock on the beach from both sides
and meets again like estranged lovers
clasping hands yet
who is the wave?
who gives enough push so that they meet?
what is the rock that separates them?
[cliché check]
the water is the collective spirit
the force is love, we say
the rock is self
water never relents (why should it?)
continents constantly drift
I'm not sure about any of this.
You'd think the water will always pass
still if the rock is a wall and it's thick enough,
high and large enough
the sea may never break through
in your lifetime
in the lifetimes
of rocks
of waves
of love.
A question:
What then?
The Sword
The sword
The mighty sword
The ritual
The inscription
The fabrication
The edge
Sharp
Take a life
A woman, a child
The noble sword
Don't leave home
Into your silver scabbard
And out as needed
To take a life
To protect a life
To give
To live
To die
By
A clean sword
Requires blood
Baptism
You must give it
And yourself
away
To acquire a new
Swordless you.
You can, however, read on the Poetry Pacific website a third poem entited "Growth & Theft", published there last May 5th. Here's the link:
https://poetrypacific.blogspot.com/2023/05/1-poem-by-e-martin-pedersen.html
My thanks to the editors.
I spent much of my childhood working jigsaw puzzles, usually with my mother. I think that influences how you think, but I don't know how. So, there's a poem about jigsaw puzzles, or maybe not. The other poems are top secret; click on the link and read them yourself. Then cruise around the whole journal. South Asia is where lots of great English-language publishing is happening these days.
https://en.kavyakishor.com/2024/01/09/poems-by-e-martin-pedersen/
Adam Henry Carrière is the editor, I call him 'boss', he calls himself 'Verleger und Herausgeber', which sounds a lot classier. He's a prince. Thanks again, Adam.
So, you know, check it out.
https://dansemacabreonline.wixsite.com/neudm/e-martin-pedersen-148
John Himmelheber is the boss at Smoky Blue and was very gracious to me. Thanks John.
That's not his picture, that's Norman Lear, age 100.
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