Meet Our New Intern: Hedaya Hasan

A brown woman is posing to the side in a greenhouse with a tall green plant. She is wearing a black hijab, varsity jacket, blue jeans, and red handbag.

My first passion was reading. I did all the things keen readers do, though “keen” would not even begin to describe my addiction. Visits to the library became a weekly ritual. I grew hard muscles in my small arms from the heavy bags of books I carried home with me. I read when I wasn’t allowed to; late-night reading earned me more than one scolding and my teachers complained that I kept my nose to my books instead of paying attention. I read myself into deep headaches, completely blocking out the world around me before lifting myself to do something trivial like eat. I outgrew my supposed reading level and was moved to an advanced reading group at school before I outgrew that as well. None of my classmates could believe me when I announced that I had finished reading the Harry Potter series after starting it just two or three weeks earlier. The smartest girl in class was still on the fourth book after laboring through the series for two months which, according to grade-schooler logic, made me the new smartest girl.

I was officially a child prodigy. The kind of child prodigy that excels at one thing more that most people do at a young age but isn’t encouraged enough or given the opportunities or just lacks the verve necessary to carry that genius into adulthood. The older I got, the less impressed people were by my reading compulsion. The class prodigy label was slipping as I began to stray into teacher’s pet and know-it-all territory. I was no longer special. Not only that, but I was insignificantly average. In a desperate attempt to be praised and included, I slowly turned my eyes to illustration. It wasn’t easy to stray away from my books. In fact, I might have read more than ever during the transition period, though most of what I consumed became about painting or drawing. Being artistic or creative, in any form, is a universally likable trait and is apparently more impressive than being well-read. Any artist can tell you that hearing “I can’t even draw a stick figure” is an inevitable and endlessly repetitive phrase thrown around by the ungifted, unartistic peasants that crowd the human population. Not one single person thought I would pursue anything but illustration.

As it turns out, most things that are born with the intention of serving others stay headed down that route. When the time came for college applications, I very boldly applied to one art school. There was no back up plan for me, which I would come to sorely regret. The summer before I was due to start, I panicked. I had been accepted with a full scholarship and had really enjoyed the tours and orientations. One hot summer day, I opened my bedroom window to take a break from the stale air conditioning. Suddenly, sitting there with my chin on the sill, I felt the weight of my future float down and settle on my shoulders like a leaf drifts off a dry, red tree in autumn. I felt it blanket me and grow exponentially heavier. I was suffocating very quickly. To make a long story short, I do not have what it takes to be an artist and lack the wealthy background to be an artist regardless of the former fact. I had planned to study art at university for almost a decade, and that plan crashed before I could understand that it was crumbling. It was the only plan I made, which led me directly to a nervous breakdown. I begged my mother to let me take a gap year (she refused). I switched my major three times before school started and ended up suffering through a semester of film, which taught me many lessons and the importance of being around your own people. Whatever “my own people” may be, they are undoubtedly not film students.

The decision to switch to an English major was made purely by the fact that I had recently become reinterested in reading, this time with a focus on Palestinian literature. It was easy to begin reading again when the stories I read were sincerely important to me. I discovered that I enjoyed and had some talent in writing in a required course. In another course, I discovered that I enjoyed editing even more. It was almost like déjà vu, the way my Cinderella foot fell perfectly into the glass slipper of editing like it belonged to me. I’m more than grateful to have this opportunity as an Editorial Intern at Sundress Publications. Reading has created the parts of me that I love most, and I’m honored to be a part of uplifting more stories that shape people into their own slippers.


Hedaya Hasan is a Palestinian writer and designer based in Chicago.

Project Bookshelf: Addie Dodge

A variety of books on a shelf

When winter break started this past December, my mother fixed me with a pointed look and told me that I needed to do something about The Piles. What she was referring to, of course, were the small islands of books I have accumulated and scattered around my room over the last few years. Of course, I told my mother, I will do something about The Piles. And I did—I made them into stacks instead. 

My current collection of books is a well-loved time capsule of where I have been and where I want to go. Thrice-owned and annotated poetry collections and classics for past coursework, a few choices that evidence my work in the field of psychology (spot the APA style handbook, if you can), and a variety of books that I have sought out, and continue to reach for, as a lifelong reader and striving writer. 

A stack of books sitting on a wooden table

Upon closer inspection, you’ll probably notice my affinity for Russian literature and Anne Carson, as well as my absolute distaste for sensical organization or, well, bookshelves. I do have some shelf space above the office desk in our home, however there’s something a little less archival, and a little more active, about having all these piles of books splayed around me. Maybe this is me retroactively justifying The Piles, but I enjoy the feeling of living in and amongst my books. 

Memories of friends and loved ones are held within the bindings of the books I own. Poetry collections passed between attentive hands and talked about late into the night, stories that sparked flurries of text conversations, and works given and received as gifts. For me, reading is a deeply communal activity, and as such my books are steeped in my friendships both current and past. 

A variety of books placed on a shelf

I consider myself to be an omnivorous reader, and my collection of books reflects that. I have a particular sweet spot for translated works and discovering what linguistic choices have to be made to preserve the meaning of the original text, and lately I find myself drawn to visceral writing exploring subjects related to grief and motherhood as well (I highly recommend Olga Ravn’s My Work if you’re interested in similar themes).

I will say that my problem with The Piles used to be much, much worse, though a few moves have helped to pare down my collection. These days, I try hard to frequent the library more than the bookstore, and even so, I seem to end up with a perennial pile that changes characters every few weeks when I have new holds available, little slips of paper alerting me to their due dates sticking out of the tops of said books. Yes, I am that person you see at the library struggling to carry all their holds in their arms. Progress over perfection, right?

A stack of books sitting on a wooden table

While I do my best to prioritize going to the library, my local secondhand shop has a way of beckoning to me, and so The Piles continue to grow. Although I’m not too torn up about this persisting phenomena, it comes as no surprise that when I told my mother I had done something about The Piles and proceeded to show her piles turned to stacks, she was not impressed, and reminded me that in the very near future I would have to pay for shipping for these piles turned to stacks to wherever I move this summer. Let the record show that I am aware and ready to pay for the shipping, because these piles turned to stacks are both a tether to my past, and a line cast into my future.


A white woman with short blonde hair is standing in front of a brick wall looking at the camera

Addie Dodge is a student at Colorado College pursuing a BA in Psychology with a Minor in English. She is a writer currently working as an editor for her college’s literary magazine, Cipher, and is also a clinical intern at a domestic violence shelter in Colorado. She fills her free time with hiking in the mountains and lots of reading. 

Sundress Reads: Review of 28,065 Nights

Katie Manning’s 28,065 Nights (River Glass Books, 2020) is beautifully both elegy and ode, prose and poetry. Through twenty pages of patient reflection, Manning honors one of the most special people in her life, her Granny. As someone who recently lost her own grandmother, I found these poems remarkably relatable; their emotions ring true and universal. And still, Manning’s chapbook is very much uniquely hers, with honest details and nuance that brilliantly navigate grief and love with grace.

28,065 Nights functions on a steady heartbeat, with each prose poem a neat block on the page and with little variation in form. This safe rhythm allows writer and readers alike to settle in and more closely examine the complex aftermath of loss. The chapbook begins with an explanation, indicating Manning’s desire to make sense of something. In “Your Death Explained in Birds,” Manning looks towards nature for answers, though at this point the reader doesn’t know who the “you” is yet. She writes, “Death is the great egret at the swamp, picking newly hatched green herons from their cypress nest…Death is the egret dropping fresh young birds into the swamp with barely a ripple.” (Manning 1). Such disheartening imagery points towards not just the circle of life, but an insignificant and commonplace quality of death. Other lines aim to define the self amongst such loss. Manning states, “I am the pregnant woman standing horrified and helpless. I am the mother heron shrieking and snapping on the branch below. I am the smallest green heron in the nest” (1). The ability to place oneself in multiple positions, to know oneself literally and metaphorically, demonstrates Manning’s dexterity as a poet and provides insight towards the keen self-awareness to follow in the chapbook.

Manning paints a vivid picture of Granny for readers to care about and grieve for. One of the strongest poems from 28,065 Nights, “How to Use Vanilla,” has a didactic title. In the midst of loss, it’s natural to look for directions in order to move forward. Manning learns not only how to make syrup for waffles, but also about the type of woman Granny was. She shares:

“You told me that when you were young, poor girls used vanilla extract as perfume…You’d save it for secret dates, for sneaking off to carnivals. One drop for an older boy, two drops if Daddy disapproved of him for driving too fast.” (Manning 3)

For so many folks, it’s hard to imagine familial elders as people living their lives before their roles as grandparent, parent, etc. in relation to our existence. For example, a later poem, “I Sniff Your Socks,” includes a tender description of Granny: “They smell like you—clean soap, a light blue smell. I handle them carefully and keep them folded” (Manning 13). On the surface, such details are fitting for a grandmother or matriarch. “How to Use Vanilla,” on the other hand, is a delightful celebration to a young woman’s ingenuity, resourcefulness, and rebellious nature. Even though the poem ends on the domestic image of homemade waffles, Manning has flashed an entire life in the previous lines.

At times, Manning’s speaker admits to the struggle of actualizing her main subject in words. When one is first the listener and later becomes the storyteller, details are forgotten, reshaped, or given different significance. “Thomas Anthony,” an example of this phenomenon, is a sad poem about a stillborn child. While the poem ends with an admittance, “The last time you told me this story, I realized I’d never asked the baby’s name” (7), the title reminds readers that Manning, at some point, did learn. Manning uses a seemingly simple format to house her poems, and yet such play with suspense and timing has me rereading them over and over.

Throughout 28,065 Nights, Manning’s speaker acknowledges the passing of time with a tone that’s mature and also saddened. She asks in the middle of the chapbook: “Can the memory of you stay in these things…?” (12). Even without grief or trauma, memory is challenging to control. Poems, objects, stories, places, and familiar faces all help us retain beloved moments in our minds, but ultimately, like nature’s circle of life for the egret in the swamp, there is loss and new birth. One of the later poems in the book, structured as three prose blocks, is organized around three basic understandings that relate to the past, present, and future: “Your house is the setting of my earliest stories…Your house is also my mind’s blueprint for every other house…Your house is someone else’s house now” (16). Once again, Manning reveals information in the title, “The New Owner Invited Me In,” that readers then understand more clearly once they reach the last line.

28,065 Nights is touching and honest portrayal of losing a matriarch. Manning’s details of the past and questions for the future show all the nuances that come with grief, including laughter, joy, and healing. She ends the chapbook with the title poem, which emphasizes the necessity of stories. 28,065 Nights, therefore, also functions on the whole as a set of instructions, encouraging readers to hold onto stories as tightly as possible, that they are as vital as breathing to keep moving on, to continue living life to the fullest.

28,065 Nights is available from River Glass Books


Livia Meneghin (she/her) is the author of the chapbook Honey in My Hair and the Sundress Publications Reads Editor. She earned a Writers’ Room of Boston Poetry Fellowship, Breakwater Review‘s 2022 Peseroff Prize, and Second Place in The Room Magazine‘s 2023 Poetry Contest. Her writing has found homes in Gasher, Thrush, Whale Road Review, and elsewhere. She earned her MFA from Emerson College, where she now teaches writing and literature. She is a cancer survivor.

Meet Our New Intern: Brendon Blair

I’m not joking when I say I’ve had several mothers and fathers, mountains of people that roll through my life like the hills I know as my home. When I say I’ve lived everywhere in Knoxville, I’m not kidding at all, and I know I can’t trade it for the world. But oh boy do I try! My place in this world is one to learn, that’s about as much as you can ask from me as an early-twenty-something. What better way to learn than to read the works of others?

As it has grown over the years, I find myself more and more attracted to my hometown’s book scene. McKay’s, estate and yard sales, as well as any secondhand book store, are the most likely places to find me. So many accessible books! From a very young age, I found myself pouring over textbooks, almanacs, encyclopedias, memoirs, and the mythology series we all read as kids. 

I have not met many people who have walked my path before me. But I have met many people whose perspectives I cannot get enough of, as well as people who I talk to once and never again that I remember. I know people have told me it is important for me to share my story, as a child of immigrants passed through foster care’s many hands.

I know it is important to share the works of others. I’ve always needed them to feel like someone walks beside me. These things, as well as the popular morning sun and waning moon in every college poem, are what have compelled me to dream of writing.

I’ve worked odd jobs since I was fourteen; coffee shops, retail, hospital work, and research, sometimes multiple at once. However, my passion really lies in digital archives and preservation. Have you ever held a work of art older than you are? It’s what I’ve chosen to work in for now. People have always praised my work ethic or the way I meld smoothly into whatever’s thrown at me, and now I think to myself, “What if there’s something more? Something left to do I haven’t yet?” 

I don’t want to write about what makes other people happy or what is the most productive. I want to write about the laughs between construction workers when the birds wake and a pole falls into the snow. I want to write about a girl in her car, working the grind in fast food, winning the lottery. I want to write the morning sun for someone who thought they’d outgrown learning. I am so, so grateful to write for Sundress Publications because of the doors I know it will open for my future and all of the reading I am sure to do more of this semester. Whenever I read, I learn to write, and whenever I learn to write, I learn how to live a life well-penned.


Brendon Blair is an Appalachia-borne writer born and bred on trailer living and warm Mexican cuisine. Having a dual major in Psychology and English from the University of Tennessee Knoxville, Brendon enjoys intertwining the experiences of queer and fostered people in poetry and prose. They also hold an administrative assistantship at the Office of Science and Technology Information in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. When not writing or working, Brendon enjoys playing strategy games, and dreams of owning a cat to call Eggs Benedict.

2024 AWP Journals Off-Site Reading

Sundress Publications is pleased to announce that the readers for our 2024 AWP off-site journals reading, which include beestung, Rogue Agent, Doubleback Review, and The Wardrobe, include KB Brookins, Cat Ingrid Leeches, Crystal Odelle, Jess Sifa, Caitlin Cowan, Amy Haddad, Lenna Jawdat, Atia Sattar, Madeleine Barnes, Mary Hawley, Ania Payne, Remi Recchia, Asa Drake, and Jae Nichelle. The reading will take place on February 9th, 2024, from 6:00 PM to 8:00 PM at Nimble Brewing Company 1735 Oak Street Kansas City, MO 64108.

beestung readers

KB Brookins is a writer, cultural worker, and artist from Texas. They are the author of How to Identify Yourself with a Wound (Kallisto Gaia Press 2022), Freedom House (Deep Vellum 2023), and Pretty (Alfred A. Knopf 2024). How to Identify Yourself with a Wound won the Saguaro Poetry Prize, the Writer’s League of Texas Discovery Prize, and a Stonewall Honor Book Award. Freedom House has received praise from Vogue, BookRiot, Autostraddle, and others. KB is a 2023 National Endowment of the Arts Fellow with writing published in Poets.org, Teen Vogue, Oxford American, and elsewhere. Follow them online at @earthtokb.

Cat Ingrid Leeches is a writer, editor, and adjunct. Their collection, I Wander the Earth, Hungry For Semen, is forthcoming from Carrion Bloom Books.

Crystal Odelle (they/she) is a queer trans storyteller and author of the chapbook Trans Studies (Gold Line Press, 2024). Their stories have appeared in Black Warrior Review, Split Lip Magazine, beestung, manywor(l)ds, Strange Horizons, and elsewhere. Crystal was a Tin House Scholar and Lambda Literary Fellow, nominated for Best of the Net, and anthologized in We’re Here: The Best Queer Speculative Fiction. She writes RPGs at Feverdream Games and serves as academic and administrative coordinator for the Department of Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at Washington University in St. Louis.

Jess Silfa is an Afro-Latine writer from the South Bronx. They graduated with an MFA in Fiction from Vanderbilt University and are currently a PhD student at the University of Cincinnati as a Yates Fellow. Jess is President of the Disabled and D/deaf Writers Caucus and has been published or has work forthcoming in ANMLY, beestung, Transition Magazine, and others.

Rogue Agent readers

Caitlin Cowan is the author of Happy Everything (Cornerstone Press, 2024). She has taught writing at UNT, Texas Woman’s University, and Interlochen Center for the Arts. Caitlin works in arts nonprofit administration for Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp, where she serves as Director of International Programs and as Chair of Creative Writing. Caitlin also serves as Poetry Co-Editor at Pleiades and writes PopPoetry, a weekly poetry and pop culture newsletter. She lives on Michigan’s west coast with her husband, their young daughter, and two mischievous cats. Find her at caitlincowan.com.

Amy Haddad is a poet, nurse, and Professor Emerita at Creighton University. Her poetry has been published in numerous journals, including Journal of Medical Humanities, Touch, Bellevue Literary Review, Pulse, Persimmon Tree, Annals of Internal Medicine, Aji Magazine, DASH, Oberon Poetry Magazine, and Rogue Agent. Her first chapbook, The Geography of Kitchens, was published by Finishing Line Press in August 2021. Her first poetry collection, An Otherwise Healthy Woman, was published by Backwaters Press in 2022. The collection won first place in the Creative Works category of the American Journal of Nursing 2022 Books of the Year Awards. You can learn more about her work at: www.amyhaddadpoetry.com.

Lenna Jawdat is a D.C.-based writer and psychotherapist. Her writing, which explores trauma, identity, and resilience, has appeared in Poet Lore, Passenger’s Journal, Rogue Agent, and Koukash Review, among others. She was a 2023 Sundress Academy for the Arts summer resident and 2021 Best of the Net nominee for her poem “Ode to the Psoas.” She is pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at the Institute of American Indian Arts, where she is Poetry Co-Editor for Chapter House Journal. Lenna is currently working on a book-length visual documentary poem.

Atia Sattar is a Pakistani-born teacher, scholar, and meditator living in Los Angeles. Her writing explores the embodied intersections of gender, race, mindfulness, and motherhood. Her work has appeared in various publications, including Rogue AgentLion’s Roar, Tricycle, and The Cambridge Quarterly for Health Care Ethics. She is Associate Teaching Professor of Gender and Sexuality Studies at the University of Southern California.

Doubleback Review readers

Madeleine Barnes is a writer, artist, and PhD candidate at The Graduate Center, City University of New York. Her debut full-length poetry collection, You Do Not Have To Be Good, was published by Trio House Press in 2020. She is also the author of four chapbooks, most recently The Memory Dictionary (Ethel Press) and Women’s Work (Tolsun Books). Her dissertation-in-progress explores how women use textile work to survive and respond to violence. She earned her MFA at New York University. madeleinebarnes.com.

Mary Hawley is a fiction writer, poet, and literary translator. Her short stories have appeared in magazines such as Hypertext, The Saturday Evening Post, and Doubleback Review, and she received an Illinois Literary Award for fiction. Her translations (Spanish to English) of poetry and prose have appeared in The Common, TriQuarterly, and Deinos, and she is currently translating a trilogy of novels by the Uruguayan writer Sergio Altesor Licandro. She lives in Evanston, Illinois.

Ania Payne lives in Manhattan, Kansas, with her husband, Great Dane, husky, two tiger cats, and two backyard chickens. She teaches in the English Department at Kansas State University and has an MFA in Creative Nonfiction. She is the author of the chapbook Karma Animalia. She has previously been published in Bending Genres, The Rush, Panorama: The Journal of Intelligent Travel, Whiskey Island, The Rumpus, and elsewhere.

Remi Recchia (he/him), PhD, is a trans poet, essayist, and editor from Kalamazoo, Michigan. A five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Remi’s work has appeared in World Literature TodayBest New Poets 2021, and Prairie Schooner, among others. Works include Quicksand/Stargazing (Cooper Dillon Books, 2021); Sober (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2022); Little Lenny Gets His Horns (Querencia Press, 2023); From Gold, Ghosts: Alchemy Erasures (Gasher Press, 2023); and Transmasculine Poetics: Filling the Gap in Literature & the Silences Around Us (Sundress Publications, forthcoming). Remi has been a Tin House Scholar and Thomas Lux Scholar. He holds an MFA in Poetry from Bowling Green State University.

The Wardrobe readers

Asa Drake is a Filipina American poet and author of the chapbook One Way to Listen (Gold Line Press, 2023). She has received fellowships and awards from the 92Y Discovery Poetry Contest, Tin House, and Idyllwild Arts. Her poems have been published with The Slowdown Podcast, The American Poetry ReviewThe Paris Review Daily, and The Georgia Review.

Louisiana-born and Portland-based Jae Nichelle is the author of God Themselves and the poetry chapbook The Porch (As Sanctuary). She was the inaugural poetry winner of the John Lewis Writing Award from the Georgia Writers Association, and her poetry has appeared in Best New Poets 2020The Washington Square ReviewThe OffingMuzzle Magazine, and elsewhere. She is also a slam poetry champion, and her spoken word poems have been featured by Write About Now, Speak Up Poetry Series, and Button Poetry. 

2024 AWP Off-Site Reading

Sundress Publications is pleased to announce that the readers for our 2024 AWP off-site reading include Heather Bartlett, Sarah Renee Beach, Evelyn Berry, jason b. Crawford, Caleb Curtiss, and Amanda Galvan Huynh. The reading will take place on February 9th, 2024, from 8:00 PM to 9:00 PM at Nimble Brewing Company 1735 Oak Street Kansas City, MO 64108.

Heather Bartlett is a poet, writer, and professor. She is the author of the poetry collection Another Word for Hunger (Sundress Publications). Her poetry and prose can be found in print and online in journals such as Barrow Street, Lambda Literary, Ninth Letter, Quarterly West, RHINO Poetry, Poet Lore, and others. She teaches creative writing and writing studies at the State University of New York at Cortland and is the founding editor of the online literary magazine Hoxie Gorge Review. Find more of her work at heatherbartlett.com.  

Originally from Southeast Texas, Sarah Renee Beach received her MFA in Creative Writing from The New School, where she was awarded the Dean’s Merit Scholarship. Her debut poetry chapbook, Impact, won Sundress Publication’s 2022 Chapbook Contest. She now lives in Austin, TX, where she is the Program Director at the Writers’ League of Texas. More at sarahreneebeach.com.

Evelyn Berry is a trans, Southern writer, editor, and educator. She’s the author of Grief Slut (Sundress Publications, 2023). She’s a recipient of a 2023 National Endowment for the Arts Poetry Fellowship and lives in Columbia, South Carolina.

Shlagha Borah (she/her) is from Assam, India. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Bat City Review, EcoTheo Review, Salamander, Nashville Review, Florida Review, South Dakota Review, and elsewhere. She is a 2nd-year MFA candidate in Poetry at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, the Reading Series Coordinator at Sundress Academy for the Arts (SAFTA), and an Editorial Assistant at The Offing. She has received support for her work from Brooklyn Poets, SAFTA, and The Hambidge Center. She is the co-founder of Pink Freud, a student-led collective working towards making mental health accessible in India. 

jason b. crawford (They/He/She) born in Washington, D.C. and raised in Lansing, MI, is the author of Year of the Unicorn Kidz. They have poems in POETRY Magazine, The Cincinnati Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, and RHINO Poetry, among others. They are a 2023 Emerging Writers Fellow for Lambda Liteary and hold their MFA in Poetry from The New School. Their second collection, YEET!, is the winner of the Omnidawn 12st/2nd Book Prize and will be published in Fall 2025.

Caleb Curtiss is the author of Age of Forgiveness. His poetry appears in The Gettysburg Review, Image, The Southern Review, and elsewhere. 

Amanda Galvan Huynh (She/Her) is a Xicana writer and educator from Texas. She is the author of Where My Umbilical is Buried (Sundress Publications 2023) and Co-Editor of Of Color: Poets’ Ways of Making: An Anthology of Essayson Transformative Poetics (The Operating System 2019).

Sundress Academy for the Arts Presents January Poetry Xfit

The Sundress Academy for the Arts is excited to present Poetry Xfit hosted by Z Eihausen. This generative workshop event will take place on Sunday, January 21st from 2 to 4 pm EST via Zoom. Join us at the link tiny.utk.edu/sundress with the password “safta”. 

Poetry Xfit isn’t about throwing tires or heavy ropes, but the idea of confusing our muscles is the same. You will receive ideas, guidelines, and more as part of this generative workshop series in order to complete three poems in two hours. A new set of prompts will be provided after the writers have written collaboratively for thirty minutes. The goal is to create material that can be later modified and transformed into artwork rather than producing flawless final versions. The event is open to prose authors as well!

girl dressed in black holding a disco ball in front of white background

Z Eihausen (she/her) is an emerging writer from Tennessee. She is currently a senior at the University of Tennessee-Knoxville studying creative writing and philosophy. She previously interned at Sundress Academy for the Arts and is now Staff Director. She also likes bees.

This event is brought to you in part by grants provided by the Witter Bynner Foundation for Poetry and the Tennessee Arts Commission

While this is a free event, donations can be made to the Sundress Academy for the Arts here.

Each month we split any Xfit donations with our community partner. This month, we are accepting donations for a support grant for the winner of our Summer 2024 Fellowship for Palestinian Writers. This grant will help to fund travel expenses for said writer to attend our residency program this summer.

Lyric Essentials: Remi Recchia Reads Timothy Liu

Welcome back to Lyric Essentials, where we invite authors to share the work of their favorite poets. This month, Remi Recchia joins us to discuss the work of Timothy Liu and the ways in which poetry is just another word for love. As always, we hope you enjoy as much as we did.


Ryleigh Wann: When was the first time you read Timothy Liu’s work? Why did it stand out to you
then?

Remi Recchia: I first encountered Timothy Liu’s work in 2017. It was the second year of my MFA program at Bowling Green State University (BGSU), and in an effort to expose myself to more poets, I subscribed to the Poetry Foundation’s Poem of the Day newsletter. Liu’s poem “Winter”—most likely appropriately sent in one of the long, cold months in Northwest Ohio—mesmerized me. I couldn’t stop reading it. I think what really struck me was that it was a love poem; young poets tend to be cautioned against love poems due to the risk of cliché. I printed out the page and taped it to my office wall. Then, in a weird moment of serendipity, Liu was invited as a visiting author for BGSU’s Prout Reading Series. I remember him being a very interesting person. His reading began with him shirtless, holding a spear, with his chest covered in body paint. I don’t remember the rationale behind this act. Maybe it was just a poet being a poet. During the book-signing, I blurted out that I had a printout of his poem on my wall, which he humored in good taste.

RW: How has Liu’s writing inspired your own?

RR: I read Liu’s work at a time when I was falling madly in love with my now-wife, in the sticky grasp of alcoholism, during the early stages of my hormonal and gender transition. All of these things made me feel things very deeply; I was an intense person and also a little sad. Liu appears to me to be a poet who also feels things very deeply but, unlike the stereotypical masculine artist façade of blasé and cynicism, his work seems to embrace his emotional humanness, his messiness, his longing. I mean, look at these lines: “You touch my knee, and I hear / the brass weights of a grandfather clock / steadily falling in that cottage where / we met, the season’s first snow fresh / on the ground as hands ran up and down / a polished cherry cabinet built / to last” (“Two Men on a Swing Watching Their Shadows Lengthen,” Say Goodnight). Really look at them. In my mess and growth and desperation, how could I resist this language? So, to answer the question: I suppose Liu’s work has inspired my own in that it gave me permission to lean in. To write love poems. To love.

Remi Recchia reads “The Lovers” by Timothy Liu

RW: Why did you choose to read these poems specifically? 

RR: As I’ve indicated earlier, the poem “Winter” is especially significant to me since it was my introduction to Liu’s work, and I’ve carried that meaningfulness with me since then. I chose the others because I feel that they complement each other. They’re thematically linked in that they’re all love poems, of course, the tone in each is different, creating a surprising juxtaposition of poetics. I find “All Trains Going Local” particularly intriguing. The lines, “you who are so used to // anything scribbled on a prescription blank” haunt me. Given my history with addiction, it’s not surprising that they stand out to me. But to any reader, addict or not, it should be noteworthy that those lines directly precede the turn of the poem: “Just want the pain to go away, you say, / surprised to find yourself // reaching for someone else’s hand.” Maybe what I’m saying is that the entire poem is full of twists and turns and revelations. That’s what all poems should do.

Remi Recchia reads “Winter” by Timothy Liu

RW: What have you been up to lately (life, work, anything!)? Got any news to share?

RR: Quite a bit, actually! My second poetry chapbook, From Gold, Ghosts: Alchemy Erasures, was released on November 1. I’ve also just published my first children’s book, Little Lenny Gets His Horns, a collaboration with the up-and-coming artist Victoria Garcia-Boswell. (Please check her out if you haven’t already.) I’m trying to publish my most recent full-length poetry manuscript, Addiction Apocalypse. In terms of other life news, I’m entering the discernment process for Holy Orders with the Episcopal Church.

Read more from this interview at our Patreon


Timothy Liu (Liu Ti Mo) was born in 1965 in San Jose, California to immigrant parents from Mainland China. He is the author of twelve books of poems, including Of Thee I Sing, selected by Publishers Weekly as a 2004 Book-of-the-Year; Say Goodnight, a 1998 PEN Open Book Margins Award; and Vox Angelica, which won the 1992 Poetry Society of America’s Norma Farber First Book Award. He has also edited Word of Mouth: An Anthology of Gay American Poetry. Translated into a dozen languages, Liu’s poems have appeared in such places as Best American Poetry, Bomb, Kenyon Review, The Nation, Paris Review, Ploughshares, Poetry, The Pushcart Prize, Virginia Quarterly Review and The Yale Review.

Purchase Down Low and Lowdown: Timothy Liu’s Bedside Bottom-Feeder

Remi Recchia, PhD, is a trans poet and essayist from Kalamazoo, Michigan. He is a book editor and also works as a technical editor. A five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Remi’s work has appeared in World Literature TodayBest New Poets 2021, and Juked, among others. Books and chapbooks include Quicksand/Stargazing (Cooper Dillon Books, 2021); Sober (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2022); From Gold, Ghosts: Alchemy Erasures (Gasher Press, 2023); and Transmasculine Poetics: Filling the Gap in Literature & the Silences Around Us (Sundress Publications, forthcoming). Remi has been a Tin House Scholar and Thomas Lux Scholar. He holds an MFA in poetry from Bowling Green State University.

Purchase From Gold, Ghosts: Alchemy Erasures

Ryleigh Wann (she/her) hails from Michigan and currently lives in Brooklyn, NY. She earned an MFA from UNC Wilmington where she taught poetry and served as the comics editor for Ecotone. Her writing can be found in The McNeese ReviewLongleaf ReviewThe Shore, and elsewhere. You can visit her website at ryleighwann.com

Project Bookshelf: Zora Satchell

When I first started to pack my things to move to New York, I knew my books were going to be a problem. I had a lot because every book, even if I hadn’t read it in years, held sentimental value and I couldn’t bare to toss any of them out. But New York was going to be different from Missouri, Florida, and Colorado. There was going to be a lot less space for all my memories, so I needed to make space for new ones. I donated half of my books and yet they still took up the most space in all of my boxes that I planned to ship. I had a delusional thought in my brain that I would be able to make things work, even though I had yet to lay eyes on the apartment I was moving into properly. And the delusion kind of worked out and kind of didn’t. In the sense that my roommates didn’t mind me shoving my books into any available space.

I had windows, my roommate’s empty wine shelf, and a nightstand, so I shoved my books anywhere they would fit. Only after living in my apartment for around two years did I ever get around to getting a bookshelf.

This is just a small sample of my bookshelf. I keep my bookshelf out in the living room, and it holds a mixture of the theory books I gathered during my degree in Ethnic Studies as well as poetry and fiction. My top shelf holds the books I return to the most, both in poetry and non-fiction. I normally return to these books for inspiration like Hybrida by Tina Chang or Sassafrass, Cypress, and Indigo by Ntozake Shange, or for guidance like Revolutionary Mothering and Radical Dharma.

The rest of my bookshelf is fiction that I consider either on my “to read” or “to reread” and is organized by the spine. Outside of poetry, the majority of my books are fiction with a memoir or two sprinkled in. I gravitate towards queer love stories, fantasy, and family narratives. Malindo Lo is one of my favorite Lesbian fiction authors. A book I’ve beat to death that’s not fiction is Catherine Hardwicke’s Director’s Notebook for Twilight. I’m a cinephile and a Twilight stan and it was her work as a director on that film that made me want to work in film. One of my dreams is to one day write and shoot my own movie.

The books that I keep in my room are organized by what I call sentimental chaos. I say sentimental chaos because in general, I tend to be a mood reader who will return to familiar books time and time again.

The rules for the organization of my nightstand books are actively rereading/or actively just starting. I keep all my library books here as well as the books I draw up on when I need to feel grounded. I just finished rereading All About Love and Their Eyes Were Watching God (my favorite book). Currently working on my Lighting Thief reread as well as starting Lesbian Death. For poetry, I just started Worldly Things by Michael Kleber-Diggs. 

In my window, I keep my journals and copies of my favorite manga series, Skip Beat, as well as books I either return to often or am working through on a recommendation. I like to keep these in my window for comfort. Skip Beat was a series that grew with me from childhood into my adulthood. I draw inspiration and comfort from the characters within those pages, and so even if I’m not actively reading them, they’re always by my side.


Zora Satchell is a Black and Chinese American queer poet and cinephile who writes about mental illness, film, family, and friendship. She holds a degree in Ethnic Studies from Colorado State University. She was awarded the Brooklyn Poets Fellowship for winter/spring 2021. She lives on the border of Brooklyn and Queens and tweets from @zora_thee_pony.

Sundress Academy for the Arts Presents “Humanimal: Between Human Beings and Animals”

The Sundress Academy for the Arts is excited to present “Humanimal: Between Human Beings and Animals,” a workshop led by Si-Min Chong on January 10th, 2023, from 6:00-7:30 PM. This event will be held over Zoom. Participants can access the event at tiny.utk.edu/sundress (password: safta).

In this online class, we will read works examining the ways animals, trees, mushrooms, the living beings around us make a home (art), gather food (sustenance), and experiment with ways of being and play. The class will begin with a close reading from writers exploring this theme, followed by writing prompts. We will take inspiration from our kin and experiment with methods such as free-writing, phonetic translations of birdsong, writing next to a tree/plant, or a body/glass of water, and more.

In the spirit of conjuring and collaborating with our kin, we will write or make work by way of prose poetry or lyrical prose, sketches, concrete poetry, or simply, marks on a page. This class is open to writers of all genres who are curious about writing alongside other humanimals.

This event is brought to you in part by grants provided by the Witter Bynner Foundation for Poetry and the Tennessee Arts Commission.

A femme of Chinese ancestry with glasses and short black hair standing at a doorway

Si-Min Chong (Min) grew up in the industrial west of Singapore, where the air smells of cacao. She makes work about vessels: women, trees, and snakes. Based in Providence, Rhode Island, she holds an MFA in Literary Arts from Brown University.