Nancy Kuhl and Richard Deming, Editors
Phylum Press


   
   
   
   
   
   

 



Phylum Press publishes several pamphlets and chapbooks each year. Publications include Shores by Joel Bettridge (2001), 6 by Graham Foust (2001), True to Scale by Susan Briante (2001), Revival by Peter Gizzi (2002), Emulation Etudes by Kristin Prevallet (2002), Cuba by Michael Kelleher (2002), Dear [Blank], I Believe in Other Worlds by Lorraine Graham (2003), Vocative by Anthony Hawley (2004), Language of the Dog-Heads by Cathy Eisenhower (2001), and Amulet | Anatomy by Roberto Tejada (2002).

Phylum Press books have been reviewed in the Chicago Review, Washington Review, and in Shearsman. Cathy Eisenhower’s Language of the Dog-Heads was selected for inclusion in the 2002 Bookmobile Project touring exhibition. A brief commentary about Phylum Press written by Richard Deming recently appears in the Italian journal Semicerchio: Rivista di poesia comparata.

 

PAMPHLETS

Shores / Bettridge   ·   6 / Foust   ·   True to Scale / Briante

Revival / Gizzi   ·   Emulation Etudes / Prevallet   ·   Cuba / Kelleher

Dear [Blank], I Believe in Other Worlds / Graham   ·   Vocative / Hawley

 

Shores by Joel Bettridge
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Shores

by Joel Bettridge

(2001)

from Shores

Up stains hem of sky
Almost a sunrise
Whole lot of water
Heavy with churning
Hope the rain stops soon

Hope the rain stops soon
Just near the sunrise
At this point the birth
Canal curves toward sky
Light seen as a fall

Light seen as a fall
A thread of sunrise
Fetal head from earth
From folds of the plow
Never did find her

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6 by Graham Foust
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6

by Graham Foust

(2001)

 

Night Train

creased, the darkness seemed
exactly

the same—

someone
in one of those houses

was you

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True to Scale by Susan Briante
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True to Scale

by Susan Briante

(2001)

 

from Love in the Time of NAFTA

Driving north on the Periférico, a man looks up at a billboard and wonders about the name of the color used to paint a rouge on Brad Pitt’s lips (Vermeil). He does not, however, notice his wife has not spoken to him for three hours.

The books she reads are getting longer. She has lost her faith in bottled water.

The coins she presses into his palm are worth exactly half of what they were yesterday.

 

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Revival by Peter Gizzi
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Revival

by Peter Gizzi

(2002)

Cover, Exploded Knight
by David Byrne

 

from Revival

It’s good to be dead in America
with the movies, curtains and drift,
the muzak in the theater.
It’s good to be in a theater waiting
for The Best Years of Our Lives to begin.
Our first night back, we’re here
entertaining a hunch our plane did crash
somewhere over the Rockies, luggage
and manuscripts scattered, charred fragments
attempting to survive the fatal draft.

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Emulation Etudes by Kristin Prevallet
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Emulation Etudes

by Kristin Prevallet

(2002)

Cover by Ariel Potter

 

from The Remains of the Wig
(after Stevens)

The wig is propped atop a building.
With its windows covered,
the birds cannot wake up.

Covering the heads of state
the wig curls into a ball
and fires pellets at the wildlife.

On her hair the wig stayed still
although her mind was always moving.

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Cuba by Michael Kelleher
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Cuba

by Michael Kelleher

(2002)


from Cuba

5.

Today the water is freezing cold. It makes the bumps on my skin stand up. I can’t turn it off. It is freezing cold and I can’t turn it off. I am afraid I am going to freeze to death. I am afraid I am going to die.

And then it stops. And there is no more water. And there is no more water for many days to come.

Perth is the rune of mystery.

 

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Dear [Blank], I Believe in Other Worlds

by Lorraine Graham

(2003)

Cover by Jae Jennifer Rossman

from Dear [Blank], I Believe in Other Worlds

Everything slides to the side, one stilted to protect from flooding like the jungle, hundreds of distinct languages separated and developing apart from new dirt runways and missionaries. No double bed. Detachment becomes possible even in America where leaving is easy, a life of credit card scams and bad credit is a life of romance, impossible like details. At home, outlined in graphic paste, swimming with groupers, the third largest in the world, in Appalachia. Clicked into dust I've learned how to trace, careful of fingers and ears and the folds in clothes. Trace and move, and here we are, smiling.

 

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Vocative

by Anthony Hawley

(2004)

Ascending Song

Field be
More than longing
Hill not
Only overlook

Rocks a puzzle
Step into
Their conversation

Start
Thinking in sloped
Hills see
What steep
Grades can do

 

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CHAPBOOKS

Language of the Dog-Heads / Eisenhower   ·   Amulet | Anatomy / Tejada

 

Language of the Dog-Heads by Cathy Eisenhower
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Language of the Dog-Heads

by Cathy Eisenhower

(2001)

from Travel Guide

There as a woman as an ocean on a map she was mountain-small. The cartographer had not shaved she could not believe he had not shaved even in this abominable heat. She waited and waited for the unshaven cartographer. She waited and waited for the cartographer, his chin very feral. He was late, also. The mild heat coaxed a sweat from her—the palm trees floated over her vision and coaxed a sweat from her. Look, the woman said, I cannot bear this any longer. Look, she said, you fucking cartographer, you are very late. Do you know where we are, goddamnit? she insisted to the man who had yet to arrive. Do you know where we are? she insisted to the wind, which had yet to arrive. You have exactly five seconds to draw a shape and a name that explains why I am sweating and why you never will visit a barber.

 

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Amulet | Anatomy by Roberto Tejada
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Amulet | Anatomy

by Roberto Tejada

(2002)

Cover by Thomas Glassford

 

EXEDRA

All these conclusions about the lack of something,
the shafts of light, the shifts of desire,
with eyes closed your initial warm kisses caught me looking,
how much the gesture, each contour of your blossoming
skin, firm lines made pink across the brawn and furrows,
the salt, the lofty tone of flesh, as I left to eradicate
the antonyms of becoming here—and living there endless,
the glass brick melting.
In the dream our tribe was called Equivocal, Irreparable,
and I could hardly get this hand around your phallus:
repeating Mud Dog Mother to myself
—while the water of the bodies
in the earth evaporated.

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Last updated 11 September 2004
© 2004 Phylum Press
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