Tag creative writing

dispatch: post-reading, new anthology, & new review

José Angel Araguz Leave a comment
A brown man standing before a laptop reading poetry.

First off, thank you to everyone who was able to attend the readings this past weekend! On Friday night, I was delighted to share space with r. erica doyle and Adeeba Shahid Talukder. The reading was in celebration of Adeeba’s collection Shahr-e-jaanaan: The City of the Beloved (Tupelo Press, 2020). Check out “For Qays.” Thank you to the NYU Creative Writing Program and Kundiman for hosting us!!!

Thank you as well to the Suffolk Intertextuals for inviting to read this Saturday! I enjoyed being able to share a range of work including my two poems featured in the new anthology Dreaming: A Tribute to Selena Quintanilla Pérez (FlowerSong Press, 2020). Check out this post I shared earlier on “The Things to Fight Against” also included in my book Small Fires.

Lastly, I am happy to share my latest review for The Bind has gone live! This time, I spend time with Sara Borja’s Heart Like a Window, Mouth Like a Cliff (Noemi Press), breaking down the collection’s engagement with imagination and experience. I also include a writing prompt 🙂

Hope you’re all staying safe and well, questioning and fighting against systemic oppression!

Más later!

José  

new poems out in the world!

José Angel Araguz Leave a comment

Just a quick note to share news of some recent publications:

First, I’m happy to report that the good folks at the Laurel Review gave two new prose poems a home, “Wax Lips” and “Pavlovian.” Special thanks to editor extraordinaire John Gallaher and co. for the support!

Also, I’m happy to share that two poems (“Negative” and “To a Corkscrew”) from another project are featured in the latest edition of Spacecraft Project. Special thanks to Gillian Parrish for the support!

Check out “To a Corkscrew” below and click here to read “Negative” over at Spacecraft Project.

*

José Angel Araguz

To a Corkscrew

My hand steadies
your twisted line—
I think of my father,
if I’m meeting him

here. This
night-colored wine
wavers between us,
its taste shaped

by so much waiting. Once open,

the air
begins to change
what waits—

you’re stuck where I can’t see you, the burn

of before—

only after
aches in my hand.