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3 episodes with Jennifer L Knox
The queens go in (and out) on poetry trends for 2025, all while doing their Kegel exercises. Please Support Breaking Form!Review the show on Apple Podcasts here.Pretty Please.....Buy our books: Aaron's STOP LYING is available from the Pitt Poetry Series. James's ROMANTIC COMEDY is available from Four Way Books.SHOW NOTES:Watch Marie Howe in conversation with poet and friend of the show, Nicole Tallman (18 mins), for South Florida Poetry Journal. You can catch a reading of some poets included in Invisible Strings: 113 Poets Respond to the Songs of Taylor Swift here. Read Carol Frost's poem "Gross Clinic" from her book I Will Say Beauty (mentioned in the show).When we mention "the Sharon Olds stanza," here's a representative of what we mean: "After Making Love in Winter" (Poetry Magazine, May 1987)A bit more about The Vivienne, a drag superstar and winner of Season 1 of Drag Race UK, can be found here. More about Ada Limon's historic appointment as Poet Laureate can be accessed here.A few Game Shows poems:Jennifer L. Knox, “The New Let's Make a Deal” Julie Marie Wade, "From the Jeopardy! Category Spoiler Alerts"
What is National Poetry Writing Month?Welcome, art enthusiasts and wordsmiths alike, to another episode of Create Art Podcast! We are diving headfirst into the enchanting world of poetry as we celebrate National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). This annual event, which takes place every April, encourages poets and aspiring writers around the globe to embrace their creativity and commit to writing a poem each day for the entire month.The Beauty of National Poetry Writing Month:NaPoWriMo, similar to its prose-centric counterpart National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), is a celebration of the written word and the boundless creativity that can flow when one dedicates themselves to a daily practice. Poets of all levels of expertise are invited to take part, from seasoned wordsmiths to those just dipping their toes into the vast ocean of verse.Create Art Podcast has always been a haven for artists to share their creative processes, and NaPoWriMo offers a unique opportunity for poets to reflect on their craft. With a daily commitment to producing poetry, participants discover new facets of their writing style, experiment with various forms, and explore uncharted emotional territories.Prompt for todayToday, we'd like to challenge you to write a poem that plays with the idea of a “tall tale.” American tall tales feature larger-than-life characters like Paul Bunyan (who is literally larger than life), Bulltop Stormalong (also gigantic), and Pecos Bill (apparently normal-sized, but he doesn't let it slow him down). If you'd like to see a modern poetic take on the tall tale, try Jennifer L. Knox's hilarious poem, “Burt Reynolds FAQ.” Your poem can revolve around a mythical character, one you make up entirely, or add fantastical elements into a real person's biography.Poem for TodayThe Sprelly Man 12 April 24 Peanut allergies be damned Let me tell you the tale of one Who has thrived in what some call The dark ages of these legumes Bright and colorful is he Tasty and smooth is his body When left to long He splits into oil and mass Don't leave the Sprelly Man in the cupboard too long Take him out daily For your source of protein And sweetness Pair him up with his dear friend Pineapple Jelly lad Spread him all over the best bread money can buy And you too will change your religion Or at least your thoughts of the simple PB&J sandwich Sprelly man wants you to be stronger Happier than you have ever been Sprelly Man is looking out for your best interests Better than a high school counselor I met the man of Sprelly long ago His beard was blacker than a new moon night Deeper than the ocean More manly than he had a right to be We talk about his exploits When I patron his store A place of...
The queens get beachy, play f*ck marry kill with a Pulitzer winner, and fabricate some fab poets' drag names.Support Breaking Form, the spirit so moves you:Review Breaking Form on Apple Podcasts here. Buy our books:Aaron's STOP LYING is available from the Pitt Poetry Series. James's ROMANTIC COMEDY is available from Four Way Books.Watch Carl Phillips read from Then the War: and Selected Poems, 2007-2020, winner of the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for poetry, here (~1 hour).Poets we mention in this extravaganza include:Denise Duhamel, Queen for a DayFrank O'Hara, Lunch PoemsDavid Trinidad, Peyton Place: A Haiku Soap Opera ; Swinging on a StarFranny Choi, Soft Sciencesam sax, MadnessDanez Smith, HomieYou can read a short excerpt of Nin Andrews's The Book of Orgasms at her website here. Jennifer L. Knox, Crushing ItCamille Guthrie, Diamonds Michael Dumanis, My Soviet Union Louise GluckYou can watch Jorie Graham's book launch for her newest collection, To 2040, online here (~1 hour).Rita Dove's latest book is Playlist for the Apocalypse. Amy ClampittEmily DickinsonEdgar Allen PoeRobert Lowelle.e. cummingsHenry Wadsworth LongfellowGertrude SteinJohn Donne's reputation as a major poet is now cemented, but it wasn't always so. Donne fell out of fashion for much of the 18th and 19th centuries. Read more about that in Adam Kirsch's review of Katherine Rundell's biography of Donne in the New Yorker, here. Ezra PoundSara Teasdale, whom you can read more about here. Hart CraneRobert FrostWalt WhitmanLucille CliftonThomas HardyJohn KeatsMarilyn Chin's sixth book of poetry, Sage, was released by Norton in May 2023.Mark DotyPatrick Phillips, whose most recent book is Song of the Closing Doors (Knopf, 2022),. Visit Phillips's website.
Recorded by Jennifer L. Knox for Poem-a-Day, a series produced by the Academy of American Poets. Published on April 10, 2023. www.poets.org
The poems in Jennifer L. Knox's darkly imaginative collection, Crushing It, unearth epiphanies in an unbounded landscape of forms, voices and subjects--from history to true crime to epidemiology--while exploring our tenuous connections and disconnections. From Merle Haggard lifting his head from a pile of cocaine to absurdist romps through an apocalypse where mushrooms learn to sing, this versatile collection is brimming with dark humor and bright surprise. Alongside Knox's distinctive surrealism, Crushing It also reveals autobiography in poems about love, family, and adult ADHD, and Knox's empathetic depictions of the ego's need to assert its precious, singular "I" suggest that a self distinct from the hive, the herd, the flock, is an illusion. With clear-eyed spirit, Crushing It swallows all the world, and then some. Knox is in conversation with American writer and poet Sarah Manguso. ________________________________________________ Produced by Maddie Gobbo & Michael Kowaleski Theme: "I Love All My Friends," a new, unreleased demo by Fragile Gang. Visit https://www.skylightbooks.com/event for future offerings from the Skylight Books Events team.
Rachael and Jack have Sophie Collins and Emily Critchley in the studio to discuss, among other things, female authorship, having a lightbulb moment for Denise Riley and the art of leaving a poem without a conventional ending. Audio postcards in this episode come from Jillian Weise, Jennifer L. Knox and Nuar Alsadir. Full show notes and links are [here](https://www.faber.co.uk/blog/the-faber-poetry-podcast-episode-2-with-sophie-collins-emily-critchley). Listen to this episode and subscribe now on your favourite podcast platform so you don’t miss forthcoming episodes in our first six-part series.
In this podcast, we discuss three of Laura McCullough’s poems. The box score above is the spoiler alert: though today’s podcast crew spanned from the east coast to Iowa, included an undergrad and people who’ve done this work of editing for more than two decades, we were unanimously enamored of all three poems. Welcome to Episode 11 of PBQ’s Slush Pile! In this podcast, we discuss three of Laura McCullough’s poems. The box score above is the spoiler alert: though today’s podcast crew spanned from the east coast to Iowa, included an undergrad and people who’ve done this work of editing for more than two decades, we were unanimously enamored of all three poems. “Leafless” moved us and took us on a journey that also spanned decades. “Reclaimed Wood” told a tale we only want even more of, and “Maggot Therapy” simply left us thunderstruck. Read along and listen in—these poems are even more breathtaking aloud. . She hates the word feminist and she’s no stranger to PBQ! Laura McCullough is an award-winning poet with six (!) poetry collections which include her most recent, Jersey Mercy, which narrates the lives of two people affected by Hurricane Sandy. Watch a brief interview after her first book or watch part of a reading from this past spring.Check out more of her work on her website. The fact that we were going to discuss Laura’s work and we’ve known her for years, spurred us to invite Jennifer L. Knox to join us for this episode, as Jennifer fits a similar profile: she’s a poet whose work we admire and the added bonus—we can call her a friend. We discussed the conundrum many of us find ourselves in—how difficult is it to be a poet who wants to send work to journals she loves and respects, but whose editors she knows well. No one wants to be published out of obligation or to put her friend in an awkward position. The flip side is just as bad: no editor takes pleasure out of rejecting anyone, let alone a friend. Our discussion focused on social ties and aesthetic taste—or, as Jennifer put it, discerning the “heart-to-brains-to-balls ratio” of any given magazine or press in order to find the right home for your work. Listen in as we explore our practices, then chime in on our FB event page and share your own. Sign for our email list if you’re in the area, and even if you’re not! Send us a self-addressed stamped envelope, and we’ll send you a PBQ Podcast sticker. Follow us on Twitter @PaintedBrideQ and Instagram @paintedbridequarterly. Don't forget to subscribe and rate us on our iTunes page! Read on! Present at the Editorial Table: Kathleen Volk Miller Marion Wrenn Jason Schneiderman Alexa Josaphouitch Tim Fitts Jennifer Knox Production Engineer: Joe Zang PBQ Box Score: 3:0 ------------------------ Laura McCullough Leafless In the end, my mother’s shoulders, barely covered and quivering, were like birds. Once, I made a dress for her, the fabric creamy white, the print a single brown tree spanning the width, with stark branches. It was 1974. I was fourteen. Each night, I taught myself to sew, feeding the fabric through the foot, thinking how surprised she would be. I remember seeing her in it, how we’d both loved the gesture, the achievement, and though it fit poorly, the print was enough for us. She wore it once and never again, let me see her walk out the door in it. Maybe love’s architecture is exposed when we try and fail at what we mean. Outside the hospital, winter had flayed everything, the trees charcoaled against the sky, their shadows thumb smudges on the institutional snow hid lawn, and inside the air was redolent of shit, flowers, and chlorine. The first time I changed her clothes, peeling back from her shoulders the blue flecked cotton gown, then sliding a clean pink one up her arms, we held each other in the oily light, spent. Reclaimed Wood I confess now I have begun to henna my red hair gone dull in parts and penny bright in others. And I always tried to subdue its wildness. But when the hull of our marriage busted rock and began to leak, we both thought it was a good idea to renovate the kitchen, together, by ourselves. We closed up the hall to the back rooms to create more privacy and took down a load- bearing wall in hoped of opening the “flow.” My husband looked like Christ hauling the salvaged timbers from a warehouse deep in the Piney woods one by one up the front stoop, laying them in our suburban living room, posing as a Brooklyn loft. We framed the new wide space: one as header, two as column braces, then sat on the floor cross-legged looking at our work in progress, the way the wood had aged, the colors and striations, notches and hammered pegs. We felt our fifties ranch had a new story now, something with weight, and we held hands a little while before getting up, heading to the shower, falling back into our routine. Maggot Therapy Near death, sometimes the hands curve into themselves like claws. I held my mother’s open, smoothing the fingers, trimming the wild nails. Once, years before, my husband and I awoke to a fawn caught in the family compost, a hole on its back end festering with worms, and he pinched each one out swiping his little finger in the bowl of the wound, then coating it with antibiotic salve. I loved him, and how he saved this small thing. It’s a story I have told over and over. Today though, I’m thinking of the medical uses for maggots: biodebridement and extracorporeal digestion, their enzymes liquefying dead tissue in wounds, and wonder, do I feed off the dead who live inside me? When my mother was dying, she had a vision of her non-corporeal father, brothers, sisters. Her last words, Why have you left me alone? She never opened her eyes again, her chest a drowning well. The bodily signs of death: the skin mottling as blood flow slows; breathing, open mouthed; jaw, unhinged. I won’t recount the signs of a dying marriage, but he left two days after her funeral. Physically, he returned but told me he’d fallen in love with someone else, that his love for me had passed. Above my mother’s body, orange mist had exhaled and dispersed, a light bulb busted open, its luminescent gas escaping. The word fluorescent is so similar to the word florescence, meaning flowering, and somewhere between these two, there is a splendor I can barely stand. Inflorescence refers to flowers clustering on one branch, each a separate floret, but if they are tightly clustered as in the dandelion seed head, they look incomplete alone, though the whole is an illusion. The word for this—pseudanthium—means “false flower.” Infrutescence, its fruiting stage, gives us grapes, ears of corn, stalks of wheat, so many of the berries we love. This morning my hands ache as though in the night I’d been trying to claw my way out of a hole I am down in, having lost the body I came into this world through, and my husband’s as well. It’s almost as if my body had come to believe his was a part of its own, a connection he would have to break or die. Medical experts say it takes two moltings for maggots to do the job well, to feed enough to clean a wound. I do not feel clean at all, though in our shower, my husband and I still huddle some days, hunched into the spray. We call it watering. When we do, we scrub each other, grateful for the living, dying flesh, but trying to get clean of each other. That fawn he saved way back when we were new in love was released into the wild. Surely, it had a scar identifying it, evidence of what flesh my husband was willing to enter in order to keep something alive. Lately, he seems more clear-eyed, and it is as if a cicatrix husk is cracking. Neither of us know who will emerge, but he seems luminescent, a kind of light created by the excitation of the smallest elements, and not giving off warmth, but a cold glow that at least illuminates.
Ada Limón joins Paul Muldoon to read and discuss Jennifer L. Knox’s “Pimp My Ride” and her own poem “State Bird.”
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